#listen i'm not to the couch part in my binge yet i just caught it in an edit and this came out

[alchemistc]

Couched In Metaphor

"You want a beer man?"

Eddie tilts a look over his shoulder, already halfway through the doorway to his kitchen, and Tommy shoots a glance at his watch. "Mmm, no can do. I'm meeting Evan in a bit."

"Is this my cue to act a fool for your attention?"

There's a moment where Tommy wants to double down on defense for Evan, but it's a joke, it's just a joke and if Evan were right next to him he'd definitely enjoy the gentle ribbing. He tries not to examine the immediate desire to defend him too closely. Too much, too soon, it's barely been a few months.

"And he's got jokes, ladies and gentlemen."

Eddie grins: wide, amused. It's what he came for - the chance to get Eddie out of his own head for a few hours. "You guys doing anything special?"

"We're on a mission to pick out a new couch, apparently."

When Eddie stills, Tommy swears it's like he's just been frozen in place; the beer in his hand raised halfway to his mouth, lips pursed, brows raised, a cartoon character stuck in time. He plays it off a moment later, hastily lowering the bottle, nodding. "Don't let him bring a clipboard."

It's Tommy's turn to wrinkle his brow.

"No good can come when that man's got a prioritized list, Tommy, I'm serious."

"So we're ignoring the fact that there's apparently something about tagging along for furniture shopping that just made you freeze frame?"

Eddie tilts his head, squints his eyes, takes a drag off his beer. "That's a Buck and Tommy conversation, not an Eddie and Tommy conversation. You wanna know more about the clipboard, though, I've got about thirty horror stories."

---

"I feel like maybe I've been bamboozled," Tommy says, three furniture stores in. The couch Evan is currently testing is -- just like every other couch they've looked at so far.

"None of them have been right."

He's got that look in his eyes like he's been knocking on doors in a structure fire for too long.

"Are we worried about aesthetics, here, or comfort, or whether or not they fit the space? Eddie warned me about Clipboard Buck but maybe you should pull up your notes app and make a pro con list."

Evan flushes. Darts a glance down at his feet, and his thumbs dig into the seams of his hoodie pocket. "I just thought I'd walk in and find what I was looking for. Sort of thought it'd just - call to me, or something."

"It's a couch Evan, not a lifetime commitment."

And Evan flushes deeper, cheeks pinking, lips twisting. Tommy, who's been hovering nearby while Evan tests out what feels like half a million identical couches, feels himself sigh, bending and twisting to settle next to him, one hand reaching out to squeeze at Evan's knee.

"So it seems like maybe there's a story here I'm not aware of."

It sort of tumbles out of Evan, then, a rush of half apologies and stumbling explanations, and Tommy thinks of the snatches of conversations they've had about their past partners, their admittedly not great parents.

"And - you know, I just thought. I mean. I figured." He gestures, vaguely, and then more pointedly, a glance from beneath his lashes to catch Tommy's gaze as he waggles a finger between the two of them.

Oh.

Tommy waits a beat. Sometimes it's better to let Evan work it out in his own head for a second.

Also, he's - sort of reeling, a bit. Too much, too soon, he'd thought, but here he was, unaware of the significance of being asked on this little errand until he suddenly wasn't, and -

"Sorry. That's - it's not like - anyway, I've clearly put way too much weight into the couch thing, you're right, it's just a couch."

He's been ignoring the urge to curl his fingers around Evan's for the better part of two hours, now. He doesn't question it, usually, but in this specific scenario it's felt too couple-y, too forward, too much like begging a sales associate to make some assumptions Evan wasn't prepared to deal with.

Evan's still twisting his hands together inside the pocket of his jacket, and Tommy makes the snap decision before he can talk himself out of it - two fingers tucking into the pocket, pressing into the meat of Evan's palm, pressing up and pulling without any real force, and it's like Evan deflates, a bit, hand immediately following the soft drag out of the fabric to curl four fingers around Tommy's palm.

"It doesn't have to be just a couch."

---

They have their first fight, navigating the stairwell up to Evan's floor, and situate it in the room in stony silence. Tommy considers leaving, once it's exactly as Evan wants it. He's good at that - jumping ship at the first sign of trouble, and he has to swallow the urge down while Evan glares a hole into the armrest.

He's just opening his mouth to speak when Evan's voice drifts over to him, quieter than he'd expected. "I really don't want it to just be a couch."

And Tommy's never -

He's dated plenty of people - cared for less, and loved very few, but he's never steeped shit in metaphor and he's also never gone from "attracted to the straight guy again" to "this inanimate object is a symbol of our relationship" in -- ever.

"Evan."

There's a flatness to his voice that only ever comes out when he's truly upset, and he hates it, hates that he can just shut it all off. He makes a conscious effort, unfurls the fists shoved into his pants pockets. Tries again.

"We're hiring someone if you ever wanna move that damn thing again."

Evan's smile splits across his face like the sun breaking over the horizon.

---

Christopher eyes the couch with suspicion.

"It's a lot bigger than your old ones," he finally manages, with a shifty glance between the two of them, and Tommy has to remind himself that Evan had gone down a rabbit hole of research trying to find the best way to clean leather once they'd finally gotten over themselves and proceeded with the making up part of their argument.

Eddie clocks the look running across his face, and makes a face at Evan. Evan tucks his tongue into his cheek, but he can't quite hide his grin, and Tommy tries not to imagine the next time they'll need to go furniture shopping.

---

"Can I admit something?" Evan asks, fingers shifting across the expanse of Tommy's chest, head tucked neatly beneath his chin.

Tommy hums, still half asleep, trying to ignore the crick in his neck and the wide expanse of his lower back that keeps sinking into the crack between the cushions.

Evan presses his lips lazily into the side of Tommy's neck. "I actually hate this couch. It's the worst."

Tommy laughs, and laughs, and laughs some more when Evan presses up on his elbow to pout straight into his face.

Tommy can't help but curl a palm around his jaw, ring and middle finger sliding up to cup his cheek, reaching for the marks at his brow. "Can we skip the torture of another horrendous shopping trip and just toss this one to the curb when I ask you to move in with me?"

He only stills for half a moment, eyes already bright and wide and happy before he nods. "When?" he repeats, all puppy enthusiasm as he buries his face back in Tommy's neck.

"Keep it to yourself, though, I haven't decided how I'm gonna ask. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

Evan hums, fingers drifting down his arm, now - it's a familiar, teasing path that always drives Tommy a little wild, and - yep, they skate over his wrist, dancing right along the length of his fingers and down across his hip, little finger spreading wide towards his inseam.

