#like yeah the undereye bags.... that's too little....

[hauntingblue]

Seeing how they even use the white spots covering a back frame and even in the to be continued end screen law should have kept his white spots in his skin too

[angelwonie]

LET ME IN || elijah hewson

PAIRING: elijah x reader

WORD COUNT: 3.3k

GENRE(S): fluff, a bit of angst, friends to lovers, hurt comfort

SUMMARY: when your best friend turns up at your front door unannounced, you decide to find out why he's acting so strangely. what you don't expect is for some repressed feelings to bubble up to the surface.

WARNINGS: smoking, mentions of drinking + being drunk, kissing, eli has daddy issues oops

this is it y'all i've gone insane... he looked at me once and this is what happens. @boobyskeetz made me post this btw

It’s far along in the evening when you come home to find Elijah Hewson sitting on your staircase with his head in his hands. 

He’s slumped over, leather jacket around his shoulders and a slowly burning, unattended cigarette in between the pointer and middle finger of his right hand. The sky is pitch black, the only source of light being an ancient lantern whose shine just barely reaches Elijah’s hair. 

You’re shocked at the sight, to say the least, the heaviness of your grocery bags suddenly a faint background noise. 

“Eli?” you move closer, albeit hesitantly, and your voice makes his head snap up.

When he looks at you, you fight back the urge to gasp. His eyes, half lidded, just barely glimmer in the faint light provided by the moon overhead, leaving room for his undereye bags to stand out. And they do stand out — so much that you almost don’t catch him stumbling over his feet ever so slightly as he walks over to where you’re standing. 

Almost. 

“Are you alright?” 

It’s not a question, not really, but he winces either way. You stand close enough to see it, but immediately, his lips pull into a lopsided grin to hide his initial reaction. 

“‘Course I am,” he takes a drag of his cigarette, and uses his other hand to take one of your grocery bags. “Just wanted to see you, that’s all.”

You nod, watching him drop the unfinished cigarette to the ground and step on it. You wonder how many he’s smoked today and consider asking, but decide against it upon realizing you probably don’t want to know. Instead, you let him take your grocery bags wordlessly, following him up the stairs. 

It’s a short staircase, but you’re walking slowly – too slowly for your liking – and there’s a million questions burning on your tongue. You hold them back, mostly because you’re tired, but also because something in Elijah’s eyes tells you not to push. 

He’s the one to speak first when you reach the right apartment. “Hey, your flowers are still alive.”

He’s referring to the roses he helped you pick out last month. It was a treat for yourself, for finishing all your assignments, and you had taken the whole ‘plant mom’ job pretty seriously, even putting the roses in a prettier vase and putting it on display outside of your apartment. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “They’re holding up really well.”

Elijah waits for you to unlock the door, then walks inside with you in tow. He wobbles a little as he drops down his shoes where he always puts them — where he’s put them ever since you told him three years ago it could be his spot. 

You watch him shoulder off his jacket and start organizing the groceries in the fridge from afar, slowly taking off your outerwear. It’s warm inside, and your skin feels like it’s about to be set on fire after being out in the cold for so long. You think of Elijah sitting on your doorstep. How long was he waiting for you? 

“Mind if I take a beer?” he cuts off your thoughts and you look up to find him with his hand on your fridge, an inquiring look on his face. 

Now the lighting’s better, and you can clearly see his face. The creases between his brows, the focus in his gaze, the stubble that he’s let grow just a little longer than usually. Whether that’s a deliberate choice or simple forgetfulness, you’re not sure, but it worries you. His state worries you. 

“Suit yourself.”

Maybe you should have said no, you think as he takes a sip of the drink and you’re reminded of the wobble in his walk. He’s probably had enough to drink already. To be fair, though, Elijah can be stubborn when he wants to, and something’s telling you today is one of those days. 

When everything is either in the fridge or in a cupboard, you and Eli wander into the living room, shoulder to shoulder, without much to say. It’s messy, and he scolds you playfully for it — like he’s not the guy whose dorm you have to clean each time you come over. 

You join his laughter though, and plop down on your couch a little more relaxed than before. 

“How long did you wait for me?” 

This time you manage to ask him the question, and he shrugs.

“A couple hours.”

He lifts the beer up to his lips and empties it, the can blocking out his view of you and your widened eyes. 

What the hell is going on? His gaze tells you nothing. It’s so indifferent it makes you want to rip your hair out, because no matter how much he wants to pretend spontaneously coming over at three am is normal, it’s not. Especially when it comes to him. 

Sure, if it were Robert, you would’ve figured it was just him acting on impulse, but it was never like that with Elijah. 

“You could have just called,” you say finally, a slight quiver to your voice. “You should have just called. You know that, right?”

He meets your gaze, but not for long; after a second it drops down to his lap, like he’s embarrassed. You hold your breath, awaiting an answer. His fingers drum against the side of the couch, but then he changes his mind about that, too, and brings his hand to scratch the side of his face. God, what is he even doing? Trying to see how long it’ll take for you to snap and throw him out of the apartment? 

Suddenly, he sighs deeply, dropping his hands in his lap. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

You can’t help yourself from scoffing. That’s it? He ‘didn’t wanna bother you’? Maybe you would’ve believed it hadn’t he shown up unannounced at your front door in the middle of the night. 

You almost open your mouth to say just that, but stop yourself when Elijah looks up again, and his bloodshot eyes meet yours. Something’s definitely not right. You can physically feel it, the tightening of your chest, the anger somehow pushed to the back of your head. 

“Why are you here?” you ask him sternly, keeping your eyes on him. This time, he doesn’t look away. 

“Do you want me to leave?”

It comes out meek, frail, as he almost chokes on his own words. You’re taken aback by the shiver in his voice, the drop of his shoulders. He places the beer can on your table and you swear his hands shake — just barely, but enough for you to see and for your heart to clench in response. 

You shake your head. “No, I want to know why you’re here.”

He laughs humorlessly, leaning forward in his chair. His hands are definitely shaking, but you’re not sure whether it’s from the alcohol or something entirely different. 

You know this face on him — he’s bothered by something, but doesn’t want to admit it. He’s always been like this, ever since you met him at school and watched his eyes glow with the same sadness after his teachers told him he should work on his grades. It was the same look on his face, the same millions of feelings threatening to bubble over the surface. 

The only difference seems to be that now, he’s got no cap in his hands to close the bottle. 

“I’m just tired, that’s all. Wanted to talk to you ‘cause the lads are too much noise.”

You frown and send him a look of disdain. Perhaps this isn’t something you should push on him, but seeing as he just magically appeared at your apartment while drunk, you do have a right to at least inquire what the fuck is going on.  

“If you’re going to lie to me, you might as well leave.”

Silence follows your statement; silence so loud you almost regret saying anything at all. He grits his teeth, and you swear you can hear it from across the table — though that might just be your brain playing tricks on you this late in the evening. 

“It’s my dad,” he mutters finally, scratching his stubble. “Not that that’s much of a surprise.”

“What happened?” 

“Nothing new, really,” he exhales, closing his eyes briefly. “Just, you know, the usual ‘you’re wasting your life by not going to college’ talk. Total bullshit, as always. The only thing wasted is those twenty minutes of my life I spent listening to him talk about it.” 

You breathe out slowly, fighting against the urge to look away from his gaze. He keeps it on you, unwavering, but you don’t know what to say. It’s dangerous territory, one you haven’t ever entered fully, and the worry of hurting him pangs at your chest; the legitimacy of his vulnerability scares you and moves you all the same. 

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“He’s just worried, you know. I would be, too.” 

“Why?” his lip quivers and your heart sinks in your chest; so quickly it forces a sudden nausea upon you. “Because I’m not cut out for this?”

“No, Eli, that’s not what I–”

He cuts you off — not with his words, but with his hands gripping the arms of his chair to help him stand. It’s so abrupt your words die down in your throat, leaving a dryness behind. Hovering above you, he still looks small, like he’s fading into the light above; barely even present as Elijah but rather as some mass of feelings clumped together, ready to explode. 

“Do really none of you think I can make this work?” 

It’s the alcohol, you think, god, you shouldn’t have let him drink any more — how could you be so careless? But no, it’s not your carelessness or his, and you know that, even in this state of panic, it somehow reaches your mind — the revelation that this isn’t a random outburst. 

It’s the fruit of a tree that’s been growing for a long time; the ripeness isn’t fake, even if you’re unprepared to pick it.

“Do you really think that?” he asks this quietly, his voice barely audible, but it feels like he’s tearing your skull apart with a scream. 

Do you really think that? The very assumption, the very thought, disgusts you. The thought that you could ever believe he won’t make it — it’s so unnerving you let out a shaky breath. 

A movement of your legs from underneath you and you’re standing. Your feet tap against the floor as you walk up to him slowly, like approaching a scared deer. He is scared, you realize. Your fingertips tingle with the longing to run your hands over his face, but you hold them back, instead answering his question.

“No.” 

He blinks, and you say it again: “No,” and again and again, “No, no, no, no,” until it almost doesn’t feel like a word anymore and more like some sort of bandage wrapped around a bruised bone. 

“Your dad doesn’t think that, either. He’s just worried because he cares. Because he loves you.” 

He falls silent. “I’m not so sure.”

“About what?”

He doesn’t reply instantly. You look down on his hands, only to find that they’re still shaking, and take a couple steps forward. Elijah doesn’t notice, you think, or if he does, he doesn’t show any disdain for your closeness. 

“About love,” he says finally. “Isn’t love supporting someone unconditionally? Rooting for them, no matter what? That description doesn’t really fit my dad.” 

“I think you’ve got it all wrong.” 

You suppress the smile that threatens to form on your face when he sends you a confused look, his nose scrunched. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you can support whoever you want without much difficulty,” you look at the floor, thinking of what to say next. “That doesn’t mean you love them. If you love someone, it means you’re willing to suffer through discomfort and pain to make them happy. You’re willing to spend your nights worrying if they’ve chosen the right path. You let them into your apartment at three am. That type of thing.” 

Thirty seconds pass before you finally look back up, internally shivering at the way his stare bores into your soul. 

“You…” he trails off, wincing like it’s painful. Uncharted territory, yet again — that much is obvious from how your heart bangs against your ribs. The silence in the room makes you worry if he might just be able to hear it.

You hear him inhale sharply, taking a step back so he can sit at the edge of your sofa. Following suit, you observe his eyes shining in the light, less red than before though still uncertain. His shoulder brushes against yours and you breathe in — he smells of alcohol, but it’s oddly comforting in the storm of your thoughts. 

Elijah’s head turns to you. 

“Have you… ever thought this is all for nothing? That I keep leaving the tour bus with more and more bruises for no reason at all?” 

Your fingertips tingle again, and this time you do nothing to stop them from brushing over the back of his hand. It’s stupid, probably, but it feels right, his skin against yours. He’s warm, really warm, but it doesn’t bother you in the slightest, even when he leisurely drags his forefinger down the side of your hand. It tingles, but you don’t move away. 

Elijah’s hand doesn’t shake anymore when you interlace your fingers together. Finally, you get the courage to speak. 

“I’ve held your hair back while you were throwing up, Eli. Tied your shoelaces after a tiring show. Corrected your lyrics until four at night so you could send them to your manager before dawn. I wouldn’t do any of that if I didn’t believe you were on your way to the top from the first time I saw you,” you take a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you look directly at him. “I wouldn’t do any of that if I didn’t believe in you.” 

It’s silent after that. For a long time. But his hand sits clammily in yours like a pearl in a clamshell, and you hold onto it for dear life, praying he won’t slip out from your grip. 

“Promise me you won’t stop.”

Your head turns, startled by the sudden statement. His gaze scans you from head to toe, lingering on the curve of your lips, then your nose and finally your eyes, where it stops and plants its roots. You feel it spreading almost like wildfire, the warmth that comes with it. You almost tremble underneath it, squeezing his hand a little harder. 

“Won’t stop what?” you whisper, eyes wide.

“Letting me into your apartment at three am.”

His gaze drops in a manner someone might’ve mistaken for lazy, but you know him well enough to recognize the vacillation in his eyes. You feel his fingers shiver in your embrace, every breath strained. 

“Why not?”

You move closer, only by a centimeter or so, but he senses it — all the cells in his body seem to tingle with the paradox of wanting to touch and wanting to run all the same. Maybe it’s the unexpectedness of it all, or maybe rather it’s the arbitrary comfort that comes with it, that scares him to death, but whatever reason, he feels like he’s entering a deadly storm. 

And perhaps it’s the alcohol and he’s not thinking straight, but this storm appears more inviting than any sunny day he’s ever witnessed. 

He squeezes your hand tighter and leans down until his lips are impossibly close to brushing against your nose. You feel his hot breath on your face, sparks dancing across your skin to the smell of cigarettes and whiskey and beer, his hand shaking ever so slightly. 

“Because I still haven’t gotten the chance to let you into mine.” 

You smile — a real smile that you no longer manage to hold back. He mirrors the expression, albeit softly, lines appearing in the corners of his mouth. Let me in. Hues of colors appear in his eyes just as his shaky pointer finger grazes your jaw. Let me in. He cups your cheek gently, his lips parting in a breathless exhale. 

Let me in, let me in, let me in.

He does. Just when the clock shows 3:47am and your shirt feels like it’s sticking to your skin, he finally closes the distance between you.

His lips brush over yours — it’s featherlight and careful, but you accept it all and kiss him back nonetheless. You can taste cigarettes on his tongue when he opens his mouth. Suddenly, the clock’s sound doesn’t reach your ears anymore, and all you can hear is the beating of your heart inside your throat. His finger strokes your cheek and his nose bumps into yours, but it’s fine. It’s more than fine. 

You breathe in the scent of him, bringing your hands to tangle themselves in his hair in a moment of recklessness. Yeah, you’ve definitely gone absolutely crazy — but that’s a problem to solve later. For now, you’re kissing Elijah Hewson.

You’re kissing Elijah Hewson. It’s almost a revelation that dawns upon you like the waves of a tsunami, knocking the breath out of your lungs. It squeezes at your heart, a drawstring closing around it, and you have to pull away to breathe, to examine his face, puffy lips and tired eyes, to understand the gravity of your situation.

“We just kissed,” you say, and your voice shakes even though you strain to keep it calm.

“Yes,” he affirms, like it’s nothing. But it is something, and his eyes can't hide that. “We did.”

“But you’re drunk.”

“You think that’s why I did it?”

“I don’t know.”

He smiles and you swear your heart almost leaps out of your chest. “You do.”

“I don’t.”

He looks at you for a moment – your messy hair, reddened lips, the hesitation in your gaze – and makes his decision. 

In less than a second, he drops down to his knees and you’re about to protest (because what does he think he’s doing?) until he grabs your hand and holds it between both of his. You furrow your eyebrows to hide the fact that you’re taken aback, though from the glint in Elijah’s eyes you figure you’re not doing a very good job at it. 

He looks at you, like really looks at you, and you look at him the same. The fruit lies in the palm of your hand and squeezes to the beat of your heart when he speaks. 

“I love you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat when he kisses your knuckles softly, and keeps them against his lips. “That’s why I kissed you, why I turned up to your apartment at three am, why I don’t regret it. Any of it. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Something pulls at the very back of your throat. You keep your mouth closed, but even that doesn’t stop a choked whimper from leaving you — a sound that makes Elijah’s lips quirk upwards. He smiles, and you attempt to do the same, yet all you manage is a half-laugh, half-sob that shakes though your body. 

Embarrassed, you look down, and you can hear Eli chuckle before the warmth of his arms envelops you whole. He hugs you tightly against his chest, fingers coming up to stroke your hair as you partly laugh, partly cry into his shirt. And even though it should be humiliating, the act feels so powerfully comforting that you let him hold you. 

“I love you too.”

You whisper this into his chest, breathing heavily. He pulls away and you look up, confused, but he smiles that gorgeous smile of his, with teeth on display and smile lines appearing, and cups your jaw. His eyes shimmer with undoubtable joy. 

He doesn’t have to say anything. You know.

“That’s a fucking relief, huh?” he whisper-laughs and you join in on it.

“Yeah.”

And you smile.

He’s let you in, and you don’t think you’ll be leaving any time soon. 

[fuqsketti]

hi! hope youre doing well, may i request mike wheeler x reader where the reader plays with mike's hair :)

fireworks || mike wheeler

A/N tysm for the request! ik this might not be exactly what you had in mind but i hope you enjoy either way! <3

unedited

fluff fluff fluff

Despite how easy they stayed in touch, Y/n always found it difficult to be apart from her boyfriend.

After all the strange happenings, Y/n left Hawkins because her mother didn't want her to be part in any more of it.

Mike would give her a call whenever he had the chance, write her a ton of letters, sends her presents in the mail but it just wasn’t the same as getting to see him everyday, getting to hug him and kiss him, feeling those fireworks only Mike wheeler could give her.

She prayed he still felt those fireworks.

On very few occasions her mother would let mike visit her.

She had always thought those friends of yours from Hawkins were a bad influence, especially after the star court incident.

This time however, after months of begging, your mom finally caved and let YOU visit HIM in Hawkins.

To say Y/n was excited was an understatement, she got to see all her old friends and got to stay at her boyfriends house.

Nothing could make her fall break any better.

After that exhausting flight, all she wanted to do was collapse into her boyfriend's arms and get to smell his sweet cologne again.

As soon as her flight landed she rushed to the gate, scanning the crowd for her boyfriend.

And then she saw him.

Holding a sign that said ‘Y/N’ with nicely drawn flowers and hearts- Will must’ve helped him out with it.

He saw her the same time she saw him, throwing the sign aside and rushing towards her- She met him halfway and embraced him in a bear hug as he swept her off her feet, spinning her around a few times as he was just so excited that she was here.

Once they finished their little love fest he put her back down smiling at her warmly.

She then had the chance to look at him closely.

He had changed much since she last saw his face about a year ago; any baby fat had completely vanished, and he now had sharp cheekbones and jawline, thick eyebrows, and faint undereye bags.

But his mullet was the only thing that caused her to gasp.

“Oh wow.” Y/n chuckled as she started to play with the long hairs from the back of his head.

He sighed in content, he’d missed her touch.

“What?” He asked, his smile still not fading.

“Your hair.” She whispered, raking her hands through his long black hair.

He was so lucky, his hair was so thick and healthy- it made her jealous.

“O-Oh,” He nodded then seemed a bit insecure

“Do you like it?” He asked almost shyly.

“Y-Yeah.” She stuttered out, grabbing his face to make him turn his head- so she could see the full cut.

“It really suits you Mike.”

“You think so?“ He blushed, grabbing her hand away from his face so he could look at her again.

“I really do.” She nodded, her fingers combing through his black hair again, a gesture he seemed to enjoy more this time now that he knew she liked it.

“You look badass.”

Mike grinned; the word "badass" had never been used to describe him, but god did he love that she used it.

“Like one of those satan worshippers you see on the news.” She teased then laughed, He laughed along his hands finding their way to her hips.

“Oh wow- just the look I was going for.” He chuckled pulling her close to him.

“You really know how to compliment me.”

She took her hands away from his hair and put them around his neck, smiling up at him.

“I take pride in my ability.”

He sighed,

“You’re such a dork.” he whispered while staring down at her lips.

“A dork that you wanna kiss so bad right now.” She teased, although she was looking at his too.

“You’re right.” He murmured before moving in, kissing her.

Oh yeah. those fireworks are still there.

[animeomegas]

1 - Asmo, for all his body positivy and your ample reassurance that you love him and find him sexy, gets extremely insecure towards the end of his pregnancy

2 - towards the end he also gets Extremely Hormonal and also rather sick of being pregnant and looking up ways at how to get his baby out already, and when he comes across that sex can help induce labor? this man is so overly sold.

He's hornier than ever, truly more than when you first met him which is a true accomplishment, and will run you ragged to lay back and absolutely bask in your touches and body worship until it actually does induce labor you can feel a shift in the air as you're soaked at his water breaking, his body went tense immediately and if you saw his eyes the clear 'Oh Shit' palpable. He forgot about that, long ago, he was just happy getting off and now 'Oh Shit'

Screeching something's wrong, what does he do?? what now?? he's frantic and wet and still half hard and terrified, man spent all his research at how to go into labor, not what to do when he finally did

1. This hc is spot on. Asmo has trouble seeing his worth as anything other than directly tied to how attractive he is and how good he is in bed, so when his body starts to change, it terrifies him. Suddenly his clothes don’t fit and he has stretch marks and he has cravings that don’t align with his diets and everything is too much for him.

Asmo spends a fortune on creams to reduce stretch marks and undereye bags.

As you say, Asmo is very horny during his pregnancy, so when he starts turning down sex and even refusing all contact, you know something is wrong.

…

Something is wrong with Asmo.

He’s sitting next to you on the bed, and he hasn’t made a move or flirted or made an innuendo or tried to cuddle or get a massage or anything!

And now that you are paying more attention, he’s wearing baggier clothes, his hair is unwashed, he looks paler and more tired than normal. Something is definitely wrong.

“Hey, Asmo,” you ask, sliding closer to him. “Want to have some fun? I know you picked up some new toys last month that we haven’t tried yet.”

Asmo startles and doesn’t meet your gaze.

“Um, I’m actually a big tired right now, sorry,” he mumbles, fiddling with the edges of the oversized T-Shirt he’s wearing.

“That’s okay,” you reassure quickly, knowing that he used to get nervous about saying no to sex and not wanting to make him feel bad. “How about I run you a bath then? I picked up some new honeysuckle bath bombs from that brand you like. I could wash your hair for you! What do you say?”

“I-“ Asmo hesitates, drawing his knees to his chest as best as he could around his baby bump. “Maybe later.”

“What’s wrong, baby?” you sigh, scooting closer to him and putting your hand on his head. “You can tell me.”

Asmo’s lip wobbles for a moment before delicate tears start to fall down his face. He sobs gently, curling in on himself even more. You had been right, something was very wrong.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours hmm?” you ask. You try to pull him into your embrace but he pushes against your chest.

“No, don’t-don’t touch me!” he shouts, scrambling back.

“Okay, okay,” you say, holding your hands up. “I’m not touching you, I promise. Thank you for telling me your boundaries, you did so well.”

Something was really wrong here.

“Can I ask why you don’t want me to touch you baby?”

“I’m ugly,” comes the muffled sob from Asmo.

“Hey, now, don’t talk like that,” you gently reprimand, heart breaking at his low self-esteem. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my entire life, hands down.”

“Not anymore.”

“Asmo, look at me,” you sigh. His tentatively lifts his head up to meet yours but flinches away as your eyes meet. “You are unbelievably stunning. When we met, now and all the time in between. And I know you’ll be stunning in the future, know how I know that?”

Asmo shakes his head a little.

“Because no matter what you look like, I will adore you and think you are stunning every time. You could start wearing bin bags, or covering your face in mud, or dying your hair orange with purple dots!” Asmo giggles a little at the last one. “And you would still be the most amazing and utterly jaw dropping person in all of the three realms.”

“You promise…?” Asmo says tentatively, finally looking at you in the eyes.

“I promse,” you agree. “Now, how about that bath? You deserve a little spoiling.”

“Okay,” Asmo agrees. He doesn’t uncurl himself from his ball though, so you slip a hand behind his back and under his knees and scoop him off the bed and into your arms. You sit him gently on the closed toilet let and offer up his various bathing products for him to choose between.

For now, he was feeling better.

One step at a time.

…

2. When Asmo finds out sex can induce labour he is sold immediately, just as you say. He’s ready to go back to his body just being his now, and this certainly seems like a fun way to do it!

So he basically dances his way over to his alpha and drapes himself across them, fluttering his eyelashes and asking them to come with him back to their room.

Asmo’s brothers are so used to him pulling this by now that they don’t even blink as you both scurry up the stairs.

And they’re doing their thing! As one does.

But the mood changes immediately when both parties feel the rush of water.

“…”

“…”

“Oh shit, what do I do now? The pup is coming now, I’m not ready yet!” Asmo screams, gripping onto his alpha in a panic.

“Wha- Not ready? You told me that’s what this was for?!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect it to work!”

[h2bakugou]

summary: bakugou despises you, more than he does anyone else. you’re strong, and you don’t take shit from anyone. so when bakugou confronts you, it’s more than just a heated argument that ensues.

you can read the original piece here!

all characters aged 18+ au!!

a/n: a rewrite of a classic, one of the first ever fics written here on h2bakugou, hope you loves enjoy this!

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, smut

word count: 2.7k

nsfw under the cut!!!

»»————-　★　————-««

Being discouraged was never an option. Your goal to be a hero had been driven by your perseverance. Your classmates chose the words ‘driven’ and ‘passionate’ to describe you in your first year year-book.

Growing up, you’d been influenced by the words of others, and you vowed to not let them discourage you any longer. You wanted to be a hero, so you’d use their criticism and challenges to better yourself.

Yet, now as a third year, you were still facing challenges. One blonde, explosive, challenge named Katsuki Bakugou that had despised you the day you bucked up to him.

He hated you. Truthfully, he didn’t understand why. You were just so, aggravating. Though in reality, he saw a bit of himself in you. That fire that raged inside driving you further, he knew what that was like.

You weren’t afraid of him. You tested him every day. From ranking higher than him in tests, to beating his ass in training, god you were wiping the floor with him since you were a measly little first year still trying to learn everyone’s names.

On your side of the spectrum, you had to give credit where credit was due. Katsuki was an extremely talented, and attractive individual. He excelled in his classes, got outstanding grades, and had immense power.

But those things didn’t make up for his atrocious attitude, cocky and arrogant demeanor, and brash exterior.

You were closed off, and had boundaries-something Bakugou didn’t understand. Why you were so closed off was a mystery, something Bakugou wanted to desperately understand. A part of him was curious to see what was hiding behind your own brash exterior. 

He watched the way you bit the inside of your cheek when he called you out during a slip up in training.

But what made him far more angrier than when you ignored him, was when you got along with Todoroki.

You always seemed to be smiling around the guy, asking how he’d been over the weekend, despite living in dorms together.

Brushing up on him, rustling his hair, it made his blood boil. What did you see in him?

Today was dragging along like any other, your class stood fixed in the gym, working on some new training regiment put together by your third year Heroics teacher.

It was something similar to the ones you’d done hundreds of times by now, but you’d slipped up, a few times. You were tired, you’d barely gotten any sleep last night because classes finished late and left you to do your homework and shower on top of other things you had to do which landed you in bed at almost three or four in the morning.

