#or want to hang out with her so badly that they’re willing to sit around for hours waiting

[fingertipsmp3]

That last post just reminded me of something honestly mind-boggling that that friend did

[twoplayergaymers]

BMF- H. Sero

Part One // Part Two

Sero’s a flirt, but he might just win you over

Notes: Barely proofread, Latino Sero, college au, quirkless au, drinking & underage drinking, weed, suggestive, sfw but implied smut, mentions of sex

see playlist here

God, he wishes things went differently.

Hanta wakes up to a dull ache in his head and empty sheets. His arm reaches out instinctively, searching for warmth, for you—but there’s nothing. Just the cool fabric beneath his fingertips. Where were you?

His eyes crack open, squinting against the early morning light seeping through the blinds and he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sits up in the spare room of Denki and Jirou’s place.

He looks around, searching for any trace of you— a forgotten earring, the lingering scent of your perfume, something. But there’s nothing.

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, humorless. You’re gone.

Not that he even blames you. He knows about the rumors, he knows his type, he doesn’t blame your for protecting yourself but damn, he thought maybe he’d convinced you.

He meant what he said last night. Every word.

And that’s the problem. Because at first? It was a game. He’s not gonna lie to himself about that. It doesn’t take a genius to see how attractive you were and god he wanted you. The fact that you didn’t want him only made him want you more. Every time he saw you he’d think about what he’d do if somehow he could get you into his bed. That’s what it was, that’s how it started.

He’d known you for a while, the best friend one of his best friend’s girls, mutual friend group, occasional group hangs or cyphs. Never bothering to give him more than a glance, maybe a small smile or a laugh.

He wishes things went differently because about halfway through Denki’s party, while watching you laugh with Jirou he found himself thinking what if he could hear that laugh everyday? He told himself it was the weed talking. But now? Waking up alone, sheets cold where you should be—he can’t ignore the way his chest feels hollow.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. Too proud to admit it, even to himself.

Looks like you were just another notch on his belt after all.

Even if, for the first time, he’s not sure that’s what he wanted.

He doesn’t blame you, even though it hurts. Maybe he’d be fine, maybe he’d move on—if you weren’t acting like it never happened. Like he doesn’t exist. Like you regret him.

That stings more than he’s willing to admit.

Regardless of his feelings, his ego takes a hit. He wasn’t bad… was he? He’s never doubted himself before, never needed to. So why you?

He’s honestly embarrassed about how much you cross his mind, how badly he wants your attention even if it’s just to know why? Why you’re pretending. Why you let him have you just to leave before the sun was up. For someone who was so adamant about not playing his game, you sure as hell seem to be playing it well, better than him.

He finds out where you work. Totally by accident. Denki mentions it offhandedly while they’re hanging out, and Hanta makes a mental note—just in case.

And in a totally not weird way, he starts stopping by.

Enough to figure out when you work.

Enough to know that you know he keeps coming in.

Enough to notice that every time he shows up, you disappear into the back, leaving your coworker to take his order like he’s just another customer.

Like he wasn’t in bed with you a month ago.

Like he doesn’t still feel the ghost of your touch.

And god, that shouldn’t piss him off as much as it does.

Mina has been practically on her knees begging you to come to this party for at least a week. Denki and Jirou are going too, and while that should be enough to convince you, there’s a nagging feeling in your gut telling you to stay home—get high, watch a movie, avoid the bullshit.

Turns out, your gut was right.

Because you do agree and when you arrive you overhear one of the stupid jocks from the baseball team talking about Hanta’s 21st birthday. You see red.

Seriously, Mina?

Her little tricks aren’t funny, and now? You definitely aren’t staying.

“C’mon, Y/N,” she whines, linking her arm through yours. ��Please don’t be mad at me I swear I didn’t know!” You shoot her a glare because there’s no way that’s true but she speaks again “You can’t ignore him forever! Half our year is here—you probably won’t even see him.”

You roll your eyes, shaking her off. Yeah, sure.

You debate calling an Uber, already reaching for your phone, but one glance at the price makes you swear under your breath. This frat house is too far from your dorm, and there’s no way you’re dropping that much money just to leave.

And your only ride here?

Mina.

You exhale sharply, shoving your phone back into your pocket. Looks like you’re staying—at least until Mina is ready to leave. She grins, sensing your reluctant acceptance. “Just have fun, okay? Don’t let him ruin your night.”

You don’t dignify that with a response, just roll your eyes and push past her, weaving through the crowd toward the kitchen. If you’re going to be stuck here, you might as well get a drink.

The house is packed—bodies pressed together, music blasting, the air thick with alcohol and sweat. You find an opening at the counter, grabbing whatever’s closest to pour into your cup. You take a sip without thinking, wincing at the burn of cheap vodka.

“You okay?” You glance up to find Jirou at your side, concern flickering in her dark eyes. “Mina’s a liar.”

She snorts, not even questioning it. “Yeah, she does that.” You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m fine. Just annoyed.” Jirou doesn’t push, just clinks her drink against yours. “Then let’s fix that.”

You let her drag you back into the crowd, trying to push all thoughts of him out of your mind. It doesn’t matter that this is his party. It doesn’t matter that he’s probably somewhere in this house, surrounded by people who adore him.

You won’t see him.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But as the night goes on, as the drinks settle warm in your stomach and the bass thrums through your chest, you feel him.

Maybe it’s just in your head. Maybe it’s the way your body is hyperaware of the possibility of him. But every time you laugh too loudly, every time you move through the crowd, every time you let yourself enjoy the party—you swear there’s a pair of eyes burning into you.

And then, when you least expect it, you turn—and there he is. Across the room, Hanta is leaned against the wall, drink in hand, watching you. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t wave, doesn’t look away.

He just watches.

And fuck, you feel it.

Your stomach twists, heat creeping up your neck, but you refuse to let it show. If he wants to watch, let him. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s in your head.

So you do what you do best—you pretend he doesn’t exist.

You turn away, grab Jirou’s hand, and pull her back toward the kitchen. “Another drink?” She raises a brow but follows. “That bad?”

You don’t answer, just pour yourself another shot. Jirou sighs, taking the bottle from your hands before you can pour another. “Mina was right, y’know. You can’t avoid him forever.”

“I can tonight,” you mutter, downing your drink.

Jirou doesn’t argue, just squeezes your shoulder before getting pulled away by Denki. You’re left alone in the kitchen, hands braced against the counter, trying to steady yourself.

But then you feel it again. That pull. That weight of someone’s gaze pressing into you. You don’t want to look. You shouldn’t look.

But you do.

And he’s there, leaning against the doorframe, watching you with that same unreadable expression. You swallow, pulse thrumming in your ears.

It’s stupid, so stupid, but your feet move before your brain can catch up. You brush past him, heading toward the back porch for air.

You don’t check to see if he follows. You don’t have to. Because you know he will.

The night air is a relief, crisp against your heated skin. You take a slow breath, gripping the wooden railing of the porch, steadying yourself. You shouldn’t have come. You knew this was a bad idea.

But before you can convince yourself to leave, you hear the door creak open behind you.

You don’t turn. You don’t move. You just stare out into the dark, listening to the sound of footsteps approaching.

Then, his voice—low, smooth, and way too damn close. “Enjoying the party?”

You looks at him, and pretend you dont feel your pulse pick up. “Yeah. You?” You mumble out, trying to seem nonchalant. He hums, tilting his head. “Would be better if my friends actually said happy birthday.”

You scoff. “Oh, please. We’re hardly friends, plus you’ve been surrounded all night, plenty of pretty girls and guys wishing you a happy 21st”

“Yeah?” He takes a step closer. “And yet, the only person I wanted to hear it from hasn’t said shit.”

Now youre really feeling the heat. He’s looking at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Like he’s daring you to keep pretending like nothing happened. And you try to brush past him, but he catches your wrist—gently, but firm enough to make you stop.

“C’mon, ma,” he murmurs, voice all smooth and teasing but laced with something else, something real. “I know you didn’t just come here for the drinks. You really gonna keep pretending?”

Your throat goes dry, and you hate the way your body reacts to him—like it remembers too much, like it wants more.

You force a laugh, rolling your eyes as you tug your wrist from his grasp. “I came because Mina begged me to. That’s it. Didn’t even know this was your party ‘til I got here.”

Hanta doesn’t let up, stepping in just enough that you catch the scent of his cologne, the faintest hint of liquor on his breath. “Sure. So it’s just a coincidence that you’re out here alone, looking like you’ve got something on your mind?”

You narrow your eyes. “You think everything’s about you, don’t you?” He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah. Just this.”

You hate the way your stomach twists, because he’s right, it is about him. You hate the way he makes it so damn hard to act indifferent.

But you refuse to give him what he wants.

So you smirk, tilting your head. “Happy birthday, Sero,” you say, voice dripping with false sweetness before turning on your heel and walking back inside.

He doesn’t stop you this time, but you feel his gaze burning into your back the whole way.

The night drags on, the party buzzing around you, but your focus is shot. You’re trying—really trying—to act like everything is fine, like Hanta isn’t watching you from across the room, like your skin doesn’t still burn from the way he grabbed your wrist.

It’s just the alcohol. That’s what you tell yourself as you down another drink, as you let Mina spin you onto the dance floor again. The music pulses, bodies move, and for a little while, you manage to lose yourself in it.

But of course, it doesn’t last.

Because suddenly, he’s there again, standing way too close, just like before.

“Didn’t know you were such a sore loser,” he muses, voice low against your ear. You turn, brow furrowing. “What?”

“You left before the game was over.” He smirks, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Didn’t even give me a chance to win.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t that mean I won?”

“Yeah? Was it about winning?” He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Or maybe you’re just scared.”

It’s bait. You know it is. But you’re just drunk enough, just irritated enough, to take it. “Scared of what?” you challenge, stepping closer.

His smirk deepens, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. “Me.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but before you can fire back, he leans in, voice dropping even lower.

“You talk a big game, but we both know you weren’t just curious that night,” he murmurs, lips barely brushing your ear. “And I don’t think you regret it as much as you pretend to.”

“I was drunk and curious. Don’t flatter yourself by thinking it was more than that.” You shoot back, your tone cold and part of you feels a little bad, it’s his birthday. But he’s being a dick on purpose

Hanta pulls back just enough to look at you, a wicked grin curling at the corners of his mouth. “Right. Drunk and curious. That’s all it was,” he repeats, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He knows exactly how to push your buttons, and it’s working.

You feel the heat rise in your chest again, irritation mixing with something else. “Yeah, that’s what I said.” You cross your arms, trying to regain control of the situation. But the way he’s looking at you, with that damn smirk still playing on his lips, makes it harder to keep up the act.

“Fine, if that’s how you wanna play it,” he says, as if he’s decided to back off, but his eyes tell a different story. You hate that he’s right. You’re not as indifferent to him as you want to be, and every word he says seems to chip away at the wall you’ve been trying to build up. The alcohol in your system isn’t helping either—it’s making everything feel a little too raw, a little too real.

“Stop trying to act like you know me, Hanta. You don’t.”

“Is that so?” His eyes darken, and he takes another step closer. “You’re still playing games, huh? Pretending like you don’t care, pretending like I don’t know exactly how you felt that night.”

The distance between you feels like a vacuum, pulling you in, making it impossible to just walk away. He knows he’s getting to you, and you hate how easily he’s doing it.

“I don’t owe you anything, Sero,” you snap, your voice wavering slightly. “I’m not here to play into whatever head game you’re trying to start. Don’t be a dick, maybe I bruised your fucking ego since I didn’t crawl back begging you to fuck me again, but don’t act like you know me”

He doesn’t flinch at your words, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Something—maybe guilt, maybe frustration. Maybe both. But he doesn’t back down. Instead, his lips curl into a smirk that feels sharper than before.

“Bruised my ego?” He laughs, a sound that’s both mocking and amused. “Is that what you think this is about?”

Your chest tightens, heart pounding, and you realize it’s not about that at all. It’s not about his ego. It’s something else entirely.

“No,” you say, voice softer than you want it to be. “It’s about you pretending I’m just another girl you can mess with. Like I’m a game you can win, and you hate that I’m not playing by your rules.”

His eyes narrow, dark and intense, locking onto you and he pulls you into an area of the house with less foot traffic. “And you think I’m playing games with you?” His voice drops, low and steady. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life than I am right now.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You want to argue, to tell him he’s full of shit, but you’re not sure anymore. Not when he’s standing there, looking at you like that, like he’s waiting for you to see something you’ve been too proud to admit.

“I didn’t want you to leave that night,” he says quietly, his tone steady but raw. “I wanted you to stay. I don’t care if you don’t believe me, but that’s the truth.”

You freeze. His words slam into you, unexpected and sharp. Everything in you wants to push back, to tell him it was just one night, that it doesn’t mean anything—but you can’t. The raw honesty in his tone pulls at something inside you, and you hate yourself for it.

Before you can respond, he steps closer, the space between you two almost nonexistent now, and you’re forced to tilt your head to meet his gaze.

“Stop pretending like you don’t feel it too,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, but it feels like a punch to the gut. “This thing between us… it’s real, Y/N. You know it, and I know it. So don’t act like it doesn’t matter.”

You swallow hard, your mind spinning, your heart racing. For a moment, you almost want to believe him, almost want to give in. But you shake your head, breaking eye contact, and step back.

“I’m not doing this with you, Hanta,” you mutter, voice hoarse. “I’m not playing your game. I’m done.”

And with that, you turn and walk away, away from him, away from whatever this is—away from whatever he wants it to be. Your heart still pounds in your chest, but you refuse to let him see it. You refuse to let him win.

You find Mina in the crowd, her laugh cutting through the noise. She’s talking to some of the other people you don’t care to know, but the look on your face is enough for her to notice something’s off.

You grab her arm, tugging her out of the conversation before she can protest. “Mina, we need to go. Now.”

She looks at you, concerned, but after seeing the desperation and something else in your eyes, she nods. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get out of here.”

Mina had only had a drink a few hours ago and is mostly sober by now. She doesn’t argue, just grabs her purse and follows you outside, guiding you to her car. The drive back to your place is quiet, the tension in the air thick and uncomfortable. Mina keeps glancing at you, but you don’t have the energy to explain, not now.

When you finally get home, she pulls into the parking lot and turns to you. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod, though you’re not so sure yourself. “Yeah. Just… needed to get out of there.”

Mina gives you a small smile and ruffles your hair. “Alright, I’ll check on you later, yeah? Call me if you need anything.”

You thank her, and as she drives off, you sit in the quiet of your room, the night replaying over and over in your mind. The words Sero said, the way he looked at you, how close you’d almost gotten to letting it all slip.

But no. You couldn’t. You’d already made up your mind.

To say you had feelings for him… would be an exaggeration. You don’t even like him that much. You just think he’s attractive—hell, he is attractive. He’s charming in that annoying, cocky way. You can’t deny the way he makes you feel, though, the way his gaze seems to zero in on you like you’re the only person in the room. And then there’s his humor, that effortless way he makes you laugh, even when you want to hate him.

But then there’s the arrogance, the way he thinks everyone wants him, and the fact that he knows how to get under your skin—how easily he can make you second-guess everything.

Fuck.

The more you think about it, the more complicated this all feels. You didn’t want to care, and yet, here you are—alone in your room, questioning everything. Why’d you let him get to you? Why’d you let him even try?

The night you spent together? It doesn’t mean anything. It was a moment of weakness. You were drunk, curious, and he was there. That’s all. There’s no deeper connection, no real chemistry.

He’s just trying to play you.

And you’re not stupid enough to fall for it again. He’s not going to have that power over you. You won’t let him. It was a mistake, and you won’t let him turn it into something more, no matter how many times he smirks at you like he knows something you don’t. You won’t fall for it again.

You don’t sleep at all that night—just tossing, turning, and staring at the same glow-in-the-dark stars you’ve had on your ceiling since you were a kid. By morning, exhaustion weighs heavy on you, but it’s nothing compared to the pit in your stomach. You call out of work, guilt gnawing at you, but you know you can’t fake a smile and play barista today. Not after last night.

Meanwhile, Sero shows up at the café, greeted by a line nearly out the door. He waits, jaw tight, hands shoved in his pockets, and when he finally gets to the front, your coworker, Tsuyu, barely glances up before deadpanning—

“Ah, if it isn’t Y/N’s stalker. What do you want?”

His eye twitches, but he lets it slide. “Tell her to come out of her hiding spot. We need to talk.”

“She’s not here.”

“I’m serious, Tsu. I’m done with this childish shit—she can come out and talk to me like an adult.”

Tsuyu finally looks at him then, unimpressed. “And I’m serious. She’s not here. Why do you think we’re this swamped?” She nods toward the overwhelming crowd before fixing him with a blank stare. “So either order something or go, dude. I don’t have time to waste on you.”

Sero exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t know what he expected. Of course you’d duck out of work today. You’re avoiding him—again.

“Fine,” he mutters, glancing at the menu board even though he’s been here enough times to know exactly what he wants. “Iced caramel macchiato.”

Tsuyu hums, punching it in. “That all, stalker?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah.”

She takes his cash, hands him his change, then leans on the counter. “She doesn’t wanna talk to you,” Tsuyu says simply, then passing his drink ticket to the other barista. “Maybe take the hint.”

Sero clenches his jaw, but doesn’t respond. What’s he supposed to say? That you’re wrong? That he knows you’re avoiding him, not because you don’t care, but because you do? That he can still feel the way you looked at him last night, the way your breath hitched when he got too close?

Instead, he just takes his drink, mutters a “thanks,” and walks out. Sero exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he steps away from the café. He pulls out his phone, scrolling to Instagram. He doesn’t have you on there, but Mina does. And Mina posts everything.

It doesn’t take long to find what he’s looking for—a tagged picture from last week. You, Denki, Jirou, and Mina on someone’s apartment floor, a movie paused on the TV behind you. His eyes flick to the caption. Girl’s night (plus Denki)

And there it is. The location tag.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips.

He knows it’s a long shot—maybe you don’t even live there, maybe it was just a hangout spot—but at this point, he’s not above testing his luck.

So he pockets his phone, hails an Uber, and heads straight to the campus apartment complex. Sero leans against the entrance of the apartment building, hands in his pockets as he waits for someone to walk in or out. He’s not about to creep around and start pressing random buzzers—he’s got some dignity left—but he’s also not leaving without at least trying.

He’s been here for maybe ten minutes when his opportunity presents itself—a couple of students push through the door, laughing about something, and he slips inside before it swings shut.

Now comes the tricky part.

He scans the mailboxes in the lobby, looking for a familiar last name. He doesn’t even know if you live here, but it’s the best lead he’s got. His fingers drum against his thigh as he reads through them, debating whether or not he should just text Mina and ask outright.

Then, before he can decide, a voice cuts through his thoughts.

“…Sero?”

He turns, and there you are—standing just a few feet away, holding a bag of takeout, looking at him like you can’t believe he’s actually here.

His stomach tightens. Shit.

“Oh, this is a new low,” you say, shaking your head. “You’re weird as fuck for this, bro.” You let out a dry chuckle, but there’s nothing funny about it.

You’re exhausted—running on barely any sleep and way too much caffeine, and now he’s here, standing in your building’s lobby like he has any right to be. You feel like shit, and the last thing you need is him making it worse.

Sero doesn’t look fazed. If anything, he looks determined, which pisses you off even more.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just talk to me,” he says, shifting his weight against the wall.

“I don’t owe you anything,” you snap, pushing past him toward the stairs. “You’re not my boyfriend, you’re not even my friend, so why the fuck are you here?”

He follows, not letting you shut him out so easily. “You can pretend all you want, but I know that night meant something to you.”

You whirl around, eyes blazing. “You don’t know me, Hanta.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “Then let me.”

You scoff, turning back toward the stairs. “Go home, Sero.”

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to figure out what it’ll take to break through.

And the worst part?

You don’t know if you want him to stop trying. The way he won’t back off makes something stir in your chest, a complicated mess of frustration and… maybe something else. But you won’t let yourself admit it. You can’t.

His persistence is both annoying and oddly… endearing. You can’t remember the last time anyone pushed like this. You can’t tell if it’s his arrogance, his confidence, or the way his eyes never leave yours, but something makes your stomach twist in a way you’re not ready to face.

“Why don’t you just leave it alone?” you say, your voice tighter than you intended. It’s a question that makes you sound more tired than angry.

He shakes his head. “You think I’m just gonna walk away?” His voice is low, almost amused. “You’re the only one who’s been avoiding this.”

“Maybe I want to avoid it,” you snap, but even you can tell it lacks the sting it should.

Sero’s smile fades, replaced by something a little less playful, something more serious that you can’t quite place. He steps a little closer, and for a moment, you wonder if you might actually let him. But you don’t, you can’t.

“You’re scared, Y/N.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Scared of what?”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “Scared of what this means. Scared of what I mean to you.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, settling in your chest like a stone. Your pulse picks up, but you refuse to let him see it. “I don’t owe you anything,” you say, but it sounds more like a question than a statement.

Sero tilts his head, studying you with that unreadable gaze. “Fine,” he says quietly. “But don’t lie to yourself, Y/N. You’re not walking away from this because you don’t care. You’re walking away because you’re afraid of what might happen if you do care.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Not with the way your breath catches in your throat, not with the way he makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.

So you do what you do best: you turn away and walk up the stairs without looking back. But his eyes stay with you, heavy and unyielding, and you can’t shake the feeling that he’s right. Actually.. you know he is.

God, you wanted him to be wrong. You wanted to believe that all of this—whatever this was—was nothing. Just drunken curiosity, a one-time mistake, something you could shake off and forget. But the truth is, you can’t.

Deep down, you know he wasn’t wrong. And that makes it worse. Because now, all the walls you’ve built up are crumbling and you don’t know how to stop them.

You don’t regret it—not really. But you don’t want to admit what it meant, what he meant. You’ve seen the way he plays with people, how easily he moves on, and you’ve never been that person.

Sero? He doesn’t give a shit about your heart. And that’s what scares you. You can’t afford to get hurt again. But somehow, despite every warning, despite all the reasons you know you should stay away, a part of you wants to believe that he’s different.

But you’re not stupid. You’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way his confidence comes with a price. He doesn’t play fair. And the last thing you want is to let yourself fall for someone who only knows how to break hearts.

You close your eyes, squeezing your fists into the sheets as if that’ll stop your thoughts from racing. You didn’t want any of this. But now that it’s here, you’re not sure how to get out of it.

A while later there’s a knock at the door with a sense of urgency followed by the sounds of a key fumbling in the lock. You know it’s either Mina or Jirou, knowing they’re the only two who know where you keep the spare.

They both enter, concerned etched on their faces when they find you sunken into the comforter in your bedroom.

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you called out of work because you’re sick. You’re gonna miss my birthday this weekend!” You groan, dragging yourself to sit up in the bed to face them

Mina and Jirou are standing there, Mina looking dramatically appalled while Jirou eyes you with suspicion.

“You did skip work,” Jirou states flatly. You sigh, stepping aside to let them in. “It’s not a big deal.”