---

Evan breaks his couch the first night all his things have been unpacked.

He makes a little pleased hum, low in his throat, when Tommy pulls up the same site he'd used to buy it, adds three to his cart, and passes the laptop off to Evan for opinions. Curls a warm hand around the back of Tommy's neck, presses his lips to the crown of Tommy's head. Tommy takes a moment to enjoy the feel of it.

"Pick one," he manages through gritted teeth when Evan nips at his earlobe.

"It's just a couch, babe, whichever one you want."

[tikosblogg]

A Helping Hand

Part 2 Here

Summary: you’re in college, still a virgin and frustrated. You just wanna know what sex is like. Noah wants to offer his help.

Warning: oral (f receiving), fingering.

A/N: college boy Noah. HOT AF. Not proof read I apologize for any mistakes. Please enjoy.

The air in the apartment was thick with laughter and the scent of popcorn as me and my only two friends on campus lounged on the couch, binge-watching a new series. The conversation had turned to relationships—everyone was discussing their latest crushes and dating escapades.

I listened, a bit detached, nursing a twinge of envy. The thought of my virginity weighed heavily on my mind.

"I want to know what it’s like," I sighed, glancing down at my half empty drink. "I don't want to be a virgin anymore."

My friends exchanged glances, and Clara leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"You know, I heard about that guy on campus, Noah Sebastian. He's supposed to be amazing in bed. I’ve heard stories, you should ask him." I rolled my eyes, feeling my insides flutter at the name.

"I am not gonna ask Noah Sebastian to fuck me. I don’t want to feel like some charity case." I sighed. If He asked me, you bet your ass I’d let him. But sadly I’m also aware, that he is way out of my league. Hence why he hasn’t asked me.

I’ve been around him and his friends at parties a bunch of times. We even had a nice long conversation one time about our favorite music. Yet he always found a girl the complete opposite of me to take home.

"Come on! It’s a great way to break the ice," Layna smiled nudging me playfully. "You’d be in good hands!"

I hugged my knees to my chest. "I don’t know. He’s had plenty of chances to ask me, and he hasn’t. He isn’t interested. I’ll probably just go out and find someone at one of the bars in town.”

They both smirk at each other, before quickly changing the subject. I decide to let it go, and join their new conversation. A couple hours later, I walked them to the door, as they gathered their things to leave. Layna turned towards me, pulling me into a hug. “Please just think about asking Noah. I promise you won’t regret it.” Clara nodded, hugging me as well.

I sighed nodding my head. “Yeah yeah, I’ll think about it.” I waved them off as they drove away, making my way back into the apartment. That night I stayed up late, looking up Noah’s socials, going through his pictures like a stalker. “God why are you so hot.” I mumbled under my breath. There is noway I’m asking him.

I entered my apartment, tossing my keys onto the counter. The glow from the livingroom lamp casting a warm hue in the quiet apartment. I settled into the couch, flipping through channels aimlessly as I tried to shake off feelings of loneliness.

Each ding of my phone caught my attention, but I dismissed the notifications as my friends being typical sent: memes, inside jokes, and rants about the day.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the silence. I glanced at the clock—it was unusually late. Hesitantly, I stood up and opened the door, and my heart nearly stopped. There stood Noah, looking hot as usual.

“Hey, I hope I'm not interrupting,” he grinned, his eyes casting down, and slowly back up my body. Confusion washed over me, as I struggled to respond. "Clara and Layna sent me." He chuckled, as my face fell in shock.

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I remembered our conversation from a few nights ago. “Oh… wow, um, yeah I’m sorry for… this," I stammered. "I didn’t know they’d... well, um…" I trailed off, feeling anxious and down right humiliated.

He chuckled softly, his presence magnetic, making it hard to look away. “It’s alright.”

I shifted, biting my lip, an apology spilling out. "I really didn’t mean for them to set this up. I’m just—I'm…you really don’t have to be here."

“No, I’m mean it’s okay. No pressure, but I’m glad they sent me,” he assured gently, taking a step closer. “I want to be here. And honestly? I’d love to help you.”

My heart raced as I processed his words. This impossibly sexy guy, the one everyone talked about, wanted to help me. The weight of my own inexperience settled heavily on my chest, embarrassment mixing with excitement.

“Noah, I’m really shy about all this. I haven’t—”

“Y/n,” he interrupted softly, tilting his head slightly. “We can take it slow. I want to make sure you’re comfortable. I won't do anything you don’t want to.”

His genuine tone wrapped around me like a warm blanket, easing my anxiety. “What if I mess it up, and completely embarrass myself?” I whisper, my face on fire at this point. “I promise, it’s not about perfection. It’s about enjoying the moment. And trust me, the right person makes all the difference.”

The room felt charged with tension, uncertainty melted into curiosity. I took a deep breath and gestured for him to come inside. As he stepped in, I felt a rush of disbelief. This was really happening.

Noah looked around the apartment, his gaze landing on me with an intensity that sent my heart fluttering. “So, what do you want to do first? You’re in complete control right now. We can take it slow tonight. start with the small things, and then next time we can a little further.” he smiled, his voice low and inviting.

I searched his gaze, finding kindness and patience. Next time? He wants to come back? My body fidgeted as I took a step closer. “Um I really don’t even know how to start..” I whispered, my shyness slowly overtaking me.

He smiled, and the warmth in his expression reassured me. “We can take all the time we need. Do you want me to take the lead?” His voice was low and smooth, carrying an invitation wrapped in gentle authority.

I looked up at him, his deep brown eyes searching mine, and felt a rush of warmth spread through me. My heart pounded in response, whispering its consent even before I found the words to say it. Nodding slowly, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness coil within me.

With a soft smile, Noah took my hand, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt of comfort through me, as he guided me to the couch, the plush fabric a welcoming embrace as I sank into its depths. He threw a behind my head, resting it on the back of the couch. His grip remained gentle yet firm, a reminder of his steady presence.

“I promise I’ll take care of you,” he assured me, his voice rich with sincerity. “And if you ever want me to stop, you just say the word, okay?” I nodded again, a small but powerful gesture, and felt a wave of relief wash over me. I was safe here with him.

He leaned closer, his hand gently cupping my cheek, sending another rush of warmth through me. Our eyes locked, and Without breaking our gaze, he began to lean in, and instinctively, I tilted my head to meet him, closing the distance.

