#just try not not to fall from too high when they get tired

[thatrandomidiot182]

Blood Ties and Past Lives

Chapter Warnings. mentions of death/murder, vulgar language, childhood trauma, mild paranoia. dialogue heavy!!

As strong as you like to pride yourself on being, you end up breaking down before you can even open your front door.

The day's events, and the emotional turmoil that you've pushed down throughout have finally caught up to you in the dim hallway of your apartment complex, just feet away from the privacy of your living room.

You struggle to jam your key into the lock. Shaking hands and teary eyes make it hard to find the precision you normally have, and eventually you give up. Frustrated, defeated and tired, you release a loud sob as you fall to the floor.

Collapsing on the worn down welcome mat that your landlord gifted you when you first moved in, you slump against the apartment door, trembling hands losing their grip on your keys as you sob.

Your forehead knocks against the cool wood as you do your best to stay quiet, alternating between pursing your lips and holding your breath to muffle your whimpers and heaves. Your hands clutch your shoulders as they shudder, grip tightening the longer you sit there. Your face feels uncomfortably warm and sticky and you eventually get sent into a coughing fit as you choke on your spit, beginning to hyperventilate as you can't seem to catch your breath and the tears just don't stop–

Someone's behind you.

You swing around at the sudden weight on your shoulder, scrambling back into the wall as you all but bear your teeth at the stranger in front of you.

The stranger is quick to raise his hands in a display of innocence, "Easy there tiger, just trying to be a good samaritan..." his voice is soft, pretty brown eyes wide as he takes in your defensive stance.

You're too caught up in the wave of emotions that have overwhelmed you to bother being ashamed at the way you only cried harder at his concern.

The man begins to panic, voice wavering as his hands flail around hesitantly. He slowly crouches next to you, reaching out to place a hand on your knee, "Hey, heyyyy, it's okay– It-It's okay."

You can't even muster a laugh at his stuttering.

"Can you tell me your name? I-Uh, I'm Marcus– Marcus Watts, but everyone calls me MJ so... Just– Call me MJ." He cringes as he stumbles over his words and his awkwardness has your tears gradually slowing as you become distracted by his clamoring.

"I'm your uh... I'm your new neighbor!" He smiles, crooked and wobbly as he sneaks a peak at the number above your head.

You let out a strangled whine at the information, burying your head in your knees in shame.

What a great first impression.

MJ grows frantic at the sound, clumsily moving to sit more comfortably next to you as he gently lays a hand across your shoulders, pulling you to his side as he rubs his fingers soothingly across your muscle.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm so-I'm sorry–" He gently hushes your panicked apologies, tucking your head under his chin. "Don't apologize... Don't apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for. We all have those days." His voice is smooth, not too high or low, but with a comforting roughness that has your heart thrumming in your chest.

"No! No, I sh- I can't be– you don't have to–" he's quick to shut down your sentence, hand curling around your bicep reassuredly as he leans his head back into the wall, throat bobbing against your cheek as he speaks, "I know. But what kind of guy would I be if I let my pretty neighbor sit outside crying."

You laugh at the sentiment, a wet, sad little chuckle that has you cringing afterwards.

MJ's chest rumbles and your cheeks flush as you realize that he's laughing, "Ahhh there you are! I was wondering if I was ever going to hear anything other than sad puppy noises from you."

You let out an embarrassed scoff against his neck, "Sad puppy noises? What??" Your voice is scratchy and almost unintelligible but he somehow understands.

MJ laughs again, much to your offense, and the sound has you unintentionally relaxing further into his hold, "Yeah, you sound like a sad puppy when you cry. It's kinda cute." You pull away from his neck with a frown, squinting at him suspiciously.

"Cute? You're not a weird, creepy sadist are you?"

"Wha-No! NO!" You purse your lips to hide the smile that encases your face at his flustered shout, watching in amusement as his face becomes a similar shade as his hair.

MJ huffs dramatically, "Is this what I get for being a good person? Get called a creep?"

You snort, leaning your head back against the wall as he pulls his hand back to his side, "This is Gotham, you're lucky that I'm a good person, who's thankful..." You smile bashfully, "Really, thank you. For... all of this. I-I promise I'm not always this... uh– dramatic." You wince, thumbing your palm nervously.

MJ offers a small smile, "No problem! Like I said, we all have those days..." He pauses, and you watch anxiously as his face scrunches hesitantly, "Do you... Do you want to talk about it?"

You ponder his offer for a good minute, letting the ambiance of the apartments wash over you.

The sirens in the distance.

The muffled shouts of the single mom at the end of the hallway.

The faint accented voice in your ear encouraging you to open up–

"My tata– My grandfather died... today was his funeral." Your voice is weak and squeaky, but somehow, you don't feel embarrassed by it.

"Oh." It's obvious that your revelation caught him off guard, "I'm sorry."

His empathy is foreign to you, and the entire experience has you thinking that you're dreaming.

After all, he has no reason to be here. Sitting on the grimy floor of your apartment building with his mess of a neighbor who he's never met before. Consoling and empathizing with them as if it was a moment between friends and not someone he just stumbled across.

Yet he is.

And it simultaneously has your heart fluttering with warmth and stomach twisting with paranoia.

Because, why?

Why is he here?

What does he want?

Is this all a ploy? A plot against you?

What if he's with them?

The concept of a stranger being so kind, is just inconceivable. Not just because it's Gotham, and not even because everyone knows the rule of 'stranger danger,' but more so because of the fact that his kindness is aimed towards you.

You haven't done anything to deserve it, so why?

Why is the compassion and concern this complete stranger has offered you in the ten minutes you've known him more than you've gotten from Bruce and his kids in three years?

The realization has your brain stumped between laughing and crying again.

Yet, despite your inner anxieties, your body is completely at ease in his presence.

Instead of being tense and guarded like you should have been, you were completely lax in his embrace.

Oddly enough, despite never having met before, you feel a comfortability around him that you've never felt before. Almost as if you've known him your entire life.

Every molecule of your being is screaming at you to get closer and bury yourself in his warmth once again, as if he himself could singlehandedly free you of your burdens. Your nerves are soothed to a point you haven't felt in years and the voices in your head are finally quiet.

MJ's appearance in your life is as sudden and perplexing as it is welcome.

And once your tears have finally stopped and the single mom down the hall begins yelling at her kids, you realize it's all too good to be true.

You don't deserve such luxuries, not anymore.

So, with a newfound resolve, you offer him one last smile as you rise to finally head into your apartment.

"Thank you, and again, I'm sorry."

It seems like that's the only thing you're able to say anymore.

Your body instantly alerts you to the sound of your living room window being opened.

It's half past midnight, two days after your mortifying first encounter with MJ and you're curled up in bed with a novel and a glass of wine your boss gifted you after you asked for a week off to mourn.

Having been so engrossed in the novel you were reading, you had failed to notice the creaking of your fire escape until your sixth sense suddenly spiked at the clamoring of the rusty latch being opened in the next room.

"What the fuck?" Your concerned whisper breaks the silent ambiance of your room as you hesitantly rise from your bed, tossing your book aside gently. You quickly grab your phone off the nightstand before quietly swinging your bedroom door open, pausing to make sure the intruder stayed unaware of your movements.

Clutching the device to your side, you slowly begin to make your way out into the hall. Years of practice making your steps undetectable as your socked feet lightly ghost along the wooden flooring, carefully avoiding the spots you know would creak and groan.

You focus your hearing on the living room just in time to hear as a body makes its way onto the same floor with a faint thud. A sound so quiet, it immediately had you on guard, with the lack of stomping and clattering alerting you to the fact that this wasn't an ordinary burglar in your apartment.

No, whoever this person is, is light on their feet, meticulously careful in their actions as the window creaking is kept muffled as it's closed and... locked?

The click of the lock has you tense as you peek around the corner of the hallway, your mind runs through a million different possibilities...

A ghost?

An assassin?

Did they finally find you?

Maybe it's one of the capes?

Did Felix somehow manage to track you down?

You raise your hand defensively, fully prepared to web anything that poses a threat as you finally lay eyes on the person–

"Damian?" Your shock is inherently obvious as you murmur the boy's name in confusion, dropping your hand down to your side at the familiar face that greets you.

His head whips towards you, eyes narrowing in his typical glare as his body straightens to his usual posture. "So, you are awake."

You gawk at his confidence, expecting anything but the comfortable ease he exudes as he stalks closer. As if he hadn't just broken into your apartment in the middle of the night. "What the hell are you–"

He's quick to cut you off, whether it's because he knew you were gonna lose your shit or because whatever he needed to say was that important was up for debate.

"You're wrong."

Your brow furrows as you still find yourself reeling in confusion at his sudden appearance, "Wha–I–"

"It was my fault." His voice is hard, eyes trained on the wood beneath your feet as he stands across from you, an arms width away yet closer than he'd ever willingly been before...

"What are you talking about?" You scoff, arms crossing defensively as you eye him suspiciously.

"I disobeyed father." He clenches his fists, "I was stupid and reckless and I got caught and now he's dead." His breath stutters for just a moment, "Alfred's dead because I failed." His face falls, previous bravado of arrogant nonchalance gone as his words settle in your chest.

You purse your lips thoughtfully, face falling as you realize the intent behind his visit. "Damian it's not–"

"I'm Robin."

He meets your eyes heavily as you pause in shock at his sudden revelation. The haunting green hue encapsulates your vision as you stare at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

Of course, you've already known that he was Robin for a while now. In fact, it had only taken you a few weeks of living in the manor to put the pieces together and figure out about all of your family's little nighttime personas. You weren't top of your class for nothing after all, but to hear him admit it so openly– to you of all people– has taken you completely off guard.

You allow yourself a moment of confusion before letting out a sigh, offering a small, awkward smile as your gaze softens, "I know."

He's visibly taken aback by your answer, eyes narrowing as he scoffs, "What do you mean you know?"

You smirk, rolling your eyes lightheartedly as you walk past him to sit on your couch, "Please, I'm not an idiot. I know about all of you."

He crosses his arms, glaring down at you after following to stand before you, "How?"

"Its simple pattern recognition, really." You shrug, counting off your reasoning with your fingers, "You guys were never home at night, always had suspicious bruises and cuts... You never seemed shocked about the stories in the news, never hesitated to suddenly become 'busy' when they'd broadcast an Arkham breakout... Always had somewhere to be or something to do besides lounge around like normal rich people..." You trail off, eyeing him warily as he becomes visibly agitated as you continue.

"You think you're clever because you figured it out? Drake found out fathers identity when he was thirteen, and a stranger. You're not special for catching on after two years in close proximity." His words are venomous and it grants you a sick sense of relief to finally see him behaving the way you'd expected. "Besides, you've never had definitive proof. If I hadn't wanted you to know, you would have lived with baseless assumptions and a foolish, inflated ego." His face resets to that haughty smugness he's known for as he scrunches his nose down at you.

You bristle defensively at his words, glaring back as you scoff, officially done with his sudden hot and cold attitude, "Why are you even here, Damian?" You toss your hands up frustratedly, "Why bother telling me all of this, if you're gonna be mad about me knowing? Seriously, did you come here just to mock me? Why are–"

"Because you don't understand!" He snaps. "Because you need to understand!" His lips curve into a vicious scowl, voice rising in anger as he stalks closer to your seated figure, "It doesn't make sense!"

His voice cracks, "Why!? Why are you the only one who doesn't blame me?!" Your face falls as you watch his eyes well with tears, "Why are you– the one person I've hurt more than anyone else– the only person who understands... Why aren't you angry at me?" His bottom lip quivers and it takes everything in you to stop yourself from pulling him into your arms.

You opt to offer a half-hearted shrug, awkwardly snorting out a small laugh, as you rise from the couch, "Oh, trust me, I am." You pause, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder, watching as he shrinks under your touch, "Just not for this." You huff, "I'm angry at you because you stabbed me, sure." You shrug, releasing a tense sigh as you avert your gaze to the wall behind him, "But it'd be wrong of me to blame you when I was the one who had the chance to stop Bane and didn't."

Damian's face snaps towards yours, eyes widening as he chokes out a confused, "What?"

You take a breath, squeezing your eyes closed as you speak resolutely, "I was The Spider– The uh– hero, from New York..." You trail off awkwardly, avoiding his befuddled stare with a sigh, "Long story short, shit happened, and I'm done playing hero so..."

"You–" You don't give him the chance to question your sudden confession, gently guiding him to sit next to you on the sofa as you quickly continue.

"The night Alfred died–" You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat nervously, "I saw Bane downtown." You let the information settle in the air, watching Damian's reaction carefully as he does the same.

"He... He was monologuing to the rogues, going on and on about something stupid, I can't remember, but he was completely off-guard. Like, totally relaxed. As if he was in his own bed and not in the middle of a crowd of psycho serial killers." Your eyes glaze over as you recall the scene.

"I was walking through an alley, one of the usual shortcuts I take on my way home from work, near the Batburger on tenth... I reach the end and he's just... there, I mean, h–he was right there. Right there!" Your fists shake from their clenched position on your lap, "and I had a chance– I had the chance, the opportunity to end it all." You scowl, "All the torment... All the chaos... All the pain..." You bring your fists up to your face, hiding your frustrated tears behind your palms as you berate yourself, "All I had to do was swing a web and pull and it'd be over..." You laugh humorlessly, "But I didn't. I didn't and Bane went on to kill Alfred that same damn night..."

You grit your teeth, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill as you continue, "I was selfish." Your voice cracks, "I was stupid. Instead of doing the world a favor and putting that piece of shit down, I walked away. Told myself it wasn't my problem– That it wasn't my job to fight the bad guys, to be the hero. Not anymore– I–" You stop yourself, weary of where you were steering the conversation as Damian looms silently beside you.

It's quiet for a second, the only sound being the movement of your hands wiping your tears away from your face as the two of you sit with the weight of your words.

"He wouldn't have wanted that." Damian's voice is softer, but still carries an edge to it that has you wilting at the implications.

"Yeah, why's that?" You barely manage to whisper the words as your throat closes in on itself.

"He always spoke so highly of you." Damian smiles ruefully, "Anytime he mentioned your name it would be followed by praise..." He rolls his eyes with a scowl, "He always said you'd be the one to make something of yourself. To be great..." He sighs, closing his eyes as his face scrunches, almost as if the act of trying to console you pained him.

"He wouldn't want you going down the path of a killer."

The sentence sparks a sharp bark of laughter out of you.

...Little did he know, you already have.

"Trust me–" He pauses, and you watch patiently as he tenses, eyes darting to your face nervously before gluing themselves to your ratty carpet. "–Killing someone, even a murderer, even someone like Bane... It doesn't give you the relief you'd expect." His voice is low, solemn and honest as he speaks and it has you huffing in exasperation.

"You sound experienced..."

He doesn't respond as quickly as you expect, and you can't help but eye him curiously as he moves to sit beside you.

"I am." He inhales deeply, hands folding together on his lap and you can hear his heart thrumming nervously.

"My name is Damian Thomas Al Ghul–Wayne." Your brow furrows in confusion, "I'm the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Gul..." The name is unfamiliar, and it has a pit forming in your gut as he continues, "Grandson of R'as Al Ghul and the Demon Heir of the League of Assassins." His eyes are empty, voice carefully steady and flat as he recites the information as if reading off of a script.

"Since the day of my birth, I was raised to be a weapon. I was–I was handed a sword before I could even walk, taught to eliminate threats before I was able to eat solid foods..." Your heart sinks, "I was made to be the perfect assassin. The perfect heir... and I was." He sighs, "The first time I killed a man, I was eight. My grandfather ordered the execution of a traitor among the league, and saw it as the perfect opportunity to test me." The image sends a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach. Picturing an eight-year old Damian standing before a corpse, bloodied hands and trembling lip as he withheld tears– "I didn't think anything of it. I simply completed the duty I was given... It's how I viewed every mission that came after. A duty. An honor entrusted to me by my grandfather... I wanted to make him proud, for him and Mother to see that I was worthy of my title, of my blood..."

He smiles ruefully, "Then I met father. He brought me to Gotham... to the Manor, and... to Alfred." You offer a reassuring smile, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I was forced to... acclimate to everything so quickly. One minute I was an assassin, and the next, I was being told to never kill anyone again! I was only ten years old, and everyone expected me to just... ignore everything I was previously taught. To abandon my upbringing– abandon my mother– and become a hero... so I did. I-I turned my back on the league, I've forsaken my blood and reshaped myself into a Robin deserving of fighting beside Batman... but it doesn't matter what I do, they all still think of me as a murderer." He hangs his head in shame, and you find yourself sharing the sentiment as you reflect on how you treated him while you lived in the manor.

If you had known any of this then, maybe you guys would have been friends...

He laughs, a cold and humorless sound that has you cringing in remorse, "Ever since I left the league, it feels like I've been under constant surveillance. Like father and Grayson are just waiting for me to screw up. Like at any little inconvenience I'll just turn and kill someone..." his bottom lip trembles, and you rub his shoulder comfortingly as he proceeds to let out a shaky sigh,

"What I'm saying is that the mark of a killer is something that will never leave you, no matter how hard you try... so... don't ever regret walking away... no matter the consequences."

It's quiet once he finishes his speech, the two of you sitting side by side as you wallow in the somber atmosphere.

Your fingers twitch nervously, canines digging into your bottom lip as you breathe through the wave of emotions that crashed over you after Damian's confession.

Confusion, empathy, grief, anger, sorrow...

It all forces you to come to a whole new understanding of the boy sitting next you.

