#like. do you know who the character is? do you know who owns the character? do you understand the context they're from?
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doodled your little guys!!! I have so many thoughts about them. As someone who lives in Italy it has been absolutely wonderful seeing your characters express the country's culture and history!!! It's not often that I see characters be based off Italian history in such an artistic manner.. But that might be me living under a rock, LOL. Anyhow, keep doing what you do, YOU ROCK!!!!
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#aaa you're too sweet! ;_;#and the art!!#I don't know what you did but I love the way they look in your style#they seem so expressive and alive and your linework has such wonderful almost animated fluidity to it#that swooping line from the tip of Machete's ear to his cheek fluff? such a shape#their faces are priceless#Vasco's little blep and Machete's blush and squiggly mouth#thank you so much! you've warmed my heart#gift art#limelemonchi#Vasco#Machete#own characters#it genuinely means a lot to me when someone from Italy says they like my dogs#I'm Finnish so I'm never going to have the insider experience and the full picture of someone who lives there#and sometimes it really worries me like what if I get things wrong and I'm not only embarrassing myself#but also disappointing people who thought I do my research well#but I'm doing my best and I always welcome feedback and tips to make the setting more believable if you want to give them#whether it's the original canon or the modern au#I mean it when I say the history and culture of Italy are extraordinarily rich and interesting#I've been reading about them long before these two came to be#it's a meeting spot for many of my special interests some of which I've had since I was a preschooler
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A final letter

Hello Everyone!
The queue is paused and everything is scheduled, which means we are ready for the finale!
I know that, in the end, this was just a silly side project for me, with everything else going on in my life. But for this occasion, I wanted to drop some words here and hope they make sense.
I started watching LMK only because a friend told me there was a "Sonadow-coded" ship. I ended up consuming the entire thing in one sitting on July 10th, 2024. At the time, I was still recovering from a bike accident that had left me with a broken right forearmâunable to draw for a little over a month. (I did try drawing with my left finger, but it wasn't exactly fun.)
Not only that, but it was summer, and I couldnât enjoy the season or practice my main sport, windsurfing. To say I was feeling the blues is an understatement. I remember being in physical pain just from not being able to draw my sillies. But then, watching LMK did something to my brain chemistry that my little undiagnosed autistic self had never experienced before. It hit so hard that Iâve been physically unable to rewatch the show SINCE that very first day. (And yâall still call me the CEO of this fandom. Bro, I just work here.)
A lot of you have asked what inspired me to start this comic or to draw LMK fan art in the first place. While my usual answer is, "I saw Shadowpeach and thought MK could be their lovechild, given his appearance," the moment that actually started it all was THIS ONEâ
(I HAD TO REWATCH THIS SCENE TO MAKE THE GIF AND IT HURT ME ON A MOLECOLAR LEVEL)
I have⊠a thing for characters who discover their entire identity was something else all along. It consumes my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. I live for identity crises, for characters who thought they knew who they were, only to be forced to rediscover themselves, their existence, and their place in the world. If you give me a story where a character has to go through that, I will like itâregardless of how bad the rest of the story is.
Pair that with loads of trauma, daddy issues, the pressure of a legacy, and world-ending stakes, and congrats! Now Iâm obsessed, and I will not stop thinking about it for the rest of my days!
At first, my brain just wanted to release some of that energy with a small, four-panel post about the monkeys discovering that MK was technically their kid.
That was supposed to be it.
But since I never seem to learn my lesson, it didnât stay like that. Because once I started drawing, I just... continued.
And
I
never
stopped.
A lot of you have also asked how I found the motivation to draw so much, to never take a break. Well, Iâve said it before, and Iâll say it one last time: I am my number one fan. No matter how much you laughed, cried, screamed, or went feral over this story, I did all of that and more. Because I got to think about the chapters months before they released. I got to daydream about them. I got to watch them come to lifeâfirst through sketches, then line art, then dialogue. And finally, I got to witness your reactions and see the incredible creations you made, inspired by my story.
So yeah, in a way, it was almost an addiction. A good addiction. Because, for the first time in my life, I actually understood what loving art means.
Iâve been drawing for ten years, working professionally for five, but I never loved art before. I just liked it because I happened to be good at it. But creating this comic made me understand why artists say, "Oh, Iâve loved drawing since I was a child!" This was the first time I allowed myself to create purely for my own enjoyment. Something I hadnât had the privilege to do for a long time.
Other than making me feel even more single than I already was, this story somehow also helped me a little with my own family relationships. So yeah. Crazy how the gay monkeys changed my life.
Of course, I never could have predicted how much traction my AU would gain. Man, yâall were really starving to latch onto something this silly. /j
But yeahâthank you. Thank you for sticking around until the end, for having the patience and trust to follow the story even when I made you rage with angst and cliffhangers. (The statement in my bio still stands: I am not responsible for any physical or emotional damage my art has caused.)
Iâm absolutely shit at thanking people, or at writing, or at talking in general, honestly. Iâm the furthest thing from being good with words, so I hope the final chapter will be enough to show you my gratitude.
Through this story, I met so many wonderful, talented people. I watched as fans across different platforms found each other through memes and fanart of the AU. I saw artists start their own AUs inspired by mine, growing their own communities. I witnessed an explosion of creativity and collaboration through our takeovers. And I laughed along with you all.
And yeahâat its core, this story has always been about love. Whether itâs platonic, sibling, parental, romantic, or whatever the hell Mac and Wukong had going on for millennia.
At its heart, itâs a story about family.
And maybe, in the end⊠the real family wasnât just the one in the comic, but the one weâve found together along the way. đ
See you all at the finale.
Love you all, freaks /affectionate
Jade
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a soon-to-be-husband's plan for successful marriage! w.c. ~900
requested by: @kimura-uzuri lots of kisses as per the request, suggestive, all of them are idiots in love and mega pathetic (just how we like 'em amirite) added some extra characters & stretched the prompt, but the core remains the same - hopefully you don't mind :)) (!! written before playing 3.1! only seen some bits and pieces)
anaxagoras's "all according to calculation" love letter!
to my dearest, if you were to reject me, i think i'd cry with my one eye since our fateful encounter, i've found myself... happy agitated, with these bothersome feelings aglaea said it was "love". hah. what does she know?, aroused by, simply, your presence in my orbit. it nags endlessly, claws at my throat when i breathe, these insignicant matters should afford me no pleasure... yet, the heart is no longer a master of itself, desperately wrestling from your grip, but inevitably chained to your smile that is interwoven with my memories. i also cannot forget how you suplexed me after our first kiss my lips spring and curve at an accord of their own when you spare as little as a glance at me. to who else can be ascribed such a feat? congratulations i guess a scholar's instinct is to question in the face of adversity. and questions must be accompanied by answers. as i write this to you, i have finally sumrised the truth. why i feel what i do, i must acknowledge it now... i adore you. i am eternally yours-- i must spend my life with you. ... *unintelligible scribbling*
anaxagoras looks up from his page, staring at you. "did that work?"
work? it didn't even try. "what? what are you- why did you read me a whole love letter? i didn't even know you had it in your bones to write sappy romance."
anaxagoras's eye twitches. he took that to heart. his formula for the perfect proposal is breaking, time to move onto plan b.
you throw your hands on your hips. "what's with you?" kiss. "you just came home after-" kiss. "-being away for so long." kiss. "is something wrong with your head?" kiss. "stop that! it won't distract me from your failure of a proposal."
"tch." anaxa clicks his tongue, slumping defeatedly like a child who got caught red-handed. so much for his perfect plan. well, when all else fails, there's only one final strategy: "well? are we getting engaged?"
you sigh. "you could've said that in the first place..." kiss. "..."
little did you know, that was a display of anaxagoras's restraint. the power of a scholar comes from more than their words, you learned the hard way, sore in bed the next day.
phainon's "super special, totally epic °Ëâ§â(â°âżâ°)ââ§Ë°" checklist!
1. i miss my partner so much... (ÂŽ-Ï-`) must return to okhema 2. buy a ring (maybe ask aglaea?) (ugh, i can't let mydei know or he'll tease me) 3. ??? 4. become husband!!! (âÏâ)
step 1. miss my partner... check. duh. â(âïœ` )â return to okhema? check.
step 2. buy a ring. check. aglaea, with a stifled chuckle, gladly helped the clueless phainon pick out a ring perfect for you. after all, someone who pairs an orange shirt with purple pants could hardly be trusted with picking out an engagement ring. successfully avoided mydei's keen eyes.
step 3. ???
phainon stares at you. "???"
"???" you stare back.
"???????????" phainon took the third step too literally. what is this doofus doing?
realising that his plan is falling apart, phainon panics. "c-c-c-c-can i k-kiss you?" his lips unconsciously push together, pouting, as if practicing his kissing on your ghost.
you frown. "why are you asking like it's our first time doing it?"
"oh, right..."
you playfully roll your eyes. "come here, you."
phainon skips over, brightened, lowering his head for you. you press kisses on them. then, ten more for good measure, because, well, phainon and kisses just go well together, clicking like a puzzle.
"haha, that was nice." phainon's cheeks were red as tomatoes, pressing his hands on them like a youthful maiden in love. then, he latches onto your arm, intertwining. "let's settle down soon. i'm so tired of fighting bad guys all day," he mumbles.
"settle down? like family?" you ask.
"whatever you desire: children, dogs, cats, potted plants. i'm okay with anything you want, as long as you want it," phainon beams. "i just want to start a new life with you!"
beneath all the sweet words, phainon feels that he forgot something integral... something something... become husband... well, whatever. as long as you're happy, phainon can't think of much else when you're calling out his name at night. ( âŸÌ ⥠âŸÌ ) the neighbours are tired bro...
(days later, you found the engagement ring left in his pocket before taking his clothes for laundry)
mydei's "conquer and overcome all adversities" (is he still talking about proposing?) goal!
1. propose
mydei holds out his hand. "let us form a legal, committal union under a contract."
your jaw drops. mydei had just returned home and these were his first words after being apart for so long? "s-sorry?"
mydei huffs. "you know what i mean."
"you mean a marri-"
COUGH COUGH.
...?
you scrunch your eyebrows. "you want to marr-"
COUGH COUGH.
... mydei is blushing, eyes glossy. how could one word have such an effect? scratch that, how has he made it this far into the relationship? romance was certainly not in the kremnoan dictionary.
you take a deep breath. "mydei, you can just say the word."
"the word."
you sigh. this was too slow. "fine. i agree."
"agree?" mydei looks at you expectantly.
"to establish a legal contract that binds us together."
"oh," mydei smiles. "well, let us make haste." he swings you over his shoulder easily, as if carrying feathers. now, it's going too fast - he really can't set a pace.
"hey! what the-" by the time you realised, you were already at an altar, face-to-face with your husband-to-be. never in your life have you witnessed your body being covered in so many marks the night after the wedding, and your lips were definitely bruised.
you sternly warned mydei, and what is repressed comes back stronger, as he hugged you 24/7, stealing your waist instead of lips. a kremnoan warrior always stays conquering, even when proving his eternal love for you.
a/n: i just found out there are anaxa chibis but its too late im afraid. pea head anaxa for life who's with me also here's some behind the scenes! originally i wrote this for phainon's step 3:
phainon gets on his knees and- oh, oh my god- "PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-"
"phainon???" his name barely leaves your mouth as a breath, for you can hardly construct words, let alone a sentence.
LMAOOO it was way too much. anw ty again! i had fun writing it! sorry this was kinda short, i wrote this up as quick as i could. but if you'd like me to re-make the request bc it was too silly, lemme know xx
#i love pathetic men#tickles me brain im jus so simple#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#phainon x reader#mydei x reader#anaxa x reader#anaxagoras x reader
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in the lion's keep
WARNING/S: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Yandere. Noncon. Dubcon. Power Imbalance. Forced Pregnancy. Captivity. Manipulation. Psychological and Physical Control. Violence. Emotional Distress. Character/s: King Callixto x Servant!Reader Note/s: A commission for @violetvase. I hope you enjoy this one!
From this series: Silent Servitude
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Your mother has always been your biggest supporter.
She never once stifled your dreams, no matter how small or ambitious they were. When you insisted on selling flowers in the town square on behalf of the old florist to earn your own keep, she worried, but she did not stop you. Your parents feared for your safety, but your older siblings watched over you, making sure no harm would come your way.
It lasted for monthsâuntil children your age began disappearing, vanishing one after another without a trace.
Your siblings stopped letting you leave the house after that. The warm sun, the scent of fresh bread in the marketplace, the laughter of the townsfolkâit all became distant, mere memories behind locked doors. You were forced to watch the world from behind wooden shutters, longing for the life you had barely begun to taste.
Years passed before they finally deemed it safe enough for you to step outside again. And when you did, you threw yourself into rebuilding.
With what little savings you had, you opened a food stall in the marketplace, selling treats that made both children and adults smile. Your business thrived. Customers returned with praises, telling you how much they enjoyed your cooking. It gave you a sense of purpose, a taste of the independence you had long craved.
Then, one night, your stall was stolen
Not just stolenâdestroyed. Burned to ashes near the town's tavern.
No one saw anything. No one heard anything. No one even smelled the smoke.
The loss devastated you, snuffing out the fragile hope you had so desperately clung to. When you fell deeper into despair, your mother was the one who lifted you back up. She taught you the skills she had learned from years of working in the palaceâhow to clean, how to serve, how to navigate the world of nobility without drawing attention to yourself. You listened. You learned. And when she deemed you ready, you followed in her footsteps.
You had thought you were stepping toward a new beginning.
Instead, you walked straight into a gilded cage.
A warm calloused hand rubs slow circles over your bare stomach. Your body is sore, ruined, yet the touch is deceptively gentleâreverent even.
Callixto.
The King.
The man who had stolen you, body and soul, and refused to let go.
His breath is hot against your neck as he presses his lips there, inhaling you like a man intoxicated. He traces his fingers up your stomach, over your ribs, cupping your breast with possessive ease. You squeeze your eyes shut, bile rising in your throat as last night's memories resurfaceâthe way he held you down, the way he filled you over and over until you were too weak to fight him.
âYou're perfect,â he murmurs, rolling his hips against your back. âYou'll be a wonderful mother to our children. The mother of my heirs⊠My queen.â
No.
Your breath shudders as you push weakly at his arm, but you might as well be trying to move stone. Your body betrays youâlimp exhausted, drained of all strength.
How long has it been?
Days? Weeks?
You can't tell. The chamber windows are tinted, making it impossible to see the sun or the moon. And Callixto⊠Callixto never leaves your side for long. He lingers, watching you, touching you, whispering sweet, poisonous words into your ear.
The chambermaid is no help, either.
She either glares at you with thinly veiled disdain or ignores you completely, doing only what is required of her. You don't know why she hates you, but it doesn't matter. She's your warden all the same.
There's no one here for you. No mother, no siblings. No bustling marketplace or warm, flickering hearth waiting for you at home.
There's only this prison.
And him.
âYour Majesty,â the chambermaid's voice cuts through the heavy silence. âLord Soleil awaits you at the gates.â
Callixto tenses, as if irritated by the reminder that the outside world still exists beyond these walls. His fingers dig into your hip as he thrusts forward once more, a sharp, punishing movement that sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you.
He finishes deep inside you, groaning against your skin. For a moment, he stays there, reveling in the feeling. Then, with agonizing care, he pulls outâonly to press his fingers back inside, pushing his seed deeper.
A shiver wracks your body.
âI suppose I've stolen enough time for myself,â he murmurs, brushing damp hair away from your face.
You force yourself not to flinch.
Callixto cups your chin, tilting your face towards his. His golden eyes burn with something twisted, something sickeningly sweet. Then, he kisses you. A deep, lingering kiss that suffocates you more than any chain ever could.
âStay here and be good,â he orders, his lips still brushing yours. âLet the chambermaid take care of you until I return.â
As if you have a choice.
As if you ever had a choice.
And when the doors finally close behind him, your body sags into the mattress, silent tears slipping down your cheeks.Â
Not just for yourself.
But for the family you may never see again.
For the freedom that may never return.
And for the life that is no longer your own.
The towering walls of the chateau couldn't keep the rumors from reaching you. They were the only thing that kept you sane while you waited for him to return.
You heard whispers about a grand ball the Prime Minister held a few nights ago. It should've been a night of celebration, but instead, it ended in scandal. His wife, a noble woman and the daughter of a count, was caught in bed with a mere footmanânothing more than a commoner.
Lord Soleil, the Prime Minister, himself had walked in on them. The punishment was swift.
The footman was cast out with nothing, and the Prime Minister cut all ties with his wife and her family, erasing them from his life as if they had never existed.
A cruel fate.Â
And yet you wonderedâŠ
Was it any crueler than yours?
âPerhaps this is why Lord Soleil was so determined to keep His Majesty away from the chateauâaway from me. Not just to protect the royal bloodline, but to stop him from making the same mistake his wife did.â You sighed, your breath barely disturbing the still air.
âI can't even blame him. If I were in his position, I wouldn't want a common-born woman anywhere near the throne either. And yet, here I amâtrapped in these gilded walls, reduced to nothing more than a vessel, waiting for the day my body finally serves its purpose.â
You leaned against the cool stone wall near the tinted windows, listening to the little birds outside as they carried rumors flitting between the flower beds. Their chatter was a fleeting distraction, a fragile moment of stolen peaceâuntil it was shattered by the sound of heavy boots echoing through the halls.
The doors flew open, and there he stood. The King. Furious.
He called out your nameâsharp, urgent, unrelentingâhis voice slicing through the chateau hollow corridors like a blade. You didn't move. You barely even breathed. Instead, you pressed yourself against the cold stone wall, your fingers curling into your dress as his footsteps thundered across the marble floors.
He ran upstairs, frantic, taking the steps two at a time. He hadn't even noticed you standing near the windows, so close yet unseen. But you knew it wouldn't last. He always found you in the end.
Outside, the world had fallen eerily silent. The chattering birds had already fled the vicinity, as if sensing the storm brewing within these wallsâtaking their half-spun whispers with them. The rumor of the king's impending nuptials to a high-ranking noble still lingered in the air, unspoken yet suffocating.
And soon, he would come back down. And this time, he would see you.
Your name tore from his lips againâa furious, desperate plea. Before you could react, his hands found you, his grip ironclad around your arms.
âWhere have you been?â His voice was raw, unsteady. His fingers dug in. âDidn't you hear me calling for you?â
âY-Your MajestyâŠâ
He shook his head. âNoâmy name.â
Bloodshot, unfocused eyes bore into you. Something was wrong. His gaze sent a slow, creeping dread up your spine.
âSay it.â
âC-CallixtoâŠâ
A slow nod. Then, his arms crushed you against him. âYou're mine,â he murmured against your hair, his breath searing against your skin. âForever mine. And I will be forever yours.â
The walls seemed to shrink around you.
âCallixto⊠Your Majesty⊠I can't breatheââ you rasped, struggling against his suffocating embrace.Â
He didn't let go.
âPleaseâŠâ
A beat of silence. Then, at last, he loosened his gripâbut only slightly.
âApologies, my queen,â he murmured, lifting your trembling hand to his lips.
Your pulse pounded in your ears. You had to calm him. You had to survive this.
You recalled your mother's old waysâhow she soothed your father's anger, how she tamed your brothersâ tempers. Slowly, carefully, you reached for his cheek, brushing your fingers against his skin.
âTell me your worriesâŠâ
âThe royal court has been trying to push this woman onto me for as long as I can rememberâsomething about securing the heir to the throneâs bloodline. The nerve of those fools,â he muttered, absently running his fingers through your hair as you lay atop him.
âIf I wanted to, I could trace your family's lineageâalter it if necessaryâ and keep them out of our way.â
Listening to his monologue as you drift in and out of consciousness feels more exhausting than it should. You know you should try to persuade him to accept the will of his people, to yield to their demandsâbut deep down, you wonder if it would be easier if someone else had his full attention instead. If only he'd let you go.
âPerhaps we should secure an heir to the throne first⊠then we can look into your lineageâŠâ he whispered, thrusting into you once more. His seed spilled from you as his movements grew more intense with every passing second.
Since then, it had become his ritual to fill you to the brim, keeping you in placeâstuffed, trembling, and utterly hisâ until he was satisfied. Only then would he leave to rule his kingdom, but never without ensuring you remained exactly as he left you, his claim unmistakable. He controlled everythingâthe meals you ate, the tonics you drankâall carefully chosen to prepare your body for the sole purpose of carrying his heir.
You were his, and soon, you would bear proof of it.
It didn't take long for the signs to show.
The nausea. The exhaustion. The unbearable weight in your lower belly that told you something had taken root inside you.
And yet, luck has not abandoned you entirely.
Your chambermaidâa woman whose disdain for you was only rivaled by her loyalty to the royal courtâhad noticed. She must have. But instead of betraying your condition, she pressed a cold cloth to your forehead and muttered, âA commonerâs flu. Nothing more.â
A lie. A calculated one.
The King believed her.
But belief was fragile in a mind like his. It splintered easily.
His golden eyes flicked between the chambermaid and the royal physician, narrowed and gleaming, hungry for an answer that neither of them dared to give.
âHer color is pale,â Callixto murmured, pacing your chambers. His fingers twitchedâfidgeting, trembling, curling into claws before stretching straight again. âShe barely eats, barely moves. And yet you say it is nothing?â
The physician bowed his head. âIt is a seasonal illness, Your Majesty. A touch of fever, some exhaustionânothing that cannot be cured with rest.â
Callixto laughedâa dry, humorless sound. His nails dug into his palms, leaving little crescent moons of pain.
âRest,â he echoed. His voice was a whisper of rage, of something darker crawling beneath his skin. âYou think I have not noticed? She wilts before my very eyes, and you tell me to wait?â
The chambermaid stepped forward then, expression schooled into reluctant sympathy. âYour Majesty, she is weak. He kind does not fare well in the colder months. It is not surprising.â
Callixto stilled. His breathing slowed, deliberate, controlledâbut his eyes never left her face.
âWeak?â The word came soft, almost thoughtful. âIs that what you believed?â
The chambermaid hesitated.
Something in the air shifted.
A warning.
Callixto's lips twitchedânot in a smile, no. In something sharper. Something that showed his teeth.
âFine,â he murmured. âIf she must rest, then she will do so under your watchful eye. I want no one else near her.â
âAs you wish, Your Majesty.â
But as the King turned away, the chambermaid gaze flicked downâher fingers twitching at the pouch hidden beneath her apron. The weight of the promised coin.
The chateau felt emptier than ever one evening. The halls echoed with the distant clatter of preparations from the palaceâthe banquet, the foreign dignitaries, the noble guests.
A distraction.
And when the chambermaid entered your chambers, her usual sneer was absent. Instead, she carried a bundle of clothing.
