#know when to bow out gracefully

[ndostairlyrium]

Aw I was wrong

But La Cate being badass was a treat u-u

[bunnishauntedhill]

MDNI 18+

simon helping your aching heart with his aching cock !

{wc : 2k} simon is a bit of a meani :(

it wasn’t a surprise, not a shock to your core that you had expected. not the same overbearing despair of when your mother left the ground, or even when your first puppy came to join her. more of a relief. fresh breath of air that your lungs had been begging your weak body for. he was gone, down in the ground, six feet deep, hands finally releasing its tight grip on the glass bottle.

the funeral was a breeze. it felt nice. relatives sobbed like they were close with him. they didn’t know how he charged towards you behind closed doors—how you would be on your bruised knees, desperately trying to clean up the broken shards of glass that he had broken. having to look over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t risen off the floorboards he had passed out on.

yet, despite your fathers antics—you visited. you gracefully set down flowers on his grave that were supposed to be a bouquet you would carry down the isle, arm hooked with his. soon they would be shriveled up and you’d come around like you had to—like it was your duty, making another delivery to his headstone. if no one else did it, he’d be forgotten, and you couldn’t come to terms with whether you’d want that or not.

“still bringing posies i see.” it’s gruff, and you recognize it easily. his voice was reassuring, but you wouldn’t let yourself be pliant in it, to bask in it. you were bowed in front of your fathers name, as if he deserved the treatment. simon wanted to take that from your father. you being a good pup for him instead. “it’s not gonna go away easily just because you act like you don’t give a shit.” the grass next to you withers underneath the weight of his heavy knees, but to you it felt like the earth shook.

you let out a breath. “you don’t know that.” your tone is sharp, words eager to leave your mouth and you don’t care to control the anger in them. you’re closed in, shoulders crunching together solemnly, a shield to protect yourself. it was built nicely and with care, took years to get to its full potential.

sooner or later you’d crack, realizing your deadbeat dad was set out in the ground and left to rot. and simon was sure of that. dark eyes peering over you, you felt them. he could easily get under your skin and plant himself there, but he never took that advantage to his use yet. it’s been thought about, resting in the crook of his brain that dark memories settled coldly.

“never taught ya how to ride a bicycle, how to tie your own shoes, how to do your math homework. did he?” you waited for his words to go in one ear and out the other but it stuck right in the center of your brain. mocking. and simon did it well.

“wasn’t there for ya first day of middle school. wasn’t there when you got your first car. didn’t give a shit about prom, or your first boyfriend and when the scumbag left when the pureness was fucked right out of you.” you flinch.

simon watches you like you’re his prey, to see how you would fold. how you would crumble and roll over into his arms, away from the man below them. watching as your tightly knit shell unraveled and laid out for him to tear apart even more—and then sew it back together again. to become that new higher figure for you to go to. that shoulder to lean on.

your mouth is wired shut, teeth running across the fronts, waiting to be pried open and let out some harsh thoughts, to prove he was wrong—defend your father who had nothing worth defending. but you had none to give. you couldn’t. simon was there for all those events. the special ones that should’ve been photographed. when you’re dad was knocked out cold on the couch, simon was on the front porch watching you like you were his own. simon acted as that overprotective father when your prom date arrived, eyes low and prowling, ready to rip of the boys head if he dared touch you the wrong way.

“your father sure is somethin.” you didn’t make the move to correct your date that he wasn’t your father—you two weren’t even related. but it didn’t feel necessary to tell that fact. would it really be all that untrue? simon was that father figure you needed. he was gentle. firm but encouraging. all he wanted was the best for you—make you come out a bit better than you would if he wasn’t around.

that or maybe he wanted to be the owner of you. make you bow down to him just like you were now at your fathers grave. make you need him. and in return he could lick up your tears and kiss down on your cheeks with mock care. cooing sweetly before managing to press his lips against your soft, pouty ones just to be able to stick his tongue down deep and rough later. he didn’t care about your well-being, just how far he could make you go until you caved in, to let him indulge in his cravings.

the tears that refused to come out at the ceremony ran loose as it all settled into the nook of your skull. simon knew he had you now. his lips tighten in a straight line in a way to seem distressed by your behavior, eyes holding mock pity but you saw it as sympathy. saw a person that cared, that was willing to take you under his wing—like he always had. simon kept you safe and tucked in his arms, to comfort you from both the situation and the cold that started to creep up your arms as night settled in. you had caved. pliant in his strong arms scarred from stories he swore to never tell you—and he was firm on that. to keep you unaware of the harm he could do. to keep you thinking he was your savior, the only one you could rely on.

the cloth of his black t was stained with your salty tears, he knew what they would taste like. he’d imagine countless times before—darting his tongue out to draaag the roughness down your cheek, receiving a pathetic whine of displeasure from you. maybe even a little shove to get him away, only for him to drive you back into his bulk, forcing you to let him clean you up.

he’d like to see you squirm—propping you up in his lap so you could feel his very noteworthy bulge resting against the skin of your thigh. get you all warm and comfortable with his hard, make you wet enough—that you would give into the intensity of the throbbing sensation in between your legs. make you needy. not for some silly boy—or even the need to be comforted by your father. but for him. for his comfort. for his body, for his cock. have you mewling for it, foaming at the mouth like a little puppy dog. scratching against his chest, as if it would hurt him. as if it could make him give in.

he was trained to not give into his desires, his dirty fantasies he’d been having since you were in highschool. he was able to wait—and he’d wait until you were begging, sobbing for some sort of relief. make you grieve over it, your cunt soppy from ceaselessly grinding against the clothed bulge, already imagining it stuffing you full. keep you from needing any kind of meal.

and now he wouldn’t have to imagine.

his cock was wrapped snuggly in your tight hole, warm and just so pleasant. the warmth of your pussy making him go a bit hazy, eyes barley open but the smug look on his lips was clear. though, you couldn’t see it for your face was buried deep, deep into the crook of his neck. hiding your face, the shame of being seated on your father’s friends lap. right in front of his grave. ashamed that it felt so good—but so disgusting.

your tears were hot. simon found them hot. falling on his neck making him grip your hips with an unknown amount of pressure you had ever felt before—it made you squeak. your tears made him hard—making him want to fuck you hard, enough for you to loose consciousness, enough to make you sob, to cum right into that tight little hole that had only been fucked once.

simon saw the guilt—chagrin on your face. god he loved it. “dirty girl.” he purred, mouth pressed against your ear, breathing heavily into it. “sittin on my cock—right next to daddy, huh? and just so worked up for me.” your pussy quenched around him, sucking him into your sloppy folds.

you shook your head—trying to defend yourself. make a practical excuse that you wanted to make yourself believe. “please—please don’t s-say that.” you’re shaking, hands trembling as they grab his wide shoulders for some sort of support.

“why, afraid he’s listening?” his laugh his predatory—mocking. he got you on his cock so comfort was needed no more from his part. though, he couldn’t help his thumbs from rubbing small circles on the sides of your hips, the slightest bit of comfort in the pain you were facing.

simon was huge, thick and girthy, more than enough to fill you up to the brim, leaving his oozing, pink tip brushing against that sweet spot that hadn’t been touched effectively before.

he sighs deeply, “ya know…he probably is listenin. looking down—or may i say up—at us. cursing me, cursing you for being such a filthy, nasty girl. a whore as his daughter.” his mouth his pressed firmly on your cheek as he speaks, forcing you to listen and take it. “thinking where he went wrong. alcoholic tendencies is my guess.”

you couldn’t help but feel your slick run down your thigh, bouncing with little strength you had with moans that made him chuckle lowly. his words were so cruel, hitting your heart but hitting your cunt deeper. “come on darling. gotta apologize to daddy for being such a dirty whore.” he muffles. a sharp spank to your ass makes you jump with a whimper, pussy quivering around him.

“i…i’m sorry, daddy!” you squeal. tears rolling down your eyes like a little babi. so cute. you feel his hands grip you tighter if it was even possible—slamming you down on his cock, making you cry out with a mixture of pain and pleasure. “i said i was sorry! i’m so, so sorry.”

simon’s heavy pointer lazily circles down to your clit, his movements softer but anxiously slow. “sorry about what? be specific, darling.” he feels your hips jerk forward in attempt to get more out of him, causing another sharp spank to your other ass cheek, and gently massaging the reddened skin afterward.

“i’m sorry for being—being a d-dirty, whore! i’m sorry for disappointing daddy.” your plea is whiny, your clit aching for more stimulation. eyes are strained—everything is. tight and wanting permission to let loose.

“don’t just say it to me. say it to him.” his chin nods to the headstone just a few feet away. you could practically smell his rotting corpse melting in the dirt, making you queasy. mortified, eyes shaking from left to right. you wanted to ask if it was necessary—to lock eyes with something that would make you feel so much more than shame. but the look on simons face was firm.

your head turns and locks eyes with your father name engraved on the stone, barely visible from the lack of light left in the sky. “i am so sorry daddy. im sorry for being a filthy whore—for sitting on s-simons cock.” the words are slurred and easily fall from your lips. and you’re rewarded with his fingers moving the slightest bit faster on your clit, simultaneously moving you up and down his cock.

“there ya go, sweetheart.” he drawls quietly, lips pressing a soft, sticky kiss to your forehead and then to your collarbone. “thats a good girl, ain’t it?” his brows are furrowed, breaths a bit ragged now. your movements hasty, grinding to get his dick to hit just the right spot. “gonna fuck you nasty right on my cock—don’t worry, i’m sure daddy will understand.”

➽───────❥ masterlist . . . navi

[kimkaelyn]

Ditto [s. todoroki]

𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾���𝒹𝓁𝑒, 𝐿𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒, 𝒟𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓃𝑜 𝓇𝒾𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒, 𝒮𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉, 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀, 𝑜𝒽 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑜 — 𝒟𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑜, 𝒩𝑒𝓌𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓈

→ summary: when you transferred to U.A., you didn't anticipate slipping on a pair of chopsticks in the middle of the crowded cafeteria during your first week. however, what was more surprising was the unexpected fall for the boy who gracefully caught you.

→ pairing: shouto todoroki x fem!reader

→ genre: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers

→ word count: 13.1k

→ warnings & tags: sfw, female pronouns are used, usage of y/n l/n, Class 1-A are now third-year students aka 18+, swearing, the usual U.A. chaos, reader has a Quirk, misunderstandings, some training violence, minor injuries, mentions and discussions of insecurities, aizawa briefly belittles the reader as a form of motivation, beginnings of a panic attack but it's cut short, there is one instance of the reader appearing to be ‘flushed’ in regards to a fever, since this is my first bnha fic some characters might be ooc? | please kindly let me know if I missed any tags!

→ author's note: AHHHH HERE IT IS! I've been working on this for almost a year now and I am so excited to finally share it with all of you. Honestly, I didn't think I would ever finish this story, but I kept slowly chipping away at it thanks in part to the encouragement from @andypantsx3, @missrosegold, and @getstarried. Special thanks to @pikatsum for beta-reading this for me! Thank you girls. This is for you🫶🏻

The cafeteria at U.A. High School was a pretty chaotic environment, you quickly learned within your first week after transferring from another Hero Course in the countryside. There were multiple things that could and would happen after the famous students had gotten some much-needed nutrients in their systems.

It was only three days into the school year and nothing had happened just yet, but in the U.A. world, that something was overdue.

The first chaotic event of the year that everyone had been anxiously—or in some cases, excitingly—waiting for happened on Thursday.

The day started off average; you got to school with three minutes to spare, which was a new record, but you had forgotten your pencil pouch in your dorm room, so you had to borrow some pencils from a girl who sat in front of you; Mina Ashido.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you took the pastel pink utensil from her. There was even a cute little fluffy puffball at the end in exchange for an eraser. Good thing you had an eraser in your bag.

“No problem! I gotcha!” She physically lit up and gave you a bright smile before turning back to focus on the blackboard.

You somehow managed to get through your morning classes running on the four hours of sleep you got the night before. You were cutting it quite close to passing out at your desk during calculus class, but you were saved by the lunch bell.

As soon as you stepped foot into the hallway, you were wrapped up in the faint, delicious scent of your favorite food coming from the cafeteria. Your mouth instantly watered, and you made a mad dash for the source of the delicious scent.

“Hey!” a sharp voice made you freeze in your steps. You glanced over your shoulder to find Tenya Iida, Class 3-A’s representative, glaring at you. The light reflecting off his glasses made him appear more threatening than he really was, but regardless, you still found yourself shying away from his harsh glare and rapid-moving hands. As they passed by, some students gave you apologetic smiles while others were not shy about openly staring at the scene before them, wondering what you possibly could have done to induce the wrath of the student representative. “There is to be no running in the halls!” You cowered some more at his brisk and overly formal tone.

Geez, what a stuck-up, you thought to yourself.

“My apologies, Iida.” You respond with a bow. He accepted your apology with a curt nod before he continued on his way to the cafeteria.

You waited for him to pass before rising from your bow. “Wow, he makes it feel like I broke the law or something.” You mused aloud.

“Don’t take it personally,” a comforting voice said from behind you. You turned to find Momo Yaoyorozu, Ochako Uraraka, and Tsuyu Asui standing before you. Ochako gave you a slight wave in greeting. “Iida can be quite demanding,” Yaoyorozu reassured you.

“Thank you.”

Tsuyu regarded you with gentle onyx eyes. “It’s L/N, right?”

You smiled, happy that she remembered your name from roll call. “Y-yeah! I’m Y/N L/N.” You introduced yourself. “I, um, already know who you guys are.” You suddenly felt shy, and you bashfully rubbed the back of your neck out of nervous habit.

Before your transfer was finalized, you did extensive research into your future school’s history and future classmates. Thankfully—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—a lot of information is public knowledge; the various attacks on the school in the year leading up to and the conclusion of the War between the Paranormal Liberation Front and the Heroes, not to mention the various televised sports festivals, and the fact that the members of Class 1-A are practically household names even before their graduation.

The girls invited you to sit with them in the cafeteria. You had been keeping to yourself the first few days of school, choosing to observe from afar the already established social circles and friend groups. You had waited for an invitation to join one of said groups, and here was your opportunity.

The four of you made small talk as you made your way through the lunch line and to the table. Right away, Asui told you to call her by her given name. You told them about your life growing up in the countryside—with you and Uraraka bonding over your shared reason for becoming Pro Heroes—about the friends you had, embarrassingly funny stories from your junior high days, and eventually what led you to transfer to U.A.

“Well, this is the best Hero Course in the country!” you all laughed. “But to be frank, the only teacher at my old academy who could handle my Quirk retired, and none of the other academies within the prefecture had the resources to help me advance. Plus, my mentor is an U.A. alumnus, so naturally, the only other choice was U.A.”

Yaoyorozu hummed. “It is a shame about your mentor retiring, but that is what led you to transfer to U.A., and for that, I am grateful.” The class vice representative regarded you kindly. “I am a firm believer of things happening for a reason, and your transfer doesn’t change that.”

Uraraka nodded her agreement. “Momo’s right. U.A. is a place where anybody can make a difference, and I think you will find success here.”

You were rendered speechless. The tips of your ears turned red as your classmates regarded you with so much hope and sincerity in their eyes. “Uh . . . I,” you bashfully scratched the back of your head. Not knowing how to respond, you instead reached for the small bottle of milk on your lunch tray and brought it to your lips.

However, before you could take a sip, a BOOM erupted from the front of the cafeteria, accompanied by a gruff voice yelling, “Don’t walk in front of me, Icy-Hot!” You reflexively jolted at the loud noises and lost your grip on the glass, spilling the half-full bottle all over the front of your uniform.

“Shit,” you exclaimed as you instinctually rose from your seat, only to quickly sit down again when the liquid started to fall to the floor. The girls gasped and were quick to hand you all the napkins in the vicinity.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Asui asked as she watched you pat down your sodden skirt.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You waved off her concern as you continued to wipe away the remaining liquid. The napkins managed to soak up most of it, but your skirt was still damp. If you didn’t change skirts, you were going to smell of milk for the rest of the day, and you didn’t want to start off the school year with a reputation for smelling vile. “I’m going to go back to the dorm really quickly and change into a clean uniform. Please let Mr. Snipe know that I will be late for class.”

“Do you want us to accompany you?” Yaoyorozu asked. She began to rise from her seat, but you stopped her.

“No, no. I’m okay, really.” You gave her what you hoped to be a reassuring grin instead of a grimace. “Thank you for offering, Yaoyorozu, but I’ll be fine.” Before your classmates could respond, you stood from the table and made your way to the exit.

Great, this is just great, you thought as you walked, not really paying attention to where you were going. As soon as I make some friends, I make a fool of myself.

Unbeknownst to you, there was an obstacle in the aisle directly ahead. You were too distracted by your growing inner turmoil to notice the pair of metal chopsticks lying on the ground before you until your foot made contact and slipped out from under you.

It all happened so fast that you couldn’t even react.

Time froze as you became weightless, and you felt your body become briefly suspended in the air. Before you could react and rotate your body to prevent yourself from violently banging your head on the tiled floor, gravity took hold and yanked you back down toward the ground. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to witness your classmates’ reactions to your misfortune.

Great, now I’m gonna embarrass myself in front of the entire school. Fuck you, chopsticks.

You prepared yourself for the pain of hitting the hard floor but were shocked when you were suddenly wrapped in a chilled warmth. You did slam into a hard surface, but this didn’t feel like the cold tile you expected.

“Are you all right?” a voice asked from above. You opened your eyes, only to find yourself captivated by a beautiful graphite and turquoise gaze. Your mouth opened to respond to the inquiry, but you couldn’t speak. This strange yet calming gaze hypnotized you, causing the rest of the world to fade into a buzzing silence. You watched as the perfect eyebrows of the owner of those magical eyes furrowed downward at your prolonged silence, the action momentarily drawing your attention.

With your attention span no longer zeroed in on the heterochromatic gaze, the world around you suddenly slammed back into your senses at full force. The volume of your fellow classmates’ conversations was deafening at first, but your ears grew accustomed once again to zone them out and focus on the person before you.

It took about thirty seconds for the entirety of your current predicament to register within your brain.

You were hanging about ten centimeters off the ground. The only thing keeping you upright and injury-free was Shouto Todoroki’s firm grip on your wrist.

“Um, hello?” the dual-haired teenager once again drew your attention to him. His grip slightly tightened before he tugged you up onto your feet.

“I think you broke her, Icy-Hot.” A rough voice drawled from your peripheral.

The intrusion of the other voice is what finally brought you out of your stunned silence. “No, I’m okay. Not broken.”

“Did you hit your head?” Todoroki inquired. He steadied you on your feet but didn’t release your wrist from his hold. Katsuki Bakugou was standing off to the side, trying to appear like he wasn’t involved with either one of you.

“I-I don’t think so.” As you reached down to brush yourself off, you caught a whiff of the unflattering scent of old milk emitting from your clothes. You held back your gag and turned to face Todoroki and Bakugou. “I’m sorry to rush, but I really do need to go.” You gave a quick bow. “Thank you for catching me, Todoroki. Bye!”

The two boys watched you sprint away like a bat out of hell. “T’fuck is her problem,” Bakugou muttered. “Fuckin’ extra makin’ me late for lunch.”

Todoroki didn’t respond to his classmate’s remarks. His lips pursed together as he watched you nearly run into a couple of first years before you disappeared around a corner, out of sight.

“Don’ even think ‘bout it, Icy-Hot.” Bakugou drawled from beside him. Todoroki cocked an eyebrow, the only sign of emotion on his otherwise indifferent expression. “Gettin’ involved with ‘hat extra will ruin your precious bloodline.”

You tried to forget about the cafeteria incident, but the embarrassing ordeal refused to secede from the forefront of your mind. As you lay in bed that night, your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers a minute, antagonizing and overanalyzing every second of what had happened.

As the night dragged on, your thoughts shifted from the overall event to one single individual: Shouto Todoroki. You knew who he was, of course. You didn’t grow up underneath a rock. Yet, you weren’t prepared for how much more handsome he was in person than on the news or in photos.

You overanalyzed everything he did in the brief two minutes you were blessed to be in his company, every word he said, and every brief flash of emotion that showed in his heterochromatic eyes. Todoroki had tried to approach you after training in Ground Beta once you had returned from the dorms, but you avoided him, not wanting to face him again so soon after the embarrassing first meeting.

By Sunday, you had begun to forget about your embarrassing cafeteria incident. Your newfound friends didn’t bring up the spilled milk, and thankfully, they didn’t see you slip on the chopsticks and fall into Shouto Todoroki’s muscular arms. You breathed a sigh of relief when you found out that last part. You didn’t want them to think you were a total klutz.

Todoroki may think otherwise.

As you were rounding the corner to walk back up the stairs to head back to your dorm room, Todoroki happened to be walking down. You both turned at the same time and walked straight into each other.

He wasn’t fazed by the sudden collision; however, you were taken completely off guard. No matter how strong you may be, suddenly walking into about a hundred kilos of pure muscle would make anyone stumble. While he remained steadily standing, you, on the other hand, fell back onto your ass.

It took about three seconds for the two of you to comprehend what the hell had just happened. You groaned out when pain flashed across your backside.

“My apologies, I did not see you.” Todoroki said as he offered you a hand. You begrudgingly accepted his assistance, face heating as your super handsome classmate helped you to your feet for the second time in a week.

“Thank you,” you bowed your head to him. You brushed away some dust from your sweatpants, finding yourself too shy to look back up.

You felt a firm, yet gentle hand land on your shoulder. You jerked your head upwards to meet Todoroki’s captivating gaze. “Are you injured?” His heterochromatic eyes searched you for any injury, and they glimmered with relief when he found none.

“No, I’m okay,” you reassured the male. “I may be a little bruised in the morning, but I will be fine.” Not to mention my bruised ego.