So your slip up was something small, but Bakugou noticed. And he was about to make it known.

“You’re slacking today! A slip-up like that coulda getcha’ killed, maybe you should practice some more.” Bakugou chastised, smirking at you. As the buzzing fluorescent lights gleamed over your eyes, he could see so much more than anger bubbling inside them.

He now noticed the heavy undereye bags, and the way your eyes seemed to water. But as he stared into your eyes, he realized this was the first time this week you’d actually looking him in the eye when he said something to you.

You weren’t perfect, you still had moments of doubt, late at night when you thought about what might happen if they were right. What if you weren’t meant to be a hero?

Shaking it out of your head, you didn’t say anything. You focused back on your training, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Todoroki. He shot Bakugou a glare which only caused him to grumble and speak again.

“Get your head outta’ your ass, I’m not pining after your little girlfriend. She’s clearly been putting her mind elsewhere if she’s this fuckin’ terrible today.”

Despite initiating the joke, hearing himself call you Todoroki’s girlfriend made him seethe with anger. He was furious. Why’d he say that? 

“Shut up.” Todoroki replied cooly, following you out of the gym to the locker rooms.

You just laughed to yourself before you got water. Todoroki let out a stressed sigh as he stared at you.

“He’s being extra rude today.” Todoroki mentioned.

“Maybe he’s just horny.” You grimaced thinking about Bakugou and the words ‘being horny.’ 

“How would that tie into his anger toward you?” 

“Sexual. Frustration.”

Bakugou couldn't take much more of you ignoring him. Why were you so dead-set on making him seem invisible? You barely bit back at him when he called you out, and he knew you could say whatever you wanted, you’d done it to others who tried you. So what made him any different?

This was just one of those occurrences, and as he ran them through his head, every time he checked, there was always some case of you ignoring him when all he wanted was a stupid fucking acknowledgement from you. He was going to talk to you.

And he was going to do it now.

You’d finally left the gym, taken a shower, and you were now steadily approaching your dorm. You were tired, and ready to speed through any homework you might have so you could head to bed early.

But a pair of strong hands forced your shoulders into the wall.

“What’s your fuckin’ deal?” Bakugou growled at you. You just stared at him.

“What?” You answered softly, unsure of what he was accusing you of.

“You think you’re so much better than me, than everyone else huh? Walkin’ around like you fuckin’ own the place? What makes you that fucking good!?” Bakugou spat at you.

His fingers dug into your shoulder blades as he urged you to answer his question. You shoved him off of you and managed to escape his attempts at grabbing your wrists.

“I don’t. You fucking act like you own the place, like being powerful is all it takes to be number one. You might wanna take your head outta’ your ass before your hair turns brown.” You marched off to your room, fed up with Katsuki’s behavior.

“Oh yeah!? Then why do you act like such a fuckin’ ass to me!?” Bakugou shouts, running after you.

“Because you treat me like shit! You call me weak when I slip up, you’re always on my fucking case. You think I really wanna be your friend?” You stop and stare at him. 

“Or maybe it’s just because you’re a stubborn asshole that’s too blinded by his idea of being number one that he’s so fucking distracted by his arrogance to see that he’s really just a douche.” 

Your back hit your dorm door. Bakugou towered over you as his shadow cast down upon you.

“You need to watch your fucking mouth.” 

“Or maybe you need an attitude adjustment. Everyone’s grown so much but you still seem to think you’re hot shit, huh?” You reach for your doorknob, going to twist it, but you were to slow.

“I said...” Bakugou’s eyes bore into you.

“You need to watch your fucking mouth.” Bakugou opened your door, watching as you fell back, no longer supported by the wood of your door.

“Make me.” You grunted, catching yourself from falling onto the floor.

Bakugou’s eye twitched as he followed you into your room, closing and locking the door behind himself.

“Hey, what the fuck are you-”

“You’re such a bitch, just shut up already.” Bakugou groaned, yanking you further back into your room.

It all was beginning to make sense. Bakugou wanted to-

“This isn’t going to change how I think of you.” You blurted out, knowing exactly what the blonde wanted. He stared at you with a smirk.

“Put that pretty mouth to something useful unlike talking.” Bakugou began to undo his pants, allowing them to pool around his ankles. 

“You really want me to suck your cock? I don’t know, what if I bite?” You grin, watching as he angered above you.

“What the fuck did I just say?” A handful of your hair was yanked in his fist, tilting your head back.

“A-alright.” You replied. Your cunt throbbed, forcing you to squeeze your thighs together. Why were you so turned on? You didn’t exactly like Bakugou, but he was attractive. You’d give him that, but his looks didn’t make up for his horrendous attitude.

His cock stared at you, hard, tip leaking precum. You graced a single hand over the base, jerking him slowly as you leaned your head toward it. You placed a teasing kiss to the head, smearing his precum around your lips like a lipgloss.

Allowing just the head to slide into your mouth, you stared up at him, watching him fumble with his hands. 

“First time?” You pulled off to tease him which resulted in his cock slamming past your lips and hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes shot open wide as your throat burned, his cock rutting down inside your mouth.

It hurt, but it felt good at the same time.

“You really are a slut, huh. Bet you let guys use this little throat like it’s nothing.” Bakugou spat at you. You wished you could’ve said something back to him, but his cock ramming down your throat was sadly stopping you.

You could hear his whines as he grew close to cumming, but he didn’t want to waste his spend inside your mouth, so he pulled out, hissing as you licked his sensitive cock head a few times as he left your lips.

“I wanna taste you.” You murmured, reaching your hand back up to his cock, ushering him to cum in your mouth.

“H-hey!” Bakugou grunted as your mouth reconnected to his cock. It was too late for him, you were blowing him like no one had ever blown him before. And he was busting in your mouth seconds later.

Swallowing his cum and opening your mouth to show him afterward, Bakugou shook his head.

“Nasty whore.” Bakugou replied, forcing you up and onto the bed, landing on your tummy.

“Had you just asked, I would’ve laid down.” Your shirt was torn off mercilessly by Bakugou, his desperate hands trying to free your tits. Afterward came your sheer tights, followed by your panties. They pooled around your ankles as he left your skirt on for his little fantasies to run wild.

Allowing a firm hand to slap against your now exposed ass, he groaned to himself as he kneaded the skin of your ass between his fingers.

“Pervert.” You mumbled. 

Two fingers swiped through your glistening, slick-coated folds.

“The fuck did you just call me?” Bakugou teased, allowing his thumb to rub small, slow, agonizing, circles around your clit.

“F-fuck.” You breathed out, arching your back into his touch.

“Aw does that feel good slut? You want more?” Bakugou dipped his middle finger into your cunt, watching as you mewled underneath him.

You gripped your sheets with embarrassment, unsure of why you’d succumbed to him so fast. You hung your head in disapponment at yourself.

“More. Want more.” You mumbled, feeling empty as his fingers disappeared from your cunt.

“Didn’t know you’d get so wet just from sucking cock.” Bakugou chastised you again.

“Didn’t think you knew where the clit was.” You groaned. However your comment was punished by a striking feeling between your folds.

His fingers slapped against your clit, making you whine as he toyed with you.

“Surely if this wasn’t it, you’d be quiet right now.” Bakugou was just messing around with you at this point. You were panting as his fingers left your abused clit.

He bent down, spreading your cunt open with his fingers, dipping his tongue into your tight hole. You mewled as the appendage ravaged you. Flicking between your cunt and your clit, he was making you scream into your sheets as you came on his tongue.

His chuckled, licking up your mess as he pulled himself away.

“So messy.” He groaned.

“I bet you’ve been waiting for this cock to fill you up huh. I bet you finger this little cunt thinking about it.” Bakugou rubs the tip of his cock between your folds, butting it against your clit, watching as you whine.

“Just fuck me already.” You were tired of hearing him talk. You wanted him inside you.

“I can wait.” He pulled away, allowing the tip of his cock to just barely touch the folds of your pussy. You whined in response.

“Fuck, please fuck me. Please fill me up.” You begged, laying defeated against the mattress, your ass still hoisted in the air.

“That’s more like it-shit so fuckin’ tight.” Bakugou winced, his cock plunging through your tight folds. It felt so good. You were squeezing him, milking his cock without giving him a second to breathe. He felt like cumming again.

“I thought with-fuck-how cocky you were, you were gonna be smaller.” You retorted, mewling as his cock stretched you out, rubbing against your walls.

“You’re gonna regret ever thinking that.” Bakugou responded by peeling your ass apart with his hands, spitting down onto his cock as it slid out of you and then plunged back into you, sending your body jolting forward.

You moaned loudly as his cock plowed through your cunt, his hands now gripping your waist, holding you in place.

“Not so big and bold when you’re stuffed full of this cock huh?” 

“You always fuck this good when you’re angry?” You groan, panting as he rearranges your insides. 

“You wanna fuck me when I’m not?” Bakugou teases, sliding out of you before thrusting back in. Your long moan shows him he’s doing a good job.

“You might be attractive but your attitude is the worst.” You whine, feeling like you can’t hold the sheets between your fingers tighter.

“I’ll keep that in mind, slut.” Bakugou leaned and grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking it upward, pulling you into his chest. Another hand gripped your throat. 

“Fuck, right there!” You mewled, his cock plowing into you at a different angle, the head of his cock bruising all the good spots inside of you.

“Why don’t you cum on this cock?” Bakugou whispered, biting down against your shoulder.

“C-cumming!” You moaned, your cunt clamping down around his cock as you reached your high. Bakugou hissed as you squeezed around him, forcing his spend out of him and into your cunt.

He let you fall against the mattress as he pulled out, a lewd squelching sound followed by his cum leaking from your pussy was a sight to behold the blonde’s eyes.

Snapping a quick picture for later, he reached for something to wipe you up with before laying down beside you.

“Maybe if you shut up half of the time I’d talk to you.” You mumbled, still trying to catch your breath.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Bakugou stared at you.

“It means...” You rolled over on top of him, leaning down toward his face.

“We’d make a good couple if you weren’t an asshole.” You press a cheeky kiss to his lips, short enough for him not to be able to kiss back. He groans and flips the tables, forcing you under him as he kisses you passionately.

“So fuckin’ date me then and stop fuckin’ around with that half and half bastard.” Bakugou replies.

“Are you blushing?” You tease the blonde, your own cheeks feeling hotter than usual. Bakugou groans and plants his face into your pillow.

“Shut the fuck up. And not a word of this to anyone-”

“Unless I become your girlfriend yeah I know.” You lay beside him and yank up the covers over your naked body, kicking off the rest of your clothes that were uncomforabtly stuck around your ankles.

“I don’t really mean to be such an ass. I just thought-”

“Exactly, you assumed I was a dick. Just shut up, you’re making this worse for you. You really want me to break up with you after we just got together?” 

Bakugou is dead silent for the rest of the night as he eventually cuddles up next to you.

The following morning, a few people are surprised to see you actually speaking to Bakugou, and Todoroki is one of them.

Though by the end of the week, most everyone knew what went down, Bakugou mentioned it to Kirishima on accident and then it had spread.

Todoroki was thoroughly surprised, due to the entire nature of you and Bakugou’s previous relationship. But ultimately, as long as you were happy, he couldn’t be mad.

“About time you realized you liked her.” He mentioned swiftly to Bakugou as they passed in the common room.

“What you’d say to me!?”

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[skullrock]

the (fake) date

pairing: Steve x Reader

summary: In an attempt to avoid Keith’s advances, you tell him you’re going out with Steve. Steve makes that a reality.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: none!!

a/n: first oneshot in months!!! wooo!!! this includes Steve being scared of haunted houses xox

===

Every week, you had to feed Keith another lie as to why you couldn’t go on a date with him.

You could have simply told him you weren’t interested, but he was your boss, and you were worried that letting him down harshly would have consequences. It wasn’t like there were a plethora of jobs in Hawkins once the mall burned down; Family Video was all you had. Family Video and your creepy, weird boss that always carried a bag of Cheetos with him.

You’d say just about anything to get him off your back - that you were busy with school, or you had plans with family, or you were sick. Anything to get him to walk away. You even spent a week trying to make yourself look sick - sunken and dark undereyes, hardly combed hair. It was so convincing that Steve walked up to you and put his hand against your forehead to feel for a fever.

“Not sick,” you told him.

“You look like hell,” he said, brows furrowed.

“That’s very sweet,” you said, and continued to the back room to sort tapes.

But this week, you were out of ideas. You didn’t know what to tell him.

“Friday, you and me?” Keith asked, hand sunken into a bag of Cheetos. “We can go to a haunted house.”

“Oh, I can’t,” you say weakly.

“What’s got you so damn busy this week?”

You searched your brain for any kind of excuse before blurting out, “I’m going to one with Steve.”

The Cheeto bag fell from Keith’s hand.

As if on cue, Steve comes out from the back room and promptly trips on his own feet, slamming into the counter. He smiles dorkily at you before moving to the other side of the counter to help a customer.

“You’re going out with Harrington?” Keith was practically seething.

“Yeah,” you say quickly, turning to watch Steve. “I am.”

Keith scoffs and walks away, dejected and pissed that Harrington won again, mumbling something about how he shouldn’t have hired him.

You lean against the counter, letting out a breath you were holding. Close call.

You thought that was the end of it - but Keith, of course, brings this up again, and in front of Steve this time.

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Couple weeks,” you say, while Steve stands on the other side of Keith, confused.

“Wh-“ Steve starts, but you look at him with pleading eyes, and it clicks with him.

“Yeah,” he says, recovering. Steve steps closer to you and wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you into him. You pray that you’re not blushing too noticeably. “Yeah, since September 28th.”

Keith scoffs. “No PDA in the store, Harrington.”

Steve shrugs and lets you go. “Sorry, Keith. Can’t keep my hands off of them.”

Keith points a dust-covered finger at Steve. “Hands to yourself.” He leans back just slightly. “We have a form you need to fill out if you’re dating. Saves the company’s ass if something goes wrong.” He produces the papers from his back pocket and slams them onto the counter. “Fill ‘em out. I want them by your next shift.” He shoots Steve another hard glare before stalking off, out the front door.

Silence.

You grab the papers and fold them, shoving them into your own back pocket and attempting to walk away.

“Wait,” Steve says, gently taking your arm. “We gonna talk about this?”

You freeze.

Steve had been your crush since forever. You were always in love with him - when he was a dorky 7th grader, when he was an asshole junior, and now as a dorky young man. But you’d sunken into a beautiful friendship with him that you absolutely weren’t willing to throw away over dumb feelings.

“You know Keith.” You try to sound nonchalant. “He keeps asking me out on dates.”

A sudden jealousy hits Steve right in the gut, but he swallows it down.

“And he wouldn’t leave me alone. So I … I told him that we were seeing each other.”

Steve blinks.

Steve coincidentally has also been into you. Maybe not as long, but just as deep. And he’d be damned if he ever tried telling you that. So if he has to pretend to date you to get close to the real thing, he’ll do it.

“Oh, God, please don’t be mad -“ you begin, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not mad,” he says. “No. No. I’m not mad. We should have done this sooner.”

You blink.

“Because - so that - he would have left you alone sooner,” he clarifies, shifting, putting his hands in his back pockets. “You know.”

“You don’t have to -“

“I want to,” he says, then shakes his head a bit. “I mean - not like, I want to be your boyfriend - or anything weird -“

“I get it,” you say, a bit crushed but happy that he’s not pissed and is willing to go along with you. “I told him we were going to a haunted house this Friday.”

“Well, maybe we should,” Steve suggests. “You know - so we seem like a real couple.”

You blush deeply and look away, busying yourself with a random piece of paper on the counter. “Yeah, that would be fun. Or - the house would be fun -“

“I get it,” he says. He leans his back against the counter and watches your fingers play with the paper, smiling softly as he does. “Should I pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds good,” you say, trying to sound casual, but your heart was about to hammer out of your chest.

So was Steve’s.

===

As it would turn out, Steve hates haunted houses.

Every sound makes him shake, and his teeth chatter loudly as you move through the rooms. Steve tries to laugh off his fright, but he gets more worked up as it goes on. After all he’s been through, something like this shouldn’t make him so scared - but it sends him into a near panic attack.

And he feels so stupid, because you’re taking the frights like a champ, laughing at the masks and costumes and guiding Steve along. You willingly hold his hand and help him through the rooms, never once making fun of him for being scared. Steve thinks he probably looks like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, and it makes him want to drop to the floor and die.

“This is bullshit,” he mumbles, holding onto you for dear life as actors walk around you.

“What’s bullshit?” you ask, laughing and blushing, holding his hand tightly. “They aren’t real, Steve.”

Steve runs a sweaty palm through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, I know -“

A person in a mask jumps out randomly and Steve shouts, “Jesus!”

It’s very endearing in an odd way.

“You hate this,” you declare over the loud and obnoxious sound effects. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Thank God,” Steve says hoarsely, and allows you to guide him to the exit.

Outside, Steve takes in large gulps of hair, keeping watch for any monsters - or humans. You rub his back soothingly, and he wipes his palms on his jeans.

“Gross,” he groans. “I didn’t know - ugh, you had to hold these -“

“I don’t care,” you say, and that settles it.

“This might sound crazy,” he says as you both head for his car, “but I’ve never actually been to one of these before.”

“You haven’t?” You’re shocked. “And how many dates have you been on? A thousand?”

Steve glares at you in his periphery. “No. Doesn’t matter. Point is, I’ve never been to a haunted house before.”

“Glad I was there for your first time,” you say, and Steve’s happy you were there, too.

When you approach his car, you realize you’re both still holding hands, and you pull your hand away quickly. Steve frowns.

“Sorry,” you say.

“For what?”

“Holding your hand for so long.”

“Didn’t bother me.”

You pause, studying his face. He looks warm, a slight smile on the edge of his lips, shoulders relaxed, almost leaning towards you but not quite.

You continue looking at each other for a few moments, trying to decipher each other. Finally, Steve whispers, “I’m still scared, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, and holds his hand out to you. “I think you should hold it again.”

You blush and smile. “Let’s get in the car.”

Steve practically sprints to his side, then runs back to get your door for you. He tucks you inside, then runs back to his side. In his head, he gives himself a pep talk, tries to remember how to be flirty and smooth. But Steve Harrington doesn’t know how to be suave, not anymore, and maybe that’s not really a bad thing. Steve quickly puts his seatbelt on and then reaches over the center console, taking your hand in his.

“It’s still sweaty,” you say, quietly, a lame attempt at a joke.

“That didn’t bother you before,” Steve says, smiling slightly.

The look he’s giving you is so sweet and pure that you almost want to run out of the car. Or lean forward and kiss him. Or maybe both.

And even though you’re both holding hands and very obviously pining, neither of you actually know what this means. Steve has hope in his aching chest that maybe this is almost a real date under the premise of being a fake one. You have hope that it is, too. But neither of you know how to breach the topic, and after some lingering looks, Steve starts to drive. His right hand is still laced in your left, tightly, almost afraid that you’d let him go.

“Where to?” he asks. “It’s only nine.”

You desperately try to think of something to do, anything to keep him with you for a little while longer. “I- horror movies?”

Steve can’t help the laugh that bubbles from his chest. “I don’t do super well with those, either.”

“King Steve!” you say, faking a scandalized tone. “You telling me you hate horror flicks?”

“Can’t stand ‘em,” he says, absentmindedly squeezing your hand. “They make me jump.”

“How high?”

A childish giggle comes from him. “At least five feet.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“Too bad,” he smiles, glancing over to you. Then he gasps. “Oh, I know a place!”

===

As it would turn out, the quarry is a perfect place for a chilly October night.

It’s scary, but not too scary. It’s more so serene and beautiful, and the moon casts a silver glow onto the water and trees. You and Steve lean against the front of his car, hands to yourself, as you watch the surroundings.

“You scared?” he asks suddenly.

You laugh. “No. Are you?”

“No.” A pause. “You just - you seem like you’re shaking.”

“I’m just cold.” You wrap your arms around yourself for some warmth. “I don’t know why I thought a thin sweater -”

Steve scoots beside you and takes his jacket off - the infamous Members Only one, which he insists to Robin is made with the very threads of good luck - and he wraps it around your shoulders. You slink into yourself, smiling coyly at him and he secures it onto your frame.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Steve nods and smiles down at you. The moon hits the left side of his face and illuminates his features, and you hold yourself back from tucking a stray hair behind his ear.

“What about you?” you ask. “Aren’t you cold now?”

“A little,” he admits. “I’ll be okay.”

You don’t believe him. You wrap your arm around him and pull him in closely, and his hair flops over his forehead as he leans into your side. His arm snakes around your waist and you feel frozen in time, like nothing could ever be this perfect, like you never want it to end.

“What are we doing?” you whisper after a moment.

Steve smiles. “If you ask me, I think we’re on a date.”

You blush against Steve’s shoulder and he can feel the heat through his shirt.

“Yeah?” you ask. “A fake one or a real one?”

Steve swallows hard, contemplating his answer. “Seems… seems like a real one to me.”

You look up at him at the same time he looks down at you and your noses almost brush together. Steve’s eyes trail down to your lips and he leans forward a microscopic amount, his arm still tight around your waist. You look away before he can close the gap, and his shoulders slump just slightly.

“I think it seems like a real one, too,” you say, voice cracking from nerves.

There’s a moment of silence before Steve whispers, “Hey.”

You look at him and there’s no time to contemplate.

Steve’s lips are warm and soft, tasting vaguely like cherry chapstick and Coca-Cola. They move against yours slowly, and although the kiss feels like a minute, it only lasts a fleeting moment before he pulls back, gauging your reaction.

“Is that… cherry chapstick?” It’s all you can think to say.

“Cherry Coke,” he corrects. “L-Lipsmacker.”

A slow smile breaks out over your face. “I have the same one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile wider. “Maybe you should taste it on me sometime.”

Steve melts into you, pulling you closer to him. “I think you taste just fine without it.”

Your lips meet again and time stands still once more. Steve’s warm hand cups your face as he pulls you in, and your thumb traces his cheekbone. You’d never felt so alive and lucky as the cold October air picks your hair up and blows it around you.

Steve leans his forehead against yours as he breaks the kiss again. You remain there for a while, thanking the universe for your luck.

Steve thanks his jacket, and, oddly, Keith.

“Hope you kept those papers,” Steve mumbles.

You laugh. “I did.”

“Good,” he smiles, his breath tickling your nose. “Because I think we’ll need to sign them.”

===

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[sup-hoes-its-me]

A Hero (Shinsou x Reader)

A/N: okay so shinsou is such a cool character, kinda relatable tbh, so here we go. Friends to lovers, lots of fluff, cuteness. It took a lot of strength to take a break from writing my fav bakugo lol.

tw: you almost get assaulted

word count: 4400

Part One/ Part Two/ Part Three

So technically, Y/N wasn’t related to the Bakugos at all. She was the orphaned child of a family friend, who died a horrific hero’s death when she was only a couple years old. Without any other relatives in the area to adopt her, Y/N’s mother’s best friend took in the two year old, despite the trouble of raising two toddlers being quite daunting. Yet, her quirk wasn’t very dangerous nor special like Katsuki, so she wasn’t hard to manage in that area. Just a shy little girl, confused at the transition after the loss of her parents.

Y/N was never very strong willed like her new family. She was passive, the perfect representation of type B personality. Dependent, reliant, and fearful of adversity. The only reason she was never mercilessly bullied in her primary days was a result of her “brother’s” unrelenting defensiveness. He was an asshole, very much so, but he never let anyone pick fun at the girl. Not only did he kinda, sorta love her unconditionally as a silbing should, but his mother would murder him for not standing up for her.

But when they both got into U.A, suddenly the two weren’t equals anymore, nor would he always be by her side to watch out for her. Y/N was left behind in class C, while he soared into the top hero course. Y/N was support for the soon-to-be pros, not that she minded. The girl knew how weak she was, and unless she had a change of heart and decided to work harder on her quirk, she would never be able to succeed. She wasn’t motivated like those in Class A. Y/N never wanted the responsibility of being so good people relied on her, civilians putting all their faith into her. It was nerve wracking.

On the first day of class, Y/n said goodbye to her parents and walked to class with her brother. He carried both their bags, one on each shoulder, eyes staring straight ahead, brows furrowed with irritation as per usual. She kept her hands clasped behind her back, wandering slowly next to him, head hung. 

She was scared, admittedly. This school was huge and so prestigious. How could she ever compare to the others there? It was impossible.

“Stop being such a baby.”

“Katsuki-”

“You’re gonna be fine, and you know it. You’re more powerful than those losers anyway, if only you tried,” he grunted, turning the corner to see dozens of other students in their uniforms walking around and entering the school. She bit her lip and sighed, wringing her fingers out of nervousness. “Seriously, don’t make yourself out to be a weakling. People will target you if you do.”

She paused, not taking another step as she confessed, “I know what I should do, it’s just putting that ideal into practice that gets me everytime.” 

Time was running close to class starting, and he rolled his eyes down to her slightly quivering form. Handing her her bag, he told her calmly, “Listen, if anyone bothers you, I’m two doors down anyway. Just call me right after class if something happens, got it?” With a nod, he patted her on the head and walked away to the main entrance. 

Her eyes drew up the high building, taking in all the shiny windows and the huge shape of an H made out of the numerous floors. This place was bigger than she had ever imagined, and that only scared her more. Yeah, it was bigger because it housed a lot of students who needed room to exercise their quirks, plus they were a very wealthy institution. 

She had to tell herself that just because the building was scary certainly did not mean that the people inside were just as bad.

So she held her head a bit higher and walked through the crowds of students. She tried to remember where the counselor told her her classroom was, so she didn’t embarrass herself by getting lost on her first day. 

Yet, that was exactly what she did. The school was just too big, and she was too anxious about her first day to think properly. So, with tears gathering in her eyes, she watched at the time ticked by on the clock. Her nightmares were filled with this scenario. Showing up late on her first day and everyone in the class laughing at her. 

“Are you lost?” a voice deep and smooth spoke up behind her, and she jumped a couple inches in the air, placing a hand over her heart after it started to rapidly beat with shock.

She turned her head, brushing her loose hairs from her eyes. He stared down at her with an almost bored expression, just as his voice had sounded. He was tall, and very purple. Dark undereyes, wild violet hair in every direction. She didn’t really know what to think of him other than he was unique, dare she even say attractive in a strange way. He looked older than her, probably 16 or 17 even, based off his height and old soul aura he radiated. One thing she did notice about him though, was he felt gentle, passive and even a bit dismissive. It wasn’t the least bit intimidating, and she relaxed. 