You're honestly just completely taken off guard by everything. This was by far the longest conversation you'd ever had, and it has you reeling. The fact that Damian even appeared before you– willingly– was already jarring, and the way he spoke– open, honest... vulnerable, is so uncharacteristic that it's unnerving.... It all has you contemplating, why?

What changed?

Did Alfred's death really cause such a reaction?

Perhaps Alfred's words of praise were enough to convince Damian that you weren't the villain he had assumed?

Maybe Alfred asked him to reconcile with you while he was alive and now that he's gone Damian feels an obligation to fulfill the elders wish?

You don't know, and you don't think you'll ever know the true reason why Damian decided to approach you tonight, but you'll be damned if you let the opportunity slip through your fingers...

As much as you like to pretend that you're fine on your own... you're lonely.

You miss your family.

You miss the comfort and the love, the loyalty and acceptance. The warmth of your mother's embrace– of your tias singing and grandparents cooking. You miss your cousins and their inside jokes and stupid nicknames that always picked at your worst insecurities. The birthdays and weddings that went on till sunrise, where you'd be lulled to sleep on a plastic white chair by drunken chattering and laughter. The peace that came with waking up in the arms of your step-dad as he spoke his goodbyes. You miss the joy of having someone love you unconditionally, of someone always being there for you, without expecting anything in return...

and Damian may be your last chance at having even a fraction of that again, which is why you're meeting him in the middle.

You close your eyes resolutely, tilting your head back against the couch as you come out of your thoughts, releasing a deep sigh as you begin to speak, "I was twelve when I was bitten by a radioactive spider that escaped containment from my step-dad's lab." Damian's head snaps towards you at the sudden breach of silence, eying you curiously as you adjust your posture to slump back into the cushions more comfortably.

"It was two years after he and my mom were murdered, and we were finally allowed access to clear out his personal items after the lawsuit cleared... That stupid little bug slipped out of the plastic tube, crawled into my sock and bit me right on my achilles!" You scowl, "The pain was excruciating. It felt like fire was flooding through my veins, burning me from the inside out…” You grimace, “I'll never forget the fear on my Tias face when she came into the room and found me on the floor. She thought I was having a seizure... The pain had me convulsing so bad that she had to pin me down to stop me from ripping chunks out of myself.” You smile weakly, “I've never screamed like that in my entire life, I couldn't speak for two weeks afterwards..." You shiver at the memory, beginning to pick idly at a loose thread in the couch cushion.

"I remember waking up in my bed, confused as hell... I honestly thought it was a dream– Well, at least until I accidentally webbed my blanket to myself." You snort, lips quirking into a cringe as you recall the meltdown you had after being unable to disentangle yourself from your nanas rose cobija.

"I was so confused and scared when my powers began to develop. I was terrified the first time I managed to walk on my ceiling!” You grin, “but, I was also an impressionable kid with a sense of justice too big for their tiny body who just got superpowers, so, it's safe to say that it didn't take me very long to put on the suit.” You laugh, "I say suit, but that's just me being generous. It was really just a ski mask with lab goggles and my step-dads old varsity hoodie." You scoff, "I looked so bad, I'm glad the media didn't get any pictures of me until I had a legit suit… Who knows what kind of memes would exist if they had!” Your smile dwindles at the lack of response from Damian, turning to meet his unimpressed gaze with a sad smile, “I also had absolutely no training. No martial arts classes, no self-defense knowledge whatsoever– and I didn't even know how to properly control my powers…” You sigh, “You can imagine how that went.”

 Damian winces and you shake your head remorsefully, “Sure, I had a rough start, but when it came down to it, I was a stubborn kid with a bleeding heart who wanted to keep others from the same fate as my mom.” Damian shifts next to you, gaze glued to your face as you continue, “So, every night when my Tia went off to work, I'd sneak out and… do my thing.” Your nose scrunches at your wording, a small laugh slipping out at the awkward phrasing, “I got my ass kicked more times that I can count, almost died on multiple occasions… but I always got back up because there was always someone else to save. Always a bad guy to stop.” You frown.

“It was easy, for the first couple of weeks. Small things, like rescuing cats from trees, stopping pickpockets, webbing some car thieves and roughing up perverts who bothered women on the sidewalks... but then it got real. The threats got bigger, and it got harder to hide what I was doing from those who knew me best.” Your eyes flutter as you blink back tears, “Gwen figured me out within my first couple of weeks as Spider.” A wet laugh sneaks past your lips as you recall her pout, “She was so mad that I didn't tell her. She insisted on designing my suit! She– She even took a fashion class just to make it for me…” You smile, “It didn't come out great, obviously, but… I-It meant so much to me to have her support. I was so scared that she’d be afraid of me, that-that If I told anyone they’d think I was a freak-or-or sell me to the government or something…” You laugh, “But she didn’t, she-she didn’t do any of that she just… she supported me, and she loved me… despite everything that came with being a hero. Throughout all the broken bones and split lips, after all the breakdowns and close-calls. She was there, she was always there… and it got her killed.” Your gaze drifts down to your fingers, nailbeds now swollen and raw from your unintentional picking.

You choke on a whimper, composure slowly slipping as your mind flashes back to the night of her death, “She-She wasn't supposed to be there that night, but she was worried about me… She always worried.” You roll your jaw as you grit out the details, blurry images of rain and smoke flood your brain as you relive it all, “The Green Goblin bombed Oscorp during one of our fights. He was trying to kill me and she got caught in the crossfire…” Damian's gaze was pitying and it sparks a burning wave of nausea to churn in your stomach as your jaw clenches, “The worst part is that it wasn't even the bomb that killed her, it was the shrapnel.” He winces as you laugh angrily, “Her death wasn't quick, and it sure as hell wasn't painless.” You scowl, “She was alive for ten minutes after the explosion. Ten minutes that she spent in agonizing pain, with a piece of metal impaled in her spine! Ten minutes that I spent trying to keep her alive as she bled out in my arms!” Your chest heaves, breath stuttering as your heart thrums in your veins.

Damian's quiet as he watches you overcome your frustration. Soft green eyes never leaving your face as you whimper, “She was only fourteen… She hadn't even started high school.”

You swallow as you gather yourself, wiping away the tears as you rush to continue, “He’s the same man who killed my Tia…” Damian’s eyes widen, “He rigged the bridge to explode, right at the time she was on her way home from work” You eye your peeling wallpaper disinterestedly as you speak, “I tried to save her, but coincidentally there was also a school bus that was falling…” Your jaw clenches as you grip your biceps, desperate for a sense of comfort as you remember her defeated eyes, “I couldn't choose. I tried to stall for as long as possible to figure something out…” You force out a shuddering breath, ”I felt my shoulders dislocate. I felt as all the muscles in my arms were slowly ripped apart over and over as my healing factor struggled to keep up and I panicked… Eventually, I ran out of time, and she chose for me.” You feel the warmth of Damian's arm against your own as your body trembles, “I never even got the chance to tell her, but the look in her eyes as she cut the web told me that she already knew. She had always known, which is why she did what she did.”

You groan, “I was so angry. So blinded by rage, I couldn't even think, I didn't want to think... so I didn't. I just did what I do best... I fought.” You swallow thickly, “I went after the goblin, with no care for myself, no regard for what was gonna happen, I just wanted revenge. Justice.” You can’t help but laugh at the irony, “We fought for two hours before we eventually nosedived into the river. His hovercraft self-destructed on impact, and as far as the rest of the world's concerned, Spider died on that bridge, saving the people of New York like they always had.” You smirk condescendingly, “Good old Spidey got a hero's farewell, and I was finally free to be a normal kid…”

“A normal kid, who lost everyone because they wanted to play hero.” You scowl, “Even going back to a normal life was impossible, because as you said, the mark of a killer can't be erased, and my recklessness and selfish desire for vengeance came back to haunt me.”

Your teeth bear a sharp grin, lacking any humor or comfort as you choke out, “When the man under the mask turned out to be my best friend's father.”

"Let's watch a movie!" was your desperate attempt to lighten the atmosphere after spending close to four hours trading childhood stories of valor and trauma with your younger brother.

It took you another half hour to convince him of the idea and yet another hour to settle on a movie you both found interesting enough.

Halfway through Revenge of the Sith, Damian turns to you, "I... apologize for stabbing you."

You laugh, "It's okay, you're not the first person to try and murder me, and given the circumstances, you don't have the worst reason either."

His confused stare goes ignored as you turn back to the screen of your laptop, tapping his arm excitedly as the orange and red light draws your attention, "Shh! Here comes the best part!"

I HATE YOU!!

You were my brother Anakin! I loved you...

You find yourself quietly mouthing along with Obi-Wan as you drape your throw blanket over Damian's sleeping form.

Taking a step back, your lips quirk in a small smile at the sight of the lanky teenager squished onto your couch, covered by a faded orange blanket with white bunnies sprawled along the fabric like polka dots.

After all the confessions and revelations the night held, it was comforting to see him look like a kid for once.

"Damian! Where have you been, we've been worried sick–" You roll your eyes, cutting Dick off with an overexaggerated sigh, "Not Damian, but he is fine!"

It silent for a moment before he responds, voice clipped and gruff as he questions, "Wha– Who is this!? Why do you have Damian's phone?!"

"Why, it's only your favorite sibling, of course!" You chirp, teeth bared in a sickly sweet smile that matches the over heightened pitch in your voice that has Damian glaring at you from across the room.

Dick stutters out your name nervously and you nod, "Yes, it's me. So, Damian broke into my apartment last night–"

"He what!?" You nearly throw your phone halfway across the room in your haste to draw it away from your ear at his screeching.

"–aaaand we managed not to kill each other! He's fine, just needs a ride home."

The line is silent, and you smirk at the thought of Dick’s terrified face.

"I-I'll be right there."

You and Damian exchange matching grins at the panic in Dicks voice after he hangs up.

"He really has no faith in us, does he?"

Damian scoffs, "Absolutely none, I'm almost offended."

You smirk, "Says the one who pulled a whole ass katana on me the last time we were alone together!"

Damian simply averts his gaze, hiding his shit-eating grin with his mug.

You shake your head with a small laugh.

In the span of one night, you've managed to reconcile and bond with Damian at an astonishing rate.

It's shocking, but as you watch his nose scrunch at the taste of your cheap instant coffee, you find yourself discarding any ill will. After all, he's starting to grow on you.

Taglist <3: @onceinamillionposter @jscrawls @bat1212 , @1abi , @cosmosluckycharms , @homeless-clown , @awawage , @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @zomqiez , @wishesofficial , @itsberrydreemurstuff

If you saw me accidentally post this before it was finished... no you didn't.

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT!! I'M SO HYPED FOR THE FUTURE OF THIS SERIES OMFG...

I know this is tagged as a Venom! Reader, and this is now three chapters with no Venom, so I wanted to quickly address that! Basically, he's not really going to make an appearance until the second arc, about two or three chapters from now. That's because this first arc is mainly world building and setting up the relationships and plot for the second arc which will have more action and spidey shenanigans. Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear, but it's just the way the story is going rn.

N E WAYZZZ THANK YOU FOR READING HOPE YOU ENJOYEDD <3

[literally-noone83]

FUCK OFF WITH YOUR SHIPS I NEED MORE makixfem!reader RIGHT NOW

I'm just thinking about Maki as a silent lover.

She definitely took a long time to confess to you. I mean, you're the prettiest girl in jujutsu high — and quite frankly, in the whole world, if she was completely honest. You had a smile that put the sun to shame. Eyes that make her stomach flip about a hundred times when you glanced her way. Crinkling in the corners in a way that make your eyes squeeze into mooncresent shapes, her favourite time of day. You laughed and snorted when something was really funny (typically it's because Panda and inumaki were doing something stupid). You pouted at the most stupid things like a ladybug draped in a classroom (you were too adorable it made her sick). And you too incredibly kind — leaning in like that, tilting your head to the side at her when you asked about her day despite her silence, drifting away from the louder group you oh so naturally fit in and yet you're always in her face. Like a puppy to a black cat minding her business.

Yea, Maki kept her distance. Tried to at least. Silently observing you, loving you from afar. It was easier and yet so incredibly difficult when you're always gravitating to her too. Like the sun and moon.

You loved Maki. She was like a heavy protective blanket that felt warm despite her cool demeanour. Her silence intrigued you and better yet, when you got close enough, asked the right questions just to coax out her smooth, low voice, her words and thoughts intrigued you most.

Maki always thought she was too difficult to love. Tainted and bland. Rigid and sharp. The total contrast to the sunshine and softness you were in her eyes. But what shocked her was how you always had the space, time and energy to try. For her.

Finding her in hallways, seeking her out at lunch, tugging her hand along to trail behind the group, texting her at night. You tried and you succeeded in rounding her jaded edges, getting to her core. During her long and hard days of training and mission work, the sound of your sweet voice saying her name, whilling around to spot your beaming smile, twinkling eyes and excitable wave, God it's like cupids arrow straight through her chest and she's wondering... how'd I get so lucky?

So when she finally has you — her one and only — Maki is not grand gesture kinda gal, but she sure does try her hardest to show how much she loves you.

Maki is a silent lover, a woman of little words, but many gestures.

Sometimes it's just the small things.

When she's around you, in public or in your dorms, she's always got some sort of attentive eye on you. Walking in crowded spaces, she's always got a hand on your lower back guiding you through. Standing on a pathway, midway ranting to her about some incredible sale you saw at the markets you just left, Maki is pulling you closer by the waist, just a gentle tug just so the cyclist zipping by doesn't hit you. Lounging around in one of the guys' dorms, snacks and drinks everywhere, Maki is the one noticing you empty cup and she refilling it with you favourite drink before you notice it was gone. When it's your training days and she knows you're on the grounds till late, she's joining you at sunset even if she's beat and tired. She's not letting you stay out late at night byself, are you crazy? She'd always rather be there by your side, silently looking out for you whether you notice or not. Someone has to and if it's anyone, she wants it to be her.

And those are just the little things. A reflexive, comfortable routine she falls into.

When Maki truly gets to know you, know you intimately, understanding how you work, your quirks and insecurities, Maki is weighted with what dreary shadows her little sunshine has.

Late night talks, curled up on her bed, face to face. You play with the lint of her sheets as you murmur softly in the quiet twilight hour. You stare at where your fingers fidget, unsure whether to meet her eyes, unspoken fear of what Maki thinks of you as you tell her about your woes about being forgotten, replaced, as if you were only here for laughs and if you were to truly disappear... no one would notice when it's a little cloudy. Maki's half lidded eyes never left your face. Cheek pressed into her mattress, her short hair falling to the side kissing the edges of your sprawled locks, glasses pushed up close as her heart aches. Her love. Her sunshine. You really felt that way?

Her chest rises and rises, bubbling up with thoughts and rebuttals and proof to shut down your ridiculous, self-depricating, so fucking wrong, insecure beliefs—

and then one glance from your pretty eyes, so uncharacteristically shy and it's fleeting with regret, an apology slipping from your lips she'd kiss forever just to prove your thoughts wrong, and you're shrinking before her. Shrinking and shrinking and the sight snaps her out of her rumbling thoughts.

Maki's reaching out to take her fidgeting hand in hers, warmth blooming from skin to skin as she leans in a little closer, capturing your gaze in which she intends to keep.

"Don't apologise..." She whispers. Her light eyes soften under the dim light of her lamp, in a way so gentle and loving it was hard to look away.

"I get it." Maki confesses, squeezing your hand, the rough pad of her thumb gliding over your knuckles. "Ok?" Her voice is so soft, "But when you talk to me... like this? you don't ever need to apologise ok? Because I..." so soft, "I never knew you felt like that..."

The anxiety in your chest ebbs as she listens to her speak, her breath on your lips, her warmth like an unexpected blanket. A moment of silence stretches, both of your thoughts wandering, Maki traces the edges of your delicate complexion with her eyes. You nose, your lips, your eyes, the curve of your jaw, the softness of your skin — the map of her lovers face.

A small huff leaves her lips, one you would've missed if it wasn't in the dead of night and it almost sounded like a scoff. Before you could ask what, Maki's hand moves from yours to reach up and tuck a strand of hair carefully before her ears. Her fingertips grave your sensitive skin and goosebumps erupt down your spine, but you barely let it be known before Maki's speaks up, barely above a whisper,

"I don't know who would but... I know I could never forget a face like this..."

Your eyes widen slightly, and now your chest was tightening for a different reason. You stare at her, silently stunned under her unabashed touch, her fingers caressing your jaw down to your chin, the pad of her thumb gliding over your skin her eyes of mirth trail. Not with lust or desire but with affection. You've never seen Maki look so... unguarded.

"My pretty girl..." Her voice rasps with a love smooth and sweet like honey, "I could never forget you." She clarifies and her eyes meet yours again, softening as a tender smile graces her lips. She means it, every word. And you didn't need convincing.

Maki realised from that night that her little warm sunshine wasn't without her burns or cloudy days. The way you loved her loudly and proudly, Maki wanted to do the same. But with no need of an audience, just for you to know it, believe it and feel it.

Maki may not be one for big gestures or loud proclamations, Maki may be a silent lover but no doubt, she'd make sure she spent every day of the rest of her life ensuring you felt loved. Even if it meant protecting you from ongoing crowds, keeping your cup filled or holding your hand at 3 in the morning, listening to talk into the dark. She'd do it.

She'd love you till the day she has to take her last breath.