Todoroki hummed in acknowledgment, his hand still resting on your shoulder. His eyes were hyper-fixated on you, leaving you to feel bare under his intense gaze.

You shifted your weight back and forth as the silence between you dragged on for a couple more seconds. “Um, I—” You cleared your throat. “I should be on my way now. Got things to study, you know.” You told him with an awkward laugh.

You moved to step around him when it became obvious he wasn’t going to move. Your movements are what must have shaken him out of his stupor, with him bashfully stepping to the side to allow you access to the stairway.

“Right.” He said as you walked by. “Take care, Y/N.” You startled at his sudden usage of your given name, but nevertheless, you felt oddly relieved. You smiled shyly and bid him goodbye. Nothing else was said between the two of you, but you felt his eyes on you as you walked up the stairs.

I hope he likes cinnamon; you thought as you peered into the oven.

To be fair, you should have considered that before laboring for over two hours making kinako cinnamon cookies from scratch—which absolutely failed. Therefore, as a last resort, you were forced to run to the store and buy a box mix.

The he in question?

Shouto Todoroki.

It had been several days since your embarrassing first interaction with the dual-haired male and forty-five hours since your second, literal, run-in—not that you were keeping track, of course.

You wanted to do something nice for him as a way to apologize for your newfound clumsiness and thank him for his assistance in both instances. Your calligraphy skills were not . . . up to par, so to say, by any means, so a handmade thank-you card was off the table, and you highly doubt Todoroki was a flower guy. Not to mention his affluent background, so buying him a gift or offering to take him out to dinner was null—and way too straightforward for two people who were barely even acquaintances.

Therefore, you were left with only one option: homemade cookies.

Besides, all the old aunties back home always said the quickest way to win anyone over was through food.

“Ooooh, something smells amazing!” someone exclaimed from the stairway. Smiling slyly to yourself, you turned away from the oven to the new arrival.

You hadn’t interacted much with Rikido Sato save for the casual good morning greetings and thanking him for the delicious red velvet cupcake he baked for you as a welcoming gift to U.A.

“Thanks,” you said, grinning at the male.

The combined low mutterings of more approaching classmates brought your and Sato’s attention to the doorway where Mina Ashido, Eijirou Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, and Hanta Sero were entering the dorm.

“Woah something smells fantastic!” Kaminari said, gazing into the kitchen in hopes of spotting the source of the delicious scent.

“Yeah, it does!” Kirishima agreed.

“Oh my gosh, what is it?” Ashido asked as she walked over. Her eyes lit up when she spotted you. “L/N! Did you make something?”

“I did.” You confirmed with a slight nod. “I’m making kinako cinnamon cookies.”

“Oooooh, yummy!” the pinkette exclaimed as she bounced over to peer into the oven. Your other classmates quickly joined her, all of them staring into the soft, golden light of the oven with stars in their eyes.

“They look so good!” Kaminari was practically drooling at the tawny treats. At that moment, the timer went off with a soft ting! You politely shooed your classmates back as you pulled a hand towel over your hands.

“Step back, everyone,” you warned as you opened the oven door. “They’re going to be hot.” You carefully reached in and grabbed the cooking tray, cautiously sliding it off the rack and fully into your cloth-covered hands. Despite taking precautions, you hissed as the hot aluminum seeped through the towel and made contact with your flesh. As quickly as you could without dropping the pan of cookies, you turned and set it down on the kitchen island.

“These look delicious!”

“Woah, man, they look amazing!”

“I bet they taste as scrumptious as they lo—”

You zoned out the boys’ compliments as you moved to the sink and turned on the tap.

“L/N, are you okay?” Ashido asked as she followed you. Her question caught the other's attention, and they, too, turned to watch you quizzingly.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Your response ended with a wince as your skin made contact with the cool water.

“Here, let me see,” Ashido gestured to your hand. With your permission, she took your wrist with gentle fingers and held it up for you both to inspect. Your skin was reddened slightly, but it wasn’t anything serious. You let out a sigh of relief. “It’s not serious, thankfully, but we should still put some burn cream on it just in case,” Ashido advised as she turned off the tap.

You nodded your head again and followed the pink-haired girl as she went to retrieve the first-aid kit. Before you walked too far from the kitchen, you shouted over your shoulder to your classmates, “Please don’t eat the cookies, boys! They are still hot and are for someone special!”

There was a noticeable delay in response to your warning. After a pregnant pause, there was a muffled, “okamph!” in response. You were about to turn around and make sure that they weren’t eating your treats, but Ashido calling your name changed your plans.

“Let’s fix you up, yeah?” She said as you both entered the girls' bathroom. Ashido gestured for you to sit on the counter while she dug through the first-aid kit for burn cream.

“Thank you, Ashido,” you said a few moments later as she lightly applied the cream to the worst of the reddening. Your skin wasn’t blistering, which was a good sign, but it was beginning to ache.

“No problem,” she replied. She began to gently rub the cream into your skin, mindful of the sore spots. She beamed at you as she said, “And you can just call me Mina. We are friends!”

You smiled at her. “Okay, Mina.” The two of you were silent for a couple of minutes as Mina continued to dress your burns.

“So,” she started, breaking the silence. “Who did you make the cookies for?”

You sharply inhaled. “W-what? What do you mean?” You tried to play it off by playing dumb, but Mina gave you an are you kidding me look.

“Don’t play that game with me, girl.” She scolded you. “So, tell me, who is this ‘special someone’?”

You let out a heavy sigh, dropping your shoulders in defeat. “One of our classmates. . .” You trailed off, turning away from the pinkette, and absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

Mina’s eyes lit up and her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Oh my God, seriously?!?” She squealed. You turned to face her again. “Girl, you absolutely gotta tell me! Who is it?!” She went to grab ahold of your hands but stopped herself when she remembered your injury. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You said. “But, um, I—” You hesitated, searching for the right words, but you couldn’t find them. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” You said, barely above a whisper, turning away from your classmate once more in embarrassment.

Mina leaned back, taken by surprise by your change of tone. She studied you for a few seconds, her expression falling when she saw the look on your face; the clenching of your jaw.

“It’s okay, girl,” she reassured you. She set the roll of bandages down on the counter as she finished wrapping your hand. “You don’t have to tell me who your crush is if you don’t want to.”

You whipped back around to face her, eyes wide. “C-crush?!” you stammered out. “W-what?! I don’t have a crush! I never said I did.” you explained.

“Yeah, sure,” Mina smirked at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You wouldn’t of baked cookies for them if you didn’t like them.”

“Um, because I’m nice?” you asked with a lilt in your voice. Mina does have a point, though, you thought.

Mina laughed. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.”

A couple of minutes later, you and the pinkette exited the bathroom, laughing over something Mina had said. Your hand had been expertly wrapped and treated with some burn cream. Your injury didn’t even hurt anymore, but you were still going to check in tomorrow with Recovery Girl as a precaution.

As you rounded the corner to go back into the kitchen, you stopped dead in your tracks as your eyes fell to the now-empty pan where twenty cookies sat not even ten minutes ago. Mina stopped next to you, and you could see her giving you a questionable look, but you didn’t—couldn’t—acknowledge her. You just stared blankly at the pan, trying to process what you were seeing.

What the hell? you thought.

“Ah, man,” a voice drawled out. You slowly turned towards the source; Denki Kaminari. He was lounging against the counter as he rubbed his stomach for emphasis. “Those cinnamon kinako cookies were delicious!” Your brain blanked out when you heard that, the organ pathetically trying to comprehend and respond to the current situation.

“You’re telling me!” Kirishima piped up from beside the blond. Sero and Sato voiced their agreement from where they were seated on the couches. “They really hit the spot after the day I had.” The redhead noticed you and Mina. “Hey, guys, welcome back!” he greeted with a wave, a broad smile overtaking his features. “How’s your hand?”

You did not formulate an answer right away, your brain still processing the crumbled remains of your cookies. Your delay didn’t go unnoticed by the others, but before they could question it, Mina came to your rescue.

“It’s okay! Y/N is alright, nothing major.” She informed them. Kirishima’s gaze left you to focus on the pinkette by your side, but Kaminari’s remained transfixed on your blank expression.

“Oh, well, that’s great to hear! I was worried—”

“But you should be ashamed!” Mina cut the redhead off, tone sharp as a blade. “All of you.”

“What—?”

“Mina, why—?”

Kirishima and Kaminari spoke at once, their voices clashing, but the pinkette interrupted them once more.

“Y/N didn’t make those cookies for you.” She said. “She made them for someone special, yet you guys ate them even after she told you not to.” She just about bit the last part out. The boys gaped at Mina, her scolding catching them by surprise.

“Is that true?” Sato asked, rising from the couch to approach you. Everyone fixated their attention on you, waiting for a response.

You hesitated at the sudden limelight, and also in shyness. When you originally set out to bake the kinako cookies for Todoroki, you didn’t expect them to 1.) burn your hand and 2.) for them to be eaten by others. Even though you were upset, you didn’t want the others to be ashamed or scolded. But they did eat them after I told them not to, you thought, pondering your next move.

After a few moments, you squared your shoulders and steadily said, “Yes. I . . . made them for somebody.” At your words, the room’s atmosphere soured. The boys’ shoulders slumped as they realized their mistake.

“Shoot, L/N, I’m sorry,” Kaminari said, stepping forward to gently grab your uninjured hand and bow.

“Yeah,” Kirishima added, scratching the back of his neck and looking away slightly. “That wasn’t really manly of us.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Sero intoned, looking sheepish.

Sato came to stand in front of you next to Kaminari, who still had a gentle hold of your hand. “I’ll be more than happy to remake the cookies for you.” He said. “If you want that, of course.”

You smiled, though it was closed-lipped. “Thank you, Sato, but not today.” He bowed his head.

Suddenly, the front doors slammed open, startling the six of you. You all watched, shell-shacked—you did, at least—as a fuming Bakugou stepped inside, loudly exclaiming, “I had ‘hat dumbass villain handled! Damn Sidekick extra jus’ had to step ‘n and—” He noticed your little group gaping at him. “The hell ‘re ya fools lookin’ at?” As the words left his mouth, the other two members of the infamous U.A. trio entered as well.

“Kacchan,” Izuku Midoriya said, trying to placate the explosive male. “He was just trying to . . .” The rest of his sentence fizzled into the background as the entirety of your attention span landed on Shouto Todoroki.

It had already been well-established that the youngest Todoroki son was even more handsome in person, but seeing him in his Hero costume did things to you. Your mouth almost dropped open to gawk at his god-like appearance, but you clenched your jaw tightly shut to avoid that catastrophe. Despite that, you were pretty positive your eyes were as wide as saucers, greedily taking every inch of him in as if it were the last time you would see him.

I should sue him for the cost of my medical bills when I develop heart palpitations, you thought.

“Shut the hell up, ya stupid nerd.” Bakugou snapped at a sputtering Midoriya, drawing your attention once more. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“Is he always this angry?” you asked under your breath; half-serious, half-rhetorical.

“Oh, yeah,” Mina confirmed, voice just as low.

Sero snickered from his post next to Sato. “You get used to it after a while,” he reassured you.

One of Kirishima’s blinding smiles makes its appearance once again. “Katsuki’s always been passionate about, well, everything.” He told you, not bothering to lower his voice. “It’s who he is. We love him regardless.”

Sato chimed in with, “Platonically.” The boys snickered and Mina rolled her eyes, yet there was a small smile playing on her lips.

“Even though his sour attitude can be harsh and lowkey over the top,” Kaminari began, eyes shining with mischief. “It sure makes him fun to mess with!” Your companions groaned in exasperation and started to voice their reservations.

“No, Denki. Leave him be—” Mina urged him.

“Awe, come on, man. Don’t—”

“Heyy~ Katsuki,” Kaminari crooned, rocking back on his heels as the pale blond’s attention zeroed in on him. Kirishima and Sato facepalmed. “Why have trouble catching a ‘dumbass villain’?” he teased. “Bad day? Your head not in the game?” The hair on your arms rose to attention as an electric charge swept the room, putting everyone on edge. Kaminari’s baiting also drew the attention of the explosive male’s companions. Your eyes briefly met captivating graphite and turquoise, eliciting a sharp gasp to leave your lungs.

“You’re gonna regret the day you were born, dumbass!” Bakugou bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at the electric blond, snapping your attention from the hypnotizing gaze. You fully expected him to charge the male, already taking a cautionary step back, but instead of explosions ripping apart the building, Bakugou grunted and moved towards the showers.

Mina turned to the blond and shouted, “Now why did you do that, Denki? You know better than to rile Katsuki up like that!”

Kirishima dragged a large hand down his face before running it through his unruly red locks. “I’ll go check on him,” he announced before jogging after the sandy-blond. You were at a loss for words as you continued to watch your classmates scold a shit-grinning Kaminari, not even the tiniest bit remorseful for his teasing of Bakugou.

“Please don’t take Kacchan’s rashness to heart.” A new voice piped up. You turned to meet the electric green gaze of none other than Izuku Midoriya, the new generation’s proclaimed Symbol of Peace. “I’m s-sorry, I don’t think we have properly met. I’ve been in and out of campus lately—with missions and such.” He practically skipped over to stand in front of you. He smiled brightly as he gently took your hands in his large, calloused ones. “I’m Izuku Midoriya. I’m so happy you are here at U.A.!” he excitedly exclaimed, lightly squeezing your entwined hands. You couldn’t hide your wince and small gasp of pain as Midoriya unknowingly squeezed your burns. The green-haired male let go of your hands so fast as if he was the one burned instead of you, eyes growing wide. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?!” he asked, noticing the bandages wrapped tightly around your hand. Midoriya’s frenzy caught the other's attention, and all eyes were on you yet again.

The tips of your ears grew hot at the unwavering attention from the Heroes-in-training—especially from a certain icy-hot male who made your heart falter in its beating. “Y-yeah, I’m f-fine.” You stuttered as you met each of your classmate's gazes, trying to reassure them of your stability.

“What happened?” Todoroki inquired, eyes hawkishly zeroed in on your face.

“U-um, well . . .” you trailed off, words fading from your brain as you slightly cowered under his unwavering attention. “I—”

“She burned herself while baking kinako cookies,” Sero spoke for you, having caught onto your growing anxiousness. You didn’t miss Todoroki’s eyes narrowing at the black-haired male’s words. Sato and Kaminari made noises of agreement, the blond absentmindedly rubbing his stomach in content.

Midoriya’s eyes shined. “Really? You did?!” He looked behind you to the kitchen, eyes searching for the aforementioned treats. “Where are they?” he asked when he didn’t spot any, only a plate littered with crumbs. He turned his attention back to you. You opened your mouth to answer, but a wave of shame overcame you as your eyes once again met those of the one you had made the cookies for.

Mina noticed your hesitation, giving you a knowing look as she answered for you. “The three idiots to your left ate them all,” she said with a little bite to her words, glaring daggers at the culprits. “After they were specifically told not to.” She reaffirmed. The boys shuddered at the reminder of their disobedience. The pinkette turned her attention back to the green-haired and dual-haired males. “I patched her up, though. The burns are minor.”

Midoriya nodded his head in understanding. “You should still see Recovery Girl,” he instructed, unashamedly expressing his concern for someone he had just properly met. “At least let her take a look at it.”

“I’m going to stop by to see her in the morning,” you reassured him, words coming back now that your mind was a little clear. His shoulders slumped in relief.

“You should rest, Y/N.” Todoroki’s searing gaze trailed over your form, calculating eyes searching for any additional outward signs of injury or discomfort. “After suffering an injury, no matter how insignificant, rest is important.” He softly chided.

“R-right.” You stammered out, at a loss for how else to respond to your handsome classmate's concern other than compliance. A wave of exhaustion washed over you at that moment. Your feet stumbled as you became lightheaded for a split second. You noticed the dual-haired male take a step towards you, catching onto your sudden exhaustion, but you quickly rightened yourself. “Thank you, Todoroki.” You’re not exactly sure why you thanked him, or what for. His concern, perhaps? He subtly nodded as you turned from the small group, breathlessly mumbling some sort of farewell and something about retiring to your room for the rest of the day.

The others muttered their goodbyes as you made your way to the stairwell.

As you walked up the stairs, head hung low, your throat began to burn and your vision began to blur with tears. The first one fell when you reached your floor, quickly followed by a couple more. You wiped them away, sniffing, as you made your way to your door. You didn’t react to the sudden presence next to you and the weight draped around your shoulders.

Mina didn’t say anything, only traced comforting circles into your back as tears flowed freely down your cheeks.

The next day, you and your classmates were gathered outside Gym Gamma for an impromptu training session. You were surprised that Class 3-A still regularly trained together, but in your defense, that assumption came from someone who didn’t have many options when it came to sparing partners up until your transfer—a major shortcoming in retrospect.

“Today we are working on ‘last stand’ combat.” Mr. Aizawa drawled in his natural I Don’t Give A Fuck tone. “Close-quarter combat in which a violent assailant has obtained the upper hand and corners you in an attempt to defeat you.” He proceeded to explain the instructions of the training exercise and pair the students into groups of four who would take turns being the Heroes and the assailants.

“Midoriya will be with Jirou.” Mr. Aizawa intoned, briefly glancing at the two students to confirm they heard. “Todoroki will be with L/N.” Your muscles stiffened when you heard that. Your heart began to race as you watched the red-and-white-haired male make his way over to you.

“H-hi,” you greeted him, giving a soft smile.

“Hello,” he said, politely inclining his head. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Same here.” You said before facing forward once more as the first group began their round. You and Todoroki observed the match in silence, with you paying extra attention to your classmates’ movements and taking mental notes of how they incorporated their Quirks into hand-to-hand combat.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention. Expecting the new additions to be Ochako and Asui, you turned to greet them with a warm smile but paused when instead of your friends, Midoriya and Kyoka Jirou were standing next to you, both with warm expressions on their faces.

“Hi!” Midoriya greeted with a wide smile and a small wave. “I’m excited for this training exercise! It’s going to be so cool to see everyone’s improvement with hand-to-hand combat over the break! And any new moves! Or Quirk Awakenings! Or—” You had a hard time keeping up with what he was saying as it turned into a stuttering rant as he went on about each individual’s Quirk.

The rumors were true regarding his ramblings, you mused to yourself, wondering how long he could go on for before a small hand on his shoulder made him take pause.

“Midoriya,” Jirou intoned. “Calm down.” His cheeks flushed a bright red. He began laughing nervously while absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck.

“S-sorry,” he said, shyfully.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I agree with your stance, though. Observing others' skills is an effective way to improve your own. Get an idea or two.” You turned your attention back to the ongoing training, taking mental notes of your classmates’ fighting stances and their defensive moves, trying to get a better understanding of the why behind them. You pulled a small item from your jacket pocket, absentmindedly rubbing it between your thumb and forefinger. The movement caught Midoriya’s attention.

“What is that?” he asked, green eyes alight with curiosity.

“What? This?” You held up your good luck charm; a small, pink parrot keychain from a popular cartoon series you had won years ago at one of your hometown’s summer festivals. It was lucky because at the moment, while little you were trying to win, your Quirk had manifested. “It’s my good luck charm,” you explained the pink parrot’s value to you.

“Oh, cool!” Midoriya exclaimed. “You know, I used to have a good luck charm—it was my super rare exclusive All Might trading card! First edition!” His eyes shined as he reminisced. “I would bring it with me everywhere! Even Kacchan—”

“Deku,” drawled a low voice from the other side of your gathered class. The temperature fell as Bakugou’s vermillion eyes narrowed onto Midoriya. “Don’t say another word.”

“He’s such a fanboy.” Jirou chuckled, fondness seeping into her voice. Midoriya smiled sheepishly, not bothering even to try to deny the label. You spent the time until your group’s turn getting to know the two, quickly finding out that you and Jirou share the same taste in music; vowing to swap playlists after class. You were so caught up in your conversation that you almost forgot about Todoroki's presence, if not for the awareness of a body next to you. His chilled warmth seeped into your muscles, causing you to relax one moment, and tense up another.

“Are you all right?” he softly inquired, spying your tensed posture.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You replied, softly smiling but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Just a lil’ nervous, is all.”

Todoroki frowned slightly, not understanding how you could be experiencing anxiousness. “Wh—?”

“Oh yeah!” Midoriya suddenly interjected. “This is going to be your first time demonstrating your Quirk, huh?” he asked you. “Or at least this is gonna be the first time I will see it. What is it again? Object—no—um, yeah, anyway I bet it is awesome!” His eyes still shined with his enthusiasm and curiosity. “Sometime you gotta let me ask you about it! I have so many! Does it work like Ochako’s Zero Gravity? Or Yaoyorozu’s Creation?”

You couldn’t help but give a small laugh at his eagerness. You had never met someone as enthusiastic about Quirks as Izuku Midoriya. It was kind of refreshing to interact with someone as passionate as he was.

“Kind of,” you began, silently pondering over what you know of the brunette’s Quirk and comparing it to your own. “Ochako and I have the same limitations when it comes to the weight of an object, but besides that, our Quirks are different.” Your Quirk was object manipulation; you could telepathically manipulate objects within a certain range. To you, your Quirk wasn’t all that—wasn’t anything unique by any means—but to others, you were seen as a powerful goddess. “To be honest, I’m lacking in hand-to-hand combat skills.” You sheepishly smiled.

“Really?” Midoriya asked, blinking in shock. “I thought your previous school would have prepared you for all types of situations.” Jirou nodded her agreement with the green-haired male. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Shouto continue to observe you with a calculating expression on his face.

“Unfortunately, no.” You shrugged. “Their curriculum was more focused on improving the individual’s Quirk than learning how to fight without it.”