His lips brushed softly against mine, a tentative exploration, as if tasting the sweetness of the moment. The kiss deepened gradually, shifting from tender to a more passionate embrace. I found myself melting into it.

He pulled back slightly, and I could feel my breath quicken. The warmth of his palm still lingered on my cheek, and I craved more of his touch. “You okay?” he asked, his voice a blend of curiosity and concern.

I nodded again, a smile breaking across my lips, unable to find words that could capture how I truly felt.

Noah leaned in again, claiming my lips with a newfound urgency that sent my heart racing. I surrendered to the moment, letting him lead. I melted into him, as his hand slowly crept up my thigh, squeezing gently.

A whimper escaped my lips, surprising even me, but it drew a teasing smile from him as he pulled back just enough to look into my eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in that way that made my wet core throb. His gaze was soft, and teasing an invitation to share my thoughts, and yet I felt my cheeks heat up.

With a shy nod, I felt a rush of warmth trickle through me. I was fumbling with my words, my heart racing as he challenged me to speak. “I—I…” I stuttered, feeling the weight of his gaze. “I feel really good.”

His smile widened at my confession, and he leaned in closer, brushing his lips against mine in a soft, lingering kiss before trailing them down my throat. A soft moan escaped me, unexpected yet welcome, as I let my fingers find their way into his soft brown hair.

I gripped it gently, feeling the softness between my fingers, grounding me in this moment that felt unreal.

“Good? Just good?” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin, sending shivers through me. He licked, and nipped along my neck, each time igniting a fire in my veins. I could hardly keep the gasp at bay as his lips danced over sensitive spots, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“More than good,” I finally managed to reply, my voice barely above a whisper, caught between vulnerability and desire. The honesty in my words caused his teasing demeanor to shift, his eyes darkening with something deeper, something more serious.

He raised his head, his eyes locking with mine, stripping away the teasing to reveal a sincerity that made my heart flutter. “I want to make you feel amazing,” he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly over my inner thigh, so close to where I really needed him. “Tell me what you want.”

His words hung in the air, and I could feel the weight of them. My breath hitched, and I felt a blend of excitement and insecurity. I wanted him to keep kissing me, to keep this connection alive. “Just—keep doing that,” I whispered, motioning towards his hand on my thigh, my voice cracking just a bit. “But…but higher.” I whispered. 

Noah grinned, a spark of mischief igniting in his eyes. His hand slid up the rest of the way, his thumb pressing directly on my swollen clit through my shorts. “Right there?” His voice was low, and teasing.

His eyes never leaving my face. I let out a whine, nodding my head, as he once more dove back in, planting soft kisses all over my neck and jaw, eliciting soft sounds from me that filled the otherwise quiet living room. With every kiss, and stroke of his thumb, I felt myself unraveling, losing the grip of shyness and diving deeper into the growing intimacy between us.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured against my skin, his words swirling around us that made my heart race. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Noah slips from the couch next to me, moving with a sense of purpose that sends a flutter of anticipation through me.

He kneels between my thighs, the warmth of his presence enveloping me as he gently pushes me back until my back rests against the plush fabric of the couch. Pure excitement courses through my veins.

“You want me to take these off?” he asks, his voice low and smooth. I nod my head, unable to form words, my heart racing at the thought of what might happen next. There’s a moment of stillness, as if time itself is holding its breath in anticipation.

With careful hands, Noah reaches for my shorts, and slowly pulls them down, and off. There’s a sense of vulnerability, a rawness in the air. My breath catches, and I can feel the pounding of my heart echoing in the silence that surrounds us.

He gazes at me, his eyes sweeping over my form, a mixture of admiration and desire illuminating his features.

Once my shorts are gone, his eyes land on my undeniably soaked panties, and I feel a surge of warmth flood my cheeks.

There’s something in the way he looks at me – not just with hunger, but with a deep appreciation that makes me feel confident. The moment stretches, electric and charged, and I can see the unspoken questions dancing in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, checking in as if the weight of the moment bears heavily on him too. I nod again, feeling any nervousness fade slowly. His presence is grounding, and I find comfort in his gentle demeanor.

He takes his time, studying me as if he’s tracing the shape of my form with his eyes. A shy smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, and I can’t help but feel a sense of empowerment.

“You’re soaked baby,” he groans. His thumb stroking down the wet patch of my panties, mixed with the pet name, sending flutters through my stomach, igniting a warmth that spreads throughout my body.

He leans in closer, and I can feel the heat radiating from him, hitting my aching cunt. Our gazes lock, before he grips my thighs, pulling them further apart. His lips ghosting my core before placing the softest kiss against it. The soft action sending a desperate whine flying from my lips.

I looked down at him, my breath hitching as he looked up from between my thighs. His deep brown eyes sparkled with mischief and affection, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The vulnerability in that moment was intoxicating.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper, sending shivers down my spine.

I felt another soft whine escape my lips, a plea both innocent and desperate. "Please Noah... take them off," I managed to murmur, the words barely forming as they left my lips.

Noah’s smile widened, illuminating his features with a warmth that made my heart flutter. He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on my thigh. The sensation was electric, igniting every nerve ending in my body.

There was a playful glimmer in his eyes as he slid his fingers beneath the waistband of my panties, moving slowly as if savoring every second. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, the anticipation building with each deliberate movement.

Time seemed to slow as he carefully pulled them off, exposing my wet folds to the cool air of the room.

His touch was featherlight, and every instinct in me screamed to draw him closer, to press deeper into the moment. I offered a shy smile, nodding my head encouraging him to continue. Noah’s gaze held mine as he removed the last barrier between us, dropping them to the floor beside the couch.

"Fuck baby," he whispered, his voice a husky murmur that sent a thrill coursing through me.

He bent forward, wrapping his hand softly around my throat, before pulling me forward into a messy kiss. His tongue licked into my mouth, tasting every inch of it. He pulled away, releasing my throat.

His lips dropped down trailing soft kisses along my inner thigh, as his fingers reached up softly rubbing up and down my slit, making whine his name. He paused, looking up at me with that beautiful teasing smile. “You like that baby?” I nodded, my hips bucking slightly.

“Please Noah.” He laughed softly, before slowly reaching up, shoving two of his long fingers, into my mouth. I licked, and sucked on them until they were covered in my spit.

He bit his bottom lip, as he watched me before slowly pulling them out.