___

<3333333

I wrote this at near 5am... yea so not proofread :D

(y'all notice how its 'has to take her last breath', not 'when she takes her last breath' ? ... yea maki got that sacrific mentality. Maybe I should write angst for her too lol)

[twilght-talks]

“Always You.”

Pairing: Kang Dae Ho x fem!reader

Genre: Smut, roommates-to-lovers, pining, tension

Word Count: about 1.5k

Summary: You and Dae Ho have been roommates for a while—sweet, harmless, painfully attractive Dae Ho. But lately he’s been acting different: jumpy, flushed, avoiding eye contact… and one night, when soft gasps pull you toward his bedroom door, you realize exactly why.

Warnings: 18+ content, masturbation (m!solo, overheard), mutual pining, desperate sex, praise kink, dirty talk, slight possessiveness, soft-to-rough progression, reader walks in on Dae Ho, mild language. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Requested by my beautiful @takuma-talkz

You’d lived with Dae Ho for nearly a year now.

It had always been easy—too easy, maybe. He was the kind of roommate people prayed for: clean, considerate, always buying snacks you liked, and stupidly, unfairly hot. Not that you’d ever admit that last part out loud.

He was also… soft. Sweet in the way that made your heart ache. He’d hum in the kitchen when he cooked. Bring you tea without asking when he saw your eyes were puffy. You’d catch him talking to your plants like they were old friends.

And for the longest time, things were simple.

Until they weren’t.

It started with the silence. Little moments of hesitation—when your fingers brushed his reaching for the same bowl, when your leg rested too close to his on the couch. He used to joke, play it off. Now he just went still, like you’d shocked him.

Then came the looks.

He wouldn’t hold eye contact for more than a second. His face would flush over nothing—like the time you walked into the living room in a tank top and shorts, hair still damp from a shower, and he nearly dropped his cereal. Said he was “tired.” Fled.

But you saw it.

The tension. The heat. The hunger he was trying so hard to hide.

You didn’t push it. Maybe he was figuring things out. Maybe he didn’t feel the same.

Or maybe he felt too much.

It was around midnight when it happened.

You couldn’t sleep, so you got up to get water. The apartment was dark, quiet—except for the faintest noise you caught while padding past his bedroom.

A breath. Ragged. Shaky.

You paused.

Another soft gasp. Then… a low whimper.

You turned slowly. Pressed your ear to his door before you could talk yourself out of it.

“God… please…”

Your heart skipped.

Then came something you weren’t prepared for—your name.

“Y/N….”

Drawn-out. Fragile. Said with the kind of ache that made your thighs press together.

You froze.

He was… touching himself.

Because of you.

Your breath caught. You shouldn’t be listening to this. You knew that.

But you leaned in closer.

And then—just one tiny crack of the door.

The room was dim, but you saw everything: Dae Ho splayed out on the sheets, one hand fisted tight in his pillow, the other pumping slow under his waistband. His lips were parted, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile.

You should’ve looked away.

But your eyes were locked on him. On the way his hips jerked up. On the flush high on his cheeks. On the way he moaned—

“F-fuck… Y/N…”

The door creaked.

His eyes snapped open.

And for a long second, you both just stared—him wide-eyed and panicked, you frozen in the doorway, heat coiling low in your stomach.

Then his hand yanked away. He sat up sharply.

“Wait—I—I can explain—!”

You stepped inside.

“Was it about me?”

Silence.

Then—barely a whisper—

“Yeah. It’s always you.”

Your breath catches.

Something about the way he says it—like it’s not just a confession, but a surrender—makes your skin prickle. Dae Ho’s still half-sitting in bed, his chest rising and falling with shallow, frantic breaths. His hand’s frozen on the sheets beside him, as if he’s afraid to move.

Afraid to scare you off.

You take one slow step forward.

“Then why didn’t you just say something?”

He swallows hard. You watch his throat bob.

“Because you’re…” he hesitates, eyes flicking to your mouth, “you’re everything. You’re funny, and gorgeous, and you’re always walking around like you don’t know what you’re doing to me. I—”

“I didn’t want to ruin this.”

Your heart beats louder. Your thighs clench again, this time from something hotter.

You move closer. Climb onto the edge of the bed, into his space, and his whole body locks up.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you murmur, settling into his lap slowly. You feel him—hard, straining beneath you, twitching at the pressure.

You lean down, brushing your nose against his.

“You’ve just been jerking off thinking about me instead of actually touching me.”

His jaw drops—his eyes widen like you’ve knocked the air out of him.

“Y/N…”

But then his hands snap to your hips like instinct, desperate and reverent.

“Let me. Please—let me touch you.”

You don’t say anything. You just press your lips to his—soft at first. Testing. And when he kisses you back, it’s like a dam breaks.

He kisses you like he’s starving. Like he’s never going to get enough. His hands slide up your shirt with shaking fingers, thumbs brushing your ribs, and when you lift your arms to help him pull it off, he groans—full-body groans—at the sight of your bare skin.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful…”

Then his mouth is on your neck, your collarbone, biting softly, tongue trailing heat down your chest. One hand cups your breast while the other presses you down against him—grinding, grinding, until you’re gasping and digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Been wanting this forever,” he pants. “Every time you came out of the shower, or laughed at one of my dumb jokes, or stretched in front of me wearing nothing but those little shorts—fuck, I had to go to my room and lose my mind.”

“Then take me,” you whisper. “I’m right here.”

He loses it.

He flips you onto your back and covers your body with his—no more soft. This is Dae Ho unleashed. He kisses you breathless, pulls your sleep shorts down and tosses them across the room. His fingers slip between your thighs, groaning when he feels how soaked you are.

“Shit. For me?”

“Only for you,” you gasp. “Always for you.”

He curses, dragging his fingers over your clit in slow circles before slipping two inside—curling them, watching you unravel beneath him.

“So fucking tight… God, I need to be inside you—please—”

“Then do it, Dae-Ho. I want you.”

He tears his shirt off, yanks his boxers down. When he lines himself up, it’s shaky—like he still doesn’t believe this is happening. You reach for his face, make him look at you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I want all of you.”

When he pushes in, it’s deep. Stretching. Perfect. He moans into your neck, hips stuttering.

“F-fuck—gonna lose it, you feel too good, I—”

“Don’t stop,” you beg. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He sets a rhythm—slow at first, almost worshipful. But the sounds you make, the way you cling to him, the way you say his name—he snaps.

He grabs your thighs, thrusts harder, faster. Your back arches. Your moans echo off the walls.

“Mine,” he pants, fucking into you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. “You’re mine, right?”

“Yes—yours—Dae Ho—oh god, right there—”

He leans down, forehead pressed to yours, hips relentless.

“Come for me,” he begs. “Please, baby—need to feel you lose it on me.”

And when you do—when you come with his name on your lips, thighs shaking, body clenching around him—he follows almost instantly, groaning loud, spilling into you with one last desperate thrust.

⸻

He collapses beside you, still breathless, skin flushed, hair damp with sweat.

And then, in the quiet, you feel his hand find yours—his fingers lacing through like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m never gonna be able to look at you in shorts again,” he mutters, eyes shut.

You grin.

“That’s fine. You can just take them off next time.”

His eyes snap open.

“Next time?”

You roll over, kiss his cheek.

“You think this was a one-time thing?”

His smile—giddy, warm, wide—returns at last.

And just like that, your sweet, sunshine roommate is back.



A/N: hey my little monsters! Been awhile since I’ve posted a squid game fic right? Well now I’m back with motivation so expect some more fics this weekend!

Love ya, Twilight

Taglist!

@amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @takuma-talkz @sxmmerchxld @multifandomgirllol @gizaspicebag @truefandemonium @d-dilemma @lovestruck-sky

[angrybatart]

Finished! Decided against doing compilations because that just seems to make burnout and art block worse. Had a lot of fun drawing sunglasses on Timmy!

Somebody help Newb?

[cator99]

I always get detained at da border because PROFUNC never ended but basically I'm like if a targeted individual didn't even care

[yujisdreamgirl]

as the speakers blasted bass boosted music, you sit on the couch with a red cup in your hand, rationing the drink in it because you’re too afraid to go up to the bar alone.

it’s a bit crowded, your friends on the dance floor while you just watch other people rubbing up against each other. not an ideal way to spend your weekend when you have exams coming up but oh well, yolo.

you’re not much of a party person, well- you’ve tried to become one but it just didn’t work. not when it felt awkward to dance and everyone ignored you in conversations. you’ve never felt so unseen.

that was, until…

you felt the couch sink on your right side. you turn your head to see the one and only—“Most Popular” Playboy—Satoru Gojo.

you panic internally, why is he here?!

“hey,” you nod back in response to his greeting, visibly confused on why he’s talking to you—the girl he’s been basically in all of the same classes with since high school but has never uttered a word to?

“you here alone?” you hum in disagreement. he looks out to the crowd of dancers then back at you. “where are your friends?”

okay, now you’re really confused. why is he asking you all of these questions? is this a prank? “oh, uhm.. they’re on the dance floor.” he nods, then eyes your figure up and down.

“i like your ring, it’s from ‘Howl’s Moving Castle’ right?” your eyes light up, you definitely did not expect that. you stutter a bit before letting out a quiet mhm. he asked you to repeat it, and you just nodded. he smiles at you and suddenly you understand why every girl falls for— no, no. no you don’t. you’re not falling for this propaganda!!

“what other animes do you like?”

—

you step into the room upstairs, entering what looked and felt like being at an anime shop. blue walls, posters everywhere, displays of action figures in glass boxes… who knew this popular frat guy would be such a geek??

you spot various pieces of fiction, such as digimon, ghibli movies, 2000s romcoms, resident evil, and so much more!!!

“didn’t take you for a romcom guy.” he chuckles, sitting at the edge of his bed. “yeah, i don’t think anyone does.”

you hum then gasp at his displayed pokémon cards. “is that the pikachu illustrator?! how the hell did you acquire such a rare card??” he chuckles and explains how he got it, he’s rich obviously!

—

the night was long. the speakers still blare from downstairs, but you and gojo talked about the same interests for hours. this definitely wasn’t on your bucket list, ‘befriending’ the most popular guy in school history who also happens to be super similar to you??

in gojo’s eyes, he’s never met a girl like you. call him teruhashi from saiki k because everyone is all over him. he’s never even had a relationship or involved himself in hookups despite being known as a ‘playboy.’ but tonight.. tonight seemed genuine—like you’re not just another person who’s trying to get in his pants.

it can be tiring. despite there being people who would kill to be him, all he wants is someone he can settle down with for life. someone who’s not there for the money or the popularity, but for him. and that’s exactly how he feels about you. 4 hour conversations about films and niche interests? yes please.

his fantasy was cut off by the sound of a ringing phone—of course it was your friends. why did you have to leave the party just because they want to?

“i have to go, it was great talking to you though!” he grips the sheets as you smile, god you were adorable. he waves goodbye, sinking into the sheets as you closed the door behind you.

he’s definitely gonna search for you on campus tomorrow.

͙͘͡★ divider by @cafekitsune 🍡

[floral-hex]

So this is my thing now, I’m afraid to go to sleep. This is kinda bullshit, brain.

[cathnospam]

CW/// Bakugo is a nasty fucking pussy eater

Bakugo gets cute aggression, but he just doesn’t believe it.

He does though. Towards you.

Specifically when you’re cumming, you’re just so fucking cute. I mean look at you.

Your hips pushing against his mouth, the vibrations of his groans nearly sets your high to a new level as your ride your 2nd orgasm by his tongue.

you’re whining for him to stop licking, but when he does your big pretty eyes start to water, your lip quivers and you just barely above your breath whisper “Please.”

His red piercing eyes look up at you, sucking his lower lip, his breath his ragged on your clit before he latches back to suck on,

“Ssssuki!” You gasp, the tears began to flow, you just couldn’t help yourself each orgasm being better than the last.

When you begin to cum again Katsuki wants to feel you squirt on him, he pulls away and uses his left fingers to spread open your lips and his right 3 fingers to rub vigorously against your soft sensitive little clit.

“Ah fuck—“ He moans out seeing your left thigh twitch everytime his finger tips brush against that sweet spot, “C’mon…say my name.”

Shit he sounds so hot like that his voice is rasped and exhausted, you look down through your watery eyes to see sweat falling down his neck, eyes looking right back at you with desperation and hunger, “Say my name, c’mon..”

“Kats….uki…” You shut your eyes, all too overwhelmed you just focused your attention to what his fingers were doing to you.

“Say it again, you can do it.”

“Katsukiiiiiiii~” You let out a high pitched moan as he kissed your pussy. “Kats—“

He sees your hips slowly shaking again, you’re so so so close, and Bakugo smirks while sucking his bottom lip, “Feels good?”

“Mmhm..” Your brows furrowed, the lower half of your body feeling as if there were butterflies inside,

“Who’s making you feel this good?”

“You…aareeee, baby you!” Your orgasm hitting you like a truck you started crying out so loudly feeling his fingers scissor inside you, “You, baby! You Katsuki! All you! Baby—“

Bakugo quickly sucks on your pussy as you squirt uncontrollably, the fluids passing through non stop as your ride out your orgasm just made you claw on his scalp as he “licked you clean” groaning your name.

“Katsuki!” You whine, his tongue tracing his own name inside you after cumming, you’re so damn sensitive you try to wiggle away from his grasp but he was so much stronger than you he held your hips down. “Sukiiiii.”

“U…G…O…” He muttered to himself with his tongue out. You don’t know WHY he does that after he finishes eating you out, but you don’t complain. It’s kinda attractive.

He hovers over your limp, tired body, examines and admires the small marks he left on your tits before kissing your nipples, almost like his way of saying sorry, then he looks at you.

Fuck, you’re cute.

Right before he holds you he can’t help but soak in your face, it just triggers an emotion of wanting to hold you and take care of you.

Bakugo grabs your chubby wet cheeks and kisses you, so hard it almost knocks your breath away and pulls back, looks at you again a mf kisses you some more before saying,

“I’m a record your face when you cum. You should see how you look.”

Translation,

“You’re so fucking adorable it drives me insane.”

[unluckilyimnot]

Playing with their hair – aether, kinich, wanderer, rin, sae, sakura

note: i'm just in love with aether and kinich recently and i needed to write something with aether's hair so why not had some of my fav characters along with them. that's probably not really good but i guess it's cute. ooc

m.list | rules

Aether is used to your hands suddenly laying on his hair, running through them when you walk behind him – it’s like an urge, you just have to. You stopped on your track, bowing to kiss his head, inhaling his shampoo a little and hummed at the sweet scent.

“You took my shampoo again,” you mentioned, not in a warning way, more like you appreciate it. He nodded lightly, delighting himself from the feeling of your hands still running through his hair, scratching his scalp a little before kissing it again.

Sensing that you’re about to go away, his hands take yours gently and his head bent down to look up at you. “Already leaving ? We can both take a break…” he said, subtly implying you to not stop yet, making you giggle.

“Sure, we can.”

That’s basically how he ended up sitting on the floor between your thighs, watching a movie while you brush his hair for him, kindly letting your fingers run down his beautifully long hair – trying small, low buns to one high ponytail.

“Having fun ?” You can hear the smile in his voice, amused as always when he let you enjoy his hair more than he does.

“Always.” you said while kissing his nose from above, hiding the tv from his sight for a mere second but he still whines at you for doing so. Such a crybaby.

Kinich sighs as he feels your hands examining his hair again. “Would you stop doing that ?”

He knows you’re not doing this to annoy him, yet it always kind of stresses him to picture you scanning his scalp without any invitation to do so. He also knows that you don’t care about what he says, continuing to play with his hair while you swipe away some dandruff here and there.

“What’s the matter,” you talked back, seemingly frustrated. “You never say anything when it’s to help you fall asleep.” you argued, feeling really satisfied when he doesn’t find anything to say after that. It for sure helps a lot, he can’t argue with that, but he really hoped you could realize that it works all the time and not only when he wants it to – which means he was getting sleepy, slightly closing his eyes while he still had a lot to do.

A satisfied sigh escaped his lips before he could hold it in and you hummed teasingly. Your hands moved from his head to his chest, your arms caging him against you and you laid your head on top of his. “Tired already ?”

“Shut it.” he sounded harsh but he still rested against your chest as well, feeling at peace being so close to you. He wasn’t really tired but if you let him, Kinich would for sure appreciate some quality time with his head in your chest and your hands in his hair. Not that he’ll say it to you.

Wanderer honestly never mind when you ask him if you can play with his hair, he’s usually already busy and not moving so someone touching his hair while studying doesn’t change much for him. He won’t say that it doesn’t make it easy to concentrate since he, sometimes, tends to focus on this more than on the words written in front of him but he still appreciates how peaceful it makes him feel when he’s particularly worried or stressed.

Your hand running through his short strands of hair takes him somewhere else where he doesn’t need to worry as much, he likes it, even if he would never be physically capable of telling you.

“You’re braiding it ?” he asks, half absent in his question – he just wanted to confirm the feeling of your fingers brushing past his cheeks repeatedly. You hummed softly in response, leaving the braid dying the second you let it go since his hair was too short to handle it. It doesn’t discourage you though, and before he can ask what you’ll do next, he can already feel your steady movement back to the same scheme and a soft chuckle left his lips.

“You want me to stop ?” you asked under your breath, probably still concentrated on what you were doing but still caught his sigh.

“No, it’s fine. Go on.” he assured before stepping back again into his study, more than relaxing by this short break.