“Oh, wow,” Jirou said. “That could put you at a great disadvantage down the line.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know. That’s why—” You were cut off by Mr. Aizawa calling for your group to begin your training round. “Welp, this is it, I guess.” You chuckled nervously.

Midoriya gave you a reassuring smile. “You’ll do great!” he said, giving you a thumbs-up accompanied by a warm smile.

“Do your best,” Jirou added before moving towards the training pitch.

You started to follow, but a cool hand on your shoulder made you pause, shivering softly. You turned to find Todoroki giving you an expectant look. “You’ll do fine,” he said, confidently. He looked as if he put his entire faith in you. “I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

You felt a surge of confidence fill you at his words. You gave him a determined look. “Right,” you said. “We got this.”

You swear up and down his eyes twinkled when he looked at you, but it could have been a trick of the light. “You got this.” He replied, softly. The two of you walked into the pitch together, side by side.

The training went . . . not terrible, but it could have been better on your end.

Todoroki, Midoriya, and Jirou were amazing. Even without using their Quirks, they each were a force to be reckoned with. You were captivated by how swiftly they moved—as if they were ballerinas performing Danse des Petits Cygnes.

You weren’t on the same level as them and the rest of Class 3-A. You knew that, and you acknowledged it, but to see and be confronted by it so bluntly in person made you feel a whole other level of embarrassment and shame. You weren’t weak by any means, you could hold your own in a fight for some time, but not like your classmates could—and had.

Perhaps that is what separates you from your classmates. They have battle experience. Hell, they fought in a fucking war for crying out loud while you were on the other side of the country, guarding civilian shelters. You were fortunate not to see much bloodshed, but maybe that brought you to a disadvantage against these future Heroes surrounding you.

The horn had sounded as Jirou pinned you in the dirt for the sixth time, signaling the end of the round. You heard the sounds of Midoriya and Todoroki’s scuffling come to a halt from somewhere off to your left as Jirou lifted herself off of you. She offered you a hand as you began to rise from the ground. You accepted her extended hand with a grimace as the muscles in your back burned.

“Nice work.” Mr. Aizawa said as the four of you approached. “You performed adequately,” he addressed Jirou, Todoroki, and Midoriya. He turned to you. “You, not so much.”

You flinched as the words landed home. Damn, you thought, but he’s not wrong. You had naively allowed yourself to believe that Eraserhead wouldn’t call out your inferiority, at least in front of others. Then again, he was Eraserhead—infamous for his bluntness and apathy.

“Your skills are greatly lacking in hand-to-hand combat,” he continued. “I haven’t seen somebody so physically inadequate since your classmates were first years. Coming from another Hero Course, especially one with its reputation, it’s to be expected that you’re not up to par with your new classmates, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.” As he spoke, he never broke eye contact with you, scrutinizing you. Even with one eye, his unrelenting gaze made you feel as if he could see every minuscule detail about you. “Based on the performance I saw today, it was a mistake to put you in this class.”

You heard a gasp from one of your classmates; its owner unknown. You gulped down your shame and remained silent. You had a feeling Aizawa wasn’t finished with you.

“From here on out, I expect you to train harder and push yourself further than anyone else. Extra training, extra classes—anything that will make you catch up.” His eye narrowed. “If I do not see substantial improvement in one month, you will be expelled. No exceptions.”

Your eyes widened, but your shock did not stop you from replying. “Yes, sir.” You said, keeping your tone neutral as you mulled over his words. Although extreme, I understand the reason for Mr. Aizawa’s methods, you thought. He’s right though. I’m far from even scrapping the level these guys are on. I need to be more disciplined and work even harder if I want to stand on equal ground with my classmates. Resolve made, you promised, “I will go Plus Ultra!”

“Yaass, Y/N!” Mina cheered. “Woohoo!”

Aizawa didn’t say anything else to you, promptly dismissing the class. Midoriya praised your performance and commented on his wish to sit down and talk in-depth with you regarding your Quirk. You promptly accepted his request, telling him you would let him know when you were free. He smiled before walking off to join Iida and Ochako.

“If it means anything,” a voice suddenly intoned from behind you. You spun around, having not sensed the person's approach. You weren’t all that surprised to find Todoroki there, softly regarding you. “I think you did well.”

You scoffed but smiled softly. “Thank you, but you don’t have to patronize me. I have a lot of work to do if I want to catch up.”

“You will,” he declared, before quickly clarifying, “Catch up. Especially with my help.”

You furrowed your brows. “Excuse me?”

“Should I repeat myself?” he inquired, his heterochromatic eyes swimming in mirth. “I will assist you in your training and classes.”

You didn’t respond right away, regarding him with suspicion. You waited for him to name a condition for his help, but when he offered none, you relaxed. “Thank you, Todoroki.” You inclined your head. “I greatly appreciate it.”

“Shouto,” he corrected.

You blinked at him, taken aback. “What?”

“Shouto,” he reiterated. “You may call me Shouto. We are friends, are we not?”

You gaped at him for a moment, processing his words. “Ye-yeah!” you said a little too loudly. “We are friends, Shouto.”

The small smile that graced his lips lit up your entire world and caused your heart to speed up, pounding almost painfully against your ribcage. “Meet me here tomorrow after class.” He instructed.

“Tomorrow.” You repeated in confirmation.

His smile grew a little wider. “See you then, Y/N.” He said before turning on his heel and strolling away. You watched him go in a daze, in disbelief of what just occurred.

“Oooooooo, Y/N’s gotta date!”

You shrieked at the sudden voice and spun around for a second time to find Mina standing there, hunched over laughing at your reaction.

“Mina!” you shrieked, placing a hand over your heart. “You scared the shit outta me!”

She continued to laugh. “Sorry,” she said once her laughter died down. “You were so entranced with Todoroki that you didn’t even realize I was here!”

“Oh, yeah right.” You responded, playfully rolling your eyes. The two of you began to walk to the dorm. “I wasn’t entranced with him.”

The pinkette gave you a look of disbelief, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah, sure,” she retorted. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you ain’t lying to me.”

You scoffed but didn’t attempt to refute her claims. You put your hands in your pockets and looked to the ground, lost in thought. Mina didn’t say anything else, allowing you both to walk in silence.

The next afternoon, you met Shouto at the training grounds outside Gym Gamma for your first tutored training session. He regarded you kindly as you slowly approached, suddenly feeling quite bashful.

“Thank you for offering to do this, Shouto.” You said when you arrived. “It really means a lot. I don’t know how I’m going to repay you.”

“There’s no need for repayment.” He softly responded. “I volunteered to assist you. Therefore, no repayment of any sort is necessary.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I don’t want to inconvenience you—”

His soft call of your name made your next words die in your throat. “I assure you, this is fine.” He said. “Your company and attention are substantial enough.” You felt your face warm at his admission. Shouto gestured towards the training pit. “Shall we begin?”

He started by teaching you some stretches that are supposed to help decrease sudden muscle spasms and strengthen them. Afterward, he had you show him the little knowledge you had of hand-to-hand combat to gain an idea of where you stand in regard to U.A. training. Once you had demonstrated the few kicks and different styles of punching you knew, you turned to judge Shouto’s impression.

Your breath caught at what you saw.

His handsome features remained stoically blank for the most part, but the pursing of his lips and slight furrowing of his brows spoke a different tale. He grumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like they didn’t prepare you at all, but you weren’t one hundred percent sure.

“Shouto?” you inquired, voice slightly uneven as your mouth formed the syllables of his name. “Is everything alright?”

His beautiful eyes snapped to yours, and once again you were frozen by the intensity with which he looked at you. His gaze was calculating, and you could just about see the cogs turning in his brain as he silently regarded you. A couple long moments later, his lips parted on an exhale and he finally addressed you.

“We have a lot of work to do.” He declared. “But we already knew that.” You slowly nodded your head, curious as to where he would be going with this conversation. “Thankfully, you’re not completely helpless,” he intoned dryly. “Even though you don’t have many skills regarding physical, non-Quirk combat, I have identified several places where we can start, correct, and then build on.”

You steadied yourself, resolve firmer than ever before. You declared, “I’m ready.”

Shouto gave a quick, but detailed, overview of his plans for your ‘training tutoring’, you referred to your sessions as. He was going to teach you everything he thought you should know—which was everything he knew—in order to successfully become a Hero people could rely on.

The two of you began by improving your physique. You joined him on his early morning run along with Midoriya and Bakugou, who welcomed you with contrasting fervor. When you met for your afternoon training, you would run five kilometers before learning various grades of combat moves, and then concluding your time together by sparring.

It was established early on that neither of you would use your Quirks during your tutoring as the two of you were well-adapted to your respective Quirks—and the strict rules regarding their usage.

For the next several weeks, you worked tirelessly on your training, and your dedication and hard work paid off. At your end-of-the-month assessment, Aizawa was pleased by your rapid and exceptional improvement and announced you could stay at U.A. He also informed you that it was never his intention to expel you in the first place, but nevertheless, he was impressed by your efforts.

You and Shouto continued to grow closer as time went by. You still had your training tutoring sessions in the afternoons, and you became a regular on his early morning runs. You even hung out outside of class and training; preparing pre-workout meals and drinks together, and various study sessions at all hours of the day and night. Once, you even packed him a small canister of his favorite brand of soba noodles for lunch one of the weekends he was interning at his father’s Agency. When he came back to the dorm after his shift, he made a beeline for you and promptly informed you that from then on out, you would be solely responsible for packing his lunches.

“Now why would I do that?” you implored. You crossed your arms, awaiting his response. “Are you gonna pay me?”

Shouto slowly blinked at you in the way a cat would. “Why would I compensate you for an action you chose to do?”

You had no retort for that.

As you spent more time together, you noticed some changes. Shouto would stare at you for seemingly no reason, and whenever you called him out on it, he feigned innocence. He also sought you out more often, insisting on walking to your next class or to and from the dorm by your side. He even began to occupy you on your shopping runs, dutifully holding your bags for you. And whenever you would thank or compliment him, his whole demeanor would light up as if Aphrodite herself had shown favor towards him.

You weren’t any better, though.

If Shouto would do so much as even blink in your general direction, your heart would soar and butterflies would take flight in your stomach. At first, you brushed it off as nerves for being the subject of the Shouto Todoroki’s attention, but you were in denial, not wanting to admit what was actually occurring. Looking back, you realized that deep down, you had known all along what was happening, but at the time, you weren’t ready to admit it—to yourself and him.

Regardless of your rebuttals and lack of admission, you were falling for your dual-haired classmate, hard and fast, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

3 months later . . .

“Y/N! It’s starting! You’re gonna miss it!” Ochako shouted from the couches, the other girls of Class 3-A surrounding her, all dressed in comfortable loungewear. It was the class's annual Girl’s Movie Night, which was held every couple of months. Tooru told you earlier that week that they would like to have it more often, like once a month, but given their hectic and ever-changing schedules, the girls had to settle for every few months. They took turns who got to pick out the movie. It was Mina’s turn this time. True to her nature, she selected an early 2000s chick flick set in the States.

“Hold on, wait for me!” you hollered back as you finished pouring the freshly popped popcorn into a large bowl, a few kernels spilling out as you whirled on your heels to sprint into the living area. You nearly tripped over Jirou’s legs as you practically threw yourself towards the last remaining free spot on the couch.

“Ah, sorry!” you exclaimed as you settled yourself into the cushions, checking over Jirou and your popcorn bowl. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, it’s just starting,” Momo said, taking a sip from her cup of tea as the opening credits began to roll.

“Ooh, this is one of my all-time favorite movies!” Mina squealed next to you. “Have you ever seen it before?” she asked.

You hummed, acknowledging her question. You thought hard, trying to recall if you’ve ever seen the characters on the screen before. “I’m not sure,” you said. “I don’t think so.”

The pinkette gasped aloud and theatrically placed a hand on her chest, sprawling backward. “Y/N! You wound me!”

Across the room, Tooru piped up from her spot next to Asui. “How could you not have?! It’s only one of the greatest movies ever made!”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” Ochako interjected. “Gonna have to disagree.” You expected them to start arguing back and forth over what is truly the greatest movie ever made, like your friends back home would have done, but they don’t. Mina stuck her tongue out at Ochako before turning back to the movie.

You all watched the movie in relative silence, save for the light background noise of popcorn moving around in a bowl and slurping from a now-empty straw. It was nice, peaceful; a well-deserved and appreciated respite from the grinding hustle of being Pro-Heroes-in-training.

“Just confess already!” Jirou shouted at the screen as the main character allowed another opportunity for them to confess their feelings for their classmate slip through their fingers. “Gosh!” A corner of your mouth curled at her irritation. A few grumbles of agreement sounded from the others as the movie continued playing.

You had to stifle your laughter as the main characters continued to pine after one another, completely oblivious to the other’s growing feelings. I can’t believe there are actually people in the world who are like them, you silently mused. It’s so obvious they like each other. I can’t believe they don’t see it.

“Ugh, the anticipation and pining is killing me!” Tooru cried out, her slippers moving frantically in the air as she kicked her legs.

Asui raised a brow. “I thought you’ve seen this movie before?”

“Well, yeah, I have,” the invisible female said. “But the suspense still gets to me!”

“It is quite intense.” Ochako agreed. “I hope they confess soon. It hurts to see them think the other doesn’t return their feelings.”

“I don’t understand how they cannot.” You admitted, shrugging your shoulders. The girls turned to look at you as you continued, “I mean, they’re so obvious.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda annoying at this point,” Jirou mumbled.

Mina snickered. “Y/N, as if you’re one to talk.”

You gave her a questioning look, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, come on. You’re so obvious, too, with your crush—”

You cut her off, “I do not have a crush.”

“You have a crush?” Asui asked. You and Mina responded at the same time.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, she does.”

“What is this about?” Momo inquired, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie.

“Nothi—” you began but was swiftly interrupted by the pinkette next to you.

“Y/N has a crush on Todoroki!”

The girls gasped and gapped at you, eyes wide.

“I do not!” You said, face burning as you tried to mitigate the situation. “We’re not like that!”

“Oh my.” You thought you heard Momo say under her breath, but you couldn’t really hear since Tooru started shrieking with glee.

“You guys would be the cutest couple!” she exclaimed, jumping up from her spot on the couch and racing over to pull you into a tight embrace.

“I mean, it does make sense given they spend so much time together.” Ochako mused, a finger on her chin as she considered the situation.

Asui jumped on the bandwagon with, “Oh they are definitely into each other.”

“One hundred percent,” Mina agreed.

“Girl, you gotta spill the tea!” Tooru exclaimed as she pulled away. “Tell us everything!” The others voiced their agreement.

“I do admit, I am curious as to how this relationship came to be,” Momo vocalized, setting her tea cup down onto its saucer. “That is if the two of you have gotten that far into your companionship.”

You blinked at the midnight-black-haired woman, shock clouding your brain for a moment as you processed her words. “Um, n-no. We aren’t in any type of r-romantic relationship.” You clarified, but immediately you could tell certain people thought your answer was complete horse poop. “We aren’t!”

“Regardless, you guys are pretty close,” Ochako interjected. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Jirou nodded in agreement. “And all the extra training you do together.”

“The early morning runs,” Asui added.

“Okay, okay,” you threw your hands up in a placating manner. “I understand what you guys are trying to get at, but you’re wrong.”

Mina came to stand beside you, giving you a knowing look. “Girl, Y/N,” she began. “You can try with all your might to deny it, but it’s obvious what is really going on between you and Shouto.” She placed a delicate hand on your shoulder. “And I know you know it, too.”

You stared at the pinkette, pondering her and the other’s words. You wanted to continue denying what they were saying, but you were getting tired of denying your feelings to yourself. You slumped your shoulders, the tension leaving your body as you resolved to come clean with the truth—to yourself and your friends, besides a certain dual-haired male. “Alright, fine.” You let out a heavy sigh, mentally preparing yourself for their reaction to your next statement. “I like him a little.” You confessed, looking at the floor, too afraid to meet any of their gazes.

The room was dead silent for two breaths before Mina erupted in choking laughter. “’A little’? Yeah RIGHT!” She laughed so hard that tears began to stream down her pink cheeks. After she managed to calm down a bit, she turned to face you fully, laying a hand on your knee. “Girl, you’re lying to yourself.” She told you, tone light yet serious. “We have all seen the way you look at Shouto—” the others nod in confirmation. “—and your eyes tell it all.”

You flinched as embarrassment flooded you. “Is it really that obvious?” you asked. You turned to the others to gauge their reactions. “Am I?” They all nodded.

“Definitely.”

“For sure.”

“We could see it from a mile away.”

You gasped. “Oh my,” you covered your face with your hands. “Do you think Shouto knows?”

“I doubt so,” Momo said. “Shouto is quite intelligent and a formidable force to be reckoned with, but as I’m sure you’re aware, his experience and understanding of social concepts and cues are fairly limited.”

“In other words,” Jirou interjected. “He’s none the wiser.”

You released a sigh of relief. At least he doesn’t think I’m a psycho stalker or something.

“Hey, give him some credit, guys,” Ochako remarked. “Todoroki’s more aware than he’s given credit for.”

“Moving on,” Mina said. “Have you thought about confessing your feelings to him?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, shamefully looking away. “No. . .”

“What?!”

“Really?!” Tooru shouted. “But he’s so hot!” The sleeves of her shirt crossed in front of her. “I would do anything to be his girlfriend.”

You laughed. “While you are correct about his handsomeness, I don’t even know where I would begin or how I would confess.”

“Your feelings are valid, Y/N,” Asui assured you. “Confessing one’s feelings for another is a life-changing occurrence.”

“You gotta do it before graduation in a couple months, though,” Ochako added. “If not, then you may never get another chance to do so.”

“Why do you say that?” you asked. “As Pros, wouldn’t we work together often? Why does it need to be before we graduate and turn Pro?”

“Possibly, but with our chosen line of work, there is always a possibility. . .” she trailed off with a grimace.

You understood immediately. “Oh.”

“Although rare in the line of duty, it does happen.” Momo said. “I wouldn’t worry about that though, but I agree with Ochako.”

“Plus,” Mina began, mischief glowing in her eyes. “If the two of you get together before you make your Pro Hero debut to the world, you wouldn’t have to worry about him falling in love with some random civilian he rescues on the street or another Pro.”

You nodded. “You have a point.”

“Either way, I think it will all work out in the end,” Ochako said, her cheeks widening with her smile. “I think perhaps Shouto returns your feelings, and just simply doesn’t know what to do about them or how to address them, therefore you should tell him.” The other girls voiced their agreement.

“Yeah, it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture or anything,” Jirou said.

“Just be honest with him, Y/N,” Asui said.

“Yeah, girl,” Mina added, giving you a warm smile when you met her gaze. “You got this. Besides, he can’t reject you. You’re too hot for that.”

You squared your shoulders as a burst of confidence filled you thanks to the encouragement you received from your friends. “Okay, I will!” you loudly announced. “I will confess my feelings to him!”

The others cheered as you all held up your lemon water in a faux toast. In your happiness, none of you noticed the shadows shift in the stairwell and the soft noise of retreating footsteps on the wood.

You were screwed.

“How am I gonna tell him!?” you mewled aloud a couple of days later in the cafeteria. You dramatically slumped your forehead on the tabletop, mentally kicking yourself for allowing the girls to convince you that confessing your crush would be an easy endeavor. You felt a reassuring pat on your shoulder. Groaning, you lifted your head from the table to shoot puppy eyes at Ochako. “Ochako, help me!” you cried. “How do I confess?”

The brunette gave you a sheepish smile. “I don’t know, Y/N.” She professed, her eyes apologetic. “Proclaiming one's love for another isn’t really my strong suit.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Asui mumbled under her breath before taking a sip of her drink, receiving a glare in response.

“Y/N, sweetie,” Mina cooed from your other side. “I think you’re overthinking it a little. It shouldn’t be but so hard. Just be honest with him!”

“But that is hard!” you said, waving your hands in the air. “I can’t just walk up to him and say, ‘hey, Shouto, I think you’re really hot and amazing. Wanna go out with me?’”

“Sure you can,” Momo intoned, trying to reassure you. “Maybe not in those exact words, but when the time comes, you will know what to say.”

“I hope so,” you sighed, slumping your shoulders. “I hope so.”

As time passed, you found that you did not, in fact, know what to say when the time came to confess your feelings to Shouto Todoroki. Whenever you were near him, you became tongue-tied and could barely speak without becoming a stuttering mess. During each interaction, Shouto would give you a long, confused look, his eyebrows drawn downwards as he watched you struggle for words. He wouldn’t comment on it, bless him, but he must’ve thought you to be a total weirdo.

Yet, he still accompanied you on the walk back to the dorm every day after classes ended, and he insisted on continuing your training sessions every weekend after he finished his shift at Endeavor’s Agency. The two of you grew closer, to your absolute delight, and yet you still hadn’t managed to work up the courage to confess your feelings to him.

Until one day . . .

You were sitting in homeroom during free period, chatting with Midoriya about the latest episode of the rebooted All Might: The Mightiest Man TV series.

“I’m telling you, Midoriya,” you said. “It doesn’t matter how much the animation and special effects have improved, the original will always be better than the reboot.” You crossed your arms and lounged back in your chair, waiting for the forest green-haired male to start sputtering his counterargument. “You can’t change my mind. I will die on this hill.”

“Are you seriously sayin—?”

A call of your name from a familiar tenor drew your attention. You turned towards the source to meet a pair of heterochromatic eyes. Shouto was making his way to your desk, coming to a stop right in front of you. You had to tilt your head back in order to maintain eye contact. After a moment, he turned his attention to Midoriya next to you. “Pardon me, Midoriya, but I need to speak to Y/N in private.”