Mina flops onto your bed, kicking her feet up. “Uh, it is a big deal. You never miss work! And more importantly, are you really gonna bail on my birthday?”

“Mi, I literally never said that” you say back, deadpanned but there’s a hint of laughter in your voice. You take a deep breath before speaking again

She narrows her eyes but lets it go as you rub your temples, exhaling slowly. “I just—yesterday was… a lot.”

Jirou raises a brow. “This have anything to do with a certain soccer player?” You shoot her a glare, and Mina gasps, sitting up. “Wait. Did something happen with Sero?”

You hesitate, then shake your head. “Nothing worth talking about.”

Jirou hums giving you a knowing look, but Mina is already moving on. “Well, whatever it is, you’re still coming out this weekend. We’re going clubbing for my 21st, and you have to be there. I need all my bad bitches with me, no excuses”

You hesitate for a second. There’s a 50/50 chance Sero might be there. But it’s Mina’s birthday, and you refuse to let him dictate where you go. “Of course, I’m in.”

Mina cheers, and Jirou smirks. “Good. Because you need a night out!”

The pregame is already in full swing. You’re packed into Mina’s apartment with the other girls, music blasting as you all do your makeup, sip on drinks, and hype each other up.

Honestly? It’s the most fun you’ve had in a while. Your mind is completely clear, surrounded by girls you love—who love you back even harder.

The night is young, and the shots are flowing. You’re all playing some ridiculous drinking game involving a spinning wheel, desperately trying not to get too messed up before you even make it to the club.

Even Momo—who’s always the designated driver—has been convinced to let loose for the night, opting to split an Uber there and back.

Mina throws her arm around you, grinning as she holds up another shot. “To being young and hot!”

You clink glasses, throwing the drink back as the night truly begins.

The club is already alive with flashing lights and pulsing bass by the time you arrive. The moment you step inside, you spot them—Denki, Eijirou, and Katsuki posted up in a booth near the bar, drinks in hand. They’re not alone either; there are plenty of familiar faces from campus scattered around, and it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Mina knows everyone. She’s practically a campus celebrity.

You and the girls are already buzzing from the pregame, giggling as you rush toward the boys in a flurry of excited hugs and playful touches that are definitely more handsy than usual. The alcohol is working its magic, making everything feel lighter, brighter, easier.

But the booth isn’t where you’re staying. Not tonight.

Mina grabs your wrist, eyes sparkling with mischief. “C’mon, babe. We didn’t come here to sit.”

You laugh as she drags you away, the others following close behind. The dance floor is packed, bodies moving in sync with the heavy beat, the air thick with heat and the scent of liquor.

There’s nothing PG about the way your body moves against Mina’s, against Ochaco’s—even Momo’s caught up in it, her usual poise slipping away under the influence of alcohol and flashing lights. The bass thrums through your veins, your body buzzing with warmth, laughter spilling from your lips as you let yourself get lost in the moment.

A little alcohol turns you into the life of the party, and right now, everyone looks good. The air is thick with energy, heat, and the scent of sweat and expensive perfume. Hands grasp your waist, your fingers trail over familiar arms, hips press together in time with the music. It’s effortless, intoxicating.

But You’re not a kiss-your-friends kind of drunk—not yet, anyway.

It’s almost like the universe doesn’t want you to have fun, because when you and Jirou wander to the bar for refills you see him

Sero.

And he’s not alone.

Some ridiculously pretty girl is all over him, leaning close, whispering in his ear, hands trailing over his arms. And worst of all? He’s letting her.

Your stomach twists. It’s stupid. You don’t care. You shouldn’t care. But something about the sight of him smirking at her, hands resting lazily on her waist, makes your blood boil.

Whatever. You sip your drink but your eyes keep flickering over to him.

Fine. Two can play that game.

You scan the room, eyes landing on someone tall, broad-shouldered, and familiar—

Bakugo.

It’s petty, but right now? You don’t care. You’d felt his eyes on you for most the night and it’s just dancing

He turns, looking surprised for a split second before his gaze flicks over you. “What?”

You smile, leaning in just enough to make it look intentional. “Dance with me.”

He raises a brow, following your eyes toward the bar where Sero’s standing. Then he smirks, shaking his head but setting his drink down. “Whatever.”

There’s nothing more to it for him—just curiosity, mild amusement. Maybe he just likes the way you move, the confidence in your stance, the way you don’t hesitate when you reach for him.

And you? You like the way he looks. That’s it. You’re not interested, not curious, and certainly not trying to make anyone jealous. It’s just dancing, harmless and fleeting, nothing but the pulse of the music and the heat of too much alcohol making you reckless.

It’s all in good, drunken fun

Katsuki doesn’t hesitate when you pull him in, his hands finding your waist with the same sharp confidence he carries everywhere. The bass thrums beneath your feet, the energy in the club electric, and you let yourself sink into the moment—swaying, moving, pressing against him like you don’t have a single care in the world.

Except you do care.

Because when you risk another glance toward the bar, Sero is watching.

His jaw is set, drink forgotten in his hand, his attention no longer on the girl beside him, and she’s desperately trying to get it back. His dark eyes flicker between you and Katsuki, his lips pressing into a thin line before he lets out a dry laugh and turns back to his conversation.

But you see it.

The tightness in his grip around his glass, the way his shoulders roll like he’s trying to shake something off. The way he’s pretending like he doesn’t care.

Katsuki catches the exchange, his grip tightening slightly at your waist as he leans in, voice low against your ear “This supposed to mean something?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Relax, Bakugo. It’s just dancing.”

He huffs out a laugh, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. “Yeah? Then why’s he looking at you like he wants to rip my head off?”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know. Or maybe you do, but you’re not ready to face it. Not yet.

So you double down, sliding your hands up Katsuki’s arms, tilting your head back with a smirk like you don’t notice Sero’s stare burning into your skin. You don’t miss the way he downs the rest of his drink in one go, slamming the glass onto the bar before disappearing into the crowd.

And for some reason, that makes your stomach twist.

You try to shake it off, pushing the unease deep into the back of your mind, focusing on the beat of the music, the rush of adrenaline, and the way Katsuki moves with you. The alcohol buzzes in your veins, loosening you, making you bold. It’s easier to laugh, easier to sway against him, but it’s harder to ignore the part of you that’s suddenly aware of everything—of Sero’s absence in the room, of the weight of his stare when it was there, of how much more complicated everything has become.

For a while, you lose yourself in the dance, in the laughter, in the flashing lights. The night stretches on, but your mind keeps returning to him. To Sero.

It isn’t until much later, that you finally spot him again. Sero’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching you from across the room. He’s with the same girl from earlier, but there’s something different now. He’s not laughing, not joking with her. He’s just… standing there, his jaw tight, eyes locked on you.

What is he trying to do?

You walk over to the bar, find someone—anyone—to flirt with. A guy you had class with last semester, tall and broad with a lazy grin. It’s harmless. You’re just trying to get under his skin, prove to yourself that you’re not the one chasing.

Sero’s eyes follow you the entire time. You can feel the weight of it, feel the way he watches you, his posture stiffening when you laugh at something the guy says. You don’t miss the flash of frustration in his eyes.

And for a moment, it feels… empowering

But that’s when he moves.

You don’t even see him coming until his hand is on your wrist, pulling you away from the crowd.

“Sero,” you hiss, but his grip is firm, determined, and before you know it, you’re being dragged through the sea of bodies to a quieter hallway near the back of the club.

His breathing is heavier now, but his voice is low and sharp. “You think this is a game?”

You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go. His grip only tightens, dragging you into the bathroom.

The door slams shut behind you, and suddenly, the space is too small. Too close. Too charged.

“What the hell, Sero?”

He doesn’t answer, just steps forward, his hands on your arms, pushing you back against the sink. His body is just inches from yours, his presence suffocating in the best—and worst—ways.

“You think you can just mess around like this, huh?” His voice is hoarse, the frustration bleeding into every word. “You want me to play the game? Fine. But don’t you dare act like you don’t know what’s going on here.”

You swallow, the tension thick between you both. Your heart pounds, the rush of alcohol and adrenaline clouding your thoughts.

His breath fans across your face, his eyes dark with something you can’t quite place. “You think I don’t know you’re jealous?” he mutters, stepping closer. “You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me when I’m with someone else?”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die in your throat.

Because he’s right. And that scares you.

He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, the closeness. His thumb brushes against your cheek, eyes locked with yours.

“I’m done playing,” he breathes, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m done pretending I don’t feel this—this—for you.”

Before you can respond, his lips crash against yours, his kiss urgent, desperate. You freeze for a split second, but the moment you give in, you’re lost.

It’s messy. It’s raw. It’s everything you’ve been trying to avoid—and everything you’ve been craving.

His hands are all over you, his touch rough and possessive and everything in your mind is telling you you might regret it, but you know it’s everything you wanted, it’s why you played the game. “Tell me to stop and I will” he says, just above a whisper as his lips ghost over your neck. You’re silent.

when you finally pull away, gasping for air, there’s nothing left to say.

You just stare at each other, the words unsaid hanging heavy in the space between you. The chemistry, the pull, it’s undeniable. And now, it’s out in the open.

You force yourself to stand still for a moment, trying to steady your breath, the pulse of adrenaline still rushing through you. His touch lingers on your skin, almost burning, as if he’s marked you. His gaze stays on you, intense, unreadable—but he doesn’t say a word. Neither do you.

You glance into the bathroom mirror, trying to adjust yourself. Your clothes are a little out of place, hair messy, and you quickly smooth it out, hoping to cover up the heat of what just happened. The spray of perfume is the final touch, masking the smell of sex, the smell of him.

You step out, not sparing a glance back. You can’t. The tension in that room was too much, too overwhelming. It doesn’t feel real yet, like you’re still processing what happened.

The noise of the club greets you again. The familiar lights flash, the music booms, and the laughter of your friends blends with the thumping beats. You slip back into the crowd, moving with ease as if nothing at all has changed. As if everything’s normal.

But it’s not. Not anymore.

You dance again, trying to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the camaraderie of your friends who are still laughing and celebrating. You pretend you haven’t just crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed. You pretend you’re not thinking about Sero, about what just happened, about what it means.

But the feeling of his lips on yours, the weight of his touch—it doesn’t fade. Not even a little.

Minutes pass, hours maybe, but you’re too caught up in the motion, too caught up in pretending. You try to forget the heat between you two, the way he kissed you.. the way he touched you like it meant something—like it had always meant something.

And then you notice he’s gone. Sero left.

You can’t explain why, but a part of you feels this pang of regret, mixed with a strange relief. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s easier if he just disappears for the night, for now.

The crowd around you blurs again, and you keep dancing, but now, your movements feel heavier. You can’t shake the weight of what you did.

You don’t know how much time passes before you finally step off the dance floor, breathless and buzzing with the aftermath of the night. Your body is tired, your mind exhausted, and yet, despite everything, you don’t feel any closer to figuring out what the hell just happened between you and Sero.

You make your way back over to the booth, plopping your body down onto the plush leather when you feel Mina throw her arms around your neck. “There you are! Thought you got lost or something,” she teases, her words slightly slurred from the drinks.

You laugh, though it feels a little forced. “Just needed some air.” Jirou raises a brow at you, something knowing in her gaze. “Uh-huh. Air.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing one of the leftover drinks on the table. You don’t bother asking who it belonged to—you just need something, anything, to push away the lingering heat under your skin.

But it doesn’t work, as much as you try to throw yourself back into the celebration, the drinks, the laughter your mind is elsewhere, drifting back to him. To the way his hands felt on you. To the way he looked at you in that moment, like he was finally breaking, finally letting himself feel something he’d been fighting this whole time.

And then he left.

You force yourself to focus back on Mina, who’s dramatically recounting some story about how she almost wiped out in her heels but “recovered like a bad bitch.” You laugh along with the others, but Jirou still eyes you, skeptical.

“You sure you’re good?” she asks quietly, leaning in so only you can hear. You hesitate. “Yeah,” you lie. She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push.

Mina drags you back for your final dances of the night muttering something about “not catching any ass tonight” and apparently that simply would not do.

The night goes on, the music shifts, people come and go, and eventually, the exhaustion starts creeping in. One by one, your friends start gathering their things, calling for Ubers, and making plans to crash at someone’s place. You could go with them. You should go with them.

But instead, you find yourself stepping outside, breathing in the crisp night air. And that’s when you see him.

Sero, leaning against the wall just outside the club, joint between his lips, his expression unreadable.

Your heart stutters, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you walk over.

He notices you immediately, exhaling a slow stream of smoke before speaking. “Took you long enough,” he mutters, like he was waiting for you.

You cross your arms. “What are you still doing here?”

He shrugs, flicking the cigarette away. “Dunno.” His eyes meet yours, dark and searching. “Maybe I was hoping you’d come find me.”

Your stomach flips, and you hate the way he gets to you. The way he’s always gotten to you. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say to that. So you don’t say anything at all.

And for a long moment, neither does he.

The tension stretches between you, thick and heavy, and you know—you know—that whatever this thing is between you two, it’s only getting harder to ignore.

You shift on your feet, arms still crossed like they can shield you from the weight of his gaze. “And if I didn’t?” you ask, voice quieter than you intended.

Sero huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Then I probably would’ve left. Probably should’ve left, anyway.”

But he wouldn’t, you both know that because here he still stands.

The streetlights cast shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow. He looks tired. Frustrated. Maybe even a little conflicted. And it hits you all at once—he’s just as lost in this as you are.

That should make it easier. It should make it simpler. But it doesn’t.

“You’re so fucking frustrating,” you mutter, shaking your head. That makes him grin, that same cocky, easygoing smirk you’ve seen a million times before. Except now, it feels different. Like a defense. Like he’s holding something back.

“Right back at you, babe.” Your breath catches. He doesn’t usually call you that—not like this, not when it feels real.

You hate the way it makes your stomach flip.

He pushes off the wall, stepping closer, and suddenly, it’s like the air between you crackles. Like the pull you’ve both been trying to fight is getting harder to ignore. You could walk away. You should walk away.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, meeting his gaze head-on. “What do you want from me, Hanta?”

His expression shifts—just slightly, but enough. Enough for you to see the crack in his facade, the flicker of something real.

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice low. “But I know I don’t wanna keep pretending like this is nothing.”

Your heart pounds. Because neither do you.

But saying it out loud makes it real. And real means messy. Real means getting hurt.

And yet, standing here, staring at him, feeling the heat of his body so close to yours, you wonder if maybe it’s already too late to stop it. It definitely is..

Your pulse is in your ears, drowning out the sounds of the city around you. You’re standing too close, and you know if you don’t step back now, you won’t.

Sero’s eyes search yours, his usual smirk long gone, replaced by something else—something almost hesitant.

You swallow hard. “Then what are we doing?”

He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Hell if I know.”

And you hate that. You hate how uncertain he sounds because if he doesn’t have an answer, then what the hell are you supposed to do?

Your fingers tighten around your arms, nails pressing into your skin. “You’re the one who pulled me into that bathroom, Hanta,” you remind him, trying to sound sharp, but it comes out softer than you want. “You’re the one who—”

He steps closer, close enough that you can smell the lingering scent of his cologne, the faint traces of weed and alcohol on his breath.

“I know,” he cuts in, voice firm. His jaw tenses, and then he shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. ���I know,” he says again, quieter this time.

You watch him carefully, waiting. And then—

“I can’t do this shit anymore.” Your stomach drops. “What?”

Sero runs a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you. “This back and forth, the bullshit games, acting like I don’t—” He stops short, biting down on whatever words almost slipped.

Your breath catches.

Acting like I don’t what?

He doesn’t finish. He just looks at you, waiting. Like it’s your move now. Like he’s finally putting the ball in your court. And you hate that, too. Because you don’t know what to do with it.

You lick your lips, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “So what, you’re just done?” His brows furrow slightly, and for a second, you swear he looks almost pained. “If that’s what you want.”

Your throat tightens. Because that’s not what you want. That’s never been what you wanted.

But this is a game you started, and now, you don’t know how to end it. No matter what happens it doesn’t feel like you’re winning

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “That’s not—” You pause, exhaling sharply. “That’s not fair.”

Sero lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Not fair?” He scoffs, eyes flicking to yours, dark and unreadable. “You think this has been fair?”

You blink, taken aback by the sharpness in his voice.

“I’ve been chasing after you for weeks,” he continues, and his tone isn’t angry, but it’s frustrated, like he’s finally letting himself say all the things he’s been holding back. “I’ve let you shut me down, push me away, play this game like it doesn’t mean shit to you, like I don’t mean shit to you and I took it, because I—”

He stops himself again, jaw clenching, hands flexing at his sides. Your heart is hammering.

Because I what?

You don’t realize you’ve stepped closer until you’re right in front of him, close enough that the warmth of his body nearly touches yours. “Then why didn’t you stop?” you ask quietly, searching his face.

His expression flickers—something breaking through the frustration, something more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen from him before.

“I tried,” he admits, voice rough, tired. “I swear I tried.”

Maybe this is the part where you walk away, where you let him go and finally put an end to whatever this has been. But you can’t.

Because it’s not enough. Not for you.

Not when your body still feels the ghost of his hands on your skin. Not when his words linger in your chest, curling around something you’re not ready to name.

You swallow hard, pulse racing. “So… what now?”

Sero watches you for a long moment, eyes flicking between yours, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. When you don’t, he exhales, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice softer now, almost resigned. “But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t—”

Again, he stops himself. Again, you feel it—something unspoken, something heavy, pressing between you. This time, you don’t let it go.

“Hanta.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He meets your gaze, something wary in his eyes.You take a breath, forcing yourself to be brave. Your eyes meet his in an unwavering gaze. “Say it”

His jaw clenches, and for a second, you think he won’t. That he’ll brush it off, make some flippant joke, or worse—walk away entirely. But then, with a sharp exhale, he mutters, “I like you.”

It’s quiet, almost lost beneath the thrum of music from the club outside, but you hear it. Feel it. The weight of those words settling into your chest like a punch and a relief all at once.

You swallow, your throat dry. “You like me?” you repeat, your voice testing the words, as if trying to see if they hold any truth.

Sero huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, genius. I like you.” His eyes flicker between yours, searching, pleading. “Probably way more than I should.”

Your breath catches. Because you know what he means. Because this—whatever it is—was never supposed to be more than a mistake, a game, a push and pull that never led anywhere real. And yet, here you are.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him, but suddenly the space between you disappears, and his lips are on yours, desperate, certain. It’s not like before—it’s not fueled by frustration or jealousy or reckless abandon. It’s raw, it’s real, and it terrifies you.

You pull away just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his. “This is a bad idea,” you whisper.

Sero’s lips curve into a smirk, but his eyes are serious when he says, “Yeah. But when have we ever been good at walking away?”

You don’t have an answer for that. Because he’s right. You never walk away—not really. You tell yourself you will, you pretend it’s just for fun, but somehow you always end up right back here.

Your fingers tighten in his shirt, forehead still pressed against his, something intimate about the way his hands hold your waist. “So what now?”

Sero exhales through his nose, like he’s been asking himself the same question. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But I know I don’t wanna keep playing this game if it means losing you completely.” You bite your lip, heart hammering. “You were never gonna lose me.”

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you. “Then stop running.”

You swallow hard, your body screaming at you to give in, to let go of whatever’s been keeping you from fully leaning into this, into him. But it’s terrifying—because what if you fall? What if it ends in disaster?

Sero seems to sense your hesitation. He sighs, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling away. “You don’t have to have an answer right now,” he says, softer than you expected. “Just… think about it.”

And with that, he steps back, hands slipping from your body, his warmth leaving you cold.

You should say something—should stop him, should tell him you already know the answer. But the words get caught in your throat, and before you can make sense of it, he’s gone.

Jirou finds you outside, sitting on the filthy sidewalk with your knees to your chest, looking out on the city lights. She has half a mind to scold you for being out here so late alone until she sees your expression.

“There you are,” she says, stepping up beside you. “We’re heading out. Mina’s been looking for you.” You exhale slowly, keeping your gaze forward. “Needed some air.”

Jirou doesn’t buy it, but she doesn’t push—at least not right away. She just stands there, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, waiting. After a moment, she sighs. “Sero left.”

Your stomach tightens. Jirou studies you for a beat, then speaks again, voice quieter now. “You good?”

You swallow, nodding once. “Yeah.” It’s not a lie, not really. You just don’t know what else to say.

Jirou doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, she jerks her head toward the street, where the others are waiting for your ride. “Come on. Let’s go before Mina starts a manhunt.”

You manage a small smirk, shaking off whatever lingers in your chest as you push off the wall. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The uber ride home is full of drunken laughter and requests for Taco Bell, you find yourself packed into the small fast food chain, the only one nearby open past two. You haven’t eaten for hours but have no interest in the food in front of you.

The other girls laugh and chat around you but you sit there in silence, thoughts scattered about. It seems like nobody notices but Jirou, who clamps her hand around yours

Her grip is steady, grounding you in the midst of the chaos. You glance over at her, and she gives you a small, understanding smile. There’s a quiet strength in the way she holds your hand, as if she doesn’t need to ask what happened but just wants to remind you that you’re not alone in this.

“Hey,” she murmurs, leaning closer so the others won’t overhear, “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I’m here if you need to.”

You nod, not trusting your voice just yet. The confusion and frustration from earlier still linger in your chest, but Jirou’s presence, calm and steady, helps. She doesn’t push, just sits there with you, allowing you space to breathe.

You know this is a decision you have to make alone, but there’s too much weight on your chest to say nothing. You tilt your head, a silent gesture toward the door, and Jirou mutters an excuse about needing to go out to smoke. She gets up, and you follow her outside, the cool night air hitting your skin as the door shuts behind you.

You sit together on the dimly lit sidewalk next to Taco Bell, the soft hum of traffic in the distance and the occasional laugh or shout from inside the restaurant drifting through the air. It’s 2 a.m., and everything feels a little surreal, like the world outside is still spinning while you’re stuck in a quiet moment of clarity.

Jirou leans back against the wall, her eyes flicking over to you every so often. She doesn’t rush to ask anything, doesn’t push for details. Instead, she just lets the silence settle between you both, giving you space to gather your thoughts.

That’s what you love about Jirou. The space she gives you, her words always calculated. She thinks before she speaks, and there’s a calmness to her that helps you think more clearly. As much as you love Mina, this conversation wouldn’t be the same with her—not tonight, at least. It’s her birthday, and you don’t want to burden her with this… situationship? Can you even call it that?

You take a deep breath, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, fingers trembling slightly. “I don’t know what to do, Jirou,” you admit, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t pretend like it was a mistake anymore… I—”

Your voice falters for a moment, the words catching in your throat. You let out a dry chuckle, though it doesn’t feel lighthearted at all. “Oh my god, I’m such a mess,” you say, rubbing your face in frustration. Then, without warning, the laughter escapes you, but it’s not real—just a hollow sound escaping from your chest.

“I fucked him, Jirou. I fucked him again!”