âYou need to leave tonight.â
Your stomach twisted. âWhy?â
âBecause I tire of wiping your sweat.â She threw the bundle onto your bed. âBecause I want you gone.â
You swallowed hard. âAnd that's all?â
The chambermaid exhaled sharply. Something in her postureâsomething tired and wornâhinted at an answer she would never give.
âThe palace gates will be open for the banquet. No one will be watching the chateau. Take the back corridors, follow the outer gardens. You are not important enough to be noticed.â
âWhat do you gain from this?â
A smirk tugged at her lips. âWhat I was promised.â
You should've asked by whom. But you didn't.
The scream shattered the night.
âWHERE IS SHE?â
The chambermaid barely had time to compose herself before the doors to your chambers slammed open, cracking wood against stone.
Callixto stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. His pupils had swallowed the gold of his irises, leaving only thin rings of amber around black pits. His fingers curled at his sides, nails digging into his own skin, but he did not seem to notice the blood welling beneath them.
His gaze snapped to the bed. Empty.
Something inside him snapped with it.
âWhere is she?â he repeated, stepping forward, his voice no longer a demand but a plea.
The chambermaid bowed, but her voice was steady. âResting, Your Majesty. The fever worsenedââ
âLiar.â
The word cut through the room like a blade. The chambermaid flinched.
Callixto's hands trembled. âShe would not leave her bed unless someone forced her to,â he whispered. His tongue darted out, wetting his dry lips. âUnless someone⊠took her from me.â
He turned, suddenlyâtoo suddenlyâand grabbed the chambermaidâs wrist.
âYou would not betray me, would you?â
The chambermaid swallowed.
âOf course not, Your Majesty.â
His grip tightened. Bones creaked.
âNo, of course not,â he echoed, smiling nowâserpentine, sharp. His head tilted. âBecause if you hadâŠâ he leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. âI would tear this palace apart. Brick by brick. And when I found herâoh, when I found herââ
He released her.
âFind her,â he murmured. âOr I will find you instead.â
The chambermaid bowed, stepping backward toward the door. âAs you command.â
But she didn't turn fast enough to see his lips curl into something⊠inhuman.
He turned back to the empty bed, trailing a hand over the sheets as if he could still feel you there. His fingers ghosted over where your head had once rested, then curled into the pillow, dragging it close. He inhaledâdeeply, desperatelyâlike a starving man before a feast.
His eyes fluttered shut.
âOh, my love,â he whispered to no one. âYou can run, but you cannot hide.â
The night air was cripâfreezing against your cheeks, but blissfully free.
You ran. Through the outer gardens, past the dim lanterns, past the drunken guards too enamored with wine and revelry to notice a shadow slipping past them.
You ran until the scent of the palace faded into the trees.Â
Home. You had to go home.
But when you reached the village outskirts, you stopped.
Guards. Stationed outside your family's home.
You shrank into the shadows, heart hammering against your ribs. From where you hid, you could see the single candle in the windowâdim, unmoving.
Not flickering.
Not alive.
A silent warning: Do not return.
Tears burned your eyes, but you forced yourself to turn away.
Not toward another village. Not toward a stranger's mercy.
But deeper into the forest.
Through the twisting paths only you knew, past the moss-covered stones and the brook where you once dipped your toes in summer. Past the memories. Past the ghosts.
And there, hidden beneath the tangle of overgrown branches, the shack still stood.
You and your siblings built it onceâwhen you were small, when the world was gentler. A childish hideaway, pieced together from stolen nails and planks too weathered to be missed. A place of whispered secrets and stolen sweets, of giggling beneath a roof that bare kept the rain out.
It was nothing.
But it was enough.
You pushed the warped door open and stepped inside, the scent of damp wood wrapping around you like an old embrace. The cold bit at your skin, but you knew how to survive here. You always had.
With shaking hands, you pressed your back against the wall and slid to the floor.
Outside, the trees whispered.
Somewhere beyond them, the King was hunting.
But you would not be an easy prey.
Not here. Not yet.
â
tbc.
noirscript © 2025
All rights reserved.
#yandere x reader#yandere king x servant#yandere king x f!reader#yandere#yandere oc#yandere blog#yandere male#male yandere#yandere fic#yandere fic commission#yancore#yandere imagines#tw.noncon#tw.dubcon#tw.breeding#tw.forced pregnancy#tw.captivity#yandere escape#yandere escape attempt#yandere commissions#yandere commission#yandere king#yandere royal#yandere royalty#tw.manipulation#tw.violence
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Hello! iâve had this thought about lewis hamiltonâs daughter having a massive crush on Charles and being super embarrassing about it and the internet thinks lewis is gonna try and off CL but instead he ends up setting them up!
Would be like crack fluff
I absolutely adore all of your work and hope you are doing well. Thank You! <3
BUT DADDY, I LOVE HIM!



type social media au
pairing charles leclerc x hamilton!reader
summary as requested!
face claim bailey bass
warnings fluff. reader is of age. no mention of her mom. reader acted once in the barbie movie playing ariana greenblatt's character
author's note this is so fucking cute anon i love this so much đđ thank you for sending it in!!
english is not my first language. all pictures taken from instagram, pinterest and twitter. credit to owners.
masterlist | request info | requests are OPEN!
ynhamilton just made a post!









liked by lewishamilton, flavy.barla and 56,836 others.
ynln a random appreciation post because it just hits me how lucky i am to be able to live this life! đđ
view all 7,627 comments
user1 SHE WAS IN THE BARBIE MOVIE????
user2 user1 lol i had the exact opposite reaction. like holy shit the girl who plays america ferrera's daughter is related to lewis hamilton? đđ
user3 we love a self aware nepo baby
user4 you are the coolest girl on this planet
ynhamilton user4 đ„čđ„č
user5 the dior bag convo.... god i wish i was her
user6 is your dad single?
ynhamilton user6 not this again đđ
user7 i wish lewis hamilton was my daddy but not in ways you'd think
ynhamilton user7 haven't heard of this one yet. 3 stars for effort đđŒ
user8 pls tell your dad i turned 18 next month
ynhamilton user8 GIRL đđ
user9 2 pics of charles and only one of her own dad đđ
user10 user9 someone's got a crush đ
user11 user9 surprised there are only two tbh considering how much she hung out at ferrari's garage last year
ynhamilton user11 gotta familiarize myself with daddy's new workplace!
user12 ynhamilton girl be SO ffr rn we all know you're there to see charles đđ
messages!
twitter!


f1gossipofficial just made a post!


liked by user1, user2 and 4,728 others
f1gossipofficial charles leclerc and lewis hamilton spotted having lunch together in monaco today! not pictured but was also present is hamilton's daughter, y/n.
view all 311 comments
user1 pre-season lunch?
user2 i bet it's got nothing to do with f1 since y/n is also there
user3 user2 yeah considering her tweet.... i don't think so đđ
user4 oh my god lewis is giving charles THE talk
user5 user4 "so what's your intention with my daughter?" lol
user6 user5 guys we don't even know if charles likes her too
user5 user6 lewis would purposely crash himself into charles if he breaks his little girl's heart
user7 user5 we love a girl dad
ynhamilton just made a post!


liked by raye, scuderiaferrari and 107,628 others
ynhamilton daddy approves đ«¶đŒ
tagged charles_leclerc
view all 16,044 comments
user1 FUCK YEAH
user2 SILVERSTONE ROYALTY AND PRINCE OF MONZA ARE DATING
user3 this just gave me the courage to confess to my crush (it'll never happen cause i'm a coward)
ynhamilton user4 do it!! you'll never know!!!!
user5 god i wish my dad was lewis hamilton too so he can set me up with his teammate
user6 charles just got an extra motivation to win wcc this year
lewishamilton Anything for my babygirl
ynhamilton lewishamilton I LOVE YOU SO MUCH
lewishamilton ynhamilton I love you more bub
user7 lewishamilton i'm not crying there's hair in my eyes
charles_leclerc Amour â€ïž
ynhamilton charles_leclerc â€ïž
#formula 1#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 smau#formula 1 x you#formula 1 x y/n#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 one shot#f1#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 one shot#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 smau#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x daughter!reader#lewis hamilton x daughter reader#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x y/n#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x hamilton!reader#charles leclerc x black!reader#charles leclerc x black reader
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okay, so⊠first â I'm not saying you're wrong.
if you choose to Keep reading, know this is completely my own sight and stance. I do not want to try and make anyone change sides here.
"Fanfic Writers: Another Side"
a rant.
fanfics, (especially creators,) although yes they're valid writers, just⊠doesn't feel the same to me. It's like reusing yesterday's food, if that makes sense? It can still be good, and sometimes better than when it was first made, but someone had to create it from nothing.
there isn't anything wrong with fanfics, and they sometimes are amazing, but you're forgetting that an oc-writing author has to create everyone, everything, and everywhere, that you and all other fans love.
I just think you're underselling how much hardet it is to "create", rather than just "rewrite".
(Give a little more leeway to bad typography, if you still love what's in it. Someone still had to create that bedrock which fanfiction builds on top of. Please?)
I hope this doesn't also turn into a huge argument, I just want to add another variable of insight.
even I, as an upcoming author, fully want to see how anyone who reads my story would recreate parts of it. That's why it's a multiverse; so all other outcomes I don't write are still sub-canon to it.
I don't know what people will like, but I want to know. That's where looking at fanfics will help me better write small details, imperceptible to the average reader, for you guys to stepping-stone into the niches or AUs you want to see.
even so, there are still exceptions in oc works too. not every story pushes the ceiling higher than the last; but they don't have to. That's what makes writing styles!
Sometimes you'll just like the style of writing more, but not know why it feels better.
Fanfics Writers are one of the reasons that I want to make an "Official AU" after publishing my series, where the fanbase (potentially you guys) not only participates in the world, but your actions in the setting actively has a real impact, and can change or prevent any outcome or result.
How do you think your actions would realistically affect the worlds you love?
Could you actually save your favourite character?
Could you actually prevent their death?
What about being the hero? Can you really hold that weight?
Would you actually try to fight the Big Bad if your actions had caused someone who didn't originally die to not survive with you?
What do you think that would do to you?
And how would you realistically act in that situation, where you know, FOR A FACT, that you are what caused their death?
Writing from completely nothing is harder than it's made out to be.
fanfic writers are so fucking awesome man. they write novel length fics that are sometimes even better than some published bestselling books written by professional writers. like fanfic writers are professional writers to me and they gift us their masterpieces for free. they give us something we can look forward to after a long day. something from which we can seek comfort when life is hard. something that can be our own little getaway. in a world of capitalism, despite everything, they give us all of these for free. like holy fuck. shout out to every fanfic writer. I wish all fanfic writers a very âI love you with all my heart and soul. I thank you from the bottom of my heartâ
#no ill will#writers#writeblr#writer stuff#writers on tumblr#writing community#fanfic#fanfics#fanfiction#ramblies#second viewpoint#alternate view#perspective#different perspectives
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fashion killa
chapter one ; close my eyes

[ nsfw ] â smut (18+) ; bakugou katsuki x reader
word count: 18,773 â read on ao3
tags: strangers to lovers, friends with benefits, pro hero bakugou katsuki, explicit language & sexual content, aged-up characters, porn with plot, model!reader, slight angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, bakugou is a soft yearning idiot who i want to eat up, not beta read!
summary:
Fashion Week was supposed to be simpleâwalk the runway, collect your check, and, if all went according to plan, spend the night with Pro Hero Dynamight. Just a little fun. Nothing more. But getting rid of Bakugou Katsuki proves to be harder than slipping out of a too-tight sample size.
Or, in which a one-night stand with one of Japanâs most famous men turns into a relentless game of cat and mouseâand the worst part? You donât hate it.
notes:
shoutout to iris van herpen and my palestinian queen bella hadid (and also the dsquared2 show that inspired this whole ordeal). also i have nothing and didnât know anything of the fashion industry, this is all my own research and the fact that one of my closest friends is a fashion designer, so she gave me lots of info as well lol.
anyway thank you in advance for reading and enjoy! :D
This cannot be happening.
You sit still in the chair, trying to focus as the makeup artist applies the last stroke of color to your lips, but your mind is spiraling. The air in the backstage area of the runway feels thick, suffocating even, as the weight of whatâs happening presses down on everyone. Models are pacing, stylists frantically adjusting outfits, and designers whispering in tight circles with wide-eyed panic. You can practically feel Minaseâs stress radiating off her as she rushes back and forth, trying to salvage this nightmare.
This isnât just a minor hiccup in some small-town fashion show where you could brush off a wardrobe malfunction with a laugh and a wave. This is Fashion Week, and for Tsukiyo, this is the show that could make or break careers, and for Minase, the designer behind the brand, this was her moment to be presented as a luxury label. A game changer. All the top names are in attendance: Pro Heroes, celebrities, actors, business tycoons, and even other top designers. The pressure to deliver is suffocating.
But now? Everything is on the verge of collapse.Â
The issue? The final outfits donât fit. None of the models, including you, can slip into the custom garments. Even worse, Shiraneâthe model scheduled to close the show in The Siren Dressâis nowhere to be found. Itâs a disaster. For something like this to happen at any show would be bad, but during Fashion Week? During a show of this magnitude? Itâs a professional catastrophe.
Amanai, sitting next to you with her hair half-curled, whispers, âWhat the hell are we supposed to do now?â Her voice trembles slightly, as if she canât believe the magnitude of the chaos around her. You glance at her through the reflection in the mirror.
You shrug, careful not to move your face too much as the makeup artist continues. âDonât have a clue.â
Her eyes widen, and you know what sheâs thinking. She doesnât have to say it out loud. Weâre fucked. And itâs not just the brand. Itâs you. All of you. Even though the mistake seems like an issue with the tailoring, the models would inevitably be blamed. Itâs always like that. In fashion, when things go wrong, the blame rolls downhill.
Minase calls for a last-minute huddle, and you all gather around her, her expression desperate but not yet defeated. âWeâre going to make this work,â she says, her voice sharp with tension, though thereâs a glimmer of resolve in her eyes. She has to make this work, for her own sake, and for the brand.
âWeâre cutting out some of the outfits,â she announces, taking a deep breath. âWeâll only walk our most important pieces. Each model will only wear two instead of four. Itâs going to shorten the show, but thatâs the best we can do.â Her words come out in a rushed cadence, like sheâs barely keeping it together. âEvery tailor, designer, and stylist will focus on those piecesâmake sure they fit.â
You see a ripple of uncertainty pass through the team. Itâs a risky move, but it might be the only option left.
Minase continues, âAnd I need someone to close the show in The Siren dress. Shirane is out, and we donât have time to wait.â
Your heart skips a beat at the mention of The Siren Dress. Everyone knows that dress. Itâs the showstopper, the piĂšce de rĂ©sistance of the entire collection. A shimmering, liquid silk masterpiece that drapes across the body like water, constantly shifting between hues of sapphire and deep amethyst under the lights. The structured shoulders, adorned with sculpted, ethereal fins, make the wearer look like some mythical sea creature. The waist is cinched with a belt encrusted with jeweled seashells and pearl-studded starfish. A long, sheer chiffon cape flows from the back, dotted with crystals that catch the light like glimmering drops of water.
Itâs the kind of dress every model dreams of wearing. Itâs not just a fashion statement; itâs an event.
Without thinking, the words shoot out of your mouth. âI can do it!âÂ
For a moment, everyone pauses, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Youâre not sure where that surge of confidence came from, but the opportunity is too good to let slip by. This could be your momentâyour big break.
Matsumoto, one of the designers, scoffs. âHoney, you donât fit into that,â he says, dismissing you with a wave.
You narrow your eyes at him, your temper flaring. âI thought Tsukiyo was all about body positivity and bold, avant-garde design,â you snap back. âDonât pull that body image crap with me. I can and will fit into it if you let me.â
The silence that follows is deafening, all eyes turning to Minase. Matsumoto opens his mouth to argue, but Minase cuts him off before he can say another word.
âI donât care who wears it as long as it fits and itâs walked with confidence,â Minase says, her voice sharp, eyes locking onto you. âIf you can make it work, get into the fitting room. Now.â
Without a second thought, you jump to your feet and rush to the back, your heart racing in your chest. Thereâs no guarantee that the dress will fit, but you have to try. This is a golden opportunity, and youâre not about to let it slip through your fingers.
The fitting room is a whirlwind of activity, stylists and tailors rushing around in a flurry of fabric, pins, and thread. The dress is waiting for you, gleaming under the harsh lights like a pool of liquid gemstones. The second you lay eyes on it, your nerves spike again, but you push them down. You can do this.
With the help of a few assistants, you begin slipping into the dress. The fabric is cool and smooth against it your skin, molding to your body like a second skin. The sculpted shoulders fit snugly, and as they fasten the waist, you breathe out a sigh of reliefâthe dress, miraculously, fits.
You look at yourself in the mirror, the chiffon cape trailing behind you, catching the light as it moves. For a moment, you barely recognize yourself. You look powerful. Ethereal. Like a siren rising from the depths of the ocean, ready to lure the world in with a single glance.
Minase comes storming toward you with the same intensity sheâs had all day, her expression tight and determined. âMove,â she snaps, and you instinctively step aside. She circles you like a hawk, her eyes narrowed as they sweep over every inch of the Siren dress. You stand there, holding your breath as she inspects the fit. âWalk,â she commands.
Your heart pounds in your chest as you take a tentative step, then another, feeling the way the liquid silk of the dress clings to your body, draping elegantly with each movement. You wait for the dreaded sound of a seam ripping or fabric pulling, but to your immense relief, the dress holds perfectly.
Minase exhales sharply. âGood! Now change out of it and get into the Garden of Eden Ensemble. You need to walk soon!â
For a moment, you blink, processing her words, but then you snap into action, knowing that every second counts. The assistants swarm around you as youâre carefully helped out of the Siren dress. The fabric slips away from your skin, and your nerves are still buzzing as you think about the next outfit. The Garden of Eden Ensembleâanother showstopper.
As they pull the new garment over your body, you feel the semi-sheer corseted jumpsuit hug your figure. The corset cinches you in tightly, but not uncomfortably, and you admire the intricate vines and embroidered florals that snake across the fabric. Cascading down the pants, the appliquéd leather tendrils give the impression of nature overtaking you, rooting you into the world of Tsukiyo. The golden sequins adorning the sleeves shimmer as you move your arms, catching the light in a way that transforms the entire look into something ethereal.
The assistants adjust the flared pant legs, smoothing them out as the last of the laser-cut leather appliquĂ©s falls into place. You catch your reflection and pause, marveling at the ensemble. Itâs dramatic yet elegant, bold yet delicate. It feels like something ancient and powerful, as though youâve stepped out of a mythical garden, draped in both beauty and danger. And it fits. It fits perfectly.
With your hair and makeup touched up once again, the backstage frenzy whirls around you, but you remain focused. Your heart is racing with the anticipation of whatâs to come, knowing youâre about to step into the limelight, where all eyes will be on you.
Before long, you, Amanai, and Hanari are sneaking glances through the curtain, peering out at the audience as the previous group finishes their walk. The front row is lined with Japanâs elite: business moguls, actors, musicians, and, of course, Pro Heroes. Youâre searching for someone in particular, but your friends are already losing their composure over another sight.
âHoly shit, Shoto is there. Oh my God⊠heâs so hot,â Hanari breathes, her eyes glued to the Pro Hero in the front row.
You follow her gaze to Todoroki Shoto, and you have to admitâhe looks good. The gray and white patterned blazer heâs wearing fits him like a glove, subtle checkered details giving his outfit a refined, yet textured look. The embroidered brand logo adds a touch of luxury, while his white shirt contrasts crisply against the structured blazer. The wide-leg black trousers add a relaxed, modern silhouette that somehow manages to still look impeccably polished. His black platform shoes complete the ensemble, giving him a chic, almost ethereal appearance.
âHeâs so dreamy,â Hanari whispers, as she adjusts her own outfit, The Cyber-Baroque Suitâa stunningly tailored black ensemble with holographic lapels that ripple under the lights. The intricate silver filigree embroidery across the blazer is opulent, and the monogrammed velvet panels along her flared pants add the finishing touch of sophistication.
âYeah, wow⊠those trousers really show off his long legs,â Amanai chimes in, her voice low and appreciative as she adjusts the three-dimensional ruffles of her Mirage Dress. The futuristic design hugs her body in all the right places, the sheer mesh and metallic fabric shifting between emerald and gold. She looks like a walking masterpiece, her high collar glinting with iridescent stones.
You hum noncommittally, eyes scanning the front row again. âThink you can hook him in today?â Amanai teases with a sly grin.
But you donât take the bait. Instead, you let a mischievous smile tug at your lips as your gaze finally lands on him. âNo⊠my eyes are on the grumpy one over there.â
Bakugou Katsuki. Pro Hero Dynamight.Â
Heâs seated next to Todoroki, a sharp contrast to the icy elegance beside him. Bakugou is all sharp lines and rugged edges, wearing black pleated trousers with a cropped double-breasted blazer that boasts a subtle black-on-black plaid pattern. The mock-neck top beneath it shimmers faintly with the brandâs monogram, catching the light just enough to add some sparkle without being ostentatious. His boots are chunky, giving him a commanding presence, and his arms are crossed over his chest, his scowl directed at the runway as if heâs daring anyone to disappoint him. His hair is wild, spiked in every direction, adding to his unapproachable, badass demeanor. But to you? He looks irresistible.
âGod, what Iâd do to fuck that man,â you murmur, your voice half dreamy, half sinful. Your mind wanders as you imagine what it would be likeâhis hands gripping your hips roughly, his voice low and gravelly in your ear. Heâs all fire and aggression, and you canât help but think heâd be the same in bedâintense, hard, and maybe a little reckless. âHeâs so grumpy, I bet he fucks like that too. All rough and hard andââ
âOh, itâs our turn!â Amanai suddenly interrupts, pulling you back to reality. You all scramble into position, quickly wiping away the smirks and giggles to adopt your most professional expressions. Time to focus.
One by one, the models step onto the runway. Hanari first, then Amanai, and finally you. The second your foot hits the glossy floor of the runway, the world narrows into a single point of focus. The noise of the backstage chaos fades away, leaving only the sound of your heels clicking against the floor and the steady rhythm of your breathing.
You walk with purpose, your back straight, your chin held high. The Garden of Eden Ensemble sways with your movements, the golden sequins on your sleeves catching the light as you pass under the bright spotlights. The cascading vines and floral embroidery shimmer against your skin, and you feel like a living, breathing masterpiece. You embody Tsukiyoâs visionâelegant, mysterious, and impossible to ignore.
And then, you feel it. Bakugouâs eyes are on you, burning into you with an intensity that sends a thrill down your spine. You donât look directly at him, but you know heâs watchingâscowling, probably, but watching nonetheless.
Good. Let him watch.