Rin loves movie dates to his core, but it always gets him when you start touching his hair in the middle of the movie. It's like he's never getting used to it and he's jolting a bit every single time, making you chuckle. But you always kiss his head as an excuse after. 

There's something relaxing when your fingers start to twirl around his short hair, making him wonder who appreciates it the most between you and him. Because he for sure loves it. 

His mind drifts away easily despite himself and how badly he wants to follow the movie. He always finds some way to lean into you, craving for more like a cat and more often than not, he ends up laying on top of you. 

“Don't fall asleep this time Rin,” you joke while scratching his head playfully. He simply nodded, absorbed in the movie more than you gave him credit for. He just didn't want you to stop.

Sae hates it when he feels your hands finding his hair in the middle of the day. He spends quite some time styling his hair in the morning, even if it doesn’t look like it, and you being nearby automatically becomes a danger for that.

Not that he doesn’t like you touching his hair, he’s fond of it, he wishes he could die with you touching his hair, but not during the day. So as soon as he feels it, he immediately gets up and warns you. “Please don’t.”

But he knows it can't be helped and soon your lips meet his, kissing him sweetly – your successful way to distract him – so you can end up with your hands reaching the hair in his neck. Twirling your fingers around it, pulling ever so slightly to annoy him but he still lets you. Not without a sigh against your lips, but he knows damn well he can't hold you back when you're determined to do something. 

He wishes he could keep his hair pretty for the day at least once in a while but he can't blame you ; both of you like it very much. He can forget his image for yet another day if that means he can appreciate the relaxing feint of your fingernails on his scalp. Even if lately it's starting to be everyday, he won't mention it – or not seriously. 

Your smile is more precious than some good hair day. 

Sakura still isn't used to you touching his hair, he hasn't been used to gentle gestures in his life before coming here  –  especially regarding his looks. The second your hands find his hair, he flinches by reflex even if he knows that it’s only you around him. He doesn’t turn you down anymore though since you always let him know how you love his hair, for the color or the fluffiness ; it’s just the best thing in the word and it got to be your boyfriend’s hair. You must be blessed. 

You still try not to frighten him too much, and start by touching his shoulders then going up to his neck and finally the hair in the nape of it. Twirling it lightly with your fingers and you’re sure to catch him snapping his head to you with a blush. 

“What are you doing ?!” he asked as always, flustered but not telling you to stop anyway which made you smile sweetly. 

“I’m playing with your hair ? You want me to stop ?” you tilted your head to the side, trying to act cute and confused so he doesn’t have the heart to tell you no. And with a resigned look but his brows still frowned, he compiled without adding anything.It’s a win, once again. 

You then slowly but surely brush through all his hair, tossing it one side to another, mixing the two colors together then separating it again like a puzzle. That’s something you grew to love, separating his hair for him and that’s also your best excuse to touch it even when there’s people around. Even if he’s not fond of it.

He tends to lay a bit in your hand when you do so, or when you stop your hand in his hair, quietly liking the feeling now that you’ve given him some time. Not that he’ll say it to you, never, but he doesn’t need to for you to know. It’s just like you to notice how he relaxes around you and when you do it. There’s a small smile on your lips when he tries to catch your eyes but looks away instantly, blushing again, and it makes you wonder when he’ll stop blushing around you. 

“You’re cute, Haruka,” you said, brushing away his bang to kiss his forehead. And without a second of hesitation – when in fact yes, but you tried to ignore it –  he was arguing with you about how he is NOT cute, simply proving your point again and again.

Let me know if you like it !

[vicorices]

˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚ lazy fucking violet.

18+ mdni, fingering, domestic!vi, dirty talk, afab reader, this is basically sleepy, lazy sex in the middle of the night, kinda sweet dunno, enjoy. // check out my masterlist!

nightime is vi’s favorite time of the day. the long summer nights that seem eternal under the barely noticiable stars in the sky, the lonely moon hanging high as her breathing collides with the back of your neck, holding you tightly against the planes of her body as silence finally fills the room.

two in the morning, three, the two of you have fallen in a comfortable routine where you keep on talking until you randomly look at the clock and shit: you have work tomorrow, vi has shit to do as well so the lights are out and she’s holding you beneath the sheets, cuddling as she tries to sleep, concentrated in your breathing, your soft skin and how relaxed everything feels laying right next to you, anything but your ass barely covered by the oversized shirt she can feel without seeing it.

“are you asleep already?” she cannot help to ask after some minutes, and you hum trying to make her shut up. “how do you fall asleep so quickly? it’s not fair.”

vi would love the talent on herself, but there’s always something: the bed’s too comfortable, too silent, too peaceful. her life has always been rough and fast, so she rolls in bed until her eyes close by themselves, hugging you tightly as a reminder you’re on her side, that her lone days are over — a reassurance that the thin duvets she’s sleeping in does not belong not even near stillwater.

“don’t sleep,” she moves you slightly at first, a couple of seconds until she’s downright shaking you. “baby, wake up. don’t leave me, i want some kisses.”

it’s been a long day. vi’s muscles are sore and you’re barely able to keep an eye open, but either way you’re putting an effort on stretching out to reach for a kiss, looking at her from over your shoulder as you purse your lips together for a quick peck vi wastes no time in taking.

and the thing is, it should be a quick kiss. should cause vi’s kissing you again and again until you seem to get the memo, parting your lips slightly to let her tongue push warm and wet against your bucal cavity, playfully touching yours as you are slow to return the kiss, allowing it anyhow. her kisses are so damn nice for a reason, when her hoop ring squishes against your own nose and she’s wishing to kiss you for as long as her breathing allows it to.

“vi,” you say, trying to catch on your breath for a moment as your cheek touches back the pillow again, resting — “i’d like more, but i’m just so tired.”

she’s smiling. even in the darkness of the room you can’t see much but you feel her, and vi does not have much choice here, not when she loves the sound of your voice betraying you cause you do want more, even when it’s impossible for you to move any muscle.

“it’s okay,” she whispers in your ear after a second or two “i know you do. there’s no need to move here, sweetheart.”

you’d call it lazy fucking cause it don’t take much to cum. a quickie even, a forty minute long session that don’t qualify as a quickie really, but it’s close enough for both of you, in your own terms. vi’s urging you to come closer, and as fast as you fall asleep you’re now on your back, laying comfortable as she demands more kisses.

her fingers don’t miss a second to spread your legs open, and suddenly it’s like she’s all over, making you move until she’s pressed on your side, hoovering right above you — and usually she’d have you back pressed against her chest on nights like this, kneading on your breasts, breathing in your skin, but she wants to see you. wants to notice your features, your pretty face distorting with the pleasure she brings in plain dark, kiss you as you fall apart engulfing your sinful sounds, whispering sweet words to drive you closer to the edge.

simple as that.

so she hates it when she gets tired too, cause fingerfuck you? it’s a huge fucking effort. stopping once in a while for a second or two from the sore feeling in her muscles after a long day, making you chuckle lowly between erratic moans as she touches you just right how you want to; she’s fucking burning at that point.

“i’m sorry,” vi whispers against your neck, but she don’t really mean it— “doin’ my best here.”

her digits force themselves at your entrace, coating them with clear arousal as she fills you up, curling as she happens to know your body, those points you enjoy almost too much, the places that make you giggle an irrevocably cum.

she’s doing it on purpose either way, teasing you. even when there’s this sound filling the room each time she sinks down and you’re awake as ever now, moving your hips against the palm of vi’s hand in search for more friction against your sensitive cunt, she’s taking her time cause sleep can wait, your needs? that’s different.

“fuck you’re so tight,” she whispers against your neck before you’re pulling on your shirt upwards, squirming against the wrinkled sheets to rise it above your tits, nipples already peebled and aching for her touch. even in the dark, violet notices the soft expanse of your bare skin colliding against her own, the smell of flowers in your skin as you recently switched to a new fragance. “greedy. greedy slut always asking for more.”

the words slur together as she speaks: but can you blame her? it’s impossible not to when her mouth catches up your hard nipple between her lips and her tongue, that sweet tongue of her’s, swirls around it, wide licks before her mouth closes around to suck, fucking you deeper with her digits buried in your pussy — and you moan, cause the motherfucker bites on your chest lightly, enough to send shivers down your spine.

she’s good at driving you crazy, every. single. time.

“there you go baby. always s’good for me” vi praises with a smile. “do you hear how wet you are from just a little kiss? gonna make my girl cum.”

there’s something about the dark, cause vi loves to see you, fucking you with all the lights on so she can see every part of you, your very own fiber — but like that? it has so many perks too, a lot when she focus on your moans, the roughness on your voice each time you pant her name, the feeling of your warm cunt evolving her fingers, squeezing them like your own consciousness is trying to draw them deeper, harder. it makes her rely on her senses.

“ngh-m’gonna cum vi,” your voice is so fucking soft, like you’re recovering from being dizzy seconds before saying it, weak as you move faster. you’re leaking on the damn mattress beneath you as your body seems to function on it’s own — and it’s all it takes to make the earth stop spinning on it’s axis, the rippling orgasm pouring like hot fire in your skin as a loud moan leaves your lips, making your brain melt away in your own system.

vi enjoys watching you come undone, the shaking in your legs as you reach out to kiss her, the messy and sloppy kiss you give her in plain ecstasy that’s nothing but teeth and tongue, roughly passing your tongue against her parted lips.

your breathing is heavy and god, vi wishes to turn the lights on just to see that fucked out expression in your face, the way your brows furrow as you’re sensitive when she’s withdrawing her fingers, licking them clean like they’re full of ambrosia and not your clear arousal.

your intentions are clear afterwards when you’re pushing your knee between her parted, invitating legs, leaving an invisible trail of kisses against the column of her exposed skin; that tattoo on her neck you’ve seen many times before now brushing against your lips — your girlfriend is a mess already when you touch her, needy as she grinds desesperate for her own release.

it doesn’t take much to make her cum either way, and when she finally falls asleep, you think that’s the fastest way to make her actually rest.

a win is a win after all.

[kismetlotts]

cw: soft love, soft sex, sexual content, mentions of rough sex but none at all, Simon cant help but get emotional, crying, cheek kisses, mentions of Simons military scars, soft touch, love, riding, comfort

Simon Riley who cries during sex- but not in a broken submissive way. Not because you’ve teased him, treat him and took him like the good boy he is. Not because you’ve made him beg and yearn for you so hard and so much he can’t help but sob.

No, Simon Riley who cries because no matter how humid the room is, how wet the sheets are from the both of your sweat and love combined, no matter how dark- lights on and off, only one thing comes to his mind when you settle yourself down on him.

How beautiful you are.

Hearing your murmurs, whines- moans and breaths. Hearing you ask him if everything is okay- if you were okay- if you were fucking ‘good’ for him. It pissed him off because you were perfect in every single way. Even when you accidentally gripped him a little too hard, or bit down or wriggled in a way that makes him hiss- every little fault and fail was perfect because you made it. And it made him emotional. Made him feel.

He’d try to be brave, to be calm- to shake and swallow down them emotions. An SAS soldier crying during sex? What an absolute loser! He didn’t want you to catch him like that, his large hand gently fisting the back of your hair before pushing your face down into his shoulder. Watered eyes, staring up at the ceiling as tears leaked from the corner of his eyes and dripped either side of his head.

“Am I doing alright?” You would breathe out to him. Raising your head from his shoulder while moving your hips to match his rhythm. The duvet to the double bed the two of you shared draped over your shoulders, concealing you both together. Together; the two of you- Simon wished he could live in this moment forevermore.

“Of-” He would start but pause as his voice cracked and lip quivered, choking back the tears that threatened to break. The dark hairs of his eyebrows furrowed in irritation as he scolded himself mentally. Throat was jammed, his heart a mix between bursting open and falling into his stomach. For once he felt vulnerable. He shouldn’t be acting this way- sex was supposed to be full of hunger and desire.

You reached your hand down, placing it over his own that fell attached to the skin of your waist. It was so natural to you, you didn’t even notice you did it meanwhile Simon almost broke apart at the gesture. Inhaling sharply and getting hold of himself.

“Of course you are. Perfect in every way.” His voice a croaky whisper and he pressed his chapped lips against the soft skin of your cheek. Kissing you with such passion and care.

The scars of his fingers brushed against your skin while he pushed your hair to the side with his free hand. The two of you locked like that while you both orgasmed. Skin to skin, chest to chest; his molten warmth flooding you with admiration and affection. It was real, he felt purpose with you.

Moments passed and the two of you would move to get comfortable, he’d move his arms letting you climb off of him before immediately rubbing his eyes clear. You wouldn’t miss the redness and the way his nose sounded all snotty as he breathed in; but if you were ever to ask he would just tell you he was feeling tired.

You couldn’t miss the times you heard a whimper slip that was a pitch to high to be from pleasure alone, the times you’d seen the skin beneath his eyes shine- of course it could just be sweat- however deep down you knew otherwise and he was fully aware you knew about his ‘tearful tendencies’. He saw it in your eyes as you searched his face.

You didn’t push him, though. You didn’t tease him or tell him that he shouldn’t be embarrassed. You didn’t try to comfort him and you did not pester him about it. You never mentioned it once because sometimes words aren’t needed to communicate. Dark eyes fluttering shut as your fingers trailed the muscles and veins of his arms, soft strokes against his harsh, worn skin: your touch spoke volumes to him.

You understood that, even if he knew that you knew, he didn’t need the confirmation: just the comfort to barricade himself out his head.

And that was another reason he loved you.

[heeseungsbunny]

shy!pogue!reader finally lets rafe taste her

shy!pogue!reader was so sweet & pure. you’ve ever kissed or dated anyone before rafe. rafe was so shocked but glad when you told him that you never even tried to touch yourself. he was glad that he could be her first everything and not some random weirdo, but he didn’t want to pressure you and scare you away. “are you sure you’re ready to do this”, rafe likes to reassure he has consent before he touches you. once you nod in conformation, he places his big hands on your thighs to make sure you don’t squirm away and sinks his head between. he immediately starts kissing all over your thighs and teasing his way up to your heat. you already feel sensitive and feel your stomach sinking in, making you feel nervous. once he reaches your core, he does soft licks and looks up at you to see your shocked reaction. he smirks once he does and he takes your hand & puts it in his hair. his hair was very soft but short so there’s not much to pull on. it makes your legs tense up when he started lapping at your cunt so fast it made your head. every time you try to squirm away from the nonstop pleasure, he lightly swats at your thigh to tell you to stop and pulls you back right into his face. when he hears you whining, he starts moving his tongue faster and even added his two fingers & curled them to hear you even louder. he noticed you arching your back more and chuckles, and the vibration in his voice brought you closer to your climax, making your whine even more. your rolls eyes back and fall on your back once he places his hand on your tummy, his hand is so big you could get off just from feeling his hands all over you. “you close?” he says looking up at you with eyes full of lust. “m-mhm, my tummy feels weird and i c-can’t help it”, the overwhelming pleasure made you yelp & form droplets of tear and you could barely get your words out. he starts to rub your sensitive bud and gives your clit a big, sweet wet kiss, sending you over the edge. he gives you overstimulated pussy a couple more soft licks to help you ride out your high and lifts his head up from your shaking thighs, “y’ taste sweet, sugar” he says grinning at you. you sit up on your shoulders tiredly, still struggling to catch your breath. you didn’t realize how good his tongue on you, especially your clit, you would’ve let him taste you sooner but it’s so tiring and you’re too sensitive that you’re surprised you didn’t pass out. just when you start to try & take the bottom of his shirt you wipe your juices on his chin, he grabs your wrists and puts them back on the bed, “come on, i haven’t even gotten started yet” he says with smirk plastered on his face. you were in for a longggg night…

[tedmustache]

Reader x Robby or Abbot your pick but reader who's dating Abbot or Robby who becomes a mother figure to the newbies, they start calling them Ducklings so that sticks, and Whitaker ends up calling reader mama duck, so she runs with it despite his embarrassment, so at one point spring the day reader yells our "I need my ducklings cmon over!" And the newbies flock to them and they give their ducklings a peptalk and jack or robby are like "fuck now I have a bunch of adopted kids:

Mama Duck

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Robby's relationship gets a chaotic twist when the newbies start following his girlfriend like ducklings... And the nickname sticks.

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

It started small. Quiet. Barely noticeable.

You weren’t trying to be anyone’s mentor. You just knew how to get things done and the rookies? They noticed. They started asking questions, following your lead, sticking close. You offered advice, snacks, and a sharp glare when someone was about to do something monumentally dumb.

And without meaning to, you became their mother figure.

You patched up Whitaker’s scraped knuckles after his third fall in drills. You helped Delaney remember his locker code. You lent Freya your hoodie when she forgot hers in the rain. One by one, they fell into orbit around you. Loyal, messy, eager.

They started calling themselves your ducklings.

The nickname “Mama Duck” came from Whitaker.

He didn’t even mean to start it. You were leading them across the yard, newbies clumped together, tripping over each other when he muttered, “Alright, alright, Mama Duck’s on the move. Everyone waddle up.”

You stopped walking.

He froze.

“What did you just call me?”

Whitaker’s ears went pink. “Nothing. It was a joke. I—I rescind it.”

You smiled, slow and wicked. “Too late.”

And that was that.

[...]

Spring Training Day arrived hot and unbearable. Everyone was tired, sun-drunk, half-melted. The newbies were flagging. Sloppy in drills, low on morale. One wandered off. Another sat down mid-sprint and declared she was “emotionally cramping.”

You clapped your hands, loud.

“I NEED MY DUCKLINGS! C’MON OVER!”