Without another word, he ran his wet finger down my slit, and back up softly circling my swollen clit. He watched my reactions closely, with a small smile.

He slid them back down before slowly sinking his middle finger deep inside me. I let out a loud moan, gripping the couch cushions beneath me. “Feel good baby?” He groaned, like he was experiencing just as much pleasure, while doing it.

I slowly ground my hips against his finger nodding my head. “Fuck…yes” he nodded before pulling it out, and shoving in his ring finger in with it. I whimpered at the stretch.

His fingers reaching deeper inside of me than I ever could. He pumped his fingers a little faster, watching my face for any discomfort. I was losing my mind in pleasure. If his fingers felt this amazing, I could only imagine what his dick feels like.

“You gonna cum for me baby?” He asked, his fingers never slowing down. “Fuck Noah please…please make me cum.” His usual sweet, and playful demeanor suddenly turned dark, as I met his eyes.

His fingers crooked up, hitting that perfect spot, driving me wild. He leaned down, placing a kiss on my throbbing clit, before running his tongue flat from his fingers all the way up to my clit before sucking it into his mouth.

Hips stuttered, as my hands flew to the top of his head. I gripped his hair, tugging on it as he moaned against me, sending vibrations through my clit.

He released with a pop, before flicking it with his tongue softly. “Oh fuck Noah please, right there right there.” I was babbling nonsense over and over, lost in the pleasure of his tongue and fingers.

Noah never let up, pumping his fingers faster. He pressed his tongue flat against my clit, before shaking his head side to side. I instantly lost it, my orgasm hitting its peak. Noah slowed down, and kept a steady pace, and his tongue and fingers continued fucking me through it.

“Fuck baby you taste so good.” He groaned, trying to keep his composure. My thighs shook before closing around his head. When I finally came down, he pulled his lips away, stilling his fingers. I laid there catching my breath, as he sent a proud smile my way. I couldn’t help but smile and blush, realizing what just happened.

I quickly covered my face, laughing softly. He slowly pulled his fingers out, reaching up to remove my hands, before pulling me into another kiss. When he pulled away, he tapped my lips with the two fingers that were just deep inside of me. I opened up, letting him press them against my tongue.

I softly moaned around them, as pulled them out, shoving them between his own lips, cleaning them. I could have came again at the sight. He finally stood back up, sitting back on the couch next to me.

His hand softly gripped my jaw, turning my face towards him “Was that okay?” He smiled, but his question was genuine. The smile on his face was infectious, I couldn’t help but smile myself. “It was amazing.” He let out a soft laugh, leaning down bringing me into another kiss. This kiss was slower but just has needy as the rest. His teeth bit down on my bottom lip, and pulled away letting it pop back in place. “Yeah? You just wait til next.”

[may-day-voice]

When You Walk In On Him

1st Edition w/ Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou & Shouto Todoroki | 172732014

please do not repost, but you have permission to reblog :)

• Watch/ Listen on YouTube: https://youtu.be/0NtH0ilwp1c

• Read on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1124883964-oneshots-pro-hero-au-172732014-when-you-walk-in-on

IZUKU MIDORIYA | The Tease

“I’m home… Izuku?” you called while you removed your shoes by the front door. Not a word. No reply. You shrugged, though you wondered about Midoriya, recalling his earlier call informing you that he was on his way from work.

“Maybe he got caught up with something,” you murmured, removing your jacket and throwing it on the couch.

You sighed inwardly with a smile, removing pieces of your clothes on the way in towards the bedroom. It had been a long day, in and out of the office. After a reconnaissance mission in inner Musatafu, you needed to rid yourself of the gunpowder you felt all over. By the time you reached the bedroom, you were already down to your undergarments.

You hummed while you stretched your limbs, gathering a few clean clothes before you made your way to the bathroom. A nice shower was what you needed. And then bingeing something on stream made for a relaxing afternoon, at least until you heard from Midoriya. This did not occur often, but dating the Number One came with compromise. Even more so now that you were engaged. You were more than thankful that it hadn’t made the news unlike Bakugou and Todoroki’s engagement.

Your thoughts however were rear-ended once you opened the bathroom door, eyes met by the warm moist condensation and a very naked Hero with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. His scars were bare to see, his skin freshly drenched from what you assumed was a hot shower before he turned his emerald eyes onto you, frozen by the sight.

You stood speechless. You had seen him many times but it had always amazed you about the sheer size of his body, the scars that painted his story, and despite all of this, his face relaxed and drenched still with this boyish charm.

“Izuku?” You softly spoke, catching his eye, slightly drowsy from the warmth of the bathroom. Oh those sleepy, bedroom eyes-

“Hey Cutie,” he spoke, almost sultry for a brief moment.

That was the shower talking.

“Are you done?” You asked while you cleared your throat, your clothes hugged tightly against your chest.

You watched Midoriya walk towards you, hand on his towel before he leaned against the doorframe, only allowing a small opening for you to slide past, should you decide to do so. You couldn’t tell if your cheeks were burning from the fluster or if the air was getting to you before he closed his face onto yours, kissing your cheek.

“I could be, or I could have another one with you,” he teased, watching your eyes widen a little.

“Have you been speaking with Kaminari lately?” You asked after a moment of silence.

Then that happy smile crossed his face, his cheerful old self.

“Very funny,” he replied, allowing you access into the bathroom. “Shower’s all yours. I’ll start dinner.”

Midoriya walked past, his hulking figure making its way to the bedroom. You couldn’t help but stare. It never got old, ever since you first laid eyes on his body.

“I would have agreed to your invitation, you know,” you spoke with a smirk before waltzing into the bathroom.

You didn’t witness it, but you heard Midoriya’s hitch in his voice before you shut the door.

KATSUKI BAKUGOU | The Invitation

You checked on the time, knowing you'd arrived earlier than what Bakugou had planned. Yet having to wait ten minutes outside of his apartment was becoming a concern. Bakugou was a man of timing, not so much as his former classmate Iida, but never was he this late in responding to anything. With the exception of his reunion you recalled, but neither of you were in a rush for anything today.

“Katsuki?” You called from the front door, hearing nothing, which was odd.

You fished out for your keys, picking through them until you found your key to his apartment. Ever since his proposal, the both of you had agreed to have a copy of each other’s apartment key. It made sense to do so now, both personally and professionally. Too many times had there been a few missions either of you crashed at each other’s places. Your recollection of your recent ones brought a wry smile to your face.