As you finish your walk and reach the end of the runway, you pause for your final pose. The lights hit you perfectly, illuminating the intricate detailing of the Garden of Eden Ensemble. You stand tall, chin up, and let the confidence settle over you like armor. The audience is transfixed, eyes glued to you, but you can only focus on one thingâgetting through this without stumbling, without faltering. Youâve made it this far, and nothing can go wrong now.
One beat. Two. And then you turn, walking back with steady, deliberate steps. Each click of your heel against the floor seems to echo, reverberating in your chest as you remind yourself not to rush. You can feel the weight of everyoneâs gaze, especially Bakugouâs, and it sends a shiver down your spine. His presence alone is magnetic, even from across the room, and it fuels your determination to make the rest of this night flawless.
You breathe out a sigh of relief when you step off the runway and into the controlled chaos of backstage. Immediately, the assistants are on you, their hands quick and efficient as they usher you toward the fitting room. Thereâs no time to dwell on the success of your walk; you still have one more challenge aheadâslipping into the Siren Dress, the centerpiece of the evening, the dress everyone will be talking about.
As youâre led into the fitting room, your heart is pounding again. The assistants are already preparing, gathering the delicate fabric, the intricate shoes, and the headpiece that will complete the look. Thereâs no room for error now, and the stakes are even higher. The Siren Dress is more than just a gownâitâs the dress. The one that will define the show. The one that will define you tonight.
The assistants help you out of the Garden of Eden Ensemble, their hands quick but careful, unhooking the corset and sliding the fabric off your body. The cool air hits your skin, but you barely notice it. Your mind is racing with thoughts of the next walkâhow youâll need to move with even more grace, more confidence, and, most importantly, without breaking your heel or tripping. The last thing you need is a disaster in front of all those eyes.
One of the assistants hands you the Siren Dress, and as you take it in your hands, it feels almost too precious to touch. The silk is as smooth as water, shifting between sapphire and amethyst as it catches the light. With their help, you carefully slip into it, the fabric clinging to your body like it was made for you. The sculpted shoulders sit perfectly in place, the bejeweled starfish and seashells gleaming against your waist.
You can feel the dress transform you as you look in the mirror. Itâs almost like youâve become someone elseâsomeone more dangerous, more alluring. The cape, sheer and embroidered with delicate crystals, trails behind you like a whisper of the ocean, shimmering with every tiny movement.
But thereâs no time to admire yourself just yet. The assistants quickly move to change your hair and makeup. Gone is the ethereal, garden-inspired look. In its place, they craft something bold and powerful. Your hair is slicked back, sleek and wet-looking, as if youâve just emerged from the sea. The makeup is darker, sultrier, with smoky eyes that intensify your gaze and shimmering highlights that mimic the glint of water under moonlight. Your lips are painted a deep plum, a color that complements the shifting hues of the dress.
Itâs a transformationâone that fits the Siren Dress perfectly. Youâre no longer just a model. Youâre a siren, ready to lure anyone who dares look too long.
As the final touches are made, you catch a glimpse of yourself again. This time, the power of the look hits you harder. You barely recognize yourself. The confidence that comes with the dress is intoxicating. You look like you could walk out there and command the attention of every single person in the room.
Minase rushes toward you, her hands deftly adjusting the last few details of the Siren Dress herself, making sure each fold of fabric falls exactly where itâs supposed to. She pulls back, inspecting you with the critical eye of someone who knows this moment can make or break the show. She takes a deep breath, her gaze softening for just a second, but her tone is firm when she speaks.Â
"Listen," she says, leaning in slightly as if imparting a secret. "The lights will dim, and when you see the green LED lights flicker, thatâs your cue. Walk it with confidence. Make sure everyone in that room sees the best of you and the dress. And your final pose? Make it perfect. Ethereal. I want them to see the siren in youâmystery, allure, power."Â
You nod, the weight of her words settling into your bones. "Got it." Your voice is steady, but inside, your nerves hum with the anticipation. This is itâthe moment everything has been leading up to. You force yourself to take a deep breath, calming the racing pulse in your veins. As soon as you exhale, the assistants guide you toward the front, positioning you for the final walk.
Several people backstage wish you luck, their voices mixing into the background noise, but your focus is narrowing. Amanai and Hanari catch your eye, both sending you a thumbs-up. You canât help but smile and return the gesture, even as adrenaline courses through you. Their support is comforting, but nothing will ease the pressure until you step out there.
And then it happens. The runway lights dim, casting the space into an almost otherworldly shadow. The energy in the room shifts, becoming electric with expectation. The green LED lights flicker, a soft sea green glow that signals the beginning of your walk.
This is it.
You step out onto the runway, and instantly, all eyes are on you. The silk of the Siren Dress glistens under the low lights, shifting between deep sapphire and amethyst with every step. Itâs mesmerizing, like watching water ripple under the moonlight. The cape billows softly behind you, catching the air just enough to give the impression of movementâlike youâve just emerged from the depths of the ocean. You can feel the eyes of the audience glued to you, captivated by the way the fabric clings to your body, the way it flows with your movements.
Your heels click against the floor in a rhythm that feels powerful, almost like a heartbeat. You keep your chin up, your gaze forward, walking with the kind of confidence that you know will hold their attention. This isnât just about looking beautifulâitâs about commanding the room. You can feel the dress moving with you, every stitch, every embellishment, perfectly accentuating the curve of your waist, the strength of your stride. The bejeweled starfish and seashells at your waist catch the light with every sway of your hips, glittering like treasures pulled from the ocean floor.
Your heart pounds, but your movements are smooth, deliberate. The dress does half the work, its liquid silk reflecting the greenish hue of the LED lights, making you look like you belong to some mythical, underwater world. You can feel the collective gaze of the crowd, not just watching, but consumed by the vision you present.
As you approach the end of the runway, you prepare for the final poseâthe one that will leave a lasting impression. You stop, turning your body slightly, angling the dress so that the light hits the flowing cape behind you. You tilt your head just so, letting your hair catch the light, your makeup gleaming with a soft, ocean-like sheen.
For a moment, you donât just feel like a model on a runway. You feel like the siren itselfâuntouchable, ethereal, alluring beyond reason. The final pose you strike is exactly what Minase wantedâan image of elegance and mystery. Your gaze is soft yet piercing, like the pull of the tide, drawing the audience in closer, daring them to step further into your world.
The crowd falls silent, the air thick with awe. You can feel the power of the moment, how the dress and the atmosphere merge into something transcendent. Every eye in the room is on you, and not just because of the dressâitâs the way you own it, the way you move in it, as if it was made solely for you.Â
And then, with one last glance, you turn, your cape sweeping behind you in a final graceful movement. You walk back, just as confident, the weight of your success settling in. You didnât just wear the Siren Dressâyou became it. As you step off the runway and disappear back into the chaos of backstage, the noise of the audience erupts, but youâve already let it fade into the background.Â
Your heart is still racing, but this time, itâs with exhilaration.Â
You did it. You nailed it.
By the time the show ends, your phone is a constant stream of notificationsâtexts, calls, social media tags. You slip into the sleek black car waiting for you outside the venue, already scrolling through your phone, a grin spreading across your face. Koizumi, your ever-diligent agent, has been flooding your inbox with everything you need to knowâarticles, social media posts, pictures. The buzz surrounding your appearance is growing by the second, and from the looks of it, youâre the talk of the night.Â
As the car smoothly cruises through the city, you scroll through the images and headlines. Itâs a whirlwind of praise: Stunning. Bold. Unforgettable. Every headline gushes over the Tsukiyo show and, more specifically, your walk in the Siren Dress. The way you owned the runwayâconfident, mysterious, and undeniably sultryâhas people talking. You pause on a video clip someone posted on Instagram, watching yourself in the dress as you glide down the runway, every inch of you exuding power and grace. Even in a video, you can feel the magnetism of the moment.
You canât help the smile tugging at your lips. Everything fell into place, from the last-minute fitting to your flawless walk, and it paid off in spades. Minase, no doubt, will be getting completely shit-faced with her team, celebrating the success of Tsukiyoâs first major show as a luxury brand. And you? Youâre basking in the afterglow, savoring the feeling of triumph.
The car pulls up to the afterparty venue, and you smooth down the sheer nude gown youâve changed into for the occasion. The dress is a showstopper in its own rightâethereal yet sensual, with a structured corset that accentuates your waist and a sweetheart neckline dripping in shimmering crystals. The illusion mesh gives a tantalizing barely-there effect, leaving just enough to the imagination while still offering the elegance of a high-fashion gown. The train of soft tulle trails behind you as you step out, the gown sparkling under the flashing lights of the paparazzi.
As youâre escorted out of the car, the bright flashes momentarily blind you, but your bodyguard is quick to guide you through the frenzy of photographers and fans clamoring for a shot. The atmosphere is electric, the air buzzing with excitement, but your focus remains calm and poised. Youâve done this before, and tonight, the energy feels differentâbigger. You can feel the eyes on you, the way the cameras snap feverishly, as if youâre the centerpiece of the evening.
Inside the venue, the chaos outside fades away, replaced by the dim, luxurious ambiance of the afterparty. Glittering chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a warm golden glow over the room. The space is filled with peopleâdesigners, models, celebrities, influencers, and industry bigwigs, all sipping champagne and celebrating the success of the night. The air is thick with laughter, congratulations, and the clinking of glasses, but even here, you can feel the buzz surrounding you.
As you make your way through the crowd, more than a few eyes follow you. You catch snippets of conversationâcompliments, admiration, whispers about your performance tonight. The gown youâre wearing only adds to your allure, catching the light with every step you take, making you look like youâre dripping in stardust.
You take a moment to breathe, letting the excitement wash over you. This is your night, and youâve earned every second of it. From the chaotic backstage moments to the runway and now the afterparty, youâve proven that you belong in this world of high fashion and luxury. The satisfaction of it all swells in your chest, but thereâs still one thing left to look forward toâthe promise of the eveningâs encounters.Â
You smile to yourself as you move further into the venue, your eyes scanning the room. This night is far from over.
As you make your way over to the bar, the familiar click of your heels echoes softly against the marble floors, mingling with the low hum of conversation around you. The afterparty is in full swing, a swirl of dim lighting and glittering gowns, but your eyes are drawn to Amanai and Hanari sitting comfortably near the bar. You slide onto the stool next to them, finally allowing yourself to take a breath. Ordering a cocktail, you exhale slowly, letting the tension from the night slip off your shoulders.
Amanai grins, her sleek red dress shimmering under the warm lighting as she turns toward you. "So," she begins, the glint in her eyes matching the playful edge in her voice, "howâs it feel to be the talk of the town?"
You bite your lip, but the grin that spreads across your face betrays any attempt at modesty. "Real good," you admit, letting the satisfaction settle into your tone.Â
Hanari, dressed in a short black number that shows off her legs, snorts in amusement. "Of course it does. But hey, you earned it. You looked like a dream out there in that dressâtotal showstopper."
"Thanks," you say with a genuine smile, appreciating their compliments. You take a sip of your cocktail, savoring the cold, sweet taste on your tongue. "But we all did great. It just so happens that I stole the show tonight."
The three of you laugh, the sound mingling with the clink of glasses and chatter surrounding the bar. The conversation flows naturally, shifting from the success of the night to the grind of fashion week. Thereâs talk of the upcoming shows, the long hours, and the relief you all feel knowing that the weekâs end is just around the corner. Itâs been a brutal few weeks, and the fatigue is starting to set in, but tonight's success is a much-needed burst of energy.
Throughout the conversation, various people stop by to offer congratulations or small talk. You exchange pleasantries with Iwasake, the business tycoon from the IwasaKe restaurant brand, and Katoaka Megumi, a famous actress. Kijimuta Satoshi, another model you know, drops by brieflyâheâs charming, cute in a way that feels effortless, but your mind isnât on any of them.
Because for the past eight minutes and forty seconds, youâve felt someoneâs eyes on you. His gaze is heavy, unmistakable, and even though you havenât looked directly at him yet, you know exactly who it is.
Amanai, sensing the shift in your focus, leans in closer, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Thereâs someone whoâs been staring at you from across the room for a while now."
You smirk, swirling your drink lazily in your hand. "I know," you murmur, your voice equally low, but you donât look. You donât need to. Instead, you fold one leg over the other slowly, feeling the material of your gown brush against your skin in a way that feels almost deliberate.
Finally, you allow yourself the indulgence of looking up, locking eyes with Bakugou Katsuki. His intense, ruby-red gaze meets yours, and you donât miss the way his jaw tenses, his fingers gripping the glass in his hand just a little tighter. He's standing with Pro Heroes Pinky and Chargebolt, looking like heâs barely tolerating the conversation happening around him. His usual scowl is etched into his sharp features, but thereâs something else simmering beneath itâsomething that flickers across his face when your eyes meet. The tension between you is palpable, electric, but you break the gaze first, letting your lips curl into a subtle smile before looking away.
And just like that, the game begins.
You toy with him from across the room, your actions casual, but intentional. You let your gaze linger on him when you laugh at something Amanai says, your lips curling in amusement as if youâre sharing a private joke with him. Occasionally, you lift your glass to your lips, letting your eyes flick to him just in time to catch his. He watches you, his eyes trailing over your form, his gaze never wavering for long even as he tries to keep up with his friendsâ conversation.
At one point, you let a wink slip, knowing full well he catches it. His reaction is subtleâa flicker of something in his eyes, a slight twitch of his lipsâbut you notice it. Itâs all part of the game, the unspoken tension between you crackling like a live wire. He flits his gaze between his friends and you, like heâs trying to ignore you but canât quite pull it off. And you? Youâre reveling in it, in the push-and-pull of your silent exchange.
Amanai leans closer, her curiosity getting the better of her. "So⊠whatâs the plan for tonight?"
You take another sip of your cocktail, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat before you answer. "To get laid," you say, voice low but certain, your eyes sliding back to Bakugou as he shifts his weight, his stance still tense. "With grumpy over there."
Amanai arches a brow, intrigued. "You really think you can pull that off? From what Iâve heard, Dynamight doesnât do hookups."
You grin, the challenge only fueling your resolve. "Donât you think I can pull it off?"
She laughs, shaking her head in amusement. "So, youâre betting on yourself?"
"Of course," you say, your tone confident, almost teasing. "Heâll be here."
And you believe it. Thereâs a magnetic pull between you and Bakugou tonight, something more intense than mere attraction. Itâs the thrill of the chase, the slow burn of his attention on you, and the anticipation of what might happen once you finally close the distance. You can feel it in the way his eyes linger on you, in the unspoken tension thatâs been building between you since the moment you met his gaze.
After finishing your cocktail, you rise from your seat, the weight of Bakugouâs gaze practically burning into your back. You make sure to sway your hips just the right amount, exaggerating the curve of your body as you walk past his table, your smile curling with a wicked hint of satisfaction. You can feel his eyes on you before you even glance back, and when you do, you catch his red eyes following every step, his expression unreadable, but the intensity is there. It makes a thrill shoot through you.
Before you disappear into the bathroom, you flash him a wink, and when you return, you strut back with the same confidence. This time, you meet his gaze head-on, raising a brow in amused challenge. Bakugou doesnât look away, his eyes dark and focused as if heâs sizing you up, while Pinky and Chargebolt wear ridiculous grins, nudging each other as they catch on to the silent exchange happening.
When you sit back down, Hanari leans in, voice a little breathless. âHeâs been eyeing you all night, you know. Andâholy shit, heâs coming over.â
You blink in surprise but quickly compose yourself, smiling. Sure enough, Bakugou is reluctantly being dragged over by Pinky and Chargebolt, his expression locked in a scowl, face flushed in what looks like frustrationâor embarrassment. Either way, heâs not pleased; you can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the stiffness in his walk, the sharp look in his eyes.
âHi!â Pinky exclaims as she sidles up next to you, her energy bubbling over. âAshido Mina!â She introduces herself with a bright smile, and then gestures to the two men behind her. âAnd this is Bakugou Katsuki, and thatâs Kaminari Denki.â
You return the smile, your voice calm and smooth. âHi, nice to meet you all.â You shake each of their hands, but when Bakugouâs turn comes, you let your hand linger in his just a second longer. His palm is warm, his grip firm, and when your eyes meet, you hold his gaze, your lips curling up slightly. His eyes narrow just a fraction, but he doesnât pull his hand away until you do.
Mina beams, completely oblivious to the charged exchange. "You all were incredible in the show! Seriously, that was amazing.â
Amanai is the first to respond, her grin wide. "Thanks! We're just glad everything went smoothly."
Hanari nods along. "Yeah, shows like this can be hit or miss. Itâs always nerve-wracking, but tonight⊠tonight was a hit."
Kaminari chimes in, his eyes wide with admiration. "That last dress you wore? Wow. It was incredible!"
You smile, a touch of pride in your voice. âIâm glad you liked it. It was an honor to wear it.â But even as the conversation continues, your attention is on Bakugou, who remains oddly quiet. You catch his gaze more than once, and each time, thereâs something simmering behind those sharp red eyes, something fierce and unreadable.
Before you know it, Ashido and Kaminari start whispering between themselves, exchanging a knowing glance with Amanai and Hanari. Then, almost as if on cue, Ashido grins and says, âWeâre gonna leave real quick!â before they all whisk each other away, leaving you alone with Bakugou.
You donât miss the wink that Ashido shoots at Bakugou as she leaves, or the way Kaminari smirks. Bakugouâs scowl deepens, his fists clenching at his sides, clearly irritated by their not-so-subtle departure. But now itâs just the two of you, and the tension between you feels different, more palpable.Â
You glance up at him, your lips curling into a smile as you trace your finger around the rim of your empty glass. âSoâŠâ you drawl, letting your voice drop just a little, soft and teasing. âArenât you going to buy me a drink?â
You donât expect the reaction you get. Bakugou, known for his unshakable confidence and explosive temper, flushes bright red. The color spreads across his cheeks and up to his ears, and he clears his throat, looking away from you for a brief second before barking at the bartender. âOi! Two drinksâone for me, one for her.â
You suppress a laugh, amused at how flustered he seems. The bartender moves quickly, and soon enough, two fresh drinks are placed in front of you. Bakugou grabs his immediately, taking a long, almost aggressive sip as if itâll calm the heat in his face.
Leaning closer, you let your fingers trail over the fabric of his blazer, the soft texture under your fingertips. âI like your outfit,â you say, your voice smooth, letting your gaze roam over him appreciatively. âYou look good in it.â
He stiffens beneath your touch, his eyes flicking to where your hand rests on his chest before quickly darting back up to your face. He mutters something that sounds like âThanks,â his voice low and gruff, but itâs hard to tell if heâs embarrassed or annoyed. Maybe a bit of both.
You take a slow sip of your drink, savoring the taste. âArenât you going to tell me I look good too?â you tease, your voice light, but thereâs a glimmer of challenge in your eyes as you look up at him through your lashes.
Bakugouâs scowl deepens, and for a second, you think heâs going to snap at you. But instead, he meets your gaze, his eyes roaming over your figure in a way that feels both intense and unguarded. Thereâs heat in his stare, a flicker of something you canât quite place, but it makes your heart race.
âYou know you look good,â he grumbles, his voice gruff and low, and for the first time tonight, thereâs a hint of sincerity in it. Heâs not saying it because he has toâheâs saying it because he means it. And that makes it all the more satisfying.
You smile, satisfied, and take another sip of your drink. âI do know,â you admit, your voice playful, but thereâs an undercurrent of something more. Something electric between you, buzzing in the air.
Bakugou looks at you, his gaze sharp and unwavering, and you can tell heâs trying to figure you out. You can almost see the gears turning in his mind, wondering how to handle whatever this is between you. But you donât mind the waitâbecause you know, eventually, heâll come to you.
âSo, what did you think of the show tonight?â you ask, swirling the drink in your glass, eyes flicking up to meet his.
Bakugou shifts, his large frame looking awkwardly out of place for someone so naturally confident, and mumbles, âWas good.â He takes another sip, avoiding your eyes like they burn him.
Itâs not enough. You want more from him. You want to see if you can push him past this gruff exterior.Â
âWas it up to par with your parentsâ fashion line or does it still need some work?â you tease, knowing exactly what button to push.Â
His reaction is immediateâhis scowl deepens, and his eyes snap to you with that fiery intensity you expect from Dynamight. âHow the hell do you know âbout my folks?â His tone is sharp, defensive.
You raise an eyebrow, a slow, amused smile tugging at the corners of your lips. âI think itâs very well known that your parents are in the fashion industry, Pro Hero Dynamight,â you purr, letting the title roll off your tongue with playful emphasis.
His eyes narrow at the sound of his hero name coming from your mouth. âDonât call me that,â he grumbles.
âWhy?â you ask, the innocence in your tone belied by the mischievous glint in your eyes. âItâs your name, right?â
âYeah, butââ he begins, looking like heâs struggling to explain why it bothers him. Itâs clear heâs uncomfortable with the way you say it, like youâre peeling back the layers of his persona, getting under his skin. He cuts himself off, gritting his teeth.
âBut what?â you continue, leaning closer, enjoying how youâre making him squirm. âYou donât want me to call you thââ
He snaps, âYouâre mouthy, yâknow?â
And just like that, the tables turn. The playful, teasing atmosphere shifts, and you cock your head to the side, smiling slowly. âYou know, the more you speak, the less I wanna sleep with you.â
His eyes widen just a fraction, and his face turns a deep shade of red. He stumbles over his words, clearly caught off guard, and it makes you laughâa warm, melodic sound that fills the space between you. You reach for the toothpick in your drink, slowly biting down on the olive, making sure heâs watching, and when you wink at him, you can practically feel him tense.
Heâs trying so hard to keep his cool, to play it off like he doesnât care, but his body betrays him. You feel his leg stiffen under the table as your foot grazes up his calf, and the way his grip tightens on his drink doesnât go unnoticed.
Heâs incredibly cute when heâs flustered.
âWho says I wanna sleep with you?â he eventually mutters, his voice low and gruff, but thereâs a nervous edge to it.
You raise an eyebrow, playing with the toothpick between your fingers before shrugging nonchalantly. âI donât know, maybe itâs the fact that youâve been eyefucking me all night, but hey, thatâs just me.â
His eyes widen again, and he shoots you a sharp glare, though it lacks the usual bite youâve seen from him on the news or in interviews. Itâs like heâs trying to gather himself, trying to regain control. âI fuckinâ havenât!â he protests, his voice a little too loud, a little too defensive.
You smirk, leaning back in your seat. âYou have.â
âHavenât,â he mutters, looking away again, taking another swig of his drink like itâll hide the redness creeping up his neck.
You hum softly, tilting your head as you watch him closely. âRight, right⊠so you donât wanna fuck me?â
He doesnât answer immediately, and you can see the wheels turning in his head, his mouth opening and closing like heâs searching for the right words but coming up short. For someone whoâs always so quick to snap, always ready with a retort or a growl, Bakugou is fumbling right now, and itâs adorable.