“Yeah…” she mumbled, a bit embarrassed.

He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seems we’re in the same boat.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Class 1-C,” he hummed, beginning to walk forward again. She told him meekly that she was going to the same class, and he raised a brow. “Really? What’s your quirk?”

“My quirk is kinda lame.”

A small smile crept at the edge of his lip, her embarrassment and shy attitude amusing him. “And what would that be?”

“Well, it’s kinda weird so don’t make fun of it. I can um- well, my blood is highly basic and burns any skin issue it touches,” the girl mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. Her cheeks burned so much she felt like she had a fever. This is why she never liked to talk about her quirk. It was just plain absurd and kinda disgusting. Every time she used her quirk she had to slice her skin and sprinkle blood everywhere. “But, like, it does so much damage to me to lose blood that often I can rarely use my quirk.”

He nodded. “That’s definitely strange, you’re right,” he stated bluntly, and her heart stopped beating for a moment. “But useful. Really don’t know why you’d be embarrassed about it. Just because you don’t have endurance doesn’t mean strategy and technique can’t make up for that.”

Y/N caught up to him, walking at his side now although his strides were longer and harder to keep up with. She looked up to him, feeling a bit at ease seeing as he wasn’t rude about her quirk. “What’s your quirk?”

He didn’t miss a beat, his gruff voice sounding bitter and angry with his next words, “Something I’d rather not talk about. Don’t want you to spread rumors and lies about me.” 

She had never heard someone so visceral about their own quirk. It couldn’t be that terrible, not to mention she wasn’t rude like the people he must have encountered before. She felt a pang in her chest, knowing that this reaction was no doubt from prior experience being hurt. 

With a short shake of her head, she replied, “It’s okay, if you don’t tell me, but I wouldn’t judge you for your quirk, and definitely not gossip about it. I don’t have the social skills to do that kind of thing.” She laughed awkwardly. The bell rang overhead, signalling the beginning of the first period. They were officially late. “Oh, crap. We better hurry.”

“For what? We’re already late, doesn’t matter if it’s by a minute or ten.”

“I-I don’t know about that one.”

As they entered the stairwell to head up the stairs, he turned to her and paused, staring into her eyes deeply. She blinked, seeing so much purple looking in her direction. Quickly, she averted her gaze, and tucked her hands behind her back out of nervous habit. 

“I’ll tell you about my quirk if you promise me one thing.”

She opened her mouth to agree but then shook her head. Don’t just make promises to strangers, Y/N, so stupid. “Um, depends on the promise.”

He took a deep breath, never taking his eyes off of her own averted ones. Waves of pain radiated from his form, hitting her square in the chest. “Just don’t call me a monster or shit like that.” And that was the moment she felt her entire heart crumble in her chest for this boy she had just met. He expected her to think of him like a monster for something as silly as his quirk? She wanted to cry for him, being as sensitive as she was. 

“I promise.”

He started walking up the stairs again, done with his intense observation of her face, except it felt to her like he was examining a portion of her soul, her compassion. It seems he saw something he liked in her. 

“My quirk is brainwashing, or mind control, if you want to call it that.”

Her eyes widened at the words, not believing that someone so powerful was right beside her, in the same class as her even. “Like, what do you do?’

“If a person verbally responds to me, I then have complete control over anything they do.”

“That is so sick,” she whispered under her breath, but he still heard her. His brows quirked up, and he gazed down at her.”Sorry, I just think that’s a really amazing quirk.” She smiled sheepishly, her eyes reaching his. He almost had to look away once he saw the sparkle of excitement and admiration in her gaze. Those emotions were directed towards him…

As they walked past a classroom, a loud voice called from inside the room. “Bakugo Y/N and Shinsou Hitoshi. I believe you’re late to my class.”

She rushed into the classroom in front of him and he followed. They conveniently were directed to the back of the classroom, two seats directly next to each other. She took a seat in hers and he slumped down in his, rolling his eyes at the glare the teacher had given him. 

He looked over at the girl beside him, who he now knew as Bakugo Y/N. She peeked over at him, and a small smile grew on her soft lips, the bit of sparkle still present in her gaze towards him. He smothered down the urge to smile back, just lifted the corner of his lip in return. 

Shinsou wasn’t exactly interested in making friends. He didn’t need them. This girl, though, he wouldn’t mind if she stuck around.

______________________________________

“So, uh, Y/N, do you need someone to walk you home?” Shinsou asked as they shuffled out of the nearly empty classroom save for a few stragglers. “Not that you aren’t capable of walking yourself home, it’s just that-”

“It’s fine. And actually someone already walks home with me, so no.”

He cringed, feeling awkward now. He shouldn’t have been so forward with this impending friendship. They had just met, she probably didn’t want some weirdo knowing where she lived either. “Oh, gotcha.”

“In fact, there he is,” she smiled, waving to a particularly angry blond walking down the hall with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his sagging pants. Shinsou cringed even harder at this point, not expecting her to already have a guy walking her home. She probably didn’t have much room for another good guy friend in her life, he thought, obviously overthinking things. “Katsuki! How was class?”

He frowned, shaking his head. “Deku made a fool of himself as usual, but it wasn’t awful,” the boy replied as his eyes slid from his sister to the daunting guy beside her. “Who’s this?”

“This is my new friend, Shinsou. He helped me find the classroom this morning since we’re in the same class.” Katsuki blinked in surprise, definitely not expecting his shy little sister to already have made a friend. It took her years of middle school just to have a few close acquaintances. 

“I gotta get going. My mom is expecting me home soon,” Shinsou told the girl, even if he was lying. He could go home at any time he wanted, he just didn’t want to feel awkward anymore. This guy was obviously close to her, and was giving him the evil eye for a minute now. Possessive much?

“Wait, before you go, let me introduce you to my brother.”

“Brother?’ he asked aloud. They didn’t look alike, like, at all. Nor did their personalities seem to resemble each other in any way.

“This is my brother Katsuki. He’s a class 1-A hot shot.” A pang of relief turned his stomach.

“Yeah, uh, nice to meet you.”

The blond rolled his eyes, gruffly brushing off the purple haired boy’s greeting.“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Y/N, are you ready to go?”

Y/N sighed, waving softly to Shinsou, a smile ever present on her lips when she looked at him. She mouthed as she walked away, ‘sorry’, and he just waved. 

Maybe he was a creep for watching her as she left, waiting for her to turn a corner before he let out a breath of air. All he knew was that he felt as if he was sucked in a trance. His heart felt heavy in his chest, as if it were about to explode. The feelings were so foreign but pleasant, some of the best he had ever experienced.

It just felt so good to see someone’s warm smile directed at him, not an ounce of malice behind a guise.

Yeah…He really, really liked her. 

_____________________________

The pair were friends. Honestly, Y/N was the only person you could get him to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that she was his friend. They trained together, and he assisted her a lot with her quirk. There were times when they were training alone and she lost too much blood that she would pass out and he would carry her to the infirmary. Time and time again though, teachers told him in private to monitor her. It was unhealthy to constantly lose pints of blood, and she wouldn’t be able to do it on the daily even if she wanted to. Since he and her brother were the only people she truly listened to and appreciated advice from, Shinsou recognized it as a sort of duty to take care of her.

Yet, with a bit more encouragement at the new school from dozens of teachers and other students, she actually improved on her quirk quite a lot. It wasn’t as if she had a useless quirk; it was very powerful in fact. She could burn directly through someone’s skin and the bone if enough blood was spilled. Therefore, the quirk could only be exercised in moderation.

For the first time in his life, someone actually trusted him. Not once did he consider using his quirk on her. Not only was she perfect on her own, but if he betrayed her trust like that, he might lose his closest friend. She was kind, but he wasn’t sure where her limits lied.

“Are you sure you’re okay walking home alone?” he asked his friend, who sat beside him packing up her books. Katsuki was out for the day with the flu, so she would be walking back home alone. He was kinda worried about her. She never walked by herself, always having the protection of her brother. 

But she was a strong girl. There was nothing to worry about. He had seen her fight and she was definitely capable. It was just overthinking that sent his anxiety through the roof.

“Yes, I’m totally fine,” she laughed, finding his concern humorous. “You live in the opposite direction. I’m not gonna make you walk me 20 blocks out of your way.”

Although he nodded in understanding, he definitely did not agree. He would walk all over the city for her if she needed him to. Still, when it came time to part ways on the sidewalk, they waved and went in opposite directions. It was only after five excruciatingly long minutes that the lanky boy turned and started walking in the direction of her home. Even though he shouldn’t have, and easily could have texted her, he wanted to make sure she made it home. He knew the general direction of her house, and if he walked moderately fast, he could catch up to her. 

So what if she didn’t want him walking an extra 30 minutes? If that made her annoyed, so be it.

Y/N walked slowly down the street as she usually did, her feet tapping lightly against the sidewalk. If she were being honest, she was a bit disappointed in herself for refusing Shinsou’s offer to walk her home. They would have a lot more time to talk in person before the weekend, and she never wanted to miss a beat with him. 

Maybe it was stupid of her to be so attached but she thought of him as her best friend, practically the only true one she ever had. Dozens of people came and went from her life, but this friendship felt so special. It would last a long time she thought, and hopefully she was right.

Unfortunately, she was too lost in her own dreamy thoughts to notice someone standing right at the edge of the alley she walked by in a particularly deserted area of town. A hand reached and snatched up her arm swiftly, yanking her into the darkness of the alley and covering her mouth with his other grimey hand before she could make a sound.

Her back hit the cold wall behind her, feeling the rough bricks scratch her shoulder blades through her uniform. Her wrist felt like it was on fire, burning from the harsh grip of the snatcher. Using his knee, he pinned her other hand to the wall at her side,  completely immobilizing her. She could have used her quirk, if she was able to produce some sort of blood-pouring injury, only she was trapped.

“Don’t fucking scream, you hear me?”

He removed his hand from her mouth for a moment to reach for his pocket, and as he did so, she let out the loudest scream she possibly could. Just as the sound came from her mouth, a cold object pressed against her throat and her heart stopped beating in her chest from sheer terror. 

To think she was a hero in training at U.A., and she couldn’t even defend herself from a quirkless criminal on the street. She felt like crying, feeling a knife against her throat, wrists held down. If only she was just a little smarter or a little stronger; anything to get her out his mess. The air was tense and heavy, and she could barely get a breath in without feeling the bitterness of the blade against her skin. 

She prayed, closing her eyes and letting the hot tears drip down her cheeks. If only someone would come and help. All Might was always there to help people, wasn’t he? Where was he? She couldn’t hope for her brother to back her up as he was sick at home, and she definitely couldn’t text Shinsou to come get her. Her phone was tucked safely in her backpack where she couldn’t dream of reaching.

God, she was hopeless. 

The thug opened his mouth to say something else no doubt cruel or vulgar, but just as the first syllable fell from his chapped lips, a shocked voice echoed down the alleyway.

“Y/N?”

Her eyes widened at the voice, relief running throughout her entire body. 

“Dumb punk, kid, just run off now.”

“No.”

“You don’t want to mess with-”

That reply was all it took for Shinsou to take control. The thug felt all control of his body lost in the air and a sort of tenseness to take over. “Drop the knife,” the student commanded, and the man indeed dropped the rusty knife to the ground, a metallic clang rang out in the darkness. “Now back away.” And so he did. 

Tha man sputtered, not knowing what was happening to his body or why he was doing these things. His face turned a bright shade of red and he threw a dirty glare at Shinsou Hitoshi, hating him with every sense of the word for making him look this pathetic. 

“Now stand still right there like the piece of shit you are. Move, and I will kill you,” he said calmly. Before turning to Y/N. “I’ll be right back with someone to help. I saw an officer go into the coffee shop across the street.” 

When he left, she inched away from the man, watching as he couldn’t do more than just stand there and look completely bewildered. A mind control quirk definitely wasn’t something you see everyday. Plus, he probably was facing the realization that he would be arrested and sent to jail to get his ass kicked by quirk users there.

He came back with a couple officers and pointed out the situation, explaining what he saw when he came to the alley. They asked Y/N for a quick statement and she just reaffirmed what Shinsou had told them and added how she was walking home alone and he grabbed her when no one was looking. And so they took him away, thanking the kids for helping catch the guy, who apparently had tried to assault and rob other women in the area recently.

That was a close call, the closest one she’d ever encountered actually. 

As they exited the alleyway, she felt sick to her stomach from what had happened, stress filling up her chest and threatening to burst out in the form of tears, only she composed herself the best she could to be strong. There really was no need to be strong. Shinsou was her friend. He was kind and brave and very intelligent, but most importantly he was kind to her. If she cried, he wouldn’t shame her. But she still felt the pressure to keep them from falling. “Shinsou-”

“I’m so glad I turned around to follow you. I swear, it’s almost like I knew something bad was going to happen, I just knew it,” he mumbled more to himself than her, really. He looked down at her finally, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress. She looked terribly shaken up, but no tears were falling. “Are you okay? Did that guy hurt you or anything?”

“No, nothing else happened,” she told him. “I-I can’t believe you came to save me. I’m so grateful, I don’t even know what to say. I felt so helpless back there without my quirk at disposal.”

“It’s okay. It’s over now, and you’re alright. That’s all I could really hope for.” He looked down the street and then back to her, flashing a weak grin. “You wouldn’t mind if I walked you home from here, would you?” he asked, to which she silently shook her head. So, he began walking and she followed very closely behind, so close that he could feel her arm brushing against his. He figured she was scared enough, a little bit of  friendly comfort was going to help her out. She obviously didn’t want to speak, too shocked to say anything much.

After a minute or two of walking, he felt her hand slip its way sneakily into his own, tightly grabbing on as if he was going to yank it away from her. Although he could feel how shaky her hand was, it was so warm and soft against his cold and rough hands. Her fingers fit perfectly between his own. It was sappy of him to think, but jeez, it felt like those hands were meant to interlock. It just felt so fucking good. 

He shoved down those selfish feelings. Y/N was just attacked, and he was thinking about how he felt. He shook his head subconsciously, knowing that he was being rude. She was holding his hand because she desperately needed to feel safe and comfortable, not because it necessarily felt nice. She would probably hold the hand of any random dude that saved her like that. Jesus, Shinsou, so dumb. Get a damn grip, you sap.

He squeezed her hand back reassuringly. He wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but he hoped he was helping.

Her house was relatively close to the spot she was grabbed, so it was a short walk. Part of him wished it had been longer so he could have spent more time with her hand held in his. As they stopped at her doorstep, she dropped his hand and went to grab the strap of her bookbag anxiously, eyes hidden from his view. 

“Shinsou, thank you for stepping in back there. I really can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate that.”

With a wave of his hand absentmindedly, he brushed off her praise and thanks. “Don’t thank me. Anyone would have done the same, you know.” he didn’t feel like he deserves any thanks. He barely did shit back there except say a few words, and she was thanking him. Anyone would have done the same. He wasn’t special. He wouldn’t be special with the quirk he possessed. 

But god, the way she looked at him in that way, adoration and admiration staring into his eyes, completely entranced with him; it made him feel invincible, like he was on top of the world for a lifetime. He would never forget the shine in her beautiful e/c eyes in that moment, he swore it. That was a memory he’d hate to lose.

“I-I know- It’s just that…well…” Her words trailed off into silence before he felt her reach up abruptly to wrap her arms around his shoulders, falling to rest against him. He caught his balance last second, not expecting that of all things. Her head rested snuggly in the meet of his shoulder and neck, hot breath tickling his skin there. He tensed at the sudden embrace, but nevertheless wrapped his arms around her shoulders, bringing her closer. He could feel her shaking once again, and her rapid heartbeat pounded against his quickening one.

“Hitoshi,” she whispered, “You are my hero.”

Shivers ran down his spine at those simple five words, laced together by the most angelic voice he’d heard before.

That took his breath right from his lungs. He was her hero. A real hero. That was all he wanted in his life, to show people that he could be someone’s savior. The feeling of the one person he cared for more than anything saying those words to him. The feeling was unbelievable.

She pulled away after a silent moment, and waved to him gently, taking a step up to the entrance of her house. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay?” she said sheepishly, feeling something weird herself after that hug. Her skin felt all warm and gooey, like she was going to fall apart at any moment or her knees would collapse beneath her.

“Y/N, if you need anything, you know you can call me night or day, I don’t care,” he called after her. “I swear, anything for you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Shinsou-kun.” 

“Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye.”

“You’ll call me sometime, right? So I can make sure you’re feeling better?”

“If you want.”

“Of course.”

“Okay. I promise I’ll call.”

“Yeah, well, bye then.”

“Yeah, bye-bye.”

She shut the door finally, catching the eye of her brother immediately.

Katsuki stood in the living room of their home, sipping some soup with a spoon, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He raised a brow when she peered over at him, obviously having seen what happened outside through the front window. “What was that about, Y/N? Care to explain why that boy was all over you?”

“Shut up, Katsuki.”

He grunted, rolling his eyes at her reply. “Hey, I’m just worried for you. You can’t trust teenage boys. Take it from me since I am one. ”His voice was quite hoarse from the sore throat he had that morning, and he sounded like a frog whenever he spoke. How could she possibly take him seriously? 

“He’s just my friend. You really don’t have to lecture me on anything,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Sure, sure.”

She waved off how annoying he was, and walked down the hall to her room. When she shut the door behind her, she finally felt herself heat up with embarrassment. Shinsou Hitoshi held her hand the whole way home. He saved her like the glorious hero he always wanted to be. The feeling of relief she felt when she heard him enter the alleyway and call for her, it made her heart melt. She would definitely take up his offer and call him over the weekend, just to hear his soothing voice in her ear. Just hearing him, or even thinking about him made a smile grow on her cheeks. 

She wasn’t sure what she felt for him. If it was simply a friendship or if her attachments were growing into something more.

Y/N just really, really liked him.

_____________ 

 Part two coming later this week. Should it be angst or fluff? I’m torn

[fatiguing-thoughts]

“Wanna Dance?” - Alice Cullen

Request: heyaaa! can you make alice x fem reader imagine in which the reader is a new cullen family member and as the time goes realizes that she is in love with Alice and decides to tell her at edward's wedding night? that would be so cute, imagine they both in a pretty dress and such. 🥺 💞

After what feels like years, but truly was only weeks-- it was finally the night before Bella and Edward’s wedding. Alice recruited me to be her right-hand-man, as she was planning the entire thing. Living with the Cullens for the last year was truly an other worldly experience, but I had never expected one of us to marry a human. Mostly because almost all of us already had found our mates. 

Almost. 

Thankfully, Carlisle and Esme took me in about a year ago as I was a stray newborn-- unsure of my creator, lost in the world. I had no idea what I had become. Jasper was an incredible help in getting through my newborn stage-- as was Alice.

They arrived at the Cullens’ home decades ago, Alice knowing what was in store for them. She knew Jasper would find his mate here eventually, so it was up to her to bring him there. Eventually, he did find his mate, Tanya. Then it left her and Edward in search of a mate. Finally, Edward met Bella, leaving just Alice to be the only one left. 

I immediately felt so drawn to Alice, knowing deep down that she was probably my mate-- however she showed no interest other than being my friend. I always thought she was my mate, but if she were-- wouldn’t it be mutual? Wouldn’t we be soul mates? I must be misreading what I’m feeling, that or I am just really cursed. 

Could I be cursed? 

I sit on the porch outside wondering this to myself before I hear the soft footsteps of the gorgeous vampire in question. Her scent driving me to a place of pure ecstasy. 

“So, are you excited for tomorrow?” She cheerfully asks me.

“Yeah, for sure. We’re going to do her makeup right, Rose has got her hair?” I inquire, trying to keep a conversation going, trying not to wallow. 

“Yes. I can’t wait. I love weddings.” She giggles. 

And for one second, our eyes met. I felt everything around me stop, just like usual. 

And in that moment, I knew for sure Alice was always going to be everything I would ever need. I just wish she felt the same. 

“Yeah, me too. Though I’ve only been to like two, I think.” I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Oh yes, I forget how young you are sometimes.” She laughs lowly. 

“Yeah, just me. Only a fresh twenty. Haven’t surpassed decades yet.” I chime in. 

She smiles at me before I look off into the treeline. The atmosphere between us is dead quiet, despite an owl we hear in the distance. Even though it is quiet, I feel at peace knowing Alice is only a mere few feet from me. 

We sit in silence for a few moments before Esme calls me inside.

“(Y/N), if you don’t mind, would you like to accompany me on a walk?” She offers. 

Esme had become like a second mother to me. I appreciate everything her and Carlisle have done for me. She was always my shoulder to cry on, when I first turned and now-- knowing my predicament and supporting me the best she could. 

I always told her to never tell me anything on Alice’s end, as I couldn’t possibly handle to hear it. Anything Alice felt, or did not feel, I wanted to hear from Alice. Not Esme, Edward, Carlisle, or anyone else. I appreciated the secrecy the three provided me. Jasper definitely felt my feelings, but always kept it to himself, never mentioning it once. I thank him for that more often than I would like to admit. 

Though her and I would go hunting or on little trips together quite often, I knew she was here to save me from this situation. She knew how I felt in times like these, the awkward silence. 

“Of course.” I look up at her and nod. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Alice says before I leave. 

“Bright and early.” I smile at her. 

I walk off into the treeline following a smiling Esme. We sped off into the night until we get to my favorite clearing, just before hitting Canada. 

“So, how are you?” She asks me. 

“I’m okay, I just don’t understand anything anymore. Sometimes I think she really is my mate, other times I think that if she were I wouldn’t be sitting in this situation. Unless I’m cursed and my mate doesn’t feel the same.” I look at her with sad eyes. 

“Oh honey, you aren’t cursed.” She hugs me, pulling me in tight. 

“It feels like it.” I tell her honestly. 

“I know, but things will make sense soon. I know it’s hard right now. You’re going through so much right now. And with the wedding I know you’ll have a hard time because all of the people there. I know you’ll do great. We all do. But don’t let this hurt you too much, you’re gonna have fun tomorrow. You’ll have fun with all of us, especially Alice.” She smiled and winked at me. 

“Thank you Esme. I’m really nervous about tomorrow. For Alice reasons, and people reasons. But I think I’ve got the vampire thing under control, it’s just the Alice thing that gets me out of it.” I look at her, hope leaving my eyes by the second. 

“Oh honey, don’t mope. I hate to see you so sad. You’re going to be so happy soon, I just know it. You just have to let yourself, stop being so scared!” She encourages me. 

“I’ll try, Esme. Thank you.” I look at her loving eyes before giving her another tight hug. 

“Now, let’s go have some fun before tomorrow. I think I smell a bear.” She wiggles her eyebrows. 

“Emmett would be so proud.” I giggle.

We take off into the night, running around and killing time. Filling my hunger in hopes that I feel no temptation at tomorrow’s big event. 

THE WEDDING 

As I walked into the room where Bella was getting ready with Alice and Rosalie, I felt butterflies in my stomach. I feared to see Alice, being so hypersensitive in this moment. 

I look over at Bella first, as she was the bride, but if I were to be honest all I could think about was Alice. Bella looked absolutely stunning, but it was time for Alice and I to do her makeup. 

“What did I say about beauty sleep?” Alice scolds Bella, referencing the undereye bags on the tired girl’s face, earning a chuckle from everyone. 

“You look beautiful Bella, don’t listen to that.” I tell her. 

Alice looks up at me, smiling a little more than usual. She probably was just extra excited for the wedding we had spent an unspeakable amount of hours planning. Her beauty only accentuated in her purple dress and makeup-- I didn’t think it was possible for someone to look this good.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” Bella smiles at me. 

We begin to do her makeup, Rosalie does her hair, and then help her with her dress. Eventually her parents come knocking to see their daughter in her wedding dress, before the big day officially begins. 

We excuse ourselves and leave them to it, heading outside to greet everyone. 

I talk to the Denali cousins, make my rounds, and even say hi to Seth and Billy. Despite some of the tensions the two families have had, I personally love the pack; they were amazing. I spent a lot of time with Emmett and Rosalie too, given that Alice was running around making sure everything went according to plan. 

“So, how long are you going to torture yourself for?” Rosalie asks me with a slight grimace. 

“What? What do you mean?” I ask confused. 

“Well, I mean you pining over Alice is fun and all, but how long can you torture yourself for?” Emmett chimes in, laughing. 

“Wait, what?” I pretend to not know what they’re referring to; secretly worrying about them knowing. 

“Well, you spend every moment together. You seem like a lost puppy when she’s not around. Everything about you gives off a lovesick puppy.” Rosalie giggles.

“Is it that bad?” I ask, wincing at the thought of it being as obvious as they’re making it seem.

“Oh, it’s worse.” Emmett laughs. 

“No, but really. I think it’s time you finally said something. I can’t stand looking at this anymore.” Rosalie shoves her glass of champagne near mine, encouraging me to do something. 

“Do you think I really should?” I ask nervously. 

“Please. If you don’t, I will; and believe me you don’t want that.” Emmett teased. 

He was right, I don’t want that. I can’t even imagine that nightmare. I would have to do something myself. 

Soon after, it was finally time for the ceremony. It was absolutely beautiful to stand beside my family, watching my brother and his new bride tie the knot. If I could cry, I would. 

It was time for dancing and everyone had a group or partner. I sat at the table, realizing how lonely it made me feel. Up until I saw Alice’s hand reaching for mine to grab a hold of. 

“Wanna dance?” She asked me, smiling as beautiful as always. 

“Of course.” I grab her hand and she pulls me onto the dance floor. 

We start dancing to the music, it felt so right to be so close to her. 

“Alice, I have to be honest.” I tell her, I’m sure if I could feel nauseous, my whole world would be spinning. 

“Please do.” She smiles. 

“I love you. I love you, like a lot.” I manage to spit out. 

What happened next almost knocked me on my ass. She grabbed both sides of my face and kissed me. Suddenly, we weren’t dancing anymore, it was like nobody else existed in this moment. 

“I love you, too. I was waiting for you to finally say something about it, (Y/N).” She giggles.

“What? You knew?” I ask shocked, but still smiling ear to ear at her words. 

“(Y/N), you remember I see the future right?” She laughs. 

“Yeah, I just figured you didn’t know because you never said anything!” 

“Well, I wanted you to decide your future, (Y/N). I didn’t want to tell you your future, I needed to know you wanted it for you.” She smiles wide, looking deep into my eyes. 