You and Midoriya gaped at the dual-haired male for a good twenty seconds before you slowly rose from your seat. “O-okay.” You turned to face your green-haired companion. You hoped your eyes were conveying your inner panic as you said, “Midoriya, I’ll be back.”

All he could do was nod as he watched you follow behind Shouto, wondering why you looked so panicked to go with the male. Maybe you were constipated.

As Shouto led you toward the classroom door, Ochako and Mina shot you curious glances. When you met their gazes, they gave you a reassuring smile and a thumbs up, respectfully.

“Good luck, girl!” Mina whisper-shouted.

“You got this, Y/N,” Ochako said. You tried to match her comforting smile with your own, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

You followed behind the dual-haired male, silently wondering what was going on. Once you were outside the classroom, he led you down the hallway to a little corner nook bathed in the golden light of the afternoon.

“Shouto, is everything okay?” you asked, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other. “Is something wrong?” At your inquiry, he finally came to a stop in front of a set of windows and turned to face you.

“Yes, everything is fine.” He reassured you. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

You blinked. “Okay,” you said. “Shoot.”

Shouto likewise paused at your usage of unfamiliar slang but didn’t comment on it. “Um,” he started, but drifted off, not finishing the thought. He opened his mouth only to shut it again after a moment or two without making a sound. You furrowed your brows as you continued to watch him struggle for words.

“Um, Sho?” you prodded. He didn’t respond, however, still thinking over his next words. Shouto never hesitates, you thought with a mixture of wonderment and anxiety. Is something bothering him? you thought with growing concern. You felt your heart come to a skittering stop as another horrifying conclusion came to mind; am I the problem?

“I overheard you and the other girls’ conversation on Movie Night,” he confessed at last, interrupting your spiraling train of thought. He bashfully looked away as if he was ashamed.

“Oh, okay?” you responded, absentmindedly going through the events of the night in question. Your heartbeat began to calm down to a normal rate. “What conversation?” You couldn’t think of anything in particular and were about to ask him to elaborate before the realization hit you like a freight train.

“I like him a little.”

“Okay, I will! I will confess my feelings to him!”

“Yeah, girl, you got this. Besides, he can’t reject you. You’re too hot for that.”

Oooohhhhh.

Fuck.

Maybe he didn’t hear that particular part of the conversation! You tried to reassure yourself as you waited for Shouto to answer your question. Your heart rate picked back up as panic began to settle in. We were there for several hours. There is so much he could’ve—

“You have an admiration going on.” You hate to admit you gawked at him for a couple of seconds before his formal wording translated into modern speech. You have a crush.

FUCK!

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” you rushed out, trying to save face and whatever friendship you had with Shouto. You felt your cheeks burn. “Please, just forget you ever heard that!”

Shouto snapped his head to you as your words registered in his brain. “Why would I do that?” he asked after a moment. “We live in the same building with shared living space, barely anything is not overheard by another.”

Oh God, how much did he overhear?

“Besides,” he continued. “At our age, it is completely natural for one to harbor feelings for another.”

You blinked at him as his words registered, your cheeks now tingling due to the burn. Gosh, he sounds like a grandpa giving the birds and the bees talk.

“It—it’s j-just,” you stammered. “I-I-I—” You let out a harsh breath in frustration when your words continued to fail you. Shouto raised a brow before his eyes narrowed. Your heart sank when you saw that.

Oh great, he’s annoyed!

“Are you all right?” he asked before moving so he was right in front of you. You squeaked at the sudden warmth of his body heat as he placed a hand on your forehead. “Do you feel ill? You feel warm, and your face looks to be flushed with some perspiration gathering on your forehead.” His eyes frantically looked you up and down as he examined you for any further signs of sickness. “I should get you to Recovery Girl.”

“N-no!” you exclaimed when he went to sweep you off your feet. “Sh-Shouto, I—I’m fine, really. I’m n-not s-sick.”

“Oh?” Shouto blinked in confusion and, adorably, subtly tilted his head to the side. “Then why are you so febrile? And you are stuttering?”

“It’s not because I am sick. I’m just em-embarrassed.” You whispered the last part, and you couldn’t help but look away from Shouto in shame.

“Embarrassed? Why are you embarrassed, Y/N?” You shut your mouth, refusing to speak. Shouto sensed your hesitation. The light slowly left his heterochromatic eyes and he bashfully looked away from you. “Is . . . is it because you don’t want to be seen with me?” he asked. “For fear that your crush will see us together and not return your affection?”

You let out a gasp in surprise. “What? No!” You are quick to reassure him—your actual crush—of your intentions. “That’s not it at all!”

Shouto met your gaze again. His eyes lit up with what looked like . . . anticipation? Hope? You weren’t sure, but your heart began to race in trepidation. “Then what is it?”

“I like you,” you blurted out. You shut your eyes and covered your face with your hands, trying to hide from your drowning embarrassment. “Like, not even a little bit, but, like, really, really like you.” You whispered from behind your hands.

There was no immediate response from the dual-haired male. You didn’t dare to remove your hands from your face to check if he was still standing in front of you.

He probably didn’t hear me. You internally slapped yourself upside the head.

Before you could react, Shouto was carefully removing your hands from your face. His touch was gentle, like he was afraid you would crack and break under his fingertips. “Why are you hiding from me?” he whispered. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared wide-eyed at him.

“I—I.” Despite your efforts, words weren’t able to come out of your mouth.

“You should never feel like you need to hide,” he continued. He let out an airy tsk before he reached his hand up and gently tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear. You felt your face heat up even more at the action. “Especially from me.”

What.

“W-what?” you voiced aloud. You blinked a couple times, trying to bring your brain back from the brink of short-circuiting.

Shouto chuckled lowly, moving impossibly closer into your space. “I think you need to get your hearing checked out, love.”

You blinked some more. “What?”

“Have I broken you?” he asked, the corner of his perfect lips turning up at the thought. “First you forget your words, and now you have lost your hearing. . .” he trailed off as he continued to stare intently into your eyes.

What is he playing at. . .? you wondered as you blankly stared at him.

The two of you stood there and took each other in for quite a while. In reality, it mustn’t have been for very long—at most a minute and a half—but to you, it felt like hours. You were so close you could see the light reflecting in his heterochromatic eyes and the small streaks of gray in the turquoise-colored one.

“I . . . like you, too,” Shouto suddenly confessed, violently snapping you out of the daze his proximity causes. “I have harbored feelings for you for some time now.”

WHAT!?

“You . . . do?” you asked, skeptical. You were hesitant to believe his words in fear that this whole thing was some sick prank. But—

No. Shouto isn’t that type of person, you thought. He barely understands humor as it is, so he must be telling the truth.

“I do,” he confirmed.

“Oh, um.” You fumbled again for words, embarrassment flooding your entire system once more. You licked your dry lips, missing the way Shouto’s eyes locked onto the movement. “Cool.”

Shouto blinked at you, one of his perfect eyebrows raising. “Cool?” he repeated with a sly smile overcoming his lips.

“Mhm.” You dumbly nodded. “Cool.” You paused before muttering a small, “Ditto.”

He chuckled again, subtly moving the tiniest bit closer to you. He was just about crowding you into the corner at this point. “Ditto, huh?” He mumbled under his breath with a widening smirk playing at his lips. “I think I have broken you, dear.”

You grinned. “Perhaps.” Shouto chuckled again before falling silent. The two of you stared at the other, lost in each other’s gazes.

“Can I kiss you?” He spoke on an exhale, his deep voice somehow even deeper. Before you could internally flip the fuck out and fully comprehend what was happening, you were already nodding. That was all the confirmation Shouto needed before he brought your lips in for a sensual kiss. Fireworks exploded behind your eyelids as you relaxed into him.

You smiled into the kiss. Thank you, chopsticks.

The next day, you and Shouto walked into the classroom holding hands. Everyone collectively stopped what they were doing to openly gape at the two of you as Shouto, always the gentleman, escorted you to your seat. The shocked silence lasted all but three seconds before Mina and Tooru let out ear-piercing shrieks and practically tackled you.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” Mina was shouting meanwhile Tooru was holding onto you so tight to the point that she was nearly crushing you into her invisible body.

“AHHHH, I knew this was gonna happen!” she exclaimed before somehow pulling you in closer.

“Can’t . . . breathe.” You wheezed out before your boyfriend pulled you away from the two fangirls and protectively held you to his chest.

“I would be grateful if you didn’t crush my girlfriend to death, Tooru.” He intoned in his naturally dry tenor. His statement only made them freak out even more.

“Ah! Look at the two love birds!” Ochako swooned.

“Fuckin’ disgustin’,” grumbled a deep voice from somewhere in the back of the room.

Before you could turn to shoot Bakugou a death glare, Shouto was already clapping back. “What, are you jealous, Bakugou?”

The desks which had surrounded the blond a moment prior were blown to shiverines.

“I’LL END YOU!”

Fin.

→ extras: snapshot 1, snapshot 2, fic tag

No plagiarizing, re-uploading, translating, or copying of any kind or on any platform of my writing or inserted into any type of AI generator. Do not recommend my work on TikTok. Do not repost on YouTube.

[thesongoficeandfir3]

The coronation

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Wife!reader

AU where the blacks won

Warnings: none, just Jace and his wife reader being cute before his coronation

You make your way down the long corridor of the Red Keep’s ancient castle halls, your steps echoes loudly off the stone walls and floor. You soon approach heavy oak door where two knights stand and upon seeing you they immediately pull the large doors open. When you walk in you are met with a scene that takes your breath away. There in the center of the room your husband Jacaerys stands, dressed in a long, heavy, and expensive red and black regalia, fit for a king.

When you entered the room you were met with the back of him standing still. He was surrounded by several maidservants who are busy adjusting and fastening every piece of his attire, ensuring they fit perfectly for this very crucial day. There are large glass windows in the room and the bright morning light cast a glow on Jacaerys who stands in the center as if the gods themselves are casting their blessings on him for this important day.

His red and black robes are a vision of opulence and power. The material is thick and heavy, a velvety red silk that drapes him gracefully. Sewn into the sleeves, are subtle but intricate designs of sea horses and dragons, to represent both of his houses, each carefully crafted out of shimmering black thread. The back of the robe is longer than the front, pooling on the ground behind him in a dramatic train.

Your own gown had matched Jace’s, something Jace was very insistent on when it came to the designs of them. You are not sure when it started, but sometime during the first year of your marriage you found a lot of your and Jace’s outfits subtly match whether it was a big occasion or not. Your gown though less elaborate than your husband's, it still a vision of beauty fitted perfectly for a queen.

As you silently stand behind him, he meets your eyes in the reflection of the mirror he’s standing in front. A small smile dances across his lips and his dark eyes glitter with affection. It's the same look he gives you every morning when he kisses you awake.

Jacaerys holds up a hand, the gesture causing the maidservants to stop their movements in an instant. "That's enough," he says, his deep voice firm and commanding. "You may leave us."

They curtsey quickly and walk away, shutting the door behind them. Once they are gone, keeping your back straight as much as you could and your head bowing low you curtsey.

“My king.” you say with a teasing grin.

“Stop that.” he playfully rolls his eyes walking over to you. He places a hand on your chin with a tender touch, lifting your head and gesturing for you to stand.

“You look ethereal.” you whisper out, looking into his dark brown eyes with nothing but love and admiration.

“As do you my issa prūmia.” he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Are you nervous?” you ask.

He moves his hands down from your face to holding your hands squeezing them slightly.

“Just a little.” he answers, his shoulder dropping not realizing he was tense the entire time.

You notice this and move one of your hands to caress his cheek to help calm him.

“You should not be, your grandsire and mother were wonderful rulers and they passed everything they know on to you, so I have no doubt you will be just as good.”

He nods leaning into your touch, the warmth of your words and touch calming him a little, but still a small part of him is nervous.

“So does this mean from now on I have to bow when I enter every room you are in.” you tease hoping to lighten the mood.

“Hmm,” he pauses for a moment pretending to think. He then leans in slightly. “Yes, I think you will have to bow before me….Every…..Single……..Time. He says each word deliberately slow meeting your teasing banter

“Oh?“ you quirk and eyebrow feigning surprise. “Does that mean I must always call you my king as well?” you lean in closer causing your lips to be mere inches apart.

“Of course my darling,” he says reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear being very careful not to mess with the elaborate hair do, his fingers then trail along your jawline “I am your king, after all.” He smirks down at you.

“And I am your queen” your eyes had yet to leave his during your entire conversation.

“And a beautiful queen you are.” he presses his lips to yours lingering for a few moments before pulling away.

“And your child and rightful heir.“ you take his hand pressing it to your growing pregnant belly.

Jaceaeyrs feels a rush of emotion at the feeling of your belly under his palm, his eyes drifting down to where your hands meet before looking back up at you, His expression softens further. “Our child” he corrects a protective hand still resting on your stomach.

Your heart swells, though such a small gesture you can’t help but feel emotional that he said ‘our’ instead of his.

He suddenly kneels before you his fingers splaying on the swell of your stomach gently kissing it before resting his forehead on it.

“Our future king or queen.” He whispers out.

Your breath hitches at his unexpected action.

“J-Jace,” you stutter out. “This is unbecoming you are to be king” you say feeling extremely flustered.

He chuckles the sound deep and rich.

“Out there I am, but in here with you I am just a man who loves his wife and unborn child dearly” he plants one more kiss on your bump before standing. He places his hands on your hips bringing you close once more.

You reach out and grab the livery collar, each piece being one of the kingdom’s house sigil. You carefully place it over his shoulder before fastening the last button of the robe and smoothing a hand over his chest.

“Now then, let us get you to your coronation.” You smile

“As you command my queen.”

[sonolynn]

The Aftermath-Blood and Cheese part two

summary | The after math of blood and cheese.

pairing | Aemond x Wife!Fem!Reader

tags | mentions of death, grief, swearing, infanticide, murder, talks of pregnancy and birth. Not proof read.

w.c | 2.0 k

note(s) | please ignore my lack of political or architecture knowledge in regards tp the rooms in Kings Landing or Driftmark. also! Fuck you Criston Cole.

____________________________________________ 

“Have any of my letters to my daughter been answered?” Rhaenyra asked calmly.  The messenger anxiously shifted from his heels. “No, your grace.” Rhaenyra nodded solemnly. Within the past couple weeks, her daughter had not responded to any letters that she’d had sent. Of course, Rhaenyra felt that something was wrong, “motherly instinct” Daemon had so gracefully commented when she had confided in him one night about her fears. 

“Do tell me if anything comes?” 

“Of course your grace.” With a bow, the servant moved out of the way so that Rhaenyra could make her way downstairs.

____________________________________________

The looks Rhaenyra got when she entered the meeting room were nothing short of sympathetic. Daemon sat in his chair, his legs crossed and a look of boredom on his face. Jace stared at his mother as she walked, as if words had been stuck on his tongue. Rhaenyra looked between everyone until she couldn’t handle the prolonged stares and discomforting silence for much longer. 

“What is this…silence? Has Aegon struck?” Rhaenyra asked, slowly making her way to her seat. When no one answered, she turned and looked towards Rhaenys, who, at eye contact, quickly looked towards Daemon. “Well?” 

“It’s troubling news, your grace. The princess’ son, Baelon, was murdered in her arms not but a few weeks ago.” Rhaenyra smiled slightly, disbelief coursing through her mind as she laughed. 

“Murdered? He was only six months old! He had no enemies-” Rhaenyra stopped, seeing the solemn looks everyone held. Her face dropped, and she breathed out slowly as the smile faded from her face. “My…grandson is..dead?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice slightly shaky. 

“Yes. Murdered, your grace,” Rhaenys stopped, looking up towards her queen. “The greens think that you were behind this heinous crime.” 

Rhaenyra paused and a disbelieving glare settled on her face. Her? Her?!

“Me? They think me responsible? I have not but lost my own son! And to think I would inflict such a grievous pain on my daughter-” Her voice cracked, and suddenly she found herself too weak to stand. She slowly sat down, holding a hand over her stomach as the realization set in. 

Daemon looked down, his jaw clenched, his own gaze set away from Rhaenyra. He had not meant for this. 

____________________________________________

“You did this?!” Rhaenyra yelled, slamming her hands on the table where Daemon sat. The room had cleared, and now, Rhaenyra stood, barding her husband as she held back tears. 

“As I have said-”

“I said I wanted Aemond! Not my grand-” She stopped, her voice breaking as she turned away from Daemon. Daemon rolled his head to the side before he spoke, too calmly for Rhaenyra’s liking. 

“It was an accident.” 

“An accident that cost me yet another loss!” Rhaenyra yelled, her glared piercing into Daemon. Once her eyes locked with Daemon's, a deep seated feeling of dread and  anxiety fill her. How could he be so careless, so calm about the matter of her grandson’s death? 

“You barely know the child!” Daemon refuted. Rhaenyra stopped, and she breathed slowly to ground herself before she spoke. Though it did not help. Daemon spoke softer, and he looked at her with a hard gaze. “It was an accident.” 

“Accident or not you killed an innocent child, Daemon! My sweet girl-” Rhaenyra stopped, placing a hand on her mouth as she felt the tears start to bubble up in her eyes. She turned, holding back a sob as she tried to imagine how her innocent, sweet daughter could have possibly felt and reconciled with the death of the babe she worked so hard to conceive. 

“I may not have known the babe personally. I may have only held him perhaps once but it is not the boy that I am sad for! This-This mistake that you made has not only cost me lost support from the great houses, utter humiliation, and grief…but you have cost me my first born daughter!” Rhaenyra took a breath, and when Daemon said nothing she wiped the tears from her eyes and spoke slowly, turning back to face him. “My daughter thinks that I have done this. That I ordered the murder of an infant boy, Daemon!” 

“Your daughter knows you better then-” 

“My daughter may know me better than the ground that I walk on, Daemon but you underestimate a mother and her grief. You cannot possibly understand the conclusions that will be drawn from her mind when she hears that this happened in my name.” At this Daemon goes quiet. He looked away from Rhaenyra as she continued. 

“My daughter is grieving. And in her grief she will blame no one but herself. But the moment that she hears of the hideous rumor that I did this? Her grief will be overcome with anger and she will resent me!” With no more words left to say, Rhaenyra quickly turned and walked away. 

In the solace of the castle halls she broke down, sobbing heavily. She leaned against the nearest wall for support as she shook her head. Rhaenyra was unable to wrap her mind around how her precious little girl could be grappling with this grief. ____________________________________________

You were in the nursery, as you always were these days, when Crison Cole passed by. When Rhaenyra had given birth to you all those years ago, he felt a mix of emotions, but the top one was anger. He had let himself go, a moment of weakness in his own words. When Rhaenyra spoke your name, the anger grew even more. 

As you grew the relationship between you and Ser Criston grew apart. You held no resentment towards him for a while, trying to be an understanding “daughter”. 

Criston stopped, seeing you on the floor next to the crib. He felt sadness, of course he did. But more than that he felt guilt. Perhaps if he had been there, perhaps if he wasn’t occupied he could have saved your innocent son. 

And in truth you blamed Criston more than anyone. He was the head of the Kingsguard, but more than that he was your father. Even though he stayed up at night trying to deny you as his own, biologically you were his and no amount of self inflicted drunkenness or denial could change that. 

Criston stood at the door, opening his mouth to speak, before you interrupted him. 

“Where were you, Ser Criston?” At the sound of your harsh, irritable voice, he stopped. The words he meant to speak suddenly lost in his throat as he cleared throat with a cough. He spoke your name softly, taking a step forward but you picked up a nearby book and threw it at him. “My son would not be dead if you had not been fucking my mother-in-law!”

“Princess-” 

“No!” You stood, walking towards him fast as you glared at him. He had never seen you so angry, with such a look of pure hatred in your eyes. “If you had done your fucking job I would not have lost my son!” You went to hit Criston’s chest, but Aemond came quickly, holding his arms around you tightly as he pressed a soft kiss to your head, as if the anger you felt in your chest could be resolved with the feather light weight of a kiss. 

“Take your leave Ser Criston.” Aemond spoke harshly, and Criston went to speak, but Aemond looked up at him, glaring with his one good, tear filled and red eye. “I said leave, Ser Criston.” 

Criston Cole bowed, and he left quickly. He was willing to blame anyone but himself for his grandson’s death. Anyone but himself.

____________________________________________

Two years. It took you two years to fully grasp your mind around the fact that your baby was truly gone. It took Aemond a matter of months, but he still felt the loss, deep within his heart. He would stand outside of the nursery as you laid by the crib and sobbed. He would stand outside of your chambers and listen as you screamed and cursed your mother, Criston, anyone you could verbally blame. 

You couldn’t even be intimate with him without breaking down into sobs. And truly, Aemond did not wish to be intimate. He wished to be there for you, a supporter that you needed and not just some mindless lustful husband. So he waited, and he waited patiently. Holding you while you cried, escorting you out of the Red Keep when the court’s children would run about. 

By the third year, long after you had let your husband back into bed, you became pregnant. A gift from the gods, you were sure. And when you finally gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl whom you named Viserys and Visenya. 

Aemond loved the twins, with his every breath he loved them. But, he felt some disconnect from you. You seemed more connected to your daughter than your son. When Visneya would cry you would go running, but if Viserys cried, you would hesitate, before ultimately having Aemond go to the boy. 

____________________________________________

You were in the nursery, staring down at Viserys as the babe slept. He had such an uncanny resemblance to Baelon that it made you physically sick. You could not hold the babe, much rather opting to hold his sister than him. Holding Viserys felt like holding Baelon, and when you thought of holding Baelon, all you thought about was the night that he was taken from you. 

Aemond knew this. How could he not. He himself had a hard time with Viserys. Viserys reminded him of his failure to protect his first son. At first that is. Sooner than later Aemond would grow fond of the babe, promising himself, and both of his children, that he would never fail them. That he would come to them every night and bid them a goodnight. 