Finally, he grumbles, âYou dunno shit about me, soâŠâ
âNo, I guess I donât,â you sigh, leaning in closer again, your lips dangerously close to his ear, voice soft and teasing. âBut Iâd like to learn.â
You lean in a little more, the warmth of the bar, the buzz of the room, and the tension between you making the air feel thick with possibility. Bakugou is staring at you, trying his best to hide the way his eyes drop to the curve of your chest when you lean forward, and it makes your grin widen. His lips are slightly parted, and the flush that stains his cheeks isnât just from the alcohol.Â
You donât make it easy for him.Â
Eventually, the inevitable happens.Â
You and Bakugou end up in a secluded part of the venue, the tension between you building until it spills over, sparked by the alcohol, the heat of the moment, and the way you know exactly what youâre doing.
You donât bother with the obvious locationsâthe storage rooms or the bathrooms that others might use. No, youâre smarter than that. You lead Bakugou through the hallways with ease, turning corners with confidence, giving him a glance over your shoulder every now and then, your hips swaying with purpose. His eyes are glued to you, and you can feel the heat of his gaze on your back. When you reach the private bathroom, you grab his hand and tug him inside. The door shuts with a solid click as you lock it, sealing the two of you in this private world.
And then, without hesitation, you kiss him.
The moment your lips meet, thereâs a heat that sears through both of you, but itâs not wild at first. His lips are soft and warm, moving against yours in a way thatâs almost tentative. You deepen the kiss, and itâs slow at firstâwet and slick as your tongues meet, sliding against each other in a way that makes you dizzy. You can tell that this isnât something Bakugou does often. His movements are hesitant, a little shy, almost unsure of himself. Heâs awkward in a way thatâs endearing, and it makes your heart race.
But you? Youâre more carefree than him. Nothing about this feels awkward to you, and that seems to comfort him, ease him into the moment. His hands come up to tangle in your hair, fingers fisting gently as he pulls you closer, and the kiss grows hotter, deeper. He breaks away for a moment, panting softly against your lips, his breath hot and shaky. âHahââ he exhales, his eyes half-lidded and hazy as he looks at you.
You take advantage of his hesitation, running your fingers up his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his blazer. Your fingers trail up to his face, brushing his hair back off his forehead, before you pull him in for another kiss. This time, itâs more urgent, more desperate, and you can feel him relaxing into it, his body pressing closer to yours.
It doesnât take long for the kiss to escalate. His hands roam your body, and before you know it, youâre being pushed back against the bathroom mirror. The cold glass presses against your back, a stark contrast to the heat of Bakugouâs body against yours. His hands are everywhereâskimming up your thighs, pushing your dress up over your hips, while his mouth moves hungrily against yours.
You gasp when his fingers find the waistband of your underwear, tugging it aside, and when his fingers brush over your wet folds, he makes a choked sound against your lips. His breath is ragged, his touch clumsy but insistent. Your own fingers work at his belt, fumbling in your haste to unbuckle it. You manage to free him just as his fingers slide inside you, and you mumble a single word against his lips: âStart.â
When he finally enters you, the sensation is overwhelming. He fills you completely, every inch of him sliding inside you with an ease that makes your head spin. You gasp, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer as he starts to move. His pace is steady but hard, his hips rolling into yours with a rhythm that makes your toes curl.
Each thrust pushes you further against the mirror, the cool surface a grounding sensation as you cling to him, moaning softly into his mouth. The sound of his hips meeting yours echoes in the small space, mixing with the ragged breaths and soft groans that escape both of you. Itâs raw, primal, and perfect.
Bakugou isnât gentle, but heâs not rough either. His movements are driven, urgent, but thereâs a carefulness to the way he holds you, like heâs trying to make sure youâre comfortable, even as his need for you grows more intense with every passing second. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you higher against him, and your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him even deeper.
He groans against your lips, the sound muffled as his mouth finds yours again in a desperate kiss. His body trembles slightly as he thrusts harder, and you feel like youâre melting into him, the pleasure building with every movement, every kiss. His face buries into the crook of your neck, teeth grazing against your skin as he loses himself in the moment.
And you, youâre barely holding on. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you arch against him, trying to take him deeper, feel more of him. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as the tension inside you coils tighter and tighter, ready to snap.
When you finally come, it hits you like a wave, your body trembling violently as you moan into his ear, the sound broken and breathless. Your head falls back against the mirror with a dull thud, your body shaking as the pleasure courses through you, leaving you feeling weightless, like youâre floating.
Bakugou follows soon after, his movements growing sloppier as he thrusts into you one last time, his body trembling as he comes with a low, guttural groan. You can feel the warmth of him spilling into you, his hips lazily rolling against yours as he rides out his release, his body sagging against yours as the intensity of the moment begins to fade.
For a moment, neither of you speak. The only sounds are your heavy breathing and the faint hum of the venue outside the bathroom. Bakugou presses a soft kiss to your lips, and you hum in response, your breaths slowly returning to normal as the world around you comes back into focus.
âThat was nice,â you finally breathe out, a smile playing on your lips.
He grunts, his usual gruffness returning as he huffs, âAinât bad.â His teeth graze your jaw, a playful nip that makes you laugh softly.Â
You guide his face back to yours, kissing him again, slower this time, savoring the moment. His lips are soft, and you can feel the slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he kisses you back, his body still pressed close to yours. For all his bluster and harshness, thereâs something undeniably sweet about the way he holds you now, in the aftermath of it all. Itâs like the tension has finally eased, and all thatâs left is the warmth between you.Â
Bakugouâs grip tightens slightly on your hips, and when you pull back to look at him, you see the faintest hint of a smile on his flushed face. His eyes are softer now, the usual scowl replaced by something that feels almost like contentment.Â
"Ainât bad at all," he mutters again, shaking his head like he can't believe what just happened, but thereâs no bite to his words. Just admiration.Â
You grin, brushing a stray lock of his hair off his forehead as you catch your breath. "Took you long enough to figure that out, Dynamight."Â
He groans but doesnât argue. Instead, he just leans in for one more kiss.
You go two more rounds after that.
The first time, youâre bent over the counter, your palms flat against the cold marble as Bakugouâs hands grip your waist, his fingers digging into your skin like heâs afraid youâll slip away. Your face is pressed into the smooth surface, cheek cool against the stone as his hips snap into you from behind, his movements strong and steady. His breath is hot on the back of your neck, ragged and uneven as he mutters low curses under his breath. You bite your lip to stifle your own moans, your body arching back into him instinctively, the feeling of him filling you up over and over making your mind foggy with pleasure.Â
You lose yourself in the moment, in the way he feels so solid behind you, and then you go one more round (completely unplanned, but it happens when you pull him in for another kiss, and suddenly heâs lifting you up against the wooden door, and before you know it, heâs inside you again. Your legs are wrapped high around his waist, your back sliding against the door as he thrusts andâ)
When you finally stumble out of the bathroom, youâre grinning like youâve just won a game. Your legs feel wobbly, but you manage to smooth down your dress, fix your hair, and quickly touch up your makeup in the reflection of the door. The mischievous smile on your lips is impossible to hide, especially when you glance over your shoulder and see Bakugou a few steps behind, still flushed, his hair slightly tousled, trying to pull himself together. His eyes meet yours, and for a split second, you see the mixture of amusement and embarrassment on his face, though he does his best to mask it behind his usual tough exterior.Â
You blow him a playful kiss, letting your lips curl into a teasing smirk, and wink at him before stepping back into the crowded party. His eyes follow you as you weave your way through the sea of people, the heavy tension between you still lingering in the air.Â
You breathe in deeply, letting the excitement of the evening wash over you, and for a moment, you canât help but chuckle to yourself.
What a day itâs been.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
You donât expect to see Bakugou again so soon. Musutafu is a big city, and despite the overlap between the worlds of hero work and fashion, they still feel distant from each other. Itâs the kind of encounter that you assume will remain a one-off, a memorable night tucked away between busy schedules and public personas.
But you meet him again.
Fashion Week passes in a whirlwind. The shows, the parties, the late nights, and flashing camerasâit's all a blur of glamour and exhaustion. You remember the fun, the thrill of strutting down the runway, and, of course, the spontaneous, heated night with Bakugou. Yet, as all good things must, Fashion Week comes to an end, leaving you with a brief window to rest.Â
Three days off is all youâve got before your agent, Koizumi, shuffles you back into work. Thereâs a perfume campaign for HakutĆ, and then shoots for Tsukiyo, RyĆ«mon, Chanel, and Dsquared2. Itâs a hectic schedule, a small price to pay for working with such prestigious brands, but the pressure is unrelenting. You love your job, though, and youâve worked hard to get here, so you canât complain too much. For now, though, all that stress can waitâyouâve got groceries to handle.
Dressed in your most comfortable clothes, you stroll out of the store, bags in hand. The mid-March weather is crisp and refreshing, the kind of cool breeze that makes you feel alive without biting too hard. Musutafu is buzzing this afternoon. Salarymen rush to their next appointments, students walk home from school, and you spot a few pro-heroes patrolling the streets, keeping the peace.
And thatâs when you see him.
Pro Hero Dynamight, standing across the street, his imposing figure unmistakable. His gaze locks onto yours, and your steps falter for just a second as surprise flickers through you. You werenât expecting to see him hereâespecially not in this part of the city. You know the patrol routes around your neighborhood, and Bakugou certainly doesnât belong in this jurisdiction. Thereâs a mixture of amusement and curiosity bubbling inside you as you smile, adjusting the weight of your grocery bags before making your way toward him.
Bakugou notices and, with a scoff, starts walking in your direction too, that familiar scowl set on his face. You canât help but tease as you approach him. "From what I know, this area is usually covered by Wash or Ingenium. So, what are you doing here, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight?"
His brow arches slightly, and he lets out a dismissive grunt, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Donât go thinkinâ too much, idiot. My patrol areas just switched for now."
"For now, huh?" you echo, your smile widening as you catch the slight annoyance in his tone.
"Yeah, for now," he mutters, his arms crossing over his chest as if to block you out. His stance is casual but defensive, like he's waiting for another smart remark.
You laugh, a soft sound that pulls his attention despite himself. "Alright, Mr. 'For Now,' how's it going?"
"'M good," he replies, his eyes flicking away for a moment before locking back onto yours. "Your fashion shitâs done, right?"
You nod, feeling a small thrill that he remembers. "Yeah, all done. Iâve got a few days off before itâs back to the grind. You knowâphotoshoots, campaign stuff, you know, the usual. I know itâs not exactly your favorite thing."
His face scrunches up in a scowl at the mention of photoshoots, clearly disgusted by the thought. "Photoshoots ainât my thing. Theyâre annoyinâ and pointless. Too transparent."
"To you, maybe," you say, raising a brow at him. There's something almost endearing about how he expresses his dislike so bluntly, not bothering to sugarcoat anything. "I wouldnât mind doing a photoshoot with you. Youâd look good next to me." You pause, letting the teasing smile spread across your face as you lean in just a little. "Besides, Iâve already seen your dick. I donât think it can get more transparent than that."
He chokes, the words seemingly stuck in his throat as his face flushes crimson. His reaction is so instant, so visceral, that you canât help but laugh, the sound echoing around the busy street. "Relax," you say, waving your hand as if to brush the moment off. "It was just sex, nothing to get your panties twisted over."
Bakugouâs expression darkens, his jaw clenching, but he stays quiet, mumbling something under his breath that you canât quite catch. His eyes dart away from you, as if heâs trying to focus on something else, anything but you.
You sigh softly, feeling a little bad for rattling him, but not enough to stop. "Well, it was nice running into you again, Bakugou. See you around," you say lightly, stepping around him and continuing on your way. As you walk past, you glance back over your shoulder, giving him a playful wink.
Bakugou stands there for a moment, watching you go, that scowl still etched into his face. But thereâs something else there too, something you canât quite placeâa flicker of interest, of something unresolved. He doesnât say anything as you walk away, but you can feel his eyes lingering on you, that tension from before still simmering between you, even now.
As you disappear into the crowd, you canât help but think that youâll be seeing him sooner than either of you expects.
Of course, youâre right.
You start seeing him everywhere. At first, it feels like a coincidence. You catch Bakugou during your morning runs, passing him on patrol as you loop through your favorite jogging route. Then, you spot him at the gym, his gruff exterior barely softening when you make a passing comment about his form. Even at the grocery store, you bump into him, his presence becoming strangely consistent.Â
But it doesn't stop there. When you head back to workâwhether itâs a photoshoot for a campaign or an editorial shootâBakugouâs name keeps popping up. Youâll catch glimpses of him patrolling nearby or overhear a few crew members mentioning how they saw Pro Hero Dynamight passing by.Â
Itâs like heâs following you, though you canât be entirely sure. Itâs a strange feelingâa cat-and-mouse game, but thereâs no clear intention behind it. Why is he always around? What does he want? Is this all because of that one night? The bathroom? The sex?
Itâs baffling, and despite your cool exterior, it unsettles you a little. Youâre not used to people like him sticking around, especially after something so casual. It wasnât supposed to be more than a fleeting encounter, but here he is, popping up in the oddest places.
You chalk it up to coincidence. Thereâs no way Bakugouâs going out of his way just to see you. Heâs busy, youâre busyâitâs bound to happen in a city like Musutafu. Right?
Then comes the Ryƫmon shoot.
Youâre walking onto set with Koizumi whoâs rambling about the day's plans. His voice is quick, barely giving you time to process the details. âThis campaign is huge,â he says, scrolling through notes on his tablet. âYouâre paired with a famous Pro Heroâreally big name, should give the shoot a lot of exposure.â
You nod, half-listening, focusing more on getting your head into the game. Campaign shoots are always a mix of excitement and pressure, especially for high-end brands like RyĆ«mon. The labelâs creative direction is sharp and bold, with a reputation for creating powerful imagery that makes a statement. Youâve worked with them before, so youâre comfortable with their style.
But as you step onto the set, your steps falter when you see him.
Bakugou. Standing there, his broad arms crossed over his chest, wearing a black t-shirt that clings to his muscular frame. His face is pulled into its usual scowl, clearly not thrilled to be here as the creative director, Hanada, and photographer, Tamazaki, discuss details with him.Â
You exchange a quick glance with Koizumi, who looks back at you in mild surprise, but youâre too focused on Bakugou to address it. You didnât expect this. At all.
As you and Koizumi approach, you greet Hanada and Tamazaki with handshakes, professional smiles exchanged as you quickly fall into the rhythm of working with them again. But your gaze keeps flickering to Bakugou, and finally, you extend your hand toward him.
He takes it, his grip firm, the skin of his palm rough. âDidnât know you were gonna be here,â he mutters as he releases your hand.
You raise an eyebrow, unable to resist teasing him. âI thought photoshoots werenât your thing. âToo transparent,â or did I get that wrong?â
He huffs, his eyes narrowing just a little as he crosses his arms again. âAinât my thing,â he admits, but thereâs an edge to his voice, almost like heâs begrudgingly accepting his fate. âBut⊠RyĆ«monâs cool. And my agentâs been on my ass about marketing. Thatâs it.â
âRight. Just your agent,â you say with a smirk. âNothing to do with me saying youâd look good next to me in a shoot, huh?â
Bakugouâs lips twitch into a slight frown, and he grumbles under his breath, refusing to meet your gaze directly. You laugh softly, feeling a small victory at getting under his skin. âWell, I guess weâll be working together today. Iâll try not to be too much of a distraction.â
His eyes finally flicker to yours, and for just a moment, thereâs a flash of something unspokenâan acknowledgment of the tension thatâs been building between you ever since that night. But itâs gone just as quickly, replaced by his usual stoic expression.
âDonât flatter yourself,â he mumbles, but the faint flush on his cheeks betrays him, making your grin widen.
Before you can tease him further, the producer interrupts, ushering both of you toward hair and makeup. You exchange a brief glance with Bakugou, and despite his gruff exterior, you catch a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Itâs clear this isnât his sceneâthe world of high fashion and photo shoots is far from what heâs used to.Â
As you settle into your respective chairs, stylists buzz around, fixing your hair and touching up your makeup with practiced precision. RyĆ«monâs high fashion shoots are known for their bold, avant-garde looks, and you can already tell this one will be no different. The brand draws heavily from Japanese mythology, particularly dragons, blending traditional motifs with cutting-edge, sculptural designs. Itâs one of your favorite labels to work with, and you can feel the excitement building as the stylists prepare you for the first look.
When you finally step into the fitting room, youâre handed the first outfit: The Storm Dragon Dress. Itâs a masterpiece, the fabric heavy in your hands but ethereal once you slip it on. The dress clings to your figure, the stormy blue silk rippling like water with every movement. The silver embroidery, depicting a dragon soaring through clouds, glimmers under the soft lights, and the chiffon sleeve flows dramatically behind you like a dragonâs wing. The slit up the side reveals just enough skin to be daring without losing the elegance, and the intricate 3D-printed dragon spine running from your collarbone to your back adds an edge of power to the otherwise feminine silhouette.
You glance in the mirror, adjusting the delicate lace panel on the side, and for a moment, you feel like you are the dragonâthe embodiment of power, grace, and danger all at once.
But when you turn around, your breath catches.
Bakugou is standing there, dressed in The Oni Dragon Suit, and you canât help but stare. The deep charcoal of the suit contrasts sharply with the crimson dragon motif woven across the lapels and down his back, and the structured, pagoda-style shoulders give him an air of command that feels both fierce and regal. The gold clouds embroidered on his high-collared shirt glimmer under the light, and the laser-cut dragon scale details on the sides of his trousers catch your eye, adding a subtle but intricate element to the look. The obi belt, sleek and glossy, pulls the entire outfit together, accentuating his broad frame.
He looks sexy.
You approach him, your smile teasing as you take in the sight of him. âYou look good. Different, but good.â
He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment, but you catch the faint flush creeping around his ears. âSâjust a stupid outfit,â he mumbles, but the way his fingers flex at his sides betrays the slight nervousness he feels being out of his element.
You grin, finding his awkwardness endearing. Cute.
Itâs not often that Bakugou feels out of placeâheâs usually so sure of himself, whether on the battlefield or in everyday life. But here, in this world of high fashion, heâs not the explosive, confident hero that the world knows. Heâs more reserved, more uncertain, and seeing him like this only fuels the tension between you.
The producer calls you both over, signaling the start of the shoot, and you step in front of the cameras, slipping into your role with ease. Modeling is second nature to you, the poses and expressions flowing naturally as Hanada and Tamazaki direct the scene. The camera clicks, capturing every angle, every movement, and you fall into the familiar rhythm of the shoot.
But Bakugou? Heâs stiff, his body rigid and his jaw clenched. You can tell this isnât his comfort zone, and the awkwardness is written all over him.
Between takes, you lean in close, your voice soft so only he can hear. âRelax. Youâre doing fine. Just think of it like a mission.â
He glances at you, his eyes narrowing in that familiar Bakugou way, but thereâs a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. âEasy for you to say,â he mutters, but he uncrosses his arms and adjusts his stance, trying to loosen up.
The shoot continues, and slowly, Bakugou starts to ease into it. His movements become less rigid, his posture more relaxed, and the scowl on his face softens, just a little. Heâs still far from fully comfortable, but thereâs a shift in the airâa subtle change that makes the chemistry between you two even more palpable.
With each shot, the energy builds. The space between you becomes charged, every subtle touch or glance sending sparks through the air. You find yourself leaning into him, positioning your body closer to his as the camera clicks, capturing moments that feel electric. Thereâs a tension simmering beneath the surfaceâan undeniable pull between you that neither of you can ignore.
And Bakugou feels it too.
His eyes flicker toward you between takes, the heat in his gaze unmistakable, though he quickly looks away whenever he catches you watching him. But you donât miss the way his breath hitches when your hand brushes against his arm, or the way his body tenses ever so slightly when you stand just a little too close.
The camera continues to click, capturing each moment, each subtle shift in energy. And with every shot, it becomes clearer: thereâs something between youâsomething that neither of you is quite ready to acknowledge, but itâs there, undeniable and growing stronger with each passing second.
And this is only the first outfit.
As the producer calls for the second outfit, youâre whisked away for another round of hair and makeup. The next look is even bolder than the last. You slip into The Phoenix Samurai Suit, feeling its weight on your body as the stylists adjust every detail. The dark navy brocade shimmers under the soft lights, the silver dragon embroidery standing out against the fabric. The jacket, cropped and fitted, accentuates your figure, while the exaggerated sleeves give the outfit an almost otherworldly flair. Beneath it, the sheer high-neck blouse feels delicate against your skin, the gold cloud motifs intricately embroidered to represent the celestial power of the dragon.
The pants are structured with layered leather panels, cinched at the waist by an obi-style belt, which is adorned with a hand-painted dragonâs eye at the center. It feels like armor, like a second skinâa balance of elegance and power. You glance in the mirror and see a warrior looking back at you. The ensemble speaks of strength and grace, a fusion of tradition and modernity that makes you feel like youâre stepping into the role of a mythic legend.
Bakugou steps out beside you, now wearing The Inferno Dragon Streetwear Look. The fusion of high fashion and streetwear is striking, the leather bomber jacket molded to his broad frame, embossed with dragon-scale patterns that add a tactile, 3D effect. The embroidered crimson dragon wrapping around his shoulders looks like itâs ready to spring to life. Underneath, the black mesh turtleneck with flame-like cutouts gives him an edgy, raw appeal that complements his usual intensity. His slim-fit cargo pants, with segmented knee panels resembling samurai greaves, are finished with straps and metallic accents, all inspired by katana hilts.
He looks every bit the modern warrior RyĆ«mon seeks to embodyâregal, dangerous, and undeniably powerful.
âNot bad,â you say, giving him a teasing glance, but this time you see the way his gaze lingers on you, longer than before. Itâs subtle, but his eyes flick down over your form, taking in the details of your outfit. Thereâs an unspoken tension in the way he looks at you, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
âSame to you,â he mutters, his tone gruff, but the slight flush on his cheeks is back again.
With every new outfit, the shoot grows more intense, more electric. The photographers have you and Bakugou posed together in close proximity, your bodies pressed against each other, your arms interlinked. The touch of his hand on your waist, the feel of his breath on your neck when youâre standing so closeâeach moment feels charged, simmering with a tension that has been building since the start.
You go through a few more outfit changes, each one more dramatic than the last. The stylists adjust your hair, makeup, and accessories as you slip into each new look, the energy between you and Bakugou growing with every shot. His movements become more fluid, his poses less stiff, and thereâs a natural ease in the way he touches you nowâa hand on your lower back, fingers brushing your arm. But itâs the intensity in his eyes that catches you off guard the most, the way they burn with something unspoken every time you look at him.
By the time youâre both dressed for the final look, you can feel the tension ready to snap.