Opening his front door, you peeked inside to find nobody. You recalled texting him earlier about meeting him today, reciting the words in your head:

Just come over Lightweight. I had a bad day.

That was code. And you knew what for. Again, Bakugou wasn’t the greatest in sharing his feelings, but if he needed comfort, he demanded it.

You stepped into his studio apartment, tapping your toes to rid yourself of the slight strain on your ankles. The new braces were still getting broken into, as was your strength training, sending soreness in your calves and your shoulders. Of all days, it was one where every part of your body was radiating tightness, constantly rolling your joints and stretching as much as you could.

You eyed around the empty apartment to only hear the distant sound of a shower running momentarily before it stopped. It caught your attention when its doors opened, revealing a very wet, smouldering Bakugou with nothing but his towel around his waist. His hair sat in a mess atop his head, something you originally thought was impossible for all these years, yet his face looked serene, almost relaxed until his steely gaze turned on you.

Your eyes darted between his red stare and his chest, littered with scars here and there. And still very wet.

“I… should’ve waited,” you cautiously spoke while you stepped backwards towards the front door.

“Why? You’re here now,” gruffly commented Bakugou while he walked towards you.

“Well now I feel rude for abusing my privileges with the apartment key so-“

Bakugou immediately shut the front door behind you, leaving you trapped between it and him, his skin still radiating with the heat from the shower he had moments ago. You pressed against the door, more so to avoid his wet skin, yet his face edged closer to yours, spotting your eyes still staring at his chest.

“What’s the matter? It’s not like you haven't seen this before,” he teased with a smirk.

“Well yeah, but maybe you should be a host and make yourself decent,” you suggested. “You said you had a bad day.”

“I did,” he purred with his lips close to your ear. “But this is making it so much better.”

Your eyes turned away from the embarrassment before he pulled himself away to kiss you deeply, feeling the moisture still linger from his skin. You felt his chuckle reverberate through you until he walked away, leaving you by the door, dumbstruck.

“Get comfortable on the couch, Twinkle Toes,” he ordered warmly while he walked back into the steamy bathroom.

SHOUTO TODOROKI | The Accident

The boxes began to climb the more you brought them in from the truck, wiping the sweat from your brow with a sigh. It took the weekend, but all the heavy lifting was organized by Todoroki while you brought the smaller items from your last place into his townhouse. Many months had passed with conversation between the both of you about moving in together, one that was suggested by Todoroki. Now engaged to the Pro-Hero, you had discussed what items to keep and which ones to offload, only to have them stored somewhere courtesy of Todoroki.

Closing the front door, you felt relieved it was a quiet Sunday afternoon. Yesterday was a circus from the media and paparazzi, chuckling at Todoroki’s reaction when they tried every attempt to take sneaky photos of you moving in with him - hell freezing over. Literally.

Now all you wanted was to wash off the dust, sweat, and grime. You could feel your hair crawling away while you looked around the townhouse, half-filled with boxes of your things. A shower felt like a great idea.

You remembered the floor plan, where everything was, and Todoroki had been very open about using anything whenever you needed or wanted. Without another thought, you made your way to the bathroom, stripping your clothes while you did. Todoroki was still at work and wouldn’t be arriving at the doors until the next hour - just enough time for you to wash up.

Now down to your undergarments, you reached for the handle of the bathroom door, turning and pushing it open to be hit by the heat immediately. As if the sweat on your skin was already a nuisance, the moisture in the air only made it feel even more uncomfortable. Then again, why was the bathroom so humid? Through the heat, you peered to spot a tall figure by the vanity mirror, his long hair clinging onto his back while he fixed his towel across his hips.

Todoroki stared at you, aloof despite his topless form. His fingers ran through his long locks, still wet from the assumed shower he had recently enjoyed.

“When did you get home?” You asked immediately, trying to avoid the squeak in your voice.

“Not long ago,” he voiced calmly.

“But I didn’t see you.”

“Maybe we missed each other.”

“I'm leaving now,” you announced while you started to swing the door shut.

“Why?” Questioned Todoroki, catching you from shutting the door. You eyed him still wet from the shower with a small smile on his face, his eyes drowsy from the steam. “We just got here,” he mused, still with smiling bedroom eyes. “I can help you put your things together.”

“When you get yourself dried and dressed and not so…” You bit your lip trying to push those thoughts from your head. “I need a shower before we start unpacking things.”

Suddenly the door swung open, taking you with it until you stood before Todoroki’s bare chest, still holding onto the towel that tied tightly around his hips. It wasn’t new to you, but barging in without checking first was already a novice mistake. And in your undergarments.

All you found was that smile on his face, leaning in to kiss you atop the head.

“Okay Love,” he agreed while he walked past you through the door. “Take your time.”

You couldn’t help that fluster from his body heat and the shower he recently had. At the very least, you weren’t worried about washing away the filth from the move, closing the door behind you.

[restapesta]

I'm begging you to consider writing high and dumb Mickey too 🤲🙏

Heyyyy Drish! Sorry for taking a while, hope this works :)

This is sort of just a part two of this fic here, but they're not connected in anything more but the high dumbed-out idiot part, just this time Mickey instead of Ian. Enjoy!

After Ian had asked, Veronica had given him the recipe for the brownies with the blandest of stares, an eye roll, and a simple, "You're gonna have to buy your own weed,"—he had accepted the piece of paper graciously with the widest of smiles.

It was an experiment, really. Just another one of his cooking endeavors that were bound to fail, but Ian was down to try out anyway. He needed to be careful, despite the fact he was making this specific recipe with newfound confidence after hours of secret YouTube binge-watching. Mickey did ban him from the kitchen, after all.

The latest meal he had attempted to make ended in a heap of smoke that wafted through the apartment and had unceremoniously triggered the fire alarm and awoken Mickey from the dead, prompting him to ban Ian from any place he could make food in.

Quite literally—Ian wasn't even allowed to make fucking coffee in the morning without his husband glaring at him and telling him to get the fuck out before he over-boiled the water and burned the place down.

"That's not even possible, Mick."

"Only you would even manage to do that, Ian,"

Even though Ian always rolled his eyes at him, he steered clear of the room, at least until he was sure he had their home to himself and that Mickey would in no way catch him playing with the pots and pans.

Like now, for example.

Mickey was out with Iggy—"gonna be out for forty minutes maybe, grab some beers"—which meant that Ian wouldn't be seeing his man for another couple hours when he walked into the apartment tipsy, horny, and one-hundred percent ready to crash. Ian had all the time in the world.