Jirou doesn’t react at first, her expression unreadable, but then she places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay to feel lost right now. You’re not the first person to get caught up in something messy,” she says, her voice soft but steady.

You laugh again, this time with less force, your shoulders sagging as you let out a shaky breath. “But it’s not just messy, Jirou. It’s… complicated. He’s not just some guy I can brush off. I thought I could handle it, but I… I don’t even know what this is”

“You don’t have to have it all figured out right now, okay? You don’t have to make any decisions tonight. But you need to be honest with yourself about what you really want, not just what you think you should want or what feels good in the moment. You deserve clarity.”

You nod, the weight of her words sinking in, but your mind still feels like a tangled mess. “It’s just so hard. I keep saying I’ll walk away, but then—then he does something, and I just… fall right back in.”

“I get it,” Jirou says, her voice soft but firm. “But you’ve gotta ask yourself—what does he want? Is he just messing with you, or is he feeling the same thing?”

You hesitate, then force the words out, the lump in your throat thick. “He said he likes me, Jirou. Not in some casual way, not just in the heat of the moment… He said it.”

Jirou blinks in surprise, her expression softening as she processes the words. “He said that?”

You nod, your chest tightening as you speak. “Yeah. After everything—after we… well, after we hooked up again, he said it. But I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if he really means it, or if it’s just… something he said in the moment, you know? I can’t keep doing this back-and-forth if I don’t know where he stands. It’s like..” you hesitate and take another breath “it’s like, I can’t let myself believe him. Like why me? I can’t wrap my head around it.”

Jirou falls quiet for a moment, looking at you with an unreadable expression, before her lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “Sounds like he’s in his own head, just like you are.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“He might not even know how to process his own feelings. But if he said he likes you… that means something. It’s not just a casual comment. But you can’t control him, and you can’t keep dancing around this. You need to decide if you’re ready to take that leap.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the confusion and uncertainty swirling inside you. “I don’t know if I’m ready, though. I don’t know if I can trust it. It just feels like… like everything is too messy. And I don’t know if I can handle being that close to someone who’s afraid to fully commit.”

Jirou nods, wrapping her arms around you in a soft hug. “It’s a lot to think about. You don’t need to decide right now, but you do need to decide”

You lean into the embrace, letting the warmth of Jirou’s hug ground you. The steady pressure of her arms around you feels like the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely.

“I know,” you whisper, the weight of it all sinking in. “I just… I don’t know how to trust him after everything. I don’t know if I can keep putting myself out there when I don’t know if he’ll really be there, you know? It’s like I’m always waiting for him to back out.”

Jirou pulls back slightly, her hands resting on your shoulders as she looks you in the eye. “You can’t keep waiting for him to decide what he wants. You need to figure out if you want to take that chance with him. It’s about you, not just about what he might do. You have to ask yourself—are you okay with the uncertainty? Because, at the end of the day, you have to be okay with the decision, no matter what.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words settle in your chest. You knew she was right. You couldn’t keep letting Sero’s mixed signals control your emotions. It wasn’t just about him; it was about your own happiness, your own choices.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you admit softly, a small, bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I don’t know if I can keep going back and forth like this. I need to know if it’s worth it.”

Jirou gives a small nod, her eyes understanding. “Then you’ll have to figure that out. And you can’t keep avoiding the conversation with him. If you’re gonna move forward—whether it’s with him or without him—you need to hear it from him, straight up. You deserve that clarity.”

You swallow hard, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten at the thought of confronting Sero. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Jirou smiles softly, giving you a light squeeze. “Whatever happens, just know you’re not in this alone. You’ve got me, and you’ve got your girls. You’ll figure it out, one step at a time.”

You nod, the weight in your chest feeling a little lighter now. It wasn’t going to be easy, but maybe it was time to stop running from the mess, and start figuring out how to clean it up.

The days stretch on, each one heavier than the last. You can’t seem to stop replaying that night in your head, the way Sero had looked at you in the club, the way his words had hung in the air between you. But as much as you try to sort through your feelings, you can’t bring yourself to reach out to him. Not yet.

You check your phone more than you’d like to admit, half-expecting a message, but the only thing that shows up is the usual stream of notifications from group chats, memes, and random updates from your friends. No Sero. Not even a “hey” to check in. And that, in itself, stings more than you’d like to acknowledge but you understand.

It’s now been over a week since that night, and it’s clear that you’ve had plenty of time to think. To consider what Jirou said and to weigh your options. You’re no closer to a decision, though. If anything, you feel more lost.

You sit with yourself in your room, the soft hum of your phone filling the silence, but there’s still nothing from him. You wonder if he’s waiting for you to make the first move or if maybe he’s moved on completely. Part of you wants to reach out, to test the waters, but you know deep down that you’re not ready for that yet.

Instead, you find yourself thinking back to that moment when Jirou asked if you were okay with the uncertainty. And, honestly, you don’t know if you are. You’re not sure if you want to keep waiting around for him to make a decision that may never come, but you can’t stop wondering if that’s what love feels like—messy and uncertain, all wrapped up in feelings you can’t quite make sense of.

That night, you make your way to your favorite coffee shop, just happening to be the one you work at, hoping the change of scenery will help you clear your head. It’s quieter than usual, just a few people here and there, sipping their drinks and lost in their own thoughts. You find a seat by the window and pull out your journal , but you can’t seem to focus on anything but the nagging thoughts of Sero.

“Hey,” a voice interrupts your thoughts. You glance up, and there stands Mina, her usual bright smile on her face. She’s oblivious, chatting about something random, but her presence feels like a relief—thank god she doesn’t know about the situation with Sero. She would probably just brush it off and keep pushing you toward him, not really understanding what this is all about. After all, she’s the one who dragged you into that party in the first place, and you’re not sure you trust her judgment when it comes to anything involving Sero.

You let her talk, nodding along but not fully processing what she’s saying. You’ve got too much on your mind.

“So, uh… how are you holding up?” she asks, her tone a little quieter this time, eyes searching your face for any sign of distress.

You hesitate. Mina doesn’t know. She doesn’t know about that night, or about the confusion that’s been eating at you ever since. She doesn’t need to know.

“I’m fine,” you reply quickly, perhaps too quickly, but you hope she doesn’t catch it. “Just, you know, busy.”

She seems to accept that, moving on to the next topic, but you can feel the weight of your own uncertainty. It’s been a week since you last saw or heard from Sero, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ve made a mistake by not reaching out to him.

But, then again, maybe it’s for the best. You’re not ready to deal with this yet, and Mina can’t give you the clarity you need. Only Jirou seems to get it—understands the messiness of everything, the fear of being vulnerable, the weight of everything hanging between you and Sero.

You just need time.

After a while, Mina gets distracted by her phone and starts scrolling through Instagram, and you take a deep breath. The decision to talk to Sero still feels far away. Maybe it’ll come, but not yet. For now, you’re taking a step back and letting things breathe.

You just hope that when the time comes, you’ll be ready to make a choice.

The days pass slowly, but they do pass. Life, as it tends to, keeps moving forward even when you feel stuck. You focus on work, and spending time with the people around you, but there’s this constant pull, a tugging reminder that the unresolved mess with Sero still lingers in the background.

You haven’t heard from him, and in a way, that silence feels louder than any words could. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to make a move, but you’re not sure you’re ready. The last thing you want is to make another mistake, to let yourself fall for something you’re not sure is real.

One night, about a week after the coffee shop, you’re sitting on the couch with Jirou, your head in her lap as her fingers rake through your hair, scrolling through your phone, the sound of music playing softly in the background. Denki’s working and Mina’s out again, partying with some other friends, and it’s just you two, talking about everything and nothing at all.

“You okay?” Jirou’s voice breaks through the quiet, and you glance up, meeting her concerned gaze.

You don’t answer right away, your mind still running through everything, every possible outcome. After a few moments, you sigh and put your phone down. “I don’t know,” you admit, the weight of your emotions catching up with you. “I don’t know if I should reach out to him.”

Jirou studies you, her lips pressed together in thought. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” she says slowly. “But it’s clear you’ve been thinking about it a lot. Maybe it’s time to decide if you want to keep waiting or move on.”

You nod, not sure what to say. Deep down, you know she’s right. You’ve been holding on to something undefined, waiting for clarity that hasn’t come. But is it really fair to keep waiting, to keep putting yourself through this uncertainty?

“Do you think it’s worth it?” you ask, the question barely leaving your lips before you regret it. But you need to hear her thoughts, even if they’re not what you want to hear.

Jirou doesn’t rush to answer. Instead, she looks at you for a long moment, her eyes gentle and understanding. “I think you have to trust yourself, trust what feels right,” she says quietly. “But you also need to be honest with yourself about what you want and what you’re willing to settle for.”

You sit back, letting her words sink in. It’s true, you can’t keep waiting forever, and maybe it’s time to figure out if Sero is worth the uncertainty, or if you need to move on and find something—or someone—else that feels right.

“Take all the time you need. You’ll know when you’re ready.” You appreciate her understanding. There’s no pressure from her, just support. And right now, that’s all you need.

The next few days pass in a blur. But your mind keeps coming back to Sero, to that night and the strange, complicated feelings that still linger. Every time your phone buzzes, you hope it’s him, but it never is. And each time, you feel a little more defeated, a little more unsure of what to do.

Then, one afternoon, while you’re sitting on campus, your phone buzzes. It’s a message, a notification from an unknown number. Your heart skips a beat.

You stare at the screen for a long moment before you open it. The message is short, simple:

Hey, it’s Sero. Can we talk?

You freeze, your mind racing. It’s been over a week since you last heard from him, and now, here he is, asking to talk. Part of you wants to ignore it, to let the silence continue, but the other part of you is desperate for some kind of closure, some kind of answer.

You take a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. What do you say?

You want to be careful. You want to protect yourself. But you also want to know what he’s been thinking. Why now? Why after all this time?

Finally, after what feels like forever, you type back:

We can talk. But I need to know where your head’s at. No games, no more waiting.

You hit send before you can second-guess yourself, then sit back, waiting for his response. This is it. Whatever happens next, you’re ready to face it. And just as you finish your coffee, your phone buzzes again.

I’m ready to be honest with you. Let’s meet up.

It’s a start.

When and where?

You ask bluntly, your fingers moving quickly across your phone screen and his reply is almost instant.

Now? The park near campus?

I’ll be there in 10

You feel your heartbreak quickening as you make the walk to the park, taking quick strides, hands fidgeting with the charms on your phone case to try to ignore the mix of emotions swirling from your chest to your stomach, god you could puke right now.

Every step feels heavier than the last. Your mind is running through every possible outcome, every word he might say, but you keep pushing it back. No use overthinking it now.

When you arrive, the park is mostly quiet,theres the familiar summer chirp of bugs, the evening air warm. You spot Sero almost immediately, standing by a bench near the trees. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his shoulders tense, as if he’s been waiting for a while. When he sees you, his expression softens, though there’s still that guarded look in his eyes. It’s almost like he’s waiting for you to say something first.

You stop a few feet away, the distance feeling strange now that the silence has stretched so long between you.

“Hey,” you say, your voice a little quieter than you intended. You clear your throat. “So…”

Sero exhales slowly. He looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, neither of you speak, the weight of the past week lingering between you. He looks like he’s trying to find the right words, something to say that won’t mess it up.

“So…” He scratched the back of his neck, his usual confidence faltering. “It’s been a minute.” You nodded, shifting awkwardly. “Yeah, a little over a week.”

He leans against the back of the bench, studying you. His gaze was intense but there was an undercurrent of something softer now, something you hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t seem like he was in control of the situation, not like usual. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to reach out first or if you wanted space.”

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, but you couldn’t help feeling like something was off. “I don’t know,” you murmured. “I just— I’ve been thinking a lot. About what you said.”

Sero’s brow furrowed slightly, and he sat down across from you, folding his arms. “Yeah? And what did you think about?”

“I thought about it, but…” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain. “I’m just gonna be honest. I just don’t know if I can trust it. You know? I mean… I’ve been hurt before, and I know that’s not your fault but.. can you blame me for having my guard up?”

He gives a light chuckle, with a soft smile but he doesn’t think anything’s funny. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “You don’t have to take my word for it, but I’m not playing games here. I know how it looks, but I’m not pretending like I don’t feel something for you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart beating faster at his words. “I just… I don’t know if I’m ready for this, for whatever it is we’re doing.”

Sero leaned forward, locking eyes with you. “I get it. I’m not exactly the type for commitment, you know that. But… I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never wanted to be with someone like this.”

You were quiet for a long moment, taking in his words. You wanted to believe him, you really did. But fear gnawed at you, fear of getting too close, of getting hurt.

“I just don’t want to get hurt,” you finally whispered.

Sero reaches out, his fingers idly playing with yours in a soft and delicate touch. “I know. And I’m not asking you to jump into anything. I just… I want to try, if you do.”

“how about this..you don’t have to decide right now,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing small circles on your hand. “But I don’t want to pretend like this isn’t real. I want you to know that. Let’s just.. see?”

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. You didn’t have all the answers. You didn’t know what would happen, or if you were even ready to take the leap. But for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you had to do it all alone. For now, that was enough.

Sero gave you a small, genuine smile. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” And in that moment, you finally allowed yourself to believe it.

At first, nothing really changes.

You don’t talk about that night. You don’t talk about what Sero said outside the club, and you definitely don’t bring up what happened between you in the bathroom. But slowly, in the quiet in-between moments, something shifts.

It starts with coincidence. Or maybe it’s not. You’re not sure.

You start running into him more—at the coffee shop near campus, at parties, at the gas station when you’re both grabbing snacks at ungodly hours of the night. And each time, he doesn’t push, doesn’t corner you into a conversation you’re not ready to have. He just treats you the same as he always has. And maybe that’s why, when he casually invites you to come chill one night after class, you don’t hesitate before saying yes.

The first time, it’s easy. Low stakes. Just you, Sero, and some dumb movie playing in the background while you share a joint and talk shit about the characters. You feel relaxed in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. There’s no pressure, no expectations, just easy conversation and the familiar warmth of his presence. So when he texts you again a few days later—Movie night? No pressure, but Eijirou picked something awful and I need backup—you say yes again. And again after that.

Before you know it, it’s a thing.

It’s not dating. It’s not casual sex. It’s just… spending time together. A lot of it.

Some nights, you smoke and get lost in deep conversations about nothing and everything—childhood stories, stupid fears, the weirdest dreams you’ve ever had. Other nights, you just sit in comfortable silence, watching whatever trash reality show Eijirou put on before he passed out in the other room.

And then, at some point, he starts touching you.

Not in a way that crosses any lines, but in ways that make your heart stutter before you can remind yourself not to read into it. A hand on your thigh when he’s laughing at something you said. Fingers brushing against yours when he hands you the lighter. His arm slung casually over the couch behind you, fingertips tracing absent-minded patterns on your shoulder.

And then one night, after weeks of this new rhythm, he kisses you.

It’s soft, almost uncertain, like he’s testing the waters, giving you space to pull away if you want to. But you don’t. Instead, you lean in.

And just like that, the line between what you were and what you are starts to blur.

You still haven’t talked about it. About what this means. But for now, that feels okay. For now, you just let it happen.

Things shift and to say there’s not more sex would be a lie. It’s the way his eyes linger on you, hung from the weed, how his kisses become slow and deliberate and for his fingertips dance on your skin. The way he whispers in your ear, in Spanish—not that you understand, but you can feel the tenderness in his words. He takes his time with you now, almost reverent, and it’s nothing like before. It’s deeper, unrushed, laced with an intimacy you’ve never felt before.

You don’t talk about it—both too afraid to ruin whatever this is. Instead, you spend countless nights in his bed, bodies bare and tangled in his sheets, skin pressed together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You sleep on his chest, and he sleeps on yours, fingers absentmindedly threading through each other’s hair, lost in the quiet comfort of it all.

The days blur together, each one pulling you deeper into him. You don’t label it, don’t define it, but it’s there—in the way he texts you first thing in the morning, in the way he always saves you a seat when you and your friends meet up, in the way his hands find your waist even when you’re just standing next to him.

Nights are even worse, or maybe better, depending on how you look at it. He rolls joints with practiced ease, passing them to you with a lazy smirk, eyes half-lidded as he watches you take a hit. You watch movies, neither of you really paying attention, too caught up in the way his arm drapes over your shoulders, the way his lips press to your temple when he thinks you’re too high to notice.

And then there’s the sex—slow, unhurried, nothing like before. He touches you like he’s memorizing you, kissing you like he means it. He murmurs in Spanish against your skin, words you don’t understand but feel down to your bones. It’s different now, laced with something you’re both too scared to name.

But still, neither of you bring it up.

You don’t ask what this is, don’t ask if he’s still seeing other people—if he even wants to. You tell yourself you don’t care. That it doesn’t matter. But late at night, when he’s asleep next to you, his fingers still loosely curled around yours, you wonder how long you can pretend.

The uncertainty lingers, creeping in during quiet moments—when his hand finds yours absentmindedly, when he pulls you into his chest after sex, when he looks at you like you’re something he’s afraid to lose. But neither of you say anything, and maybe that’s why it works. Maybe acknowledging it would break whatever delicate balance you’ve found.

So you let it be.

Days turn into weeks, and Sero becomes a constant in your life. It’s not just about being tangled in his sheets anymore—it’s grocery runs, late-night drives, music playing softly in the background as you paint and he watches from the couch, joints lazily burning between his fingers. It’s comfortable. Easy.

And yet, there’s still an edge to it, a question neither of you are brave enough to ask.

Then one night, it almost slips out.

You’re lying on his bed, exhausted, your head resting on his chest. His fingers trace slow circles on your back, his other hand scrolling mindlessly on his phone. You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there in silence, but it’s the kind that feels full rather than empty.

“You staying over?” he asks, voice low, lazy. You hum in response, nuzzling closer, and he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your cheek. And then, before you can stop yourself—

“You’re not seeing anyone else, right?”

The question falls into the space between you, and immediately, you regret it. You can’t take it back now. You tense against him, bracing yourself for whatever comes next.

Sero stills beneath you. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you think you’ve ruined it. Then—

“Nah.”

Your breath catches.

“I was,” he admits, his fingers resuming their slow patterns on your skin. “Before. But not since… this.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Since what?”

His hand moves, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him. His expression is unreadable, but his thumb brushes over your cheek, slow and deliberate.

“You know what.”

And just like that, the balance shifts again. Sero doesn’t push, just watches you, his dark eyes calm, unreadable. It’s not like before—when everything felt like a game, when he’d flirt just to see if he could get a reaction, when you’d pretend it didn’t mean anything.

This is different. He’s different. And so are you.

Sero must see the hesitation in your eyes because his smirk fades slightly. “I’m not asking for anything, you know that, I’m not pushing you” he says, voice gentle. “I just… I don’t want you thinking I’m out here playing you.”

You shake your head. “I don’t.” And you don’t. Not anymore. At least that’s what you thought.

The evening is casual, comfortable, yet there’s a noticeable distance between the two of you. You’re quiet, picking at your food, not really focusing on the conversation. Sero notices immediately, his gaze flickering to you, but he doesn’t say anything at first. The feeling in the air is thick with unspoken thoughts, the weight of them resting on your shoulders.

You’ve been hanging out more than ever lately, but there’s been something off. Every time he pulls his phone out, you can’t help but catch glimpses of a name you somewhat recognize. Elena. It’s her—his ex, or whatever she was. You’d seen her name come up too many times over the past week. You tell yourself it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just a friend. Maybe it’s old news or something stupid. But with each new notification, your heart tightens just a little more.

Tonight, you can’t ignore it anymore. You don’t even want to look at your food anymore, let alone pretend everything is fine.

Sero’s phone buzzes again on the table between you two. It’s her again. Her name lights up on the screen

Elena- two new messages

You sigh, maybe too loudly. He glances at you, his brow furrowing.

“You good, hermosa?” he asks, his voice soft but tinged with concern.

“You know,” you begin, your voice casual but with an edge that even you can feel, “you’ve been getting a lot of messages from Elena lately.”

Hanta doesn’t look at you right away. He shifts in his seat, clearly not prepared for the conversation, but then meets your gaze with a small frown. He swipes at his phone and pockets it. “She’s just— she’s a friend.”

You tilt your head, not buying it. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but something about the way he says it doesn’t sit right. It sounds like a defense mechanism.

“You’re telling me she’s just a friend?” you ask softly, trying to keep your voice steady. You lean in a little, arms crossed as you watch him. “Because from what I’m seeing, it doesn’t really look like that. Every time I look, it’s her name, and it’s not like it’s one or two messages. It’s… a lot.”

He blinks, a flash of uncertainty passing over his face before his brow furrows in confusion. “Wait—what are you trying to say?” His voice has that edge now, defensive, but his eyes are a little softer. He’s trying to figure out where you’re coming from.

Your gaze doesn’t waver. “I don’t know. I just feel like… I don’t know, I guess I’m getting the vibe that maybe she’s still trying to get something from you. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that, Hanta.”

A friend. But that doesn’t explain the constant messages. The persistent name that’s been a fixture on his screen. It stirs something deep inside you—something protective, something unsure.

“I get that she’s your friend, but…” you trail off, looking at your hands in your lap before looking up at him. “I’m not really comfortable with you talking to someone who actively wants you, Hanta. I mean… you told me about her, and how she’s tried to hook up with you before…”

His expression softens, but there’s still a flicker of tension in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but you rush to continue, your voice slightly firmer now, trying to make your feelings known.

“I’m sorry if that’s not fair, but I can be a little crazy when it comes to things like this, okay?” you say, your voice softer now, almost apologetic. “I just… I don’t want to be the type of person who’s constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if I’m just another girl to you. Or if she’s still trying to be a thing.”

You stop, your breath a little shaky. You look away, letting out a sigh. “I don’t want to cause drama or make things worse between us, but I don’t think I want that kind of uncertainty. I don’t think we want that.”

Sero doesn’t say anything for a moment, watching you quietly. You can feel the weight of his gaze, but it doesn’t feel judgmental. It feels… understanding.

He pulls his phone out slowly, unlocking it and scrolling through the messages. You feel your heart race as he hands it to you. You hesitate for a moment, before reading the texts. Elena’s messages are flirtatious, almost desperate at times, while Sero’s responses remain clear and firm. He tells her, over and over again, that he’s with someone else now, that he’s not interested in anything with her.

One message stands out. “I’ve got a girl now, Elena. I’m not doing that anymore.”

You read it and then look up at him, your chest tight and your words catching in your throat. “You really told her that?” you ask softly, unsure whether to feel relieved or even more uncertain.

Hanta nods, his expression serious, his eyes searching yours for some kind of understanding. “I did. And I meant it, hermosa,” he says, his voice low, steady. “I’m not interested in anything with her. Not anymore.”

You swallow thickly, a little unsure of how to feel. You wish you could just let go of the nagging feeling in your chest, the one that still doubts that maybe there’s more going on here than he’s letting on. But the last thing you want is to make him feel guilty for having a past.

“I… I don’t know,” you admit, your voice wavering slightly. “It’s just hard for me. To see you still talking to her. And I don’t want to be crazy, I don’t.”