On the night that you stood in the nursery, staring at your son, Aemond came. He leaned against the frame for a while until he heard the boy start to whimper. He came closer to the crib, and he saw the baby boy reaching out towards you, seeking the neglected embrace of his mother. 

“He wants you, my love.” Aemond spoke gently, knowing that if he raised his voice too much, he’d accidentally frighten you. He watched you closely, watching your conflicted face as you shook your head. 

“Perhaps you could-”

“My love, please. I cannot take him forever.” You nodded at his words, knowing that it was true. You took in an uncertain breath before you shakily reached down into Viserys crib and picked him up. 

You felt like a new mother, holding a babe you barely even knew even though you carried him for eight months. You stared down at the squirming babe, and all you saw was Baelon. Baelon, Baelon, Baelon-

Aemond came behind you, wrapping his arms around you and supporting Viserys under your own arms. Your breath stopped, tears filling your eyes as you felt the embrace. 

“You’re okay, my love. I’m here.” Gods you relished in those words. For the past three years Aemond had been your rock, your anchor, taking you back down from your swirling thoughts and telling you that you were okay. 

Taking a deep breath, you looked down at your baby boy, and for the first time in three months you saw Viserys. You saw Viserys. The thought almost made you sob; All these months, being detached from the very human you created made you feel like the worst mother in the world. But then, he smiled at you. You felt your whole resolve weaken at the sight of your son’s smile. 

You resented Criston Cole, for not being there as a father, for not being there the night Baelon was murdered. However, this innocent little creature didn’t resent you, he simply missed you. He could feel no hate, no resentment for your own trauma. The thought of being so easily forgiven by this little innocent life made your heart swell and your eyes tear up. 

Instinctively, you pulled away from Aemond and you started to rock the boy. Viserys smiled, the same, lopsided smile Aemond had. Your heart swelled and you smiled down at the boy as tears filled your gaze. Viserys reached up, holding his tiny hand to your nose as he giggled. You looked at this boy, no longer thinking of the life you had lost, but the ones that you had gained.

____________________________________________

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Hope it was up to everyone's standards!!

[tsuutarr]

(Yandere Otome Isekai Harem [commoner MLs] x Reader)

"Thrust into an unfamiliar world, you have to navigate your role as the Heir to the Arrington Estate. Luckily for you, you have allies that are eager to help you. Maybe a little too eager, in fact."

The Arrington Estate [Chapter 1]

When you wake up, the first thing you want to do is throw up. You feel so deathly ill that you’re on the cusp of feeling like you’re not alive at all. But you’re in so much pain that you know you have to be alive – there’s no other way your nerves would be filled with what feels like molten lava.

“Breathe.” A voice, gentle and low, soothes from beside you. A warm hand settles itself on your back and you’re not even sure how you managed to register it, but you do. “Drink.”

You’re not fully conscious of how the liquid pours down your throat, but you soon find your eyes fluttering shut. Your nerves settle down as you’re lulled into a peaceful rest.

Time is foreign to you when you wake up. Your body still feels heavy, but it doesn’t hurt like it did prior. Processing things is difficult, your mind being bogged down with thoughts that have no end. All you can do is stare at the ceiling made of ornate golden patterns. Gorgeous, but…

It isn’t familiar to you.

Panic should be shooting through your spine, but there’s a feeling of… emptiness that seems to sink into your heart, making the situation seem dull rather than frightening.

“Are you awake?”

You didn’t even realize that there is someone beside you – beside the bed you’re in. Slowly, you turn your head to see a man sitting poised and proper on a wooden chair. His long chestnut colored hair is tied in a neat ponytail, a pleasant smile on his face. But what really draws your attention are his eyes – golden, almost.

“It appears that your complexion has returned. That is a relief,” he says, but you can’t really discern the emotion on his face.

“Who are you?” The words come out of your mouth before you’ve even processed them inside your brain. 

There’s something eerie about the way his expression shifts – it doesn’t shift too noticeably, but there’s a hint of pensiveness that makes you nervous.

“My, I suppose your illness has rendered your memory quite poor. That is unfortunate,” he murmurs, but you’re not entirely sure if he means it or not. It’s a weird contrast – he speaks so kindly, so gently, that he seems so harmless. But he is a stranger to you. You don’t know him – if you can trust him. 

Perhaps he notices the wariness on your face, but he relaxes his body somewhat, offering you a friendlier smile as he introduces himself, “My name is Geoffry Cullen. I am your butler.”

“B… Butler? Mine?” you ask, your brain fog slowly receding. Everything about this situation is so foreign to you, from the ornate ceiling to the luxurious bed you’re on to the man who claims he serves you.

You’re pretty sure this isn’t the life you remember.

“Yes, yours.”

“Who am I, then?” you ask, trying to piece together something – anything that can give you a hint.

“Why, you’re the heir to the Arrington Estate,” he states as if it is the most obvious fact in the world. And perhaps it is the most obvious fact to everyone but you.

You can’t help but doubt the validity of this “fact” that’s been told to you because, while you don’t remember much, you do remember something:

You are, in fact, not the heir to the Arrington Estate.

Perhaps your expression gives away your entire dilemma, because Geoffrey offers you a sympathetic smile. It’s the kindest he’s looked so far.

“You must be hungry. Let me bring you your meal.” He stands up gracefully, adjusting his suit jacket as he does so. “In the meantime, please get some more rest.”

He bows, before exiting the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You’re still utterly lost and confused, the uncertainty of your own situation making you nervous.

Despite your legs still feeling wobbly, you force yourself to rise. Stumbling, you make your way to the mirror. It’s probably the fanciest mirror you’ve ever seen – it almost looks like a jewelry box. It’s so fancy that you’re undoubtedly certain that you aren’t home. There’s no way you could ever afford a mirror of this quality.

What’s odd, though, is that you actually see yourself in the reflection. A part of you wondered if you’d possess another body or something of that sort, but… you look identical to how you remember looking. But you shouldn’t look like yourself, right? After all, the butler – Geoffrey – had claimed that you are the heir to the Arrington Estate, which you aren’t.

Now that you’ve been allowed to wake up fully without the pain from prior, things are slowly coming back to you. You recall your home, your friends, your family; and it’s all just so normal compared to the grand room you’ve found yourself in. This room feels too fantastical to be real.

In fact, it reminds you of the stories you had read about reincarnation and transmigration back in your world. Everything, from your confusion to the room to the butler, seems like the hallmarks of one of the transmigration or reincarnation stories you had read back then. Only… you’re not certain what story you’re in. Geoffrey as a character is unfamiliar to you. The Arrington Estate as a place is unfamiliar to you.

Furthermore…

Why do you still look like yourself? 

You can’t wrap your head around it. Sure, some people retained their appearance when they got teleported into another world, but they usually had a role that did not already exist. These people are the “hero” that got called to help save the world, so it makes sense that they retained their appearance.

But it doesn’t make sense for you. You’re considered the Heir to the Arrington Estate, meaning that you must’ve taken over the role of someone who already exists. And yet you still look like yourself.

You groan, feeling tired. You feel lost and confused. There are too many things you don’t understand – too many variables. 

It’s all too much for you.

Slowly, you trudge back to your bed, settling yourself under the plush covers. You’re pretty sure that the blanket itself is enough to pay your rent for a year. You don’t even want to think about how much the pillows, the bed, the entire room may cost. You’re certain that it’s more money than you would’ve been able to see in ten lifetimes, at least.

But now you’re able to see all this money – it’s yours, technically.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense. It makes your heart beat loudly inside your brain, making your ears ring as you stare up at the ornate ceiling. Somehow, looking at the ceiling makes the buzz in your brain quiet. Your eyes follow the curves and edges highlighted in gold. Your eyes follow the ceiling’s patterns again and again and again until you lull your tired body into a dreamless slumber.

Geoffrey returns to your room a bit later, only to see you slumbering peacefully. He places your meal down on your bedside table, before taking a seat on the wooden chair by your bedside. Quietly, he watches as your chest rises and falls softly, breathing even in your sleep. 

Yes, you must’ve been quite tired, that much is certain. It’s not easy to come back from death, after all. And you should be dead, yet somehow aren’t.

“Curious, isn’t it?” he murmurs, softly, his gaze lingering on your face for any clues.

Yes, it’s quite curious. You should be dead. He was certain that you wouldn’t be able to recover.

Oh, yes, he was quite certain. 

After all, he’s the one that killed you.

And yet, here you are.

[selenepsyche]

Your Venus Sign as an Iconic Female K-pop Visual

Hello everyone! Here's another fun post for y'all! Let me know which female you got in the comments down below! Also please know that the Venus sign won't be the idol's actual Venus sign (if it is then it's coincidental). But this is based off of my own observations.

Aries Venus - CL

CL (2NE1) is the perfect example of the Aries Venus. Her fashion style has always been bold, raw, unapologetic, and was one of the first female idols to fully own a "bad bitch" aesthetic. 2NE1 invented the "Girl Crush" concept but CL fully owned it. The main colors of most of her outfits consist of black, red, gold, and silver colors or jewelry. She can rock lace, leather, fur, or multi-patterned clothing. She absolutely rocks avant-garde and streetwear fashion. She has always been full of confidence and swagger, which makes it easier for her to rock those type of clothing.

Taurus Venus - Wonyoung

Wonyoung (IVE) has a fashion sense and visuals that are so Venusian to me. She always seems comfortable in her own skin. No matter what she's doing, she always looks composed and unbothered. Her fashion is elegant, fairy-like, and classy. Her signature style consists of ruffled skirts or dresses, lace or plain stockings, satin, Mary Jane shoes, ribbons, bows, vintage button up shirts or sweaters, and silver jewelry. She has innate and effortless beauty. She doesn't have to chase attention because she naturally gets it. She is always glowing and a true divine feminine.

Gemini Venus - Soyeon

The main thing I love about Soyeon (I-dle) is how she fits any concept that I-dle does. Whether the era consists of Y2K, burlesque, or streetwear fashion, she wears it with ease. She has changed her hairstyles many times as well. She can pull off anything and wears pretty much anything, so because of this I don't know what signature style to give her. She is like a fashion chameleon. She is also very charismatic, confident, and unpredictable.

Cancer Venus - Mina

Mina (Twice) has been seen in different types of fashion, but the one that suits her best is her soft, elegant, Old-Hollywood style of clothing. With this style, she usually wears satin or vintage style dresses, stiletto heels, long boots, lace, silver jewelry, or a casual blazer and skirt set. It's similar to Wonyoung's, but their vibes are different. In my opinion, Mina's beauty is more Cancerian because she looks and feels more gentle and mysterious, with soft expressions that pull you in. She is graceful with a dreamy aura and gentle movements.

Leo Venus - Jennie

Jennie (Blackpink) is a great example of a Leo Venus because she radiates main character energy without effort. Ever since she debuted in Blackpink, she has been seen as the it girl of her generation and has always been the most popular member. Even when she's not doing much, her presence is always felt. Jennie always wears outfits that are memorable, stylish, expressive, and statement-making. No matter the style, she always owns her outfits.

Virgo Venus - Yoona

Yoona (Girls' Generation) is a perfect example of a Virgo Venus. She wears clothes that are clean, refined, and minimalistic. She doesn't overdo her outfits nor her makeup. She embodies quiet elegance and grace. She doesn't really experiment with her style, just keeps it consistent and simple. She is known for being private and poised, which fits how Virgo's are usually full of dignity and subtly. She wasn't the original "Nation's Center" for no reason.

Libra Venus - Tzuyu

Tzuyu (Twice) has beauty that is harmonious, symmetrical, and effortless. Tzuyu has the kind of beauty that looks like she is a living art piece. Her presence feels peaceful and balanced. She usually wears flowy dresses, brighter colors, and gracefully tailored outfits. Her outfits don't ever feel out of place even if it's a style she rarely wears. But she definitely excels at wearing more formal, romantic, and elegant styles.

Scorpio Venus - Sunmi

I just love Sunmi. She has released versatile comebacks, but most of them still always carry a sensual and magnetic undertone to them. Her gaze and body language is always powerful. She always makes deep and powerful love songs (Heroine, Gashina, Tail), while releasing music videos with important and even darker messages (Noir), which is very Scorpio Venus coded. In her fashion, she usually wears black and red clothing, and sometimes floral patterns in short, flowy dresses.

Another thing I noticed is how she also wears florals a lot and even has flower visuals in some of her music videos. It's ironic because Scorpio Venus represents transformation and duality, which flowers perfectly represent. Flowers are beautiful and on the outside, but represent life, death, rebirth, and desire, which aligns with Scorpio's themes of transformation and and emotional depth. A flower can be crushed, plucked, and left to wither, which is similar to Scorpio's feelings of attachment and loss.

Sagittarius Venus - BIBI

Similar to Gemini Venus, I've noticed that Bibi's outfits are versatile, but a bit more experimental. One minute she's wearing a tightly fitted leather black dress with fish nets, the next minute she's wearing a big fluffy, multicolored dress. Then she gonna be wearing a bright and bold outfit with mismatched patterns and colors, then gonna hop in a simple cotton romper with only one or two colors on it. She is an absolute wild card and even knows how to blend certain styles, materials, and colors together to create a unique outfit.

Capricorn Venus - Krystal

Krystal (Fx) radiates an energy that is cool, composed, and chic. Her beauty reminds me of the old money aesthetic. She's luxurious and sophisticated. Her energy and fashion gives off quiet superiority and elite taste. She usually wears outfits in neutral and darker colors, such as brown, beige, white, black, dark blues, dark reds, and grey. She usually wears simple midi skirts, tailored women's suits, high heels or long boots, long and simple satin, cotton, flowy dresses, and occasional denim jeans with a simple shirt. She shows how less is more.

Aquarius Venus - Ningning

I feel like I can put Aespa as a whole group, but I decided to put Ningning because I feel like her outfits suit Aquarius Venus the most. Ningning's outfits are innovative, unique, and trend-setting. In my opinion, her stage outfits are some of the best out of all of Aespa's comebacks. Not only that, but the way she evolves in her fashion is amazing. One day, she could look cute and casual, then the next day she may look bold and glamorous, then after that she may look futuristic, and it'll all feel and look natural. Her beauty and style is unconventional and original.

Pisces Venus - IU

IU truly embodies everything about a Pisces Venus. She's like poetry in motion. Her beauty is soft, mystical, dreamy, and ethereal. She usually wears outfits that seem like they're straight out of a fairytale book. She wears pastel colors, lose and sheer fabrics, short dresses with detailed cuts and jewels on them, florals, and silver accessories with heels or short boots. She radiates a beauty that attracts many people, yet is subtle and bittersweet.

Thank you all so much for reading this post! This was very fun to make, especially since I love fashion a lot as well. I hope you all enjoyed this and if you have any question, leave them down in the comment section!

dividers: @uzmacchiato & @anitalenia pictures: Pinterest

© selenepsyche - All Rights Reserved

[zephyrchama]

Do you ever wonder if the Devildom has silly celebrity TV competitions like The Masked Singer?

A bright green peacock costume graced the TV's screen. The costumed celebrity gripped a microphone and swayed as he sang, commanding all attention from the audience.

"This guy's got a great set of pipes." Mammon was on the edge of his seat humming along to the classic tune. "Twenty grimm says he wins the whole season. And another twenty grimm says that it's Chort."

Satan raised an eyebrow. "I don't think that's Chort. Could he even sing? Plus, didn't he disappear because of his massive debts?"

Belphegor nodded. "I heard he's been trying to dig a river for the last six hundred years. The show's hints made this guy seem pretty great. I think it's Vapula.

"You think?" Satan rested his head on his hand and listened. "He's really good."

Hundreds of long feathers splayed out gracefully from the back of the perforner's costume, as if hypnotizing the viewers.

"I'm tellin' ya, it's Chort. He's probably on here to sweep the competition and pay off his debts. Not a bad plan." A scheme began to take shape in Mammon's brain. "If I call these production guys, they'll be beggin' to have someone like me on next season."

Asmodeus laughed, "you? Maybe in a few seasons after me. I know they're waiting to bring me on as a special guest."

"Wait, really?" Leviathan was only watching in case somebody sang an anime or game cover. Most of the time, he was boredly scrolling his phone and making technical remarks about the costumes. "C-can you take song requests?"

"It's not official yet " Asmodeus clarified, "but I know they'll want me on the show in due time. I'm just worried the mask will hide my true beauty."

The singer finished his performance with a dab and a bow. After racous applause began an excessively long commercial break. Interest in the room dwindled. Nobody cared much about curse insurance.

You hugged a cushion to your chest. Being unfamiliar with Devildom celebrities meant you couldn't play along, but listening to everyone's guesses was still enjoyable.

"That guy reminds me of Lucifer."

Belphegor and Satan made faces like they had just swallowed a frog. There was a beat of silence, then everyone in the room collectively went, "Nah."

"Where is he, anyway?" you asked.

"He said something about a favor for Lord Diavolo," Beelzebub replied through a fistful of buttered popcorn. "Won't be back until late."

"Ah."

When commercials ended, the show began to wrap up. The peacock costume reappeared as the judges tried their hardest to guess his identity. Despite its flat plastic eyes, the costume had a majestic air to it. The masked man still drew eyes even when standing still.

"Last chance for betting," Mammon said. He shook his coin purse. Nobody took up his offer.

With plenty of suspense, the emcee began to remove the contestant's mask. There was a solid minute of the camera panning between the stage, the audience, and the judges.

"Hurry up already." Belphegor tossed a piece of popcorn at the TV.

"I can't believe this!" the emcee shouted.

Asmodeus impatiently squeezed his hands together. "Well? Who is it!?"

"It's...!"

Confetti cannons and bright lights obscured the mystery man's face, yet the audience was going wild.

"I can't believe it!" The emcee screamed.

"If they cut to commercials again, I'm leaving," Satan sighed.

Thankfully, there were no more commercials. There were no more pans to the audience or the judges. There was only one person in the camera's focus.

"Your ruler of hell, the Avatar of Pride himself, the great Morning Star! It's... Lucifer!"

There was a sudden chorus of exclamations. "What!?"

Aside from the television, the House of Lamentation became dead silent. Beelzebub stopped, slowly lowering his hand of food while transfixed on the screen. Asmodeus looked like he was about to cry, having his position on the show stolen first by Lucifer. Mammon looked confused and swiveled his head around, stunned, as though his brothers were pranking him. Belphegor narrowed his eyes with displeasure.

You cautiously eyed Satan, ready to command him to stay if things got out of hand. He just stared at the screen coldly.

Leviathan was first to break the silence. "Wait, really? Lucifer's the peacock?"

"I knew it sounded like Lucifer," you bragged. You raised your arms victoriously. Your cushion flopped onto the floor.

Beelzebub was the only one to commend you. "Good job, I had no idea."

"So it wasn't Chort or Vapula." Belphegor began to drag himself off the couch. "Well, that was unexpected. I'm going to bed."

"What's the prize for this show? How much's he winnin'?" Mammon asked.

"Probably nothing. It's a small appearance fee and the rest is just exposure," Asmodeus explained. Him and Mammon both hung their heads.

Satan got up to grab the remote, mashing the power button until it clicked off. "This show sucks. Let's find something else to watch next week."

[studioeisa]

like a python 🧊 jihoon x reader.

jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him.

★ rockstar!jihoon x reader. ★ word count: 2.5k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol. jihoon-centric, childhood friends, yearning... so much yearning, young k makes a cameo, jihoon is a bit lame (affectionately), cussing/swearing. mentions of alcohol, food. ★ footnotes: got7 dropped winter heptagon and it's all i can think about. wrote this in one sitting as a show of gratitude to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for introducing me to these boys. haven't done a song fic in a hot minute, but for lee jihoon and got7? anything. shoutout to igot7_MarKP on twitter for the english translation of the lyrics.

🎧 now playing: python by got7 — i know i'm an icon, watch me with the lights on; but she got a hold on me like a python.

▸ MUSIC IS HOW I'VE BEEN VENTING NOW... OVERSEAS, I'M SELLING OUT.

It’s pretty surreal to Jihoon, being in a room with some of the biggest names in rock.

In the past hour alone, he’s met Alex Turner, Dave Grohl, and— holy shit, is that Hayley Williams? Jihoon is getting dizzy, and it’s not only because of all the secondhand smoke he’s inhaled since he got to the Rolling Stones afterparty. 

The best of the best. That’s what the invitation had boasted. It was the scene’s most coveted event, and Jihoon somehow made it to the guest list. 

Unbidden, your voice nags from somewhere in the back of his mind. You’re the best, Jihoon-ah. 

He shakes his head, like he’s physically trying to get away from the thought of you. This had been happening a lot more as of late. Fleeting moments wherein he’d imagine how you would react, what you’d say. 

But Jihoon always catches himself. He snaps himself out of it and goes back to recording, goes back to performing. 

God, he needs to get it together. He’s starting to regret saying ‘no’ to the cigarette Ely Buendia was offering him earlier. 

(In Jihoon’s defense, he didn’t smoke often. He didn’t want to fuck up his vocal chords. He had a one-cigarette-a-year rule, and he wasn’t about to use it now. It was only January; who knew what else the year would throw him?) 

Jihoon is contemplating some other vice— maybe he can go grab another beer— when he feels a tap on his shoulder. At the sight of who came up to him, Jihoon immediately folds into a bow. 

“There’s no need for that,” Younghyun says, equal parts amused and embarrassed. “We’re all the same here, yeah?” 

Jihoon pulls himself to his full height. “Not… really,” he says lamely, and then he immediately launches into mumbled apologies when he realizes how he might have sounded. 