The reaction was immediate.

Whitaker nearly tripped over his water bottle getting up. Mel shouted “Duck Squad, ASSEMBLE!” and within seconds, they were all around you. All sweaty, breathless, and grinning like idiots.

You looked them over like a general inspecting your troops.

“Alright, my little disasters. This isn’t the day we fall apart. You’ve got this. Push through. Head high, water bottles up, and if I catch any of you fake-limping to get out of drills again, I swear I’ll revoke snack privileges.”

“Yes, Mama Duck!” they chorused.

Robby, watching from nearby, groaned.

“This is getting out of hand.”

You turned to him, smiling. “Jealous?”

He walked over, arms folded. “They’ve been calling me Papa Duck, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“For days. It’s a whisper campaign.”

You grinned. “Fitting.”

“Don’t start.”

Santos, still catching her breath, popped her head up. “It’s better than what we were calling you before.”

Robby narrowed his eyes. “Which was?”

“Stepdad Robby.”

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

Robby just stared at the sky. “Why do I even come here?”

You bumped your shoulder into his. “Because deep down, you love having a flock.”

He looked back at the ducklings. All of them looking like a mess

And then he looked at you.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’ve got a flock.”

You kissed his cheek. “Yeah. And I love you for it.”

[wosospacegirl]

Enjoy your treat - Alexia Putellas

Summary: Something about Alexia being a provider makes my legs weak.

a/n: Not really a fic-fic--more like a soft rant because I needed a break from studying virology (send help). It’s messy, unpolished, but full of love for the idea of Alexia casually spoiling you <3

..

Alexia isn’t loud about the fact that she makes bank.

She’s quiet about it, almost casual–like the way she slips a shopping bag onto the table without a word. You’ll be doing something totally normal, studying on the sofa, reading, journaling, and she just… walks by. 

Drops it. Kisses the top of your head.

And then leaves.

No announcement. No explanation.

The first time it happened, you stared at the sleek black bag like it was going to explode.

“Alexia Putellas,” you called, squinting suspiciously. “What is this?”

She appeared in the doorway, hair damp from a shower, brow raised innocently.

“You said your sneakers were getting uncomfortable.”

You looked inside.

They weren’t just new sneakers. 

They were handcrafted, limited-edition, in the exact colour you said you liked to wear.

A colour you mentioned once. Half-asleep. Two weeks ago. Sage green.

Alexia shrugged again like it was nothing. It’s never nothing.

She listens. Stores it all somewhere behind that pretty face of hers, waiting for the right moment to use it against you, with love, of course. She just goes around buying stuff and hides them away until she’s ready to give them to you.

It starts to become a thing.

The surprise bags. The quiet kisses. 

The no-comment luxury dropped into your everyday like it doesn’t mean anything.

Until one day, you snap.

You’re tired, high-strung from back-to-back classes, your laptop balanced on your knees and flashcards falling everywhere, when she sets another box down in front of you.

You don’t even look up.

“Alexia,” you say, voice tight. “You don’t have to keep buying me things.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Just watches you with that maddening calm of hers, hands in her pockets like she’s done nothing but breathe.

“I have a job, Ale”, you say, sharper this time. “A real one. That pays me, I can buy my own stuff.”

Did you work part-time on an internship that paid you half a living wage? Yes. Could you really buy your own stuff? No. But you didn’t want Alexia to actually know that.

Alexia tilts her head slightly, then speaks, very softly, completely unfazed.

“I know,” she says. “You work because you want to. Not because you need to.”

She leans down, kisses your cheek, and walks out of the room.

You look at the box.

It’s a watch. Sleek, elegant, and, when you look up the model later, worth more than your rent.

 Which you haven’t paid in six months. Because Alexia bought you the flat.

Yes. She bought a whole flat once she learned about the whole rent situation

You tried to argue about that, too. You lost.

Alexia’s love language is acts of service. Providing. Protecting.

If you are getting sick, she’s already called your doctor, moved your meetings, tucked you into bed, and, somehow, gotten your mom on FaceTime even though you definitely didn’t give her that number??

Your period starts? She’s already next to you with painkillers, the most expensive chocolate on the market, and her big warm hands pressed gently to your lower stomach. Like she could draw the pain out of you if she just loved hard enough.

You’re cold? She doesn’t say “go get a hoodie.”

She leaves and comes back with the hoodie—the one you pointed at online and didn’t buy because you were trying to be smart, trying to be careful.

You let her dress you in silence.

And she never, ever asks for anything in return.

You tried to talk her out of it. The gifts. The money.

You argued. You begged. Damn you even cried once.

And so she stopped, kind of.

Instead of new things appearing every day, you started getting silent deposits into your account. Small at first. Then not-so-small.

You didn’t ask for them. You didn’t use them.

You lasted two months. You didn’t use Alexia’s money for two whole months.

“Teimona,” she muttered every time she checked your untouched balance. “Dios mío, you’re so stubborn.”

But then it happened. 

The coffee shop happened. :) 

It was sunny. Warm enough for a jacket but not quite coat weather. You were both in sunglasses, fingers laced, laughing about something dumb when you stepped into the café.

You ordered (Alexia was the one who talked to the man on the counter actually)

Then you sat down and waited.

Alexia reached for her bag, then froze.

“Shit,” she muttered, eyes wide. “I forgot my wallet.”

You blinked. “Oh?”

“I’m going back to get it, I’ll be quick.” She said, already getting up.

“No,” you said, stopping her with a hand on her arm. “Stay.”

She frowned.

And you smiled.

A slow, smug thing.

You reached into your bag. Opened your wallet like it was a grand reveal. 

Slowly. Deliberately.

Alexia narrowed her eyes like she knew she was being played but couldn’t stop it.

“Don’t worry, amor,” you said, too sweet. “It’s on me. Enjoy your treat.”

Her coffee suddenly didn’t taste quite right.

You watched her sip it anyway, expression murderous.

You sat back in your chair, victorious.

And yes, you used her deposit to pay for it. And no, you did not feel bad. 

At least this time.

[starconchs]

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐒— bakugo katsuki

pairing: pro hero bakugo katsuki x gn reader summary: when aizawa calls and asks for a personal favor, bakugo is ready to expect the worst. genre: strangers to lovers, fluff word count: ~7k warnings: mentions of stalking, nothing happens, you take care of it notes: sorry if he's ooc, take this more as a character study. just a little test to see how i feel when writing for bakugo. description of quirk left super vague, literally just a mention of it being helpful. not proofread sorry ummm rushed too

When Bakugo Katsuki gets a call from Aizawa, he doesn't know what to expect.

There's a brief moment of silence when the call connects, and Bakugo feels himself tense slightly when Aizawa does not speak immediately. He's the first to give in, gruffly greeting his former teacher and being met with nothing but a sigh in return.

"Bakugo," Aizawa starts, his tone dull and tired. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, but i need you to do me a personal favor."

Another moment of silence ensues as Bakugo processes his request. He knows he can say no, but there's something about the fact that Aizawa— the man who has been through everything with him and his former classmates, fought with them and for them, and stood up for him when he was kidnapped by the League of Villains—personally calling and asking him that makes him hesitate before answering.

"Fine," he finally says, already thinking about how he's gonna tell Shitty Hair— Kirishima! he hears Mina correcting him in his head— that he might be out of commission for a few days. "What do you need me to do."

"Just show up when I tell you to," Aizawa says in response. "Maintain a high level of secrecy. Don't tell anyone where you're going. I'll send you the address. See you soon."

Aizawa hangs up before Bakugo can respond, and he mutters a series of curse words under his breath before tossing his phone into his duffel bag and leaving for his agency.

Three days later, Aizawa sends him an encrypted text.

Aizawa's text leads Bakugo to a fancy looking apartment complex close to Izuku's agency. When he knocks on the door of the apartment number provided, he's met with none other than Izuku himself.

"What are you doing here, you fucking nerd?" Bakugo asks, his words harsh and biting as he pushes past him and into the apartment.

"I invited him," Aizawa replies tiredly, trying to stop the fighting before it can begin. "This apartment and the other safe house are in the area that falls under his patrol route, so I thought it'd be a good idea to keep him in the loop."

"You're already pulling one of Japan's finest heroes off the streets for this stupid case, is it really necessary to get another involved?"

Bakugo turns when he hears someone new speak, his eyes narrowing when they land on you and an angry looking woman tapping away on her phone.

He knows who you are, used to seeing your pretty face plastered on advertisements and magazines throughout the country. You're a well known singer who dabbles in acting, someone he's tired of hearing about from the group of idiots he calls his friends. An irritated huff escapes his lips and he finds himself thinking about all the times he protected celebrities when he was still a new hero on the scene, and how they turned out to be nothing more than spoiled brats.

"You and Anya both know this case isn't stupid," Aizawa says patiently, shooting you an unreadable look. Bakugo waits to see how you react, studying you as you exchange a look with the other woman— Anya— and pull the blanket on your lap closer to you. Aizawa ignores the two of you, instead choosing to take the time to remind you, and reveal to the other heroes, what exactly he has called them there for. "There is a stalker out there following your each and every move. Do you understand that? And they've already proven that they will stop at nothing to get to you."

"I know," you say softly, your eyes never leaving Aizawa's. "But I can take care of myself. C'mon, you trained me yourself."

There's a moment of silence, and Bakugo thinks that Aizawa might give in. He's wrong.

"No. Hizashi and I have already decided that Bakugo will be keeping an eye on you for the forseeable future and he has agreed to do it. And Midoriya has agreed to keep an eye out during his patrols as well."

Bakugo waits for it. He braces himself and waits for the pettiness and childishness that he's seen displayed by other big names when they don't get what they want. He waits for the yelling, the waterworks, maybe even the sight of you throwing something at Aizawa. But it never comes.

Instead, you nod and stand before turning to face him, letting him catch a glimpse of the frown on your lips and defeat in your eyes before you bow deeply.

"I apologize for the inconvenience."

"O-oh! No, please don't bow," Izuku immediately says, waving his hands in an attempt to grab your attention. "That's not nec—"

"Don't gimme that shit," Bakugo interrupts, crossing his arms. His comment earns him a strangled noise from Izuku, but his gaze doesn't leave you. "Stand the fuck up and tell me whatever else I need to know."

He thinks he sees you biting back an amused smile at his words, but you quickly school your features before you let yourself fall back onto the couch. Aizawa lets himself settle into the seat next to you, a smile ghosting his lips when you reach for a mug of coffee on the table and hand it to him.

"It started a year ago," Aizawa begins. Anya walks around the couch, picking up a thick folder from the table and handing it to Bakugo. He starts looking through it, eyes scanning every individual item before passing it to Izuku. There's letters of varying lengths and pictures of you from all angles, accompanied by the occasional police evidence photo of what he assumes to be gifts you've received.

"I would receive sporadic letters, at first," you add, your voice tired and quiet. "We thought it was regular fanmail, y'know? But then things started getting weird. They would mention specific things that I'd do on my days off, or ask what I was making with the groceries I had delivered to my door on a certain day. They never signed them but the police confirmed that the handwriting matched, so we know it's one person."

"We assume it's one person," Anya corrects, earning a tired sigh from Aizawa. "We don't really know anything about them."

Her words cause you to furrow your brow, and you sigh softly before looking back up at the Pros. Bakugo's eyebrow raises when he comes across a hospital record for a Yamamoto Anya, and he angles it slightly to show Izuku.

"You were in the hospital?" Izuku asks softly, green eyes scanning the report before turning to face the two of you. Anya nods firmly but remains silent, crossing her arms before perching on the arm rest of the couch next to you.

"Anya's my manager, and my best friend," you explain, clasping your hands together. "As I said earlier, at first the incidents were sporadic. Then we went to the police to ask them to investigate. We don't know how, but the stalker found out and things started getting weirder. There were anonymous gifts being received to the apartment I have under a different name and I was receiving texts from an untraceable number. We still don't know who the target was, but the night of the Tokyo Music Awards, there was an attack."

"Wasn't that last week?" Izuku asks, looking through the file to find the corresponding police report. "It was all over the news. They said that some small time villain had attacked but that there had been enough Pros working security for the event and that it had been taken care of without issue."

"That's what we told them to say," Aizawa reveals. "In reality, it was targeted. We don't know if they intended to kidnap or to injure but things got out of hand and Anya was caught in the crossfire."

"The goal was probably to injure so I'd be easier to kidnap," you say, snorting in amusement when Aizawa sighs at your words.

"Who apprehended the villain?" Bakugo asks, unable to find the name on the police report.

"No one did, but I went after them," you admit. "I almost had them but they slipped into the crowd and got away. I returned to check on Anya and then Aizawa arrived and whisked me away. I've been here since."

"You were stupid enough to go after your stalker?" Bakugo growls, eyes shooting up to glare at you. You open your mouth to respond, only to get cut off by him "You trying to get fucking killed or something?"

A huff escapes his lips when he feels Izuku elbow him harshly, and the two of them turn to face you when you breathe out a laugh.

"Or something," you mutter, earning a swat to the back of the head from Anya. You grab her hand and toss it into her lap, only to turn and be met with a disappointed look from Aizawa. You wilt under his gaze, sighing in defeat and motioning for him to continue.

"The plan is to send you two to a safehouse, still within the city, while Midoriya and I investigate," Aizawa explains, pulling out a scrap of paper and handing it to Bakugo. "That's the address. Unfortunately, you can't just disappear off the face of the earth until we catch the stalker. There's still public appearances and interviews that need to be done, but you need to be hidden during these outings, Bakugo. We fear that if the stalker catches wind of the fact that we involved Pros, that might drive them to do something even more drastic."

Bakugo grunts in acknowledgement, unfurling the scrap of paper and studying the address written on it before glancing at Aizawa. "Can I show this to the nerd?"

He nods in response, and Izuku takes a moment to also memorize the address before nodding. The paper is gone within a second, a tiny, controlled explosion reducing it to ashes. Your eyebrows raise with interest at the display, and Bakugo meets your gaze with a scowl. It deepens when you don't immediately cower from his stare.

"The two of you should get going," Aizawa notes, glancing at his watch before standing and tossing a set of keys to Bakugo. You stand as well, taking a moment to stretch before plucking your cell phone from the couch cushion. You turn to Anya, giving her a smug look that makes her groan.

"You should just go ahead and cancel the rest of my appointments for the week. It would be unwise for me to go out in public before coming up with a surefire way to stay safe when out and about," your words are said a little too happily, and you nearly glow with joy when Aizawa contemplates your words before ultimately nodding in agreement. Anya gives you a scathing look, her hand tightening around her phone as you grin. "Let me know who agrees to reschedule! I hope no one's too upset."

The snicker that leaves your lips draws an unwilling smile from almost everyone in the room, and you swoop in to steal a hug from Aizawa before coming to a stop in front of the Pros. There's a bright smile on your lips that makes Izuku blush, and Bakugo scoffs audibly when you give him another bow.

"It's an honor to meet you, Deku. Thank you for doing this."

"Please! Call me Midoriya," he sputters out, cheeks still tinged pink as you turn and face Bakugo. There's a twinkle in your eye when you meet his gaze, and he feels a spark of irritation when he realizes that you don't seem to be intimidated by him.

"Well Mr. Dynamight, shall we get going?"

Bakugo's annoyance only grows when you manage to keep up with his quick strides.

No words are exchanged as you traverse the street, and Bakugo makes sure to keep an eye out as he opens the door and ushers you into the passenger seat, his hand pushing your head down roughly to keep you from smacking it on the roof of the vehicle. You slide into the car smoothly, buckling your seat belt and glancing around as you wait for Bakugo to get in. Silence engulfs the two of you once he does, and Bakugo finds himself reaching for his phone to play some music and fill the stillness. He feels a blush crawling up his neck when one of your songs plays, the new one that Kaminari insisted on listening to the other night when he drove him home after drinks.

A smirk tugs at your lips but you don't say anything about it, thankfully, and he finds a song he likes and plays it before taking off down the road. You're quietly humming along to the song he's chosen as you look out the window, and it isn't until you're halfway to your newly assigned safe house that you speak.

"I'm not, you know?"

That's the only thing you say and Bakugo makes a confused noise before he can stop himself, his hands tightening around the steering wheel in annoyance when you let out an amused laugh.

"I'm not trying to get killed," you clarify, earning a derisive snort from Bakugo in return. "I have a hero license, I was just doing what I've always been taught to do. Apprehend the villain."

Your admission catches Bakugo off guard, and he can't help but throw you a surprised look when he finally comes to a red light.

"You're a hero?" he asks, his curiosity winning him over.

"Mhm," you reply absentmindedly, still looking out the window. "Technically. I attended U.A., believe it or not, but I wasn't in the hero course. Aizawa and some other teachers trained me and he managed to pull some strings in order to have me take the licensing exam in my third year. He said it was better to have it just in case. Between us, I think he got even more overprotective after Nemuri, Midnight, passed."

Bakugo remembers attending the funeral after All for One had been defeated. It had been a deceptively happy day, sun bright and shining as the students, staff, and other heroes gathered to pay their respects to the fallen. He remembers a student standing next to Aizawa, their hand in his as he held onto what was left in the battle: her mask.

"She was my legal guardian, but she made sure to leave me under the care of someone she trusted just in case something ever happened."

And it did, goes unsaid.

Bakugo's left with more questions than before, but he refuses to give into his curiosity and actually ask. It isn't long until the two of you arrive at yet another upscale building, and hum quietly to grab his attention once more.

"Can I have your hoodie?"