Hanta’s eyes soften, and he leans across the table, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. His voice is tender now, almost apologetic. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like that,” he says quietly. “But you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re the one I’m with now. Always have been.”

You nod, but the unease doesn’t quite disappear. There’s still a flicker of uncertainty in your chest, and part of you feels ridiculous for even questioning him, but you can’t help it.

“I guess I just need to know you’re serious about this. About.. us,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to feel like you’re not still hanging on to something that could pull you away.”

Sero’s eyes narrow slightly, his jaw clenched, but not in anger—more like determination. He leans closer to you, the weight of his gaze on you again. “I’m serious, it makes you uncomfortable? She’s gone. I don’t care about her” he says, his voice quiet but intense. “You’re mine, hermosa. I was just waiting for you to see that.”

His words hit you like a wave. The finality in his voice reassures you more than anything else could, and for the first time, you feel like maybe this is something real.

“Okay,” you breathe out, a small, relieved smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, I think I get it now.”

Sero smiles, a hint of something soft in his eyes. He reaches out, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand gently. “I’ve always been serious about you, baby,” he murmurs. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

The tension between you both begins to melt away as you sit in the quiet, you let your hand interlock with his, the unspoken understanding lingering between you. There’s no need for more words. You’re his, and he’s yours. And maybe that’s all that matters.

A/N- finally done omggg! Ik it’s been anticipated (and it’s super long cause I made yall wait so long for the next part) but I hope everyone enjoys :P and big love to @cxvii666 !!

Tags:

@beabamboo @poemeater @kingfrogz @beebunsx @mimzyu @superlegend216 @augustraine

[caspercryptid]

Oh, if you’d be willing to write a piece of Jayce and Viktor raising Jinx, I’d love to see it! There’s no pressure though, I just wanted to rant a bit about people letting their personal biases block their understanding of the story. Like I said in my tags, I feel like most people don’t hate Jayce because of anything he did, they’re just jealous that both Viktor and Mel care about him. Jayce isn’t perfect but the fact that I keep seeing people say there was no reason for Jayce to attempt to jump but dramatics tells me they are only reading him on a surface level. Thanks again for your hard work!

Of course! Honestly Jayce went through a fucking Lot of the course of the series and I think he deserves more credit for that. So here is my bit of Jayce positive content.

CW: mentions of injury, an explosion. I think this takes place in an AU where within a year of Jinx being with Silco, there was an accidental explosion. She thinks he's dead. if I ever write more of this... he probably isn't. _____ It’s raining.

That’s not something Jayce minds, particularly, but he feels the need to catalogue everything that led up to the current moment. He was going to the midpoint of the bridge to look at the way the clouds hang over the water, because it’s a really stunning view and also maybe because the lab work has been going so fantastically badly that he needs to be reminded that the rest of the world exists and it had started raining on the way walking to nowhere. Maybe. Probably not that, though.

Viktor had already taken a break– he would probably be back by the time Jayce got back, he had gone to pick up lunch– and being in the lab sitting in a silence that was slowly but surely getting louder was its own flavor of hell.

So that was the complete record of the last thirty minutes. He traced his route in his memory, planned it out, noted the time like he noted the timing of discoveries in his notebook in case they would become historical record– arrogance– Viktor always teased him, but some of the pages had become historical record so who was right, anyway– off track. He notes the time, because something important is happening, because there is a little girl with blue hair curled up against the stone wall of the bridge.

Jayce has enough time to freeze and to think before she looks up at him, and that’s when he realizes none of the timing or the structure matters at all, because she has little cuts on her cheeks, and she’s bleeding, and she curls back into herself like she’s scared of him, so he does the only thing he can think to do, and he kneels to her eye level.

“Hey.” he says, quietly. “Are you okay?”

She sniffles. “–no.” She admits, quietly, and something in Jayce’s chest twists.

“Can I help?” he asks.

She eyes him, suspicious. “Why would you wanna help?”

“–That’s my job.” He says. “I help people. I’m a scientist.”

“Scientists don’t help people.” She contradicts him, but she’s eyeing him, a little more curious than guarded, now, and Jayce will take that as a win.

“We’re supposed to.” he explains. “Discoveries are supposed to be made for the good of everyone. It’s important. Progress for– everyone. But I’m not really worried about everyone right now, i’m just worried about you. Are you hurt?”

She sniffles, and he realizes that it’s not just the rain that’s making the water-lines down her cheeks. Her eyes and her nose are red.

“Yeah.” She admits. “A little. I couldn’t run any further.”

“That’s okay,” Jayce says, “I’ll carry you.”

She hesitates only a second longer, and then she reaches out her arms.

___

Viktor has had just long enough to start worrying about Jayce before he hears the door open. He turns around, a half composed scolding about not leaving notes on his lips, and then he stops, because Jayce is carrying a child.

He cycles through several possible respondes, considers and discards the ones with swear words, and then he looks at the girl’s clothing, realizes it’s zaunite, and puts those right back into circulation, because she’s certainly heard worse, and this is clearly a situation that calls for profanity. Evidently he thinks too long, though, because as he’s opening his mouth Jayce gives him a soft, guilty smile, one the ones where he knows he did wrong and is genuinely sorry for it, and that wouldn’t do, either.

“You both need to dry off or you’re going to catch your deaths.” he says, going over to the corner of the room where they keep the winter blankets and the massive space heater Jayce always uses to try to forget the season when it gets rough. “Sit down on the couch.”

Jayce complies, and the little blue-haired girl peeks her head up over his shoulder to squint at Viktor.

Viktor squints right back, and that seems to be the correct response, because she nods, once, and sets her head down against Jayce’s shoulder.

And the sight of that shouldn’t do such miserable things to Viktor’s poor heart, but frankly it’s hard enough to tolerate jayce being... Jayce. On a regular basis. Without Jayce carrying in children.

“Can you grab the medkid?” Jayce asks, voice a little stressed, and Viktor grimaces.

“How bad is it?”

“I’m fine.” the girl says, sounding a touch sulky, and too-loud. Viktor recognizes the bitterness of someone who doesn’t like to be spoken over. It’s plenty familiar.

“What hurts?” he asks her, as he comes over and pulls the coffee table up to the edge of the touch and sits down on top of it, not caring about the papers he’s doubtless ruining.

“My face, my hands, and my knees.” She says.

“Can I see your hands?” Viktor asks, patient, and she untangles from Jayce and offers them. They’re snarled over in burns, and Viktor sees Jayce’s expression twist in his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Ah, we’re used to burns.” He says, opening the kit, “these don’t look to be as nasty as they could be, you were very lucky.”

“I was trying to be careful.” She mumbles.

“And then what happened?”

“–everything exploded.” She curls up a little. “...I don’t know if he–”

“He?” Jayce echoes. “Your father?”

She shuts up, and Viktor shakes his head a little.

“It doesn’t matter.” he says. “You’re safe here. We’ll get you warm and we’ll get you somewhere to rest and then we can take care of the rest. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. What’s your name?”

She eyes him. “–Jinx.”

“Jinx.” he repeats, and glances up at Jayce. Jayce is looking back at him, his expression saying the same thing Viktor is thinking. We can’t leave her alone.

He glances down, noting the way she’s already curled into Jayce’s chest, and feels something oddly peaceful settling in him. It’s very unlike him to be... confident. That things will work out. Strange.

“We have you.” he says. “Let me finish bandaging your hands, and then we can see about your knees, dry clothes, rest.”

They would figure it out.

[weepinglevi]

summary: fem!reader and porco get it on in the bathroom. porco has his phone to document everything for colt, who is reader's boyfriend. all aged up to be 21+. warnings: 18+ minors dni. infidelity! semi-public sex, slight dacryphilia, heavy dirty talk, mirror sex, creampie - reader doesn't know he's filming at first but is okay with it. also poor colt :( word count: around 1.6k beta reader: the most wonderful @1252291 came through. love you to the moon and back. <3 A/N: contribution to my adult movie tropes collab! pock brainrot is strong with this one. i hope you enjoy and feedback is always greatly appreciated. take care and lots of love. xx

you know it’s wrong.

the moment he closes the door behind him and turns the key, you’re torn between wanting to push him away and pulling him in even closer. leaning against the cold porcelain of the sink, you take a shaky breath. outside, they’re playing music and you hear annie’s shrieking laugh.

outside is the party colt took you to. to meet his friends, as he had put it.

now you’re here, in a small bathroom at an unknown house, not with colt – but with porco galliard. heart beating heavy in your chest as he lets his eyes wander over your body, you feel small and pathetic. still, the longing that has brought you here is slowly catching fire, turning into lust.

he doesn’t say a word when he takes a step toward you, placing his hands on your hips and grabbing them tightly. his grip is sure to leave a bruise but with how he breathes against your ear, you don’t care anymore. “i-“

“shh, you’re gonna kill the mood,“ porco chuckles and dips his head down, driving the flat of his tongue against your collarbone before pulling away and blowing against it, causing you to shiver and the tiny hairs on your body to stand up in anticipation.

you know it’s wrong, know you shouldn’t allow him to hook his hands under your thighs and lift you up so you can sit on the edge of the sink – so why are you wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in even closer than he already was?

“fuck, you’re needy, aren’t you,” he rests his forehead against yours, voice coming deep and stirring the heat in your belly, making you feel as if you’re about to implode, “he doesn’t know how to fuck you in the right way, huh?”

there’s no need for you to answer, no need to state the obvious, so you stretch your neck to close the small distance between his lips and yours, crashing against him. tasting the bitterness of the vodka he had just minutes ago, you close your eyes and let a whimper escape. he’s right.

he’s laughing against your lips now, knowing you agree with him.

“he shouldn’t have brought you here.” leaning back, his eyes seem to be darker than before and his pushed back hair is starting to come loose, “should’ve known i’d be all over his pretty little girlfriend.”

even though you hate yourself for it, you nod.

“that’s right,” he brings his hand up to your jaw, grazing his thumb against your lower lip and then pushing into your mouth, index and middle finger soon to follow, “make sure they’re nice and wet, we don’t have much time.”

he’s not nice and doting, not asking what you want like colt always does. he just takes with expectations – ones you are more than willing to meet. so you lock your eyes with his as you gag on his fingers alone, knowing to heed his warning; you try to soak them in your own drool.

when your eyes are brimming with tears, he pushes down even further, causing you to cough and the tears to flow over.

“crying, already?” he coos. “he must treat you like you’re made of glass, hm?”

leaving you gasping for air when he finally pulls out, he breaks free from the hold your legs had around his waist. there’s a short laugh leaving him when he’s giving you another once-over and then nods.

“stand up,” tugging at your dress, he seems impatient, “told you we don’t have a lot of time.”

as soon as you slide down, porco turns you around and presses you up against the sink, cold stone digging into your hips as he bends you forward. looking up, you see the reflection of yourself and him in the mirror in front of you. catching a glimpse of his smirk, you look back down.

as long as you’re not looking at him, you wouldn’t feel as bad and that’s why you train your gaze on how your hands are grabbing the edge of the sink.

his hands slip under your dress, he’s quick to pull your panties aside before gliding his thumb through your slick folds. “so wet already.”

one hand placed on your ass, thumb holding your underwear in place, he slides his fingers into you without any warning. your walls tighten around him instantly, causing you to bite down on your tongue to hold back the moan that otherwise would’ve filled the room.

“c’mon, tell me how good i feel,” his digits pumping in and out of your already throbbing cunt, obscene sounds bouncing off the tiled walls, “how much better i feel than he does.”

“some-” - trying to collect your thoughts while also fucking yourself onto porco’s fingers leaves you breathless, “someone’s gonna hear.”

all he does is laugh when he pulls out one final time and goes to circle your clit, leaving you to clench around nothing and bucking onto the ball of his thumb until he completely pulls away from you.

legs already shaking and head hanging low, you hear him unbuckling his belt and spit into the palm of his hand. the groan coming from him sends waves of heat up your spine and you try to brace yourself for what’s going to follow.

pulling your panties down and bunching up your dress in one hand, the thick head of porco’s dick is already pushing into of you, causing you to hold your breath because you know he isn’t planning on letting you adjust to his size.

and you were right. even with his fingers stretching you out, you’re struggling to fit him but he keeps on pressing into you, leaving you to suck in the air through gritted teeth.

“look at her,” you hear coming from behind, “how hard she tries.”

with your brain in a haze, you know you should wonder about what he’s saying but you don’t. you’re too concentrated on how good he feels inside of you. and how wrong at the same time, but this only makes your pulse quicken even more.

to know the others are in the room next door, having no clue about how you’re being spread open on porco’s dick, having no idea that you’re nothing but a cheating whore, has walls fluttering around his length.

and when he finally bottoms out, he starts pulling back out. at a mind numbingly slow pace, you feel him come to a halt before he leaves you feeling empty again.

“don’t stop,” being the only thing to leave your lips, “porco, i dare-“

“hear her begging?” he places his hand on your hip and pulls you back onto his dick, “i bet she never begs like this when you’re the one fucking her.”

driving his hips forward again, he hits the bundle of nerves inside of you that makes you forget about how you wanted to be quiet. the moan escaping your lips as he switches to a steady pace.

“oh, she sounds so sweet,” his laugh is breathless this time, “you never told me how good she sounds, colt.”

as soon as you hear the name of your boyfriend, you look into the mirror to see porco holding his phone in one hand, obviously filming himself thrusting into your cunt. stuttering in your movements, he lifts his gaze from his phone and smirks back at your reflection in the mirror.

“c’mon now, keep fucking yourself on my cock,” he reaches forward, wrapping his free hand around your throat, “be a good girl for me, and i might let you do it again.”

raising the phone, he now films your reflection.

and you know you shouldn’t look straight into the camera and push back onto porco. it’s too late now, you think, too late to go back so you might as well enjoy yourself.

“tell him how good i feel,” his words are coming slurry now.

and with his tight balls slapping against your clit, with him continuously hitting the right spot, you nod, “feels- feels so good.”

“that’s what i thought,” letting go of your throat, he quickened his pace, “little whore that you are- one dick isn’t enough for you, huh?”

his hand sliding down your side, he reaches in front of you to rub circles against your clit again. the sensation of watching him do that, hearing him moan as you clench your walls around his dick and at the thought of all of it being filmed for your boyfriend to watch has you losing your mind.

“you-“ you turn your head to him now, graze your lips against his jaw, “your dick is enough.”

“hear- hear that, colt,” he groans, “my-“

his hips stuttering against your ass, he places the phone on the counter in front of you, grabbing your hips instead.

seeing him losing his cool pushes you over the edge, slapping one hand over your mouth to muffle the sound of your moans as your whole body trembles, heat rushing over you with every thrust he makes.

porco shoves your hand away the moment he realizes you’re trying to stay quiet, “let him hear.”

and you do. you couldn’t care less at this point, so the breathed “you fuck me so good,” flows from your lips naturally.

his fingers dig into your soft skin as he pulls you down onto his dick and holds you there, pumping his hot load into you, his cock twitching inside of you as a low “fuuuck-“ leaves him.

you stay like this for only a few seconds, and then he reaches back for his phone, turning the camera to face him. he makes a peace-sign before bringing it back between the two of you, filming how he pulls out of your cunt.

“will you look at that,” he spreads your cheeks to allow a better view.

feeling his and your cum drip down your thighs, you shudder at the thought of what you’ve just done – and even more when you realize how badly you want to do it again.

taglist: @odmlevis, @inumakizone, @blondeboyfriend, @peachysimp, @droolingoverfanfics, @starrynightlys wanna be tagged in my next work? fill out this form.

[bokugaos]

— Guidance —

pairing: bokuto x f!reader, hinata x f!reader | msby manager!reader

length: 2021w ✧

summary: Someone needs to show Hinata how to treat you right, so Bokuto takes the matter into his own hands.

tw — corruption, exhibitionism, vaginal sex, oral (f.receiving)

Bokuto watches with a frown as Hinata talks to you. He’s still not quite sure what brought you to their training court today, but you seem to be enjoying yourself. 

You hem and haw so much over Hinata that it is becoming hard to watch. You talk to him in a delightful manner, hanging off of your arm and turning your ass to him whenever you get the slightest opportunity to do so.

You are ripe for the plucking, but Bokuto notices that Hinata does not go for it. Not for a lack of interest, he assumes; you’re a total beauty, and whenever you’re around, everyone always looks like they’re about to drool right then and there. It doesn’t take a lot of effort for you, as their manager, to get them riled up enough that they set out to practice all on their own just to work off some steam. 

You’re so well-behaved and soft-spoken, everything he loves and more. He’d take you in a heartbeat but it is obvious that Hinata has set his eyes on you with a kind of desperation that is pitiful.

Hinata has good intentions, but… he is young. Very inexperienced. He has not the first idea how to treat you so openly vying for a dicking, and it has lost its humor some time ago.

Bokuto takes another chug from his water bottle, slowly wiping the droplets off of his upper lip and the sides of his mouth.

Hinata reaches down, his hand lightly hovering over your hips. You immediately freeze and turn to him, your eyes undecipherable as they look at him—

Hinata flushes slightly. He loses the momentum and quickly takes his hand away again while apologizing. Bokuto slams his bottle down on the surface of the bleachers with a loud crack. The sound distracts you from Hinata, you jump and turn to stare at him as he stands and makes his way over to you, face set in grim determination.

“Hinata.”

“Y-Yes? …”

It is a damn shame. Hinata is not bad-looking by any means and nor is he insecure, but whenever you’re around, he deteriorates into a drivelling idiot.

“I’m gonna help you and show you how this is done.” He reaches out and grabs you by the hand, pulling you away from Hinata’s side and against his own broad chest.

You flail for a second, confused about the new scent invading your senses, but after a reassuring rub of his hand on your shoulders, you calm down fast. 

“Uh… Bokuto-san?” is the only thing Hinata says despite his confusion.

Bokuto glances up from you. Hinata is watching you, his pale skin flushed a dark red. His big eyes are on you, watching how your face is pressed against the man’s chest, tucked away shyly.

“You will get her sooner rather than later,” Bokuto grins, trying to calm any hurt pride before it can flare. 

Hinata swallows. For now, he seems willing to just sit there on the stool trembling beneath his weight, and to watch what Bokuto will be doing to you.

“She may look small and delicate, but she is not,” Bokuto starts with an indulgent pat to your back. He pulls you again, half lifting and half guiding you around until he has unceremoniously made you bend over and pin you to the table Hinata is sitting at.

“She can take a bit of rough handling and it’s okay. I’m pretty sure she even wants us to.”

He glances down at you, gauging the glassiness of your gaze before reaching down with his free hand and yanking your skirt up.

“There… look at this mess,” he murmurs on a sigh, then clicks his tongue playfully. There’s slick dampening your panties. Hinata leans forward, his hands clasped on his lap as he watches and learns like a good boy.

Bokuto smirks. He palms one of your cheeks to the side and leans down some, inhaling loud and deep.

“Isn’t it a beautiful thing? So cute and barely used… and she smells so good. So… ready.”

You are squirming but you’re neither trying to get away nor telling him to stop it. Some of your hair has slipped in front of your face, giving you at least a bit of dignity while Bokuto purveys you like a piece of meat.

“She wants it desperately. You can tell, can’t you?”

He moves your panties to the side and his fingers over, easily spearing it into your soft opening. Your cunt is soft and pliant; more than ready for cock. 

You moan low in your chest. You sound like you’ve finally been able to rest your weary bones after days of walking. Bokuto smirks and slowly starts moving his index and middle finger, idly fucking the you on them while shifting his attention back to Hinata.

The younger’s face is flushed a deep red, his big eyes looking almost painfully bright.

“But… you haven’t asked—” he starts, voice breaking so badly that he falls silent again all on his own.

Bokuto hums and nods. He looks down on you once more, watching how swollen your lips have become. It gets puffy seemingly all on its own; just from a bit of a stretch around Bokuto’s fingers.

As he mulls his words over he begins to open his own slacks—without any hurry. You’re not going anywhere soon.

“She’ll definitely let us know quite clearly if she doesn’t enjoy it.”

He slowly pulls his fingers out and both of them stare as the slick stretches long. There’s just so much of it… Bokuto grabs his cock and starts to slowly slide it over your lips. You seem to freeze when you feel the fat head graze against your slit again and again, but you still don’t try to get away.

“See what I told you? She looks so small and delicate—but you’re sorely mistaken if you think she doesn’t want more.”

There’s not a hitch in his lecture, even when he finally starts to push into the silky hot clutch of your cunt.

Your eyes flutter shut, you’re moaning loud with deep satisfaction. Bokuto opens his eyes and leans over, gently brushing the hair from your face to watch how your eyes are rolling up into your head and your tongue is lolling out. Hinata looks shocked having jerked up from his chair, but Bokuto gestures for him to sit back down.

As the younger man watches, Bokuto begins to slowly fuck you. It does not need a hard pounding to get you delirious and on edge… not when his cock is involved. He has you singing in mere minutes, grabbing desperately at the edge of the table you’re spread out on, babbling for either mercy or for him to give it to you faster and harder.

It’s as if he knows exactly where to aim and releases his arrow with a painstaking accuracy. Hinata realizes that this is definitely not the first time. His mouth goes dry.

“Nothing compares to this,” Bokuto tells him slightly out of breath. He stares him down, not slowing in his efforts to drive you wild with the cock in your belly. “It feels like… heaven. And she will even thank you for it. … Won’t you, pretty girl?”

He looks down at you, huge hand gently petting down your back. He’s not even undressed you

“Th-thank you…” You slur, trembling and legs ready to give up it’s not for the table underneath you.

He tugs at your hair and you easily go up, hand fisted tightly near your scalp. He reaches down and his other hand circles your form and gropes your tits, and you – Hinata really thinks he hears you start to mewl.

Bokuto’s face lights even brighter with delight as he thrusts his hips onto your restlessly. You wince when he tugs you back up as you start to slip, the sudden jerk causing his cock to spear even deeper. Your legs wobble, your entire body kept up by his strong arms around you.

Hinata looks around before adjusting himself in his pants. When he feels a damp spot, he chooses to pull his waistband down just a tad, taking his cock out, face flustered even though Bokuto shoots him a grin. His cock flexes for you, pre-cum pearling at the tip.

Bokuto lets your wrist go and your body falls back on the table. Your face is turned to the side, staring straight at Hinata with your eyes hazy and sleepy looking. Bokuto nudges and you go wherever he wants you; crawling up onto the table and just letting your head hang low while he adjusts you, pulling to the edge of the table. Your legs immediately spread for him and he reaches between your legs for the gleaming puffy lips, before holding his fingers up for Hinata to see just how much of you sweet slick you’re already gushing out.

“You see? She’s well trained. And she never makes a fuss!”

You’d even kiss his toes to thank him if you need to.

Hinata’s pale ears grow dark red now; but he does not take his eyes off of you—beneath Bokuto whose biceps are twitching, spreading your legs to show off the twitching insides of your cunt.

His cock looks obscene flirting with your entrance, and you make a humiliating whimper as you reach for his dick in the haze of your impatience; he’s left you empty for a little too long already. 