“Alice, I wish I knew earlier. I love you so much.” I say before I pull her into another kiss. 

“We have a lot of time to make up for.” She teases. 

I look over and see Esme smiling at me like the happy mother she is. I smile right back, to which she gives me a nice thumbs up in return. 

I could get used to kissing Alice, thank goodness I have eternity to do it. 

*************************

Word Count: 1817 

Sorry for the long wait anon, I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the request!!

[daisybeewrites]

Academy Blues — Prologue

word count: 1.8k

warnings: not any for this chapter

ship: Dousy, background Fitzsimmons and Philinda

okay y’all.. here it is. the first installment of my first LONG TERM SERIES!!!!!! ahhhh i’m so excited. literally i cant wait to continue this and see where it takes me. i have an idea and a few different planning sheets, but honestly i have no idea where exactly this will end up. i love each and single one of you <3 thank you for reading!! this is also posted on Ao3, and linked in the masterlist.

Daisy hated the sound of the bells at The Academy. Screeching, awful, way too loud, the bells were the bane of her existence. They all wore standard-issue watches from the lab that monitored vitals and gave them reminders, and also told the time, for god’s sake! Fitz had even modified hers so that she could play snake on the tiny watch face! There was no need for the bells to be so excruciatingly disruptive. Though, Daisy guessed, there were many things more tortuous than bells ringing every hour and fifteen minutes.

Daisy slowed to a jog, cutting her morning run short. The bright side to being a third-year was that you chose your schedule, for the most part, and that meant Daisy had a free first period for four out of five days of classes. She usually spent this free period getting an extra hour in at the gym, boxing or sparring with Mack or Bobbi, two fourth years that had reluctantly taken her under their wings, or sleeping in. She reserved sleeping in for especially rough nights where visions of ashes and earthquakes and lightning returned time and time again, no matter how many deep breaths she took or sheep she counted.

But this morning was not one of those mornings. She had been up before sunrise, a little before her usual alarm and silently headed out of her dorm for a run. It was humid this time of year on most Virginia mornings, but never so hot that it made Daisy feel as if she was being smothered. The cooler air chilled her sweaty skin, her chest rising and falling as she jogged up the three flights of steps to the second years’ dorms. Down one long hallway, and she arrived at her room.

Daisy had been given her own room at the start of last year, complete with poly-adaptic-proto-whatever panels, which she had painted a pastel shade of purple, to compliment the greens of her cacti and the dark purples and blacks of everything else in her room. Even May had agreed that the stark white was too ”psych wing” for a bedroom. Daisy was grateful for the space, but considering the panels and the private room were only necessary since...

She shuddered. Grabbing her shower caddy, Daisy set off to the bathroom at the opposite end of the hall, hoping no one else was spending a free first period at the dorms.

Her shoulder-length waves were wet from bouncing against her neck, and starting to become annoying now that the sweat had dried and was starting to itch. Picking the white tiled shower furthest away from the door, Daisy quickly turned the water on, checked the temperature, pulled her sports bra and shorts off and hopped into the shower. Shampoo, condition, soap body, rinse. Checking her watch, Daisy found that she had showered in record time, less than three minutes. After spending another five just enjoying the hot water, she hopped out and changed into her class clothes.

Dark purple leggings, Coulson’s grey vintage SHIELD tee and a pair of white running sneakers she had “borrowed” from Jemma completed her look. Passing the mirrors, Daisy tried not to glance at herself. If her hair was messy or her undereye bags a bit too dark, she didn’t want to know. Instead, she headed back to her room to pack her bag for the day.

SHIELD-issued laptop, extra hard drives and a charger, Advanced CS 3: Ethical Hacking: Theory and Application, Advanced CS 4: Secrets of The Coding Languages, Physics notebook, an essay that was three days late on some boring book about international laws, and her sparring gear were all thrown into the black bag. She gave a second glance at the Russian notebooks Bobbi had loaned to her, promising that she’d learn without taking the class. Oh well, she still had all of this term to start. Plus, would she ever really need more than the dirty words?

One look at the alarm clock that sat on her dark hardwood night table showed that she still had almost forty-five minutes before she had to be in the computer lab. Sitting down on her bed, Daisy ran a hand over the grey blanket May had given her.

Daisy’s relationship with May and Coulson had been something of a problem with other students when she first got here. Some had been okay with the obvious paternal love Coulson showed for Daisy, showing her around and checking up on her, scheduling lunch dates and reminding her of tests. May was more subtle, texting her links to tai chi videos when she noticed Daisy getting too stressed or letting Daisy do her own thing if she saw that she was overwhelmed. Of course, none of the other students knew her family history, what she had gone through just to realize that May and Coulson were more her parents than her biological father and mother could ever be. She would see them later today—May during field training and Coulson in between lectures in the canteen.

Daisy walked over to her window to open her blinds, staring out at the campus she had grown to love. The large brick buildings scattered around acres of the Virginia countryside; green fields meant for physical activities like sparring or obstacle courses, or simply basking in the weather to study or chat; the dorms—red brick and concrete melded together to upgrade and expand the charming style of previously-built homes.

Grabbing a protein bar, Daisy headed to the canteen to make a green smoothie (and maybe snatch a cup of joe before she had to listen to an hour-long lecture on the reason SHIELD must cooperate with the UN’s stupid rules at 7:30 in the morning). Smelling the pines and morning dew surrounding her, she smiled slightly. Maybe this term wouldn’t be so bad.

———————————————————————

Daniel Sousa was a man of honor. He was a man of great strength. Agent Daniel Sousa, previously Officer Daniel Sousa in the US Army, was a man who could fix his damn alarm clock on his own.

Just, not today. Or the day before.

So, Agent Daniel Sousa was now hurrying his way to class at The SHIELD Academy, books in hand and gym bag slung over his shoulders. Catching a glance at himself in the shiny glass doors of the bio-chem building, he groaned. He hadn’t even brushed his hair. And, looking down, he discovered he was wearing two different shoes.

This is the college experience everyone raves about, he thought bitterly. You see, Daniel Sousa had enlisted to the army straight out of high school, forgoing university. He climbed the ranks impressively quickly, earning his place as second-in-command and reconnaissance scout in the 28th Infantry Regiment. Unfortunately, after only four years in the army, Sousa was injured in the field, losing his leg and almost his life.

He came back to the US a war hero, and yet, he felt he wasn't finished. So, when a recruiter named Peggy Carter knocked on his door claiming to be from SHIELD (“Wow, you guys are still a thing?”), he leapt at the chance to continue fighti-...doing good. The Academy wasn’t exactly what he had bargained for, though. Trying to earn his B.A. and training to be an agent at the same time was grueling, but nothing he couldn’t deal with.

No, six different one hour and fifteen minute long classes plus mandatory physical therapy every day wasn’t going to break him. Learning how to be a communications agent and re-starting field training and catching up on general college education was no problem. Pressuring himself to be the best, to break the limits, to get past all his weaknesses was just another miniscule feather to add to the pile.

Unless his stupid alarm clock broke. Then yes, Agent Daniel Sousa would fail, buckle under the weight and be left on the floor to die.

Maybe he was being a bit dramatic.

One bunny-slippered right foot and a sneakered left leg carried him forward, propelled by a quickly chugged orange Celsius and his sheer will not to be late.

Daniel heard the late bell ring out, understanding that, on his first day of class, he would be counted late. It wasn’t like him, not at all. Especially when his first class was a refresher course on field tactics and covert strategy, something in which he was already aces.

He let out a sigh, slowing as he rounded the corner into the comms building. At the Academy, most buildings were grouped into categories: the cafeteria, gym and pool, and student resource building all to the south; the gun range, obstacle course, and specialized gym to the east; bio-chem labs, tech labs, and smaller rooms for lectures to the west; the computer labs and comms buildings right smack in the middle; and dorms to the north.

He swiped a key card with his driver’s license picture and student ID, unlocking the sliding doors that led to the computer labs. It was quicker to short cut through them than to walk around the building to the entrance closest to communications classrooms.

It wasn’t because he knew a certain broody brunette spent her mornings in the lab.

No, it wasn’t, because she wasn’t in her usual seat in the corner, typing away.

He slowly walked through the rows of computers, searching for a familiar black backpack. Nothing was there.

“Hey, Sousa,” an accented female voice called behind him. He whipped around to see who it was, feeling just a twinge of disappointment when Elena, or, as most people knew her, Yo-Yo, was leaning against the door frame. Yo-Yo, a fourth year operations trainee, who was very close with Daisy.

“Hey, Yo-Yo. Good morning,” he called, “I’m running a bit late.”

Elena checked her nails casually, “Way to state the obvious. You were running faster than I could trying to get here before the bell.”

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck and blushed. “Yeah…”

“Daisy’s running late today, too.”

Daniel looked around, pretending that hearing Daisy’s name didn’t make him want to smile. “Oh, of course. She’s usually here early.”

Elena nodded, chuckling a little at his response. She couldn’t tell if he was oblivious or just a bad liar. It was charming, really. “Right. See ya ‘round, Sousa!”

“See ya,” He replied. He thought he heard a quiet ‘Lovable nerds’ coming from the direction she left, but he couldn’t be sure.

And so, with a last look around the computer lab, Daniel set off to arrive late to May’s lecture.

———————————————————————

okay okay,,, what do y’all think?? like/reblog and let me know! it’s the best way to support writers and it only takes a second! stay tuned for more chapters!!

[youbloodymadgenius]

Things We Say (Modern!Ivar x reader)

All Those Things Part 3 - catch up here

A/N: Sorry, it took me forever to update this, but better later than never, right?

@inforapound​ 💖🌻💖 You’re the best!

Summary: Things are moving (too?) slowly between Ivar and the reader. But some - painful - things need to be said. 

Warnings: Swearings; Ivar’s and reader’s insecurities. It’s probably boring.

Words: 2833

Failing to repress a yawn, you give Ivar a sheepish look before sinking into the couch next to him.

 His hand lightly squeezes your shoulder and he frowns, scrutinizing you. "Are you okay?" His concern is obvious and you know your light make up doesn't hide your undereye bags very well. Or at all. 

 Sitting up straight, you try hard to sound more energetic than you are. "Yeah, don't worry. Just a little tired, I guess." 

 The truth is, you're thoroughly exhausted. Two weeks ago, two of your coworkers quit without warning and since then you've had to work several double shifts. 

 As if it wasn't bad enough, there had been this medical congress last week, with neurologists from all over the world. The cream of the crop speaking of clientele. Madame Claude had asked for your services more often than not, arguing that your fluency in several languages was a big added bonus as well as a satisfaction guarantee. 

 "You should quit." Ivar's voice is so soft that you wouldn't have heard him if he wasn't sitting right next to you.

 You sigh and rub your eyes. The words are coming out of your mouth before you've had a chance to think. "Believe me… I wish I could." 

A wave of unease strikes you. 

 Fuck.

 Your mind had been playing with this thought for several weeks now but speaking it out loud sounds wrong. You put a lot of thought into this lately and are painfully aware that there's nothing else you can do. You have no degree, no qualifications. Nothing. No one's willing to hire a whore anyway. Grimacing, you lower your head, ashamed and close to tears. 

 Scooting closer, Ivar wraps an arm around your shoulders. Leaning forward, he fails to catch your gaze as you stubbornly keep your eyes averted. 

 "Y/N… Look at me. Please." His hand takes your fidgeting fingers, caressing and relaxing them one by one. Eventually you give him a shy look, thankful for what he's doing, and for his mere presence. 

 "You do know that my family has a lot of money, don't you?" He speaks firmly, confidently. "I have a lot of money." 

 Of course you know that. His father has ruled all of Scandinavia for more than thirty years, economically speaking. And now, Ivar and his brothers have taken the helm.

 "And?" You furrow your brows, puzzled as much by his words as by his broad smile. " What's that got to do with it?" 

 "C'mon Y/N, it's quite obvious, isn't it?" Intertwining his fingers with yours, he looks at you like you're a child needing an explanation. As you stay quiet, he carries on. "I could help you. I could give you mon—"

 "No!!!" Cutting him off, you jump off the couch, renewed energy flowing through your body. 

 Eyes and mouth wide open, Ivar stares at you, shaking his head, questions written all over his face. "What… Why?" His unsure tone makes you flinch and you suddenly realize how harsh you have been.

 Fuck.

 "Sorry." You blink several times, biting your lower lip. "Listen, Ivar… Thank you. Thank you for offering. But what difference would it make? Whether several men pay for me or just one, I'll always be a whore…" You know you sound hopeless. 

 Owerwhelmed by your own dispair, you don't notice the way he clenches his fists, upset upon hearing your last words. "Stop calling yourself a whore, Y/N!" 

 Startled by his outburst, you flinch, shaking your head. "That's what I am, and that's what people will think if you give me money."

 Inhaling, Ivar scrutinizes you. "You can't… you can't be serious?" Palms facing upwards, Ivar, who seems at a loss for words, looks at you dumbfoundedly for a long time, eventually mumbling. "We… we don't even have sex."

 "People don't know that, Ivar." You reason, speaking softly now. "Sigurd doesn't know that." Sitting once more next to him, your hand strokes his cheek. Staying quiet, he just glares at you as you go on. "Ivar, you cannot be my sugar daddy. It won't do you or me any good, trust me."

 Ivar cringes. "Okay, I get it and you're probably right." He frowns and you can see he's thinking hard. As he remains silent, he nervously scratches the back of his neck. A sudden spark in his eyes tells you he's struck with a new idea. "But you could work for me, couldn't you? My personal assistant. It would be a regular job. From eight to five. No more men. No more blowjobs. Nothing sex related anymore. What do you say about that?" 

 His huge blue eyes show you how simultaneously annoyed and hopeful he is. You knew he cared about you, but you weren't sure to what extent. Now you can see. Your heart flutters. Still, you have to turn him down. You can't accept. 

 Sighing, you intertwine your fingers with his. "No Ivar, I can't." Squeezing his hand, you explain. "This would be the same. I may work for you, but people will think you hired me because of my sexual skills. It would tarnish your reputation. Besides, I'm good for nothing. What could I do? Typing or bookkeeping are unknown to me. And I wouldn't know how to set up a meeting or prepare a presentation." Letting go of his hand, you sigh again. "I'm useless, Ivar."

 His hand cups your face and his eyes lock on yours. "No, you're not,” he says softly, giving you a gentle smile, nodding reassuringly. "Let me think about this, Y/N. Let me help you."

 "I don't want to be a burden, Ivar. You don't have to." Feeling small and defeated, you swallow, blinking back tears. 

 "Hey…" His thumb barely touching your cheekbone, Ivar shakes his head, his eyes showing his obvious disapproval. "I know I don't, but I want to. And you're not a burden, you hear me? Please, Y/N, trust me, I'll figure something out, okay?"

  A puzzled look on your face, you raise your eyebrows. "I don't understand, Ivar… Why do you care so much?"

 With a straight face, Ivar replies without the slightest hesitation, never taking his eyes off you. "Because you're immensely important to me."

 The sincerity in his voice blows all the air out of your lungs. You didn't think you could ever matter that much to anyone again, let alone to Ivar, this handsome, smart and stubborn man you're falling for. Gods… 

 Fuck.

 You're melting and your heart is pounding in your chest as you reach out, your hand running through his hair. You scoot closer, seized with emotion, as Ivar tilts his head. You close your eyes, your lips meeting his plump ones, the simple touch sending a shiver through your body. When his tongue find yours, Ivar moans, low and hoarse, and you can't think anymore, overwhelmed and lightheaded. Swinging a leg over his lap, you carefully straddle him, your knees framing his hips. 

 "Ivar…", you whisper before kissing him once more. As you deepen the kiss, your left hand still in his hair, the right one boldly pulls his shirt up, grazing his defined abs. 

 With Ivar, you've never done more than share innocent kisses, but right now you feel like you're out of control, intoxicated from his scent as you find yourself drawn to his skin. You want to touch him, you need to feel him, taste him. You're spiraling and you don't want to stop. For the first time in years, you want that. You want closeness, you crave intimacy. Your hands frantically roam his upper body, you can hear his ragged breathing. It drives you crazy, turning your whole world upside down. You need him, more than you've ever needed anyone. 

 Suddenly though, two hands wrap around your wrists, squeezing them incredibly tight and waking you from your trance. "STOP!!" Ivar shouts, pushing you away. He gives you a hard look, but there's something else. He's like a wounded animal, vulnerable, frightened. Helpless. 

 Fuck. What's that? 

 "Ivar?" You ask tentatively, but lowering his eyes, Ivar doesn't say a word. Keeping his hands around your forearms, he loosens his grip.

 "I'm sorry." You sputter with a shaky voice. "I.. I shouldn't have done that." 

 Fuck fuck fuck. You fucked up, Y/N. 

 Panic pulses through you and a knot of fear sits in your stomach as the sound of Ivar's breathing fills the room. "I got carried away, Ivar. I'm so sorry."  It was predictable, wasn't it? Ivar may like you, but he and you are from different worlds. You realize how silly you have been… At the end of the day, he's who he is – an extremely wealthy businessman, with a famous name and a social status to maintain – and you, you're still you. A whore… Your heart shattered by this thought, you suck in a shallow breath as a single tear rolls down your face.

 "Listen Ivar, I don't know what I was thinking." Your voice wobbles as a lump rises in your throat. "Surely I… I wasn't thinking…", you babble, "… I thought that's what… what you wanted, but I was wrong, obviously I was wrong."

 Ivar slowly releases your wrists and you take a seat next to him as he mutters under his breath something you fail to catch. "Ivar, what did you say?" You whisper, afraid of what you might hear. 

 "You don't get it, Y/N." Looking down, Ivar rubs his hands on the top of his legs. "It's not about what I want, it's…" His breath hitches, his voice comes out strangled. "It's about what I can, or more like, what…", he hiccups, "I cannot." Uncomfortably glancing around the room, he never makes eye contact with you. 

 Fuck. He cannot. Once again.

 Willing to soothe him, you lean in, wrapping his hands in yours. "Yes, you cannot, that's what you keep telling me. But what are you talking about, Ivar? Just tell me." You stop, inhaling deeply before resuming with a shaky voice. "It's because of me, right? You cannot because of what I am, that's it? I won't feel offended if it is, you know? I know I'm digusting, Ivar."

 Ivar suddenly raises his head, looking directly at you with wide, pleading eyes. "No, don't, please. Stop belittling yourself, Y/N. Don't denigrate yourself anymore. I swear to you, you're perfect the way you are. You're beautiful, and clever and so fucking desirable. So please, stop. You're not disgusting. Never have been, never will be. Please, trust me. You're the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me."

 Your heart swells with bliss, making you feel warm inside. Yet, the pleasant feeling is short-lived, vanishing as you remember Ivar's rejection and words. 

 He fucking cannot.

 "Then you have to talk to me, Ivar." You speak softly but firmly, with newfound confidence, while your hand cups his chin, preventing him from lowering his head. You don't keep asking him as you can see many different emotions running across his face, allowing him time to gather his thoughts. You won't back off though, and you're sure he knows it.

 After a long silence, Ivar eventually whispers, his eyes tight shut. "It's so fucking embarrassing." Fists clenched and color draining from his face, he's so tense you feel like he might shatter, his chest rising and falling too fast. 

 Breathing out a low chuckle, you grasp his hand, your thumb stroking his knuckles. "Believe me, I know a thing or two about embarrassment." As a bashful half-smile curls Ivar's lips, you give him a gentle peck on the cheek before murmuring in his ear, "I won't judge you, ever. You know I won't."

 Ivar looks at you for a long time, bewildered, and then bites his bottom lip and nods, turning his head away as if to...

 Fuck. As if to hide how ashamed he is. It's far more than embarrassment. 

 The realization twists your heart and you reach out, your hand squeezing his shoulder soothingly. "Ivar, I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere, no matter what you tell me. Don't be afraid." Reassuring him seems the right thing to do and you spontaneously pull him toward you in an embrace. 

 Ivar tenses and for a brief, horrible moment, you think you might be pushed away. He eventually straightens up, his hands gripping the edge of the couch, fingernails white from the strain he puts into it and you let go of him slightly, giving him space. 

 The atmosphere is heavy as you rest your hand on his thigh, barely squeezing it, careful not to hurt him. "And if you don't tell me anything, that's okay, too." 

 Gritting, he shudders. "Guess I cannot go on like this." Staring down at his shoes, he whispers softly.

As he inhales deeply, you know this is it. He's about to tell you. Finally. 

 Fuck.

 "There was this girl, her name was Margrethe." Ivar begins, never looking at you, "She was a waitress at a bar my brothers and I used to go to a lot. Long story short, they were all sleeping with her. I was sixteen and for once I wanted to be…" Ivar has to stop, words catch in his throat. There's no doubt that sharing this with you is very painful for him. You keep quiet, though, allowing him to take all the time he needs.

 Eventually, Ivar swallows loudly. "For once I wanted to be like them. I wanted to…" He can barely get the words out, "… be normal."

 You can't stop yourself. "Ivar, you're–" You want to tell him he's normal, and perfect the way he is and that everything is fine, but he doesn't give you a chance, shushing you, a finger over your lips. 

 "Don't, please. Let me just finish or… It's so difficult, if I stop now I'm not sure I'll ever tell you." His voice is soft, but the tensing in his jaw obvious.

 You nod, silently encouraging him to keep talking, your fingers slowly wrapping around the hand you can reach. 

 "Okay…" Ivar gives you a quick glance, a sad, halfhearted smile on his lips. "So, I wanted to fuck her. I'm not proud of it but fuck, I was a teen… I… I wasn't thinking… It should have been easy. Margrethe was obsessed with social climbing and I am a Ragnarsson. And in fact, getting her into bed with me was easy. But then… Then everything went to shit."

 Letting out a ragged breath, Ivar runs a shaky hand through his hair and darts his tongue out at the corner of his mouth before biting his bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed. He then squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body shivering.

 "I… I couldn't… Oh fuck, this is so hard… I couldn't get it up, you know? I couldn't get it up and I couldn't please her. It was a failure. I was a failure. Margrethe told Sigurd, who told everyone else." His words rush out as tears suddenly spill free from his eyes. 

 Fucking Sigurd! With a brother like this, who needs enemies?

 A wave of sadness washes over you. Your throat closes up and your heart starts pounding in your chest as you process what Ivar just told you. "Oh, Ivar…", you mutter, fingers brushing against his side, "I'm going to hug you."

 And just like that, you take him in your embrace, resting a hand on his lower back and the other on his neck. Ivar's tears soaking your shirt, you cradle him, humming absentmindedly. 

 When he eventually calms down, you frame his face with your hands, kissing his tears away. "Ivar, tell me," you gently ask, "Have you ever tried again after that one time?"

 The answer bursts forth, Ivar's tone is bitter. "Believe me, that was humiliating enough to never do it again." 

 He snorts, leaning down to grab his crutch, but you stop him with one hand on his arm, lightly shaking your head. "Listen to me, Ivar. I understand, I really do. But believe me, once is not enough to say you cannot. A thousand reasons could explain what happened. Your lack of experience or your nervousness for instance. And even so, there are many, many ways to please a woman, using your mouth or your strong fingers. I could teach you. Trust me, please, you know this is my area of expertise. Let me help you, Ivar. Please."

 Staring wide-eyed at you, speechless, Ivar eventually arches an eyebrow. "Why…" His voice is hoarse and he clears his throat. "Why would you do that? You'd really be willing to help me? Why?" Disbelief written all over his face, he ducks his head but you tilt it up immediately, your hand cupping his chin. 

 Blushing, you let out a short, nervous chuckle.  "Isn't it obvious?" Your eyes locked with his and you take a deep breath before opening up your heart. "Because I like you. I care about you, Ivar. Very, very much."

🛡⚔️🛡

 @honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @readsalot73​ @hecohansen31​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @shannygoatgruff​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @gearhead66​ @milkkygirls​ @zuxiezendler​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​

[itsnsfwalways]

Canyon Moon

FIC MASTERLIST

warnings for ch 3: mentions of drug use (weed), swearing, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), a hint of degradation if you squint

chapter 3: you’re so golden

The sun hitting your eyes was the first thing that woke you up, the warmth inviting, but also very bright. Scrunching you’re face up, you tug the blanket over your head, turning to the side and taking a deep breath in. You find giving your body a few minutes to wake up before you force yourself out of bed makes you feel so much more awake and in a good mood.

Stretching your back, you rub the sleep out of your eyes and roll out of bed, trudging to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth.

Yawning as you walk into the kitchen, you make yourself an iced coffee before starting on breakfast. Putting on Rumours, you sing quietly to yourself while making a scramble with a bunch of veggies to get your greens in early.

Heading back to your room with hot sauce in hand, you light some incense and take a few bong rips before eating your breakfast quietly on the window sill. That was something you absolutely LOVED about your room, the edge of the window was just wide enough for you to sit (or lay down) and admire the view of palm trees and beautiful blue skies.

Opening up Misery, you finish a few chapters and mindlessly eat for a bit, listening to the birds chirp and the buzz of the city waking up. Once you finish your food, you go sit cross legged on your meditation pillow, facing the floor length mirror as you make sure your posture is straight. Putting on your favorite meditation music, which, at the moment, is 432hz Healing Tones, you take a deep breath in, clearing your mind and allowing the sun and healing vibrations to roll over you. You imagine yourself breathing in healing energy and nothing but love, and exhaling all of the stuck, negative energy, trying to ‘push’ it out with your breath. Sometimes it felt a bit silly, but if it made you feel loads better, why not do it?

About twenty minutes pass before you slowly blink open your eyes, yawning quietly before going into child’s pose, stretching your back and hips after sitting for so long.

Lying down on your back on the mat, you stare up at the ceiling, feeling an overall sense of being okay. Your body feels good, your mind feels good, your stomach’s full of butterflies that make you smile and blush at the thought of seeing Harry in a bit.

Pulling yourself up with a grunt, you throw on a swim suit and a random pair of shorts, not caring to bring a real top. After applying a bit of sunscreen on your face and shoulders, you slide into your flip flops and fill up a water bottle before heading out the door.

Unlocking Sunflower, you sit on the edge of the side door while sliding on your scuffed white rollerskates with obnoxiously bright blue wheels. They were your pride and joys, and made you feel as if you were in a different time, enjoying the breeze on your cheeks as you skate towards your spot. The journey only took about 15 minutes, with minimal stumbles, so it was already turning out to be a great day.