"What the fuck? No!" is his immediate reply. There's an unpleasant look on his face, lips twisted up in what seems to be a cross between disgust and offense. "Why the fuck would you even ask?"

You give him an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow before holding your hand out. "Listen, call me paranoid if you want, but I think it'd be a good idea for me to hide my face as we enter the top secret safehouse."

Bakugo grumbles and curses as he slips off his sweater, pissed off at the fact that you were right. His anger only intensifies when he realizes that he didn't think about that first. You waste no time in slipping the sweater over your head, pulling the hood as far forward as it can go and slipping on a pair of sunglasses. It's only then that you slip out of the car, waiting for Bakugo to get out before heading towards the entrance.

The two of you head into the elevator, and when you reach out to press the correct button, you manage to catch a whiff of a sweet, smoky smell. You turn your head to the side as the doors close, lifting the collar to your nose to see if it came from the sweater or somewhere else.

"Are you sniffin' my fucking sweater?" Bakugo asks roughly, pulling your arm back down to your side. You let out an offended noise before wrenching out of his grasp, leaning against the wall and shooting him a withering look.

"I smelled something sweet and I was curious!" you defend yourself, tilting your head back slightly to look down at him. Bakugo feels his blood boil. "I can't believe someone like you smells so good."

"What's that supposed to mean!" he nearly yells, taking a step towards you. You don't deign to give him a response, instead slinking out from beside him when the elevator finally comes to a stop. There's no hesitation in your steps as you walk past various doors, finally coming to a stop at the end of the hallway and wiggling a key into the lock.

Bakugo trails in after you, locking the door and growling when he's met with a sweater to the face. There's an innocent smile on your face as you slip off your sunglasses, placing them down onto the coffee table before traipsing down the hallway. Bakugo starts his usual sweep around the space, making sure to send a text to Aizawa to let him know the two of you have arrived safely.

"Your bedroom is at the end of the hall," your voice calls out, earning a grunt in response. "Mine is to your left and the bathoom is across from my room. They already came and dropped our stuff off!"

Bakugo's eyes narrow when you walk back into the living room, a mass of fluff held in your arms. "What the hell is that?"

"This is Pickles!" you proclaim proudly, holding your arms out. There's a fluffy cat in your hands, and she lazily eyes Bakugo as she hangs in the air. Your smile falls when Pickles twists, jumping out from your hold and beelining towards Bakugo. "Pickles, no! I'm sorry, she's wary around strangers so I'd recommend backing away if you don't want your pants scratched."

Your words fade out towards the end of your statement, your jaw falling slack as you observe the way Pickles approaches Bakugo and proceeds to rub against him. She snakes in between his legs, meowing softly and pawing at his shoe as she waits for him to pay attention to her.

"You little attention whore," you whisper, your face twisting up in disbelief when Bakugo kneels down to pet her. He shoots you a smug smirk when she starts purring, and you feel your eye twitch when she lays down, exposing her belly. "She took forever to warm up to me. How did you do that?"

"I'm just the best," Bakugo replies cockily. "Even she knows that."

"Whatever, I'm going to take a nap. I can cook dinner later if you'd like," you say softly, reaching up to rub at your eyes.

"I can cook my own damn food," Bakugo snaps, his attention shifting to you. You breathe out a laugh.

"In that case, I think I'll turn in for the night. I'll leave my door slightly open for Pickles."

"Don't be a dumbass, you have to eat."

"I'll just get up early and cook breakfast," you shout, already disappearing from sight as you make your way to your room. "Good night Mr. Dynamight!"

"It's Bakugo," he grumbles under his breath as you duck into your room. A laugh is all he gets in response, and your room goes dark as you finally settle into bed. His attention is caught by small meow, and he sighs before picking Pickles up and petting her. She curls up against his chest, swatting at his hand and making a pleased noise when she manages to grasp it between two of her paws. He looks down at the cat, raising a brow when she decides to start gnawing on his finger.

"Just you and me hairball."

The two of you fall into an admittedly easy routine throughout the rest of the week.

Bakugo's surprised by how easy this assignment has been. He's used to stubborn celebrities demanding to be let out, complaining and whining and overall just annoying him until he snaps and curses them out. However, you're a quiet housemate, waking up early to cook breakfast for the two of you before retreating to your room for the rest of the day or lounging on the couch with Pickles. Bakugo takes it upon himself to cook dinner for the two of you, and whoever is in charge of lunch is always decided with a coin toss. He loses more often than you do.

Pickles becomes a frequent presence as well, and sometimes he wakes up to see the cat curled up peacefully on the pillow next to him. How she gets into his room, he doesn't know. When he emerges from his room in the morning with her gathered in his arms, you apologize profusely, your stare lingering on the way his lips curl up into a tiny smile when you take her from him.

You inform Bakugo early on in the week that Anya has listened to you, canceling all of your prior engagements and sending you an updated schedule for the next week. He squints when you hold your hand out, cell phone in hand as you prompt him to take it.

"Mr. Dynamight, give me your number."

"It's Bakugo," he grumbles, pushing your hand away from him. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"So I can send you the schedule," you huff, extending your arm once again. He obliges reluctantly, purposefully taking his time in an attempt to annoy you. You don't react to his provocation, instead smiling sweetly at him when he hands your phone back and sending him the file.

When you begin to send him memes, he refuses to acknowledge you for the day.

The two of you spend days successfully planning how to keep you safe during your public appearances, your combined experience making the task easier than you thought it'd be. Your first week back out in public goes well, and even though you know better than to let your guard down, the knowledge that Pro Hero Dynamight is watching you from a distance helps to soothe your nerves. Your routine remains the same for the following week, during which there is an incident, but it turns out to be an overexcited fan. You then beg and beg Anya to book less appearances until she gets fed up with your fake crying.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you hate your job," Bakugo mutters one evening while making dinner. "You keep brushing off all your stupid engagements and you won't have a fucking career to go back to."

"Good thing you know better," you say playfully, your eyes glinting with mischief as you approach him. Your arm brushes against his back as you peek around him, your hand darting out to grab a slice of the strawberries he's cutting up to eat with lunch. He's too slow to stop you, not that he really tries to.

He finds that his original irritation towards the assignment has faded, and even though he misses being out on patrol and taking down bad guys, he thinks that this mission isn't the worst. Or maybe it's because of you. It takes Bakugo weeks to admit to himself that you're not as bad as he thought you'd be. In fact, you're not anything like what he expected you to be, all sly smiles and snarky words and casual touches that he's too embarrassed to reciprocate. But he doesn't like you, no, he doesn't.

You like to think he's getting used to your presence, but his occasional aloofness makes you think otherwise. There's a part of you, the side that's trying to ignore the reason that resulted in being assigned to a safe house in the first place, that enjoys your time spent with Bakugo. You like the way he's so easy to rile up, the way he carefully plates food for both of you, and the way he smiles when Pickles demands his attention. You think that maybe, just maybe, you might like him, even if everything else about his attitude makes you think he doesn't even tolerate you.

But you're too preoccupied with your ongoing case to really sit with your thoughts and try to sort out your feelings.

Updates from Aizawa and Midoriya are few and far between, and although you and Bakugo have fallen into a comfortable routine, you can tell that he's getting fed up with the situation. His restlessness is obvious, especially with the news talking nonstop about his sudden disappearance and speculating on the reasons why Dynamight might've stopped doing his duty as a hero.

"How long do you think this will continue?" you ask one night, sneaking a peek at him and waiting for his snarky reply.

"I dunno," he responds, sounding defeated. He sighs heavily and turns the television off.

He watches as you purse your lips and reach for his hand, pausing when he instinctively pulls away. There's a brief pause before you take a deep breath and let your hand fall on the sofa. He glances at you, eyes scanning your face as you keep staring at the blank screen, and lets his head fall back and eyes fall shut as he mentally berates himself for his actions. You head off to bed soon after, and Bakugo remains there for the rest of the night.

The next morning is quieter than usual, and the two of you are eating breakfast when there's a knock on the door. You waste no time in prancing to the entrance, reaching for the doorknob before a large hand grabs your wrist.

"Don't open the fucking door," he hisses, pulling your hand down. You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head in an innocent manner.

"Why not? It's only Midoriya."

"What?"

You reach over and open the door with your other hand, only to be met with a sunny smile from none other than Pro Hero Deku.

"Kacchan!" he exclaims, brightening up even more at the sight of his childhood friend. "I'm here to swap."

"What?" Bakugo bites out again. Midoriya's smile falters.

"Uh, swap. Places, I mean," he explains, smiling when he looks back at you. "I thought you said he asked?"

"Asked what?" Bakugo growls, his hand tighetning slightly around your arm.

"Yeah! He did," you respond just as cheerily. Bakugo goes ignored.

"Hey! Listen to me when I fucking talk to ya!"

"Come on in, we were just eating breakfast. Would you like any?" you ask. Midoriya shakes his head and you promptly wiggle your arm out of Bakugo's grasp and usher them into the living room.

"What is the shitty nerd doing here?" Bakugo yells, fed up with the situation.

"He's here to take your spot! Remember, Mr. Dynamight ?"

"I already told you, it's Bakugo," he snarls, eyes narrowing as they fall onto you. Your smile is unfaltering and equally as sunny as Izuku's was when he first arrived. He spares a glace at the other Pro Hero in the room, taking note of the way he nervously wrings his hands as he studies the two of you. He doesn't excuse himself before taking ahold of your arm once again, dragging you down the hallway and into his room before slamming the door.

You take a moment to glance around his room, your eyes narrowing when you spot Pickles curled up on his bed, before finally meeting his eyes. There's a fire in his eyes that you've only seen before when he's mid-battle, reserved for situations where his anger is at an all time high. You meet his gaze evenly, and he seems to calm down slightly when make a questioning noise.

"What the fuck was all that about?" he asks harshly, his voice low in order to not be overheard. The walls are thin, he knows this.

"I thought you'd like to return to your hero duties," you say coolly. "Y'know, patrolling and beating up baddies."

"Listen, when I agree to a job I don't plan on doing it half-assed," he retorts. He wonders if your sudden encouragement for him to leave has to do with his actions night before… and the rest of the week. He knows it does. "You're stuck with me, sweetheart, whether you like it or not. So get out there and tell Deku that you changed your mind and that I'll be seeing this task until the very end."

You don't move for a few seconds, and Bakugo's eyebrows furrow in confusion until he realizes the way you bashfully averted your gaze at the nickname. The corner of his lip tugs up into a smirk, but he doesn't get the chance to comment on it before you start speaking.

"Your reputation and ranking are tanking because of this and it's not very fair to you. Besides, nothing has happened in weeks. No letters, no gifts, no suspicious activity. I'm sure it'd be fine to switch spots with Midoriya for a couple of days. And I thought you were getting a little tired of staying in here all day. Maybe getting out and seeing your friends would do you some good."

Bakugo takes a deep breath before closing his eyes. "I already told you, I'm not leaving you until this assignment is done. Go out there, and tell Deku you changed your fucking mind."

"Yeah, about that," you say, your tone of voice causing Bakugo's eyes to fly open. There's impish smile on your face, and Bakugo feels a sense of foreboding as you speak your next words. "I might've told him that you requested the swap. So really, it's you that has to go out there and tell him you changed your mind."

You laugh and head back to the living room before Bakugo can yell at you, smiling softly at Midoriya before heading to the kitchen to clean up the abandoned plates.

Bakugo groans and begrudgingly heads to the living room, dragging Izuku by his collar and leading him to the front door.

He shuts the door in his face and provides no explanation.

Things are different after that.

Bakugo makes a bigger effort to interact with you, spending move evenings by your side instead of keeping his distance. Slowly but surely you begin to notice, and you can't help but wonder if this has anything to do with your discussion in his room the previous week.

You try not to show that you're flustered when the two of you begin to cook together instead of taking turns, and you have to admit that sharing the kitchen with Bakugo is intimate in a way you never knew cooking with somebody else could be. His movements are always fluid, never hesitant, and you find that you fall into a groove when you work alongside him.

The space is full of teasing and grumbling as well, and you find that fleeting touches between the two of you start to become more common. There's the occassional hip check when he tries to steal a piece of whatever you're chopping, and the occasional hand skimming your lower back when he tries to get past you in order to reach something. You tend to go rigid under his touch, and Bakugo finds that he starts doing it a little more often in order to hear the way your breath hitches when his fingertips skim over your shirt. He's thinks he likes you.

You’ve had the time to sit with your feelings, all the swirling uncertainty and aching that you feel weighing down on your heart when you see Bakugo present you with a new dish or scoop Pickles up when she won't stop pawing at his leg. Bakugo Katsuki is so perfectly imperfect, and you think that there's no one in the world who is privileged enough to get to see every single side of him that he has unintentionally and intentionally bared for you to see in your short time living together. You find that it is much easier to come to the conclusion that yes, you do like him. You think you might even love him.

You don't get the chance to wonder if he likes you as well before it all goes to hell.

It's a few days later, on a sunny Wednesday, that you finally come face to face with your stalker.

"Alright, you have one more meeting after this and then we can get you back home," Anya says, hurrying you you of the building you were in and towards the car. You mumble something under your breath, holding your sweater tightly to your body to protect yourself against the afternoon chill. Anya stops by your side when you stumble to a halt, and you quickly grab onto her when you hear something approaching quickly. "What's going on?"

You waste no time in pulling her back, something— someone, you vaguely think— crashing into the spot where you had just been standing.

"What the fuck?" Anya whispers, taking in the sight before you. There's a man standing in front of you, close to your age and surrounding by dark tendrils. His sharp, green eyes slide from Anya to you, and he breaks out into a smile before taking a step forward. Anya places herself in front of you, blocking you from his view and earning a harsh glare from the man. "Get the hell away from us."

You quickly scan your surroundings for any sign of Bakugo, and even though you know he's close by, you can't help but feel a little anxious when he doesn't immediately show up. A movement in your peripheral catches your attention, and you tighten your hold on Anya and dive out of the way before one of the dark tendrils shoots out and incapacitates her. The two of you crash into the side of the car, and you waste no time in opening the door and shoving her inside.

"Stay there!" you tell her, motioning for her to stop trying to open the door.

"No!" she argues, her shouts muffled by the window. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Just trust me," you say reassuringly. Anya hesitates before nodding, her hands falling to her side.

"Stay safe. You better not get fucking hurt!"

You nod once, taking a glance to see your stalker getting closer before you take off in a sprint in the direction you know Bakugo is. You whip your phone out, sending quick 'SOS' to Aizawa before turning a corner. You don't bother sending your location, knowing he's probably been tracking you for years.

The sound of footsteps following you only spurs you on, and you try to think of a game plan to deal with the situation in a safe manner before you feel something wrap around your wrist. You come to a sudden stop when the tendril pulls you back, and you let out a cry when you stumble and fall to the ground, your knees knocking harshly against the concrete.

"I've been looking for you for so long," the man breathes, kneeling down to take your hand in his. You resist the urge to tear it away from him, conscious of the way the tendril seems to loosen when you relax. "I finally found you, we can finally be together."

You take a moment to study him, trying to gather your thoughts before responding. Your voice is light as you speak, and you lean forwards slightly in an attempt to make it seem like you're giving in. "We can. But you're hurting me, you know? You're quite strong, I can't believe I didn't realize it soon."

He takes the bait, retracting the tendril and almost glowing at the words that leave your lips. His lips part to respond and you waste no time in head butting him hard enough to send him sprawling. You hop to your feet, stumbling briefly when your bruised knees almost give out, but you manage to keep your balance and dodge the tendril your stalker attacks with.

"You bitch!" he screams, earning an eye roll from you as he tries to grab ahold of you once more. "I don't know why you're doing this when it's clear we're meant to be together!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you say under your breath, lunging forwards to land a hit. He defends poorly, and you think that his strange obsession with you has come in handy when he refuses to strike back in fear of hurting you.

When Bakugo lands on the sidewalk in front of you mere seconds later, he's met with the sight of your stalker face down on the ground, unconscious and with hands creatively tied behind his back with your sweater as you stare at him smugly. A tired laugh leaves Bakugo's lips and he wastes no time in removing the sweater, slapping on a pair of quirk canceling handcuff onto your stalker and moving to lean him up against the building behind you.

"Took you long enough," you chirp, earning a glare from Bakugo.

"I can't believe you were stupid enough to go after your stalker," he states, his words reminiscent of the ones he said when he first met you. "Actually, scratch that. Yeah, I fucking can."

"Well it's not like you were doing anything," you retort, crossing your arms. "Where were you?"

"I had it under control," he barks, motioning to the area around you. You take note of Midoriya standing on a rooftop, a couple of detectives scattered down the street as they wait for Bakugo's all clear.

"Oh!"

"What happened here?"

You turn when you see Aizawa approaching, eyes tired but alert as they scan you for injuries. You beam at him, pointing towards the unsconscious criminal before gesturing to yourself to show that you're fine, other than your bruised knees. "See! I told you I could handle myself."

"Yes, I suppose you did," is all he says before turning to Bakugo. He's caught off guard when Aizawa bows deeply. "I'm eternally thankful, Bakugo. You did a great job, even if it turned out we didn't need your help after all."

The last statement is said mockingly, and you pout when Aizawa shoots you a pointed look. You ignore it in favor of turning to Bakugo, bowing as well.

"I already told you, don't gimme that shit," he spits out, crossing his arms when you straighten up and give him a shit-eating grin.