Hinata is squirming on the spot, cock flexing despite himself, staring at that sweet space Bokuto is occupying while he hammers his cock back inside you.

God, you’re so small… fit so well around Bokuto’s dick… he’s making you scream instead of those little breathy sighs Hinata has fantasized he’d fuck out of you with his careful pace.

He jerks when he realizes your eyes are on him again. Your gaze hooded and unfocused, a small candy pink tongue poking out against the corner of your mouth, doing a hurried swipe across your upper lip.

Hinata realizes now; you’ve been an open book for Bokuto the second he exercises what power he has over you—and he revels in your obedience. And now he’s graciously showing him what and where to read, how to flip the pages the correct way.

You curl your legs around his sturdy waist, pulling him closer to you, all the while without reprieve for your poor abused cunt.

Your fingers are clawing on the desk, your tits bouncing with each rough motion. Your back is arched so high off the surface that your tits are on his wide, muscular chest as he bends down a little and he ruts into you faster than Hinata has seen before, pushing you to your climax.

He is cooing for you, moaning low as it fills the room, but soon his burning golden gaze are fixed on Hinata once again.

He is gloating. Relishes in the power he holds over you.

The way your head is lolled lifelessly to the side, mouth set wide open even after your screams have died down to broken, breathless whimpers.

“And when she’s been a good girl, she gets a treat.” Bokuto exclaims loudly in glee, and you watch with tears welling in your eyes as he leans down to mouth sloppy kisses against your abused cunt. He eats you out with lewd sucking and obscenely slick drags of his tongue, making your moans grow louder as you keep dripping for him, offering everything you have up to him. 

Hinata keeps watching with eyes blown wide in satisfaction as Bokuto mounts back up, one of his big hands in the back of your neck, carefully keeping you pinned down and giving him something to brace himself as he fucks into your presented cunt.

You gurgle, toes curling, breath coming in little stutters, and Hinata’s hand increases its pace as he keeps stroking, squeezing his cock. 

You look so innocent, but you can take him like a champ.

Hinata is extremely impressed.

[seiyasabi]

Momma’s Boy

(This is a Yandere Severus Snape x Hufflepuff! Female Reader story :)) Sorry if this is too OOC!

TW: Bullying!, unhealthy feelings!, manipulation!, Mommy kink!, face sitting!, creampie!, Femdom!, consensual sex!, etc..

Please proceed with caution!)

A wide hand smacks his books from his hands, casting everything onto the cobblestone floor. A soft sigh leaves the blach haired man’s mouth, as he slowly looks up from his belongings, to see a smirking Sirius Black. 

“Watch where you’re going, Snape-boy,” The four males let out ugly laughs, eyes filled with mockery. Severus says nothing, moving to pick up his things, only to be stopped by James. 

“Don’t think that we’ll let you off the hook that easily,” The brunet’s glasses gleam with a dark delight, making the bullied boy gulp in fear, “We’ve seen you creep around that cute hufflepuff- what was her name again?” He pretends to think, allowing a grinning Peter to take over. 

“Yeah, you’ve been creeping around that cutie, (Your Name), for far too long. We’ve noticed you following her like a kicked puppy,” Remus shoves Severus into the wall, causing the 6’1 (1.85 m) man to hit it harshly. 

“Don’t think we haven’t noticed you telling her lies about us,” Confusion is clear on the tall man’s face, causing all four of them to scoff, “She refuses to hang out with us, because she claims we harass you! That’s not true, is it, Snape-boy?” 

“I-well, uhm-”

“I-well, uhm,” James mocks, a knowing grin on his devilish features, “Don’t be nervous, we won’t hurt you.”

“Well, you lot haven’t been too kind to me these past few years,” More scoffs echo off the cobblestone walls, making the tall man feel small. 

“That’s not true, and you know it. We’ve been joking around with you, because we’re friends, aren’t we?” Remus reassures condescendingly, “Plus, friends tell friends when they’re wrong. You’re wrong for pursuing (Your Name), because Remus, here,” He slaps the dirty blond man on the back good-naturedly, “Liked her first. So, having you around, writing in your creepy notebooks about her, will no longer be appreciated.” 

An angry flush covers Snape’s pale cheeks, “It-it’s not like that! (Your Name) is my friend, please don’t make me-”

“Make you? We never make you do anything. We’re just suggesting you leave her alone, unless you want us to take matters into our own hands.” 

Sweat beads on the brow of the black haired man, as he tried to look around for anyone willing to help. No one besides the five of them are in the hall. 

“No,” The four raise a collective eyebrow at his disobedience, “No, I won’t stop being friends with (Your Name). I don’t care what you do to me.”

“That’s sweet, really, but I’m going to have to change your mind,” Remus snarls, his hands balling into fists. In a swift motion, the dirty blond man starts to punch at Severus’ face and chest. The tall man doesn’t have time to put his hands up, getting wailed in the head and torso multiple times. 

The blond’s friends jump in as well, quickly bringing their victim to the floor. Their kicks and hits are rapid paced, disorienting him relatively quickly. He curls into the fetus position, trying to protect his head, luckily stopping their punches. 

His assault continues for a few moments more, before he’s dragged to his feet, and held against the wall by the collar of his shirt, “Are you going to leave her alone now?” 

Snape shakes his head, blood dripping down his face, entire body aching, “No, I won’t. I let you lot walk all over me for far too long. We’re in our last year, why are you acting as if we’re first years?” 

Remus tightens his grip around his collar, teeth bared like an animal, “That’s the wrong answer.”

The blond raises a fist to punch him once more, only to be stopped by a familiar voice. 

“What are you doing?” Your concerned voice rings through the hall, along with your running footsteps. Hurrying up to the group of boys, you start to shove at Remus, trying to break his hold on your close friend (crush), “Let him go! Are you crazy?” 

Your friends are seen down the hall, looking at you in both surprise and slight disdain, “(Your Name), stay out of their business. Once they settle it, everything will be fine-”

“You can’t honestly think that I’ll let them hurt Severus! He’s our friend, and-”

“Stop standing up for him, he’s a total creep. The Marauders are doing you a favour-” You block out what your friends are saying, continuing to push at the blond’s hands. 

“Stop it, Remus! Just leave him alone!” He quickly pulls away, causing you to sigh in relief, only for you to be the one pinned against the wall. Your friend is being held by the blond’s lackeys, holding him back from helping you. Your other friends watch on in horror.

“Why must you always get in my way, Love? I’m trying to teach him a lesson,” You wrinkle your nose in disgust, trying to wriggle out of his grip. 

“Don’t call me that. Just leave Severus and I alone. I understand that you have taken a liking towards me, but that doesn’t excuse your horrid behaviour. If anything, it makes me dislike you! You’re nasty, big headed, crude, and mean for virtually no reason! I don’t understand why you and your friends act this way-”

“He doesn’t deserve your affection!” He blurts out without thinking, his grip on your wrists tightening, “He hangs around you like a dark shadow, he makes everyone around him uncomfortable-”

“I think he’s cute,” You snap out uncharacteristically, “In fact, him following me around is harmless; you following me around, on the other hand, is very harmful. People are afraid to talk to me because of you, and he’s one of the only people who stayed being my friend. I don’t want to hear you talk badly about him, when he has made my life better than it was before.”

Remus releases you after a long moment of silence, a hurt look on his handsome features, “Fine. Stay with the freak if you want to, just don’t come crying to me-”

“I won’t. I won’t seek you out, ever,” The blond motions towards his friends, prompting them to release your friend. You hurry to the dark haired man, cupping his face with soft hands, “Are you alright, Severus? They didn’t hurt you too badly did they?” His lip trembles, signaling oncoming tears, prompting you to turn towards your friends and wave off their concern, “It’s alright, you guys go to class, I’ll take him to the nurse.”

They stalked off, Remus constantly looking back at you. Unfortunately for him, all of your attention is on a certain tall man. 

“Come along, Sev, let’s go to the nurse,” He shakes his head as he sobs uncontrollably, “No? Well, I can’t let you stay battered… Do you want to go to my dormitory? I’ll heal you there,” He nods, allowing you to half-drag-half-pull him towards the Hufflepuff dorm. You’d picked up his things and set them in your satchel, before heading off. Many cast the Slytherin man questioning looks, but quickly realised who was helping him. You’re known as one of the kindest souls at Hogwarts, so it’s not too unlike you to help the freaks of the school. 

Once in your room, you help him sit on your full size mattress. You share the room with only one other girl, leaving two empty beds between the both of you. Luckily, she’s out of the room, most likely at her boyfriend’s dorm room. 

Sitting beside him, you quickly pull out your wand, “This might feel a bit weird, but I promise I’m helping,” You murmur a healing spell to yourself, watching as his skin becomes smooth and even toned once more, “There we go! Good as-oh no, why are you crying again? Did it hurt?” 

Hearing your distraught voice, he tries to comfort you whilst bawling his eyes out, “Nu-no, no, you du-did nothing wu-wrong,” He throws his arms around you, bringing you into a tight hug, “It-it’s just… You treat me so well, and-and I love you so much-” He cuts himself off to hide his face in your neck. Oh no, he just accidentally confessed!

You giggle to yourself at his shy behaviour, and run a hand through his messy hair, “It’s because I love you too, silly,” When you say that, Severus practically feels his soul leave his body. His Darling loves him?

“You-you love me too?” Nodding against him, you cuddle him sweetly. You rub his back reassuringly, rocking him slightly. 

“Yep! I’ve liked you for the past few years, but I never had the courage to confess,” He raises his head, looking at you with watery eyes. 

“Really?” When you nod, he can’t help himself, “Can I- Can I please have a kiss?” 

“Of course!” You lean forward, giving him a sweet peck. Severus practically creams his pants at the feeling of your lips on his. Seeing his bright red face, you frown a bit, moving his hair out of his face, “Are you alright? Did I make you feel uncomfortable?” 

“No! No, it was nice,” A dreamy smile crosses his handsome features, as he leans in again, “Can I please have another one?” Smiling, you nod, smooching him softly once more. 

This, in turn, turns into a whole makeout session. You slide onto his lap, making it easier for you to reach his mouth. Your new seating arrangements allow you to feel his hard cock under your ass, a small smile quirking its way onto your lips, “Are you excited, Sevvy?” You hear a small whimper in response, causing you to giggle, “Do you want me to help you?”

“Please?” Instead of responding, you start to grind against his clothed cock. Your panty clad cunny is directly against his fly, your skirt just barely covering your ass. Grabbing his hands, you place them on your hips, their massive size making you feel secure. Severus whines at your grinding movement, hips bucking into your own. To silence him, you give him an open mouthed kiss, your tongue dominating his own. 

Drawing away from his mouth, there’s a long string of saliva connecting you both together. Using a manicured finger, you break it, and bring it to your mouth. Your tongue darts out, licking your shared spit off seductively, “Do you want me to fuck you, Sevvy? Wanna be inside of me?” 

“Yes! Yes, please!” You run a hand over his clothing clad chest, kissing him on the cheek. 

“Okay, Baby. Do you want me to suck your cock? Or do you wanna eat me out?” His hands grip at the fat of your hips, drool practically dripping from his gaping mouth. 

“Let me eat you, please,” Snape begs, bucking slightly into you. You cup his face with both hands and grin, pinching his cheeks teasingly. 

“Okie dokie, Sevvy. Lay back for me,” He drops back like a corpse, flopping haphazardly on your, surprisingly comfortable, mattress. Unzipping your uniform skirt, you slide it down your legs, tossing it on the other side of your bed. Your cute boyfriend gasps at the sight of your thong, never seeing one before. Chuckling at his shocked reaction, you quickly strip yourself of your blazer and dress shirt, exposing your lace bralette, “Do you like what you see?” 

His head practically snaps off his neck with how fast he nods, “You look so… so beautiful, (Your Name). I feel so lucky to see you this way,” A dark blush coats your (skin colour) cheeks, as you look away a bit shyly. 

“Thank you. Will you let me see you undressed?” He squeaks out a ‘yes,’ prompting you to practically rip off his slacks, dress shirt, and blazer. Only in his drawers, your heart jumps into your throat. His broad shoulder and lightly muscled abdomen look wonderfully full, and the very apparent bulge in his boxers make you lick your lips hungrily, “Are you ready to eat my pussy, Sev?”

“Yes, please sit on my face,” You gawk at his out-of-character words, but do as he asks. Slipping your panties off, you scoot forward, placing your bare cunny on his awaiting maw. He helps you settle on him by wrapping his arms around your (Size) thighs, relishing the feeling of your fat being squished between his forearm and bicep. 

Because he wrapped his arms over your legs, he is able to part your pussy lips, giving him easy access to your throbbing core. He gives an experimental lick to your slit, making your legs tremble. Now knowing that he’s doing something right, he dives in like  a man starved. His teeth lightly nip at your engorged clit, all whilst his tongue dips into your dripping hole. A squeal leaves your lips, signaling the pleasure you’re currently feeling. 

Gripping his head by his hair, you throw your head back in pleasure, “Ye-yes! You’re doing so well for me!” He keens at your praise, increasing the speed of his ministrations. Though you can tell that he’s a virgin, he’s exceeding your expectations by a long shot. Lightly grinding against his face, more moans and whimpers leave your throat, your entire body becoming rigid as your orgasm approaches. With one last well placed suck, you’re cumming into his open mouth. Your juices run down his chin and splash against his cheekbones, causing Snape’s heart to practically beat out of his chest. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Moving off of his face, you pat him on the head affectionately, “Did I do good?” He wipes some of your juices off of his mug, before slurping them down. 

“You were amazing, Sevvy. Have you done this before?” He shakes his head no, making you coo softly, “You’re a natural! Such a good boy.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” It’s like his entire body took a screenshot, with how still he became. He must have thought you’d be disgusted… but you aren’t. Instead, a small moan leaves your lips, before you bring him up into a hug. 

“My Baby Boy likes calling me Mommy? You’re so adorable,” You reach down to his cock, pulling him out with a tender touch. His tip is a dark pink, his precum dripping down his thick length. A large vein runs up the underside of his circumcised prick, and you can’t wait to sit on it, “Is it ok for Mommy to sit on your pretty cock, Sevvy?” You slip him between your cunny lips, grinding down on his length, and mixing your liquids together. 

“Ye-yes, Mommy! Please, please fuck me!” Taking him in one hand, you guide him to your opening, before pushing his tip inside teasingly. His whimper causes a gush of your slick to coat his length, helping you ease down him, until your pelvises touch. You can feel his dark, trimmed pubic hair rub against your cunny, making you squeeze down experimentally, “You-you’re so tight!” 

Smiling at him coyly, you reach behind you, and unclasp your bra, letting your perfect tits jiggle enticingly. You toss it aside, before grasping Severus’ hands, and guiding them to your breasts. He immediately squeezes, loving the feeling of them in his hands. You let out a small whimper, moving your hips in a circular motion, ultimately grinding him against your cervix. 

“Can I move, Pretty Boy?” Groans of pleasure rattle his chest, as you start to suck dark hickies onto his pristine skin. 

“Yes! Yes!” Giggling, you quickly lift your hips almost off of his cock, before slamming down harshly. Both of you groan in pleasure, signaling you to increase your pace. Moving at lightning speed, you start to bounce rapidly. Tits jiggling in the Slytherin boy’s hands, you bring him into a heated kiss. 

You swallow down his desperate whines, your hands pulling at his unkempt locks. Juices dripping down his cock, both of your thighs are quickly covered by your essence. His abdomen rubs against your clit with every bounce, bringing you closer and closer to your release. 

Breaking from the kiss, you suck on the skin of his throat, before speaking, “You’re so big, Sevvy. My pussy can barely handle how thick you are,” His hips meet yours, hitting your cervix harshly. A loud moan escapes you, “Fu-fuck! You’re so good for Mommy! Come on, Darling, meet my movement, and you can cum inside.”

At your words, he starts a breakneck pace, meeting your every movement with a mighty thrust. Your hands reach up to pinch his pretty, pink nipples, making him falter in his movements. 

“Mommy! Mommy-you feel so good! Please let me cum inside!” Increasing almost impossibly in speed, you feel yourself quickly hurtling over the edge. 

“Gu-go ahead! Mommy wants you to cum with her!” With one last sitting movement, the both of you orgasm harshly. Your back arches almost painfully, as you feel him fill you to the brim with thick, hot cum. Your own juices squirt out, coating the both of you in a sheen of white sperm and a glossy cunny juice. 

Severus face plants into your chest, practically drowning in your perfect teats. Whilst catching your breath, you run your hands through his hair, loving how silky the strands are. 

“You did well, Sevvy. You were so good for me,” You fully embrace him, as he buries his head further into your plush chest. 

“Th-thank you, Mommy, I’m glad I was good enough for you,” Bringing his face up to your level (wish is relatively hard, because he’s tall), you smile sweetly at him. 

“You’re always enough for me,” Kissing him on the forehead, you cuddle into him for a while longer. 

While you’re content and happy, Severus is over the moon. 

The girl he’d pined over for years is finally within his grasp! He’d have to write this moment down the moment he gets to his dorm! 

He’s just one step closer to stealing her away the moment they graduate. Hopefully, you’ll still be the homemaker he knows you’re meant to be, even if you’re a bit angry at him at first. 

Wrapping his arms tightly around you, he knows that you’re the only one for him. Hopefully, you think the same, too.

[mochegato]

Heroic Deeds

Thanks to @boldlyanxious and @ive-fallen-down-the-rabbithole for the idea

 Marinette was going to kill her roommate.  Because that’s why she was in this situation in the first place, her roommate was too busy to pick up his own damn paperwork.  And she was just too “nice” to say no.  And puppy dog eyes should be illegal.  In fact, that was the next house rule.  No puppy dog eyes.  She has never in her life been able to say no to puppy dog eyes and mean it.  Manon, Etta, Ella, Adrien… no more!  Hence forth they were banned.  It was already a rule with the kwami.  It would just have to be instituted as a rule with humans as well.

But until then, she had to deal with this ridiculousness.  This thief that sounded like he was bored out of his mind, like she was inconveniencing him by being held hostage.  Is it too much to ask for him to be more invested in this than she is?  I mean, she may be the one with the gun pointed at her, but he’s the one that’s pointing it and he’s the one that broke into the office to steal whatever documents he was halfheartedly looking for during the day instead of at night when NOBODY WOULD BE THERE.  

But noooo, this jackass had to do it during the day and at the exact moment when she would be there. Really, what was her luck?  Was this punishment for not wearing Tikki constantly anymore?  She was only supposed to be in this office for a total of a whole ninety seconds. Walk in, grab the documents that were supposed to be ready and waiting for her, and walk out.  But instead she was stuck here critiquing this idiot’s ransacking skills, because that ninety seconds is exactly when this blasé thief decided to strike.  

At least Kate was safe, she huffed to herself.  Kate had been lucky enough to have gone to the backroom for the documents just a few seconds before Idiot Man came in.  Hopefully, she had escaped through the backdoor and had contacted the police already.  Because apparently Kate hadn’t pissed off the kwami of luck like Marinette somehow had.  She and Tikki were going to have a very long, very hissy discussion when she got back home.

And this guy wasn’t. Even.  Paying.  Attention. To.  Her.  The gun was pointed in her general direction, but it was like she was the furthest thing from his mind, like she held the same threat level as a kitten.  But that was his mistake, underestimating her, because this kitten had claws.  God, she’s been hanging out with Adrien too much.  She’s beginning to think like him.  She let out a breath and banged her head against the back of the chair she was sitting in out of frustration and disappointment in herself.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he was ignoring her to focus on his search, but he wasn’t really paying attention to that either.  She would think he was high on something if there were any other signs of it.  No, this just was just bored, like he was wasting time, waiting for the police to show up.  Maybe it’s the ski mask he was wearing that was annoying him.  Who wears a ski mask in the summer?  And… did he just check his phone!  Oh, Hell no!  That was the final straw.

She moved before she could overthink it, sliding over the desk she had moved behind when he came in. She plowed into his chest with both feet, catching him completely off guard and knocking him back into the filing cabinet.  

“Hey, get off me!” he yelled, sounding more affronted than worried.  

She twisted around and kicked the gun out of his hand with one leg, following it up with a punch that would have broken his nose if he hadn’t blocked it with his forearm, redirecting her hit.  She stopped her momentum before breaking her hand on the filing cabinet.  She pulled her arm back instead striking her elbow directly into his cheek.

“What the fuck!” he yelled, holding his cheek and looking up at her like she was crazy.

He reached for his gun, but she kicked his arm and raced for it herself, kicking it under a nearby cabinet. “That was my gun!” he gritted out, rounding on her.  At least he finally looked invested in this.

“I noticed,” she smirked at him, delivering a roundhouse kick to the face.  He dodged at the last second and shoved her leg, changing her momentum and sending her flying toward the edge of the table.  She squeezed her eyes shut as she braced herself for the impact. If she timed this right, she could use the table as a springboard to go back at him.  The table was solidly built from thick, heavy wood and metal.  It had to weigh several hundred pounds.  It would be able to take her weight without moving even a centimeter.  She took a breath to prepare, but the impact was significantly softer than she had anticipated and didn’t give her the bounce back she expected, causing her to end up sprawled on the floor instead of springing back at the thief.  

Before she had even registered what happened, she heard a grunt in front of her and the sound of the table scraping against the floor as it moved.  She looked up to a red helmet looking back at her.  Her eyes flicked down quickly to his chest as if she needed the confirmation the bright red bat there gave her.  He stood up quickly, rubbing his shoulder as he approached her. He knelt down in front of her. “You okay?”  His voice was considerably softer than she would have anticipated from the vigilante considered to be the most dangerous of the bats.

She stared at him for a few seconds, shocked by the tone and to see him there in the first place.  She had been expecting the police not a bat. It was daytime, everyone knew they didn’t come out during the day.  The bat signal didn’t work during the day.  “Miss,” he tried again, his voice taking on a concerned edge.

“Oh!  Yes.  Yeah. I’m fine.”  She nodded rapidly and reached down to rub her leg where the thief had pushed her, more to relieve anxiety than because it actually hurt.  

“You’re hurt.”  It was a comment, not a question.

“It’s okay, really,” she tried to assure him, but he was already up and stalking toward the thief who had started edging toward the door.  Marinette mentally scoffed at his stupidity.  She understood underestimating her, she was an unknown and looked tiny.  But Red Hood was a known entity.  His threat level was well established.  Why on Earth wouldn’t the thief have run as soon as he appeared?

“Hood…” he started nervously, holding up his hands as though trying to placate him.

Whatever other argument he was going to try to make died on his lips as Hood picked him up and threw him through the large, plate glass, front window.  He stood at the window for a few seconds, watching the thief run away. Satisfied with what he saw, he turned back to her.  “How badly are you hurt?”  He approached her slowly.  He rolled his shoulder a few times, almost imperceptibly.  If she hadn’t been familiar with trying to hide an injury, she might have missed it.

Marinette smiled at him.  “I’m not. Are you?  Did I hurt your shoulder when I slammed into you?”