Finally pulling up to the small lot, you squat down to pull of your skates, putting them behind a rock along with your socks and shorts. You shook your head as you sprinted towards the ocean, leaping into the freezing water. It was the only way you were able to get in, you were never one to wade slowly in. Swimming about half a mile out, the waves crash over you coolly, soothing your quickly warming body. It was going to be a hot day today, good to know. Treading water, you look at the coast, everything looking so small. You made sure to breathe in, capturing this exact moment in memory. The feeling of salty water on your skin, wet hair stuck to your neck and the slight burn in your arms, but this was it. This was pure bliss.

But, you’re also not insane, so after a bit you swim back to shore, spending about ten minutes doing handstands and flips before getting out, wringing out your hair on your way up the beach. Climbing up the pile of large rocks next to cliff, you lay on top of a relatively flat one, allowing your body to dry off for a little bit and give you a few extra moments of sun.

You always hated dusting off your feet for forever before getting back in your socks and skates, but rather that than get sand in them.

“Fuck, I really am killing it today,” you pant to yourself, definitely feeling a burning in your thighs as you start heading home, desperately wanting a shower and some chocolate.

Throwing your skates in Sunflower, you slam the door closed and trudge up the steps to the apartment, practically falling over as you enter the door.

Laura looks up from her phone, perched on the countertop eating a bowl of cereal.

“Look at you, sexy girl, how was the water?” She teases, handing you a banana from the counter immediately because she knows you need it.

“Good,” you sigh, taking a bite and moaning, leaning against the wall for a minute in silence.

“When’s your date with Harry again?” She asks, glancing at the clock.

Oh fuck.

The clock read 10:30.

“Okay, that’s not bad, I just need to get my ass in gear,” you convince yourself, throwing the banana away and grabbing a spoonful of peanut butter. You didn’t have time to make yourself anything else, plus you were eating with Harry soon anyways.

“You got this. Do I get to meet him?” Laura encourages, raising her thumbs at you.

You laugh and nod. “Absolutely, just don’t ask about his exes or I’m going to look crazy.”

“Got it, no exes. Get in the shower, you’re dripping everywhere!”

You run upstairs, yelling back, “I’ll clean it up,” as you head into your room, turning on Currents by Tame Impala to pump you up as you shower, quickly washing your hair and body, shaving the itty bitty stubble just in case.

Running some curl cream through your hair, you try and scrunch and dry your hair as fast as possible, which doesn’t really work, but at least you tried.

A bathrobe envelopes you as you sit down at your small vanity, starting on a little bit of makeup. Dabbing a bit of concealer on your undereyes and small blemishes, you keep it semi-natural with just bronzer, blush, and highlighter, admittedly a ton, but who’s to say. Brushing your brows out and filling in the ends a little darker, all that goes on your eyes is a brown eyeshadow and a beautiful gold pigment, then comes drenching your eyelashes in mascara.

You turn your attention back to your hair, thank god you were having extremely good luck today, because it fell perfectly, the layers framing your face so elegantly that you had to smile at your reflection. Self-love is a journey, and you were glad to be in a good space.

Checking your phone finally, you find a text from Harry, sent 2 hours ago. Whoops.

Good morning, Y/N, just wanted to make sure we’re still on for 12. Hope you slept well.

Well, it’s confirmed, you’re a completely asshole. It’s 11:15 and you still haven’t responded to a text about a date happening at NOON.

AHH IM SO SORRY hi harry ! i don’t check my phone for a while in the mornings, i’m the worst, i know. we definitely are still on, haha, noon still work for you ?

You throw your phone on your bed while you stare at your closet, trying to find a good outfit for today.

Eventually coming to a pair of high waisted white shorts that you got from your mom, thankfully having the same waistline as her in high school, and a light blue silk tank top with gold straps. Planning on wearing your black boots with the gold detailing, because, hey, it seems you’ve got to up your fashion game dealing with Harry, you place them next to your bedroom door before checking your phone.

You scared me for a minute, I was about to go eat a very sad lunch by myself. I’m going to start heading over, that alright by you?

You giggle quietly at his response, typing out,

sounds great :) i’m planning on wearing a pair of boots, should i bring sandals or anything ?

Woah, trying to outdress me?

He sends the next one moments later.

Just teasing, boots will be fine. We’re going to this cafe I really like.

of course i’m going to out dress you, who do you think i am ? and awesome !! see you in a bit !!

You grab a small black bag, putting your sunglasses case, gum, keys, wallet, chapstick, lighter, your dab pen (you never know), and a small rollerball perfume inside. Sliding in some gold hoops and placing your rings back on your fingers, you wiggle them a bit. They always look a bit naked without them on.

Putting on your boots, you head into the bathroom to brush your teeth once more before Harry arrives. But nope, the doorbell, rings as soon as you start brushing your molars.

“Shit,” you gasp, heading over to the door, toothbrush in hand.

You swing open the door and rush out, “Hey, Harry, I’ll be out in two seconds, come on in.”

Taking in his appearance, you grin at the white sunglasses pushed in his hair. Wearing a white t shirt, it’s tucked into a pair of blue pants that matches your shirt to a goddamn T, which you can’t help but laugh at as you walk away. Passing Laura in the hallway, you give her a look as she walks over to him.

Their conversation travels through your open door as you finish brushing your teeth.

“You must be Laura,” Harry starts, and you can just see him reaching his hand out.

“I am, it’s great to meet you,” she says, her smile bleeding into her voice.

“You have a beautiful home, so close to the beach too,” Harry compliments.

“Thank you, yeah, Y/N found this place forever ago and we’ve been living here since we moved out. My dad knew the landlord and they gave us a ridiculously low price for it, but I am not complaining.”

“Oh that’s sick, I’ve been in Malibu for just a bit, always kind of changing my location around LA and England.”

“That was what we thought we were going to do, but I definitely am glad we stayed here. Living in the city is fun and all, but it’s a lot, you know? We need our peace and quiet at home.”

You walk back out, purse and phone in hand, taking in their positioning. Laura’s sitting on a stool, cup of coffee in hand as Harry stands across from her, eyes on you as soon as you walked out.

“I’ll see you later,” you grin at Laura, sneaking another glance at Harry as you give her a quick hug.

“Okay, bye! Nice meeting you, Harry!” she smiles, and of course he replies with the same.

You close the door behind the two of you and he looks you up and down again, meeting your eyes and smiling.

“Hi,” you breathe out, his eyes capturing you immediately.

“Hi,” he whispers back, squeezing your exposed side. “You look really good, Y/N.”

You bite your lip to hide your smile, placing your hands on his shoulders, feeling the fabric (but really just his muscles). His hands immediately go to cup your waist, not pulling you in, just holding you.

“So do you. Like the blue,” you grin, moving your hands down to his waistband.

“Proper matching, I’d say,” he cheekily smiles, thumbs feeling the edge of your shirt’s material along your ribs, your breath hitching slightly at his movement.

You’re the first to pull away, moving your hand to lace your fingers together, tugging him gently down the stairs. He follows after you, squeezing your hand with his and shaking his head, trying to mask his smile by twitching his nose.

That gorgeous being of a car is parked in front of your house, the color alone bringing a smile to your lips, but now the top was down, which was about to make this a lot more fun.

“God, Harry, I might have to steal this from you,” you sigh, arms crossed as you look up at him seriously.

He laughs loudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Maybe one day I’ll let you drive it,” He whispers, kissing the top of your head before pulling away and opening your door like nothing happened.

You stand there still for a moment before blinking and getting in, holding his hands on the door when he closes it. Turning your body, you lean out the door, placing your hands next to his as you whisper in his ear,

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Sliding your lips along his cheek as you pull away, you plop back into the chair, putting on your sunglasses and messing with your hair a bit.

Harry clears his throat before walking around the car, sliding into the driver’s side and starting the car.

“Do you want to play music?” He slowly asks, his tone sending shivers down your legs.

You perk up at this, nodding quickly and taking the aux cord from him.

“I’d love to. Have you heard of Tash Sultana? They released an EP a few years ago, their voice is incredible. They make all their own loops and play every instrument by themselves.”

Harry gives you a side eye, grinning as he says,

“That’s some pretty new music for you, princess.”

Your lips part slightly and Harry watches closely as your cheeks flush, licking the side of his mouth with a grin.

“Have I found a nickname you like, Y/N?” His voice has raised slightly, obvious excitement in his expression.

“Only sometimes,” you shrug, trying to play that off as cool as possible. “And yeah, my ex actually introduced me to their music.”

Harry raises his eyes at this, bringing a finger to his lips to hold his laugh in.

“Why the fuck did I say that?” Your hands go up to your face as Harry finally laughs at you, turning the volume down just a little to listen to you.

Sighing for a second, you pull your hands away before blurting out,

“I don’t want you to think that I’m lying to you about not knowing your music or you, because I do listen to stuff released now, obviously. I’m not a music snob or one of those too cool for school people because I absolutely blast SZA when I’m drunk and I’m starting to overthink and-“

Harry cuts you off by taking your jaw in his hand, turning your face towards him. Perfect timing, as always, pulling up to a red light right when he needs it.

“Hey,” he whispers with a smile, stroking your cheek. “I don’t think that you’re lying to me, and I understand. I was kind of a dick for saying all that right away to be honest, but I get it. I listen to mostly oldies too, if I really think about it.”

You exhale, looking up at him.

“Okay. I’m still going to freak out about it and make sure you know.”

He squeezes your jaw slightly, scrunching his nose.

“No,” he cutely protests, and you can’t help but giggle.

He smiles in return and lets your jaw go, hands going back to grip the wheel a little bit tighter

The two of you drive for a little bit, not really saying anything. You can’t help but dance in your seat to the beat, silently mouthing the lyrics to yourself. Harry keeps glancing over at you, too, grinning at the way you blush when he notices you doing it.

“How was your morning so far?” You start, just wanting to hear him talk.

He has to talk a little bit louder over the wind, but he’s happy to get the conversation started.

“Quite good actually. I’m going to Cabo in a couple weeks and was just getting some early packing in. Don’t you hate when you go somewhere and realize you forgot something like a toothbrush at home?”

“It’s the worst, I always end up having to go to a corner store and get something. What’s in Cabo?” You ask, already so amazed at his lifestyle.

“Friend of mine is having a birthday, so we’re there for a bit celebrating, going to be an amazing trip. Happy to be here, though,” he adds, eyes flicking to yours as he says it.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

“What about you? How was your morning?”

“Really good. Sorry about not texting you back for so long, by the way. I just have this thing about using technology right after I wake up, it gives me pretty bad headaches so I go as long as I can without it unless I hear it ring. But it was super productive, I got a good breakfast and read in, meditated a bit, skated to the beach and went for a swim, then got ready for this.”

“You put me to shame, Y/N, you really do.” Harry laughs, running a hand through his hair.

“I just woke up in a really good mood. I can definitely be grumpy in the morning, I’ll tell you that,” you try to explain, scared of feeling too pretentious.

“Yeah? I can see you throwing a fit if someone wakes you up before you’re ready,” Harry nonchalantly says, looking at the rings on his fingers before checking your reaction.

Cheeks hot, you feel almost scolded by him, thankful for the large sunglasses on your face.

“You’re not wrong,” you finally agree, crossing your legs smoothly.

That doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, reaching a hand down to rest on your thigh almost immediately. His large hand wraps around your skin, thumb immediately starting to go in small circles.

“I started meditating a few years ago but I absolutely love it, I feel like it allows you to start the morning off right.”

Taking a deep breath before answering, you nod and say,

“Completely agree. It still can feel a bit weird doing it when I’m in a mood or anything, but whether you believe in it or not, having all that negative energy in you without doing anything about it isn’t good for you.”

“You’re quite cute when you talk about things you like. Light up like a little sun,” Harry smirks, pulling his sunglasses up to look at you, the piece of gum in his teeth allowing his jawline to be even more prominent. You do the same, placing them in your lap as you uncross your legs, his hand staying on your left thigh as it goes back towards the seat.

“Yeah?” You don’t stop looking at him, watching his eyes flit between you and the road.

Harry hums before adding, “I think you know that though.”

“That I’m quite arguably the epitome of all things golden? Of course, but it’s always nice to hear.”

You make a noise of protest as Harry removes his thigh to make a left, while simultaneously laughing at you.

“You are absolutely golden, love, don’t you forget it.”

He pauses for a moment before starting again.

“I’m going to warn you right now that there might be some photos taken of you when we go in or leave, or fans coming to take pictures. If that bothers you-“

Cutting him off quickly, you sit up, shaking your head.

“I dressed cute for a reason, if it happens it happens. I’m going to be pissed if someone comes for my outfit though.” You giggle at yourself and grab Harry’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I know what I’m signing up for. You’re good.”

Squeezing back, he looks down at his lap for a moment before glancing back at you, eyes so sincere your heart clenches a little.

“Thank you. Just... need a little reminder sometimes too.”

Unlacing your fingers, you stick your pinkie out, swearing, “I promise that I will always remind you that you’re not going to cause me any problems, and I’m not going to do the same. You promise to always remind me I’m golden?”

“‘Course, love. Was gonna do that anyways,” Harry chuckles, intertwining your fingers, heartbeat going just a little bit faster.

He couldn’t explain it, didn’t want to admit it to himself even, but your presence made his world just a little bit brighter. He couldn’t get you out of his mind, your smile, giggle, and sweet-smelling perfume was all he could think about since last night. His brain was trying to come up with reasons why this was a bad idea, how you could be using him, you were going to break his heart and leave without a second glance. But one look at your face, those eyes looking at him with so much wonder, made him hate the part of himself looking for excuses. These feelings felt way too much, too fast, but all he knew was he wanted to call you his girl. His sweet Y/N.

Parking his car next to some trees, he runs over to open your door, helping you step out and shutting the door behind you, placing the cover on the car quickly. The two of you walk into the cafe in silence, arms swaying next to each other. You figured he wasn’t comfortable holding hands in public on the first date.

The atmosphere of the Beachwood Cafe was everything you could want in a coffee shop. Absolutely stunning artwork covering the walls, a checkerboard floor, fun colors splattered all over. Your face must show how excited you were because you feel Harry bump you, grinning down at you. You hum, smile on your cheeks as he holds your face in his hands for a second.

“Like it?” You nod happily at his question, following the waitress to your table, one in the furthest corner from the door.

“Can I start you off with some drinks?” She asks, setting menus in front of the two of you. Harry gestures for you to go first and you quirk an eyebrow before turning.

“Can I please get a large iced coffee with some honey? Thank you so much,” you add, looking Angie, her nametag reads, in the eye.

“And for you?”

“A large iced americano would be wonderful, thank you, love.” Flashing that award-winning smile at her, she writes down his order and heads back to the front.

“This place is really cute, Harry,” you gush. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

His chest tightens at your cute face looking at him from across the table, the amount of gratitude coming from you at all times filling him with light.

“‘Course, honey. You don’t have to thank me,” He earnestly tells you, placing his chin in his hand.

“I know, but I feel like I need to,” you trail off, looking at one of the names of the scrambles on the menu. Snapping your eyes back up to him, Harry can tell where you’re going with this.

“Please don’t,” he half-laughs, half begs.

“But it’s so easy,” you pout, grinning when he sighs and waves his hand for you to continue.

“Should I ask how strong the Weid scramble is going to hit?”

Groaning into his palm, Harry tries his hardest not to laugh, but can’t help one escaping when you kick him under the table.

“Satisfied?”

“Very,” you nod, looking over the menu once more. “Have you had the Thai noodle salad? That looks hella good.”

“It is ‘hella’ good,” Harry teases, using quotation marks in the air.

“Right then, love, what’re you getting?” You respond in a British accent, folding up your menu.

“Probably the Brussels sprouts salad, it’s my usual here.”

You open your mouth to say something before your drinks are placed in front of you, Angie asking if the two of you are ready to order. Harry goes ahead and orders for the two of you, delicately grabbing the menu from your hands to hand it back to her with a charming smile on his face. Watching her walk away, you grab your drink, lifting it for a cheers.

“To living,” you simply state, Harry repeating it with a look in his eyes you can’t quite name.

“So,” you start, adjusting your position in your seat for a second. “You said you’re writing for your second album, right?”

Harry nods, licking his lips as he pulls away from his glass, catching the way your eyes wander to his mouth.

“Sort of. I want to, you know, take a break, try and just have some fun, rather than jump straight into writing and recording again. At the same time, I really fucking miss it. Writing and being in the studio and getting all that out just feels so good.”

The way his accent wraps around his words makes it hard for you to focus on what he’s saying all the way, realizing he’s waiting on you to respond.

“I definitely think you could use some down time. But that also doesn’t mean you have to stop making music. Write out your ideas when they come to you, and when you feel like you’re ready, start pumping them all out. I’m willing to bet $100 that you already have at least a few songs under your belt, though, am I wrong?” You grin at the headshake Harry gives you, catching the blush on his cheeks. “I knew it! We all do, it’s impossible to just not write, but don’t worry about timelines or due dates. You can’t rush art.”

“God, it’s just so good to hear out loud, I feel like you already know me,” Harry shakes his head, pushing his hair away from his face with one hand.

“I’m pretty good at reading people, I’d like to say,” your arm raising above you as you stretch a little, tilting your head from side to side.

Seeing your neck arch and the way your veins move slightly under your skin causes Harry to have to clear his throat a little, taking a sip of his drink as he feels his forehead start to sweat.

“What kind of artists do you normally write for?” He blurts out, trying to figure out how to get to know more about you in a roundabout way.

“If you’re offering me a job, I’m walking out right now,” you warm, raising your eyebrows. “Kidding. I don’t know, really, I write for a lot of my friends, like I said, when they need help on some of their own projects, or if I’m hanging out in the studio I get pulled around the rooms for a different set of ears. Working with Khalid was one of my favorite experiences, though, he was so fucking cool.”

Harry’s eyes sparkle at this, perking up.

“Love Khalid. He is so talented, and hilarious. I swear, my stomach was aching after being with him for a little while. I only asked because I think I’m trying to figure you out a bit. I just wanna get to know ya,” He shrugs, fingertips tapping on his glass.

“I wish you good luck on that task, Harry, I really do. The first step in recovering is admitting you need help,” you solemnly nod, bursting out laughing when he rolls his eyes and ATTEMPTS to hide his smile.

Your food is placed in front of you suddenly, and you jump, glaring at Harry for smirking at your reaction. He couldn’t help it, you were like a little puppy, overexcited and always jumping from place to place. Harry starts eating right away, sending you a quizzical look when you sit with your hands in your lap, almost like you’re waiting for something.

“You going to start eating, honey?” He gently presses, snapping you out of wherever you went.

“Sorry,” you blush, grabbing your fork and shaking your head a little. “I don’t know what the fuck that was about.”

Fuck, yes you did, and Harry knew that. You were waiting for his permission, and that thought alone sent you into a daze. Closing your eyes around the fork, you fought off the urge to moan and tried to push the fact that he already holds so much control over you out of your head. Snapping them open, you find Harry’s eyes on you, the look in them dangerous. Clearing your throat, you whisper, “It’s really good,” which Harry responds with a simple hum, leaning forward on his elbows towards you.

“You tell me if this is too forward or too much, yeah?”

Your lips part as you nod your head, not really ready for what’s about to cross his lips.

“I’ve been noticing certain... things that you do and, well, are you a sub, darling?”

Your throat dries, unable to break eye contact or even speak, only nodding when he squints his eyes a little at you. Fuck, this was not happening, you thought, reaching to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Like to hear that pretty voice of yours, yeah?” Harry urges you, hands fighting off the urge to hold your jaw in his fingertips.

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking a swig of coffee to think of something to say. “I’m going to assume you’re a dominant,” pausing to let Harry nod, jaw moving as he chews. You throw your hands up, leaning back in your seat.

“You are the complete package, Harry, shit.”

He laughs at this, covering his mouth quickly. “‘S’all you. A dream, really.”

Your heart flutters at this, shit, no, this is a FIRST date, you cannot be feeling like this. Taking a bite of your food, you are able to just sit back and look at him. Watch how he sticks his tongue out while he puts a bite in his mouth, something you’ve done since you were a kid for no reason. How his hands look almost sinful holding the white napkin to his lips.

“Staring at me, love,” he comments after a few minutes, his eyes looking at you sweetly, like he didn’t mind, but just needed to call you out.

“Merde, je veux te sucer,” you breathe out in French, banking on him not understanding you.

“Viliane,” Harry tuts, clicking his tongue at you. Before you’re able to answer, Harry is handing his card to the waitress who passed your table, asking for two boxes for your meals.

Your eyes snap to his, all the oxygen leaving your body as he brings your plate his side, getting ready to pack it up for you.

“W-Where?” Is all you manage, drinking the rest of your coffee, before setting it down on the table, a drop of honey falling down your lip. Harry can’t help but swipe it off with his thumb, slowly placing it in his mouth afterwards, not breaking eye contact, with you.

“I live nearby. That alright with you?”

Nodding slowly, you sit quietly in the booth as Angie comes back with the check and two boxes, legs bouncing excitedly as Harry packages the food up.

“Come on, lovely, let’s get out of here,” he tells you, holding you by your elbow as you walk outside, heading straight for the car. He doesn’t bother taking the top off, opening your door for you without a word and shutting it, almost sprinting to the driver’s side.

His hand finds your thigh immediately, rings shocking the delicate skin and making your muscles tense, his fingers quickly moving to massage out these aches.

“You wanna give me a safeword, pretty girl?” His voice drips with confidence, his hands moving closer to where you needed him most. His eyes keep flickering back to you while trying to focus on the road. His curls are a mess around his sunglasses, the brown hair swallowing up most of the eye ware. A pinch on your thigh reminds you that he expects an answer, shaking your body out slightly before answering.

“The stoplight system’s good. Green, I’m good, yellow, slow down or take a break, red, stop everything. What kind of dom are you, Harry?” You push, wanting to know what you’re getting yourself into. You had done a lot of kinky stuff in the past, and there were some things you weren’t a fan of.

“Mm, I’m relatively easy going. Not going to give you any rules, unless we’re playing and have a scene set up. But,” he pauses to exhale harshly, “I’m quite mean, love. I like to take control, pick you apart bit by bit until you’re just trembling under me, can’t say anything but my name. How does that sound, puppy? Tell me now how you like it.”

His voice sends shivers throughout your body and you moan quietly, biting your lip to try and stifle it. Harry’s words circle around your brain, your stomach tightening with need. All the air seems to escape you, but you know he wants an answer.

“G-good. I like it rough, dirty, just wanna please you,” you stutter out, chest rising and falling rapidly. You absent-mindedly rub your fingers against your neck, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe while thinking about what he’s saying.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he moans, removing his hand from your thigh to place it behind your neck, squeezing it in his grasp. He knows what you want, even if he’s driving, he’s able to pick up on any little signals your body makes. Your back arches as you let out a breathy moan, eyes slipping closed.

“Tell me, princess,” he starts, squeezing the side of your throat to make you open your eyes and pay attention to him. “What do you want to happen when we get back to my house? Don’t want to go too far too soon.”

“Fuck, Harry, I just really want to suck you off, please, please, please,” you beg, a tear actually falling from your eye as you look at him. His pupils dilate at your words, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows harshly, mouth suddenly dry,

“Y/N,” he growls, reaching a hand to squeeze his growing bulge in his pants. His tanned hands and dark rings contrast the bright color, adding to your ever growing list of things that Harry does that turns you on.

The car pulls up to a gate and you sit there for a few seconds before Harry is buzzed in, probably driving way too fast back to his house. Parking in his driveway, he finally releases his hand from your neck and exits the car, making his way around to open your door. Holding your hand as you exit, he places his hand on your low back to guide you into the gorgeous home, the size of it taking your breath away. Harry gives you no time to admire it, shutting the door behind him with a slam before bringing his hand up your chest to rest on your throat, slamming you into the wall. He slips a leg in between yours and takes your hip in his free hand, guiding you to start grinding on his thigh. Your face flushes with heat as he tightens his grip.

“Know you wanna suck me off, but will you cum for me first? Don’t want this pretty cunt to go to waste.”

Your head rolls back and hits the wall, hips stuttering at his words, eliciting a chuckle from Harry as he leans in, breath hitting your lips before he envelopes them, encouraging you to start grinding faster. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, prying them open to lick into your mouth, your moans being instantly swallowed by him. Pulling away slowly, he maintains eye contact with you as he removes his hand from your throat to slip two fingers into your mouth. Feeling your wet mouth on him, sucking his fingers with such need, Harry groans lowly, removing his fingers to kiss you even harder, hands making quick work of removing your shorts.

“Such a naughty girl, can’t even wait to get to the bedroom, just has to have me feel you right here, hmm?” Harry scolds, removing his lips from yours to suck a mark into your neck, fingers moving to feel your wetness through the cloth underwear. Your hands wrap around his curls as you shakily inhale, resting your forehead on his to moan out lowly.

“Fuck, Harry,” you sigh, feeling him rub along your folds through the fabric, pushing it ever-so-slightly inside of you. His mouth pulls away from you with a pop, only to bite down on the red skin harshly, working his way up to your mouth once more. He bumps his nose against yours and opens his mouth to move his tongue past your lips. Your head is spinning, breath ragged as you suck his tongue with yours, feeling the vibrations in your mouth when he moans lowly, pulling a whimper from you.

Suddenly, he drops to his knees, pulling the thong down with him. You swallow at the change in pace and allow him to help you step out of them.

“Wanna take your boots off, sweet girl?” He checks, kissing your inner thigh softly as you lean fully against the wall. You think for a second, these were pretty comfortable, pretty solid grip, why not stay in them?

“‘S okay. Perfect height for you,” you breathe, bucking your hips up. He doesn’t even wait a second to smack your pussy, grabbing your thighs to spread you even wider.

“Filthy, you are,” he growls, licking a long stripe from your hole to your clit, a gasp immediately falling from your lips. He looks up at you and grins, licking long stripes through your folds, almost like he’s trying to remember how you feel. He takes his time catching your wetness slowly, despite the little gasps and moans coming from you. Flicking his tongue over your clit for a second, he pulls back to blow cool air on it, the motion causing your legs to falter for a second.

“Gotta stay still, okay? Can’t have you falling over,” he spits directly on your core as he says this, looking up at you with his jaw hanging slightly open, loving the way your hands go to your hair to find something to grab on. He smirks to himself, licking into you while his hands find your hips, pinching the delicate skin between his fingertips. He collects as much of you and his spit on his tongue as he can, swallowing around your clit after he sucks it into his mouth. The suction makes your hips fight to buck up into him, but you use all of your strength to stay still, causing your thighs to start quivering in his palms. Harry grins and scrapes his teeth along your clit, your loud moan going directly to his quickly hardening cock.