Youâre wearing The Dragon Empress Gownâa masterpiece of obsidian silk and crimson embroidery. The coiling dragon wraps around your torso and slithers down your leg, shimmering in the light. The structured shoulders fan out like dragon wings, giving the gown an almost armor-like quality. The skirt is adorned with laser-cut leather scales, arranged in a cascading effect, and the high neckline, decorated with gold filigree resembling dragon whiskers, adds an air of regality. You feel like a queenâpowerful, commanding, and untouchable.
But then Bakugou steps into the frame, and it feels like everything else fades.
Heâs dressed in The Black Tide Suit, a deconstructed tuxedo in jet black with fluid, wave-like embroidery. The shimmering silver threads catch the light, symbolizing the dragonâs connection to water, and the iridescent dragon-scale texture on the lapels adds a subtle elegance to the look. But itâs the back of the suit that stands out the mostâthe embroidered dragon skeleton design, glowing under the studio lights, giving the outfit a haunting, ethereal quality. The sheer high-neck top with metallic ink kanji flows seamlessly into tailored pants with a wrap-style waist inspired by traditional hakama.
He looks incredible, a dark, powerful force next to you, and you canât help but feel the heat between you spike as the shoot continues.
The poses become more intimate. Youâre pressed against him, your back arching as his hand settles on your lower back, firm but almost possessive. The camera clicks, capturing every moment as your hand slides up to his chest, your fingers brushing the fabric of his suit. His breath hitches slightly, just enough for you to notice, but he holds his composure, his jaw clenched as his gaze locks onto yours.
Youâre guided toward a prop couch for the next series of shots, your legs stretched out over his lap, his hand resting on your ankle as you lean back. The proximity is intoxicating. Every touch feels deliberate, and it sends a pulse of energy through you, like a low hum of electricity running beneath your skin.
And then comes the final pose.
Youâre seated on his lap, your body angled toward him, your faces mere inches apart. The heat between you is undeniable now, your lips so close theyâre almost touching, your breath mingling with his. His eyes are dark, intense, and for a brief moment, the rest of the set seems to disappear. Itâs just you and him, the air thick with unspoken desire. His hand slides up your thigh, just grazing the fabric of your gown, while your fingers brush the nape of his neck.
The tension is suffocating, every moment feeling like itâs about to break. You can feel his pulse under your touch, rapid, like yours, and for a moment, you wonder if heâll close the distanceâif heâll kiss you right here, right now.
But the camera clicks, breaking the spell.
Itâs intoxicating, the way he affects youâhow just being close to him sends your heart racing. Youâve danced around this chemistry for so long, but now it feels like itâs right there, teetering on the edge.Â
One more push, one more touch, and everything could unravel.
After the shoot wraps up, you find yourself back in the dressing room, changing into the clothes you arrived in. The weight of the shoot, the tension between you and Bakugou, still lingers in your chest like an unspoken question, hanging in the air. You say your goodbyes to the staff, thanking them for their hard work, but your mind is elsewhereâon him.
You meet Bakugou near the entrance of the building, and youâre ready for the inevitable moment where the tension between you two flares again, where the unspoken electricity in the air crackles. But before you can say anything, Bakugou breaks the silence.
âYou hungry?â he asks, his voice gruff, casual, like nothingâs been brewing between the two of you all day.
You blink, surprised at how quickly the tension dissipates in that moment, but then a smile tugs at your lips. âYeah, I could eat. All I had was some toast this morning.â
He gives a quick nod, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his hoodie. âAlright, letâs go,â he says, jerking his head toward the parking lot.
The ride is quiet but not uncomfortable.Â
Thereâs a strange calm between you two now, as if the earlier intensity has settled into something quieter, simmering just beneath the surface. He drives you to a small, tucked-away izakaya, the kind of place you wouldnât have found on your ownâa private, intimate setting that feels almost out of place considering the day youâve just had.
The atmosphere inside is warm and inviting, the kind of place where you can just let go and relax. The food is good, the kind of comforting, hearty dishes that hit the spot after a long day. Bakugou is surprisingly good company, much more relaxed outside the pressures of the shoot. As you sip on your drinkâthough Bakugou sticks to water, being the responsible one behind the wheelâthe conversation flows easily.
He talks about his hero work, the grind of it all, but thereâs a lightness to the way he complains about his sidekicks or how his friends drag him to karaoke once a month. Thereâs a surprising openness to him when he talks about his hobbies, like hiking and cooking, things you wouldnât have expected from someone who carries such a tough exterior. You find yourself leaning in as he talks, listening intently, laughing when he grumbles about how no one can keep up with him on the trails or how no one can cook worth a damn in his agency.
In return, you share pieces of yourselfâstories about your family, your work as a model, and how the industry can be cutthroat but also rewarding. You talk about your friends and hobbies, and somehow, the conversation becomes easier, more comfortable, like youâve both dropped the walls that had been up all day.
At some point, though, you donât even realize how close youâve leaned in. Itâs subtle at first, but the space between you both shrinks with each laugh, each glance. The atmosphere shifts, the casual conversation laced with that same tension youâd felt all day. Your faces are so close now, his breath warm against your lips, your fingers resting on the table dangerously close to his.
Then, it happens.Â
A brush of lips, barely there, so brief youâre not sure if you imagined it. But the spike of heat between you is undeniable. You can see it in the way Bakugouâs eyes darken, the way his lips part slightly like heâs about to say something, but he pulls back at the last second. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, a quiet exhale escaping him as he shifts in his seat.
Thereâs a beat of silence, heavy and charged. For a moment, youâre sure something will happen, that this tension will finally snap. But instead, Bakugou clears his throat, his eyes darting away for just a second. He lets out a tch, and mutters, âCalm down,â under his breath.
You almost laugh in relief, though it feels like thereâs something else too, something lingering between you that hasnât quite been resolved. You quickly find another conversation to latch onto, both of you pretending like that near-kiss didnât just happen, though the air still hums with that unresolved energy.
But as the drinks continue to flow for you, and you laugh and talk more, the buzz of alcohol starts to hit you. Your mind feels lighter, your inhibitions lower, and when Bakugou finally offers to drive you home, you agree without thinking twice.
And now here you are, in the plush backseat of his sleek, expensive car, parked in an empty lot, the windows fogged up from the heat between you.Â
The scent of sweat and sex fills the confined space, heavy and intoxicating. Your sweatpants and thong are discarded somewhere on the floor, forgotten in the frenzy of lust that overtook you both.
You're straddling Bakugou's lap, your body pressed flush against his as you ride him, your hands gripping his broad shoulders for balance. His hands are on your hips, guiding your movements as you bounce on his cock, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you shiver. His face is flushed, lips parted as low, trembling moans slip from his throat, each sound sending a thrill through your already trembling body.
His hips rut up to meet yours, every thrust pushing him deeper inside you, hitting a spot that has you gasping for breath. Your own sounds are high and breathy, escaping in little moans and whimpers as you press yourself closer to him, your chest brushing against his as your lips meet in a wet, slow kiss. Itâs a desperate, messy kiss, all heat and need, his tongue sweeping against yours as he groans into your mouth.
His hand slip beneath your hoodie, fingers tracing up your back as he pulls you even closer, your bodies impossibly tight together. His thumb circles your clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body that has you arching into him, a breathless moan escaping your lips as your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.
âShit,â you moan, voice catching on the word as your hips roll, chasing the friction. You can feel the heat building, your climax creeping up on you, and when Bakugouâs thumb presses harder against your clit, you fall apart with a cry of his name on your lips.
Heâs right behind you, his grip tightening on your hips as he thrusts up into you, his moans growing louder, more desperate. His hips jerk, and with a low, trembling groan, he comes inside you, warmth flooding you as his body shudders beneath yours. His thrusts slow, his head falling back against the seat as he pants, his chest heaving with each breath.
For a moment, neither of you moves, both of you caught in the aftermath of your release. The car is quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the windows still fogged, the air thick with the smell of sweat and sex. You press your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his as you both come down from the high.
It's inevitable, you think.Â
The tension, the chemistryâit was bound to snap eventually. You just didnât expect it to happen like this, in the backseat of his car, in some forgotten parking lot. But now that it has, youâre left wondering what comes next, as the reality of what just happened settles over you like a heavy blanket.
After the haze of sex in the backseat of Bakugouâs car, you find yourselves in the quiet space of your apartment.Â
Thereâs no more rush, no hurried touches or frantic pulling at clothes. This time, itâs different. You take your time, savoring every moment as if the weight of whatâs between you has finally snapped, allowing you both to indulge in something more primal, more intimate.
You start by stripping each other slowly, each piece of clothing removed with deliberate hands, revealing the warm, soft skin beneath. His hands roam over your body like heâs memorizing it, every curve and dip. And you do the same to him, your fingertips trailing over the ridges of his muscles, the planes of his torso, the powerful lines of his body that feel both foreign and familiar.Â
When you finally tumble into your bed, itâs like a slow burn that turns into a roaring fire. Bakugouâs mouth is on your neck, pressing hot kisses against your skin, each one igniting a spark inside you. His lips travel lower, trailing over your collarbone, biting gently as his tongue soothes the sting. His hands are everywhereâgripping your waist, sliding over your hips, pulling you closer as if he canât get enough of the feel of you against him.
Then, his mouth finds the swell of your breast. He bites down gently, sending a sharp shock of pleasure through your body, before his tongue circles your nipple, soothing the bite. His lips curl around the sensitive bud, sucking softly, and your back arches into him, a soft moan slipping from your lips. But heâs not done. Heâs only just begun.
He moves lower, kissing down your stomach, each press of his lips drawing you further under his spell. And when he finally reaches the apex of your thighs, his breath hot against your skin, youâre already trembling with anticipation. His nose presses into your mound, inhaling deeply, before his tongue slips between your folds, licking into your swollen, slick sex. The sensation is electric, and you fall apart immediately under his touch.
His tongue circles your clit with precision, slow and teasing, then fast and relentless. You canât help the sounds that escape your lipsâhigh, breathy moans that fill the room as your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. You feel your body unraveling, every nerve alight with pleasure as he works you expertly with his mouth, building you up higher and higher until you reach the peak.
When you come, itâs with his name spilling from your lips, a broken, needy cry. Your body trembles violently, legs quaking as the waves of pleasure crash over you, and Bakugou doesnât stop. His tongue continues to lap at you, coaxing every last tremor from your body, licking you through the aftershocks.
He climbs back up to meet your lips, and you kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, the heady mix of desire still burning hot between you. The weight of his body presses against you, comforting and safe, yet thereâs still a raw, desperate edge to the way his cock presses against your entrance, already hard again, throbbing with need.
He slips inside you easily, the warm, wet slide of him filling you in a way that feels so good, so right. Your body welcomes him, molding around him as he thrusts deep, but this time thereâs a desperation to his movements that you havenât seen before. His hips snap up into you hard and fast, driving deep inside with each thrust, like heâs chasing something only you can give him. His hands curl around the back of your knees, pushing your thighs wider apart so he can move easier, plunging deeper into you, every stroke hitting the perfect spot inside that has your breath catching in your throat.
You cling to him, your hands settling around his biceps, feeling the hard muscles flex beneath your palms as he fucks you with unrelenting intensity. Your moans grow louder, higher-pitched, spilling from your lips in needy cries as your head falls back against the pillow. The pleasure is overwhelming, crashing through you in waves, and you can barely keep up with the sensations that Bakugou is drawing out of you.
Heâs lost in it too, his own sounds spilling from his lipsâgrunts, groans, and low trembling moans that send a thrill down your spine. You look up at him, and heâs a vision; an Adonis of rippling muscle, his body slick with sweat, his face contorted in pure pleasure. His hair is tousled, his lips parted, and his eyesâhalf-lidded and dark with lustâare fixed on you, watching every reaction, every twitch of your body beneath him.
Itâs like something has shifted, an unspoken understanding thatâs been reached. The tension thatâs been building between you for so long has finally broken, and all thatâs left is thisâthis raw, desperate need for each other. His thrusts grow harder, faster, his body driving into yours with a relentless pace, and youâre teetering on the edge again, your body so close to breaking apart for him.
You feel the build-up of pleasure coiling tight in your core, and when it finally snaps, itâs overwhelming. Your entire body tenses, your back arching off the bed as you come with a loud, high-pitched cry, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your nails dig into his skin, clutching him as if heâs the only thing grounding you to the earth.
Bakugou isnât far behind. His grip on your thighs tightens, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release. And when he finally comes, itâs with a low, trembling moan, his hips stuttering against yours as he spills inside you, filling you with his warmth. His body shudders, collapsing slightly against yours as he pants, trying to catch his breath.
For a moment, neither of you moves. The only sounds in the room are your labored breathing and the faint rustling of the sheets. You lie there, tangled together, bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. It feels like something has shifted between you twoâlike youâve crossed a line you canât uncross. But in this moment, with the weight of Bakugouâs body pressing against yours, his heartbeat steady against your chest, it doesnât feel like a bad thing.
If anything, it feels like a beginning.
The night is a blur of sweat, skin, and soft gasps as you go four more rounds with Bakugou.Â
Each time, you unravel each other in different waysâbodies tangled, exploring every inch, every sensation. The intensity between you two doesnât fade, even after hours of pushing each other past the edge of pleasure.
The first round has you back on top. You ride him with purpose, your hips grinding down as Bakugou watches you with heated, half-lidded eyes, his hands gripping your waist tightly, guiding your movements. His quiet groans encourage you, and the fire between you only grows hotter. After that, youâre on all fours, your back arched as he takes you from behind, his fingers digging into your hips while you press your face into the pillow, muffling your moans. His pace is relentless, driving into you with precision, and you feel every stroke in the pit of your stomach.
When you switch positions again, you find yourself on top once more, but this time itâs slower, more deliberate. You press your chest to his, exchanging lazy kisses as you roll your hips in a steady rhythm. His hands slide up your back, and your lips part only to let soft, breathless sounds escape. Then, Bakugou takes control one final time, flipping you onto your back. Your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts into you deeply and slowly, the air thick with the shared heat of your breaths. His mouth captures yours again, lips brushing lazily, and his pace, though deliberate, is more intimate, almost tender. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, holding him close as the room spins from the intensity.
By the time you both finally collapse in a sweaty, breathless heap, you canât tell if youâre still vibrating from the aftershocks or just from the sheer energy between you. Itâs lateâor early, you canât be sureâbut eventually, you both fall into an exhausted sleep.
In the morning, you wake to the familiar sensation of Bakugouâs cock pressed against you, his hips slowly grinding against yours. Youâre still half-asleep, your body heavy with exhaustion but slowly stirring with arousal as he lazily ruts against you. The warmth between you two grows as you tease each other awake with lazy touches and soft groans, bodies still pressed close from the night before. When you turn your head and meet his lips in a kiss, it ignites something in both of you again.
Bakugou slips inside you easily, his hips moving in slow, languid strokes. His forehead rests against yours, eyes half-closed as he rocks into you, and you respond with soft, breathy sounds of pleasure. Itâs gentle this time, more relaxed but still charged with that unspoken heat. You come with a quiet, sharp keen, your body trembling under his touch, and he follows soon after, his own release a deep, low groan that rumbles from his chest.
Later, after a shared shower that feels as intimate as the night before, youâre in the kitchen making breakfast. Itâs a simple, traditional Japanese breakfastârice, miso soup, grilled fish, and pickled vegetables. Bakugou, surprisingly, helps you with ease. He moves efficiently, chopping vegetables, setting things up, his movements deliberate and practiced. Itâs oddly domestic, the two of you working side by side in your kitchen.
But thereâs a tension in the air now, a shift that you canât ignore. Bakugou is quieter than usual, his usual gruffness replaced by something heavier, something unspoken. You notice it in the way his eyes flicker to you when he thinks you arenât looking, the slight furrow in his brow as if heâs turning something over in his mind.
And you know what heâs probably thinking. The question hangs in the air between you, thick and heavyâwhat the hell are you both doing? Is this just sex? Or is it something more? Itâs the kind of question thatâs impossible to avoid after a night like that, after the way he touched you, the way he kissed you. The way heâs still looking at you now, with that guarded expression, as if heâs not sure if heâs crossed a line.
To be honest, you donât have an answer. You like himâBakugouâs a lot nicer than you ever gave him credit for. Heâs attentive, he listens, and heâs definitely cute when he gets flustered. And yeah, the sex is fantastic. But do you want more than that? A relationship? Or are you fine with keeping it casual, just taking things as they come? More importantlyâis he?
You glance at him as he sets the table, his movements still stiff with that unspoken tension, and wonder if heâs wrestling with the same questions. His face is set in his usual scowl, but thereâs something softer in his eyes when they meet yours. Something uncertain.
As you both sit down to eat, the conversation from last night feels miles away. The comfortable flow has been replaced by this underlying heaviness, like youâre both waiting for the other to speak up. Neither of you does, though. Instead, you both focus on the food, the clatter of chopsticks the only sound between you.
But itâs not enough to keep you from thinking about it. About how easily this could be more than just a casual fling, how easy it would be to fall into something deeper with him. How nice it would be to have this, him, all the time. But you also know that thereâs no going back if you cross that line, and youâre not sure if either of you is ready for that conversation just yet.
After breakfast, you finally gather the courage to speak. Â
"Look⊠yesterday wasâfun?â you begin, your voice a bit quiet, âI donât really know. It felt like something building up just⊠snapped, and it happened. And I donât know what you think, but for me, I donât think Iâm ready for anything serious. A casual thing could be niceâmaybe some sex when we both need itâbut Iâm not looking for a relationship right nowâof course, I donât expect you to feel the same! But I just wanted to be honest, because⊠you donât really seem like the type for casual.â Â
Bakugouâs gaze lingers on you, heavy and unblinking, as he processes your words. The quiet between you both feels thick, the clatter of dishes now muted as the weight of your confession sinks in. His expression is hard to read at firstâhis usual scowl deepens slightly, his brows knitting together as he lets out a low breath. His jaw tightens, and his eyes flicker away from you for a second, but then theyâre back, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.
For a moment, you wonder if heâs angry. Bakugou has never been one to hide his emotions, and you brace yourself for a harsh reaction, something explosive or gruff. But instead, he surprises you with how quiet he stays. His lips part as if to say something, but then he closes them again, thinking.
Finally, he shifts in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, the tension in his shoulders evident. He grumbles, his voice low. âYouâre right. âM not really the type for casual shit.â His words are blunt, but thereâs a vulnerability to them, like heâs laying something out for you, raw and unfiltered. His eyes narrow, but not in angerâmore like heâs trying to understand his own feelings as much as heâs trying to understand yours.
He leans back slightly, running a hand through his messy hair, his fingers raking through the strands in frustration. âLook, I ainât gonna lieâlast night was good. More than good. But Iâm not lookinâ to be some hookup either. I donât do this kinda shit with just anyone.â His voice is quieter now, his tone more serious, the usual brashness dialed back.
You nod, biting your lip, feeling the weight of his words. Thereâs a part of you that knows what heâs saying makes senseâBakugou isnât the type for casual flings, not really. Thereâs something deeper beneath that tough exterior, something he guards fiercely, and last night probably cracked that armor more than either of you expected. But at the same time, youâre not ready for anything more. Not now. Not with your life the way it is.
âI know,â you say softly, your voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. âThatâs why I wanted to be upfront. I donât want to lead you on, and I donât want things to get messy.â
Bakugouâs eyes narrow again, and he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. âMessy, huh?â He scoffs lightly, shaking his head as if the word bothers him. âYeah, well... I donât want that either.â
Another beat of silence passes, and you both sit there, the weight of the conversation hanging between you like a heavy cloud. You feel the urge to reach out, to close the gap somehow, but you donât know how to. It feels like both of you are standing on the edge of something, unsure whether to step back or plunge forward.
Finally, Bakugou leans forward, elbows on his knees, his expression softer now, though still guarded. âI donât know what I want either,â he admits quietly, his voice rough, but honest. âBut Iâm not interested in half-assed shit. If weâre gonna do this, even if itâs just casual, I need to know itâs not just a fling to you. It canât just be âwhen we need it.ââ His words are firm, but not demanding. Itâs more like heâs setting his boundaries, telling you what he needs in order to even consider continuing this thing between you.
His gaze softens, and he looks at you, eyes searching for some kind of answer, some kind of reassurance. ââM not sayinâ we gotta make it somethinâ serious right now. But Iâm not gonna be some afterthought either, got it?â
The weight of his words hits you, and you feel a pang of guilt. You hadnât meant to make him feel like an afterthought, but you also know you canât offer him more than what youâre ready for. Your heart is torn between wanting to keep things simple and casual, and knowing that with Bakugou, nothing is ever truly simple.
You nod slowly, meeting his gaze. âI understand,â you say quietly. âI donât want to treat you like that either.â Thereâs a pause as you gather your thoughts. âMaybe⊠maybe we just see how things go? No labels, no expectations, just⊠see where it leads?â Youâre offering a middle ground, something that doesnât box either of you into anything too rigid, but still gives space for things to evolve naturally.
Bakugou studies you for a long moment, the intensity in his eyes making your chest tighten. He seems to weigh your words carefully, his expression hard to read. Finally, he lets out a low grunt, leaning back in his chair. âFine,â he says, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. âBut no bullshit. If this starts feelinâ like somethinâ more, we talk about it. None of that avoidinâ shit, got it?â
You canât help but smile, a small, relieved laugh escaping you. âYeah, I can do that. No bullshit.â
Bakugouâs lips twitch into something resembling a smirk, though itâs still weighed down by the seriousness of the conversation. âGood,â he mutters, his eyes softening as he finally relaxes a bit.Â
The tension between you two begins to fade, replaced by a quiet understanding. Thereâs no clear answer to what youâre doing or where this is going, but at least now youâre both on the same page, willing to figure it out together, step by step.
And that's how it starts, in a wayâthis unspoken agreement between you and Bakugou that neither of you quite knows how to define.Â
The âcasual but seriousâ arrangement feels like a tightrope you're both carefully balancing on, avoiding labels but knowing full well that there's more simmering beneath the surface. It's a strange dance, but somehow, it works for both of you.
You try to keep things low-key. Going out to dinner happens maybe once a week, but mostly it's at your place or his. It's better that way, safer. The press doesn't need to get wind of what this isâwhatever it is. You like the quiet comfort of your homes, anyway. No need for paparazzi pictures splashed all over the tabloids, fueling rumors neither of you wants to deal with. The phone calls and texts between you become a daily routine. He texts at odd hours, whenever he can between missions or patrols, and you find yourself waiting for the sharp ping of your phone more often than youâd care to admit. Itâs nice, thoughâcomforting in a way you didnât expect. Itâs casual, but not⊠detached.
And the sex? Thatâs another thing entirely. The first time after your conversation is awkward, neither of you quite sure how to navigate the shift. But once you both relax into it, it becomes just as natural as everything else. Youâre still unraveling each other, still finding those little things that make the other one tick.Â
But what surprises you the most is Bakugou himself.