“Are you sure?”  He stopped a respectable distance from her.  He seemed to eye her leg suspiciously, but backed off questioning it. “I mean emotionally too.  An incident like that can be stressful for some people.”

Marinette rolled her eyes.  “Please, that wasn’t stressful.  That was annoying.  And you didn’t answer my question.  How is your shoulder?”

Red Hood paused for a few seconds watching her.  “It’s fine.  You weren’t afraid?”

Marinette scoffed.  “No. The most stressful part of this is I’m supposed to be picking up some important documents for my roommate and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get them now.”

“If you didn’t feel afraid of what he would do, why did you attack him?  You could have provoked him into doing something he wasn’t going to do before,” he gently chided her.

Marinette let out an annoyed sigh.  “You sound like my roommate.”

“Sounds like a wise man. Why didn't you listen?” He cocked his head to the side.

She mumbled something into her feet, not making eye contact with him.

He arched his head closer to her.  “What was that?”  She mumbled something again, slightly louder this time, but still not loud enough for him to understand what she said.  “What?”

“Because he pissed me off.  Okay?” she finally yelled in exasperation.

“What did he do to piss you off?” he asked carefully, because if the guy did anything to hurt her, he was going to hunt the asshole down and kill him.

“He was bored,” she growled.  “He was holding me at gunpoint and acting like I was the one that forced him into the situation and it pissed me off, okay.  I mean the audacity!” Red Hood fought laughing at the adorable scrunched up face she made as she talked.  She waved her arms around agitatedly as she spoke.  “You don't want to be here?  Newsflash, asshole!  Neither do I! I mean, if you’re going to threaten me, put some effort into it, you know?  Am I not worth the effort?”

“You are.” Red Hood answered instantly.  “I mean, you seem like you are… from what I can tell.”

“It’s just disrespectful,” she groused, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting as she leaned against the table.

“Extremely,” he agreed absently, staring at her pouting lips.  “Lucky for you though.  Seems like he underestimated you.  I don’t even think you needed this knight in shining leather to rescue you.”

She huffed out a laugh.  “I already have a knight in shining leather.  Two, actually, if you count my roommate, which I do.  I don’t really need another.”

He motioned like he wanted to take his helmet off but stopped himself.  He positioned his arm on the table she was leaning on, supporting his weight as he leaned closer to her.  “But are they heroes?”  

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.  “I mean… to me,” she added quickly.  She didn’t need anyone making any kind of a connection between her and Chat.

He seemed to contemplate her for a moment before responding.  “You must be quite something to have so many knights willing to fight for you.  But, maybe you can use another, after all they’re not here right now and I am.  I can be your knight in shining Kevlar instead.”

She chuckled, looking down shyly.  When she looked back up, it was through her eyelashes.  “Yes, you are here and during the day too,” she smirked at him.  “I didn’t think you guys could come out during the day.  I thought sun repelled you.”

“You’re thinking of vampires.”

She pretended to study him carefully.  “So you’re stating for the official record that you are not, in fact, vampires then?  Just regular bats.  Interesting.” She looked away nodding as if in thought.  “I’ll have to let my friend know you’re refuting that theory.  She runs a superhero blog.  The vampire Bats theory is one of the more popular posts.”

He chuckled and she could hear the smile through his words. “We aren’t.  Well, I’m not.  Can’t vouch for Robin though.  He’s definitely some kind of cryptid.”

Her face was starting to hurt from trying to contain her smile. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him.  “Although… you could be lying.  After all, you are entirely covered right now… in the middle of the day… in the summer. That’s a lot of leather for a hot day. It kind of looks like you’re hiding from the sun.”  She shrugged her shoulders innocently.

Red Hood stared at her a few more seconds and she was cursing the helmet for an entirely different reason than she usually did.  Right now she was dying to know what kind of face he was making.  Was he smirking?  Was he frowning?  Was he blushing?  Did she make Red Hood blush!  Was he enjoying the interaction or was she annoying him?  He moved over to the window he had thrown the thief through earlier and stopped a few feet from it.  He pulled up his sleeve to reveal his forearm and exposed it to the sun.  “Happy?”

Marinette looked at his forearm for a few seconds, struck by the muscles that were so defined even in his forearms.  The things that man could probably do with his hands… She walked closer and started to reach out to touch his forearm only to snap her hand back at the last second.  Her cheeks blazed brightly.  She cleared her throat lightly.  “For now,” she nodded as casually as she could manage, looking everywhere but his eyes.

“Don’t feel shy, P… rincess,” he smirked at her. “Feel free to feel freely.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, as much to stop herself from reaching out to touch him as embarrassment. “Probably not a good idea to go around groping people you don’t know so….”

“So,” he started quietly, moving closer to her, “you’re saying you want to get to know me better and then you’ll grope me.” He quirked his head to the side as he took another step closer.  “How well do we have to know each other for that?  ‘Cuz, I’d let you do it now, so it’s all up to you.”

Marinette’s cheeks blazed a deep red.  She looked away to collect herself.  While this was fun and Red Hood’s body should be as illegal as his actions, she wasn’t looking to be another notch for him and considering the speed he was moving with someone he just met a few seconds ago, that’s all she would be.  She took a breath and looked back up at him.  “I’m saying… I should find the papers I was sent here for and get them back to my roommate.”

“Let me walk you home.  Make sure the guy doesn’t come back.  I can check the security of your place too to make sure you’re safe,” he offered in a tone that sounded sincere.

“Okay,” she nodded.

“Okay?”  He sounded surprised at her answer.  Most women must not say yes to him, which frankly she had a really hard time believing.

“To the walk, not the apartment check,” she corrected him firmly.  “My apartment is safe.”

“Are you sure?  I can…”

“My roommate made sure it’s safe and I trust my roommate more than I trust you,” she cut him off.  “No offense.”

Red Hood was silent for a few seconds before nodding.  “Okay.”

<><><><><> 

Marinette laid down on the couch for a while after getting home replaying the events in her head. No matter how many times she ran through them, they still didn’t make any sense.  The thief didn’t make sense.  Red Hood being there during the day didn’t make sense.  And Red Hood hitting on her… didn’t not make sense, but it definitely dampened the crush she had on him.  

After a little while, her stomach reminded her she had planned to pick up something to eat after picking up the paperwork, which means she hadn’t eaten since the croissant she had at breakfast and it was now dinnertime.  She let out a groan and forced herself up off the couch.  Maybe chopping some vegetables would make her feel better anyway.

She had already started sautéing the onions when the puppy dog eyed man himself finally made it home.  “That smells great, Mari.  Were you able to get the paperwork?”

Marinette blinked at him a few times before narrowing her eyes and pointing the knife she was holding at him.  “You’re not allowed to do puppy dog eyes anymore!”

“What?  Why?  I mean… I don’t… do that,” he trailed off quietly at the glare she was sending him.

“Yes, you do,” she glowered and went back to cutting vegetables for dinner a little more forcefully than she had originally.

“So what happened that was so bad?” he asked carefully.  He moved to sit on the counter, but made sure to keep a fair distance between him and Marinette, or more specifically, her knife.

“The office got robbed!” she exclaimed loudly, waving the knife wildly.  “While I was in it!”

He jumped down off the counter and ran to her.  He grabbed her shoulders and looked her over carefully for any signs of injury.  “Mari!  Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Marinette scoffed.  “No.  I just started trying to take him down when Red Hood interrupted.”

“Red Hood, huh?”  He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Yes, Red Hood,” she rolled her eyes.  “Shut up.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it quickly and took the knife from her hand first.  Once he was fairly safe from getting stabbed, accidentally or on purpose, he continued.  “Did you flirt with him?”

“What?” Her cheeks flared brightly.  What the hell!  Why was he asking her that?  That was not a conversation she wanted to have.  It was hard enough to have normal conversations with him and his tight shirts and charming smile and piercing eyes, but him encouraging her to flirt with other people was really not a conversation she wanted to have.

“Well you… you like him, right?  You said he was your favorite and he was a dilf, even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have any kids,” he said nonchalantly as he swirled the onions in the pan.

“Yeah, because he could be my daddy,” Marinette muttered to herself, but apparently not as quietly as she thought she did, judging by the choking sounds next to her.

“What!”

“What?”  The smug smirk making its way across his face told her that her denial didn’t come across as innocently as she had hoped.  “Shut up, Jason.”

“So he made a good impression then?” He asked somewhat awkwardly, which was bizarre for him. “You might even want to see him again?”

She smacked him in the shoulder pausing when he flinched heavily.  She stared at him, studying him closely.  That was where Red Hood had been nursing earlier.  Red Hood, who has the same dimensions as Jason.  Red Hood, who had a still healing cut on his forearm in the exact same spot as the one Jason mysteriously showed up with a few days ago.  Red Hood, who knew her roommate was a he.  Red Hood, who reminded her so much of Jason, which is why she liked him so much in the first place.  Red Hood, who was definitely flirting with her as he rescued her while she was the only one… in Jason’s aunt’s office… after saving her from someone who, thinking back, had the same dimensions and eye color as Roy…

“Oh he made an impression,” she said absentmindedly, still staring at his shoulder.

“A… um, a good one?  He did save you, right?  Heroic deeds and all?  Women love a hero,” Jason added casually.

Marinette stared at him for a few seconds, letting the pieces settle into place.  Finally, her eyes widened in realization.  “You set it up…”

Jason’s face went blank. “I… What?”

“You set it up,” Marinette repeated with more confidence.  “You… Why?”

“What are you talking about?” Jason tried desperately.

She punched him hard in the shoulder.  “Jesus! Fuck, Pixie.  That hurt.” Jason cried out as he rubbed his aching shoulder.

“Good!  What the fuck?  Why would you do that?  Were you trying to scare me?”

“No!  I was… Because… because you liked Red Hood.  I wanted you to meet him,” he said defensively.  He looked away and took a breath.  When he looked back, his voice was quieter, shakier. “You wanted Red Hood and… and I wanted you so…”

“You know, you could have just, I don’t know, popped up on the roof when I was there or showed up when I was walking home.  You didn’t have to stage a robbery!  Think about all that damage Kate has to deal with now!”

“She was remodeling anyway. She needed to demo the entire office so… two birds, you know?”  He shrugged a little too casually to be casual and flipped the onions again.

“And one bat.” He rolled his eyes at her.  “Or you could have just… said something”

“You weren’t interested in me.  You were interested in Red Hood.”

Marinette let out a long sigh.  “I was interested in Red Hood because he reminded me of you.”

His eyes widened in realization.  “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.  And liking him seemed less emotionally damaging than destroying my relationship with you by flirting.”

“You thought I wasn’t interested?”  He looked at her incredulously.  She looked down at her feet, shuffling them awkwardly, refusing to make eye contact, almost like she was afraid of what he was going to say.  He couldn’t allow that to continue.  He turned off the stove and walked up to her slowly, careful not to scare her, just like Red Hood had earlier that day.  He gently cupped her face, softly enough that she could pull away if she wanted to.  He stroked her cheeks tenderly.  

When he finally spoke up again, his voice was loving and reverent.  “Pix, I’m head over heels.  I don’t think you even… no, I know you don’t know how much or you wouldn’t question why I tried talking to you as Red Hood instead.  I love you, Pix.  I love your heart and your humor and your sass and your passion… and your face.  I love that too.  

“And God, your smiles. I love your smile when you’re happy, which is different than your smile when you beat me at UMS, which is different than your smile when you see a little kitten, which is different than your smile when you’re thinking about home, which is different than your smile after you’ve completed a commission, which is different than your smile when I make an amazing joke that you hate.  I love them all and I just want to see any of them, all of them, every day.”

He didn’t realize how close he had gotten to Marinette’s face until he realized the gasp she let out sounded like it was right next to him.  She laid her hands over his wrists.  “Jason…”

“And I really hope I didn’t…”

“Jason!” she interrupted. He looked at her wide eyed.  She smiled reassuringly at him.  “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh God, Pixie, you can’t imagine how happy that would make me,” he smiled down at her, lowering himself so his lips were close enough for her to reach.

She grinned back up at him as she pushed herself up, her lips a few millimeters from his.  “Oh, I think I have an idea,” she whispered before closing the distance.

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver

[cheapthrillsbeca]

how about #11?

11. “I thought I would be okay with just being friends but… All I can think of when I’m around you is how badly I want to kiss you and how I can’t do that anymore.”

This is how it starts: with a heat-of-the-moment kiss backstage after the USO tour, when Beca pulls Chloe to her because she just can’t take it anymore. 

Because there’s been this tension building between them for years and Beca’s sick of Jesses and Chicagos getting in the way of figuring out what, exactly, it means.

So she closes her eyes and jumps off the cliff head-first, reeling Chloe in by her hand and covering her mouth with her own. Time freezes and Beca hangs there, suspended, for a single terrifying second before Chloe kisses her back.

She crash lands, then, and keeps crashing, over and over, as Chloe threads her fingers into Beca’s hair, traces along the shell of her ear, hitches Beca’s leg around her hip, pulling her up onto her toes.  

***

Beca is the kind of person who finds comfort in heading down a known path. She sets goals and lays plans and, while she’s willing to deviate from them when it makes sense, she generally knows where she’ll end up.

Tonight, she knows where she’s going when Chloe links their fingers together and pulls Beca to a taxi, to the hotel elevator, to Beca’s own room. 

She knows where it’s going when Chloe walks her backwards until her thighs bump against the bed. 

She knows where it’s going when Chloe helps her shimmy out of her skirt, when Chloe’s boots land heavily somewhere on the carpeted floor.

She knows where it’s going when Chloe’s mouth scorches a wet trail down her body, when all Beca can do is fist her hand in Chloe’s hair and try her best to be quiet. 

So yeah, she knows where it’s going. 

But she doesn’t know where it will lead.

***

This is where it leads: to love bites and sore muscles and sated, sleepy smiles.

To a heady few weeks of awe-stuck happiness. Back in New York, back in their apartment where they’re now free to share their bed exactly as they’d like, thanks to Amy jetting off somewhere before coming home. 

Beca still doesn’t know what this is, but she knows that this is exactly what it’s meant to feel like. 

They spend full days in bed, and when their empty stomachs can’t be ignored they venture out onto dark streets for slices of pizza or cartons of Chinese food or chicken and rice from Beca’s favorite food truck. They sleep tangled up together, even when it’s sticky out and their feeble air conditioner can’t muster more than a cool breeze. They keep their phones on Do Not Disturb and sit together in the bath, Beca leaning back against Chloe and closing her eyes, trying her best to commit every sensation to memory.

Because three weeks are almost up and she’s worked it out; she knows where it will lead, now.

Soon, it leads to emails and voicemails that can’t be ignored.

It leads to signed contracts and packed bags and an ambiguous goodbye.

It leads to missed FaceTimes and unsatisfying phone calls and this heavy feeling in Beca’s chest, like she’s trying to give a part of herself to too many people and disappointing everyone.

***

This is how it ends: with two short texts letting her off the hook.

Chloe [10:03 p.m.]: it’s okay, becs

Chloe [10:03 p.m.]: we tried

***

(Beca isn’t sure she wanted to be let off the hook.)

(She isn’t sure what they were trying for, either. Or that she tried her best.)

(The only thing she’s sure of is that she’s never felt worse.)

***

Eventually, it gets better. Gets easier.

They go back to being friends. 

And it works, for a while. Because Beca’s traveling a lot now and it’d be impossible to see Chloe in this stage of her new life, but it helps to know she’s there, at the other end of the phone.

It’s for the best, she tells herself.

***

(It’s a lie.)

***

This is where it comes to a head: in the upstairs bathroom of Beca’s rented house, during the after-after party to celebrate her album release.

She’d invited the Bellas to come out a few days early to hang out in LA and of course they all agreed -- even Amy, who’s living in Saint Tropez now, apparently.

Even Chloe.

Chloe, who Beca knows has been trying her very best to act like everything is okay between them. 

Chloe, who pretended not to notice that Beca hugged her for a little too long or, once she finally pulled away, that her gaze dropped to Chloe’s lips. 

Chloe, who must have known that Beca was following her up the stairs, because when she walks into the bathroom she doesn’t bother to shut the door.

Beca steps inside the small room and closes the door behind her, stands there with the doorknob pressing into her back. She watches Chloe, who’s at the vanity, palms flat on the marble countertop as she stares down at the sink.

The silence stretches on and on, and Beca doesn’t know how they’ll ever get past it.

Then Chloe makes a quiet sound -- something between a whimper and a sob -- and it cuts through Beca like a knife. Beca rushes over and tugs on her wrist until Chloe turns around to face her. Her eyes are wet, and the knife twists in Beca’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe says, tensing her jaw and glancing up at the ceiling. “I thought I would be okay with just being friends but… All I can think of when I’m around you is how badly I want to kiss you and how I can’t do that anymore.”

And Beca gets that feeling again, like time has frozen, or like she’s watching this moment unfold from afar, like it’s happening to someone else.

Because she should be the one apologizing. The one saying those words. The one confessing how she feels.

It hits her then, out of nowhere. 

She always knew what this was.

She always knew where they’d end up.

She just didn’t know she knew it. Her mind’s fun like that, sometimes.

Beca steps in and cradles Chloe’s face in her hands. She rubs her thumbs across her cheeks, smoothing the tears away.

“What if we could, though?” she asks softly. 

“Beca…” Chloe lets out a shuddering breath. “We can’t. It’s too hard,” she says, even as her hands land on Beca’s waist. “We- we tried.” 

“I should’ve tried harder,” Beca whispers. She rests her forehead against Chloe’s, eyes squeezed shut. “I was so dumb, baby, I didn’t know. But I can try harder, okay? I promise. Let me try?”

Beca can tell Chloe’s silently warring within herself, struggling with what to do next. Her body betrays her, though, because her arms close around Beca, pulling her closer.

“You didn’t know what?”

And that’s when Beca starts to cry. She holds Chloe against her as she tells her all the things she didn’t know, saving the one chief among them for last. 

When she’s done Chloe doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t take a breath, doesn’t make a sound. 

(Beca’s plummeting again, down, down, down.)

Then, with a sharp inhale, Chloe tilts her head to the side and finds Beca’s lips. Their cheeks are wet and they’re both trembling, but Beca thinks it’s the best kiss she’s ever had.

It feels like a beginning.

***

She knows where it’s going, now.

She knows where it will lead.

***

(She can’t fucking wait to get there.)

***

This is how it really starts: with Beca’s voice breaking as she reaches the last item on her long list of confessions.

“I didn’t know I was so desperately in love with you, Chlo.”

[mrsdeanwinchester19]

The Dinner-Sequel to The Interview

Pairing: Steve x reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Sequel to The Interview.  Steve takes his wife to meet his team after her interview

Warnings: None

“Steve, do you think this dress is ok?” I ask, coming out of our walk-in closet wearing my lace, off the shoulder red dress.  Steve is taking me to dinner with the team tonight, so I want to make a good first impression.  Most people would think I’ve met the team before, but Steve kept our relationship a secret in the beginning and then the team broke up because of the Accords and we got married when we were on the run, so we really couldn’t invite any of the team members.

We had our wedding in Norway, one of the few countries that hadn’t signed the Accords.  They claimed they didn’t sign because if a non-government owned unit made from people from different countries called the Alsos Unit hadn’t helped them in World War II, the Germans would have succeeded in creating an Atomic bomb in their country.  In Norway, there was one team member, Thor, who was visiting Earth; he vouched for us.

After our wedding, we went to Wakanda on our honeymoon and visited Bucky. We had been having dinner with Bucky, T’Challa, and Shuri when we told him we got married.  He was upset that he couldn’t be there, but he understood when he found out the wedding happened when he was asleep.  When he said Steve could make it up to him by naming his first son James; Steve started choking on his Umqombothi drink.  I know Steve wants kids, but he wasn’t willing to have them while being on the run. Now that we’re not hiding, we’re actively trying for a baby.  I wonder if tonight he’ll break the news that he has a wife AND is trying to get said wife pregnant.

As I walk out of the closet, I bend down to adjust the ankle strap on my right heel.  I stand back up, smooth my dress, and look up at Steve.  He’s staring at me with a dopey smile on his face, love evident in his eyes.  “The dress itself is fine, you make it look perfect.”

“Ugh, Steve, quit it with the cheesy lines,” I protest while blushing.  Men used to say these things to their wives and girlfriends back in their time, it’s why Steve and Bucky can be prince charming when they want to be. Bucky more often than Steve now that he’s more like his old self, or so Steve says.

“I’m just being honest,” he defends, shrugging his shoulders.  He comes over to me and wraps his arms around my waist.  “You nervous?”

“What do you think?” I ask rhetorically.   I haven’t been this nervous since I first met Steve. In 2014, during a career conference once for journalists, the resort we were at was seized by terrorists.  One of my coworkers and I were the only ones from The New York Sun attending, despite the fact that it was in New York. I suppose they only wanted to go if the convention was out of town so they could get out of work and go on vacation. We were held in the resort’s Grand Hall for hours until the Avengers were able to save us.  There was a pretty big fight between Steve, Thor, Iron Man, Hawkeye, Black Widow, and the terrorists but luckily no one died.  I had been hurt in the kerfuffle, a broken finger, but after Steve wrapped my finger in a brace, he allowed me to interview him.  During the on-camera interview with him, Thor was teasing him in the background, doing silly faces and the “blah blah blah” hand motion.

Steve had asked for my name and number to “keep in touch and see if my finger heals correctly”.  When I gave it to him, he wrote it down in an old-fashioned address book. I hadn’t expected him to call me ever, but he did, asking for a date.  At first, he was weary of me being a journalist, in case things ended badly and I wrote a bad article about him.  However, a year later, he was thankful I was a journalist because I had access to all archived articles about the Winter Soldier.  After that happened, I knew he trusted me wholeheartedly and I felt the same. When the Accords started happening, I had access to the signing, to interview government people about it, and relayed that information to Steve about who he could trust.  That was how I found out about Norway not signing.

“They’ll love you,” he says.  “Bucky loves you, Tony will probably love you because he’ll think the interview prank you pulled on me was hilarious.  Nat and Wanda will be happy another girl is around.  Thor likes you, even Loki took a liking to you; he would love the interview prank. Clint will like you, Bruce will like you; no one has a reason to dislike you.

I turn around and take a good look at him. Royal blue dress shirt and black pants. His hair is up and I want nothing more than to run my fingers through it. He keeps me pressed to his body closely and I rub my hands along his chest. “If we didn’t have to go to dinner with your friends, I would be all over you right now.”

“Sorry, last night’s sex is just gonna have to hold you.” I give a little laugh.  “I’m just messing with you, I’ll be all over you tonight,” he growls, pulling my face up to his and kissing me deeply.  His kisses always leave me breathless, whether they’re passionate like this or small, chaste kisses when he’s leaving for work in the morning.  This however, is a whole new level and it’s making my heart go crazy.