“Taste so fucking good, angel,” he groans, nose rubbing against your clit as he fucks his tongue into you, the soft muscle dragging along your walls and guiding your wetness into his mouth. The sounds coming from him are obscene, loud slurping, sucking, and spitting onto your trembling pussy.

“Fuck, Harry, I’m not going to last,” you cry out, feeling yourself start to clench around him. He grins around you, pulling away to thumb at your clit and look directly into your eyes.

“Mm, that’s not how good girls ask,” is all Harry gives you, slipping a finger inside and immediately curling it towards himself, finding your g-spot with ease. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking harshly while his tongue draws designs on the sensitive button.

“Please, Sir, can I come?”

This has Harry moaning against you, pinching your clit between his teeth as he slides another finger in, fucking into you faster. Your eyes roll back, one hand splayed against the wall, another in his hair to give you some sort of balance. He relentless massages and thrusts into your g-spot with his fingers, feeling you clench around them so tightly that his head starts to spin. “That’s it, puppy, ask me again,” he demands, the title you gave him sending shivers throughout his body. He sucks harder on your clit, somehow speeding up his fingers inside you. A moan vibrates against your center when you pull on his curls, your hips bucking up against his waiting hand.

“Sir, please please please can I come? I’ve been so good, haven’t moved,” you beg, gasping loudly when your legs start to shake noticeably. Harry pulls away, looking up at you and grunting out,

“You have been such a good girl, haven’t you? Go. Cum, now, right fucking now on my tongue.” A loud slapping noise is heard when Harry smacks your ass, the pain sending you over the edge. Your head hits the wall with a thud, but your moan drowns everything out, the guttural sound coming from your soul. Tilting your head back, you cum into his mouth, one leg slipping out from under you and Harry places it on his shoulder without a second thought, holding you up as you ride out your orgasm. The tightness in your stomach releases and your pussy trembles around his fingers, only encouraging him to continue the constant pressure on your g-spot.The strength of it knocks the wind out of you and sends electricity throughout your finger tips, your hips slowing down their rocking motion as Harry eases his fingers out of you. He continues to lick you clean before placing your shaky legs back on the ground together, trailing his hands up your body as he stands up.

“Thank you,” you breathe into his chest, holding on to his hips for balance. His chuckle vibrates against your cheek, and you feel him move your hair out of the way to kiss your shoulder.

“Of course, lovely. How you feeling?” He is all smiles, his voice gentle and caring as he breathes in your smell, leaving small kisses along your neck.

“G-good,” you stutter out, nudging his head to make eye contact with you. He pulls away after a second, one arm going around your waist when he notices how you’re practically falling over with how shaky your legs are. Smirking, he places his other hand on your cheek, pulling you in for a kiss. Tasting yourself on his tongue was too much for you, whining into his mouth before pulling away.

“Can I suck you off now?” You ask shyly, using your best puppy dog eyes. And, wow, do they work. Harry groans, biting your bottom lip harshly before pulling away, not wasting a second before pushing down on your shoulders. You topple to the ground easily, landing surprisingly softly (thanks to Harry’s expert hands), on the hardwood floor. After helping him remove your shirt, you place your hands behind your back immediately and tuck your chin down, grinning to yourself when you hear the moan Harry let’s out at your position.

“Spoiled little girl. Gets everything and more that she asks for, hmm, yes?” Harry demands, tugging your chin up by his hands. His eyes are pointed, staring directly into yours, pupils blown out and hair a mess behind him. You can see the pieces stuck to his forehead from sweat, but his chin glistens with something that has to be you.

“Yes, sir, so good to me. Wanna make you feel good, please,” you beg, leaning closer into him, the difference in clothing setting you into a daze, seeing him fully dressed while you’re waiting on your knees in front of him, naked, panting, and pleading to have his cock down your throat.

“Greedy,” he sighs, taking his hand away from your face to slide off his shirt, tossing it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He keeps his eyes trained on yours, daring you to avert them as he unzips his pants, stepping out of them. He looks away for a second to pull of his boots, and you take your time admiring his thighs, because, fuck. They were thick, muscled, tanned, and the little tattoos on them were asking to be bitten, you made a mental note to do that later.

“Got a bit of a staring problem, love.”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your daydream, eyes flickering back up to him, mouth dropping open when he’s bare in front of you, slowly stroking himself. You involuntarily make a little noise in the back of your throat, sticking your tongue out for good measure. Seeing Harry’s hips thrust up into his hand and his neck vein pop was confirmation enough for you, but you waited for him to put himself in your mouth, absolute torture you must say.

Harry finally takes mercy on you, moaning out, “God, you’re such a little cockslut, just want something in that fucking mouth of yours. Bet I could leave my fingers in there all day and you wouldn’t complain once,” when he eases himself into your open mouth.

You flatten your tongue on the underside of him, not breaking eye contact as you slide off his cock to lick at his tip with feather light touches, drawing figure eights along the top. Suckling lightly on just the head, you feel a spurt of precum land on your tongue, licking it up happily. Tearing your eyes away from his, you open up your throat to begin taking him deeper, feeling his hand immediately come to your hair as you do this.

“Yes,” Harry draws out, allowing you to take control for a moment. You wanted to suck him off, so who is he to tell you how to do it? The view is what is killing him the most, though. Your tits bouncing as you slurp him down, spit falling onto your thighs, your little bit of stomach pudge falling over as you completely lose yourself in making him feel good. That is what gets him to buck into your mouth, closing his eyes and biting his bottom lip, breathing heavily as he begins to thrust into you. You pull away after a moment, jerking him off steadily as you swallow and look up at him.

“You can fuck my throat. Don’t have much of a gag reflex, anyways. Wanna see how you like it, Sir,” you pant, not giving him any time to think before you take him back into your mouth, placing your hand on the wrist that’s in your hair, giving him another okay.

“God, Y/N, you’re heavenly,” Harry breathes, testing out the waters by doing some shallow thrusts, only then beginning to actually throat-fuck you. He places his other hand around your neck, essentially pulling you into his throat and choking you from both ways. Your eyes roll into the back of your throat and you place your nose against his belly, breathing in deeply. Harry pulls himself out of you, rubbing his cock against your cheeks.

“Feel so good,” he draws out, easing himself back into your waiting mouth, rubbing the head on the ridges on the roof of your mouth. He moans through closed lips and tilts his head back, giving you the chance to admire his strong jawline from this angle, body sculpted by Michaelangelo himself. He had no room to call you all these beautiful names while he looked this fucking good getting his cock sucked.

You start speeding up your bobs, keeping him deep in your throat and only picking up a little, the change in pressure earning you a tug on your roots when Harry pulls you to look up at him.

“Mm, you want me to cum, don’t you, dirty girl,” he grunts, a lazy grin on his now flushed face. His thumbs make their way to press on either side of your cheek, moaning lowly when he feels himself through the tissue.

You hum around him, using your tongue along the vein you can feel, looking up at Harry with such need in your eyes. You pull off for a quick second, gasping loudly while saying,

“Want you to come in my mouth so bad, want to taste you and make you feel as good as you made me,” Taking him back in your mouth and sucking him off with a vice-like grip.

“Fuck,” Harry half-laughs, half-moans. “You’re incredible. Gonna make me come so fast, you’re taking me so fucking deep.”

Not even a minute later, you feel him begin to pulse in your mouth, pulling back to just suck on the head, using your tongue to dip into the hole, and Harry cums with a loud shout, burying his cock down your throat as he shoots ribbon after ribbon of come into you. You keep your eyes at his face, remembering how his mouth looks wide open, his eyes pinched closed, hair making a perfect halo around him. His throat makes you want to cry, the veins popping out and slightly red. He stays in your mouth for a while, allowing you to suck him dry and soften slightly, before pulling out of you with a pop.

“Thank you,” you croak out, swallowing what’s left in your mouth and leaning into his touch, quite spent if you were being honest.

Harry had to look away for a second, moving his hand to hold your head while he caught his breath. You were right about being golden, your skin shone, and you just radiated everything good in this world, right after he had his cock balls deep down your throat nonetheless.

“You’re too much, beauty. Thank you, did such a good job,” he gushes, kneeling down. He takes your chin inbetween his fingers and kisses you softly, just barely moving his lips. He leans his forehead against yours and wipes your lip with his thumb, allowing you to suck the bit of cum still on your face off with a blush tinting your cheeks.

“Reminds me of this morning, a bit,” he giggles, laughing louder as you hit him in the chest, grumbling ‘dumb’. He pushes your hair out of the way and holds your face in his two hands, effectively shutting you up as you breathe in deeply, feeling strangely comfortable being this vulnerable with him this fast.

“Do you wanna take a bath with me right now? Know you were on shaky legs and this hard floor for a while,” he pouts, kissing your forehead softly. You nod slowly and he smiles, nodding against you before pulling away to unzip your shoes, placing them next to the wall before he’s picking you up with way too much ease, pulling a shriek from you.

“‘Sorry, love, your poor legs okay?” he asks, holding you to his chest with one arm, using the other to hold your thigh. He receives another nod to the shoulder and he nuzzles you, trying to see what’s happening.

“I’m okay, just tired,” you sigh, and he murmurs an ‘okay’ kissing your temple before allowing you to sink back onto him, making a mental note to ask you about it once you’ve got your breath back.

“Why don’t you go turn on that shower and wash yourself real quick with some warm water and I’ll have the bath ready when I join you, that okay?” Harry whispers, sliding you down slowly. He pushes you toward the large glass door and you smile back at him, your heart bursting with appreciation.

This one is going to change you.

A/N: and that’s a wrap !! lemme know if you guys prefer this kind of phrasing (‘you said’), or if you like ‘she said’, or ‘i said’ better. this is my first time working with a full story using y/n and second/third person kind of view, so pls bear with me. also !! i know some people aren’t really cool with weed. im a ~stoner~ (such a weird thing to type out lmao) so i smoke a lot, but if y’all aren’t comfortabke with me mentioning it p much every other chapter, let me know !! (it can even be anonymously sent in) hope you liked it, and let me know if you have any other requests for future chapters or just one shots💗💗

- lana💔

[whqtsername]

Eyeliner

Pairing: Eren / Mikasa

Rating: E 

Genre: Smut

Length: 3.9k words

Notes: Hi!! I’m sorry for this, it’s just plain horny. I just thought Eren would look good in eyeliner, and things got out of hand. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Eren watches from the bed as Mikasa applies her eyeliner, making a perfect line and smudging it ever so slightly so it had that “i haven’t slept in three days” look she often went for. 

The two of them are at her house, in her bedroom. They were going to meet up with Armin and a couple of other people later that night - and since they lived near each other, they came to the conclusion that it would be easier to meet at her house and go together from there.

He had arrived earlier than the time they had settled on - having already showered and gotten dressed in less than 15 minutes, he got bored quickly and decided to go to her house and seek her company. When she opened the door for him, her face was bare and her hair was still wet from the shower; she looked puzzled until he explained the situation to her - and she gladly welcomed him in, granted he didn’t mind waiting for her to finish getting ready.

And so, here he is, sitting on her bed as she focuses on herself in her handheld mirror; she’s fully dressed now, chains, rings and earrings in place, her hair is neatly done up in two little pigtails. He watches her quietly sing along to the Cure song that’s playing while she does her makeup, and wonders how she manages to keep herself so steady and make absolutely no mistakes - it’s almost mesmerizing to him. She had been getting ready for the last 20-ish minutes - her big makeup bag sitting beside her, it’s contents (Eren had no idea what most of them did) sprawled around her.

“Eren?” She calls, breaking him out of his trance.

“Yeah?” He replies, sitting up straight and hoping she wouldn’t notice the light blush that tinted his cheeks.

“I’m ready.” She says, placing the lid back on her pencil liner and shoving it back into her bag.

“Cool, uh-” he trails off, looking at his watch, “We still have some time before we have to leave so, no rush.”

She smiles at him, and he smiles back. And they’re silent again, the music in the background is the only sound present in the room. Suddenly, her smile fades and she turns her head, as if in thought - which in turn, puzzles Eren.

“What?” He asks.

“Can I do your eyeliner?”

Eren is taken aback by the unexpected question - while he thought Mikasa looked very pretty with her makeup (not that he would ever tell her), he never saw himself as the type of guy who would do something like that. He found himself too plain to venture outside his basic style.

“Huh?” He blinks.

“Eyeliner,” She repeats herself, taking the pencil out of the bag and standing up, “I think it would look nice.”

Eren hesitates. They were going to meet with other people today… What would they say if they saw him wearing eyeliner?

“If you don’t like it, we can remove it. I just want to see what it would look like.” She says when he doesn’t reply.

“... Okay.” He says, finally.

She smiles again, and moves closer to him. It suddenly dawns on Eren that her putting eyeliner on him meant she would be very close to him, and touching his face. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and he curses himself for letting his mind wander - this is his childhood friend, for fuck’s sake, he should never think of her like this.

He tenses up when she sits next to him, gently grabbing his face and turning him to face her. He notices how warm her hands are and tries to stay calm, but can’t help the blush that creeps onto his cheeks. I hope she doesn’t notice, he thinks. 

“Close your eyes,” She says softly, and he can feel her breath on his face.

He obeys, closing his eyes and trying to distract himself from the thousands of thoughts that suddenly rush to his head. He feels the hard pencil press against his eyelid; it’s uncomfortable and it feels weird, but he trusts Mikasa knows what she’s doing. 

The hard tip of the pencil is replaced by something soft - her finger, he assumes; she’s smudging it like she does on herself. She repeats the process on his other eye, and Eren thinks to himself, this isn’t so bad.

She tells him to open his eyes, and he obeys once again, now fully realizing how close their faces were to each other. Nevermind. She doesn’t seem to notice how red he’s getting, cupping both of his cheeks and straightening his head to take a good look at him. 

“Okay, now look up.” She instructs, and he does.

She brushes his overgrown hair away from his face and starts working on his undereye and waterline. He flinches. She tries again. He flinches again. Again, and again. 

“Stop moving!” She says, trying to hold his head in place.

“I’m trying! It hurts!” He defends himself.

She groans and tries again, and again, he fails to keep his eyes open. Taking her hands away, Mikasa lets out a long sigh. Her solution to the problem is not something he was expecting.

She crawls onto his lap, settling on top of him. His breath is caught in his throat, and he doesn’t dare move. Even with this small bit of contact between them, he already feels the blood rushing down. Fuck. He thinks. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck.

“Stay. Still.” She says sternly, and her tone only makes his pants feel even tighter.

He tries his best to obey her, breathing shakily as she places her hands on his face again and brings the eyeliner back to his eye. This time she succeeds, as Eren is absolutely petrified in his place.

She smiles triumphantly and moves on to his other eye, lightly grinding on his legs in the process. He stifles a little moan. Was that on purpose? He wonders, no way. It must’ve been an accident.

His denial does nothing to help his current situation - he’s half hard now, and absolutely mortified. He hopes and prays that Mikasa won’t realize it, too focused on doing his makeup to care.

He gulps as she starts on his other eye, thankful that she was almost done with it - soon she would get off of him and he would be able to breathe properly again. Once she does finish with the liner and puts it aside though, she doesn’t move.

Instead, she brings both of her hands back to his face, and their eyes meet as she uses her thumbs to smudge the black ink under his eyes. They’re both quiet, and her hands don’t leave his face as she admires her work, looking very proud of what she’s done. 

“Pretty,” is all she says, and it’s quiet again.

Eren looks back at her and notices a light pink tint on her cheeks that wasn’t there before. She moves again, and it reminds Eren of his now full-on boner, which has become painfully obvious. They keep looking at each other, her thumbs softly caressing his cheeks - none of them dare to look away.

Mikasa breaks her gaze though, and her eyes briefly wander down to Eren’s lips. He catches it - and it’s the only confirmation he needs.

He leans in and kisses her - her lips are soft, and she tastes of cherry. But it’s quick, too quick. He pulls away to look back at her. Her eyes are wide, and she gasps softly, blinking once. Twice.

“Sorry I-” He starts, but she doesn’t let him finish.

She kisses him again and he eagerly returns it, relieved. She pushes herself closer to him - he can feel her against his dick now, and her erratic heartbeat matches his own. His hands leave the mattress and move over to hold her hips, as she tangles hers in his hair. This can’t be real, he thinks.

But it is.

She absentmindedly rolls her hips against his, and a low sound escapes his lips, muffled by their kiss. His hands settle on her ass and he starts guiding her as she grinds on him - he wonders if he’s dreaming. Never in a million years did he ever think he would get to do this with her.

She pushes him down on the bed and breaks their kiss - her eyes are gleaming with lust, and her cheeks are a shade darker now; the chains that hang around her neck dangle above him and she smiles. Eren moves one of his hands and pushes a few loose strands of hair away from her face behind her ear. He looks back down at her lips, her once meticulously perfect black lipstick was now smudged, and he assumes that part of it ended up on his lips. He smiles back at her and pulls her in again; the quiet sound she lets out is music to his ears.

His hands start wandering once more, and find themselves grasping her thighs, touching the skin underneath her skirt. Her hands are gripping the sheets beneath them for balance as they move their hips in unison - Eren is sure that he’s died and gone to heaven. 

But Mikasa pulls away from him and he’s brought back to reality. 

“Do you… wanna do this?” She asks, shyly. Eren knows it’s her first time - it’s his as well. 

“Yeah. Do you?”

She nods, smiling down at him as she starts unbuttoning his shirt. She’s slow, meticulous, and he watches her, observing every one of her movements. So beautiful. She’s so beautiful.

Once she undoes the last button, she pushes the fabric out of the way and runs her hands through his chest and stomach - she’s also studying him, as he was doing with her. He tugs on her sweater. Take it off. Let me see you. She does, and it’s the most wonderful sight he’s ever seen. 

Her necklaces fall perfectly on the valley in between her breasts - she’s not wearing a bra. Eren can’t help but stare, his breath is caught in his throat and he’s rendered completely speechless. She blushes and looks away from him, but he places a hand on her cheek and makes her look back at him. It’s ok. It’s just me. He hopes she can understand his thoughts through his smile. 

She takes a deep breath and grabs both of Eren’s hands, guiding them to her chest. Slowly, he starts caressing and groping her breasts - She fits perfectly into his hands, as if they were made to be there. 

She lets out a happy sigh, and Eren feels he’s doing something right. She smiles down at him, and he smiles back up at her. She rolls her hips against his and he is once again reminded of his borderline painful boner - a moan escapes his lips. She notices, and smiles a little wider. She tears his hands away from her and leans down to leave little kisses down his neck, his chest, until she reaches below his navel. He props himself up on his forearms and elbows so he can properly look at her as she starts unbuttoning his jeans. Suddenly he feels nervous, insecure. He’s unsure what her reaction will be, and that scares him. She slowly pulls his pants and underwear down; once he’s freed she sighs, and he’s unsure what to make of her reaction. His mind starts rushing again - but all of those thoughts dissipate the moment she touches him. 

Eren lets out a moan, and his hand instantly flies to his mouth to try and mask it. He watches her as she starts stroking him; it’s not a sight that he ever expected to witness in all the years they’d been friends. 

“Can I?” She asks, looking up at him. Her voice is almost bashful, and it drives Eren crazy. 

Yes. Please do. He nods. 

So, she does. She takes him in slowly, and a little clumsily. Her teeth lightly scrape against him, and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

“Mmgh Mikasa-” He manages, “teeth.”

“Sorry…” She mumbles, tearing her lips away.

“No, no, it’s okay!” He assures her, tangling one of his hands in her hair, “Please, keep going.”

She takes a deep breath and tries again. This time, Eren throws his head back in ecstasy. He gently guides her head up and down, and she quickly gets the hang of it; in no time, Eren is already moaning. 

He looks down at her, forcing his eyes to stay open, because he wants to remember every little detail of this. Mikasa, on her knees, sucking his cock. It’s so lewd, so obscene, and so beautiful. 

Mikasa takes her time with it. As with everything, she’s meticulous and a perfectionist - she doesn’t want to leave any part of him untouched. She starts off slow - painfully slow. Eren wants to push her head down; more. Please give me more, but he stays put. He doesn’t want to spoil it.

When she looks up at him, he forgets how to breathe for a moment. His hips seemingly gain a life of their own and he thrusts into her, his body disobeying his brain; Eren is impatient, and Mikasa knows it. So, she picks up the pace, matching his hips, and he swears he’s seeing stars. 

He can feel himself getting closer, so he warns her. But she doesn’t stop. She keeps sucking, licking and humming around him, until she sends him over the edge. 

He lets out a long, drawn out moan as he spills into her mouth. She looks right at him as she swallows, and he pulls her back up to give her a kiss. He can taste himself on her lips, but he doesn’t mind, all that matters is that her lips are on his.

Once his head stops spinning, Eren decides to return the favor. Never breaking their kiss, he lays her down on the bed, his hand snaking up her legs and under her skirt. He presses his hand against her and groans. Lace. 

Eren can feel how wet she is through the flimsy fabric, and it brings a smile to his face. I did that. She’s like this because of me. He softly runs his fingers up her slit, and she lets out a shy moan - barely audible over the music. His ears perk up at the sound, and immediately he wants to hear more. His lips leave hers for a moment, and he slowly removes her skirt, taking in the view once it’s off. Red lace.

He inhales sharply and presses his hand against her once more, as she slowly opens her legs wider for him. He pushes her panties to the side and watches her closely as he moves his fingers up and down her pussy. He has a vague idea of what he’s doing, and he knows there’s a specific spot that’s supposed to feel really good, but he can’t seem to find it. Mikasa can probably see the confusion on his face, because she giggles and moves his hand over her clit. He gulps, embarrassed, but swallows his pride and starts rubbing slowly, which proves to be more than worth it when she starts quietly moaning and grinding her hips against his hand. Her eyes are closed, her brows are furrowed, and she’s biting her lip. Eren feels like he’s in a wet dream, seconds away from being awakened and pulled away from this sweet bliss.

Slowly, he moves his hand down and pushes a finger into her. She moans in surprise, but soon settles as he starts moving in and out of her. He adds another one. She sighs, but that’s pretty much the extent of her noises - which confuses him.

“Try…” She says, quietly, “Try moving your fingers like this.” She makes a gesture curling her fingers up. 

Eren obeys, and the moment he does, she lets out a long mewl. “Yes,” she pants, “keep doing it like that.”

He moves slowly at first, but the noises she’s making only encourage him to go faster, harder. Eren genuinely cannot believe that he’s making Mikasa Ackerman writhe and moan underneath him like this. And she looks so unbelievably attractive.

Eren takes his fingers out of her, and she whines in protest. He removes her panties and stares at her for a moment - Mikasa Ackerman, his best friend, lying breathless before him, completely naked, with her legs spread wide open. For him. 

His mouth waters at the sight, and he wastes no time diving in between her legs. She gasps and arches her back, her hand flying to grab his hair. He starts eating her out like she’s his last meal on earth, and he’s trying to savor every moment of it. He focuses on her clit, and the sounds she’s making tell him he’s doing it right. He inserts his two fingers back inside her, curling them up like she taught him to - and she seems to love it, her moans only getting louder and louder. 

“Ah, Eren!” She moans, and it sends a shiver down his spine. Just the sound of her moaning his name is enough for him to start getting hard again.

He can feel her shaking in his grip, and he hopes it means she’s close. He keeps going, desperate to keep listening to her sweet sweet sounds, and eventually, he pushes her over the edge. She clenches around his fingers, and a shiver runs through her entire body - her legs closing abruptly. Her strong thighs wrap tightly around his head, but he doesn’t mind - he allows her to ride out her orgasm, and after a few more strokes, he pulls his fingers out of her.

Once Mikasa comes back to reality, she notices her legs squeezing Eren’s head, and sheepishly spreads them again, red in the face. Cute.

“S-sorry,” she mumbles, as he crawls back up to meet her face.

“It’s okay,” he says, smiling and pecking her lips, “I liked hearing you say my name.” 

Mikasa’s eyes widen, and she immediately pushes him away, blushing even deeper. Eren can’t help but laugh. How can one girl be so cute and so sexy at the same time? She sits at the edge of the bed, face buried in her hands, groaning. This moment reminds Eren of what they truly are and will always be: friends. No matter what happens. 

His laughter subsides, and his face rests in a smile. He crawls over to her, and starts peppering sweet kisses on her neck and shoulder, like a tiny apology for embarrassing her. She takes her head out of her hands and sighs happily. He’s forgiven. 

He gently places his hand on her cheek and kisses her again - it’s tender, and it almost feels like they’re trying to convey something through it. She places her hands on his waist, pulling him closer to her and deepening the kiss. They stay like this for a while. It’s almost heavenly - Eren feels like he could be here forever, just kissing her.

But she has other ideas.

“Uh…” She says, pulling away and looking down. “Do you have a condom?”

He blinks. It takes a second for him to process what she said.

“Yeah, I-” he exclaims, snapping out of it, “I do.”

He gets up from the bed and stumbles over to his backpack in the corner of the room, his heart beating out of his chest. He reaches into it and pulls out his wallet, haphazardly pulling out the foil packet he always kept on him. He never thought he would use it, but kept it there, just in case.

He turns around triumphant, with a big smile on his face. She smiles back at him, and he feels weak at the knees. She's leaning against the headboard, legs spread, touching herself. It takes all of Eren’s strength to not jump on her immediately. He takes a deep breath and makes his way back to her calmly, crawling over to meet her face and capturing her in a slow kiss. 

Eren feels nervous again. Ok, it’s go time. Be chill. It’s gonna be fine, not like you’ve been dreaming about this for years. He pulls away from her and she settles down on the bed, resting her head on the pillow. Eren smiles at her before attempting to open the condom and failing, his hands too sweaty and shaky to form any friction. She assists him, and when he gets it open, it feels like time has stopped completely. He takes a deep breath and rolls the condom onto his hard cock, positioning himself in between her legs.

Eren presses his forehead against Mikasa’s as he slowly pushes his dick into her. She winces and he stops immediately, concerned - but she urges him to keep going. She pulls his head down to kiss him again, her moans echoing in the back of his throat.

Eren settles for a slow pace, trying his hardest to control himself so he doesn’t hurt her -  but he would be lying if he said he didn’t want more. Stop being greedy, he thinks to himself.