It wasn’t that Jihoon thought he was better than his peers. Hell, he knew that he was the least important person in the room. That’s what he meant; they were not all the same, because Jihoon still had a long ways to go. 

Especially when compared to rock icon Young K, who is— gracefully— taking Jihoon’s awkwardness in stride. 

“You’re holding up a lot better than me,” Younghyun muses. “At my first afterparty, I threw up on Rupam Islam.” 

“No.” 

“Yes, unfortunately. He was very nice about it, though.” 

Jihoon lets out a stutter of a laugh. He’s never been a fan of small talk, but he clings to it now like a lifeline. “Does it get easier?” he asks. 

Younghyun’s eyebrows raise. “Throwing up on rockstars?” 

“No, no–”

“I was kidding,” Younghyun says in between chuckles. His expression is a little more pensive when he goes on, “I can’t say for sure that it gets easier, but you learn to deal with it.” 

You learn to deal with it. Jihoon can almost laugh at just how accurate that is. It seems applicable to every aspect of his life— including missing you. 

Jihoon winces. Younghyun notices. 

The older man doesn’t comment on it, probably thinks it’s something else entirely. Younghyun doesn’t flinch away, either, when Jihoon nervously says, “Can I ask you another question?” 

“Ask away,” says Younghyun. “I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

What is Jihoon doing? He doesn’t know either, but it’s either this or fight off the urge to run through a pack of Marlboros. “How do you cope,” he starts slowly, “with… feelings?” 

A beat. Crap. Jihoon realizes he definitely could have phrased that better, because Younghyun is now looking at him with an expression of mild confusion. 

Jihoon backtracks. “You— we— go through a lot in this field of work. Like, a lot. And you— fuck, fine, I’m— grateful for it, really, I swear. But there’s just… so much other things, too, aside from the gratitude. How do you cope with those?”

Jihoon knows he probably looks and sounds like a trainwreck in his bid to be deliberately vague. By some miracle, Younghyun at least seems to understand what Jihoon is trying to say.

Younghyun’s lip quirks to one side as he thinks of his response. The silence stretches uncomfortably long, but then he gives an answer that’s the last thing Jihoon could have expected. 

“I write,” Younghyun says. 

Jihoon blinks once. Then twice. 

“You write,” he repeats, and the former nods. 

“It’s all in my discography. The anger, the heartbreak, the love.” Younghyun raises his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve written nearly 200 songs, and all of them are just— that. Questions. Answers to questions. Feelings and stories.” 

It’s so simple, so obvious. It’s like a glaring traffic sign, like something that every musician should know and do.

Put it in a song. Perform it for thousands and leave the muse none the wiser. Profit. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Jihoon had done it a fair amount of times, but never had he considered putting you to pen and paper. The prospect of it makes something in his chest thrum. 

“I—” He clears his throat. “I think I have to go, sunbaenim. It was nice seeing you.” 

A hint of humor glints in Younghyun’s eye, like he’s somewhat aware of the fact he’s witnessing something unravel. “‘Younghyun’ is fine,” he chirps. “And it was nice seeing you, too, Jihoon. Take care of yourself.” 

The words— take care of yourself— are supposed to be a platitude. To Jihoon, it feels like a tall ask. 

▸ I'M TOURING THE WORLD BUT I'M MISSING THE ONE WHO HELD IT DOWN.

Jihoon is exhausted. 

As much as he wants to say that he’s never been this tired in his life, it’d probably be a lie. He’d make the claim, hit the road, then end up crashing out saying the same damn thing. He’s seen this film before; he knows how it ends. 

He falls back on his hotel bed after his shower. A low groan escapes him, and he sends up a silent prayer to all the higher powers there are. Thank you for sheets with a 300-500 thread count. Thank you for air-conditioning. Thank you for warm showers and Listerine. 

Despite his fatigue, Jihoon can’t just go to sleep. Post-show adrenaline always took a couple of hours to wear off.

He briefly contemplates his options. Write a lyric or two? Watch a shitty Netflix movie? Stare out the hotel window until his eyes can’t stay open anymore? 

None of the above, it seems, as he reaches for his phone. 

Jihoon has never been active on SNS; he just couldn’t bring himself to care about things like TikTok trends or Twitter ‘beef’. It’s a constant thorn in his PR team’s side. There is one thing that he bothers to check, though, and God forbid he deny himself the simple pleasure of some good ol’ fashioned pining. 

He’s been on your Instagram page enough times that it’s the first thing that shows when he goes to the search bar. It’s the only thing that shows, really, which gives some pretty good sense of where his head is at. 

Your profile loads. There’s no new post, no recent story. Jihoon is both disappointed and relieved.

No news is good news, he thinks to himself as he leisurely scrolls through the photos he’s already seen a dozen times before. You, feeding sidewalk cats. You, sipping tea at a cafe. You, in all the places that were once Jihoon’s, too. The beaches, the hiking trails, the restaurant in your shared neighborhood. 

Jihoon opens that particular post. Even though he’s watched your life in squares for the better half of the past three years, this is the one photo that always has him feeling a pang of… something. 

Because Jihoon can imagine it— being at that restaurant with you. The two of you had discovered it together, had pooled your measly school allowances to afford the bokguk and ganjang gejang. 

He imagines being there with this older version of you, being the one snapping the picture that’d find a spot on your feed. He can see it so clearly in his mind’s eye that if he really, really tries, it begins to look more like a memory than a daydream.

But he’s not in Busan, not even in Korea. He’s in the United States instead, where he has ten stops before heading to Canada and Europe. 

Sold-out stadiums. Thousands upon thousands of adoring fans. 

All the food that he could possibly want, and yet it’s pufferfish soup and soy sauce crabs that he’s looking for. 

Every person that he could possibly have, and yet. And yet. 

Jihoon huffs out a frustrated exhale. He’s tired, which he swears makes him delusional. 

He casts his phone aside, blissfully ignorant to the way his finger double taps his screen as he does. 

Halfway across the world, your phone pings.

woozi_universefactory ✓ liked your post. 

▸ I'VE BEEN RUNNING BACKWARDS, RUNNING BACKWARDS LIKE A MARATHON.

The push notification glaring up at Jihoon looks a lot like a bomb that’s about to explode.

Jihoon feels like it’s a bomb, because he refuses to believe that after over a year of absolutely nothing, you’ve messaged first. You’ve messaged first. 

He double, triple checks his calendar. It’s neither of your birthdays. It’s not a holiday, either. Is it Chuseok? No— that doesn’t make sense. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he chides himself under his breath. It’s a text. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jihoon opens the notification. 

And then his heart just. 

Stops. 

You’d sent two messages— the first, being the post that had him spiraling last night. It’s the proceeding message that has Jihoon hoping the ground will swallow him whole. 

Stalking me, Jihoon-ah? 

Holy shit.

Jihoon types out at least three different messages, from Are you a fly on my wall to Is there a new Instagram feature I don’t know about to What happened to “hello, how are you”? 

In the end, he only sends back a single question mark. When he opens the offending post, he immediately sees his transgression. 

Jihoon hadn’t liked the photo before last night. He didn’t like much posts to begin with. How— When— 

His phone pings. He’s never been so thankful that he mostly opts to get room service for breakfast, because the squeak that he lets out is definitely not very rockstar-like. Jihoon fumbles, and he ends up opening your DM before he can psych himself up for it. 

LOL. Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, you say. 

Damn you and your ability to render him speechless. Jihoon wonders if he can get away with not responding, with getting back to you a couple of days later and blaming his work. 

Except. 

Jihoon’s fingers slowly move across his screen. 

It was a good post, he says. 

It was a post from a year ago, you answer. 

So? He throws in an emoji of a man shrugging for good measure. Jihoon never uses emojis, but he can make some exceptions. 

Your respond, So, stalking. You were stalking me. 

Jihoon knows he’s digging a hole for himself, knows he’s going to stay up several nights thinking of just how stupid he is. If he were a stronger man, he’d pull the plug on this conversation and that’d be it. You wouldn’t bug him. He would maybe write a song about this moment. The world would go on. 

But he can hear you. 

In the messages, in the words on his screen. He can hear your voice, the way you’d smile or laugh or tease. How you’d say his name in that sing-song tone he once pretended to hate. 

He hears you in your messages, and he’ll live with the secondhand shame if it means that he gets to keep on listening. 

Not stalking, he shoots back. Just checking in. 

Ah, you say. Because you missed me?~

Despite himself, he scoffs. You’ve always been so shameless. It didn’t matter to you that he was WOOZI the rockstar; to you, he would always be Jihoon who lived three houses down. 

As if, he says to your teasing.

You don’t respond anymore. You don’t even read the message, because Jihoon doesn’t see the little ‘Seen’ under his last message.

He waits for it for a minute. Then five minutes. Then seven minutes. He stops checking at the thirteen-minute mark, because he likes to believe he’s no longer a high schooler with a raging crush on the girl next door. 

He’s a grown man. He’s WOOZI, for Christ’s sake. 

He can’t keep coming back to you.

▸ I GAVE YOU MY TIME WHEN I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH; ALL OF MY FEELINGS, SWEPT UNDER THE RUG.

Except he does. 

WOOZI may not want to. WOOZI may be the bassist writing songs about the past in hopes of leaving things in the past, but Jihoon is a different story. 

Jihoon texts you the moment he lands in Gimhae International Airport. Jihoon stands outside your front door— definitely jetlagged, probably in need of a shower— with his luggage in one hand and his phone in the other. 

Jihoon acts like it’s the world’s biggest inconvenience when he tells you, “Come on, then.” 

The two of you get the crabs and soup. He refuses to talk about his time away; he contents himself with listening, like he always does, and you fill the silence with babble. Your desk job, your parents’ nagging, your hobbies and side hustles. 

“Probably not as interesting as your life,” you joke after a particularly long-winded anecdote about a delivery rider who got your address wrong. 

Jihoon neither confirms nor denies the statement. He only raises one eyebrow and gives you a wordless gesture with his hand. Go on anyway, he’s saying, and you take the cue. 

The meal ends. Jihoon invites you for coffee. Then ice cream. Then a walk. 

“This is very suspicious.” 

Jihoon can’t help it; a snort of laughter escapes him at your words. “Can’t a guy take a friend out to lunch?” he asks humorlessly. 

“And dinner,” you note. 

“And dinner, yes.” 

“And dessert.” 

“And dessert.” 

The two of you are taking the long way home. There’s something to be said about how Jihoon drags his feet, about how you walk like you’re not on borrowed time. Even your conversation moves like you’re beating around the bush.

There is an elephant in the room and Jihoon is done pretending that it’s not there. That it hasn’t been there since the day you two met in primary school, since the first time he held your hand as a teenager, since he became a musician and every song he performed became about you.

Jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him. 

“Are you dying?” 

Your blasé question draws a bark of laughter from him. “Jesus, no,” he says. “Do I have to be dying to want to see you?” 

You don’t answer right away. Jihoon once again has that feeling that he’s said something wrong, something loaded, but you save him from overthinking when you respond with, “You wanted to see me?” 

There it is. That teasing tone, that hint of a smile. 

You bump your shoulder against his. “You missed me, Jihoon-ah. Admit it.” 

And Jihoon is done, Jihoon is tired, Jihoon is still yours after all this time.

“I did,” he finally, finally says. “I missed you.” 

[it-was-summer]

Buy Me Presents, Baby

A/N: Minors; DNI. I DONT CAREEE I WANT HIM!! Anyways, this may or may not be based on true events in my life. If you're reading this also know that I wrote this Christmas Eve and it is now 5am on Christmas Day, the powerhouse of lust. Hope you guys like this because I DID NOT proofread this AT ALL!! I mention the pill (oral contraception), so sorry if this is an issue, I'm just a girl. I KNOW there is a typo in here... i know it. Merry Christmas!! My gift is porn!!- Love you, Em

edit- the typo was fully in the title… go to bed at a reasonable time kids.

Link to the Ao3: Buy Me Presents, Baby Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Woof uhh okay! newly established relationship, Christmas sex, Spanking, Creampie, PnV sex, Reader gets called girl.. I apologize, Oral contraceptives are mentioned at the end, lingerie, that one bow lingerie... yall know which on I'm talking about?, That ONE!! WITH THE BOW YES!!, I had to use the word pussy.. IM SORRT IM NOT HAPPY ABOUT It, dirty talk, cock this cock that, not proofread, merry christmas.

Genre: Porn, no plot. Some fluff? Pairing: Established relationship!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: You and Spencer exchange gifts for Christmas, and one of your gifts happens to be a little physical.

Word Count: 3,669

Spencer doesn’t know what’s gotten into you. 

Though the longer he thinks about it, he should have seen the signs of your recent… restlessness. Being in the BAU came with its challenges, and one of these challenges was— of course— being away from home. Usually, the two of you would find a special time that worked for both of you to meet up and spend some well-deserved time together. 

Lately, it has felt like the world was against you, though. Every time you had free time, he’d plan a date night with you, only for him to be called away on a case. The one time you planned a date, you came down with a cold. The cycle kept repeating in a million different annoying ways. 

The cherry on top? It was almost Christmas. It's nearly Christmas, and neither of you has seen each other for a good three weeks— it’s miserable. 

So imagine his excitement when his phone doesn’t ring early Saturday morning. When he steps out of his shower, he checks it again— nothing. He’s beaming when he calls you, your sleepy voice answering him before he says, “Dinner tonight?” 

There’s a pause, followed by some rustling, “You’re free?” 

“Mhm,” He hums with a grin, grabbing his glasses from the case and placing them gracefully on his face. 

He can hear the excitement in your voice. " You want to exchange presents?” He remembers the playful tone in your voice when you said it, but at the time, he thought nothing of it. He chuckles softly before agreeing, saying a sweet goodbye, and hanging up the phone. 

Dinner begins and ends at your place, decorated in lights and festive trinkets, and presents wrapped neatly under the fake tree in the corner of your living room. The gift exchange went smoothly; you got Spencer some reading essentials, followed by a special edition of one of his favorite books. Spencer, in turn, had bought you a pair of earrings you pointed out back in November and a framed copy of your favorite painting.

It was getting late now, with a warm cup of tea in his hands, you turned and whispered in a playful voice, “I still have one more gift for you.” 

His eyebrows raised at that, bending his head to look at you as you sat with your back pressed against his chest, “More? After the special edition Tolstoy?” 

“More. I was saving it for the twenty-fifth, but…” You trail off, your eyes leaving his as you glance toward your bedroom. “I could go get it ready now?” 

Spencer smiles, thinking about it momentarily before he decides that he might not be home for Christmas. He mutters a soft “Yeah, okay.” 

You stand up quickly, an excited look in your eyes when you tell him, “Okay, stay here!” And then you’re gone. 

Spencer’s watching your bedroom door close with a faint smile. He stretches as he waits, his tea finished, when he hears you call out for him, “You can come in now!” 

He stepped into your room with nothing but good intentions, that is, until he saw you lying on your bed in lingerie. Maroon satin material lays smooth against your skin, and the shape of a tantalizing bow teases him at the center of your chest and your underwear— barely there. 

He clears his throat in a vain attempt to appear calm and collected, though he’s sure you can see his blushing cheeks and growing arousal. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die in the back of his throat when you sit up on your elbows, pushing your breast out toward him a little more with an innocent tilt of your head. “You don’t like it?” 

His voice cracks when he says, “No! I mean— that is to say, I do like it! I mean, I’m sure you can see how much I–” He nervously adjusts his sweater, shaky hands pulling at the collar. 

You let out a soft hum, relaxing a little. " Are you going to stand by the door the whole time, or?” You tease him with a low laugh. 

He quickly walks closer, shaking his head as he gets closer to the edge of the bed. The bed dips as he climbs onto the edge of the bed. He watches as you roll on your side to adjust for him, waiting until he is lying beside you before you whisper, “If you don’t want to, it’s okay–” 

“I do! I do. It’s just we’ve only–” He motions between the two of you slowly, replacing the word. “A few times, and I wasn’t expecting,” His eyes trail down to your chest, his fingers twitching– itching to feel the material against his palm.  

When he looks back into your eyes, you smile at him with a little sigh, “I know. I just saw it, and I thought of you.” 

Spencer feels like his entire body is on fire when you say that. His pants become increasingly uncomfortable as he croaks softly, “That made you think of me?” 

You hum a sweet-sounding “Mhm,” you lick your lips, “Cognitive association, right?” 

Spencer thinks you’ll break him with the way you’re talking to him; your voice is low and quiet, clearly amused. He holds back a sound when he feels your hand take his and guide it to your barely clothed hip. For some reason, he wants to spew some facts about cognitive association, but in a rare moment, his mind goes blank. 

His mind slows, and the only thing he can process is the feeling of satin material against your body. He drags his hand along your side, higher and higher, until his fingers trace the bra’s underwire. His eyes flicker over to yours as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. 

Kissing Spencer always starts soft, tender, and languid. It then slowly devolves into something passionate, heated, rough– something you adore. And you’re starting to feel the shift in this kiss, his tongue slightly grazing your bottom lip– a silent plea you happily fulfill, parting your lips to let his tongue tentatively enter the kiss. 

You’re smiling into the kiss, shifting with him so you’re under him before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him deeper into the kiss. Spencer lets out a tiny sound of surprise against your lips at the rough movement, and he pulls away slightly, his lips barely touching yours when he says, “So aggressive,” His tone teasing as he captures your lips in another giddy kiss. 

With your eyes closed and mouth occupied, your hands get to work. Blindly, you pull the bottom of his sweater, your lips only leaving his to help him pull the piece of clothing off his body. He’s eager to get his lips back on yours, his tongue resuming its work against yours, a kiss that makes your head spin and thoughts go hazy with how intense it feels. 

You move your legs up and around his hips, pushing his hips down to yours with ease. Spencer whines into the kiss, his lips moving slowly against yours until he pulls away to kiss your jawline. His hips grind down onto yours, your breath hitching at the feeling. 

Feeling his hardness through his pants makes you realize just how badly you need him, and it seems it does the same for him. His lips latch onto the lower side of your neck, sucking and licking softly at the sensitive area as his hips grind against yours harder. 

The feeling makes your core squeeze around nothing; the new desire to get something, anything, inside you plants a seed in your lower abdomen. You feel shamefully needy as Spencer continues leaving light red and purple marks on the sensitive skin of your neck, his breathing heavy as he decorates you with marks. 

You’re surprised to see that he’s actually moving lower, his markings getting closer to your collarbone when he pulls away, looking up at you with those lust-filled honey eyes, “May I?” The tips of his fingers tug lightly at the satin red bow covering your breasts. 

Your legs leave his hips as he pulls the bow apart with a simple flick of his wrist. His eyes stay trained on your breast as he takes one into his hand and gently rubs at your nipple, eliciting a soft, quiet moan from you, “So pretty,” Then he dips his head lower to bring your left nipple into his mouth, licking at the sensitive bud with precision. 

A sound— embarrassingly loud— escapes your lips at the feeling, your body squirming against his. You’re sure you can feel him smiling against your breast, his right hand moving to your right nipple, pinching it lightly. 

Your fingers latch onto his hair, gently running them through his hair and occasionally pulling when his tongue does something particularly amazing against the bud of your nipple. You can feel electric arousal coursing through you, soft moans and sighs leaving you with every touch. 

However, he’s pulling his lips away from your breast soon after, his cheeks red as he mutters a low, “Need to make sure you cum,” And you find yourself nodding in agreement as his hands leave your breast, pulling the lingerie’s satin thong to the side as he swipes two fingers along your entrance. 

You let out a little sigh, feeling incredibly needy as his fingers brush against your clit teasingly. “Did dressing up like this make you this wet, or did I?” He asks, his fingers curiously leading back down to your entrance. 

Shifting under him, you let out a breathless chuckle, “A bit of both,” 

He grins at that, his head now to the side of yours, his thumb pressing against your clit slowly as he slides a finger inside you. You tense for a second with pleasure before relaxing as the feelings, his finger gently curling inside of you as his thumb presses down harder on your swollen bundle of nerves. “You’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks, haven’t you?” 

His voice against your ear isn’t something you expect, but you aren’t surprised for long as he slides a second finger into you— your thoughts turning to mush, “Yes,” You whisper, your back arching slightly at his fingers move faster inside you, curling and pleasing you at a medium pace. 

Spencer lets out a low hum, his eyes watching you as you get lost in pleasure, his thumb pressing against your clit a little harder as he finds that sweet little spot inside of you. He can feel the way your walls tighten around his fingers, and he’s envious of his own hand, wishing it was his cock instead. 

Your moans only add to personal envy, his fingers moving and caressing your G-spot with greater precision. He tries not to groan, watching you arch your back off the bed. A cry followed by a string of heightened gasps from you has him wholly enraptured. 

When his fingers start to get rough inside you, you’re already seeing stars, your left hand reaching over to grab onto Spencer’s bicep at the feelings, fingers gently digging into his skin as your body shakes. “Love watching you get close,” Spencer groans softly against your ear. 

His lips slowly resume their markings on your neck, and the added stimulation sends you falling over the edge with a loud cry of pleasure. Your body shakes against him, and your high-pitched moans, accompanied by heavy panting, have pride swelling in his chest as his fingers help you ride out your orgasm. 

His fingers only stop when your body goes slack, his lips leaving your neck to gently kiss at your lips— a gesture you return lazily. The feeling of his fingers leaving you has you feeling empty, but you’re quickly distracted as Spencer drags his soaked fingers to his lips. Your eyes widen for a second as you watch your boyfriend lick off every bit of you on them, “Let me get a taste,” Your voice is soft as Spencer leans in, kissing you fast and rough. Your tongue drags along his to get a second-hand taste of yourself in his mouth. 