Steve picks up the basket on the kitchen counter and we walk out the door. When we get to the car, he opens the door for me, ever the gentleman, before climbing in himself.  As he drives there, I fiddle with the hem of my dress.  I’m so worried I’ll talk too much or too little, or I’ll offend someone or embarrass Steve. What if I mention something about him that they don’t know?  Like that he bawled like a baby at Where the Red Fern Grows and Homeward Bound. Tony would probably love that but I don’t want to make Steve feel bad, I was crying too.

My biggest worry is what they’ll think of me after the interview.  Will they think it was funny or will they look at me as unprofessional for not telling them I had a conflict of interest with the Avengers?  I think Tony will like me, and maybe Nat, but I have no idea about the others.   I don’t think Bucky would come around as much as he does if he really didn’t like spending time with both Steve and me. Besides, sometimes when Steve is on a mission and he isn’t, he comes and keeps me company with old movies and our little two person book club we started.  His first choice of book was The Hobbit, which he told me he had read it when it first came out in 1937.  He was happy but not surprised to find out there were movies based on them.

When we drive up to the compound, Steve has a difficult time getting me through security.  They recognized my face and apparently Tony told them not to let me back. “Don’t alert Tony about her,” Steve said as he explained the situation to the guard.  He looked skeptical but agreed.

Steve led me upstairs, but not to the dining room where the team was waiting. He led me to his room.  “Well, well, well, Mr. Rogers, I thought we had to meet your friends in a little bit. Though I know you could probably get it done in ten minutes.”

“Ha ha ha, very funny,” he sarcastically replies.  “I just needed to grab…this,” he says, pulling his wallet out of his nightstand.  “Forgot it here yesterday.”

I simply hum in response to his explanation because I’m too busy looking around his room.  I’ve only seen it over FaceTime and in pictures.  It’s very different from our room at home. Our house, which we had just moved to from our apartment in preparation for a family, has a farmhouse theme.  Our master bedroom has a cream colored walls and one shiplap wall which our bed’s decorative headboard sits against, while our king sized bed is covered in a thick white comforter.  There’s a gray bench at the end of our bed and a blue and white rug.  There are nightstands on each side of the bed where we keep our small before bed items and our white, shared dresser is on the other side of the room, next to the door for our walk-in closet.  We have an attached bath with a clawfoot tub and a shower stall.  Our room lets in lots of natural light, which Steve loves because he likes to let the morning sun warm his back on his days off.

This room has a completely different feel to it. It’s much darker than our room at home. The walls are gray and his comforter is dark blue.  He has a black dresser across from his bed with a TV mounted to the wall above it. A plain bathroom with just a few essentials like shaving cream, a toothbrush, toothpaste, etc sit on the counter.  While our walls at home aren’t covered in pictures, we have more than the two he has here.  One is a picture of him and Bucky laughing and the other is of his parents before his father went to war; the war he never came back from.  Both pictures he has copies of hanging up at home. There’s a somewhat large window on the wall, but it’s covered with a blackout curtain.

I did most of the decorating at home, while this decorating was all him.   “Steve?” He looks at me.  “Do you not like our room at home?”

He furrows his eyebrows.  “No.  I love our place.  Why would you think that? Also, that’s very random to be bringing up now.”

“Well it’s just…this room is so different from ours at home.  I just didn’t know if you liked the darker colors better.  I want you to be comfortable in our room at home.  We can change it if you want it to look more like this one.”

He gives a little laugh and turns to face me.  “I didn’t decorate this room, Tony’s person did and he gave me this room because it’s the “most masculine”.  I prefer our room because it’s bright and spacious.  The fact that you decorated it is special to me because it’s like a present you gave to me.  Plus, I don’t have the best eye for interior design since everything I grew up with was either floral or had doilies.  But to be honest, this one feels a bit like a dungeon.  I just don’t bother to change it because I just sleep at home.  And I didn’t change it before I met you because even then I just used it to sleep, if I slept at all,” he looks into the distance, remembering all the nights he spent up in the gym, trying to beat the memories out of his mind.  He changes the subject, “Ok, so when we go down there I’m gonna have you wait around the corner and then you can come out when I tell you.”

He leads me downstairs and has me wait in a hallway. He walks around the corner and I hear Tony say, “Alright Capsicle, what’s the surprise you have for us?”

“Everybody just sit down and I’ll get to it in a minute,” he replies.  The sound of chairs scraping the floor is heard and Tony grumbles something about how he had been planning to have lasagna with Pepper tonight.  After a few seconds of silence, Steve comes back around the corner, grabs my hand, and leads me out. I nearly trip over my heels when we start moving and the pit in my stomach only grows.

At the sight of me, Tony and Natasha stand up startled. “What is she doing here?” Tony angrily asks.

“I thought you banned her,” Natasha adds on.

They all begin chattering, asking Steve why I’m here until Bucky calmly says, “Hey Y/N.”

Sam looks at Bucky confused, “You know her?”  Bucky nods his head and Sam looks at Steve, confused and a little hurt.  “Steve?”

“Everybody,” Steve starts, setting his hand on my lower back.  “This is Y/N, my wife.”

“WIFE?!” they all shout at different times.  Steve and I get bombarded with about a million questions at once.  When did we meet, why weren’t they invited to the wedding, when the wedding was, why I interviewed Steve the way I did, etc.

A loud thud on the balcony draws everyone’s attention. Thor is standing there in his armor and cape, holding his hammer.  “Sorry I’m late for team dinner,” he begins but stops when he sees me.  “Lady Y/N, I haven’t seen you since the wedding.  How has being married to the Captain been?”

“Oh you know, being married to a man-child is a struggle, but he’s hot enough for me to keep him around,” I joke.

“Thor, you know her too?” Tony asks.

“Yes I do.  Loki does too but I decided not to bring him tonight.  I think it would have been a bad idea.”

“Alright, Tony, sit down and I’ll explain everything,” Steve says.  Tony hesitantly sits down and everyone else follows.  Steve explained everything from why we met to why we couldn’t invite them to the wedding.

As he’s finishing telling the story and answering questions from the team, Tony’s bots bring in the pasta and Steve gets up and grabs something from the basket we brought.  He opens a bottle of wine and begins filling glasses.  When he gets to mine, I put my hand over my cup.  “Not tonight,” I say.

“But it’s your favorite,” he says.

“I can’t,” I say, not wanting to get in to it.

“C’mon, I won’t let you drink too much,” he says jovially.

“No, Steve…I can’t,” I say forcefully, looking up to make eye contact, hoping he understands without giving anything away.

He understands, but unfortunately his mouth works faster than his brain.  He looks down at my stomach and an excited smile spreads on his face.  “Are you…?”

I look around the table, seeing the Avengers all looking at us expectedly.  I look back at Steve and sheepishly nod.  He gasps and nearly drops the bottle, but luckily he realizes that when I reach out to catch it.

“A babe,” Thor says happily.  “Mazel tov.”

“They’re not Jewish,” Bucky says to Thor.  “Can’t wait to meet little James or Jamie.”  I give Bucky a look to let him know it’s not happening.  “Ok, Bucky works too.”

Tony puts his head in his hands looking like he’s about to pass out.  “Oh my god, we find out Steve is married to a woman I banned from the compound, and now that he’s going to be a father.”

I look at Steve to see him with tears in his eyes. Thankfully, Natasha saves us. “I’d like to propose a toast,” she says, standing up and holding her glass out.  “To Steve and Y/N, I hope you have a long, happy marriage and a healthy baby girl that you name Natasha.”

“That was the other thing we had planned to tell you tonight.  We’ve been trying for a baby.  I guess we were successful.”  Steve finishes pouring the drinks while everybody suggests baby names.  After a while, the conversation drifts to other things.  I enjoy listening to them, though they’re constantly quipping (mostly Tony).

Bucky, who’s sitting next to me, whispers to Steve, who’s on my other side, “Are we going to church this Sunday?”  The three of us go to church most Sundays. Steve and Bucky both grew up going to church, and it gives them some hope in a dark world.

Tony, who wasn’t involved in the conversation, cuts in. “Barnes, you could live at church and you still won’t go upstairs when you die.”

Bucky’s metal hand clenches so hard around his fork I’d be surprised if it isn’t bent.  He looks at Tony and gives him a very fake, overly sweet smile.  “Tony, I love how mean you are to me because it makes me feel less guilty about what I did to your parents.”

Tony stands up, slamming his hands on the table and Bucky mirrors him.  It looks like they’re about to attack but Steve intervenes.  “Tony, Bucky!  Tony, that was uncalled for and Bucky, that was unnecessary.  We know how you actually feel about your past and we’ve watched you try to change.”  Both men slowly sit back down.  “We have a guest.”  Bucky relaxes first, then Tony does.

“Y/N,” Tony addresses me.  “I need to apologize for my rudeness towards Bucky on my first night officially meeting you.  I was hoping not to fight with him tonight.”

“You call that a fight?  You should hear these two,” I say, gesturing to Steve and Bucky on either side of me.  “These guys can bicker with each other like an old married couple for hours about the smallest things.  Last week they had a 45 minute argument on how many times you can reuse a towel before it needs to be washed.”

“Wash it right away,” Steve mutters.

“Steve, we used to use towels so many times before we washed them in the 40s,” Bucky argues.

“Yeah but that was because if we needed to wash things, Mom had to heat up water and then hang-dry it on the balcony.  It’s easy to wash things now days.”

“Anyways,” Tony says, stopping their argument.  “I guess the interview you gave Cap makes sense now…somewhat.”

“Well I was pissed at him that day, so I think he deserved it.”

Tony smiles at Steve.  “You need to bring her around more often.”

Taglist: @imanuglywombat @infernal-fire @dottirose @carpediemm-18​

[tripleaxeldiaz]

i threw a wish in the well

read on ao3

“I’ll be right back.”

Buck watches as Eddie jogs down the stairs and wills himself to stay seated, to keep reading his book and not run after him to try and eavesdrop. Because Eddie stepping away to talk on the phone is completely normal — even when it’s Chris, he likes his privacy, and Buck respects the hell out of that — but what’s not normal is Eddie returning from said phone call with a self satisfied smile and no details on who he just talked to. Just a shrug and some form of “no one important”.

But it clearly is important, based on the smile, and the fact that someone Buck doesn’t know is making Eddie smile like that is starting to drive him crazy. It was bad enough with Ana, but once that finally fizzled out and Buck had worked through his own feelings, he thought he’d have time — to gauge if Eddie was still interested in dating, if he was interested in dating men, and if he was interested in dating Buck specifically. It was a delicate thing to navigate, and Buck was sure he could take things slow, make sure he read every situation perfectly until he was certain things would work out in his favor.

Clearly, he’d missed his window.

He turns to Hen and Chim, who are locked in a Scrabble battle that’s lasted the better part of two hours. “Do you guys know who Eddie’s been talking to?”

Chim shrugs, eyes never leaving the board. “If you don’t know, we sure don’t.”

“Are you worried?” Hen asks.

He closes his book and tosses it on the counter. “I’m not worried, I’m—” 

None of the endings to that sentence make him look good, because there’s no way to spin I’m mad that someone else is making him that happy or I’m pissed I didn’t get to him first to make him sound like less of a jerk.

Hen, of course, sees right through it. “Looks like you’re a little green-eyed about it, Buck.”

He knows she’s right, and he hates that she’s right, so he takes the first out he can find. “Looks like you’re about to lose pretty badly, Hen.”

She flips back around in her chair just in time to see Chim play JACKEL on a triple word score, cursing under her breath. Buck goes back to his book and tries to ignore the expanding ice in his stomach and the fact that it’s been well over 10 minutes since Eddie left.

Not that he’s been counting.

When he finally does come back, sliding onto the barstool next to Buck, the look is back too — happy but almost smug, like the call (the flirting?) was a competition, and he had decidedly won.

“Who was that?” Buck asks, not looking up from his book because he does not care, Eddie can flirt with whoever he wants and it doesn’t matter to him at all, really.

Eddie shrugs, “Nobody.”