He placed the recipe down onto the pristine counter that he had scrubbed down along with his hands. Ian eyed the ingredients, gaze lingering on the bowl of green herbs in the faraway corner next to the flour.

He grinned.

This was going to be fun.

---

The brownies turned out better than Ian had expected. He'd only taken a small bite, not wanting to seem high out of his mind when Mickey came home and had hidden the perfectly shaped chocolate delights in the fridge, making sure to place them behind a bowl of salad wrapped up in cellophane. That was one of the only places Mickey wouldn't even glance towards while searching for a beer.

Or so Ian thought.

It wasn't Mickey's absence in bed that made Ian stir in his sleep and eventually pry open his eyes at four in the morning—no, it was the loud crash that so obviously came from the living room, followed subsequently by a roar of laughter from none other than the man that was supposed to be next to Ian in bed right now.

Even though Ian had an inkling feeling nobody had broken into their home and that nothing was there to endanger them, he still grabbed the baseball bat they had secured into their dresser. He gripped the wood between his palms and tentatively cracked open the bedroom door to peer into the hallway.

And, lo behold, the man-child was sitting on the floor next to the couch, mouth and fingers both smeared with chocolate as he stuffed the brownies Ian had made that day into his mouth. Ian let the baseball bat drop to the floor next to his feet which prompted Mickey to whip his head towards him like a deer caught in headlights.

There was a vase of flowers toppled over and Ian heaved a sigh of relief that the dirty water had been spilled on the tiles rather than the new expensive carpet they had splurged on.

"Mickey," Ian whispered into the dark, eyes pinned on his husband who was only illuminated by the glow from the kitchen's LED lights.

Mickey giggled, already shaking himself out of the shock.

"You had to get a midnight snack now, did ya'?" Crouching down next to Mickey, he watched him lick his fingers and wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. "How'd you even find them?"

Mickey giggled again, and Ian silently scolded himself for getting the high-end weed that he did. It was strong, and although Mickey would probably be able to handle it in average doses, he did eat about five of the brownies if Ian's eyes didn't betray him.

He picked the pate up from Mickey's grasp, earning a whine in return, and walked to the kitchen to pour a glass of water.

When he held it out for Mickey a minute later, the man just stared.

"Drink, Mickey." Ian prodded, slightly exasperated, and their eyes met.

Mickey grinned, and with a wide smile that morphed into a smirk, took the glass of water out of Ian's hand and drank it.

He finished with a loud sigh and then he placed the glass down next to him as he ran his eyes ever-so-slowly over Ian. They were glazed over but the blue was prominent, even in the dark.

"Hello, Mr. Milkovich," Mickey slurred as he took Ian in, who, in return, rolled his eyes.

"You're high as fuck, come on, let's get to bed."

Mickey shook his head. "You made those?"

Ian nodded, still down on his knees next to Mickey.

"They're good, but you remember you're banned from the kitchen, right?"

Ian shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mick—,"

"You do know," Mickey interrupted, eyes glinting with mischief. "I'm gonna have to punish you?"

And then Ian was being tackled down onto the floor, Mickey straddling his hips, palms spread across Ian's chest.

Ian released a ragged breath. "Why are you always so horny when you're high?"

In response, Mickey leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips.

And then another to his jaw. Then to his neck.

"Mickey,"

"Wanna stop?"

Ian chuckled, "You're gonna fall asleep on me."

Mickey's eyes clouded before he laughed too loudly for this early in the morning—or maybe late at night.

He sat up straight and simply kept on sitting, ass on Ian's crotch, as he thought about something.

"So, you're not gonna move?"

Mickey kept on looking at the wall across from him. "I'm comfortable," He answered absentmindedly.

"On my dick?"

"Only yours."

Ian's chest swelled. He felt heat rush to his cheeks. "Shut up."

That was Mickey turned to look down at him. Their eyes met, Mickey's bleary yet serious. He said, softly, "I love it when you blush."

His back arched as he pressed a light kiss to Ian's cheekbone.

Ian sighed in content. "You too."

"No," Another kiss as Ian's arms went up around his neck. "You rarely blush, and when you do, you look so fucking cute."

Ian laughed. "The same could be said for you."

"Yes, but you look really cute. I just wanna kiss your face."

Ian blushed. "You're never this chatty when you're high."

"There you go again with the blushing." Mickey paused, then sighed, as if he had to do something now. "Guess you know what that means."

Before Ian could even ask what, Mickey was pressing kisses all over his face making him let out squeals and noises he would never admit to ever making in his entire life. He hoped that Mickey wouldn't remember them the next morning.

"Mick!" Ian let out another high-pitched whine as Mickey connected their lips with a smack.

Mickey pushed himself back. "Okay, I'm done." He looked at Ian's face, satisfied.

They simply stared at each other for a few moments.

"I really like you, you know?"

Ian's lips parted at the earnestness of Mickey's words.

"I like, really, really like you."

"I really, really like you too," Ian whispered back. Blinking away the slight wetness in his eyes, he breathed, "Come here,"

Mickey complied and they kissed slowly, Ian tasting the remnants of chocolate on Mickey's lips, and he wondered if he was getting high from the kiss or the weed.

When Mickey pulled back and licked his lips bashfully, Ian knew it was the latter.

Then Mickey's face broke into a yawn.

"Come on, Mick," Ian said smiling, panting still from the onslaught of unexpected affection. "Let's get to bed."

Mickey didn't seem to be listening. He simply stretched his legs back so he was laying on top of Ian who was still sprawled back on the floor.

"Mickey?"

His husband placed his hands on Ian's shoulders and nestled his head onto his chest, and once he was comfortable with the position, Ian watched him close his eyes.

"Mick?"

Only a snore followed.

"Fuuuuck."

With a light amused scoff and his head down on the warm carpeted floor, Ian placed an arm over Mickey's back, observed as he drooled over his T-shirt for a few seconds before he closed his eyes, and willed himself to sleep.

It didn't take long, the weight of his husband sending him blissfully inro unconsciousness.

[easkyrah]

Prompt for: "I'm not a stop along the way. I'm a destination." Either Nessian or Elorcan. You'll probably ruin me anyways. Thank you for your fanfictions and making my heart bleed.

—Decided to try something new: a new writing style and one not full of angst. For the former, here’s a Nessian AU of a Cassian x Reader fic. 

Y/N: Your Name

“and then she knew, you could be homesick for people too”

I’m not a stop along the way. I’m a destination.