"I just wanted to give you my thanks," you say, a teasing lilt to your voice as you take a step forward. Aizawa grunts before walking away, shaking his head as he goes. "Although I suppose that there are other—"

"You're safe!"

Anya's screams interrupt you, and you give Bakugo an apologetic look as she pulls you away, fussing over you and bending down to clean off your knees. You smile fondly as she shoves a water bottle into your hand, stealing one last glance at Bakugo before he's whisked away by the detectives to make a statement.

A week passes and Bakugo hasn't stopped thinking about you.

He wonders how often he'd get to see you now that he's not watching over you, grimacing when he realizes that he'd probably only see you at hero galas and community fundraisers that might overlap with both of your schedules. The two of you have exchanged a few messages since the mission ended, lot of memes being sent from your end that make Bakugo laugh, not that he'd ever admit it.

He's wondering if he should build up the courage to be more direct with you, to possibly follow up on how you could thank him and then ask you out on a date when he hears a knock on his door.

"Hey!" you greet him when he opens the door, bright smile on your face as you shove a bag into his hands. "I hope you don't mind but I got your address form Aizawa. I was thinking I could cook you dinner, you know, as a thank you."

His jaw is hanging as he takes you in, and you snicker when he doesn't respond.

"Hey, what's wrong? Pickles got your tongue?" you laugh at your own joke, and Bekugo snaps his jaw shut at the words, ushering you in and shutting the door behind you.

"That was a shitty joke."

"Eh, can't expect everyone to get my sense of humor."

He shakes his head fondly as he follows you into his kitchen, and you take the bag you previously pushed into his arms and place it on the counter. You look at him expectantly raising an eyebrow teasingly as he takes a step closer.

"So this dinner,” he starts, tone casual as he drinks you in. “Is it a date?"

"Do you want it to be?" you respond. Your voice is quiet and light, and he finds himself crowding you against the counter, arms on either side of you as he cages you in. You're vaguely reminded of the time the two of you argued in his room at the safe house, the only difference being the look in his eyes. Where there was anger that day, this time you see nothing but an unfamiliar tenderness, eyes warm as he mulls his answer over.

"Yeah," he says roughly, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you look at him in mild surprise. "I do want it to be."

“I didn’t think you’d admit it,” you retort. The smile he receives in return is almost blinding, but he feels that familiar sense of foreboding when you suddenly give him a coy look and wrap your arms around his neck.

"So... does this mean I'm... Mrs. Dynamight?" you ask innocently.

"Shut the fuck up," he groans before finally leaning down to silence your giggles with a kiss.

ty for reading <3

[geminiwritten]

photos ; tyler owens

fandom: twisters

pairing: tyler x reader

summary: you’re in a perpetually bad mood because you're in love with tyler and he's clueless, but what happens when you 'accidentally' send him some scandalous photos?

notes: two in one week?! that's crazy! but also i decided to write for someone other than bradley bradshaw (tg:m) because my love for him is all consuming... it still is, but i really hope y'all enjoy this little fic! it was so fun to write, and please, give me all the feedback!

warnings: swearing, very horny without being smut but STILL ONLY 18+ PLEASE, drinking, taking and sending of naughty pictures, use of tinder, text / message screenshots, italics, references to the movie 13 Going on 30, some pet names (e.g. babygirl, baby, darlin'), use of the word 'bimbo' but it is regretted, and this is actually pretty wordy but it kind of had to be?

word count: 7251

Lily flops into the lawn chair beside yours. Her dreadlocks are half up and she isn’t wearing the same clothes that you’d seen her in half an hour ago. She must have just showered.

She offers you the packet of gummy bears in her hand as she settles back into the chair. “So, who are we trying to set on fire?”

You turn to face her, dragging your eyes away from said person you’re metaphorically trying to set on fire. “Who do you think?”

She giggles, the packet in her hand rustling as you take a handful of gummy bears. “He’s so clueless.”

“He’s so stupid,” you mutter, before shoving the candy into your mouth.

Tyler Owens, famous Tornado Wrangler and your best friend since you transferred to his high school in sophomore year. You’re not sure why he took a liking to you when you showed up on your first day with untied laces and a torn backpack. You’d been running late and got your backpack caught on a particularly spikey tree branch as you bolted from your parents’ car toward the school’s front steps. You’ve always assumed he felt bad for you, so he offered you his friendship. But to this day, he maintains that wasn’t the case, despite not giving you any other explanation as to why he would have wanted to befriend the weird new kid.

“I wonder what it’s like to have everyone fall all over you all the time,” Lily says, her eyes watching Tyler with curiosity as opposed to your scorching attempt to telepathically light his hat on fire. Or maybe just the leg of his pants. Nothing too crazy, you don’t want him to get hurt. You just want him to stop talking to that gorgeous woman.

You blow a long, tired breath out through your nose. “I wonder what it’s like go after what you want.”

“Sweetheart, how many times do I have to tell you.” Boone appears from behind you, stepping in front of your lawn chair and blocking your view of Tyler. “I’m right here. If you want me, take me.”

You roll your eyes, a small smirk ghosting over your lips. “Oh, Boone. You see right through me. I want you. I need you. Take me right here in this chair.”

Lily giggles at your sarcasm while Boone blinks slowly, trying to process what he just heard. When a full-blown grin splits across your face and laughter bubbles from your lips, he sighs. “You’re such a tease, woman. Don’t play with my heart like that.”

Before you can respond, Tyler steps up beside Boone and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Boone, you sweet idiot, you can’t tell a siren not to sing.”

Your smile is quickly replaced by a scowl. “Siren?”

Tyler nods, turning the full force of his gorgeous grin on you. “Yeah. The beautiful kind with the sweet voices that lure sailors-”

“To their death.” You push to stand and cross your arms. “They’re also not beautiful, they’re half bird. And they eat the sailors. So, you know what? Sounds like they've got men figured out.”

You turn and stomp up the stairs to the second floor of the motel you’re currently staying at. You know you seem a little childish, but you can’t help it. How many years are you going to have to watch Tyler with those fucking buckle bunnies before you break? Granted, there aren’t so many actual buckle bunnies since he quit bull riding, but they’re all the same to you. Drop dead gorgeous women hanging on for a piece of the man you’ve been in love with since junior year.

After a hot shower and a couple of overpriced minibar drinks – three little bottles of various alcohols – you fall onto the motel bed. This place is nicer than most of the other establishments you've stayed at, and the deadbolts on the door are giving you a sense of security you rarely have. Half the time you end up in Tyler’s room because you don’t feel safe behind the flimsy doors of dodgy motels, but you’ve resisted the past few weeks.

You’re just about at your breaking point where Tyler Owens is concerned, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this best friend bullshit.

Your phone dings and draws your attention away from the Friday night movie playing on the small TV screen. You know who it is before you even see the notifications.

Your thumbs hover over your phone screen, poised to type but paralysed because you can’t decide what to say. Tyler is too nice and too fucking oblivious. You’re still too irritated to be nice back to him, so you sigh and smack your phone face down on the bedside table. You grab the remote and turn the volume of the TV down before curling on your side to watch the movie.

As the movie draws to an end and your heavy eyelids start to droop, a cold wave of realisation washes over you. The credits start to roll and you sit up straight, suddenly wide awake. Your eyes dart toward your phone, still sitting on the bedside table, and the bud of an idea begins to bloom at the forefront of your brain.

You tip your head and wonder aloud, “Is that a stupid idea?”

Mark Ruffalo was in love with his best friend – Jennifer Garner – but she didn’t see him that way until it was too late. Maybe you need to force Tyler’s hand? Make him see you that way. You’ve known each other since you were both awkward, hormonally challenged teenagers. You can’t really blame him for not seeing past your horrendous struggle with puberty.

You jump off the bed and strip out of your shirt and sweats, only briefly acknowledging the fact that the shirt actually belongs to Tyler. You open your duffel bag and dig right down to the bottom to retrieve the one set of nice lingerie that you own. You’re not sure you’ve ever actually worn it out, you’ve only ever used it for the exact thing that you’re about to do now.

After changing into the pretty lace set and double-checking the curtains are drawn, you grab your phone and stand in front of the full-length mirror fixed to the motel room’s wall. You’re no Victoria’s Secret model, but you do know how to pose to make yourself look fucking good.

You twist and move in front of the mirror, taking pictures and analysing them before taking some more. You move the lamp and switch the ceiling lights on and off for different shadows and effects on your body. You take off half the set and try the front facing camera for some more risqué poses and teasing photos. By the time you finally decide you should go to bed, you’re actually sweating.

You prop your phone face up on the small bathroom vanity as you brush your teeth and swipe through the photos. You giggle softly to yourself, wondering where you possibly picked up the audacity to think that sending Tyler some sexy photos was a good idea. Looking at them now, your stomach curls anxiously at the idea of sending these images to your best friend – you blame the minibar. Yeah, they’re fucking hot photos, but it’s also an incredibly risky thing to do. There’s a good chance he’s already thought of you in that way and just decided that he’s not interested. What if he saw the pictures and was actually disgusted? It would ruin your friendship and the whole crew's dynamic. You’d have to pack your shit and leave.

Your second thoughts and anxiety still don’t stop you from favouriting the best photos as you crawl back into bed. You can still use those pictures if you ever decide to get over Tyler by getting under someone else. You put your phone on charge and snuggle into a nest of pillows, letting your heavy eyelids fall shut. Maybe tomorrow night you can get drunk and flirt with someone hot and available, and then you can show them your sexy photos.

The next day starts like any other. Dexter and Dani use the motel’s communal barbecue to cook a greasy breakfast while Tyler gets coffees for everyone, and then it’s time to work. There isn’t a lot of promise in today’s blue sky, so you spend half the day at the motel before going for a five-minute drive to the nearest diner for lunch. You insist on riding in the RV instead of Tyler’s truck, but you regret it immediately after seeing his confused hurt-puppy face.

“So, where are we going out tonight?” Boone asks before popping a fry into his mouth.

Tyler shrugs, his green eyes darting up from his burger to look at you across the table. “Any bar around here that looks good.”

“There’s a decent place just around the corner from the motel,” Dexter says. “I’ve been there once before, I think. A year or two ago.”

“There’ll be a tonne of chasers there tonight,” Dani pipes up. “Truckloads of ‘em were pulling into the motel all day, and after such an uneventful Saturday, they’ll be wanting to blow off some steam.”

Tyler nods once. “Good. I need to blow off some steam too.”

You keep your head tipped downward so no one can see you roll your eyes. Yeah, you’re still a little mad at him even though he has no idea why. You know it’s stupid, but you can’t help it. Every time you see his ridiculously gorgeous face, your anger flares. Or is that just pent-up horniness? Maybe if you get laid, you might stop being so mad all the time.

Boone chuckles and nudges Tyler’s side. “Need a blow, do ya, T?”

Warmth flushes across your chest and creeps up your neck. Images of Tyler standing over you flash through your mind, his jeans down around his ankles and his thick length hitting the back of your throat.

Tyler chuckles, but it’s a little wooden. Strained. “You have no idea.”

“Gross,” Lily states, before pretending to gag.

Boone grins. “We’ll find you a lady tonight. Don’t worry.”

Dexter scoffs. “Like he needs help with the ladies.”

You swallow down the green-eyed monster trying to claw up your throat and finally look up from your plate of fries. “Is everyone done? Can we go back now?”

Although you avoid looking at him, Tyler is watching you curiously. His brows are pinched and his lips turned down ever-so-slightly. He knows you, and he definitely knows something is up. If you don’t fix your attitude soon, you’re going to have to explain a lot more than you’d like.

“I was actually going to go to the pharmacy in town,” Dexter says. “I need to pick up a few things.”

“Me too,” Dani adds.

Lily raises one hand in the air. “I’ll tag along too, if that’s okay.”

Tyler pulls his keys out of his back pocket and hands them to Boone. “Then Boone can drive the truck into town and I’ll take the RV.”

You frown. “And me?”

Tyler grins. That breath-taking, panty-melting type of grin. “With me. You said you wanted to go back.”

You roll your lips and nod slowly. Yep, you just played right into his hand.

The group stack their empty plates and gather their things before shuffling out of the diner. You’re the first out the door, dropping your sunglasses from the top of your head to your nose and gazing up at the blue sky. The buttery sun soothes your skin, and you suddenly realise that you can’t remember the last time you went to the beach. You might need to take a break from chasing soon. Who knows, maybe Tyler will kick you off the crew because of your childish attitude. Then you can go to the beach and enjoy sunny weather for once.

“Ready?” The man himself appears beside you, tossing the keys into the air before catching them again.

You don’t reply, you just nod and start walking toward the RV. The others call their goodbyes across the small, gravel parking lot, and you give them a lazy wave as you pull yourself up into the passenger’s seat of the RV’s cabin.

“You wanna drive?” Tyler asks, his southern drawl in full force as he stands in the open door of the driver’s side.

You’re already in the passenger seat, pulling your seatbelt across your body. “You know I hate driving this thing, Ty.”

He chuckles and hoists himself up before pulling the door shut and jamming the keys into the ignition. He takes a moment to adjust all the peripherals before turning the key and easing the big vehicle through the parking lot.

“So,” he says as he turns out of the lot and onto the road. “Want to talk about it?”

You keep your gaze fixed out the windscreen. “Talk about what?”

“Your mood.”

You keep your voice light as you reply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He rolls his eyes and presses harder on the gas, urging the RV to pick up speed toward your motel. The drive isn’t long, you just have to keep your attitude under control for four more minutes.

“Look,” he starts again, his hands gripping the wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “I’m not going to pretend that I know what’s wrong. All I do know is that something is wrong and has been for a while. You know I like giving you your space. We’re all so on top of each other when we’re out on the road, it’s important to remember that we all need a break sometimes. But whenever you want to talk, I’m here. You know that. I’m always here.”

You can’t help it. Your lips move before you can even think about the words that they’re saying. “Except when you’ve got a better offer.”

His head snaps toward you. “What was that?”

Heat blooms in your cheeks and your heart races anxiously as you see the turn for the motel up ahead. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is this all because of me?” His head swivels as he tries to read your face while also watching the road. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“No,” you lie. “It’s not always about you.” Fuck. You’re on a roll today.

Thick silence fills the air of the cabin, and you can’t let yourself look at Tyler because you know you just hurt him. He’s not a bad guy. In fact, he’s one of the best guys you know. But he’s oblivious to the way you feel, has been for years, and you can’t help it if your frustration is manifesting in an ugly way.

The RV rocks as it climbs the driveway into the motel. He parks in the same spot as before and you practically fall out the door the second the vehicle is stopped. You don’t look back as you climb the stairs toward your motel room. You slam the door and flop onto the bed, too frustrated to cry and too full of self-pity to think about apologising to Tyler.

You spend the rest of the day in your room. At six o’clock you get a message from Lily asking if you’re still coming out with them, to which you reply with a thumbs up. You’re not mad at Lily, but she at least knows why you’re in a foul mood. However misdirected your anger might be.

You shower and change into that lacey lingerie set from the photos, deciding that tonight it’s going to get its debut outing. You slide into a pair of jeans and your nicest top before adding a touch of makeup to your face and walking out the door. When you’re on the road, you don’t really have a whole lot of nice clothes for going out, but you do feel a little pleased when you see your pretty reflection in the motel windows on your way along the balcony.

“Why don’t you wear those jeans more often?” Boone asks from the bottom of the stairs as you descend.

“Because then you’d be too distracted all the time.”

He grins and offers you his hand for the last few steps. “I’m always distracted by your beauty.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “God, Boone. You’re such a flirt.”

He chuckles and guides you to the bottom of the stairs before letting go of your hand and walking off toward where Dexter is packing up some of the equipment he’d been tinkering with this afternoon. Eventually, everyone meets in the parking lot and the group decide to walk, because the bar is only around the corner.

It’s already pretty busy by the time you get there, but you manage to find a tall bar table that seats all of you while Tyler goes off to get the first round of drinks. Your friends quickly dive into a discussion about what the next week could bring and where you plan to go from here, but your eyes are glued to Tyler.

He’s leaning forward against the bar, a huge grin split across his face as a very gorgeous bartender takes his order. She has a smirk on her lips that says she gets what she wants, and by the way she’s looking at Tyler, you don’t have to guess that he is what she wants tonight.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and scroll to the last page of apps you’ve ignored for almost a year now. Dating apps. You’re not a fan of them, but if anything, they’ve helped you get laid. You open one and enter your log in details before adjusting your location and starting to quickly swipe through a few profiles. You know it’s dumb, and you’re feeling more along the lines of pathetic than horny right now, but you need something to think about that isn’t Tyler fucking Owens.

“Turns out I’ve been here before,” Tyler says as he drops the tray of drinks onto the table. “The bartender said she remembers me.”

Of course she does.

Boone wags his eyebrows suggestively. “The hot bartender?”

Tyler chuckles, but he doesn’t turn to ogle at the bar like the rest of the group. “I guess she could be considered attractive.”

“You guess?” Dani slams her drink back down on the table. “Come on, T. Your standards can’t be that high.”

He shrugs one shoulder and takes a long draw from his beer. “What can I say?”

Before you have the chance to roll your eyes, your phone vibrates in your hand. You lean back and unlock the screen, angling it so that neither Lily nor Boone can see from either side of you. Two messages from a guy name Owen. Of course. It couldn’t be a Jack or a Sam. No, the universe just loves making fun of you too much.

Well, that was easy.

You slide your phone into your back pocket before picking up your drink and draining half of it. You can feel Tyler’s eyes on you, but you ignore him. You keep your gaze fixed on Dexter as he tells an animated story about the last time he was at this bar.