Much to his surprise, it’s Mikasa who urges for more. 

“Faster,” She whispers.

Eren gladly obliges, placing his hands on her hips and ramming into her - watching in awe as she comes undone beneath him. Breathless, moaning and whimpering. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.

Eren almost feels like he’s locked in a trance - so much so that he can’t control the next words that leave his lips.

“Say my name again,” 

“What?” She says in between labored breaths.

“M-” He hesitates. “My name. Say it again.”

She chuckles at his request, and it almost makes Eren regret it, until she obliges. 

It’s a long, drawn out moan, and it’s almost enough to make him cum right then and there. His name sounds so good coming out of her lips, he never wants her to stop.

He stops thrusting for a moment to recompose himself, and Mikasa decides to take the lead. She flips him over on the bed, now sitting on top of him. She settles for a quick and rough pace, rubbing her clit as she rides him, her chains dangling over his face.

“Mikasa I-” he breathes, “I don’t think I can hold on for much longer if you keep going like this.”

“That’s okay,” she whispers, leaning down to reach his face and press her forehead against his, “Cum for me, Eren.”

Eren whimpers and pulls her in to kiss him again, as he reaches his second orgasm of the night. Mikasa doesn’t take long after him, clenching around his dick as she also reaches her climax.

She collapses on top of him, taking a moment to catch her breath before she pulls away. Eren takes a moment to comprehend what just happened as Mikasa removes his condom and wobbles over to the bathroom to flush it away. Holy fuck, is all he can think.

When she comes back, she lies down next to him, nuzzling her face against his neck. He gladly welcomes her into his arms, wrapping one around her, and fiddling with her chains.

Eren looks at his watch.

“We’re late,” He says. He feels like he should sound more urgent, but he’s not. He’s calm. 

“We can just tell them something came up,” She mumbles.

Eren laughs and Mikasa moves to face him. She pecks his lips.

“Your makeup is ruined,” Eren says, caressing her cheeks, But you still look beautiful.

“So is yours.” She replies.

They both laugh, and nothing else really matters anymore.

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: language, attempted sexual assault and harassment, mentions of past sexual assault and harassment - do not read if these situations are triggering for you.

Word count: 6.1k - am I capable of writing anything short anymore???

A/N: HI I’M FINALLY BACK AND POSTING SOMETHING FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST 3 MONTHS WOW. This story continues the Agent 14 series (so definitely check that out in my masterlist if you’re not familiar!) and...it’s something I’ve had on my mind for a while. I just needed to get it out. I hope that you like it and please share what you think! Feedback is appreciated!

When her phone starts buzzing, she’s mid-swing at the faded sandbag hanging from the ceiling. 

She’s glad to have the place to herself - the dusty air and stale silence more of a comfort. A bead of sweat slides down her temple, itching past her ear, and her finger scratches at the spot absently, coming away salty wet. There’s sweat slicking her scalp, too; she feels it under the tight twist of her braids, heat trapped beneath the strands. Her dirty little basement gym - faded posters lining the walls, advertising fights long finished, flickering bulbs hanging from the ceiling, stained linoleum - is quiet in the mornings. A kind of quiet that is all too rare in the city, in her life. 

Sure, it was nice of Sam to continue inviting her on their morning runs - she has every intention of taking him up on his offer, when she finally gets off the opening shift at work. She sees his 4 a.m. offers a couple times a week, shooting back a quick response that she’s already up, heading in to open the cafe. He finds it all so funny; calls her “Agent Barista”, and endearingly teases her about her rigorous coffee training at the SHIELD Academy. 

Okay but real talk, 14 - what’s your top secret mission down at Starbucks? Pinged her phone as she brushed her teeth and concealed undereye circles with strategic swipes of makeup. 

Key word in your question is “top secret”, Wilson. As in, tell you but I’d have to kill you. You know the drill. 

Another ping. Yeah, yeah. Y’all agents talk a good game, but I know for a fact 41 can be bought with a box of See’s candies. Just gotta figure out your weakness. 

Good luck. 

No luck needed. I’ll bring a couple sweaty super soldiers your way around 8:30, you’re welcome. 

With a wrapped hand, she flicks one swinging braid back over her shoulder, turning to her duffel bag for her phone. It’s buried under a spare pair of socks and a sports bra she forgot to wash, still buzzing as she grasps it and flips the screen upwards in her hand. 

Unknown caller. 

She’d bet every cent to her name that she could guess who was on the other end of the line. Tongue pressed against her teeth, she dismisses the call and drops her phone back in her bag. Fury can wait. 

Turning back to the sandbag, she sucks a quick breath through her nose, curling power in her lean shoulders, and then unleashes a furious combination of jabs and kicks on the beaten plastic. Grunts and harsh pants slip past her lips, fists slinging blow after punishing blow, her weight held bouncing on the balls of her feet. The sandbag is a stoic opponent, taking her fists and feet without so much as a groan of protest, swinging back only a few inches on the chain even as she whips around high for a roundhouse kick. Growling, she rocks her weight back on her heels, before leaping forward off one leg to drive her knee into the bag with bruising force. More to herself than the bag, she thinks, glancing down at the tender skin on her bare knee, stinging from the impact. She leans an elbow against the bag and drops her head, swiping at the baby hairs along her forehead. 

The phone buzzes again, insistent and muffled, and she lets her head drop back with a heavy sigh, eyes closed. 

“Shut up,” she mutters, eyes narrowing in a nasty glare at the offending noise. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

She whirls at the sound, fists raised - she hadn’t even heard him enter. 

Steve has the good grace to look sheepish as he approaches from a shadowed staircase in the corner of the room, his hands raised in surrender. Not many people have had the sheer dumb luck - and misfortune - of sneaking up on her, and the part of her brain not whiplashed by adrenaline grudgingly admires him for it. 

“Morning, Captain,” 14 sighs, her hands falling to her hips, rolling her neck against the tension in her shoulders. 

“Morning,” he smiles. He’s trimmed back the beard, she notices, closer to the sharp line of his jaw. Dust motes swirl around his golden head like fairy dust as he passes through the puddles of light cast from the weak overhead bulbs. It strikes her then, the unassuming slope of his shoulders, a little shuffle in his gait, not quite lifting his feet from the ground. Not a strut, no stalking or preening like the SHIELD boys she came up at the Academy with, eager to throw their weight around. Somehow, despite his height, he manages to duck his head, to look up at her under a fringe of enviable dark lashes. Disarming and soft, a wayward blond strand falling over his forehead, he tucks his hands into his pockets, standing just a few feet away from her. He nods at the hanging sandbag behind her. 

“Gave that thing quite a beating,” he says, tilting a dark eyebrow. She shrugs one shoulder. 

“Looked at me funny,” she quips back, still catching her breath from the last bout. Her tongue swipes at a drop of sweat on her upper lip. Sniffing, she turns her gaze down to the wrapping on her hands. “I don’t recall inviting you, Rogers - I thought this was a private session.” 

“Sorry for intruding,” he says, scrunching his nose and swiping at the errant lock of hair hanging before his eyes. With a jerk of his chin, he gestures towards her gym bag, where her phone has gone blessedly silent. “Fury had a feeling you would, um, how does Sam say it…’shady button’ him?” 

She snorts in spite of herself, just managing to slap a hand over her mouth before her laugh becomes obnoxious. Even in the dim light of the fluorescents, she can see the high flush creeping up those scruffy cheeks. Steve rubs the back of his neck, a familiar embarrassment curling in his belly; it’s a joke the team plays sometimes, and he gets it, he really does. Gotta laugh at your CO sometimes - it brings the team together; so he drops little phrases here and there, incongruous slang with his pleated slacks and old-fashioned manners. Even things that Sam says - the word “fam”, or adding “ass” as a suffix to virtually any word - from Steve’s mouth, they’re suddenly enough to have the team rolling with laughter, Tony red-faced, Wanda close to tears. The tips of his ears burn, and he always acts put out, lowers his stern father brows, but if there’s one thing he learned as a Brooklyn-born punk, it’s how to take his punches.

“Oh, I’m sorry - I’m sorry,” 14 says, hand still half-covering the silly grin tugging at her mouth. “It just sounded so funny coming from you. It was like-”

“Kinda like if your dad were saying it?” Steve purses his lips, tilts his head to the side.

“Oh god…yes, that’s exactly it.” It ignites a fresh burst of giggles, though she scrunches her nose and shakes her head at the image. “Uh, just do us both a favor and don’t say that again.” 

“I don’t think you can restrict Captain America’s freedom of speech.” He lifts his eyebrows, playful, considering. The slope of his nose casts a long shadow across his cheek, skin like Irish cream. She rolls her eyes, turning away to her duffel bag, using her teeth to tug at the wrappings on her hands. 

“So. You’re Nick’s new personal assistant or something?” Dropping to the bench, she rummages through her gym bag and takes a long gulp from her water bottle. She swipes at her phone screen - 3 missed calls now. 

Steve shrugs. 

“I volunteered,” he says simply, large knuckles still visible where they stay curled in his pockets. “Thought…hoped I might have better luck.”

She licks her lower lip, chasing a coveted drop of water. It’s not as though she’s tired of the job - it varies so much, from one day to the next, that it makes boredom impossible. No, it’s not the job, she’s just…tired. Of what, or why, she can’t really say. Steve is patient. He doesn’t say anymore, just waits, standing a few feet away and shifting his weight from one leg to the other, his soft eyes watchful. Her fingers go to her shoulders, massaging the oncoming ache in her muscles. 

“What’s the mission?” 

  **********                                                                                      

“You need some help there, punk?” Bucky leans a hip against the doorframe, arms crossed over his beloved NASA hoodie, an amused twitch tugging at the corner of his mouth. Across the room, Steve frowns at him in the mirror. 

“Never really got the hang of these damned things,” Steve huffs, fingers losing the knot on his bowtie and sighing again as the cloth falls loose from the crisp collar of his shirt. Hands falling to his narrow hips, he turns to Bucky, wearing a look of defeat rarely seen on Steve Rogers. 

Wordlessly, Bucky shuffles across the carpet and begins to knot the offending fabric, fingers of metal and flesh looping one strand over the other and back again. Chin lifted, brows furrowed, a marble bust of martyrdom, Steve is ever stoic while he works. 

“Thought you were gonna shave for this,” Bucky comments, his voice quiet, not lifting his eyes from the tie. Steve makes a dissenting noise from his throat. 

“Yeah, well, the beard makes it easier to keep a low profile,” he says, a hand reaching up to rub his whiskers absentmindedly. “And besides, I’m sort of attached to it now.” 

Bucky chuckles, a smile dimpling his own scruffy cheeks. 

“Know what you mean - God, but nobody looked like this when we were kids, ya know?” He steps back, finished with the tie, and gives Steve an appraising nod, pursing his lips. “Not too bad, Rogers, not too bad.” 

Raising a dubious brow, Steve turns back to the mirror, tugging at the sleeves and adjusting his shoulders in the tux. Strictly white tie - totally out of his element, but sometimes duty comes with a dress code. He wedges a thick finger between the starched white collar and his own tender skin. 

“In this get up?” Steve shakes his head. “Never did get used to wearing a monkey suit.” 

Tongue in his cheek, Bucky grins. 

“Have you seen yourself in your uniform?” 

Steve flings a fist back behind him, grinning triumphantly when his hit lands in Bucky’s gut; a metal fist swings in retaliation, but Steve manages to sidestep, his hands raised in quick surrender. 

“Hey, not too rough,” he says, tamping down a mischievous smile. “Tony will have my head if I ruin another one of these.” 

“Tony could buy you one for every day of the week,” Bucky scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

A knock on the doorframe makes them both turn. 

It’s been years now, since he met Natasha - wind whipping up familiar curls on the deck of the helicarrier, a watchful smile, wolves’ teeth hidden under a lamb-soft face. Even later, when he learned to trust her, he always found himself surprised at her startling contrasts, the ease with which she managed to be two things at once; ally and spy, friend then enemy then family. In truth, she was testing him. They both knew. Years of probing, disguised as teasing and sarcasm and near-insubordination - assessing his strength, his weakness, the man behind the shield. And after all this time, it was his steadiness at each of her own turns that pacified her, let her learn to lean on him in return. 

She smiles in the doorway now, her bright hair swept sleek behind her ears, revealing diamond teardrop earrings, probably on loan from Tony’s collection. The tips of her hair just brush her pale, bare shoulders, revealed by the strapless neckline of her jumpsuit. Black was always her signature color - never dull, though, because with Nat black is a spectrum, a rainbow refracted through her prism: intimidating, alluring, powerful, subtle. 

“You clean up good, Rogers,” she smirks, her hands tucked into her pockets as she gives him a look of approval. “Keeping the beard, though?” 

Steve’s hand idly brushes against his trimmed whiskers.

“It’s grown on me,” he admits. “And besides, I’ve got too much of a baby face without it.” 

“Some girls like that.” 

“Some guys like that,” Bucky adds, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, well,” Steve rubs the back of his neck, willing down the flush that crept up at his friends’ praise. “I’m not supposed to be the bait tonight.” 

“No, I guess that’s my job.” Another voice appears behind Nat, her head peaking around Nat’s shoulder as she steps forward to share the space in the doorway. 

Unbidden, Steve feels his mouth fall open. He always thought she was beautiful, from the first time he saw her, no makeup and the sleeves of her sweater splashed with coffee and mocha sauce; this morning, in the dusty half-light of the basement gym, sweat gleaming on her forehead and arms. But he wasn’t prepared to see her like this, glowing in his doorway, draped in a pink silk slip that exposed one of her thighs. She’d let her hair loose from it’s tight braids, her makeup bringing a dewy sheen to her cheeks - she looked…fresh, blooming like a rose. A clean swipe of red across her lips, almost an afterthought, as if she couldn’t be bothered to make more effort than that. Steve swipes his suddenly sweaty palms against his thighs and clears his throat. 

“Um, wow,” he says, wincing at his own voice, which nearly gave an embarrassingly pubescent crack. “I mean, you…uh, you look great.”

“Better than great,” Bucky pipes up, the amused tilt to his mouth the only hint that he enjoys Steve’s embarrassment. “She looks beautiful.” 

Nat nods in agreement. 

“The dress is perfect for you - is it one of Stark’s?” she asks. 14 shakes her head, modestly gesturing to the gown with her hand. 

“I’ve had it for a little while actually, I just couldn’t pass it up,” she sighs. “Just haven’t had the chance to wear it.” 

“Well, we’re finally gonna put some miles on it,” Natasha smiles, her eyes cutting to Steve, who has clamped his jaw shut to prevent himself from saying more. “We all ready? Happy’s pulling the car around.” 

14 nods, a shy smile tilting her mouth as she spares a glance at Steve before moving to follow Nat down the hall. She turns, and he sees that the cut of her dress falls low against the small of her back - almost low enough to glimpse the sweet dimples at the base of her spine. When they’re out of the doorway, he feels Bucky’s eyes on him - he’s perched on the edge of the bed, chewing his lip, one eyebrow lifted in an all-knowing look. He opens his mouth to speak but Steve lifts a hand. 

“Don’t,” Steve cuts him off. “I know what you’re gonna say Buck, but just- don’t.”

Bucky lifts his hands in surrender, standing from the bed and walking over to where Steve still stands in the middle of his room. 

“Fine, I won’t say a damn word,” Bucky sighs, shuffling across the thick carpet. He slaps his friend on the shoulder, gripping Steve with a firm hand. “Except you better move your ass instead of standing there like a dud - didn’t I tell you not to keep a lady waiting, Rogers?” 

 **********                                                                                         

Sam had whistled playfully as she glided out of the elevator on Steve’s arm, his eyebrows lifting halfway up his forehead. 

“Damn, girl - almost didn’t recognize you without your apron,” he winked, his gap-toothed grin charming as ever. 

“Didn’t match my shoes,” she winked back, flicking her hair over her shoulder. It sent a wave of her perfume drifting upwards; something bright and sweet, neroli, he thought, or orange blossom - maybe a hint of coconut. He had licked his lips without thinking; he’d like to smell it again, just to be sure. 

Here, in this stuffy ballroom across town, with eager officials and bourgeois brats trying to rub elbows with Captain America, he finds the smell much less appealing. Sweat and ambition, excess and greed, all covered in layers of atelier cologne (eau de aristocratie) and - well, Bucky heard enough of his socialist soapbox speeches back in the day, and his views certainly haven’t changed much. 

Still, he makes polite small talk with his admirers, rubs elbows, accepts drinks, all the while keeping one eye on the far corner of the room. It’s quiet, secluded, an overstuffed chaise with a soft cover tucked away from the buzz of the main dance floor. She’s perched there, ankles coquettishly crossed, the side slit of her dress revealing one leg and her glittering open-toed shoes; she leans on one arm, tilting her head towards the target, charming smile drawing up her lips as she hangs on his every word. Or pretends to, anyway. The target seems not to know the difference: Robbie Sinclair, a middle-aged man with the tanned smile of a Kennedy, salt and pepper hair slicked back from his face with a boyish cowlick escaping near the front, grins confidently as he talks to her. Steve watches him preen and puff his chest, spreading his legs to take up far more space than he needs. He stretches one arm along the back of the couch, leaning closer than appropriate, but she doesn’t move away. 

He doesn’t like this, any of it. To be fair, he’d never been a big fan of the espionage facet of his job; much to Nat’s chagrin, subtlety and subterfuge were not Steve’s strong suits. If he had his way, they’d come in swinging and arrest this creep (and his insider-trading Wall Street buddies, too). But shooting from the hip wouldn’t work here, not when they still needed hard evidence on this guy, something more substantial than rumors - heavy as those rumors might be, words like “human trafficking” and “slavery” coming up in his SHIELD files. He understood the necessity, and so did 14. 

Still, bringing her here and dangling her like a worm on a hook, hoping this asshole would take the bait…his stomach churned, whiskey bubbling unpleasantly at the thought. Steve angles his body around a chatty senator, trying to maintain his view on the corner. Sinclair looks about ready to take a bite, his head bent close to 14’s, sly smirk plastered on his face as he whispers something in her ear. Did her fist tighten around her glass? He can’t quite tell from this distance; he knows his own fingers are white-knuckled on his third whiskey. Or was it the fourth? 

In a blink, a stumble, a minute trapped in choked small talk with Miss New York (during which he wondered if her real teeth were filed down like a shark’s underneath that crown-winning smile like Sam told him), he’s lost her. 

A snowy static of panic whites out his brain, and his heart picks up against his ribcage as he all but shoves the beauty queen out of his way, his vision tunneling on the now-empty chaise in the corner. Where did she go? Where would she go? Barely managing subtlety know, he ducks his head, speaking to the comm device in his ear. 

“Natasha. Do you have eyes on them?” 

“…no, I was doing a sweep of the terrace outside,” she answers a moment later. “Did you lose them?”

Steve turns a circle where he stands, sharp eyes scanning each face and failing to find the one he wants to see. 

“They’re gone, I’ve lost visual.” He tries to keep his voice down, his tone tight and clipped. Through a break in the crowd, he thinks he catches a glimpse of her dress, but when he looks again it’s the wrong color, the wrong dress, the wrong woman-

“Alright, I’m heading back inside - I’ll go up the stairs to the next floor, see if they went up that way.” 

“Okay, I’ll take this floor,” Steve says, already making a beeline for the open doors of the ballroom, his tight-laced dress shoes clicking a solitary echo in the cavernous hallway just outside. Past the doors, and the gazes of nosy party-goers, he doubles his pace - the stiff starched tux protesting against the movement. 

They’re not tucked into the alcoves along this hallway, and he deliberates a moment where the hall forks in opposite directions, before darting to the left and continuing his clipped jog. In a small part of his brain, he knows he shouldn’t be this concerned about her. 14 was an agent - a highly trained, highly skilled agent; he’d worked with her enough by now to know firsthand how well she could handle herself. But the other part of him couldn’t shake the way Sinclair had looked at her - the way every man in the room had looked at her when she walked in, circling and waiting for their chance to close in. Not to mention the less-than-sterling reputation of Robbie Sinclair, who, aside from the trafficking conspiracy that put SHIELD on his scent, had a handful of secretaries threaten him with harassment suits, before they were quietly paid to keep their mouths shut. 

He comes to a dead end, a dancing nymph statue (far too baroque for his taste) mocking him with her tambourine against her hip. Doubling back, he curses under his breath and runs through the building schematics in his head, wondering where they could have slipped away to so quickly. 

“Natasha? Any luck?” 

“Negative. You?”

“No.” Steve clenches his fists and tries to force his heart back down from where it’s climbed up into his throat. His teeth grind together, jaw locked tight, holding in a frustrated growl. Unprompted, a wave of worst-case scenarios floods his mind - 14 dragged away by thugs, knocked unconscious, bleeding and gagged, unable to call for help. She’s a good agent. A good soldier. She can handle this. Try as he might to force them away, the tide of panic swells over and over inside him, the voice of his intuition telling him something must have gone wrong-

Behind him, an elevator dings. 

Steve turns to see the ancient metalwork door rattle open, Agent 14 stumbling out half a moment later. 

He blinks. She’s lost her shoes - no, she’s carrying them, the straps dangling from one hand. The side slit of her dress looks higher, and he notices the frayed edges along the top where the fabric has ripped. Her lipstick is smudged, her hair mussed, and she takes labored, panting breaths as she leans against the wall. 

It takes him a while to understand what he’s looking at. As his panic starts to ebb, something different, something wounded and green threatens to perch in its place, at the sight of her so disheveled, with swollen lips and rumpled clothes. He says nothing; he has nothing to say, shocked as he is by the bitter taste of his own thoughts, wondering if a rendezvous with Sinclair was worth the information she might have gained. 

It’s not until she starts sniffling that he notices the tears running down her cheeks.

The realization stops him cold, strangles the dark seed of doubt just starting to sprout in his heart, and fills him with shame and guilt. He takes a step forward. She’s not looking at him. 

“…14? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice hushed. “Are you hurt?” There were no visible wounds that he could see, though she had limped a little when coming out of the elevator. 

She nods, sniffing again.

“I’m-I’m fine,” she says, her voice scraping in her throat, barely holding back a sob. Squeezing her eyes shut, she presses a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent tears. 

In two steps he’s at her side, though unsure of what to do, what would be appropriate, what she wants or needs. Were they…friends? Acquaintances? Colleagues? Do work friends hug, comfort each other? 

“Can you tell me what happened?” he ventures softly, still not touching her, not crowding. He holds back a few inches, waiting, his hands feeling empty and heavy at his sides. “Do you want to?”

She nods, but it takes a few moments before she has regained her composure enough to lower her hand from her mouth and take a few rattling breaths, preparing to speak. 

“He…h-he,” she stutters over a sob, like a child who’s cried too hard for too long. “He grabbed me and-and was kissing me, and then he tried,” she’s interrupted by a hiccup and a shaky sigh. “He tried to…to…” 

She raises her eyes to his, tears welling up again, and shakes her head. She can’t say it, won’t say it - it is too much. It will make it real. 

For his part, Steve barely restrains himself from blacking out with rage. His jaw is so tight he can feel his teeth nearly crack from the strain, fists curled but unsatisfied with not being wrapped around Sinclair’s neck. How dare he? How dare anyone? When he gets his hands on this goddamned son of a bitch, he’ll-

His vengeful train of thought is interrupted when she collapses against his chest with a sob, gripping the lapels of his jacket for support. On instinct he wraps his arms around her, caging her in, his chin resting on top of her head. 

“I’m sorry - I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he hushes her and holds her, wishing there was more he could do, more he could say. He holds himself back from other platitudes, from it’s okay, and everything’s alright - he knows it’s not true. 

She shakes and cries and rides out the storm in his arms, full of anger and fear and shame and helplessness; all the while, he stands silent and solid, murmuring soothing words his mother might have said - in another life, when someone held him, protected him. 

Neither of them knows how much time has passed when her sobs become less violent, when her breathing calms, but she doesn’t step away. Her head doesn’t move from its place on his chest, and he makes no sign of wanting it to. Gently, slowly, he rocks her in his embrace, one hand smoothing over her back. 

After a while, she speaks. 

“I’m so tired,” she whispers. From this angle, he can see her blink slowly, tear tracks drying on her cheeks. He nods.

“You’re coming down from the adrenaline - that’s normal,” he murmurs, letting her weight sag against him, wondering if he’ll need to carry her.

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not like that…that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?” 

She doesn’t answer, not right away; her breathing has settled into an easier rhythm, less frenzied and panting. Her fingers slide from their place at his chest to rest around his waist. 

“When I was in high school, there was this guy.” Her voice startles him when she finally speaks again, she’s been silent for so long. He makes a noise to let her know he’s listening before she goes on. “He was…I don’t know. Popular, I guess. Cute. Football player. Advanced classes. All the girls liked him.” She takes a shuddering breath before forging ahead. “And-and I guess he liked me because he couldn’t leave alone for a single fucking minute.

“God, it was constant. He’d grab my ass, or say dirty things about me to other guys…sometimes it wasn’t even sexual, it was like…he’d squeeze my waist or pinch the fat on the back of my arms and comment about my weight.” She sniffs, and Steve tightens his arms around her, not speaking. “One time, between classes, he grabbed me by the hips and bent me backwards over a desk - he wouldn’t let go, and he was just laughing…and no one said anything, none of the guys or my friends or anybody.” 

Steve frowns, feeling impotent and frustrated. “I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head again. 

“The worst thing is I just put up with it. I didn’t say anything…I didn’t think, I didn’t know-” she huffs a bitter laugh. “I guess I just thought it was flirting. Like I should’ve been flattered by it.” 

“You shouldn’t - you don’t have to take that,” Steve says, fighting to control his tone. “Not from anyone.” 

“I know that now,” she says. “But I was just a kid…nobody told me. Nobody helped me.”

He opens his mouth, tries to think of something to say, but she goes on.

“And nobody told me that it never gets better, it never changes.” He can feel how tightly her fists are clenched at his sides. “No one told me that this would be the rest of my fucking life. First it was him, and old men at the gas station where I got snacks after school, and truck loads of frat boys following me home. Jesus even the damn milk guy at the café calls me ’sexy’ and won’t leave me alone.” She sniffles again, voice tightening with anguish. “I’m tired, I’m so tired - I’m so fucking sick of all of it…of-of just being a thing, I’m tired of being looked at, and-” She tries to swallow back her sob, but it crests and stutters in her lungs, taking over her voice once again as she presses her face impossibly closer. 