Cassian had been your childhood friend, stuck by your side as soon as you came crying out of the womb. Your mothers had been best friends, attached at the hip as well: they attended the same book club, listened to the same music, and graduated all their classes together. It only made sense that you and Cassian be the same.

While you were in kindergarten, he had been a second grader, boasting that he was no longer considered one of the runts; he had sworn that it was his duty to protect you, pinky promising with a solemn face. While you were in fourth grade, he had graduated to middle school; he had sworn to walk you home, even if he had to trudge through the muddy trails to reach your elementary school. While you were in high school, he had graduated to Illyrian College; he had sworn to take you to prom, the best night of your life.

You applied to Illyrian College, keeping your promise to Cassian. You didn’t even to reassure him—he had your heart. Of course you’d never tell him that.

As months passed and everyone stopped gushing over you and Cass, you didn’t. Little did they all know that your heart belonged to your studies so you would be accepted into the top-tier school on a full-ride scholarship to Illyrian College. Everything you did was to ensure that you would see Cassian again, and be attached to your best friend at the hip again.

In first grade, you’d swapped friendship bracelets, giving him a hot-pink wrap of plastic, Cassian giving you an ugly brown strand to match your eyes, he’d said. You’d cried, an emotional little girl, but he had stroked away those tears with the pads of his thumbs as you inhaled his musky scent of firewood and mint.

Sometimes he’d come back home on breaks, lifting you up in those strong, muscular arms of his, grinning from ear to ear, and dimpling. Binge watching Netflix shows, wrapped in a single blanket on the loveseat couch, you’d fall asleep against his hard chest, content and safe within his embrace that offered warmth and security. He’d carry you to your room, and kiss the top of your forehead. One time you had caught him, and he had denied the entire ordeal, blushing furiously. To shut you up, he had crawled under the sheets next to you, grumbling that the guest room was too far away. He had been your living heating furnace, and when you awoke, you’d be cradled into his arms once again, or the smell of bacon and toast would fill the air. Minutes later, he had entered your room, a tray of steaming breakfast with two cups of orange juice.

You’d swap stories of your senior adventures, and how you had soared above your teachers’ expectations. It seemed like you would be valedictorian, while Cassian had been an All-American athlete in track and field, and wrestling. Sports had been Cassian’s outlet, just as writing had been yours.

Everyone didn’t see why you weren’t dating, and neither did you. Except you had an inkling why: Cassian saw you as nothing more than a younger sister. He was so oblivious to how you had dressed fancifully in a daring sensation just to garner his attention, not the other males at her school. Yet he had taken you to prom, asked you out bachelor style, ordering a white horse and bouquets of red roses. After he had mounted off the mare, he had gotten down on his knees, ruining his pressed slacks.

“I love you,” he whispered into your ear, biting the tip of your earlobe. His hazel eyes had watches shivers wrack across your body, and he’d released you with a satisfied smile, expectantly awaiting your answer. 

You had said yes, of course. This was the boy who had tickled you relentlessly and poked fun into your normal, boring life. This was the boy who had been angered when he had found out that you had applied to Hybern College. This was a boy who had ignored you for a week, not answering any of your texts or your calls or voicemails or private messages or emails.

It was during this week that you’d gotten closer to Jurian, who had been hit by a baseball bat during a frat party one of his friends had invited him too. All Jurian remembered was that the aggressor had an Illyrian tattoo and some initials inked over his arm that wove across his shoulder. You’d brought coffee and homemade food to the hospital, where Jurian learned to see through one eye. The bat had smashed through his eye, and later on, during a dare, something had infected his eye.

The infection proved to be deadly, as Jurian thought he had been having a seizure.

You had called Cassian while loitering in the patient’s room.

He had not answered.

You missed him. You missed the boy that uplifted you, kissed your forehead, and made you breakfast. The boy who watched shows with you and provided you with vanilla ice cream when you were feeling low. The boy who helped you choose your professional attire for interviews and forced you to run at least a mile around the track with him on Saturday afternoons.

You had attended every single one of his wrestling matches and his track meets, cheering for him in the sidelines. When he went to the locker room, he’d always meet you in the back, demanding a quick kiss on the cheek for good luck. Every time he came victorious, in first, he said it was because you were his lucky charm, always there for him. And you were.

Except now he wasn’t. He’d taken off the pink bracelet you’d given him ages ago, said it wasn’t manly of him. Said that even though it didn’t bother him, it bothered his friends who jested him on the playing field. 

During this week of silence, you decided to apply last-minute for other colleges, not wanting to be caught between this rivalry. You knew Jurian had applied to Hybern, while your heart remained to its’ rival, the Illyrian college harboring the boy you had loved from the earliest haze of your memories. Finally clicking the submit button for your essays, recommendations, and other final pieces, you had leaned back against your seat, soaking in the silence.

Your room had never been so silent, Cassian always jabbering away. He’d once taken in a dog despite your protests, pleading with that own puppy face of his, begging you to attend the dog’s injuries. So you had.

Cassian had named the dog after you, kissing its’ forehead, as the dog eagerly slobbered over him and you. He’d taken the animal to the shelter, gloomily, the next day. One of his friends had quickly adopted it after seeing Cassian apparently mope around the dorms. Cassian had chattered about this friend for weeks, praising the kindness shown.

Your heart ached for the boy who loved so freely, and lived so merrily. Never before had you seen him so angry, demanding that you had betrayed him. When you had mentioned Jurian, he had stormed out. A part of you thought he’d been jealous, but the raw anger and not sheer disappointment radiating from him had you wondering what personal issues caused him to react like that.

He had used to tell you every private detail. Time had changed that, and your childhood friend was drawing away from you. You had apologized in all your messages, saying that if he really wanted you too, you’d phone Hybern, telling the college you wanted to withdraw you application.

He hadn’t answered. 

You stopped contacting him.

When the hospital released Jurian, he switched into most of your classes, escorting you around the hallways and sneering at other males who thought they had a chance with you. Although he was a poor substitute for Cassian, but he managed.

Jurian and you had opened your college letters together. He’d been accepted into Hybern college, and so had you— in addition to Illyrian College, with a full ride scholarship academically.

You had fought with yourself to not text Cassian, allowing him the space he needed. Jurian and you had celebrated the night of, drinking and dancing the worries away. He’d attempted to slobber you with a kiss and reached for your hips, but you had slapped him away, imagining a different, dark-haired male.