The next time you pull your phone out, you have a few more messages from Owen. He tells you that he’s working late at the local liquor store but can meet up later, which you happily agree to – it seems stupid to pretend that you’re in this for anything other than sex. He then asks for your number, because the store he works at has shitty reception, so you give it to him and wait for his first text to set him up as a new contact. Who knows, maybe the next time you’re in town you could hit him up.

The night wears on and you continue sinking drinks to keep yourself happily buzzed. There are more chasers here just as Dani had predicted, and your group ends up scattered throughout the bar catching up with old friends. You manage to avoid Tyler for most of the night, but it isn’t easy. He watches you like a hawk, analysing every little move you make and practically breathing down your neck every time you slide your phone out of your pocket.

You tap Lily on the shoulder. “I’m going to the bathroom and then getting another drink. You want?”

She shakes her head and waves a hand. “I’m good, thanks.”

You nod once and turn toward where you think the toilets might be. You pass Dexter, who is chatting with a group of chasers you don’t recognise, and then Dani and Boone, who are giving a dramatic retelling of the last close call you all had.

You find the bathrooms and slip inside. You lock yourself in the first stall, shimmy your jeans down, and sit. Then you pull your phone out to reply to Owen. He’s polite, not too creepy, and seems to have no issue being honest. He’s telling you that he’s excited to meet up, because it’s been a long week and he really needs to get laid. You find yourself smiling at your phone as you reply, telling him that you’re feeling the exact same way.

As you wash your hands and gaze at your reflection in the mirror, you start to realise that maybe you’re a little more buzzed than you thought. Not that it’s a problem, because a little liquid courage always helps you out when it comes to one-night-stands, but you might need to start watching what you say. Alcohol can be a very dangerous catalyst for honesty.

When you step out of the bathroom, it feels even more crowded than before. You almost have to shoulder your way to the bar. Once you find a spot, you lean your forearms against the wood and squint to see what draughts they have on tap.

The gorgeous bartender that served Tyler earlier steps toward you. “Hey hon, what can I get ya?”

You try to wear a polite smile as you tell her your drink, but you can’t help feeling that it just looks twisted. She nods and starts pouring. You fish into your jeans’ pockets for cash before dropping it on the bar as she hands you your fresh schooner. The first sip is crisp and delicious, but quickly ruined by what you see across the room.

Nestled in the corner by the front of the bar is Tyler and some blonde bombshell who looks like she just walked out of a rodeo-themed photoshoot for Victoria’s Secret. They’re leaning on one of the tall tables, practically toe to toe, and she’s licking her lips as she watches him tell whatever stupid story he’s telling.

You storm back over to Lily with a scowl, but she’s too invested in her conversation to notice your renewed foul mood. You sit up on the barstool and take another generous sip of beer, letting the bubbly drink cool you from the inside out. Tyler is a grown-ass man. He can do what he wants, make his own decisions, and fuck whatever he pleases. You need to get over it.

After a couple of deep breaths, you’re feeling more sad than angry. But that won’t do either. You need to feel something positive, even if it is only fleeting. So you pull your phone out, lean away from the group of people chatting with Lily, and pull up your photos. Yep, those photos.

Your heart thuds heavily in your chest, your pulse ringing in your ears. This shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking, but it’s been so long since you’ve done something like this. It’s been so long since the last time you tried to get over Tyler Owens.

You choose three of your favourite photos. One is in the mirror, simple and saucy, showcasing the full ensemble. The second one is of you kneeling in front of the mirror, closer than the last and angled so that every curve looks a little extra enticing. The third photo is with the front-facing camera, the phone angled down to get your body instead of your face. You’ve taken off the top part of the set and you’re barely covering your nipples with one arm.

You’re not a vain or particularly conceited person, but you know these photos are good.

You squint and focus on your phone as you select the three photos and tap the ‘share’ symbol in the corner of your dim screen. It’s a little fuzzy through your beer goggles, but you don’t want to turn the brightness up right now, so you persevere. The share options fill the bottom half of the screen, and you carefully tap on the text messages app logo. A ‘New Message’ pops up, the little cursor blinking on the ‘To:’ line. You type carefully, O-W-E-N, and pick the contact that pops up. Then you hit that little send button.

The next few seconds pass in slow motion.

You look up from your phone and your eyes find Tyler across the bar. He’s smiling at the blonde, but then something else summons his attention. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and lifts it up to his face. His grin vanishes and his cheeks flush bright red at the same time that your stomach plummets. It falls so fast and so hard, you’re almost sure it’s fallen right out of your ass.

Your eyes go wide, and you can feel your heart beating in your throat as it tries to crawl up. Or is that all the beer you’ve drank tonight? You feel sick. You need to get out of here. Fuck. You need to unsend that fucking text.

“Are you okay?” Lily’s voice is distant even though she’s right in front of you, a hand on your shoulder.

“I, uh-” You slip off the barstool. “Gotta go. Feel sick.”

One glance across the bar has your stomach doing another gymnastics routine, flipping and spinning wildly, trying to expel every drop of alcohol you’ve consumed in the past few hours. Tyler isn’t with the blonde anymore, he’s weaving his way through the throngs of people toward you.

Luckily, you’re closer to the door than he is. You squeeze through a group of chasers who you kind of recognise, but you don’t give yourself time to get a proper look. You duck out the door and start walking down the street. You don’t want to run, you’re not sure your wobbly legs can manage it right now, and you don’t want to draw attention.

The motel is just around the corner. If you get there in time, you can lock yourself in your room before Tyler catches you. Then you can pack your shit and run. Like really run. Because fuck, there is no coming back from this.

You hear your name called out behind you, but you easily recognise his voice, so you don’t turn around. You keep walking, your footsteps heavy and your breath coming and going in ragged gasps. You open your phone as you round the corner, bringing up your text thread with Tyler that makes your head spin. You sent him those photos. Fuck. He must think you’re insane.

Your eyes narrow on the contact name ‘Owens’ with a little tornado emoji beside it. The universe is definitely laughing at you right now. You hold down on the photo message and look for the ‘unsend’ button. But there isn’t one. There’s a ‘delete’ button, but you know that will only delete it from your side of the chat. He’s got these photos now. There’s no going back.

He calls your name again as you turn into the motel. It’s not far now, you might actually make it.

You book it across the parking lot and start up the stairs to the second-floor rooms. Your fingers fumble for the key in your pocket as you approach your door. Your pulse is hammering in your ears. You don’t dare to look back because you know he’s close. You can feel it.

The key slides into the lock and you practically fall into the room. You spin on your heel and try to slam the door shut. It gets most of the way until a booted foot slides across the threshold. The door stills, five inches of light from the outside slicing through the dark motel room. All you can hear is your heavy breathing and the panting from the man holding the door ajar.

You close your eyes and steel your nerves. Maybe it’s time you quit chasing.

You take a deep breath and open the door again. “Yes, Tyler?”

He looks downright feral. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are wild, his hair is mussed, and you’re pretty sure his hands are vibrating in fists by his sides.

“What”– his voice is so deep, it’s almost a growl –“the fuck was that?”

You tip your head, feigning innocent curiosity. “Was what?”

His eyes darken and he licks his lips. Like a predator sizing up its prey. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“But I thought that was your favourite game.” You take a step back from the door. “Isn’t that why you’re always hanging out with those buckle bunny bimbos?”

You feel sick as the words leave your lips. You hate being a bitch and you hate that being frustrated and upset makes you one, but you can’t help it. If Tyler is going to have a go at you for accidentally sending him some photos, then you’re going to have a go back. Sure, your oldest and most important childhood friendship is about to blow up. But tit for tat is still important, right?

His eyes narrow and he pushes the door all the way open to step inside. “What are you talking about?”

You decide, for the first time tonight, to think before you speak. So you take your time. You turn and walk toward the bed before flopping down at the foot of it and bending over to unlace your boots.

“It was an accident.” You get one shoe off. “I didn’t mean to send those photos to you.” You get the other shoe off. “So, I’m sorry if your blonde friend saw them and freaked out. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

He pushes the door to swing shut behind his towering frame. “Ruin my night?”

You stand up, because he’s too intimidating right now for you to be sitting down.

“Wait.” His brows pinch and he glances at the floor before looking back at you with something fiery behind his eyes. “You accidentally sent them to me?”

You nod.

“Who the fuck were you trying to send them to?”

The venom in his voice startles you, and you rear back a little. “How is that any of your business?”

He steps closer. “It isn’t, but you’re going to tell me.”

You scoff. “Is that so?”

He takes a deep, rattly breath. You can see the muscles in his jaw ticking under the pressure of how hard he’s clenching. He’s so close that you can smell him. That intoxicating mix of fresh earth and cedarwood. He smells exactly like the dense air before a storm.

You startle again when he grips your chin, forcing you to stay still as he leans in even closer. “Babygirl,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning over your skin. “You cannot send me photos like that and then tell me they were meant for another man.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your eyes bouncing between his. They’re hardly green anymore, they’re black. His pupils are so blown, you can only just see a thin ring of colour around them.

“You think you’ve ruined my night?” he asks.

You try to nod, but his grip on your chin doesn’t let you.

“I’m gonna need you to use your words, darlin’.”

His southern drawl sends a shock of electricity right to your core. You can feel the ache building behind your hipbones, pulsing and growing and making you squeeze your thighs together.

“Yes.”

He chuckles, but it’s deep and dark and full of something other than amusement. “The only thing you’ve ruined is my fucking patience.”

You don’t know what to say. Your brain might as well be melting out of your ears as you stare at the hungry face of the man you’ve loved for God knows how long. All you can do is blink at him, wondering when you’ll wake up from this dream.

“Who were you trying to send them to?” he asks again.

“Owen,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper.

He raises his brows. “Who the fuck is Owen?”

“Tinder.”

He lets go of your chin and rises back to his full height. “You were on fucking Tinder?”

Without his face so close and his paralysing touch, you feel a little more in control of yourself. You let your anger simmer and soak through your body, reminding yourself why you took those photos in the first place.

“Why do you care if I’m on Tinder?” you snap. “And why the fuck do you care who I send those photos to?”

“I care because no man on this planet deserves to see those fucking photos,” he growls. “No one is good enough to see you like that.”

You cross your arms and scowl up at him. “That doesn’t even make any sense, Tyler. What the fuck do you want from me? Do you want me to join a nunnery?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but you’re not done.

“You can’t just blow up at me about a couple of stupid photos and because I’m on Tinder. Who gives a fuck? I’m an adult woman who can fuck whoever she wants, and you’re a grown-ass man who doesn’t get a fucking say in it! Why don’t you just go back to screwing every woman in Oklahoma and leave me and my personal life alone?”

You’ve never seen Tyler this angry. He looks like one of those huffing bulls he used to ride. His chest is heaving, his knuckles are white, and his expression is angrier than any storm cloud you’ve ever seen – which is saying something.

“Is that really what you think of me?” His voice is surprisingly calm compared to his demeanour.

You nod once, keeping your expression as flat as possible.

He cocks his head, his eyes challenging. “Really? After all the years we’ve known each other, you think that I’m just some man-whore who’s making his way through the state?”

You don’t reply. What the fuck are you supposed to say to that? Of course you don’t think of him as a man-whore, but you can’t exactly tell him what you do think of him. You’re not even sure why you’re fighting right now. Shouldn’t you just be embarrassed and apologising? Wasn’t the original plan to pack your shit and get out of here? You should be packing a bag and high tailing it out of this stupid little town.

“When did you take those photos?” he asks suddenly, looking past you.

You glance over your shoulder to follow his gaze, finding the incriminating mirror. You sigh. “Last night.”

“Who did you take them for last night?” His voice is strained, as if he doesn’t really want to ask the question but he has to know.

You look back at him, studying his furious expression and fiery eyes. You’ve never seen Tyler so worked up. He looks like he’s in the boxing ring waiting for another blow, waiting for you to punch him again so he can unleash another torrent of misplaced rage.

Maybe it’s time to surprise him. Hit him where he’s least expecting it.

“You.”

His scowl vanishes and his eyes grow wide. His mouth pops open, like he’s going to reply but there’s no connection between his brain and his voice box. He’s paralysed.

You gnaw on your bottom lip, watching him anxiously. His eyes are scanning your features, looking for something – maybe he’s hoping your joking? He opens his mouth a couple of times, but he still can’t find any words. You let out a soft sigh and decide that you’re already knee deep, you might as well dive in.

“It’s stupid, but yeah, I took them with the intention of sending them to you.” You let your eyes trace the collar of his flannel shirt, unable to meet his gaze. “Then I realised it was a dumb idea, and I didn’t. But then I was messaging this guy tonight and when I went to send them to Owen, I hit your contact name… Owensss.” You emphasise the ‘s’ and swirl your finger, as if mimicking a little tornado.

When you finally look back up at his face, he doesn’t look disgusted or offended. He looks confused.

“Why were you going to send them to me?”

You groan and drop back onto the bed, hiding your face in your hands. “Really, Ty? Do I have to fucking spell it out for you?”

You split your hands and peak up at him, but his expression hasn’t changed.

“Fine.” You huff and stand up again, ignoring the way it makes your head spin. “Tyler fucking Owens, I’m in love with you. I have been since junior year of high school when you asked me to prom instead of any of those other girls who were falling all over you. I’ve been in love with you through every stupid boyfriend I’ve had and every dumb life decision you’ve made, and I was so sick of seeing you with other women that I thought sending you some embarrassing fucking photos would make you change your mind. But I know now that if you felt any special way about me, you would’ve told me by now. So please, just let me pack my shit and get out of here.”

“Get out of here?” he echoes. “Baby, the only place you’re getting is in my fucking bed.”

Before you can even process his words, he swoops forward and crashes his lips against yours. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, steadying yourself as he kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before. Your head spins and your knees wobble, but his arms wrap around your waist to hold you up.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, giving and taking as he pleases and making you moan against his mouth. His stubble scratches your chin and your cheeks, and your mind immediately imagines it rasping against your inner thighs. You want to squeeze your legs together, but he shoves his thigh between then, bending his knee so that you’re practically riding his leg as his lips assault yours.

You can’t stop yourself from grinding down, desperate for any kind of friction to ease the ache between your legs. When your lips part in a whimper, Tyler’s tongue slips past them, and he tips your head back. His mouth devours every little moan and sigh as you continue to ride his thigh. His hands grip your hips, hard enough to bruise, and they guide you up and down. You can feel his belt buckle digging into your lower belly, and you can feel his hard length beside it.

“Ty,” you whisper, your lungs aching for air. “Please.”

“Please what, darlin’?”

You almost whine as he drags you slowly up his thigh. “Fuck me.”

He chuckles, his breath hitting your damp and puffy lips. He stops forcing you to move and relaxes his leg, setting you back on your own unsteady feet. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nod, suddenly feeling shy with him looking at you so intensely after that.

“Okay, but I’ve got a few ground rules.”

Your chest deflates as you let out a long breath. Here it goes. He’s going to tell you that this is a one-time thing, that it can’t be weird in the morning, and that you can’t tell anyone else about it. You feel a little stupid for believing that he would kiss you for any other reason than the fact that he’s horny. You ruined his shot with that blonde bombshell and then sent him those photos, of course he’s horny. It doesn’t matter that you just laid yourself fucking bare. He probably wasn’t even listening to all that. You told him you’re in love with him and he told you to get into his bed. He either didn’t hear you or doesn’t give a shit.

“Hey.” He grips your chin again and forces you to look up at him, at those smouldering eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

You blink twice, unsure what to say.

“Rule number one-”

“Ty-”

He kisses you again, but it’s only quick. “No, let me finish. You had that whole speech before, so it’s my turn.”

You can’t nod because he’s still holding your chin, so you roll lips and wait.

“Good.” He lets go of your chin and puts a hand on each of your shoulders. “Rule number one is that no other person can ever see those fucking photos, you got it?”

You nod, and then he pushes you gently so that you’re sitting on the bed.

“Rule number two, you’re going to send me every single one of those photos that you took.”

Your brows pinch together, and he wedges a leg between your knees to push them apart.

“Rule number three, you’re mine now. Only mine.” He steps in between your legs and cups your head in both hands. “No more Tinder, no more bullshit. I’m the only one that gets to look at you and touch you, and I’m sure and shit the only one who gets to love you. You got that?”

Your mouth parts and he runs his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. “You love me?”

He grins. That breath-taking, panty-melting type of grin. “Since the first day you ran into class late. Your hair was all windswept and your cheeks were all red. You looked like you’d just fallen from fucking heaven.”

You can’t help the very unladylike snort of laughter that comes out of you. “Tyler, that is the lamest thing you’ve ever said.”

“But it worked. You’re smiling for the first time in who knows how long.”

He leans down and presses his lips against yours again, but this time it’s gentle. He urges forward and you slowly pull yourself further up the bed, being careful not to let your lips leave his. He crawls on top of you, placing a knee on either side of your thighs where you now lay beneath him.

“I think I’m going to have a hard time not smiling now,” you murmur against his mouth.

He pulls back and hits you with the full force of that gorgeous smirk as he holds himself over you on all fours. “You’re gonna have a hard time not screaming my name in a minute.”

You mirror him with your own cocky grin and press your palm against his hard length, restrained in his jeans. “You sure about that.”

He eyelids flutter shut and his lips pop open, a soft sigh escaping them. When he looks back down at you with dark, hungry eyes, you can feel your own arousal soaking through your panties.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

END.