You’re quick to pull away, your hands hooking into the belt loop of his pants, gently yanking at the loop. Spencer laughs at the feeling, and he looks into your eyes with a shameful look— lustful and pleading. You know how badly he wants to dive straight in, but his determination to make you cum too many times to count usually gets in the way of his cock. 

“Haven’t seen you in three weeks. You can make it up to me later.” You joke softly, your fingers undoing the top button with ease. 

Spencer grins as he slides his pants down his legs, kicking them off. He finds himself blushing at how your eyes shamefully stare at the outline of his cock in his boxers, precum already wetting some of the fabric. He finds himself doing the same with you, though, his eyes taking in the undone ribbon of the lingerie at your sides, the way your legs are parted to give him a delicious view of your dripping sensitive folds. 

Your fingers slip into the waistband of his boxers, gently tracing his cock with your fingers, a soft, pleasured sigh leaving his lips at the feeling. “So hard,” You mutter, leaning up to kiss a part of Spencer’s jaw. 

Spencer lets out a low hum of agreement. Being as busy as he has been, he hasn’t found time for any kind of sexual release as of late. “It’s been a little while since I’ve–” 

“That’s okay,” You sigh sensually, your hands wrapping around his dick slowly, “Take off your boxers.” 

Spencer’s more than happy to comply, hurriedly discarding his boxers at your request. He watches as you pull your hand off him to take off your underwear, and Spencer squeaks out a nervous, “Leave it on?” 

Grinning, you nod, your fingers pushing the thong back to the side of him. He groans at the action, looming over you now, his hands on either side of you. “Flip over,” 

A jolt of excitement runs through you at the request, quickly flipping over on your stomach for him. A pleased sound leaves your lips as his hand moves to pull your hips up, forcing your back to arch for him. He slides his thumb and index inside the sting on your thong as he slowly rubs his cock in between your folds– the head of his cock gently kissing your clit. 

The worst part about being in an established relationship and having just started having sex with your partner is the anxiety that follows you after you say something risky. Your lips part nonetheless, your hips pushing back against him quickly, “That’s right, get that cock wet with my pussy.” 

You were never dull during sex, but Spencer was not expecting something so vulgar to fall from your lips. His hips stutter against yours before he finds himself incredibly turned on by the sudden confidence and vulgarity in your words. His hands yank your hips back roughly, lining himself up to inch himself inside of you slowly. 

About halfway inside you, he pulls out till it is just the tip and then repeats the motion— it’s infuriatingly hot. You let out a soft whine at his toying with you and start to move your hips back against him, but that is met with a surprising spank to your ass. 

A sharp gasp leaves your lips at the feelings before you blink, lifting your head to peer at him over your shoulder and whisper a little, “Harder,” 

Seeing your half-lidded eyes looking over at him, your soft lips begging him to spank you harder, Spencer feels a shiver shoot down his spine. He’s sure he can feel himself grow harder as he pushes deeper into your pussy and delivers a solid smack to your ass with the flat of his palm. 

He then follows the motion with a comforting rub of his hand against the swell of your ass. For a second, he’s worried about hurting you or making you uncomfortable–  unexplored territory. The feeling of your walls tightening around him for a second, fluttering in a way that has him bottoming out inside you without hesitation, reassures him. 

“God,” He huffs as he sets a pace, his hand occasionally delivering a hard spank to your ass whenever he feels your hips moving with his. You feel terrific; the feel of your reddening ass under his hand, the soft skin of your hip in his other, he’s surprised that he isn’t drooling. 

You, however, are starting to feel yourself beginning to drool. Moans and groans coming from the two of you has your head spinning, the rough feeling of Spencer’s hips against yours making your legs feel weak. 

Spencer pulls all the way out as he feels himself getting close, his soaked cock resting against your ass– the sight is something has him letting out a shaky sigh. He doesn’t need to say anything before you’re flipping over on your back again, legs spread and lips wet as you mutter a needy sounding, “More.” 

Spencer can’t find it in himself to deny you or himself, moving closer to you and lining himself up with your entrance again. As he sinks into you, you move your legs up, your hands holding the back of your knee. The new position lets him sink in deeper, and Spencer’s sure you’re an angel. 

You’re practically sucking him in, his breathing getting heavier as he moves against you, His eyes dipping between your face and between your legs– intelligent eyes watching the way his cock disappears deep inside of you. “You take it so well.” 

His hands reach up slowly, tracing the back of your thighs before replacing your hands at the back of your knee, bending your legs back further. He places a chaste kiss on your forehead, the gentle gesture leaving your head reeling when accompanied by this immense pleasure. 

You gasp out at the slight burn of your thighs, toes curling slightly, when Spencer starts to roll his hips in fast, tight circles. The roll of his hips makes his cock hit your G-spot, your eyes rolling back at the feeling as a guttural-sounding groan joins the lewd sounds leaving your lips. 

Spencer takes that as his sign to snap his hips into yours, his forehead pressing against yours as he moans and whines. “You feel so fucking good. I’ll never leave again.” 

You can feel your lower abdomen tighten quickly at the rough movements. A shaky laugh leaves you at his mention of never leaving, but words fail you as you cry out. The past few times the two of you have had sex, he was never this rough. You aren’t complaining, but his frantic, rapid thrusts are leaving you with the feeling that you’ll beg for a repeat sometime in the future. 

A long whine leaves you as you feel yourself getting closer, your hands holding tight on Spencer’s shoulders, your body jolting slightly with his rough thrusts. “So good! You’re fucking me so good. Please, don’t stop.” You beg without shame, “Need to cum, make me cum again.” You beg through moans. 

Spencer almost cums inside you upon hearing your begging, but he holds off— a new mission in focus. He slows for a second, moving one of your hands off his shoulder and under your knee before he slides his hand down to your aching clit. His thumb makes quick, tight, hard circles without warning— the scream that leaves your chest has him worried for your neighbors. 

“That’s it, tighten around me like that.” He pants out from above you, his eyes locking onto yours as he speaks. He watches the way your eyebrows raise in pleasure, and your mouth starts to let out a mix of silent screams and loud groans. “You look pretty when you cum around my cock, my pretty girl.” 

Your legs are shaking with that, the coil in your abdomen snapping with force as you bite your bottom lip to try and silence the sound of your orgasm– a groan that almost sounds inhuman. Spencer’s quick to follow, his hips roughly snapping into yours with his thumb continuing its torment on your sensitive clit. 

The feeling of overstimulation has you letting out a weak-sounding whine, almost a sob. You’re gasping hard as he keeps going, frenzied thrusts that have your free hand gripping the sheet tight until he bottoms out in you with a shaking groan. His hips thrust into you a few more times as he empties himself into you, shaking hard. 

A moment passes with neither of you moving, your legs moving down to the bed, and the realization sets in. Spencer looks at you with wild eyes, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking–” 

You laughed weakly and held up a hand, “Spencer, it’s okay.” Your voice sounds a little raw as you relax into your bed slightly, with him still hovering over you. “I’m on the pill, remember?” 

“Well, when taken correctly, it’s 99% effective, but if you’ve forgotten a day lately, it’s only 93%.” He pouts lightly when a giggle leaves your lips, but he smiles against his better judgment. “I’m serious, what if…” 

“I doubt it will, but if it does come to that, we’ll deal with it.” You mutter, slowly reaching a hand up to rake your fingers through his messy brown hair. “Clean me up?” 

Spencer notes how your voice sounds: shy and a little desperate. He tilts his head, a playful smile on his face as his eyes trail down to your parted thighs, “Insatiable this evening, I see,” He jokes as he begins to lower himself, soft fingers rubbing against your inner thighs.  

You groan in faux annoyance before you feel his breath fanning against your inner thighs, “Merry Christmas,” You tease softly.

[amatariki]

amatariki presents...

MISS AMERICANA & THE HEARTBREAK PRINCE 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ teaser

(𝓐UTREMENT) — the perfect girl of the school isn’t really perfect at all. and the playboy of the school doesn’t believe in love bcs he’s broken. two broken people, perfect for each other, right? maybe. but that's not to say it'll be easy if they do. there's a long way to go before they both find their happy ever after. that is if they have a happy ever after in store for them.

天使ℳade :: playboy!popular!nishimura riki x popular!fem!reader ⋆˚✿˖° 𝒆𝒔𝒕. (470) (ℒ)lust. /this is an unofficial list, the official one will be provided in the actual full fic when posted/ slow-burn, angst, fluff, skinship, kissing, regular playboy warnings (there will be povs from y/n and ni-ki), mental problem stuff/therapist visits, cheating

ᥫ᭡⊹ ࣪ ˖ (1) notification! hello guys! im trying to write a full fic bcs random brainwave. i havent successfully ever written a k-pop full fic but i have written like a whole novel with a friend before, so let's hope i actually finish this.

i have posted a heeseung drabble along w/ this right now and im writing a jungwon fic for @k-films 'k.i.s.s soundtrack' summer event. after the jungwon fic is posted, i may not really post anything else.

with summer holidays approaching, i will be travelling over the summer majorly contributing to my inactivity. this isn't saying i won't be posting anything at all.

i am auditioning for @enha-files 'daydream survival show' so i will ofc be posting fics for it if i am accepted. i may also take a break from mathp to write other fics ofc but do expect inactivity.

please reblog and give feedback. the more interaction i get on my posts the more motivated i feel to write because it lets me know that you guys actually enjoy my work and it gives me purpose, and i need the motivation now more than ever. TT

i will be having a separate taglist for mathp so if u guys want to be notified when the fic drops simply comment or send an ask asking to be added to the mathp taglist!

i've included a small teaser of the fic for y'all. please enjoy my lovely munchkins!

love, hugs, and kisses xoxo —briar

💋 #reblog for kisses ☆��� catalogue ˖°— 𝐕𝐎𝐋. 𝐗𝐕

You pry your eyes away from the entrance in dismay. Your heart sank to your stomach, tearing at your sides as it went down with tiny hands equipped with sharp claws.

You try to shake off your negative thoughts as the principal steps up to announce the homecoming king and queen.

“Our homecoming queen this year is…” The principal pauses as he opens the envelope. Suspense hangs in the air, clinging to everyone in the room like a second skin. “...Y/n L/n.”

You step up onto the stage gracefully, plastering on the smile that captivated the entire school body. Bowing elegantly, you let the vice-principal place the tiara on your head before straightening to wear the ‘Homecoming Queen’ sash and then stepping away.

Underneath your facade, worry, disappointment, and a myriad of negative emotions swirled in the form of black moths around your heart in the pit of your stomach.

“Now, our homecoming king this year is…”

Your eyes flicked towards the entrance once again, silently willing him to show up. It was now or never.

“Our homecoming king is Riki Nishimura!”

Your gaze drops to the ground as the room fills up with whispers and murmurs as people try to find Riki.

You already knew the answer: he wasn’t here.

Before long, the entire school figured that out too.

“Well, it seems that Riki isn’t here today.” The principal clears his throat. “Therefore, our homecoming king will be our runner-up, Gunwook Park.”

The crowd applauds as you stand there silent, staring longingly at the entrance, as Gunwook takes his place next to you after receiving his crown and sash as homecoming king.

You turn towards him like a programmed machine, having done the same ritual last year when you were a freshman. You let Gunwook take your hand and lead you to the center of the dance floor, where you two will have the first dance as homecoming king and queen.

You force a gentle smile as Gunwook holds you. Students pair up all around you as the music begins to play.

As the music starts playing, Gunwook twirls you around the floor, impressing you with his smooth dancing.

However, all that crosses your mind is how good Riki is when he slow dances with you, how he was supposed to be twirling you around right now and not Gunwook.

You force the thoughts out of your head.

Homecoming was one of the most important days of the year for you. Riki knows how important it was to you. He must have an exemplary reason for missing this and you’d find out what that reason was when you saw him later.

For now, you were going to let yourself lose in the moment. You were going to talk to your friends, eat, dance, and have fun.

------ᝰ‧₊ taglist (perm & for mathp) open — nets! @k-films — ©amatariki 2k25

perm taglist: @chrrific @lezleeferguson-120 @koiiqqqq @ikeu05 @maewphoria

miss americana & the heartbreak prince (mathp) taglist: @rikivsco @heartsriki @el4ise @seungminnieinthebuilding @heartheejake @firstclassjaylee @tya0

[rafeslvbug]

TULLE AND TAXES

– crybaby!ballerina!reader x ruthless!businessman!rafe

a/n: this was going to be a series, then i lost the plot so just enjoy the fic!

he leans back in his chair. the spot in the back of the theatre, hidden in the shadows, next to a business partner he intends to buy out tomorrow. hands folded in his lap, tracking his newest investment.

white tulle in ruffles around her waist. poised and elegant. her headpiece doesn’t fall from her head, while he notices some other girls hurry to adjust theirs. discreet, but he still spots it. her pointe shoes are seamlessly blended to her skin. her legs are straight, movements evenly timed. not sloppy. precise. he knows she’s practiced. he respects it.

“so? what’d you think?” his partner nudges him in the arm. rafe knows he doesn’t think like he does. his partner’s preoccupied with infrastructure, the beauty of the place, whether it’s worth investing in. turning it into some apartment complex like every other cement block they own. rafe knows it’s the girls on stage, devoting their life to the audiences who fill the halls that will make him the money he spends. his partner hasn’t glanced at them once.

“i think she’s perfect,” rafe murmurs, following how you gracefully back yourself into the corner, out of the way. you let a girl with the clumsiness of a human take the stage, the spotlight, while you dance with the gracefulness of a swan. she doesn’t compare to you, yet you let her believe she does.

“them? i’m talking about the look of this place..” he scoffs, shaking his head at rafe. he thinks rafe is stupid. there’s nothing rafe hates more than being undervalued. he’s the top of his chain, fought his way there– how could he be questioned? and his partner got it wrong too– not them, just you.

“an’ i’m talkin’ about her.” rafe nods his head to you. undervalued, too. somehow so content when you’re being pulled back, limited.

he can help with that.

“who? i don’t see her..” his partner moves his head closer to rafe’s.

“of course you don’t,” rafe tuts. no one sees you. “doesn’t matter, it’s a good investment, put me in contact with the sellers.” he pushes to his feet, deals the order out with ease. the man’s on the same level as him, but not anymore. now rafe’s shoving him out, and he’s defenseless to stop it. can’t even try.

his partner disappears behind the curtain. rafe stays. he observes you. some girls, with keener eyes than you, spot him. flush. fumble. they think he’s looking at them.

he’s focused on you.

you don’t spot him. your head is bowed. pure concentration looks so seamless on you.

he loves it.

when he forces himself away, he doesn’t make the buy yet. he knows not to look hasty. it raises the price, and though he figures you might be worth it, he’d rather save that money to improve you. invest in you, instead. over this, he seeks out the director, intently watching behind the backstage curtain.

“rehearsals hm?” rafe wonders aloud, behind the director. he startles the man, but rafe’s calm. glances at him, over him, like he’s so unimportant, then through the gap in the curtain. he can see you closer now, and can’t spot much flaw other than that you’re not where you should be: the centre.

“uh– oh, yes,” the director stammers, disorganised. rafe questions whether a man like that could really produce something as wonderful as you, and based on the quality of the other dancers he assumes he can’t. you’re an angel of your own creation.

“when i buy this place, i’d like this to continue..” rafe says, but it doesn’t sound like a request. no, it sounds like a plan. one the director can’t oppose to, and wouldn’t even try to go against.

the man blinks at rafe behind his glasses. maybe he hadn’t realised rafe was the investor. well, he did now. it rendered him somewhat speechless, or perhaps afraid, for he simply nodded.

“good.” rafe tilts his head, angling himself better to see you. 

“do you like the ballet?” the director inquires, hopeful. someone who will take his passion seriously, fund them how he hoped.

rafe shrugs.

the director’s shoulder’s sag. his hope deflated. 

“when it’s well executed, i guess,” he sighs. disappointed. 

the man doesn’t miss the comment, the way it’s directed at him. “you don’t think my girls are performing well?” 

he’s offended– rafe can understand that. he would be too, if he produced work as badly as that. 

“that one,” rafe nods to you. 

“we can get rid of her?” the director suggests. rafe scowls. how can a man be so blind to talent? perfection.

“she’s the only good one. if you do anything, get rid of everyone but her.” 

[frudoo]

How are slasher!141 and their wifey doing?? Morning sickness over? Starting to build the nursery while still killing people on the side? Or are they taking a break while wifeys pregnant ??

Wifey is neeeeedy

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Warnings: Smut bruh…. pure smut. Pregnancy.

The second trimester has been a lot easier on your body. The morning sickness is gone and in its place is thick, healthy hair and stronger nails, and you feel better than you have in a long time. You’re also feeling… needier as of late, with your hormones running rampant. Your husbands don’t exactly help with your horny state, and they aren’t even aware that their actions drive you absolutely mad. It could be the most mundane things—Kyle’s biceps bulging when he throws something heavy over his shoulder, or Johnny’s strong thighs flexing when he works in the garden—but fuck, it makes you wanna rip their clothes off and bounce on each of their cocks right then and there. 

     You could always tell them how you feel, like you usually do, but it’s been a while since you’ve given them a surprise. So instead, you lied and told them you had to run into work and take care of something, then drove into town. There’s a fancy little lingerie shop in the mall that you eye every time you’re out and about, and now that you’re feeling better than ever, you’ve finally found a reason to go inside. 

     You leave the mall with a bag full of pretty lace and silk, nearly skipping back to your car. It’s a struggle to get back inside the house completely unnoticed, but somehow you end up successfully sneaking past all four of your lovers. Thankfully, after living with them for so long, you know their routines by heart and right now, they should all be in the kitchen finishing up on cooking dinner. Slowly and silently you climb up the stairs and sneak into your room, locking the door.

     A sigh of relief escapes you as you dig through the bag for your favorite set that you just purchased. You have to fight back a squeal when you find it—a maroon babydoll made of delicate mesh and a lace waistband, the bodice held up by two ribbons tied into pretty bows. There is little left to the imagination, your darkened nipples poking right through the thin fabric and your full, round belly on display. You look very, very pregnant, but also ethereal. Your men will adore this almost as much as you do yourself.

     “Dinner, sweet girl,” comes Simon’s voice from outside of your door, a gentle knock accompanying his calm baritone—they must have seen your car in the driveway and finally realized that you’re home. 

     “I’ll be down in a minute,” you respond in an unusually chirpy voice, and your big blond man grunts suspiciously.

     “Wanna help ya down the stairs, mama,” he argues, twisting the knob to find that it’s locked. “Lemme in.”

     “I am capable of doing it myself, Si.”

     There’s a pause and then a long exhale followed by muttered curses descending from your room. You huff with amusement, quickly running your fingers through your hair to make sure that you look absolutely perfect. What little makeup you’d put on earlier today still looks good, so you finally exit your room and gracefully make your way down the stairs. The soft padding of your feet alerts your husbands, and you can hear the collective sharp intake of air from all four men when they look at you.

     “Bleedin’ fookin’ ‘ell,” breathes Johnny, frozen in place with the pot of gravy in one hand and a dripping ladle in the other. 

     Kyle and Simon said nothing but held onto each other as though they can’t stand on their own. John damn near dropped the plate of roast and veggies, bright blue eyes wide with admiration. You walk further into the kitchen and have a seat at your usual spot, acting nonchalant even though you can practically hear their drool hitting the floor. 

     “Smells delicious, boys. Thanks for cooking,” you hum politely, loading your plate with mashed potatoes and a dinner roll. “You gonna serve the roast, or just hoard it, John?” 

     “No,” he grunts simply, setting the platter on the counter and inching his way towards you. “Not hungry.”

     “No’ f’r dinner, anyway,” growls Simon, cutting in front of the bearded man to get to you first.

     You yelp as you’re scooped into strong arms, furrowing your eyebrows in protest as the two younger men clear off the dinner table so that Simon can plop your ass right in the middle. You barely have time to steady yourself with both hands on the surface before your thighs are forcefully being spread, putting your bare pussy on display—there was no way in hell you were putting that damn g-string on just to suffer. 

     “Well, I’m hungry!” You pout, attempting to teasingly lock your knees together to no avail because Kyle and John have each taken a leg into their grasp. 

     “Shoulda thought o’tha’ ‘fore ya came down ‘ere lookin’ like a damn goddess,” Kyle tuts, playfully nipping at your earlobe.

     Johnny stares intensely into your eyes as he sits in a chair and scoots it all the way up to the table, nearly barking at Simon when he tries to do the same. 

     “Ah’m tastin’ ‘er first,” he snarls, fingers so tight on your hips that they dimple the fat. 

     The Scot wastes no more time, burying his face in the sweet, wet haven he finds between your pretty plush thighs. You tilt your head back with a prolonged whimper as he cards his hot tongue through your folds, moaning his own delight right up against you. Kyle kisses his way from the side of your face down to the sensitive spot on your neck while John trails one hand down to your sore tits, massaging them with gentle care, plucking at your nipples every-so-often. 

     “Si, c’mere,” you slur, batting your eyelashes up at the big man with his arms crossed. “Wanna make you feel good.”

     Simon’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He practically stomps his way over, leaning down to kiss you passionately as your hand feels around for his zipper. He smiles against your lips and helps you unzip his jeans, shuddering when he feels your warm, nimble fingers pull his cock from its confines. He’s already swollen, thick and heavy and leaking salty precum down the shaft. You palm his tip to spread the clear fluid around, then wrap your hand around his base and slowly start pumping him. 

     “F-fuck, sweet’eart,” Simon groans. 

     “S’it good?” You ask breathlessly, mouth agape with pleasure as Johnny sucks your clit between his lips, tongue swirling around the bud. 

     “Fuck yeah, it is,” he chuckles. “Think the others’re feelin’ left out, though.”