For all the media portrays him as some rough, domineering figureâthe grumpy Pro Hero who takes no nonsense from anyoneâit couldnât be farther from the truth in bed. Heâs surprisingly shy, almost vanilla in a way that catches you off guard but also warms you to him even more. You notice how he likes to keep things intimate, how his favorite positions are ones where he can see your face, feel the closeness of your body against his. Itâs endearing, how vulnerable he lets himself be with you in those moments, and you canât help but melt at the way he looks at youâeyes soft and filled with something unspoken, something that contradicts this whole idea of casual.
But life is busy.Â
His work as a Pro Hero never stops, and your modeling career is just as demanding. April is packed. Haute Couture Week castings for the Fall/Winter season in July take over your life, and Vogue Japan has you booked solid for various shoots. You hardly have a moment to breathe, let alone think about where things are heading with Bakugou.Â
You miss his birthday, stuck overseas for campaigns in the Middle East and the USA. But you call him late at night, your voice soft and warm as you wish him a happy birthday.
Heâs grumbling on the other end of the line, telling you about the surprise party his friends threw for him. His voice is rough, low, and it sends a shiver down your spine as you imagine him in bed, leaning against the headboard, the phone pressed to his ear. You picture him, shirtless, the faint glow of his bedside lamp casting shadows over the defined lines of his body. Your fingers itch to trace the scar that cuts through his right cheek, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. You miss him. You miss his warmth, his teasing grins, the way he bites at your cheek or shoulder playfully.
It hits you, then. This wasnât supposed to be more than casual, but your heart has softened. Itâs a dangerous realization, one that sits heavily in your chest as you end the call. Youâve crossed a line somewhere along the way, and thereâs no going back.
When you finally return to Musutafu after Golden Week, you head straight to his apartment. You show up with a small cake and the gift you got him while you were away. The smile that pulls at his lips when he sees you makes your heart flutter, even though he tries to hide it with a gruff, âThe hell is this?â
âWeâre celebrating because I couldnât be here, idiot,â you say, setting everything down on his counter. He rolls his eyes, but he doesnât argue, letting you sing him a belated birthday song. The way he cuts the cake with a bemused smile, the way he lets you smear a bit of frosting on his cheekâit's all domestic, intimate. You lick it away, and he grumbles under his breath but grins, pulling you closer, his hands warm on your hips.
When you hand him his gift, his eyebrows raise, skeptical. âYou didnât have to get me anything,â he murmurs, but thereâs curiosity in his voice. He opens the box, and you watch as surprise flickers across his face. Inside is a braceletâa sleek, edgy piece made of polished white gold spikes. Itâs rebellious but refined, a mix that suits him perfectly. His fingers run over it, and he lifts his gaze to you.
âItâs a bracelet,â you explain with a grin. âYou told me you used to drum, and you listen to rock music sometimes, so I thought itâd suit you. I even had something engraved.â
Bakugou glances down, turning the bracelet over in his hands until he spots the inscription inside. His lips twitch as he reads, âFor my favorite grump.â He clicks his tongue, flicking your forehead in mock annoyance, but thereâs a warmth in his eyes that wasnât there before.
âIdiot,â he mutters, but the flick is soft, playful. You yelp, flicking him back, and he grins before bumping his forehead gently against yours. âThanks,â he mumbles, his voice softer than usual, and the way he says it makes your heart do a dangerous little flip in your chest.
You lean in and press a kiss to his lips, something light and affectionate. âYouâre welcome. Happy belated birthday again.â
He pulls away just enough to slip the bracelet on, turning his wrist this way and that to admire it. âGood?â
You nod, smiling. âPerfect.â
The smile he gives you is something else.Â
Itâs like the sun breaking through clouds after a storm, blinding and warm, and it makes your heart stutter in your chest. In that moment, something shifts. This casual thingâthis thing youâve been so carefully trying to keep from getting too seriousâitâs melting into something more.Â
Something real.Â
That night feels unlike any other you've shared with Bakugouâno, with Katsuki.Â
It's softer, more intimate in a way that makes your chest ache. The intensity that usually simmers between the two of you, the raw passion that explodes like his quirk, is still there, but it's gentler this time, quieter. His touches linger longer, like he's memorizing the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. His kisses are soft, almost reverent, and there's a warmth to his touch that makes you feel molten, like liquid gold melting beneath him, consumed by the slow burn of his affection.
Katsuki is different tonight.Â
Itâs in the way his voice trembles when he breathes out, "Katsuki, call me Katsuki." His voice shakes, something vulnerable in it that you've never heard before. His thrusts are deep but slow, as if he's savoring every moment, drawing it out for as long as he can. You feel his breath hot against your neck, his lips brushing your skin like a whisper, and the plea in his voice catches you off guard.Â
You let your fingers trace the sharp line of his jaw, pulling his face closer, until your lips meet in a kiss thatâs both soft and needy. "Katsuki," you gasp against his mouth, the name slipping from your lips in a way that feels both intimate and fragile. Itâs as if saying his name like this changes everything, like itâs cracked open something inside of himâand maybe even inside of you.
In the aftermath, the weight of what just happened lingers between you, but instead of pulling away, Katsuki does the opposite.Â
He pulls you closer, burying his face in your shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around you. Heâs clingy, which still surprises you, but itâs also sweet in a way that makes your heart clench. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips pressing soft, languid kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck. He fits against you perfectly, like two puzzle pieces finally finding their place.
The room is quiet, bathed in the low glow of the city lights filtering through the window, and you find yourself smiling as you feel Katsukiâs hand splayed wide against your stomach, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin. You can feel the weight of him, solid and warm, his chest rising and falling against your back.Â
And as the minutes stretch on, the two of you start to talk, your voices hushed, the air between you heavy with contentment.
You tell him about your tripâabout the campaigns in the Middle East and the USA, the long flights, the jet lag thatâs still clinging to your bones. You share little stories from the shoots, the people you met, the things that made you laugh. As you speak, you play with his fingers, tracing the lines of his knuckles and the calluses from his years as a hero. His hand is so big compared to yours, and the quiet, tactile connection feels grounding, as if you're tethering each other in this moment.
He listens, his thumb occasionally brushing your skin, a small gesture that feels more intimate than anything else. When you laugh softly about how glad you are to be home, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm and lingering.Â
Katsuki tells you about his patrols, how there was a cross-country mission he had to go on recently, but it was quickâjust a few days. He tells you about the surprise birthday party his friends threw him and how heâd wanted to kill them at first, but ended up secretly enjoying it. His voice gets a little gruff when he mentions his parents, how theyâre off on some luxury trip in Indonesia, but thereâs a fondness in his tone when he talks about his mom ânagging himâ to take a break himself.Â
"Sheâs been on my ass about it for weeks," he grumbles, and you laugh, imagining the dynamic between them, his mother as fiery as he is. Itâs endearing to hear him talk about them, and you can picture the way he probably rolls his eyes every time his mother brings it up.
Katsuki continues to press soft kisses against your skin as you talk. Sometimes itâs your neck, sometimes your shoulder, sometimes he turns your head just so, capturing your lips in a quick, sweet kiss before returning to the conversation. Thereâs something incredibly tender about the whole moment, the way heâs touching you like he doesnât want to let go, like heâs soaking in every second of this quiet, intimate moment with you.
You can feel the warmth of him seeping into you, the rise and fall of his chest against your back, and it feels safe. It feels right. The softness in the air, the way your voices are so low, barely above a whisper, as if youâre the only two people in the world right now. Itâs more than just physical at this point. Thereâs something deeper brewing, something that scares you because itâs not supposed to be like this. This was never supposed to be more than casual, but here you are, melting into his touch, smiling against a pillow that smells like him, your heart doing strange, dangerous things.
And the worst part? Katsuki seems to feel it too.
When he kisses your cheek one more time, pulling you even closer, his fingers threading through yours as you both fall silent again, you realize that this casual arrangement youâve tried so hard to keep may not be so casual anymore. The line between casual and something more has blurred, and neither of you seems to want to acknowledge it just yet. But as Katsuki presses another kiss to your skin, holding you tighter in the soft quiet of the night, you canât help but wonder if that line was crossed a long time ago.
And maybe youâre both too far gone to go back.
chapter two â and fall into you ; coming 16.03.25
#bnha#mha#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#bakugo x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugou#bakugou#my fics#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bakugou smut
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Hiii, I loved your "when they find out they have a kid" work, so I was wondering if you can do a part 2 with other characters? Itoshi brothers and Reo + any characters you'd like. Thank you <3
YES thank you sm!! i have another req for isagi so iâm combining those (ty both for requesting) đđ
when they find out they have a kid, pt 2
ex-husband!bllk x fem!reader. angst, cursing, mentions of sex (no smut), rin and nessâs kids have names
itoshi sae
-> you cried the first time you saw sae on your television, because youâd just finalized your divorce, and you were four months pregnant
-> he stated specifically that he had no time for you. that marrying you was a mistake, and that he was better off on his own. youâd yelled at him then, blaming him for wasting years of your life when he knew heâd leave you eventually. he didnât argue back, just grabbed his things and left you alone with the positive pregnancy test in your back pocket
-> three years later, youâre working on reports at the kitchen table when your son yells, âdaddy!â frazzled, you jump into the other room to see what heâs watching when your blood freezes in your veins. sae. on television. doing an interview for his team. how was your son watching soccer? youâd left him with cartoons!
-> âthatâs not your dad,â you tried, but your son was adamant. âwe look the same, mama! heâs so cool! why doesnât he live with us?â
-> realizing how unfair it was for you to keep a secret like this any longer, you contacted saeâs team to get his number when you identified yourself as his wife. his call came too quick, and you could hear how agitated he was to be pulled away from work
-> âwhat do you want, y/n?â âwow. three years since you practically abandoned me, and i donât even get a hello?â âwhat do you waââ he repeated, cutting himself off when he heard a little voice in the background of your call. âwho was that? y/n?â
-> you swallowed hard and sank into the couch, where your son was playing with a toy robot. âmama! is that daddy? hi daddy!â he tried to pull the phone from your hand, but you tightened your grip and cleared your throat into the speaker. âwe have some things to discuss, next time youâre in town.â âiâll book a flight tonight.â
itoshi rin
-> itoshi rin wasnât made for marriage, but you thought you could change him. you practically forced his hand, and while you know you were wrong looking back, you thought marrying you was the only way for him to prove that he loved you
-> you were together a little over a year before he broke, telling you he wasnât happy and that he didnât want to be your husband anymore. after hearing him out, you realized there was no point in denying his request. you were divorced a week later, and found out you were pregnant a month after that
-> by that point, you thought keeping his child from him was for the best. he was clearly overwhelmed and didnât want anything to do with you; adding a child to the mix would devastate him and his career. so you never told him
-> it took several years, but rin was one of the top strikers in the world. all the while you were raising his daughter in secret, though those closest to you could tell by her teal eyes that she wasnât born through a one night stand, and you claimed
-> on your daughterâs sixth birthday, one of your so-called friends posted a photo of you and emi and posted it, tagging rin. you tore her a new one when you found out and cut her out of your life, but the damage was done
-> we need to talk. was all his text said, and you knew there was no point in lying any further
-> âi donât want anything from you,â you clarified as soon as you opened the door. rin had a dazed look in his eyes, eyes that matched your daughterâs perfectly. ânot your money, not your time, nothing. she deleted the post and iâve cleared it as a joke, so no harm will come to your nameââ
-> âcan i meet her?â and you halted at the sound of his crackling voice. you shuffled your weight. ây.. you want to meet emi?â he pulled a small plush owl from his bag that made you choke on a laugh. âi didnât want to show up on her birthday empty handedâŠâ
-> your daughter was a bit shy, unsure of how to react around the strange man that looked like her, and you could tell rin was just as awkward. it took a little while, but once the ice broke, the two were sharing little stories and cracking jokes that made you wonder if maybe emi could have a relationship with her father after all
mikage reo
-> you married reo on impulse, blinded by love and the belief that youâd live happily ever after together. his parents hated you since you didnât come from wealth, but reo didnât care. and then you got pregnant
-> youâd been excited to tell him until his parents found out. you wanted to believe that youâd never pick money over love, but reo was gone most days due to his soccer career, and you were young and stupid
-> 10 million dollars, tax-free. the only catch? you had to cut contact with their son and never tell him about his child; the next heir to mikage corp
-> you debated telling him, but again⊠you were young and stupid. his parents told him theyâd stop supporting him financially if he stayed with you, and you worried about the future if his career didnât take off. in tears, you took the money and blocked him on everything
-> years later, the news of reoâs marriage to a woman his parents approved of hit headlines, and you cried until your little son tried to heal you with butterfly stickers and kisses. you debated telling reo then, but what was the point?
-> you were with your son at a doctorâs appointment when a young woman arrived with three young children at her ankles. your son was older than them by at least three years, but the four wanted to play together while you and their mom drank tea in the waiting area
-> when the receptionist called âmikage?â your heart dropped. the young woman herded her kids together, who you now realized look strikingly similar to your son, and gave you her card before leaving. âso our kids can have a play date sometime! it was nice meeting you, y/n!â
-> reoâs number was on her card, next to her work cell. you knew you were breaking your nda, but your mind was running too fast as you typed in his number and pressed the phone to your ear. âthis is reo.â âi⊠youâwe have a son.â ây/n?â and you told him everything
-> he asked you not to tell his wife, and you were in agreement. âi want to meet my son.â â⊠okay.â and upon reoâs request, you meet with a lawyer present. your son immediately loved reoâs purple hair, and you could tell that your ex-husbandâs heart broke at the sound of your sonâs laughter
-> once you were alone, reo handed you a sheet of paper that made you nauseous. âi want partial custody.â
isagi yoichi
-> you and isagi were together for years, dating with no issue, but the moment you got married⊠everything changed. you fought constantly over everything: finances, trust, communication, everything
-> it got to the point where you were living apart more than together, and when the divorce papers arrived in the mail, you sent the back signed. you didnât know you were pregnant, and with how unknowingly far along you were, you figured telling him wouldnât change anything in your relationship
-> so, you raised your daughter as a single mother. you never did see isagi since that day in court, where you finalized your divorce. despite how much you argued over finances, isagi let you keep the house and everything in it as a parting gift. the same house your daughter took her first steps in
-> âoh, um.. sorry, kid! i thought this was isagi yoichiâs placeây/n?â you pushed your five year old behind you, hoping bachira didnât get too good a look at her. your hopes died when he met your eyes, a bit amused. âhm. i didnât know isagi had a daughter.â âwhoâs isagi?â â.. i guess he doesnât, either. y/n?â
-> bachira was in town after years and decided to visit his old friend on a whim, not realizing that isagi no longer lived with you. you knew there was no point in telling him to keep this from your ex, but your daughter absolutely loved âuncleâ bachira
-> he told you heâd be over again today, but your smile fell when you opened the door and came face to face with isagi. he didnât say anything as he shoved his phone in your face, revealing a selfie of your beaming daughter holding a peace sign next to bachira
-> ây/n, what the fuck? how could you⊠is she mine?â he didnât know why he was asking; your daughter was the spitting image of her dad. she even had his little cowlick, which she named âberniceâ for reasons beyond you. âsheâs yours.â âhow could you not tell me? i know things didnât end perfectly, but there was a time where you were my best friend, y/n. the love of my life!â
-> bachira appeared after that and took your daughter to play outside and away from her arguing parents. âand then you tell bachira before me. the fuck?â âi didnât tell bachira, he found out on his own,â you shouted back. âmaybe if you cared enough to check in at least once in the past five years, youâd have figured it out, too!â
-> âi want to meet her.â âno. youâre too riled up right now. go home, get some rest, come over in the morning. i wonât spring you on her without a warning.â âspring me on her? iâm her father!â âyouâre a stranger!â âand whose fault is that, y/n?â
alexis ness
-> ness was so scared of ruining his marriage to you that he ran away from the responsibility and took a backseat ride in your relationship. one thing was certain from day one, though. neither of you wanted kids
-> your job demanded a lot from you, and that paired with your co-dependent husband overwhelmed you. you felt that youâd die in your marriage, and though he begged you to stay, you were able to convince ness to divorce you
-> you were going to tell him the moment you found out you were pregnant, but when you found him, he had thrown himself into his career to manage his grief and was thriving. more than that, he looked happy. though you didnât want to take that away from him, it would be a lie to say that you didnât have selfish reasons for keeping your child secret, too
-> âcome on, mila,â you called for your four-year-old as you fastened her car seat. you should have checked to see where bastard mĂŒnchen was playing before leaving the house, especially since the aquarium was close to the arena
-> when your daughter didnât respond, you glanced back and gasped. mila was tilting her head at the man across the street, who was doing the same at her. she waved, he waved back. you would have freaked out if you didnât recognize the magenta dye in the guyâs brown hair
-> grabbing your daughter, you hoisted her up into your arms and locked eyes with ness. he looked so incredibly sad, but flashed you a slow, almost kind smile. then, before you could stop and think, you were at the crosswalk
-> âlex,â you greeted, voice sounding foreign in your ears. âitâs been a while.â âhi, lex,â mila greeted in a soft and sweet voice, and you watched as nessâs eyes began to sparkle. âhi, umâŠâ âmila.â âhi, mila. i like your nose.â mila giggled. âme too. it looks like yours!â
-> âcould i buy you coffee?â you asked, tossing the olive branch out. ness didnât hesitate long before replying with a cracking, âyes.â
pt 1 // pt 3 // reo pt cont..
#requested!#blue lock#bllk#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#blue lock headcanons#bllk x you#blue lock x you#itoshi sae#itoshi rin#mikage reo#isagi yoichi#alexis mess#bllk sae#bllk rin#bllk isagi#bllk reo#bllk ness#blue lock as dads#blue lock fanfic#bllk fanfic#blue lock angst#blue lock sae#blue lock rin#blue lock reo#blue lock isagi#blue lock ness#bllk anime#bllk manga
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Everythingâs getting messy on severance, baby!!!Theyâre humanizing the people who do violence, without excusing the violence they do!!! Milchick, and Helena, and even Harmony Cobel are all fighting their own battles!!!!! And even worse, theyâre showing already humanized and dear characters doing violence, without making them any less dear or human!!!!!!! Dylan is cruel to Helly in what may be their last interaction (but we understand it!), Burt banishes Irving (but we see it as kindness!), Gretchen truly does treat innie Dylan âlike everythingâs for [her],â insensitive to the power dynamic between them until itâs too late not to wound him so deeply heâd rather be dead than bear it (but she didnât mean to!). And dare I say even Devon?!?! Sheâs gentle with innie Mark to be sure, but she didnât wake him up for him, she did it for her mark, and her Gemmaâ you can tell by how she leads him like a baffled baby animal up the stairs to a woman about to end his life as he knows it!!!! Like everythingâs for them!!!!!
Maybe violence is everywhere? But so is the human spirit?
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Xavier seems like the type of guy who doesn't like his person using toys or vibes because they're not *him*
Gets pouty and jealous if they're even mentioned.
continuation of this ask
You are so big brain, anon. It's so in character of him đđ is it healthy? no. his partner is allowed private time on their own, they don't owe him their pleasure.
But for the sake of fanfiction, picture this:
You mention, offhandedly, that you bought a toy. Just a passing remark, not even thinking about it. Maybe you were joking. Maybe you wanted to tease him. But Xavier, sitting across from you, rapid-blinks like he always does when you catch him off-guard before his face turns blank. Not cold, not angry. Just⊠blank.
Then he hums, a little soft sound in the back of his throat, like he's contemplating something so profound it has to be philosophical, or science-related.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would you need that when you have me?"
No change in tone, no outward display of irritation â just that completely neutral, sky-blue stare and a perfectly level, soft voice that somehow makes it worse. Like he's genuinely baffled by the concept of you needing anything else. You're utterly unprepared for this talk and don't even think about having it in the first place, so your go-to response is laughing. And when you do, he doesn't let it go. Oh no, Xavier is the king of petty jealousy masked as cold indifference.
The toy starts to go missing.
At first, you think it's a coincidence. A case of forgetfulness. Youâre sure you left it in the drawer, right where it always is (since Xavier feels a disturbance in the Force whenever you so much as breathe in its direction and things escalate each time), but when you reach for it â gone.
You tear through your bedside table, lifting books, checking between the sheets, even peeking under the bed, but thereâs nothing. Maybe you misplaced it and don't even remember? It was collecting dust, after all. Maybe it fell behind something? But a full sweep of the room turns up nothing, and youâre left standing there, confused, mildly annoyed, and a little suspicious.
It happens again. And again.
Every time you try to find it, it's missing. And yet, mysteriously, whenever youâve resigned yourself to its absence, it reappears â tucked into your pillowcase, resting perfectly in the middle of the bed as if placed there on purpose, or sitting in the drawer exactly where you swore you had checked before.
Itâs eerie. Almost calculated.
And then, one evening, you try again to confirm. You check the drawer. Empty. You inhale sharply, patience hanging by a thread.
âXavier.â
Silence. But you know heâs home.
You walk into the living room, arms crossed, and there he is, lounging against the couch, book in hand, looking up at you with that barely-there expression of vague curiosity. A little too casual. A little too composed.
You narrow your eyes. âWhere is it?â
He blinks once, slow. âWhere is what?â
You swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch.
âYou know what.â You plant a hand on your hip, glaring. âMy toy keeps going missing.â
Xavier hums, like he's actually thinking about it. âThat does sound inconvenient.â
The audacity.
You march over, leaning down to snatch the book from his hands, but before you can, he moves â fast âcatching your wrist and pulling you down until youâre practically in his lap, his other hand resting warm and steady against your thigh.
âI suppose,â he muses, tilting his head, voice as light as ever, âyou should take better care of your things.â
Your eyes flick fast between his, and you recognize that look. That feather-light amusement. That quiet, infuriating smugness.
âYou took it,â you accuse.
âI donât know what you mean.â Heâs still holding you, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your wrist. âBut if youâre missing something⊠maybe I can offer a replacement.â
His grip tightens deliberately. Just enough to make his point. Just enough to tell you that he knows exactly what heâs doing.
And that he isnât giving it back.
You glare at him, lips parted in an incredulous little gasp. âYouââ
But heâs already tilting his head, studying you like youâre some puzzle heâs been waiting to take apart, layers peeling away with each breath. His fingers trace absent patterns along your thigh, as if heâs just idly thinking, and not actively playing with you instead of talking to you about it.
âYou seem upset,â he comments, though it lacks any genuine concern. Itâs all amusement, low and smooth.
âI am upset,â you shoot back, shifting in his hold, but he doesnât let go, and worse â his grip tightens. Just enough to remind you that heâs stronger and is keeping you there for a reason. Does he want to have a conversation or else? Probably the latter. Even when he moves slow, thereâs no escaping him. âGive it back, Xavier.â
He hums, running a thumb over the inside of your wrist. âWhat if I donât?â
You inhale sharply, frustration bubbling over. âThen Iâll buy another one.â
His grip falters.