It breaks his heart and stokes his rage, the helpless, hopeless weight of her bitter words. Here he is, over a century old, and still watching people fight the same battles; battles to be heard, to be seen, to be treated like humans. He’d seen it all his life, women like his mother, like Peggy, spines of steel and hearts made of diamonds, resisting a world that would grind them down and make them small. He wishes his shield were wider, stronger. He wishes he could protect them from this. 

“I can’t tell you it’s okay,” he murmurs. “Because it’s not. It’s not okay, I’m so sorry.” She squeezes his waist gratefully and nods her head a little. “But you…you don’t ever have to feel alone in this, okay?” He leans back a little, prompting her to lift her head, to meet her tear-bright eyes. “You’re not alone. I promise.” 

It’s not enough. It’s not over. But today, for now, it feels like something. 

 **********                                                                                             

Natasha pages Happy, who pulls the car around to the front of the building. She says nothing as 14 limps down the front steps, shoes in hand, one arm linked with Steve’s and wearing his jacket, the too-long sleeves covering her hands. Nat’s eyes slide up to his - their silent exchange lasts moments, microseconds; her lips pinch tightly and her elegant white fists curl tight. 

Happy holds the door, offering a hand as 14 drops inside, folding her legs and wrapping her torn skirt as tight as she can around the exposed length of her legs. Nat glances at the open door of the car and steps away, angling her back to the patient Happy. She juts her chin at Steve. 

“You need a hand, Rogers?” He knows the look in her eyes is mirrored in his own - the look of a boxer stepping in the ring, of a lion sighting prey, a shark scenting blood.

Steve shakes his head, a hand reaching up to loosen his tie. 

“No, it’s alright. You go on with 14.”

Happy peaks his head around. 

“You don’t want me to wait for you, Cap?” he frowns. “I can keep the car running.”

Steve glances over Nat’s shoulder at the town car, where 14 has curled up in the backseat, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. 

“Nah. I need to have a word with Mr. Sinclair.”

  **********                                                                                        

The arrest doesn’t make the front page. Or any page of the papers, in fact. Robbie Sinclair wakes in a hospital bed, in SHIELD custody, and ready to make deals with anyone who will bargain - provided his security detail keeps him well away from the Avengers and their Captain. 

When the file crosses his desk, courtesy of Natasha, he notices the long list of names Sinclair has provided them with - powerful men, Wall Street and Capitol Hill’s finest, who found their positions one dirty handshake at a time. It would take some time to build a case against them all, find sufficient evidence for arrests, but SHIELD was up for the task. There’s a note in the back of the file, a small article someone has attached with a paperclip. 

‘Executive’s Secretaries Speak Out’ reads the headline, with the subtext ‘Sinclair accused of sexual harassment, assault’. It appears a few women who had crossed his path were tired of being silenced; they had banded together, sharing pain and courage, to finally see him brought to justice. And combined with the charges SHIELD was bringing against him, it was unlikely he’d step foot outside of a prison for the next couple of decades. 

It’s a start. 

A few days later, Steve rises before the sun, a creature of habit. He takes his run alone, listening to a podcast that Sam had recommended. By 5:30, he’s stretching at the bench in front of the tower, before making his way down the street to the coffee shop. 

She does a double take when she sees him, surprise and (he hopes) excitement creeping up in her smile. There’s only a couple of baristas in the store at this time - they haven’t hit their peak yet - and she’s wiping down the bar in front of the espresso machines by herself. 

“Morning, Cap,” she smiles. There are tired little circles under her eyes. She looks beautiful. “You want your usual?” 

“Hmmm,” he pretends to think, narrowing his eyes at the menu. “Actually…how about you surprise me.” 

She raises her brows, a little impressed. “You sure? Anything goes?”

“Anything - I promise I’ll try it.” 

“Alright,” she smirks, mischievous and much too eager, and she turns away from the espresso machines to the blenders behind her. 

Milk, syrup, ice - other ingredients he can’t see or identify, all thrown into the pitcher and blended. She leans against the counter as the machine whirs loudly, a cheeky smile dimpling her cheeks. Just as the machine stops, the bell above the door chimes, both of them turning to look. 

A small, wiry, white-haired man backs his way into the store, pulling a dolly stacked high with milk crates. He looks around, making sure he’s not backing into anyone, and catches sight of her behind the counter. Steve doesn’t like the look of his smile, or the way 14 ducks back down to her blender, her shoulders inching upwards.  

“Morning, sweetheart,” the man says, a bit too loud, rattling the crates on his dolly as he wheels around tables, towards the back of house. 

“Morning,” 14 replies coolly, not looking up from where she’s carefully lining Steve’s cup with mocha sauce. She doesn’t say anything more, keeping her head down as she pours out the drink and reaches for a canister of whipped cream. Steve’s eyes cut between them, his hands in the pockets of his shorts. 

The milk man hustles back through the store with an empty dolly, on his way to collect the next load of crates, and 14 sighs a little when the bell chimes on his way out. She’s just turning around to hand Steve his drink, when she notices that the café is empty - he must have slipped out as well. 

“Hey, pal,” Steve claps a hand on the man’s shoulder, consciously withholding his full force. “I was wondering - you usually deliver the milk here?”

“Yeah,” the man huffs, a little confused, and in a hurry to unload his crates. He squints, the rising sun in his eyes. “Why?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to you for a second, that’s all,” Steve smiles. His hand doesn’t move from it’s place on the man’s shoulder. 

When he comes back inside, his towering, chocolate-swirled beverage is waiting at the end of the bar. 14 is waiting, too, arms crossed, one hip propped up against the counter. She tilts her head to one side. 

“Do I wanna know?” she asks. Steve shrugs. 

“Nothing to know,” he says, shuffling up to the bar to claim his drink and stare at it, incredulous and amused. “Now what on earth is this thing, a milkshake?” 

She rolls her eyes.

“It’s called a frappucino, old man,” she grins. “Drink up - you promised.”

[notfairestwriting]

babes wake up new ray lore dropped

1.2k words, continuing his first year adventures. a couple months after the first one, no content warnings

previously: pre-nrc and idia meeting

Water running over his hands until it isn’t, Ray’s gaze is driven to his reflection on the mirror.

With the restroom empty, it’s a bit easier to get lost into his own scrutiny. He wasn’t looking great today, was he? Exams season had done quite the number on his appearance -- Shade beginning to form on his undereyes, white locks of hair brushing past his chin, bangs covering a sliver of his eyepatch.

Well, he didn’t really mind his hair being longer. He stops the staring for a minute to dry his hands, then steps back into the previous position, leaning in closer to the mirror, turning his face slightly -- At this length, it did frame his features rather nicely, taking in this slight waviness he couldn’t quite see as well when it was cut short…

“I don’t really wanna cut it…” He mumbles without thinking, slowly twirling strands with his fingers, adjusting the way it was arranged around his face--

There’s a noise as the door opens, the clack of a heel, and he pulls away from his own reflection like he’d been burned, looking over at the direction of the sound.

“Huh. I thought the restroom would be empty at this time.”

...Ray’s blood runs cold, his posture tensing and shrinking at the same time. Was that-- Was he-- Heel clacks echo, the other boy making his way to the mirror by the side of the one Ray had been scrutinizing himself on, beginning to pull out makeup supplies out of his own bag.

Just like that, without a thought about the one sharing the space with him, without regard for any unspoken restroom laws that kept people from spending too much time fixing themselves up when others were around.

And as he should, because that wasn’t just anyone, it was Vil Schoenheit.

Ray stays frozen, dumbly standing on the same spot. He feels unmeasurably stupid for being surprised they’re sharing oxygen at all, having known since his very first day that Schoenheit was also a student in Night Raven, but he can’t help it. For maybe over an year, even, the man had been nothing but images on a screen to him.

Even as they were students at the same place, he’d never looked at him from this up close.

He leans forward towards the mirror, eyes narrowing at his own reflection -- Ray wonders if he should leave. He definitely had no place here now, even when he was the one who arrived first. There was one intruder in that restroom, and it was him.

“...I have pictures up for a reason, you know. You can stare at these.”

He yelps ungracefully. Schoenheit turns his gaze to him, and Ray’s blood freezes in place too. “I-I’m sorry! I’ll leave.” He stutters out, beginning to step away. Schoenheit’s expression, previously laced with some sort of annoyance, seems to soften slightly.

“No, actually… don’t worry about it.” He says in a sigh, and turns towards the mirror again, uncapping a tube of lipstick, a rosy, discreet color Ray was certain he’d seen in his Magicam page before-- “You were fixing up too, weren’t you? Don’t mind me.”

Only the smallest bit of tension drops from his muscles upon the words.

“I was about to leave.” He says, more of a mutter than anything else. “I wasn’t… I just noticed my hair was getting too long. Uh, sorry, you didn’t ask about that, so I’ll…”

Schoenheit turns towards him, an eyebrow raised.

“What’s wrong with your hair?” He asks without hesitation. “Why would you have it any shorter? It wouldn’t fit your face’s shape as well. If I were you, I’d grow it out.”

Ray blinks. A rush runs through him -- Something he can’t quite name. It feels sort of forbidden, having a conversation like this.

“...you think so?” He asks, fiddling with a lock. “I always hear that it looks unprofessional…”

“It depends on how you style it.” Schoenheit shrugs, and takes a long pause as he opens his mouth, sliding lipstick over -- Which Ray can’t tear his eyes away from, swallowing dryly. When he’s done, he places the cap back on, then back into the bag it went, before he turns to Ray once more. “In my opinion, it’s even less professional to walk around with a haircut that doesn’t fit your face. You wouldn’t look bad with short hair, but don’t you find that longer would look much better?”

Ray exchanges a look with his own reflection. Uncertain, analyzing the white tips barely brushing against his chin.

“I… I guess. I’d been thinking about growing it out.”

“A good choice.” Schoenheit says, taking a step towards him, reaching forward with a gloved hand -- Oh, dear Seven, was he about to touch him -- fingertips touch the locks by the sides of his face, he finds himself frozen again, watching Schoenheit give him a good look. “Something like a bob might fit you well. Your hair is just slightly wavy.”

“Y-Yeah.” He stutters. Schoenheit doesn’t look him in the eyes, not exactly. “Maybe I’ll try that.”

“I’d advise you to. It’s the only thing I really have to criticize about your look.” He says, stepping back, Ray finally releases his breath. “I don’t believe we’ve talked before, but you’re a first year, aren’t you? From the science club?”

“Uhuh.”

“Not much of a talker, I see. But I suppose that’s only natural for Ignihyde.” Schoenheit shrugs. “I’ve heard about you from Rook Hunt. We’re both in Pomefiore. I’m Vil Schoenheit, though maybe you’ve already heard about me.”

“Yes!” He blurts out, then shrinks once more at the sudden enthusiasm of his voice. “Um, it may seem odd of me, but I’ve been following you on Magicam since before I got in NRC. I saw you on a fashion magazine.”

Schoenheit’s eyes widen slightly, a hint of a smirk showing up on his lips. “You read these? Well, I suppose I should have expected you had this sort of interest. You had your clothes tailored, didn’t you?”

“I did them myself.” He murmurs, heart racing. Is something like this really happening? A conversation like this, with someone he’d admired from afar for so long? “I learned how to sew when I was young, s-so…”

Schoenheit hums, giving him another look, up and down. Ray feels like he could faint there, his face too warm.

“I’ll give credit where credit is due. This seems very well done.” He says with a nod, slight smile still on his face. “Refreshing to see someone that’s actually willing to put energy into their work in this school.”

“Yes.” He says, nodding a bit dizzily. “I agree with that.”

“Then we might get along just fine.” Schoenheit says, and steps back towards the mirror, looking at his reflection once more.

One last word, Ray gives him a brief nod of his head before he leaves the bathroom, heart beating out of his chest, thoughts spinning into a whirlwind.

...it’s only after he’s away that he notices he hadn’t given Schoenheit his name. Well, it’s not like they’d have the chance to speak again, really--

Ah, he feels a little different now?

[softbaby-tom]

needy - t.h. x reader

summary: “Oh fuck, hold on, were you listening to me singing in the shower?” warnings: tooth-rottingly sweet and sticky fluff word count: +2.5 k

A/N: so this is my first ever one shot / fic in general, so please bear with me. Very special thanks to @worldoftom for being an amazing friend and editor for me. I love you to pieces! —————————————–

It’s half six and you’re impatiently pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door, because you have to get ready for the dinner date with Tom’s family in two hours. Tom’s been hogging the bathroom for so long that it’s pretty much a case of “start now or you’ll be late” at this point - you just can’t wait any longer. 

So, you mutter to yourself “fuck it, I’m going in,” and sneak inside the bathroom while he’s still in the shower. The second you stick your head through the door, you’re instantly greeted with the smell of his shower gel and a wave of hot steam coming from the shower. After a few seconds of adjusting to the new environment, you make your way over to the sink-area to collect your makeup bag, along with all the loose items scattered across the counters next to the sink, where you usually do your makeup. Most of the time you’re in either too much of a hurry or simply too lazy to put all the products back into the bag, where they belong. So, you just leave them out to easily use them again the next morning without having the trouble of rummaging around to find them.

It’s safe to say that Tom is often annoyed with the situation of all those items flying around the bathroom counters, but he never really gives you shit about it, either. He just shoves them all to the side, whenever he needs the space or is looking for something in particular. Over the past few years, you’ve come to know he’s a slightly more organized person than you are and that he likes everything to be neat and in its right place. You, however, find it more practical to have them at arm’s length whenever you need them. 

In that moment, you realize that Tom didn’t notice you coming in, as you can hear him starting to sing. His sweet, velvet-like voice fills the hot, steamy air like a soft breeze at the beach on a hot summer day. You stand there in awe of his beautiful voice and close your eyes to drown out everything that could be distracting your senses and just enjoy the rare occasion of hearing him sing. He’s usually very self-conscious about his singing - even though you’ve told him multiple times that there really is not a single reason to be - so, with that in mind, you just know he’s completely unaware of your presence right now. You listen closer and start to recognize the song he’s singing. 

… And I can be needy

Way too damn needy

I can be needy

Tell me how good it feels to be needed … 

For a second there, you contemplate whether or not doing your makeup in the bathroom while Tom is showering is a good idea, but looking at the bathroom mirror completely fogged up, you soon decide to move the whole procedure to the living room. You look over your shoulder one last time to maybe catch a glimpse of his cute butt, but even the shower screens are fogged up to the point that it looks like they’re actually made of frosted glass. With a pout on your face and a chuckle under your breath, you turn on your heel and strut to the living room, your collected items shoved under your arms. 

That’s pretty much the best place to work on your makeup, mainly because it has the best light, due to the massive window front. Sitting down on the floor with your legs crossed, you set the small stand-up mirror that you carried from the bathroom along with everything else on the coffee table, then twist your hair into a messy bun on the top of your head to get it out of the way. You study your reflection to look for any particular unwanted spots you may need to cover up. The silence seems unbearable as you work, so you pull your phone out of the right pocket of your joggers and open your favorite playlist to keep it playing in the background.

To start off your daily makeup routine, you cleanse your face with a cotton pad and some toner, rubbing it across your face to get rid of anything that might have accumulated over night. Afterwards, you take out your eye cream and moisturizer to prep your face for the layers you’re about to put on. In that moment, you hear the bathroom door opening and Tom walking down the hallway towards you and the sound of your music. 

As he walks around the corner, you see him shaking his bum and swaying his hips to the beat of the song that fills the air, wearing only the jeans he is apparently intending on wearing for dinner and the towel he used to dry himself off, wrapped around his neck, both edges falling on his bare chest. You are once again thankful that your taste in music is similar to his, almost the same, even. You can’t imagine yourself being in a relationship with someone with a completely different taste in music, at least if they hated everything you ever put on. 

A big smile starts to spread across your face seeing him like this. Remembering his little singing performance in the shower, your mind comes up with a devious plan to tease him a bit.

Keeping as much of a straight face as possible, you turn on needy by Ariana Grande - the song he was singing in the shower earlier - to test his reaction. At first, he looks confused, as if he's taken aback by the sudden change in tempo, stopping his movements mid-dance. He stands there frozen for a second and you realize that he might not have known the song he was singing. He must have probably heard you sing it to yourself, absentmindedly, a few times. 

Collecting himself, he closes the small distance in between the two of you and sits down in the armchair across the coffee table. You feel his eyes on you as you proceed to put on your concealer.

“What did you just put on your face?” he asks completely out of the blue.

While buffing it in, you answer in a nonchalant tone, “It’s called concealer.” 

“And what is it for?”

“Darling, it’s literally in the name. It conceals everything that needs to be concealed. Imperfections like dark undereye circles and blemishes and all that.” In a cheeky tone, you add, “You see, your silly shenanigans last night are pretty much to blame for these dark circles in the first pl-”

“Wait, what is this song again?” he interrupts you, one hand raised with his index finger pointing up.

You look up from the mirror and flash him your brightest smile, raising one eyebrow in an attempt to look mischievous as you answer, “Why, do you like it?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I think so. It was stuck in my head the whole day, but I couldn’t remember where the fuck I heard...” Tom tilts his head and squints as if the pieces are falling together inside his head. “Oh fuck, hold on, were you listening to me singing in the shower?” he asks, his fist raised at the height of his shoulder, thumb pointing backwards.

To be fair, he should have been on to you the second you changed the song. Truth is, you're constantly trying to prank each other in some way or the other, always quick to call one another out on little things like that.

You can see a blush growing on his cheeks immediately. In a heartbeat, you get up from the floor and make your way over to the armchair he's sitting in. Cupping his face with both hands, you settle on his lap and look straight into his chocolate-like eyes.

“Listen, babe. I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you a million times again, if I have to. Don’t. Be. Embarrassed. About. Your. Singing. In front of me or anyone else. I love you, I love your voice and I love your singing. I love your snores, your grumbles in the morning when you’re still sleep-drunk and your mumbled monologues when you’re asleep. I could listen to all of it, all day and all night.” 

To emphasize what you just said, you press your lips onto his, for a little peck, and you can feel him relax into your touch instantly as he brings his hands around your waist to pull you closer and prolong the kiss a bit more. He never seems quite satisfied by a mere peck on the lips. Before the kiss gets too heated, though, you pull away quickly, leaving Tom with a serious pout on his mouth. He looks like a puppy who's been denied belly rubs or his favorite toy right now, which is endearing on the one hand, but extremely annoying how it gets to you almost every time. 

“Now, I really need to finish my makeup, otherwise we’re going to be late,” you say while attempting to get up from his lap, but he holds you by your hips and pulls you back down. 

“What the—” you want to ask, but he shuts you right up by capturing your lips with his, holding your face in between his hands. After a passionate kiss, he holds you close to his face, foreheads touching.

With a serious look in his eyes, he practically whispers, “I love you, too. More than you know and more than I’ll ever be able to verbalize.” Shrugging, Tom adds, “Just needed to say that.”

You feel your face heating up at his words, always so flattering despite being so simple, then you breathe out, “I’m glad you did. Good talk. If you would excuse me, now?” 

Tom raises his hands on either side of you in a surrendering movement, letting you finally get up from his lap so you can finish your makeup.

After asking a few more questions about the products you’re using, Tom stands up from the armchair and struts into your shared bedroom to put on the rest of his outfit for the evening. Just as he walks out, fully dressed and looking dashing as always, you finish your look by adding some setting spray. Don’t want to look cakey halfway through the evening.

“Okay, I think I’m good to go,” Tom huffs half-amusedly, eyes studying your whole face with a longing expression. “Wow. You look— wow.”

“I love how eloquent you can be, gorgeous.” You laugh, watching through the corner of your eye as he pouts at you in that almost-adult-like way of his. “Someone’s extremely needy today, hm?” you add, getting up from the floor and pulling him into you by a hand so you can place a flimsy kiss on his lips. “C’mon, let me put on some clothes so we can leave.”

*

When you come home later that night, you head straight for the bathroom to take care of your night routine. As much as you enjoy doing your makeup and the way it makes you feel more confident when you wear it, there is no better feeling than taking it off again at the end of the day.

You stand in front of the mirror, humming, taking it all off, feeling eyes in the back of your head. Looking over your shoulder through the mirror, you can see Tom standing by the door frame, already in his sweats, naked from the waist up, ready for bed, with the most doe-like eyes you’ve ever seen on him.

“What now?” you ask, grabbing the several makeup wipes and cotton pads you used to throw them in the bin beneath the sink. 

“Nothing,” he says shaking his head and grinning. “Figured I’d watch you doing that, too.  A full circle kind of thing, y’know?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say with a short huff. Next, you reach for your moisturizer and start applying it for the night. That’s actually your favorite part about the whole routine; feeling it sink into your skin, smelling the familiar scent because you’ve used the same one for so long that it always makes you sleepier, just from smelling it.  

Lifting a hand up to his chest as though he’s offended, Tom gapes at you in the mirror before he turns around to leave for the bedroom. “You know where to find me,” he says over his shoulder, almost bumping into the doorframe on his way out, causing you to snort out a small laugh. 

You finish off as quick as you can, shoving everything into the cabinet next to the mirror haphazardly so you can join him in bed while he’s still awake.

You find him lying on his side under the duvet, humming to himself a sweet melody you think you know from somewhere, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. So, you just slide under the covers yourself, snuggling up to him immediately. His arms come around your body by sheer instinct, too. There’s a long shared gaze into each other’s half-closed eyes, pinky fingers intertwined in between your heads, before Tom takes a breath in.

Before you know what’s happening, he starts singing.

I'm so in love with you

And I hope you know

Darling, your love is more than worth its weight in gold

We've come so far my dear

Look how we've grown

And I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old

Just say you won't let go

You’re pretty much in shock, unable to form any coherent thoughts, let alone to find any words adequate enough to tell him. Simply staring at him with wide eyes, feeling a subtle prickling in the corner, mouth agape at the massive vote of confidence he’s offering you right now, you listen to him in silence. He's rarely comfortable enough to sing in front of you, and the fact that he’s doing it right now sends a warm, tingling sensation to the pit of your stomach and tugs delicately at your heart. You’re still too stunned by his voice and everything he makes you feel that you cannot stop staring at him. Even if you were able to form a logical sentence, you wouldn’t trust your voice to be anything more than a croaky whisper. 

Just as Tom opens his eyes again to look at you, a single tear runs down your cheek, falling onto the pillow. You feel his thumb brushing a second tear away before it falls, the words seeping carefully through his melodic tone, and with a deep sigh, you realize what he's singing.

"That song," you say, and you were right; it's nothing more than a raspy murmur. "It played at the restaurant on our first date, didn't it?"

“It did, princess. And you still look just as beautiful as you did that night. You know, I can’t ever take my eyes off of you,” he mutters softly, his warm words hitting your face and reaching your heart. “You’re just stunning - with and without makeup. You don’t even have to try. I just hope I’ll have the chance to look at that beautiful face for the rest of my goddamned life.”

You feel more tears stinging in your eyes and a lump building up in your throat, but you fight against them to pull off a smile and breathe out, “Always and forever... Promise?”

“Promise.”

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

A/N: I’m so happy the teaser did considerably great and I hope you also like the whole thing. Feedback is appreciated and encouraged. Thank you so much for reading! i love you.

tagging some mutuals / friends and everyone who reblogged the teaser. Crossed out means I can’t tag you.

@worldoftom​, @stuckonspidey, @hollandraul, @snowflakeparker, @farfromhaz, @mrhollandisart, @tomhollandsblog, @woaholland, @foreverherth, @screamholland, @humbledutch, @starkissedholland, @starksparker​, @softspiderling, @tomhoe-lland​, @cherry-holland​, @thatweirdomimic, 

[heylabodega]

I love reading any and everything you write, so I will keep asking questions- unless you mind. What is your skin care routine like, face and body? Also, your nails always look perfect, but not like done (? if that makes sense?) and I am wondering how you take care of them. Wish you literally all the best!

Ok so obviously I will tell you all the details of my skincare routine because I’m my own favorite subject, but just so you know all skincare advice is fully bullshit. Every single “these are the exact products you need for each type of skin concern”? Crap. “These are the things this person does to make their skin good so you should buy what they buy”? Complete tosh. Each person has a different combination of things that will make their skin look and feel good and many many many expensive things will do absolutely nothing for anyone. So that said. 

I have actually a fairly low maintenance skincare routine because, and here I’ll tell you the truth most people leave out, I have pretty good genes and am fairly young and my skin is relatively clear, bright, and smooth. I also sweat a lot, both by accident and on purpose, and I swear to you that is the main ingredient to my good skin. Regular cardio and sleeping without the a/c in the summer gets rid of my acne scars and keeps me radiant. Also I always always always prefer over-moisturized to under. It feels better and being shiny is not a crime! So yeah morning is some kind of low-percentage acne fighting drugstore brand cleanser (I switch between benzoyl peroxide and salicylic acid in the not-particularly-founded-in-science belief that it will stop the bacteria from developing resistance to either) followed by a Kiehl’s basic moisturizer that has SPF in it, and some undereye concealer. Absolutely enormous myth: any product that says it will get rid of your dark circles. It won’t, much to my purple-bagged chagrin. I’m so sorry but save your money. I tap on some Burt’s Bees spot treatment if I do have any zits (after I pop them which you should not do but you, too, do).

Nighttime is gentle cleanser (I currently love this Icelandic ash one that my friend sent for my birthday it smells SO good) followed by a retinol--which helps with fine lines and does not help, though I continue to hope against audacious hope, with the size of my pores on my nose which is the last thing left that I’m truly self conscious about let me have this it’s my weird little flaw I’m obsessed with. Anyways no topical products “shrink” your “pores” that is also a myth. And then the First Aid Beauty moisturizer slathered all over and then it’s lights out for a solid 7-10 hours of stress dreams and teeth grinding.

Oh also in the morning I’ve started applying my moisturizer in an amateur facial massage because I saw it on TikTok. I’m 30. 

The nails are genes and a Biotin supplement.

Also you didn’t ask and this is not about you, but I was thinking today about how a few women I know have talked to me lately very matter-of-factly about how men like improve with age and women don’t (appearance-wise) and I’m so mad? Like WE did that. WE decide it. It’s not biology (that’s another bullshit thing i SHAN’T get into here). WE made it up!! We can decide women ALSO are attractive in their age! In fact, they are! This is not a foregone conclusion! We built it and we can tear it down. Anyways. Keep Vaseline around for dryness emergencies. Good night, thank you for asking.