     You turn your head to find Kyle practically humping the poor table and giggle, waving him over to your other side. He makes sure John’s got a good hold of you before he eagerly complies, already pulling out his throbbing dick to make it easier for you. He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth when your hand makes contact, kindly coaxing you to wrap your hand all the way around him. He holds your wrist in place with a gentle grasp, rocking his hips and fucking your fist so you don’t have to do a damn thing. 

     “John,” you whine, pouting back at him. “Wanna suck your cock.”

     “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” groans the older man. “Bloody perfect, you. Sure ya can handle it?”

     You nod vigorously, an eager grin stretching across your lips as John carefully lays you completely on your back. The smooth surface is cool against your skin, but warm hands hold your head where it hangs off of the table. The bearded man just barely prods your lips with the thick head of himself, only daring to slide into your mouth when your tongue impatiently flattens against his cock. He takes his time working himself deeper into your throat, allowing you to get used to the intrusion and actually enjoy it. It feels like a reward when he looks down and sees your throat bulging with the shape of him, and he wraps his hand around your neck to feel that delicious lump against his palm. 

     Simon moves a bit closer to Johnny, but he’s so tall that you can still reach him with no issue. The younger man quirks an eyebrow up at him, but doesn’t stop feasting on you. Instead, he moans when Simon’s hand wraps around his cock and squeezes, sending a rough vibration ringing through your body. You can’t even warn them before you come, mouth stuffed full of John’s cock, but without missing a beat Johnny laps up the syrupy, slick spend that drips from your core. You tense as you reach your climax, and it gets all of your men groaning.

     “F-fuck, John, kiss me,” Kyle whines, pulling the older man in close and desperately slipping his tongue into his mouth as he uses your hand to work himself through his own orgasm.

     The kiss sends John over the edge, growls of pleasure ringing from above your hazy head. His cock twitches as warm, salty cum pumps down your throat, both soothing the rawness he’s caused and making you sputter. 

     “Simon,” Johnny gasps, beard still drenched in your cum as he bats his long lashes up at the blond man. “S-Si, m’gonna-”

     “Cum w’me, Johnny,” he grunts, giving you a wrecked, appreciative smile as you speed up your hand’s movements on him. “Yeah, lovie, keep goin’ like tha’, sweet girl.”

     Johnny bites down on his fist when he finally reaches that blissful peak, pretty whimpers going right to Simon’s brain until he’s spilling all over your hand. The silence in the kitchen is broken only by heavy panting and occasional whimpers as the pleasure dies down. John gently cradles your face as his thumbs wipe away the mess he made of your mouth, then slowly helps you off of the table and onto your wobbly legs. The five of you all exchange glances before you burst into a fit of giggles at the spent look on all of their faces.

     “I’m still hungry, y’know.”

[feirceangel]

Imagine | Mine (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Imagine Feyd discovering that someone has dared to harm what’s his.

Word Count: 1,574

Warnings: possessive!Feyd, objectification, blood, murder, (Feyd is his own psychotic warning in himself to be honest.)

Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is not known for his mercy.

Ask anyone in the universe who has heard even a whisper of House Harkonnen, and they will warn to tread carefully when dealing with them. If you value your life, you wouldn't even get near them.

And everyone knows Feyd-Rautha is one of the best examples of Harkonnen rage and violence, second only to his uncle, the Baron.

Renowned for his physical prowess as a fighter, his insatiable lust for blood and death, and his determination to rise in power and favour, he is a force to be reckoned with.

So why would anyone dare go against him?

He finds himself asking this as he looks upon your form, head bowed and turned slightly away from him. Hiding something.

Gracefully and predatory as a panther, he approaches you slowly.

"My darling.." his voice rasps.

Normally you greet him immediately, recognizing his footfalls from down the hall. You would smile at your na-Baron and ask him how his day went if you did not spend it with him.

You are oddly subdued tonight.

His eyes, always searching, follow a drop which falls from your cheek, landing on the cold concrete floor. Instantly, he is before you, grasping your chin in his strong hand. He tilts your head up, none too gently, and examines your tear-stained face.

"What happened?" His already raspy voice is deeper, darker.

Feyd is no stranger to your tears. In fact, he often revels in their presence, trying all sorts of things to make you cry. But he hasn't done anything to illicit that response today.

When you don't offer an answer right away, his grip tightens, squishing your cheeks together.

"Speak."

His voice holds no room for disobedience. You nod your head and he releases you, stepping back slightly.

You shake slightly as you begin, "I am sorry, na-Baron."

Feyd's anger is growing. You only call him that in public or when you are disturbed.

"Do not apologize. Explain," he can't stop himself from hissing.

"I took a walk today," you begin slowly. "Just to the training grounds to see if you were there. But I didn't see you so I walked back. He stopped me and-"

"'He'?" Feyd echoes.

"Richter," you supply the name of one of the Baron's top generals. "He grabbed me and said I was a no-good whore who should've been disposed of long ago."

Anger swirls with Feyd's chest at this news. Of course, many people have said harsh and often cruel things to you. But you always kept your head high and ignored the jabs. You’re always so strong.

This is different, he can tell.

"What else? You are not one to cry over a mere insult," he brings his hand up to swipe a tear from your soft cheek. You lean into his touch, relishing in its familiarity.

You inhale deeply, "He struck me without warning, na-Baron."

In his oft colourless word, all Feyd now sees is red.

"Where?" His voice is so low it's almost impossible to hear.

You shake as you lower the collar of your dress to reveal a swollen area on your shoulder, "Here."

His dark eyes flicker to yours, bidding you to continue.

You move your hand to your face and gently touch your tearstained cheek, "And here."

Feyd's hand clenches into a fist. He bends closer to examine your face, noting the slight swelling and the way you bow your head. He places his hand on the back of your head, angling your face upwards. A featherlight kiss is applied to your skin so softly you can barely feel it.

Your master and lover rises to his full height, "Rest my darling, I shall return shortly."

He turns to leave but you reach out and grab his arm. Feyd stops and turns to stare at you.

"Please, na-Baron. Don't hurt him."

He scowls at your request, "He has hurt you. Death is his reward."

"He has done nothing that you have not," you say. "I have known worse pain from your own hands.”

Feyd shakes his head and grips your arms, dragging you forward to stand with your bodies touching.

"Only I can touch what's mine. Only I can hurt you how I see fit. You take the pain only I give you." He dips his head close to your ear, breath sending shivers down your spine. “Do you understand?”

"Of course, my lord na-Baron," your voice is breathy.

You are intoxicated by his closeness, the dangerous poise with which he caries himself, the possessiveness of his words and the truth of them.

"Say it."

"I'm yours alone, Feyd."

He crashes his lips onto yours, teeth clashing and lips bruising from the force of it. His hand squeezes your neck as he kisses you. When he finally parts, leaving you breathless, he takes a moment to admire you. His thumb brushes against your lips before he turns once more.

"That swine sealed his fate when he laid hands on what's mine," Feyd growls as he stalks out of the room.

He returns mere minutes later, dragging an incredibly nervous Richter behind him. With a violent shove, he pushes the frightened man to stand before you.

"I heard you disrespected my darling," Feyd points to the floor. "Kneel."

Richter obeys without hesitation. He knows how quick Feyd is to anger… and how few survive it.

"Kiss her shoe."

The man's eyes flicker to yours.

"Now," Feyd places his foot on Richter's back, forcing him down.

Shakily, he presses his lips to your shoe with a mumbled apology. It does nothing to sate Feyd-Rautha's wrath.

With practised ease, Feyd lands a harsh kick to the man's ribs. He repeats the action until the man is a sobbing mess splayed before your feet like an offering.

You regard him coldly, remembering the bite of his hand across your face.

“Please! Please forgive me, my lord!” Richter manages to sob coherent words. Spit and blood dribbles from his mouth pathetically.

“You have insulted me,” Feyd states. “Hurt what’s mine, belittled what’s mine.”

The man’s hand reaches towards your foot, as if you could spare him from the savage that is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

Feyd crushes his hand beneath his shoe, grinding down eliciting a whimper of pain, as he steps before you and above his prey.

He is regal in his violence, eyes shining with possessive obsession.

“Dear one,” he places his hand on your arm before handing you one of his blades. “Help me.”

He smirks as you grip the knife tightly. Your eyes meet his.

Feyd knows you’d do anything he asked of you, just as he knows he’d burn the universe to ashes if you asked him too.

“Of course, my lord,” you say, kneeling by the hurt man. “If it pleases you.”

Feyd’s grin reveals blackened teeth, “You please me, dearest. Now, make him suffer for insulting me and mine.”

The first cut is shallow, uncertain as it travels down the man’s bare arm. Feyd tsks his disapproval.

You adjust your grip and slash again, quickly this time, hitting deep and pointedly. The man screams out and thrashes, but Feyd is upon him in a second. He holds Richter still as you unleash your rage upon him.

Feyd watches you draw blood with a pleasure he’s never experienced before. Relishing in your bared teeth and angry snarls, he commits this to his memory.

He halts your hand as the man ceases his thrashing. With a predatory smile, Feyd guides your hand with his, penetrating the blade deep into the man’s throat.

You watch the man loose his life, as you pant with exertion.

“You have done well, my pet,” Feyd praises, removing the knife from your hand and tossing it aside. He places his hand atop your head.

“Thank you, Feyd.”

He moves his hand down your back and presses his face into your blood stained neck, inhaling deeply. Your hands come around to grasp his shoulders, bringing him close to you. He wraps his strong arms around you, holding you like a lover would.

When he sits up, you lunge forward, capturing his lips with yours. Ignoring the blood and the dead body on the floor, you guide Feyd towards the bed, hands leaving bloody marks on his pale skin.

“Please let me repay you,” you beg, tugging at his shirt. “Allow me to repent.”

“You don’t need to repent, love. But you can keep begging.”

He allows you to disrobe him and press him down onto the soft bedding.

In all honesty, Feyd craves this battle of dominance between you. He could overpower you in an instant, yet the hold you have over him has him bending to your will.

You need only beg and he would take a knee and worship at your feet.

And you know it.

You know he craves this, needs it like an addict. He adores the pain you can lavish upon him, adores the meek demeanour you show to everyone else, adores the side of you that matches his own carnal desires tenfold, adores the way you gladly bleed for him.

He adores you.

And you worship each other in a wicked ritual of blood, sweat, and tears each night.

And he’d never let anyone take this away from him- take you away from him.

He’d kill anyone who dared try.

~~~

[A/n- thanks for reading! Please let me know if you liked it :)]

[thy1quitcentral]

K pop Demon hunter II

Huntrix vs Saja boys

And Honmoon!NB oc

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Of several parts(probably following the plot Abit)P.S. Rujinu is my life now YoY

Both hot, both I wantz and Honey probably will 😩

.................💗..................

It has been about a year

And it was so much fun, exploring the world as is at the moment. This era was so bright and loud and new.

Being around for centuries, and everything still was always new to them.

How old were they?

Did not matter, Honeys mission, their purpose was always. Keeping the demons at bay , there would always seem to be times where the demons tend to slip out but that was what hunters did, take out the trash.

So brave and talented things.

It's been several cycles or human lifetimes. With each generation of hunters, Honey would roam along with them, listening to their songs and interacting with humans.

Humans were so silly

So bright and happy, making posters in support of huntrix, crying their hearts out and screaming as loud as they can just to be heard.

Honeys time with huntrix was....tense

At the start at least. They would always tense up and bow to them whenever they tried talking to them.

**********

"oh! Is that your notebook of songs? It looks amazing" Honey pops up. Zoey squeak in surprise and sat up straight "uh yea!" She held out the notebook.

Honey looked into them "wow so many beautiful poems too" they admired and read "I most just write stuff and beg for them to sound right" Zoey said stiffly as she sweats.

"they are beautiful" Honey said warmly and traced the pages. They opened their mouth to say something

But

"thank you for giving me a compliment, I am forever grateful" Zoey bowed and states robotically.

"oh, right your-"

And she's gone.

***********

Another day

Honey explored the place the whole building, muffled music caught their attention, they phase through the wall and they see Mira dancing.

"hi!" Honey pops out

"HOLY SHI-" Mira screeched almost losing balance.

"iiins....my shins" Mira points to herself nervously.

"you are the choreographer? Oh how splendid" Honey clapped his hands.

Mira smiled gently "ah....thanks" she balanced herself up. "You know me and the Core voice are meant to dance in perfect synch to transform myself into pure light you know" Honey said and spun around gracefully.

"the golden moon dance" Mira mutters.

"yes, I have not done one official but I bet it's amazing" Honey hummed. They danced around "show me your moves!" They exclaims happily

Mira hummed as she shrugged and took Honeys hand. Honey grinned and spun into her arms, Mira blinked as she turned Honey around, left, right, glide.

Rhythm in synch

Honey dips Mira down and smiled. Mira blinked and blushed slightly "unexpected, here I thought I'd dip you" she comments.

Honey grinned "I'm an unexpected being" they state proudly and lift her back up.

"i-" Mira thought back to what Celine said.

'you mustn't show any sort of casualness to the Hon moon, it isn't respectful or your place'

Mira tensed up slightly "uh I really shouldn't, uh....touch you like that your hon moon...ness" she bowed.

"but"

Gone again

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

Honey pouts as they sat on the couch and frowned.

"why won't they talk to meeeee" they lay back and kicked their legs. Honey paused when they saw Rumi walk in, Rumi froze and looked at Honey.

She was gonna leave "ah ah ah!" Honey appears in front of Rumi.

"hi" Rumi waved nervously

"hi, quick question, why is everyone ignoring meeee?" Honey yelled out and whined. They held Rumis shoulders and shook her. She saw the threads all around them glow when Honey whined. The whines sounding like pure music

"w...ww.w..ee...e a..aa..aren't!" Rumi exclaims loudly. Honey huffs as they stop shaking the girl

"I try talking to you guys but you guys are ignoring me, am I that scary? I mean I don't think ing scary. How does a divine being make humans not scared" Honey exclaims.

Rumi watched them in awe "you know for a divine being....you seem almost human" she comments.

"I.....thank you" honey blinked for a moment and smiled happily.

Rumi looks at Honey, looks like something so broken had.... quirks of insecurity.

******

The girls were training, summoning their weapons from Honeys surfaces itself

"hey you guys think I can summon my own weapon too?" Honey asked. "I don't think that's a smart thing to do?" Zoey said unsure of the precautions.

"have you tried before?" Mira asked

"I've only ever summoned music instruments" the deity points out then sticks a hand in their chest

All the girls yelled out at that in shock "oh may GAWD THEY STABBED THEMSELVES" Mira and Zoey screeched. Rumi flinches at their screeches "guys I sure they're fine.... right" Rumi asked as she turned sharply to Honey.

Honey blinked the takes out a big bow then some arrows. "Oh....it looks just like My violin's weapon" Honey smiled softly.

Then paused as they see the markings on it

Y x H

"it is hers" they gasped.

That day, the girls got a show n tell of the very weapons used by past hunters.

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

Things got better tho

Another year goes by

"man you are such a great new addition to the team young-hoon" Bobby exclaims happily. Honey smiled happily as they turned to Bobby "thank you manager human" they grinned.

It seemed that Honey had managed to strike a job as a fashion designer. Huntrix's fashion designer.

"another fine set of clothing" Bobby smiled "ugh! I love it" he states and types away at his phone and takes a picture of a sneak peak.

"to be pretty and sound good, perfect harmony" Honey smiled as they put on the finishing touches "this is for the show in about a week, I'm sure the fans will appreciate the picture" Bobby nods.

Wasn't long before the girls stumbled in tired from training. "Hi girls, surprise"

"surprise!" Honey shouts and showed the girls their creations, all the girls gasped dramatically.

"aaaaaaahhhh!!! You really are the best Honey!" They girls squealed happily. They all crowded Honey, staying a respectful distance but they all clapped their hands together.

"let's do this" Zoey exclaims.

"yeaaaa!!" Mira yelled out

"Yeaaaaaaa!!!" Zoey squealed

"yeeeaaaa!!!" Rumi laughed.

They all look to Honey, honey blinked "uh....YEA!" They jumped into the air and shouts.

Honey paused, their eyes glowed pink, they knew the exact location of the demons popping up. The girls huff in determination as Honey strolls to them and teleports them.

Their songs were always the thing that Calmed Honey the most, strengthen their resolve.

Honey loved to dance along, giving strength to the hunters as much as they gave them strength.

Honey spun and ducked, they wondered what it was like to fight a demon. They were curious to try.

No

a being like them should not even indulge in that, just dance and watch. Focus on being strong and kick them back to where they belong.

Finale note, demons gone.

They all ended the night with food, couch and dramas.

Rumi smiled as she walked out for some air and looked outside, leaning onto the rail and stared into the distance.

"you know I always tend to stare out in the distance and just admire your light threads" she spoke. Knowing Honey would know that she was addressing them.

"really?" Honey pops up next to her. They smiled brightly "that's so great to know" they state happily and glowed in happiness. Rumi looked to Honey, all the patterns all around Honeys skin, glowing brighter or low. Reminded her....oh her own, but so symmetrical and pretty.

"you are staring again" Honey points out

"wha?" Rumi tensed and chuckled awkwardly "...sorry"

"it's fine, I like moments like this, feels like I can really connect to you guys" Honey smiled and shrugged "all I crave more is connection"

**********

The concert

Honey felt the energy all around them, the souls of everyone in the stadium were loud and bright and ready for a good show.

Honey giggled as they stood back stage watching. Bobby pursed his lips "they are late!" He said nervously and tried calling.

Honey sat calmly, legs crossed and hands on their lap. There were a lot of weak spots in their being, made honey feel Abit sluggish.

Their headaches were often nowadays, it felt like the time was already near.

And it made Honey nervous.

[moon-poe]

Rainy Days

Pairing: Bob Floyd x female reader

Word count: 915

Summary: You and Bob were supposed to go to the beach, but the weather got in the way and Bob did everything he could to make sure you smiled.

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

Bob just got back from a mission after a few weeks and you were so excited to go to the beach for your date with him. You were in the kitchen, making some coffee, when all of a sudden the whole kitchen lit up quickly, then went back to the normal light. You looked up from your mug and frowned, looking out the window to see it now pouring rain, followed by some loud thunder.

You placed down your mug and went to find your WSO in your home. You went upstairs to your shared bedroom and heard the shower in the attached bathroom. You opened the door and opened the curtain. Bob jumped,”Jeez honey, you scared the crap out of me.” The frown still lied on your face and his eyebrows furrowed. Bob turned off the water,”Darling what’s wrong?” You didn’t even say anything, you just pointed to the window. 

Bob picked up his glasses from the counter and saw the rainstorm outside. He then grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. He came closer to you and pulled you in a hug,”I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was supposed to rain today.” You shrugged and hugged him back, still upset. 

“I’ve waited so long for our date and the rain just had to ruin it…” You mumbled, your face squished against Bob’s damp chest. He pulled away from the hug and smiled a little, kissing your forehead. “I may have an idea,” Bob said, leading you out of the bathroom. He changed into some shorts and a T-shirt. You look at him in confusion,”What?” 

He didn’t say anything and dragged you downstairs to the front door. He opened it and stepped onto the front porch with no shoes. You followed behind him. The weather was humid but still warm. “We’re going to dance in the rain,” Bob said cutely.

“But you just showered…” You said, questioning whether he was being serious or not. “It doesn’t matter, come on sweetheart,” he dragged you out into the rain.

Bob picked you up by the waist and spun you around, making you laugh a bit. He placed you back down. Both of you were getting wet now from the rain, but you didn’t care.

This was better than the beach. Bob places a hand on your waist and the other in your hand, pulling you close to slow dance to no music but the droplets of rain. 

You felt your face getting warm from how romantic he was being. “You always find a way to make me feel better,” You said, leaning your head on his chest, soaked from the rain. Bob chuckled and kissed the top of your head. “It’s my job honey, and I will always find a way to put a smile on your face, even when I’m on missions.” 

The two of you stayed like that for a while. Swaying in each other’s arms while the rain fell on you both, the lightning making the sky brighter for moments here and there. Thunder rolling in the distance. 

You were starting to get a little cold from the rain about 30 minutes into their dance. “Can we go inside? I’m getting cold.” Bob let go of you gently and nodded, a big smile on his face. You both went inside and upstairs to your room, both drying off and getting into comfy clothes. 

You then went downstairs into the kitchen, thinking of what to eat for dinner. Bob turned the corner and placed his arms around you, hugging you from behind. “You’re not going to do anything but relax baby, I’ll make us dinner,” Bob said quietly. He turned you around and picked you up, placing you on the counter. 

Then he went to the cabinet and pulled out your favorite wine. He got a glass and poured you some, handing it to you, which you gracefully took. “Why thank you,” you tried to sound like royalty, giggling a bit. He bowed slightly,”You’re welcome my queen. How does roasted chicken, green beans, and some sweet potato mash on the side sound to you?” 

You crossed one leg over the other on the counter,”I think that sounds wonderful.” You slowly sipped on your wine as you watched Bob cut up the vegetables and prepare the chicken. In between tasks, he would walk over to you and kiss your lips a few times, then get back to preparing the food. 

About an hour later, everything was finished and Bob refused to let you help set the table, wanting you to stay put on the counter. Once he was done placing all the food down and placing water in two glasses, he picked you up gently, getting you off the counter. He led you to the table and moved a chair out for you to sit in, pushing it in slightly once you were sat. 

You smiled and tears welled up in your eyes at how grateful you were. “This looks amazing Bobby, thank you,” You said. You couldn’t have asked for anything better. Bob smiled proudly at what he made for you and you both dug in.

This day turned out better than you thought it would all because of the rain. “I love you,” You said, you said with a mouthful of food. Bob chuckled, his eyes brightened as he looked at you lovingly. “I love you too baby.”