Itâs subtle, but you feel it. A minute shift, his fingers pressing just a little tighter before his whole demeanor changes. You can see the realization flicker like a lightbulb.
He leans in â close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.
âThat,â he whisper-says, reverent, âwould be a waste.â
Your stomach does something weird at the way he says it. Low, almost contemplative, like heâs already made a decision and youâre just catching up.
You blink. âA waste?â
Xavier tilts his head, and then â finally â gives the tiniest of innocent grins. Itâs the first real expression heâs given you since this whole thing started, slow and sharp-edged, something just a little too pleased with itself.
âShow me.â
You can visualize the silence that follows being captured by an imaginary camera from multiple angles for comedic effect.
For a moment, youâre convinced youâve misheard him. But no, heâs watching you, waiting, eyes gleaming with something new. Something curious. The amusement is still there, but now itâs layered with something deeper. A slow-building, simmering interest.
âWhat?â you breathe, blinking up at him.
âShow me,â he repeats, completely unaffected. Ears beginning to gather color. âLet me use it.â
A rush of heat floods through you so fast it nearly knocks you off balance. This is new territory.
Your lips part, and you stammer, âExcuse me?â
Xavier doesnât blink. Doesnât budge. Just watches you with that perfectly unreadable expression that only makes things worse.
"You seemed very invested in this thing," he says, brushing his knuckles up your arm like heâs still thinking it over. "So I want to know what makes it so special." A pause. Then, a tilt of his head. "What makes it better than me?"
There it is.
Your heart stutters, and for a long moment, you just stare at him, caught between mortification and something dangerously close to intrigue.
âYouâre ridiculous,â you mutter, trying to pull away, but his grip does not let up.
âAnd youâre stalling,â he counters easily. âWhich tells me that you do want to.â
You make a noise â something in the back of your throat that isnât quite a protest but isnât quite acceptance either.
Xavier just waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Until finally, with your face burning, you mutter, âFine.â
His fingers flex around your wrist, and then, so very airily, he sighs,
âGood girl.â
And just like that â your toy is no longer missing. But now? Itâs in his hands. And that might just be worse.
#an ask for shai#love and deepspace#xavier x reader#love and deepspace xavier#lads xavier#xavier lads#divider by cafekitsune
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The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 19
Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)
Summary:
Elizabeth Treshtonâbestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routineânever expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But thatâs exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzieâs side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.
Warnings and Notes:Â
Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.
This has literally all the worst things the internet has to offer: Ableism, Sexisms, Toxic Media, horrible journalism, death threats...I am pretty sure I am missing some of it.
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Call Transcript - Rachel Anderson & Richard Treshton
Richard Treshton: [Answers the call, voice tense] Rachel.
Rachel Anderson: Oh, so you do pick up the phone. I assume you already know why Iâm calling.
Richard Treshton: [Dry] No, but I imagine Iâm about to find out.
Rachel Anderson: [Scoffs] Donât play dumb. Iâve had reporters on my doorstep all morning, asking about Lizzie. They were digging into my personal life. I have nothing to do with this. I havenât spoken to her in years. Why am I being dragged into this mess?
Richard Treshton: Because some lowlife on the internet thought digging into Lizzieâs past would make good entertainment.
Rachel Anderson: [Scoffs] I donât see why theyâre so obsessed. She writes fairy porn for a living!
Richard Treshton: Excuse me?
Rachel Anderson: Oh, donât act like you donât know whatâs in those books. I skimmed one after all the press about her and that driver started up. Itâs embarrassing, Richard. Sheâs a grown woman writing drivel about handmaidens and fae warriors.
Richard Treshton: [Coldly] Careful.
Rachel Anderson: Oh, please. Letâs not pretend her little fairy tale nonsense is high literature. The only reason sheâs even relevant right now is because she latched onto that racing driverâ
Richard Treshton: You donât get to talk about her like that. You donât get to belittle her, not when you gave up any right to an opinion the day you walked out on her.
Rachel Anderson: [Defensive] I left because I had to, Richard. You know that.
Richard Treshton: [Furious] No, you left because you couldnât deal with having a sick child. You made a choice. Lizzie was six years old, Rachel. Six. And you left her wondering why her own mother didnât love her enough to stay.
Rachel Anderson: [Quiet] Thatâs not fair.
Richard Treshton: No, whatâs not fair is that she had to grow up without a mother. Whatâs not fair is that she learned, at six years old, that the person who was supposed to love her unconditionally decided she wasnât worth the effort.
Rachel Anderson: [Uncomfortable] Richardâ
Richard Treshton: [Cold] You donât get to rewrite history just because the press showed up at your door.
Rachel Anderson: [Tightly] I didnât call to argue with you. I called to say that I donât want any part of this circus. I donât want my name attached to Elizabethâs messâ
Richard Treshton: [Dangerous calm] Lizzie isnât a mess.
Rachel Anderson: [Scoffs] Oh, come onâ
Richard Treshton: She is a best-selling author. She is a strong, brilliant, and kind person who has done more with her life than you could ever hope to understand. She is a woman who wakes up every day and keeps going, even when the world makes it harder for her.
Rachel Anderson: Oh, go to hell.Â
Richard Treshton: You first. And while you are at it: Keep my daughterâs name out of your damn mouth, Rachel.Â
***
Lizzie hadn't let go of Mara since it had happened.
Not on the drive home...not when she had crawled into her bed, and pulled the blanket over her head.
She had curled up on her bed, fingers buried in the soft fur of her Labrador, face pressed against Maraâs side like she could disappear into the warmth. The weight of the world sat heavy on her chest, pressing her down, making it hard to move, hard to think, hard to breathe.
Lando sat beside her, close but not pushing. He hadnât left her side, not once. His hand rested on her knee, grounding. A silent reminder that he was here. That he wasnât going anywhere.
But now, morning had come. And he had to go. McLaren wanted him in for a meeting.
Lizzieâs stomach twisted as she listened to him get dressed, the sounds of fabric rustling, the quiet zip of his hoodie. Her eyes were still closed, her face half-buried in the pillow. She could feel Mara pressed against her side, the dogâs nose nuzzling into her hip.
The door was ajar, Landoâs shadow passing in front of the light spilling in from the hallway.
Lizzie still hadnât looked at her phone. She didnât want to know what else was being said. Didnât want to see her name trending. Didnât want to read a single thing about her mother being dragged into the mess, about her private life being turned into entertainment.
Lando hesitated before speaking.
âDo you regret it?â His voice was careful, quiet.
Lizzie went very still.
For a moment, all she could hear was the sound of her own breathing. The hum of the AC, the tick of the clock on the wall.
Do you regret it?
She knew exactly what he was asking without saying. Not about her mother, not about the stupid online bullshit. Lando was asking about them.
Lizzieâs fingers twitched in Maraâs fur.
She exhaled, long and slow. âI donât regret you.â
Lando let out a breath of his own, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. He was watching her; she could feel his gaze, warm and steady on her.
âNot even once?â he said, voice quiet enough that she almost thought sheâd misheard him.
Her heart clenched.
She forced herself to sit up, pushing herself up on her elbows. "No. Not once," she told him, her voice raw. "I don't regret you. I...don't even regret going public," she admitted weakly. "I just wish it..."
Landoâs gaze softened. He walked over to her, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand landed on her hip, thumb stroking the bare skin as he leaned in. âYou wish it what?â
Her throat felt tight.
She exhaled, then said, âI wish it didnât make the world hate me."
Landoâs thumb stilled.
Then he was pulling her forward, his arms sliding around her. He pulled her into his lap, her legs on either side of his hips. Lizzie went willingly, burying her face in his chest, her fingers curling in the material of his hoodie.
He tucked her head under his chin, letting her hide against him. She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.
âThey donât get to hate you,â he murmured, his voice rough.
âLando...â
He tightened his arms around her. âNo, listen,â he said, his breath warm against her temple. âThe whole goddamn world could hate you, and I would still love you. They wouldnât change a damn thing."
She closed her eyes, her eyes stinging. She wanted nothing more than to simply hide away with him.
She took a shuddering breath, then another.
â I canât do social media right now.â Her voice was quiet, rough at the edges. âI justâcanât.â
Lando nodded instantly. âThen donât. You donât have to.â
Her throat bobbed. âPeople are everywhere, sayingââ She stopped, shaking her head, burying her face against the crook of his neck.
Landoâs hand came up to cradle her head, the fingers of his other hand tracing gentle circles on her back. âI know. I know what theyâre saying.â His jaw clenched. She could feel it against her forehead.
She could also feel the tension coursing through his body, how hard he was fighting to restrain himself, to keep his response in check.
âYou donât have to see it. You donât have to read it," he said softly.
Lizzie let out a sharp, humorless laugh. âIt doesnât matter if I read it. Itâs there. It exists. They think they know me, think they get to have opinions about me, and IâI just want to exist, Lando."
âYou do get to exist,â he said, his tone a mix of fierce and urgent, like he needed her to understand this. âThose idiots on Twitterâthey donât get to take this from us. And they donât get a say in how we live our lives.â
He took her chin in his hand, gently lifting her face to look at him. âThey donât get to decide how I feel about you.â
Lizzie inhaled sharply, searching his gaze.
His eyes were dark, focused on hers. But there was a determined set to his jaw, and a fire in his eyes that she knew meant he was ready to take on the whole world, if he had to.
And in that moment, all she felt was the quiet, overwhelming certainty that heâd win, because heâd fight for this. For them.
 âYour dadâs coming over,â he murmured. âI have to go to McLaren, but Iâll be back as soon as I can.â
Lizzieâs grip tightened. âOkay.â
Lando hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. âI love you.â
Lizzieâs voice was barely above a whisper. âI love you too.â
Landoâs expression softened. He took her face in his hands, tilting her head up, and kissed her.
His lips were warm, firm against hers, his fingers curling possessively against her skin. It was an urgent kiss, fierce and a little desperate, as though trying to say all the things they couldnât put into words.
He broke the kiss far too soon, resting his forehead against hers. âYou text me if you need me, okay? Iâm coming right back.â
Lizzie nodded. âOkay.â
Landoâs eyes searched hers, like he was trying to commit all of her face to memory. Then, reluctantly, he pulled away, sliding her off his lap so he could stand.
He paused, one hand on the door. âLiz.â
She looked up at him. âYeah?â
Then he smiled, that same crooked, boyish grin that had made her heart skip a beat from the moment she first saw him.
âItâs going to be okay,â he told her, with a conviction that made her believe him.
Lizzie tried to return the smile. âGo,â she said. âIâll be fine.â
Her father came over...The The house was quiet, save for the distant hum of the wind outside and the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Lizzie sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea, watching as her father moved around the small space, rinsing out the kettle and tidying up even though it didnât need tidying. She knew what that meantâhe was working through something in his head, giving himself time before he spoke.
Her father was a tall man, with dark eyes that had always seen everything. He finally sat down across from her, his hands wrapping around the mug of tea. He blew softly over the surface before taking a sip. Then he exhaled, his gaze meeting hers as he carefully set the mug back down.
Mara was curled up at Lizzieâs feet, resting her head against her lap. The Labrador always seemed to know when she needed grounding, her presence solid and unwavering. Lizzie absentmindedly ran her fingers through Maraâs soft fur, trying to do the same for herself.
Her father cleared his throat. âI should've warned youâŠâ
Lizzie frowned. âYou knew?â
âI knew about them.â He hesitated. âI didnât know people were going to drag it into the spotlight like this, but⊠yeah, I knew.â
Lizzie took a slow breath, willing her voice to stay even. âWhy didnât you ever tell me?â
Her father rubbed the back of his neck. âBecause it wasnât going to change anything.â
Lizzie let out a bitter laugh. âYeah, well. I know now.â
Her father exhaled sharply, drumming his fingers against the table. âShe called me, you know.â
Lizzie stiffened. âWhat?â
âThis morning.â He shook his head. âSheâs furious. Says she has reporters showing up at her house, asking her kids about you.â
Lizzieâs stomach turned. âI didnât want that,â she murmured.
âI know,â her dad said. âBut sheâs acting like itâs your fault. Like you somehow brought this on her.â
Lizzie stared silently into her tea. She didnât want to feel guilt over this. She didnât want to feel the weight of it on her shoulders, the churning sensation in her stomach.
Lizzie swallowed hard, gripping her mug a little tighter.
Her life.
Her kids.
Her mother had built a familyâone that didnât include her. One that had never even considered including her.
âShe really just⊠replaced us,â Lizzie murmured. âDidnât she?â
Her fatherâs expression softened. âLizzieâŠâ
She shook her head, refusing the sympathy she saw in his eyes. She didnât want it. She didnât want pity. She just wantedâshe wanted this to be over.
Her voice was almost a whisper when she said, âDo you ever regret it?â
Her dadâs brow furrowed. âRegret what?â
âSticking with me,â she said quietly. She forced herself to look up, to meet his gaze. âWhen she left. When I got sick. When things got hard. Do you ever wish youâd done what she did? Started over? With a new wife? A normal kid?"
There was a long moment of silence, her words echoing in the air.
Then her father reached across the table, and took her hand, fingers curling gently around hers.
âElizabeth.â His voice was steady, firm. âI need you to listen to me.â
She swallowed, nodding.
âI have neverâneverâregretted staying.â He squeezed her hands. âNot once. Not for a single second.â
Lizzie felt something crack in her chest.
âI would do it all over again,â he said, voice thick with emotion. âEvery long night, every hospital visit, every fear and frustrationâif it meant having you, Iâd do it a thousand times over.â
Lizzie blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. âEven though it wasnât easy?â
Her father let out a quiet laugh. âMost of the best things in life arenât easy.â He cupped her cheek, brushing away the tear that had slipped free. âBut theyâre worth it. And you, kid⊠you are the best thing that ever happened to me.â
The tears were falling in earnest now, streaming down her face, but she couldnât find it in herself to care.
âDad,â she said, voice choked.
He gently pulled her out of her chair and into his arms, letting her cry against his chest like she was suddenly six years old again, overwhelmed and scared and just wanting her dad.
He held her firmly, gently. He didnât say anything, just let her cling to him.
He rocked her back and forth, the same way he had when she was little and had scraped her knees, gotten too overwhelmed in a crowded place, or cried herself into a seizure. He never let go, just held her close, letting her sob into his shoulder.
"I never regretted it," he repeated. "Not for one single second, Lizzie. You are my daughter. And I will never, never be alright with people treating you like you are a burden or unlovable or that you don't deserve to exist."
Lizzieâs arms tightened around his neck, like she was six again and he was the only thing tethering her to solid ground. It was familiar and comforting, and she had never been more grateful that this man was her dad.
She let herself sink into him. The solid line of his shoulders against her, the beat of his heart, the smell of his favorite cologne. Her dad was quiet and unassuming, soft-spoken and kind, but he was also the most fiercely protective person sheâd ever known.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle. âYou are the best thing I ever got out of my marriage,â he murmured. His hand came up to brush her hair away from her face, his palm cupping her cheek. âJust tell me something.â
She sniffed. âWhat?â
He tilted her chin up, meeting her gaze, his grip on her firm but always gentle. âYouâre happy? With Lando?â
She nodded. There was no hesitation, nothing but the familiar, overwhelming certainty that this thing with him was right.
âYeah,â she whispered. âI am.â
âHe makes you happy?â he pressed.
She nodded again, not even needing to think about it. âYeah.â A small smile touched her lips. âMore than I ever thought I could be.â
***
***
The tension in the McLaren briefing room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Lando was sitting at the head of the table, arms crossed, jaw locked, radiating barely contained fury. Across from him, Sophie from PR looked like sheâs fighting off a migraine, while Zak Brown and Andrea Stella exchanged cautious glances.
And then thereâs Oscarâlegs crossed, scrolling through his phone with the same casual energy as someone reading the weather forecast.
Lando exhaled sharply. âLet me get this straight. You all knew that Lizzie was getting harassed like this, and you didnât think to tell me?â
Sophie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. âLando, we werenât trying to hide anything from you. We were monitoring the situation, trying to control the damage before it got out of hand.â
Lando scoffed. âOut of hand? Do you think whatâs happening now is âunder controlâ?â
Zak leant forward, trying to maintain some authority over the spiraling conversation. âWe wanted to handle it internally, without escalating the situation further.â
Landoâs hands slammed onto the table. âLizzie has been dealing with days of harassmentâableism, threats, even people doxxing her motherâand your grand plan was to just wait it out?â
Zak didnât immediately respond, which only infuriated Lando further.
âAnd you let me walk into that interview blind?â Landoâs voice was dangerously low now. âIf I hadnât shut that down myself, what were you expecting me to say? That maybe, yeah, dating my girlfriend is too hard because she has epilepsy? That I regret being with her? Because thatâs exactly what they wanted from me.â
Sophie shifted uncomfortably. âWe didnât expect them to be that direct about itââ
âBullshit.â
Zak sighed, rubbing his temples. âLando, we understand that youâre upsetââ
âNo, you donât!â Lando cut him off, his voice raw with frustration. âYou donât get it at all! You get to sit here and talk about damage control while Lizzie is at home seeing people pick apart her entire existence like sheâs a burden. You think I give a shit about PR right now?â
Zak exhaled. âWeâre not saying we do nothing. We just need to be strategic about it.â
Lando let out a humorless laugh. âStrategic. Right. Because God forbid McLaren actually takes a stand instead of waiting until itâs convenient.â
Andrea finally spoke up, voice sharp. âLando. Be reasonable.â
Lando didnât even bother trying to contain his scoff. âBe reasonable? You think Iâm being unreasonable?â
Oscar set his phone down with a thunk. âOkay, Iâm done listening to this.â
Sophie tenses. âOscarââ
âNo, really. Because this is ridiculous.â Oscar looks around at everyone, unimpressed. âLando wants to make a statement, and youâre acting like heâs trying to blow up the whole team. But guess what? Itâs already blown up. This isnât a little PR hiccup. Itâs a full-on disaster. And the only thing worse than handling it badly is doing nothing.â
Zak watched him carefully. âWeâre trying to avoid making it worse.â
âBy saying nothing? Thatâs not how this works, Zak.â Oscar shrugged. âYou want to wait it out? Fine. But I wonât.â
Sophie groaned. âOscarââ
âEither you release a statement and youâll let Lando release a statement, or Iâll start tweeting like I did with Alpine.â
Silence.
Zak blinked. Andrea actually looked alarmed. Sophie looked like she might start crying.
Lando could just stare at his teammate.
Sophie swallowed. âYouâre bluffing.â
Oscarâs face remained impressively stoic. âTry me.â
âOscar,â she said slowly, like sheâs trying to reason with a wild animal, âdo you remember what happened the last time you went rogue on Twitter?â
Oscar arched one eyebrow. âYeah. Alpine cried about it, and then I got a better seat. Good times.â
Lando, despite his anger, let out a breath of disbelief. âOscar, you absolute menace.â
Oscar shrugged. âPeople seem to forget I have zero patience for bullshit.â He picked up his phone again. "Give out a statement. Or I'll do it for you. Iâm pretty sure there are 19 other drivers who will agree with me that ableism is bullshit.â
Sophie buried her face in her hands. Zak swore under his breath. Andrea just looks resigned.
Lando?
Lando finally, finally smirks. âRemind me to buy you dinner later.â
Sophie lifted her head from her hands, eyes darting between Oscar and Lando like sheâs debating whether to resign on the spot or fight for what little control she has left. Zak exhaled through his nose, arms crossed, looking like a man who knows heâs lost but refuses to admit it.
Andrea, ever the level-headed one, finally spoke. âAlright. Letâs take a step back. Oscarâif you tweet, what exactly are you planning to say?â
Oscar leans back, unfazed. âOh, I donât know. Maybe something likeââIf your biggest concern about my teammateâs girlfriend is her having a medical condition instead of, I donât know, the insane amount of talent she has or the fact that she makes him happy, then I donât know what to tell you. Maybe try being a better human being.ââ He tilts his head. âSomething like that.â
Sophie groaned like sheâs physically in pain. âOscar, please.â
Lando was outright grinning now, despite the fury still simmering under his skin. âYeah, I definitely owe you dinner.â
Zak closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself before responding. âWe need to be smart about this. If we make this bigger than it already is, we riskââ
âRisk what?â Lando interrupted, voice sharp again. âRisk pissing off the same people who are already tearing Lizzie apart for existing? Risk upsetting the same journalists who think they can get away with asking me if I regret being with my girlfriend? Fuck that.â
Zak pinched the bridge of his nose. âLandoââ
âNo, Zak. Iâm done. You guys are trying to manage PR while Lizzie is sitting at home seeing people drag her through the dirt for things she canât control. Youâre worried about making it worse? Itâs already as bad as it gets! They doxxed her mother. Theyâre making fun of her service dog. Theyâre acting like sheâs ruining my life just by being in it. And the longer we say nothing, the longer they think theyâre right.â
Silence.
Andrea exhaled, nodding slightly. âHeâs right.â
Zakâs eyes snap to him, but Andrea holds his gaze. âThis isnât just a PR issue anymore. Itâs an integrity issue. If we ignore this, weâre condoning it. And frankly, I donât want to work for a team that stays silent when something this disgusting is happening to someone in our family.â
Lando blinked at him, surprised but grateful.
Zak sat back, weighing his options. He looked at Lando, at Oscar, at Andrea. He knew heâs outnumbered.
Finally, with a sigh, he nods. âFine. We put out a statement.â
Sophie looks pained, but she knows thereâs no stopping this now. âWhat do you want it to say?â
Lando didnât even hesitate. âThat ableism is unacceptable. That Lizzie has been subjected to relentless harassment, and it needs to stop. That McLaren stands by her, and we wonât tolerate this kind of treatment toward herâor anyone.â He looked directly at Zak. âAnd that I love my girlfriend, and Iâm not ashamed to say it.â
Zak held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. âAlright.â
Oscar grinned. âGreat. Now, if youâll excuse me, I have some tweets to like.â
Sophie looks like she might combust on the spot. âOscar, for the love of God, please do not start a Twitter war before we even get the statement out.â
Oscar doesnât even look up from his phone. âToo late.â
Lando leans over to peek at Oscarâs screen and immediately snorts. âOh my God, you just liked a tweet that says âLando Norris should set the internet on fire and propose out of spite.ââ
Oscar shrugged. âI thought it was funny.â
Sophie stared at him in open horror. âYouâre not helping.â
Zak rubbed his temples. âAlright, letâs get ahead of this before we end up with marriage rumors on top of everything else.â
Andrea, ever the strategist, spoke up. âWe need to make sure weâre not just reacting to the backlash. This isnât about damage controlâitâs about making a clear statement. We stand by Lizzie. We wonât tolerate ableism.â
Zak sighs. âFine. But we phrase it carefully. Something likeâŠâ He glances at Sophie.