It was then you knew that Cassian wasn’t just your childhood friend. He was more than a simple girl’s crush, not after had had played such an integral role throughout your life.

You knew you loved him when “home” turned from a place into a person.  

But you never talked to him. You never went home. 

The week turned into a month, and soon graduation neared. There was the very likely chance that he wouldn’t attend, to see one of the most important moment in your life. Soon, time flew by, and you had pulled on your heels and your graduation cap, forcing yourself to school your features into a smile and hold your head high.

You’d be giving the first and only speech to finish off every senior’s high school career as valedictorian.

You spoke of hope and courage. You hoped to see Cassian here, your eyes eagerly scanning over the mass of people. You hoped you would have the courage to call him later tonight, informing him of your decision to accept Illyrian college’s offer.

You spoke of resilience and fortitude. You hoped that your ages-long friendship with Cassian would be enough to preserve through this silly, petty fight that was entirely one-sided. You hoped that you could capture the fortitude Cassian had illustrated through every match and event as you would click the accept button to the college he attended.

You spoke of strength and family. You hoped that you would be strong enough to text Cassian after months of his absence. You hoped that your entwining memories of laughter and joy would be enough to remain within his circle of family, and perhaps, so much more.

The crowd had erupted into cheers and clapping as soon as you finished. The ceremony had passed quickly, your classmates lifting you up on their shoulders and thundering their voices into the sky as invincible humans, living in the moment of perfect pleasure.  

Your mind had wandered to the boy who taught you that it was okay to cry and to scream as long as she got up and did not give up. As you reached for your diplomacy and held the it in your hands, tears had leaked down your face.

A thumb brushed it away.

You looked up, and your heart stuttered.

Your childhood friend, your first and only crush, the male who your heart belonged to.

Cassian.

His love had roared louder than your demons. His friendship had roared louder than your nightmares. His presence had roared louder than depression.

And it had died out, like all things would and do.

He gave you a broad smile, and your mood instantly skyrocketed. He dimpled, telling you he was beyond proud of you. He hugged you, kissing the top of your forehead. A flicker of memory rushed through you, of what once could have been and what once was.

As your own arms wrapped around him, the dark ink of the Illyrian college symbol filled your vision, along with the simple, two words: NA. 

You had frowned, wondering how those two words could have meant so deeply to him that he’d get a tattoo. And maybe once, in another dimension, you would have known.

And then your eyes flickered to the female that had silently strayed by his side as he held you, a stormy presence that weathered your mood, beating against the hope building within you.

Your childhood friend had stepped away from you, and embraced the other stony-eyed female in his arms.

“Y/N,” he grinned, happiness radiating from him. “This is Nesta. Nesta Archeron.”

NA.

Nesta Archeron.

And then you knew that this boy was not your childhood friend, but a grown adult who now belonged to another.

And Cassian then had fully kissed the Nesta Archeron on the lips, wrapping his arms around her hips.

And the place where he had kissed your forehead burned, a true betrayal.

Because during that one week, he had met the woman of his dreams, leaving the female of his past. Because during that one week, he had given his smiles and shared his laughter with this tall, beautiful woman. Because during this week, he had kissed her, kissing away the memories of the girl who had given him a pink bracelet that now sat at the bottom of his trash bin, a forgotten reminder. 

A barking noise had them almost reluctantly pulling away from each other, and your eyes had widened at the sight of the ever so familiar dog bounding in front of you, ears flopping back. 

The female—Nesta—had regarded you with cool eyes, and merely said, “This is my dog, Y/N.”

You had stared accusingly at Cassian, who had sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. He had kissed the top of Nesta’s forehead, and your stomach churned. “Nesta, this is Y/N. The girl I named our dog after.”

Our. You knew that you were no longer Cassian’s support and backbone; maybe you never had been, a little, foolish girl.

Girl. You knew that he didn’t see you the way you saw him, now. That he didn’t even see you as a childhood friend, or even a younger sister. Just a girl.

You had revered Cassian, excitedly recalling your adventures together to your classmates. You had told of him as your hero, your strength, your armor.

Cassian reached for Nesta’s hands, and there, you caught glimpse of a ring.

But not just any ordinary ring.

That was Cassian’s mother’s ring, given to him when she passed away. Where you had soothed and stayed near Cassian’s side until he learned to smile again. You had given him tea and talked with him late at night and made him chocolate chip cookies and forced him to traverse to the gym.

He had once put that ring on your finger, saying it looked pretty.

And now it was on another female’s finger, where it looked gorgeous. And looked like it would stay.

You swallowed, and bit down on your lip.

You had walked away, ice forming around your heart. Jurian had waved you over to his group of friends, a smile on his face. And you had let him wrap an arm around your waist, and pull you in for a hug. You had let him kiss your forehead, hoping that it would wash away the former affection that had been there.

It didn’t.

Your thoughts your graduation night had been filled with dark ink, staining your heart, and circulating the darkness through your veins and blood. You had immediately answered your phone that night, thinking it one of your classmates, Jurian.

“Have you decided where you wanted to go?” A warm and rough familiar voice had flooded you. You could hear another female voice at the other end of the receiver, and Cassian’s chuckle of mischief.

You heard the small laughter from the other end, belonging to the woman who had taken your home, the woman who Cassian had spoken so highly of. 

Coldness had swept through you.

You had cleared your throat, and told Cassian you had made your decision. Hybern College.

The other end had went silence for several heartbeats, and Cassian had strangled out a, why?

You had stared at the door, where your childhood friend would have once burst through, demanding an thorough explanation in person.

But he had strayed too far. 

You had mustered up your will, and looked out the window instead, where the moonless sky had allowed the darkness to loom and creep.

Cassian had asked why again, the same female voice murmuring in the background. Sound had crackled on the other side, and Cassian’s deep sigh filled the air.

Your finger had hovered over the end call button. You had squared your shoulders, and said loudly and firmly, “Because I’m not a stop along the way. I’m a destination.”

Because he had not stayed for you— hadn’t chosen you. 

You hung up, pulling out your laptop, where you opened two tabs. One for Hybern College, and the other for Illyrian College. You had waited the night for Cassian to call again, for him to plea to rethink your decision.

He didn’t.

He didn’t call or reach out in the morning.

And you had a feeling why, when you saw social media filling up with pictures Cassian proposing to someone that was not you. 

And you had accepted Hybrern College for your future as soon as the night next had risen, your heart strung along with another’s who had fallen for another.

Nesta Archeron.