She still looks exhausted but nods. ââMcLaren stands firmly against the harassment and ableism directed at Elizabeth Treshton. We are appalled by the treatment she has received and fully support Lando and Lizzie against this unacceptable behavior.ââ
Lando leans forward. âMake sure you use the word âableism.â A lot of these people donât even think what theyâre doing is wrong. They need to hear it.â
Zak sighs. âLandoââ
âNo.â Lando cuts him off. âThis isnât just about Lizzie anymore. If they can say this shit about her, whatâs stopping them from going after other people? What if another driverâs partner has a medical condition? What if itâs a fan next time? If we donât call this out, weâre saying itâs okay.â
Oscar nodded. âIâm tweeting.â
Sophie groaned. âOf course you are.â
Zak shook his head but didn't argue. âFine. But letâs make sure McLarenâs statement goes out first.â
Lando quietly said, âMake it strong.â
Sophie exhaled. âIt will be.â
Andrea looked at them all, nodding slightly. âGood. Because after this, things are going to get loud.âOscar, jaw still tight, finally put his phone down. âGood.â
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#lando norris#lando norris fic#lando norris fluff#lando norris fanfic#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris imagine#lando norris blurb#ln4#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 drabble#f1blr#f1 fandom#lando norris drabble#f1 x female reader
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To address points 1-3, we simply need to break down your definition of sex. I see you use a chromosomal definition of sex. Which, yeah, is one of the few definitions of sex which is not changeable with medical intervention. It's also a definition of sex which is only determinable with some kind of medical testing. Most women who are afab have XX chromosomes, and most men who are amab have XY. There are many different intersex chromosomal variations, such as X, XXY, XXX, XY with CAIS or swyer syndrome. Some of these are observable at birth. Others don't cause noticeable differences until puberty, or potentially even older.
You can say "this toilet is for XX chromosomes, that one is for XY". But first, that won't cover everyone. And second, do YOU know what sex chromosomes you have? Have you ever had that tested? Sure, you can make an educated guess. But you can't know for definite unless you do a genetic test. Chromosomal variations are rare, yeah. But so are trans people.
For conditions like swyer syndrome and AIS, an individual can be born with XY chrimosomes presenting as a typical female, and may have absolutely no idea they have XY chromosomes until puberty. Maybe even later if no one picks up on them not having a period. Is it really fair to force a girl who just found out she's intersex to use the men's toilet now because she's got a Y chromosome? Is that really safer for her?
Anyway, moving onto point 4, I didn't think I'd have to spell this out this clearly but here we go. The comic shows a person, implied to be trans by their pride flag colouration, minding their own business on the toilet. A red character then forces their way under the stall and says "why do you insist on invading the privacy of women" then leaves. The "privacy of women" implies that this is happening in a women's bathroom. There is nothing about this comic that implies the gender of either character involved. Here are a few scenarios it could be depicting:
1. A trans woman goes into a women's bathroom for a shit. A cis woman sees her go in and confronts her by shoving her head under the stall.
2. A trans man goes into the women's bathroom for a shit (the correct bathroom for him by your logic). A cis woman sees him go in, assumes he is a cis man or trans woman, and confronts him by shoving her head under the stall.
3. A trans woman goes into the women's bathroom for a shit. A man sees her go into the women's bathroom and follows her in to confront her by shoving his head under the stall.
4. A trans man goes into the women's toilet for a shit (again, correct bathroom for him by your logic). A man sees him go into the women's bathroom and follows him. He then confronts the trans man by shoving his head under the stall.
Is this enough to demonstrate how the comic does not mention trans women anywhere and is not necessarily about trans women, or do you need me to draw you a picture?
I'll address point 5 and 6 together, since they're mostly just about how you view trans women. The main point being, if a trans woman walks into a bathroom, does her business, then walks out, how is that a problem? How is that an invasion of anyone's privacy? Like you did with the maintenance guy, if you're that uncomfortable sharing a space with a trans woman (or any woman you believe to be trans), you can simply wait for her to finish before going in. Same as if a mother has to bring her son in and you think he's old enough to not need that. Same as if there's a cleaner in there and they haven't closed the entire toilet (which can happen in some places. Especially if it's one stall that's just a biohazard)
It's telling that you specifically mentioned the procedures you could go through if a maintenance man assaulted you, and put that on the same level as a trans woman simply existing in the women's toilet. If a trans woman assaulted you in the bathroom, that would be bad. And you'd be able to go through the same process as you'd go through if a cis woman assaulted you in the bathroom. Or if a cis man just waltzed into the bathroom and assaulted you. Or a trans man assaulted you in the bathroom. The legal procedures here are pretty much identical either way.
Ultimately, this whole argument boils down to stranger danger. Which is seriously overstated. Women are in the most danger from men they know personally, followed by women they know personally. You're more likely to be hurt by a woman in your life than you are by a random man in the street. You're definitely more likely to be hurt by a woman in your life than a random trans woman in the bathroom. You're probably more likely to be hurt by a woman in your life than you are to even run into a trans woman in the bathroom. If you're comfortable with the risk of having friends, there's no reason to be uncomfortable with the risk of pissing in the same room as a trans woman.

#also the biggest issue with the girl spot thing isn't that trans women are being excluded. It's that the owner originally said trans women#would be welcomed then backtracked 4 years later after getting everyone's money and support#that's what got people the most upset. That's what's causing the most backlash.
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if byler isn't endgame...
what was the point of making will in love with mike?
why was will used as a plot device to force mike and el back together and "fix" their relationship issues? (the writers literally took his OWN feelings for mike and his OWN painting for mike that was supposed to be something special between them only and made it all about... el? this is genuinely one of the most cruel, ridiculous and unnecessary writing decisions i've ever seen if it doesn't result in will getting the person he loves)
why did they clearly highlight the contrast between byler and m*leven's relationships all season? how mike makes el feel like a monster for being different vs how he does NOT make will feel like a mistake for being different? how mike and el had the biggest fight after mike apologised vs how mike and will made up and ended up closer than before after mike apologised? how mike and el don't have healthy communication and struggle to understand each other vs how mike and will always have genuine heart-to-heart conversations, understand each other so well and sometimes don't even have to say any words? how mike feels insecure in his relationship with el and has his trauma/feelings invalidated vs how will manages to always make him feel special, confident and gives him strength when he's struggling and needs help?
why are there so many parallels and similarities between will and el as individual characters AND also their relationships with mike?
why is mike's relationship with will different from all his other platonic friends? (and don't just say "because will is in love with him", because in some scenes, MIKE is the one who initiates things and goes out of his way for will. which reminds me, you know how everyone says mike does so many romantic things for el? like not giving up on her when she's missing, taking care of her, being protective over her, etc.? he actually did all of those things for will first)
why did mike vent to will about his fight with el (the fight he claims they "can't come back from") without directly saying what the fight was about? all he said was "maybe i should've said something... and if i would've said that thing, then maybe she'd want me there with her." so... you're venting to your friend and you can't even specify that your big fight was about not being able to say "i love you"? why was it kept so secretive if you truly love her and it's no big deal? you've said you love her in front of a group of people before anyways, even when will was there, so why can't you even say the words to him while venting?
why did mike vent to will (again) and say that if he would've explained himself to el, maybe she would've taken him with her? will says he thinks it's scary to open up like that, to say how you really feel, but shouldn't mike and el already know how they both feel about each other at this point? el heard mike say he loved her in season 3, and at the end of the same season, she said "i love you too" before kissing him. they have kissed a lot, sent letters to each other and do lovey dovey things, which should make their feelings quite clear?????
and what was the point of this line from will?
"because... what if... what if they don't like the truth?"
we're supposed to be talking about el here. sure, will was subtly speaking about himself, and we know that as the audience. but mike doesn't. this conversation is about el, so mike still thinks will is talking about her. why on earth would he NOD after will says the part about how she might not like the truth? mike knows that "the truth" she WANTS to hear is "i love you", so why wouldn't she like the truth? why did mike nod at what will said and why did he agree with him? what is actually even happening in this scene??????????????
why did they make all the canon couples stand together in the final shot of season 4, with mike and will standing together too?
what was the point of ANY of this if they weren't planning on making byler endgame?!?!?!?!?!
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In defense of Vetinari, at least one of them was Vimesâ own fault for marrying Sybil.
In defense of Vimes, Sybil. One day you too might meet a towering burly bald woman who is deeply sweet and lovely, raises tiny explosive dragons for fun, belts out dwarven opera to part mobs and bully her way into meeting kings, and knocks werewolves out with steel bars, and come to the horrifying realisation that in order to marry her, you too must betray your class and become aristocracy. I mean. You canât blame the man. What was he to do?
Lady Sybil Ramkin-Vimes is also another fabulous break from stereotype, both in terms of the fantasy damsel-in-distress and also, given how extremely noir Vimes is as a character, as the noir femme fatale. She is set up to be. In Guards! Guards! Vimes goes to meet her as a potential expert in the dragon slayings, setting her up as the Lauren Bacall type of âwealthy woman tangentially involved n the case for the noir hero to fall in love withâ, and then his first sight of Sybil is a towering faceless figure in fireproof armour boomingly asking if he knows anything about (dragon) breeding. Sheâs not mysterious, sheâs not criminal, sheâs not Hollywood beautiful. Sheâs big and sheâs bald and sheâs kind, and he falls for her head over heels.
But also, like Carrot and his idealism looping back around despite the setting, Sybil also is a noir heroine. Because the woman is the city. Sybil is embedded in the fabric of Ankh-Morpork, and she is part of how Vimes and Vetinari help change their city, her position providing leverage and she herself providing formidable support. Â
PTerry was having a lot of fun, and weâre all delightedly along for the ride.
my favorite thing about Corporal Carrot is that heâs a romantic hero plopped right in the middle of the greediest cesspit of a chaotic neutral city ever to debase the pages of literature, and yet instead of having his shining idealism destroyed by an uncaring reality, he makes reality embarrassedly put down the weapons and agree to make nice, and then mutter an awkward âGood morningâ whenever it passes him on the street.
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a distillation of adolescent rage within bonnie
as promised, here's a bit of an analysis of bonnie, specifically of how much their character is defined and fueled by anger, where that anger is coming from, and how much exactly of it is genuine and how much is there just to feel a bit more safe and a bit less confused. because man, bonnie is so well-written, it needs to be talked about more, and this aspect of them is especially handled really well
i also love them deeply, there's that. okay let's go team
to establish the facts: bonnie being angry is really the first thing we learn about them, and what siffrin's first association with them is at the point where we meet the party. it's even in their first memory's description. see? right there.
and i mean, they have a full right to be, don't they? the country is in a crisis. and while they've grown close to the rest of the party, the reason they're traveling with them in the first place is because they had to run away from their town, which they probably don't remember ever leaving beforehand, and leave their sister behind because she got frozen in time.
this is some scary stuff, especially for a kid, whose peace of mind relies on stability and familiarity. any turmoil introduced into even something as small as a daily routine can seriously mess them up, much less a separation from their one trusted guardian and a displacement of such a degree. i shudder to think what their thought process was when they were running from the curse before siffrin spotted them and the party took them in - they must've been so scared. i can't think about that too long or i feel like crying tho let's move on ok
bonnie is obviously mad at the king. they're so angry. well, who wouldn't be? he's the cause of all this. they want vengeance, they want justice, they want to help take him down! and doing only things they're limited to by the adults in the group feels like it's not enough.
this is a bit of a sidenote but this conversation hints at just how anxious bonnie's attachment style is. we know nille ran away with them from home and are given not much detail besides that, if only because bonnie was tiny and doesn't remember much of that, but both the fact that you don't have to remember something for it to shape the way you are and the fact that nille is probably pretty busy keeping both herself and her little sibling alive may be the reasons for bonnie's fear of abandonment and need to be useful
bonnie's entire friendquest stems from them needing to feel like they're contributing more, that's why they ask siffrin to teach them how to fight. and they ask siffrin specifically because they, despite their strained relationship at the moment, hold him in high regard and trust him to say if something is actually off-limits because, in their mind, he doesn't baby them needlessly.
that's rare for a kid, to not be overly coddled.
ok, back on track from the attachment style tangent, rise rise rise where is your rage back on
bonnie is even more mad at the king when they finally are facing him. and he's crying and despairing, and having the gall to act all pathetic. and bonnie can't take that. they have been so brave, keeping it together this entire time, and this guy, the cause of all this despair, dares to act like that? what gives him the right?
kids often default to expressing simpler emotions they can fully process and understand when an unexpected feeling corners them or when their defense system kicks in and deems an emotion too harmful yo fully experience; they round up to the closest emotion they can and go with that. bonnie is, of course, angry, but they're also full of fear about everything that's happening that's getting tuned out for their own self-preservation, and they feel a lot of indignation and confusion about this adult that doesn't even have the decency to have his shit together to the same degree bonnie does. bonnie doesn't understand him or why he did what he did, and it feels unfair that they were staying strong and the king can just fall apart like that. but anger is easier, so it all gets rounded to that.
recognizing the layers of bonnie's emotions and how one is caused by another is key to understanding them as a character. but honestly, the king isn't the strongest example we've got to show this, however - siffrin is a better one.
we're introduced to bonnie with them acting distant towards siffrin. only in act 1 are we able to experience what the natural dynamic between those two has been ever since siffrin lost their eye, and it's genuinely a little heartbreaking. it's a lot of siffrin being awkward and jumpy, unsure how to approach bonnie, and bonnie being huffy and disconnected, not really playing into the conversation.
things are tense and neither of them is equipped to diffuse the situation. it's so, so sad because context clues tell us they used to be close - siffrin was the first one to call bonnie "bonbon" but he doesn't do that anymore, bonnie avoids even just eye contact with him, and the way they're acting is clearly something siffrin believes to be a sign of bonnie decidedly not liking them anymore.
(this "being hated" is a surprise tool that will help us later)
while we don't know why things are the way they are at first, we later learn that it's because siffrin doesn't see getting hurt while protecting bonnie as a big deal. and bonnie is upset that he got really, really seriously hurt to the point of losing an eye and he's just waving it off. there's a few things at hand here that go into bonnie's seemingly simple reaction.
the issue here largely comes from siffrin's avoidance of talking about their internal state. because they waved things off, not wanting to talk about it, bonnie didn't have the chance to talk things through either, and process them healthily. the guilt, fear and sadness stemming from someone you care about getting hurt because they kept you safe all go unaddressed.
additionally, there's a cognitive distortion that kids often suffer from where they think everything happening is their fault, even when they were in no way involved in causing it, may play a part here. because their world is just so small, if kids can't pin the blame on something else (since it may be something they're not aware of or too vague), it doesn't compute, so they immediately place the blame on themselves.
there's of course an additional doom spiral of bonnie acting closed off, siffrin taking it as them hating him, and bonnie taking that as siffrin drifting away, and the cycle perpetuating because no one in the party wants to budge into this. everyone is allergic to communication.
the crux of it is, bonnie isn't really angry at siffrin, not in the way he is at the king. it's just easier for their preteen brain to categorize what they're feeling as anger, as a defense mechanism, and point those emotions outwards instead of keeping them inside. it's easier to lash out than regurgitate those feelings and let them eat away at them. so they act out, and scream, and call siffrin stupid.
and we have one than one example of bonnie lashing out with anger because that's the easiest option. it's certainly easier than figuring out what emotions they're exactly feeling and dealing with them without admitting they're a kid that doesn't understand how to do it alone.
among them is of course the way they act when they overhear the others talking about what to do if anyone dies, and the connected rotten adults event. after that safe room, bonnie is remarkably closed off, and if you go to the poem room, they read the book on funerary rites and then pointedly pretend to not do so when asked what they're doing.
it's an incredibly exemplary interaction, i think. because they're surprised, we get an almost step by step for their thought process, and it goes a bit like this:
i didn't mean for you to see me look at this and i want you to not know about it -> stop talking like you know what i was doing because i don't want you to know about it -> i want you to think it's nothing important so that you're not more interested -> i'll tell you i'm okay because that may make you think you don't need to look -> it's not working, so i'm going to tell you directly to stop looking at what i'm doing, or at me, because, again, i don't want you to know i'm in distress -> i'm feeling a lot of things so i need to expel them in some way, "shut up" -> this is isn't working, i need to deflect and give you something else to focus on
this avoidance and giving over the reins to anger instead of processing anything is something bonnie resorts to a lot when overloaded by a lot of different emotions they can't deal with
in bonnie's mind, talking about it is bad because it's distressing, and scary, and makes them think of awful scenarios they don't want to come true, and not talking about it means not feeling all that, and that's surely better. there's also that defense mechanism at work, the externalizing of negative emotions and pointing them outward instead of letting them hurt the inside. and it kicks in on full throttle when siffrin tries to comfort bonnie.
anyone who's been in an adolescent age in their life can recognize this emotion. wanting someone to just go away, leave you alone, stop talking about something or doing something. to bonnie, if you don't talk about something, it's not real, and siffrin comforting them a. anchors the cause of their state in reality, b. confirms they don't have everything together because they needed comforting in the first place. and that's no good! so they act out. it's like a deimatic behavior, a tactic to scare off something that you would otherwise have no choice but to give in to. they're not unlike a cat hissing and puffing up to seem bigger. you know those spicy kitten videos where they just do firecracker noises at a human hand closing in on them? yeah.
and it works!! to an inordinate degree because the object of it was siffrin who a. is extremely prone to believing people hate him, b. entered a time loop because he cares so much about these people and staying with them. told you that surprise tool would come back. in bonnie's defense, people usually don't rewind time when you do that, and just back off until your emotional state is calm enough that you can talk without feeling like imploding.
it's alright, siffrin just needs enough time to assemble their own thoughts before approaching bonnie again. and when he does, we see how to overcome the obstacle of an adolescent attempting to avoid a conversation concerning unpleasant feelings.
siffrin just gives bonnie space to experience those big feelings safely and explains calmly why something happened in the first place. when they try to avoid a conversation, he just gives them time to think about it instead of giving them any sort of pep-talk, and they talk it out calmly, and make a promise to reassure bonnie that they're both gonna keep each other safe. siffrin genuinely does a remarkable joke here. no one does it better than them nothing awful will ever happen. fans of love and friendship don't think too hard about end of act 3
to drive the point home, we get a bit of an awful reprise of bonnie lashing out as a self-defense tactic in act 5 because they're overwhelmed by just how upset siffrin made them by risking getting hurt on purpose just so they could be stronger. they do the same thing as before, resorting to throwing out hurtful words to scare off the source of all those intersecting negative feelings, and, since they can now, run away.
it needs to be understood that bonnie is not a kid pointlessly angry at nothing in particular and everything around them. their anger is in direct response to too many things happening at once and them having trouble processing all of it, and instead resorting to simplifying their emotions into one very primal one, and expelling it outwards in a form of them lashing out. they're going through an already confusing time of changes you're forced to go through during your adolescence - and a national curse-related crisis is not helping. when given the tools and space to process in an environment they feel is safe, they're not nearly as wrathful.
i guess the tl;dr is this - while they have a bit of a fiery personality and some of their rage is fully justified, bonnie for the most part acts out in anger because it feels like it's keeping them safe and allowing them to not bottle in things that are too confusing to them; it's already a scary world out there for a preteen entering the world of more complex emotions, and being far away from your sister and mid-way through a national crisis is making it even worse.
it might be a bit less noticeable because they spend most of the game upset at siffrin, so we don't see a lot of their sweeter side in one-on-one conversations as much, but honestly, they're such a sweet kid. so cute too, they're extremely endearing. it's no wonder the party is hell-bent on protecting them no matter what.
#finally!!! it's outtttt told you i'd do it#in stars and time#isat#isat bonnie#isat siffrin#isat meta#isat analysis#isat spoilers#in stars and time spoilers#in stars and time act 5 spoilers#pondering#siffrin#bonnie
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I wish Hoyo would carry their own ideas through sometimes...
I know everyone is really focused on Mydei's current predicament and misery, but I can't stop thinking about his past and how insane the first half of his life would have been, if you take the plot seriously.
Spoilers for Mydei's leaked character stories(!!) and voice lines, but:
Just... imagine if Hoyo treated this backstory with actual weight for a second.
Mydei was thrown into the sea as an infant. He was young enough to have no memories of life on land--or even life with other human beings at all. He would have no one to teach him to walk, to speak, to function like a human being... He would essentially be an entirely feral creature, probably not even able to recognize a connection between himself and the idea of living on land.
Even after coming ashore at last, if this plot were treated realistically, learning to adapt to a human life would have taken time--he would have to learn the entire concept of language, let alone how to speak, read, and write... Fire, warmth, trusting others enough to allow them into one's vicinity--totally foreign concepts to him. He would have to learn how to walk upright after literally spending his entire life previously floating weightless in the sea.
We know from the leaked story that he rescued sailors lost at sea, indicating that his inherent nature is gentle:
But if he was able to save fisherman from the sea, why did it take him nine years to save himself? Why not just go with the fishermen and escape the sea earlier?
Because, applying logic again, a child with no exposure to other humans might not even recognize them as his own kind. He may react the same way a wild animal would to humans--with curiosity, but also with caution. Are they prey? Are they predators? Why do they look so similar but drown when they fall in the water, while he always, always, always returns? What are those noises they're making at him?
Given Tribbie's animation, it seems to me that it was Tribbie's star in the sky that finally coaxed Mydei from the water--but even if she had given a letter to him, he could never have read it back then.
Think of how disorienting it would be to go from a life of complete and abject loneliness, where you are the only one of your own kind, where every moment of your life is kill-or-be-killed, a constant battle of predation in the depths, to a life where suddenly you're among flocks of people, people who teach you to communicate with more than your claws and teeth, who tell you that you're not only one of them, you're the best of them, who expect you to lead them when you can barely even conceive of yourself as a human being at all...
And it's just right back into another war. It's nothing but the sea all over again, fighting fighting fighting fighting--
Then you finally find refuge, finally find a place that promises you a moment's rest... but the people who claim to be offering you sanctuary call you a savage, a beast, and treat you like you never got civilized in the first place. They won't let you call their city home. They won't accept you, no matter how hard you try to be human... Why have left the sea at all if no one will ever see you as anything other than a monster?
To still be kind after a life of cruelty. To still be gentle. To still be willing to give even more of yourself after clawing back from loss after loss after loss... To know even more pain and suffering are coming and to simply accept this as your lot in life, to have nothing to look forward to and to still be able to tell someone else not to let bitterness be all he knows...
What an agonizing tragedy. What an incredible character. Mydei, the man that you are!!!
#honkai star rail#mydei#mydeimos#honkai star rail spoilers#honkai star rail leaks#hsr leaks#amphoreus spoilers#mydei's entire life is actually horrific#of course it's a myth#a fairy tale#but if anything remotely like this happened to a real person#no therapy on earth could help them
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