Buck smiles tightly and nods and tries not to fume too obviously. One look from Hen tells him he’s doing a terrible job.

~~~~~~~~~~

He finally cracks at movie night. 

Eddie winces apologetically as he pauses the movie and takes his ringing phone to his room. Buck waits until he hears the door click shut before rounding on Chris sitting next to him.

“Do you know who your dad’s been talking to on the phone so often?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, but he always goes into his room to talk.”

“You’ve never tried to listen in?”

He looks offended for a second before deflating. “I can’t hear anything through the door.”

Buck huffs out a laugh, reaching out to ruffle Chris’ hair. “It’s okay, bud, you tried.”

The interrogation ends when Eddie comes back, and Buck elects to drop it for now, focusing instead on the movie and the warm press of Eddie’s arm against his own.

But then Chris goes to bed, and they’re standing in the kitchen talking about nothing, and Eddie’s phone rings again, and Buck does not want him to answer it.

“You’re awfully popular these days. Did you make a new friend I don’t know about?” It’s a little harsher than he means it to be, but his grip on “casual” gets looser and looser every time Eddie gets a call.

To his credit, if he notices, Eddie doesn’t say anything, just smiles and shakes his head. “You’re gonna laugh when I tell you,” he says.

Buck’s not sure he’ll ever find the idea of Eddie dating someone who’s not him funny, but he can try. If it makes Eddie happy, he’ll try anything.

“Adriana was at a bar with some friends for her birthday, and some guy kept trying to hit on her and wouldn’t leave her alone. So when he asked for her number, she gave him mine, and when he called I may have...very strongly suggested that he evaluate his life choices when it comes to picking up women.”

“You yelled at him.”

“I was a little short—”

“You yelled at him.”

“He deserved it!” A flush settles high on Eddie’s cheekbones, like he’s pissed all over again at a guy he’s never met. Buck tries and fails to not find it adorable. “Anyway,” Eddie drains the last of his beer, “She’s done it a few other times and given my number to her friends to use too, so that’s what it is. Just trying to be a good brother.”

“You are a good brother,” Buck says, automatically refuting any idea that Eddie is less than the best person he knows. Once he processes the rest of the story, he does laugh, a loud thing pushed out of his body by relief. “Wow, I really thought—” he stops himself, clears his throat. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Adriana’s happy she doesn’t have to field calls from a bunch of weirdos.”

Eddie’s staring at him from across the kitchen, head cocked and eyebrows scrunched. He looks confused for a minute before quickly straightening up, eyes darkening and a look on his face that’s less the sly smirk Buck’s seen lately and more...hungry. Wanting. He sets his beer on the counter as Eddie makes his way over, stopping right in front of Buck and placing his hands next to his hips, bracketing him in. Their chests are just barely touching, and Buck wouldn’t have to lean far to finally know what Eddie tastes like.

“Evan Buckley,” Eddie says — rumbles, really, Buck swears he feels the vibrations in every part of his body, “were you jealous?” 

And while his first instinct is to deny everything, he realizes that his window — though never really closed — has been thrown wide open. The breeze is cool and inviting, the sun is shining, and Eddie is waiting for him, looking anxious and hopeful.

Screw taking his time. He’s got all his answers.

Eddie meets him halfway, and the kiss feels like a thunderstorm — electric, all-encompassing, but still comfortable, washing away the grit and grime to pave the way for new beginnings. They stay like that for a while, Buck reveling in the feeling of Eddie’s lips soft against his and his hair silky between his fingers, and they only pull away when both their smiles get too big. 

“That’s a yes, by the way,” Buck says, still trying to get his breath back.

Eddie snorts. “I figured.” Buck just laughs, and Eddie squeezes his waist and pulls him in again, lips moving from his mouth down his neck, driving any thoughts or snarky comments straight out of Buck’s head. 

He’s about to suggest they move somewhere more comfortable when he hears a soft buzzing from across the room. He groans as Eddie peels away, walking over to his phone and seeing the screen lit up with an unknown number. Eddie hesitates before swiping to answer.

“I’m making out with my boyfriend,” he says, deadpan, looking directly at Buck. “And whoever gave you this number isn’t interested. Don’t call again.” He hangs up, going from confident to apprehensive in a matter of seconds.

Now it’s Buck’s turn for a smug smile. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Eddie saunters back over, smiling himself, but landing somewhere around soft and fond instead of smug, and it makes Buck’s heart flip. “I hope so,” he says, hands grabbing Buck’s waist again.

He kisses Buck again, softly this time, and it’s already so familiar, so addicting, and Buck wants to sink into it and never come out.

“I think we can make that work,” he whispers against Eddie’s lips. He grabs him by the belt buckle and pulls him toward the bedroom, and Eddie spends the next several hours making him forget why he was ever jealous in the first place.

[aknosde]

Omnes Una Manet Nox

The chronologically first installment of my Reyna Swap AU, Alea Iacta Est // Reyna Avilla Ramírez-Arellano // Fluff & Angst, but minor on the angst // the night before Reyna disappears //  tw: mentions past minor character death // light swearing // 4.4k

ao3

—————

“That went well, didn’t it?” Jason asks with that familiar, absently intense energy. They’ve just descended the steps of the Senate after their monthly meeting with the consuls.

The two consuls, in their late thirties, oversee all of Camp Jupiter. Of course, the legion manages their own grounds and budget, under Jason and Reyna’s command, but the little oversight they do get is from the consuls.

Johnson was one of New Rome’s praetors, a few years back. He doesn’t care much about the legion, being from a legacy family and largely skirting his training and service, and he never ceases to make that known. Malhill is the one that always gets under Jason’s defenses. He’s good on policy, good on veterans, good on kids, everything that they could want. But he was the legion’s champion only ten years ago. A direct son of Apollo, a talented archer but an even better bender of light, a legion praetor, and he’s had his eyes on Jason’s career since day one. Reyna’s seen the way he eyes Jason whenever she and Jason are in New Rome, already pegging him for a consul position once Jason’s old enough.

“It went well, Jace,” she says. “Your mission plan is flawless, the only thing that could make them happier is if you’d go on it.” She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth.

Her remorse is tangible, visible in the line of his spine, the way he taps the place in his pocket where Ivlivs would sit if they were not inside the Pomerian Line, the subtle flick of his wrist.

Not for the first time, she thinks about Mount Othrys. Everything it took from her. Sometimes when she sleeps–not often, but enough–it plays over in her head. But something is always wrong.

She’s leading the charge, but suddenly it’s Jason next to her instead of Michelle. Or Jason and Michelle run into the throne room, but when she closes the door behind them it locks. She makes it into the throne room, slaying all of the Dracaena, but when she enters Atlas is holding Jason over his head, instead of fighting him hand to hand. On the good nights, Michelle isn’t dead when she bursts through the door, on the bad, she watches Michelle die. The one constant is Jason, gold ichor dripping down his face in a horrific mask. When she and Jason land the killing blow, together, she can always see it.

He doesn’t talk about it, of course. Not about Michelle, not about his election, not about the mountain. But she can see it weighing on him through the big things, like how he hasn’t been out of camp borders since the battle, and the small things, like how he glances up at the stars, as if one will come down and crush him any moment.

She rolls her right shoulder, feeling the ligaments shift, as if it will rid her of the thoughts, prepare her for a topic of conversation that often hits a little too close to home.

“Did you hear how Johnson pronounced my name? He’s even worse than you.” Maybe the small huff of a laugh Jason expels is worth it. “‘Miss Ramírez-Arellano,’” she continues, in a nasally imitation of the consul.

“I don’t say it that badly.”

“You say it like a white boy who didn’t know Spanish was a language until two seconds ago.”

“Ramírez-Arellano,” he says, better than consul Johnson, but she still hates hearing it. That girl is long gone, the only thing connecting her to Reyna is Hylla, and although Reyna loves her sister, she’s grateful for the distance that keeps Hylla from being a constant reminder.

“‘We were– were very, erm, dazzled, by your most recent proposition.’” She continues the impression until they are walking through the Praetorian Gate, Jason half hanging off her shoulder and giggling like they’re thirteen again.

He has a nice laugh. A friendly one. It seems to feed off of her volume, her effort, fluctuating the longer he goes. He shouts at her to stop several times, but he’s doubled over in armor, snorting, and all she wants to do is make him laugh like this forever.

It only gets worse on the steps of the Principa, when he decides a good revenge plan is to trip her. The building is dark like the rest of the legion. Two lamps, invisible under the light of day, flank the double doors, but the light is faint and barely makes its way to the stairs, washing everything in a pale yellow. She side steps his foot–his sneakers have reflective decals on them for the sake of the gods, he’s an idiot–but he’s shifted his weight so much that he ends up tripping himself.

They stumble through the doors, still chuckling, and make their way across the great hall as quickly as possible. They must have gotten a new tender for the Principa, because the lights are off like they forgot that people actually live here. Only two people, but still. The darkness makes the place unsettling, and now she’s counting on Jason to keep her occupied. A job he seems all too willing to fulfill as he runs through the next set of doors, still in full armor, clashing against the wood.

Upstairs is worse, she decides. The abandoned lounge reminds her of her childhood living room. Any moment her father could rise from one of the low couches, ready to scoop her up and throw her in her room, that crazed look in his eye.

Something clangs and she jumps.

“What the heck is this?” Jason’s whisper-shouting when she catches up with him in the hallway outside their rooms. He’s partially on the floor–hands keeping him from being face flat–and something is crinkling under his knee.

For some reason all Reyna can say is: “Did you just say ‘heck?’”

“Shut up,” he whines, and she wishes the lights were on just so she could see his ears turning red.

“Of course, farm-boy.”

He’s sitting back on his heels now, she can see the object’s dark outline as he holds it up, rustling in his hands.

“Seriously, what is this thing?” he asks, looking up at her.

“A bag with my old clothes,” she says, squinting. “I was going to see if any legionnaires need some.”

“And you have it by your door so you don’t forget,” he says, explaining for her. In the stress of running for office, of war, she forgot the ways in which they are attuned to each other. She forgot that she doesn’t have to explain and defend her every little action to him. It’s sad that it’s taken her almost two months to remember.

He sets the bag back down, nudging it into almost its exact spot, and hefts himself to his feet with a sigh. His brow furrows once he’s standing, looking out into the middle distance, but he sees the quirk of her brow and quickly explains himself, “We have that meeting with the centurions tomorrow after breakfast.”

Jason is a social person. A true extrovert. He hates being alone, working alone, and the quiet that comes with both. So what he’s really saying is that he has work left to do and wants some company. And who is she to deny him that? “Do you want to work in the main hall, office, or my room?”

He grins, clapping his hands and then raises his palms to the sky. “Bedroom, praise Fortuna.”

“Five minutes, Sparkplug,” she says, bumping her shoulder into his own as she sidesteps him into her room. His eyes follow her as she goes, like she’s his North Star, and damn him for making her heart skip a beat, because in the empty space Venus’ words always echo. She stomps them down, before her face can fall, before the hollow silence can fill the hallway, and in their place she jams a smirk. “If you’re lucky I’ll even edit your speech.”

As her door clicks behind her she can hear him groan, “I just prayed to Fortuna.”

She stands with her hands on her hips, briefly surveying her room to decide what to do first.

Being praetor has its perks, like private bath and bedrooms across the hall from her best friend and king sized beds, but it also means she is no longer in the practice of keeping her space ready for inspections. Her comforter is pulled up, but her bed isn’t made, files are scattered across her desk and on her dresser, and her wardrobe is wide open.

She decides on doing everything at once, which involves a crooked path across her room as she shucks off armor, not bothering with her armor stand, and changes out of the nice clothes she wore to meet the consuls. All the while she turns on lights, puts on sweats, makes her bed, and tucks away files.

Jason knocks on her door five minutes later, that ever punctual bastard, just as she’s zipping her hoodie over her tank top.

“Help me, Reyna,” he says, holding a typed copy of his speech out to her in both hands like some sort of trophy. “You’re my only hope.”

She snorts, snatching the pages out of his hands. “Nice reference.”

He cocks his head to the side, brow furrowed, and she bets if he were actually a wolf one of his ears would be turned as well.

“You just made a Star Wars reference,” she says, but he looks just as confused.

“What’s Star Wars?” He asks warily.

She swears to herself in Spanish, because otherwise he’ll tease her about the legion’s anti-swearing policies, collapsing dramatically back on her bed, and sighs. “It’s a movie trilogy, wolf boy.”

“Ah.”

Another thing she forgot, apparently, is how little Jason knows about basically anything outside of camp. He says he arrived when he was three, and wasn’t even allowed into the city until he was eight, which apparently means he’s never been to a movie theater.

By now he seems used to her telling him about the more innocent aspects of the mortal world, and at the very least takes his lack of knowledge in stride. If only he would watch the movies and shows she’s downloaded on his laptop for him.

When she looks up after reading his introduction he is sitting at her desk, picking at some invisible blemish while subtly putting highlighters away, and looking around her room.

“If you start cleaning I’m throwing you out.”

He grumbles to himself, but she makes out a yes ma’am somewhere in the mix, so she decides to throw him a bone.

“If you want to occupy yourself I have a speech about legion veterans you can fact check,” she says, faux casual, not that he can tell. He needs to do something before he starts picking at his nails instead of the wood.

“Sure.”

“It’s in one of the red folders.”

“Would that be the one on the floor under your desk or the one on your dresser,” he says, sounding far too cheeky.

“The one on my dresser, and stop pretending you’re better than me, asshole.”

He clutches his chest dramatically, walking to her dresser. “Better than the best? How could I be?”

“Mmmhmm,” she responds, half ignoring him in favor of his speech, aware of the ticking clock.

It’s truly impossible for him to stay awake past ten, a fact that is only proven the next time she looks up and he’s asleep at her desk, pen still in hand and a research paper opened on her laptop. No matter how often she reminds him that the regimented lights out of the legion no longer applies to them, he just can’t seem to break the habit.

“Jason.” She nudges his shoulder, extracting the pen at the same moment so he can’t smudge her speech.

His head jerks, eyes alert, but voice groggy when he says, “What’s going on?” All legionnaires wake up in a similar manner, but for some reason it only strikes her as amusing when he does it.

She hadn’t thought of what she was waking him up for, besides a need to do it, and her mind wanders to the Forum, wondering if her favorite café would still be open at this hour. She’s starving, she realizes. Their meeting with the consuls had been pushed back and they had had to skip dinner to make it.

She grins. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

“Roof s’mores?”

“Reyna,” he drags out the last syllable, fading it into a sigh. “That takes energy.”

“Okay, but–” She holds her hands out, weighing them. “Would you rather spend the energy to just walk across the hall and go to sleep, or climb up to the roof with me and roast us a couple marshmallows?”

Jason looks at her like is that a real question? which had been her intention. She folds her hands into a pleading gesture and pouts emphatically–he’s always more flexible when she acts a little silly. “Please, Jace. I got that cheap chocolate you like. I’ll even get the stuff myself, you can go straight up.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes and she smiles, satisfied, and already on her way out the door.

The praetorian kitchen reminds her of office break rooms on television, besides the fact that it looks perpetually unnatural, mostly due to the fact that only three people go inside–her, Jason, and the Principa tender–and it’s always pristine. The only things actually kept in there are coffee, tea, and of course: her and Jason’s secret stash of s’more supplies, buried in the back of the cabinet with the untouched bowls.

By the time she’s through the roof access door, conveniently placed to hide it from the view of anyone on the ground, Jason is already sitting by the dark spot of ash that signifies their pastime. Because, yes, they started coming up here long before either of them were elected Praetor.

He’s a dark outline against the night sky, sitting criss-crossed and looking down at the façades of the other legion buildings, and briefly she has the thought that somebody could make a painting out of this. She slides her old Camp Jupiter ID back between the lock and door jamb, willing the thought to disappear with the potential of the fire alarm going off.

She shivers as she sits next to him, nose wrinkling with the cold now that she’s fully vulnerable to the elements. Without a word Jason removes his sweatshirt and passes it to her.

“I’m already wearing one.”

“Mine is thicker, trade me.”

And because he’s Jason, she does.

It’s slightly big on her, his shoulders just a few inches broader than her own, and a forest green. On the back is a printed vine of purple flowers and a date. She recognizes it as one of the prizes of the Ludi Florae, or Games of Flora, from Floralia last year. The festival sits right between April and May, and last year’s was the grandest of all. Or so Jason says. Everyone had been anxious about Mount Othrys, and apparently all of that energy had been funnelled into the events.

Reyna herself had been busy running for praetor. All she remembers from the festival is campaigning. And Jason, running up to her looking flushed, this sweatshirt thrown over one shoulder.

“Remember when I told you that you were the best, Jace,” she says sweetly once she is safely swaddled in his hoodie. He’s right–it is thicker.

Jason grins up at her, wrapping his hands around two marshmallows. “I may recall something along those lines having been said a long, long time ago.”

“Well, I just want to inform you that I retract that statement, because this sweatshirt is ugly and the cuffs are burnt.”

The electricity that had been slowly coursing over the ridges of his fingers flares for a second, and his hands fly open as if he was handed metal straight from the forges. “Oops.” Both of the marshmallows are burnt, but his lips are turned up in a poorly concealed smirk.

“I forget you’re a heathen,” she says primly, sticking her nose in the air instead of saying any of the less wholesome options at the back of her throat.

“Does liking burnt marshmallows make me a heathen?”

She pretends to mull it over for a second, extracting the rest of their supplies. “Yes. You have to buy the next bag because you’re mean and I say so.”

She takes the burnt marshmallow regardless, sandwiching it between her own chocolate and graham crackers. Jason takes three squares of the Hershey bar he likes for absolutely no good reason, and does the same. She shakes her head. He’s the fucking all American boy who sticks with the classics even when he doesn’t know they’re the classics. She has no idea how he does it.

They don’t talk while they eat, regrettably the silence reminding her of her childhood, no matter how hard she pushes against it. She looks up at the stars, trying to forget the cold kitchen, cold house, even in hundred degree heat. It’s times like this when the ring, and the chain she wears it on, weigh heavy on her neck.

It feels like a noose right now, just as much as it feels like freedom, like power, every other second of her life. Like a sentence, compelling her to pay for her crimes, to confess to them, to wreck her world so terribly that she would lose up from down and die. A fair punishment.

“What are you thinking about,” Jason asks a while after they’ve finished. She looks at him, sitting back on his hands, looking at her, not the sky. It’s dark on the roof, but the light from the street lamps seems to center around him. It glints off his hair, visibly blond even in the night, and pours into his eyes. They’re always so blue. So blue it looks fake. But they never cease to pull Reyna in. Sometimes she swears she can see lightning arc across his irises.

He’s always asking her questions like this. Innocent and curious, no ulterior motives, no goals. He genuinely wants to know. And if she doesn’t answer, he’ll drop it, because he always does. It’s not something she’s used to, even after all these years; this place she has in his mind, if not his heart. A place of utter respect. He doesn’t question her because he knows what she is thinking, and when he doesn’t, he accepts her. Would he still, if he knew what she did to her father?

She breaks his gaze with that thought. It’s too much. “My sister,” she says instead, and it doesn’t feel right to look back. Under oath, Reyna would say that Jason is the most important person in her life. Her best friend; the person she sees every day, talks to every day, eats with and works with. He is the closest thing she has to a family here. And she– And she loves him. Maybe as a little more than a friend. But talking about her sister while looking him in the eye feels too intimate, too intense. “She would like you.”

It is something to say, simply to say something, but maybe she isn’t wrong. There is something in Jason that reminds her of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and not in the way that haunts her nightmares and twists her sheets around her until they become bonds she can’t quite break free of. Being on Blackbeard’s crew, that’s how Reyna learned hard work, in a way she never had before. It had instilled a drive in her, to change everything, to rewrite systems, to make something so beautiful it was unrecognizable. And perhaps Jason doesn’t have that same drive, but he knows the work. He goes out of his way to do it dirty and hard and long. He refuses to take the thousands of shortcuts he’s offered. And Hylla would admire that, she thinks.

“I had a sister,” he whispers.

For a second–just a second–she’s stuck. “What?”

“I had a sister.” He picks at a loose thread on his jeans for a moment, and that’s how she knows he’s serious, because he hates ripping his jeans more than almost anything else. He’s refusing to meet her gaze. “Thalia Grace.”

He says her name soft and tender. She can imagine him, standing over a hearth, cradling the name between his palms and looking at it the same way he first looked when he was gifted Ivlivs. Big, round eyes.

“That’s really nice, Jace,” she says, because he rarely surprises her, and for once she doesn’t know what to say.

He looks up at her, smiling tightly. His eyes are sad. Is that how she looks when she thinks about Hylla?

“You can tell me about her, if you want,” Reyna says when the moment becomes two, and then three, because Jason doesn’t bring up things he doesn’t want to talk about. But Jason also has his own ideas about debt, about worthiness, and it is clear to her that he told her about his sister in exchange for Reyna talking about her own.

He smiles at her. A real smile, if small. She feels warm, and it’s not from his extra thick sweatshirt.

“I don’t remember a lot about her, but… She had black hair. So dark, like the night. And her eyes, they were amazing. Bright blue, like a perfect sky. Sometimes I can see them, in this half-memory half-dream, and they’re so strong they look like how an electric shock feels.”

“Like yours,” she whispers, and Jason hums in a way that makes it frustratingly unclear if he heard her or not. She hopes not.

“When I was little,” he continues, after another moment of staring wistfully over the Twelfth Legion, “I used to imagine she was looking for me. That one day she would find me, here, be proud of me for– I don’t know what. Love me, or something. All that stupid shit.” He trails off again, picking at his nails, but she can’t bring herself to chide him.

There are things that she knows about Jason, true as the sun rising in the east and the pull of the moon on the tides and the sound of imperial gold on whetstone. She knows that he works hard, works with the public, flushes under the compliments of people older than him because he has never had a concrete parental figure. Not even one to hate, to fear, to mourn. She knows that he never trusts praise from these people because he knows his parentage, knows they know, knows that he is connected to his father in the eyes of these people in a way he doesn’t feel himself, and never will.

Truths of Jason that are pillars in her understanding of him, that were pivotal in their relationship. But like so many supports, they were never acknowledged. Truth has no need to be stated, and she has no compellence to state that which is unnecessary. He talks of Thalia, telling Reyna that he wants his sister to want him, to find him, and to love him not because he is a son of Jupiter, but because he’s him.

She doesn’t say, I don’t care about you because you’re the son of Jupiter, I care about you because you are my best friend. And she doesn’t say, I care about you because you listen to people, because you care about them and what happens to them so instinctively that I cannot understand it. She doesn’t say, I’m proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself.

She doesn’t say those things because he knows them, because they are truths, and truths do not need to be said.

But still, something must be done.

She– She’s always been bad at the physical things. She can do a handshake, a fist bump, but she has never been a hugger, no matter that Jason is. She’s never managed a hip-check, or a shoulder pat, or ruffled his hair in any way that wasn’t rough and meant to hurt.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t try.

She goes slow, leaning over slightly, feels the cool breeze breaking on her knuckles. Gently, perhaps more gently than she has done anything in her life, she takes his hands, detangles them, presses her finger pads against the bleeding bits where he’s torn his skin away. She closes her hands around his own, cups them in her palms.

He looks up at her, tears welled on his water line but nothing has spilled, and she feels his hands move in her own, feels him latch on, like when they were young and late for assignments, running across the grounds and refusing to leave each other behind. She looks into his eyes, wide. Electrifying. Just like she knew they were.

She waits for the moment to stretch and break, like moments oft do. Her last move is to give his hands a squeeze, hopefully reassuring, and he gives her another small smile and moves to wipe his eyes with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, the one he’s still wearing.

“We should probably be going to bed,” she says, because she doesn’t have anything else to say. He laughs, wetly, but in that way everybody laughs when they’re told something they already know. It makes her smile; it’s special when he does it.

Everybody isn’t wrong, she thinks as she and Jason part ways outside their rooms, Jason Grace is special. But not because he is the son of Jupiter. He’s special because Reyna had never wanted friends, and here he is, her best. He’s special because he does things, normal things, and they make her smile. He’s special because he does everything in his power to ensure he deserves the love he receives. And gods, she thinks, does he deserve it.

She slips off her necklace and gets under her duvet cover, curling up and fiddling with the cuffs of his sweatshirt. Chunks of the polyester-wool fabric are hard and melted from undoubtedly unfortunate rendezvous with electricity. She finds one, right where his thumb would rest, and rubs it between her own thumb and index finger as she falls asleep.

When she wakes up, she’s on a school bus.

—————

Others in this series: Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Boys Who Speak With Silver Luck

Joe Liebgott x Reader

Ok, so THIS is more what I was intending to write for you, @itswormtrain​​! Hope you can learn to forgive me!!

This one is a soul sister/unofficial sequel to ‘You’ve Been Sad (Because I’ve Been Lonely)’ bc I’m bad at doing one shots 

Warnings: SMUT, domesticity, fluff, healthy dynamics, poetry being an aphrodisiac, feels(?)

All poetry mentioned is from the anthology No Thanks by ee cummings, and the title is from the song (inspired by 44 by ee cummings) comes from The Boys Are Too Refined by The Hush Sound

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I still don’t see how you can read those things.”

 You smirk to yourself, nudging his thigh with your foot as he sits at the foot of the bed. 

In retaliation,  Joe lightly traces the tip of his finger up the arch of your right foot and chuckles when you flinch at the tickle of it, the chuckle becoming a laugh when you lower your book and frown at his mirth.

“And here I thought you were actually wanting to do something nice for me,” you tease, letting him pull your foot back into his lap and watching him smirk as he returns to massaging the sore muscles there. “Should’ve known you were gonna betray me eventually….”

 He scoffs at your theatrics, mumbling a soft apology when you hiss in discomfort as his thumb works on a particularly tight knot just above your heel.

 “Why do you wear those things if they hurt your feet so badly?”

 You furrow your brows at him, resting the book on your stomach as you let a smile play on your lips.

 “They’re called heels, and I wear them because they make my legs look amazing.”

 Joe tilts his head to the side as his face takes on a contemplative expression.

  “‘This is true…” he says with a nod. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous in ‘em.”

 You offer a hmph in smug agreement, picking your book back up and continuing where you left off.

 Tonight had been the night of Chuck’s family’s yearly holiday party, the one night where both you and Joe dressed to the nines and got to rub elbows with people Joe and Chuck lovingly referred to as ‘rich snobs with inherent mommy fetishes’. 

Joe never failed to leave you starstruck when he wore his nicest uniform, and even though you didn’t wear yours, Joe always managed to convince you to pin your Purple Heart and as many unit citations you could fit to the breast of whatever dress you picked out. 

 “Fuckin’ love watching those ignorant fuck’s faces when they realize what a badass my wife is,” he had growled in your ear as you had gotten ready that night. “Gets me harder than a goddamn rock, you got no idea…”

 The two of you had danced and drank and laughed over some of the most amazing food you’d ever tasted. It had been perfect.

More and more things were becoming perfect as time went on and the dark horrific shadows of war began to shrink away under the bright California sunshine. 

It was heartbreakingly nice to see Joe happy, truly happy. He deserved it- you all deserved it.

 A groan of frustration is the only warning you get before Joe crawls up your body and plops himself atop you, the suddenness of the action making you release a grunting giggle. Undeterred by the obvious fact that you’re trying to read, he kisses at your chest through your shirt.

 “Pay” kiss “attention” kiss “to meeee” kiss

 You take one hand from the book to scratch lightly at his scalp, smiling at the sound of him humming in annoyance.

 “What’s in that dumb book that’s got you glued to it, huh? What can big words give you that my big—OW.”

 You cut him off by clunking the book gently against the back of his head, giving him a soft smile when he looks up at you with a frown.

 “You’re so needy,” you chastise hollowly. “Never thought you’d get jealous over something as silly as poetry—”

 Joe rolls his eyes. “Poems are for kids and nerds, don’t get what it is about-” he sits up a bit more so he can see the cover of your book. “Whatever an ee cummings is that’s got you so gaga over it…”

 You raise an eyebrow at him. “Believe it or not, Joseph, I think you’d actually like this guy’s poems—”

 Joe snorts before bringing his head back down to rest on your chest. “Yeah, okay—”

 “Hey,” you challenge, scooting up on your pillows so you can sit up, the movement bringing his head to your ribcage. “I’m serious! If you were to like any sort of poetry, you’d need it to be as sexual and swear-y as you are…. Here, listen-”

 Before he can protest, you flip to the one you had in mind: 44.

 “the boys i mean are not refined 

they go with girls who buck and bite 

they do not give a fuck for luck 

they hump them thirteen times a night

 one hangs a hat upon her tit 

one carves a cross on her behind 

they do not give a shit for wit 

the boys i mean are not refined…”

 “Gimme that!”

 Suddenly, the book is ripped from your hand- and before you can protest you are shocked to see Joe turn the book so he can bury his nose in it. Careful not to be smug about it, you bite back a smile as you watch him mouth the words as he reads. 

 The fact that you’re able to hold in a laugh when his eyebrows shoot up in surprise should make you eligible for another Purple Heart.

 When Joe’s eyes flick up to meet yours, he’s looking at you as if you’ve just done some suspicious slide of hand- intrigued but still somewhat cautious.

 “Well?” you ask. “What did you think?”

 Joe flicks his gaze down to the book again, like he thinks it may have changed somehow when he wasn’t looking.

 “Are they….all like this?”

 You do smile now. “Well, I’m not sure- I haven’t read them all yet.”

An idea pops into your mind as he flips through the pages of the book.

 “If you give it back, I can see if I can find another—”

 Joe suddenly smirks, and when he lifts his face so you can see him, he’s looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Read this one.”

 Now you’re the hesitant one, taking the book back from him as if it could suddenly turn into a snake.

The poem he’s picked  is one you haven’t read yet, but if it’s one that Joe picked out you can only imagine what the subject matter is.

 “Okay then,” you say slowly, clearing your throat as you cast him a brief look of suspicion before beginning.

 “may i feel said he

 (i'll squeal said she 

just once said he) 

it's fun said she”

 (may i touch said he

 how much said she

 a lot said he) 

why not said she….”

 As you read, Joe’s hands come up to hold your sides as he kisses slowly across your chest, your stomach. Every so often, his thumbs smooth upward to rub across your shirt-covered  nipples, and you can feel him smile as he kisses at you.

 Your shirt has bunched up, revealing your hips and the sensitive skin between them. Your cheeks feel hot, and your mouth suddenly becomes dry as his lips drag between your hip bones promisingly.

His hair tickles your skin when he begins mouthing lower, to the waistband of your underpants.

 “Y/N?”

 “Yeah?” you sigh, tongue wetting your bottom lips as you begin to breathe heavier.

 “Keep reading.”

 Oh. You hadn’t realized that you’d stopped.

Clearing your throat, you blink a few times before finding the place you left off.

 “Uh, (let's go said he 

not too far said she 

what's too far said he 

where you are said she)

 may i stay said he 

(which way said she 

like...like this said he 

I-if you kiss said she- shit, Joe….”

 Joe’s warm hands have worked your underwear down your hips and around the swell of your bottom, and the heat of his breath across the thinner skin that he’s exposed has you losing focus again.

Because he’s nothing if not a consummate tease, he doesn’t do anything more than kiss only a sliver of the newly revealed skin.

 “Y/N…” he reminds you, nipping lightly at you when you groan in frustration. “I think there’s still some to go—”

 Your heart is thrumming in your chest, and it takes you a few seconds to find where you left off this time.

 “M-may i move said he

 is it love said she) 

if you're…..uh, if you’re willing said he 

(but….. you're killing said she….”

 The words have started to dance across the page, a whine coming from somewhere deep in your chest at the first touch of his fingers to the slick lips of your sex.

You’ve officially lost your place, now. You just pick the stanza your eye catches first and hope for the best.

 “(tiptop said he 

don't stop said she

 oh no said he) 

go slow said she- fuuuuuck…..

 I-(cccome?said he….goddamn it Joe, please!”

 You throw the book off to the side, sweat beading on your brow from how deliberately cruel Joe is being as he continues massaging at you. When Joe sees that you’ve started to shake, he lunges up the bed to wrap a hand around the back of your neck and kisses you messily- your teeth clacking together briefly as he buries his fingers inside of you and immediately finds the place that never fails to ruin you.

 Clinging to the front of his shirt, you squeeze your thighs together as a delicious tremor rolls up your body from where you’ve trapped his hand. You’re so worked up you almost want to cry, the heat in your lower belly almost bowing your back.

 “Does that feel good, Baby?” he mumbles against your lips. “Who is it that’s making you feel this good, huh?”

 You make an incoherent noise, quickly wrapping am arm around his shoulders to try and bring his mouth back to yours, mewling in frustration when he refuses to do so.

 “Ungh! Joe, I’m begging you!”

 “Say it again,” he says darkly, and if you had the strength to open your eyes you’d see just the power-drunk way he is looking down at you. “Do it—”

 “Joe! Joe Joe Joe Joe Joe….”

 You chant his name like a prayer, your voice dying in your throat as he starts using his palm to stimulate your neglected clit.

 With a silent scream, you come apart, head lolling back as he continues to coax you through your orgasm, dimly aware of the praise being kissed across your chin as he refuses to relent the punishing paste he’s established.

 Your face is throbbing with the strength of your thudding heart when he finally starts to slow down, your body still bowing and writhing as he begins to coo down at you sweetly, capturing your lips with his as your shaking starts to subside and your sweat begins to cool.

 “Good girl,” he sighs into your mouth. “You’re such a good girl for me….”

 You don’t reply- can’t reply.  Joe’s reduced you into a boneless mess of a woman.

 When you do eventually open your eyes, Joe is smiling down at you with an obvious affection that threatens to get your heart racing once more. Not taking his eyes from yours, he gently slides his fingers from your still-fluttering sex and makes a show of licking them clean. 

 With a mischievous wink, he uses his other hand to smooth your hair from your forehead before carefully rolling so he’s laying beside you, his shoulder pressed against your as he chuckles.

 “Huh, whaddaya know,” he says after he releases one of his fingers from between his lips with a lewd pop. “Guess poetry isn't that bad.”

 Using all of your energy, you turn your head to give him the weakest glare you think you’ve ever given.

 “When….when I can breathe witho’ havin’ to think about it so hard, I’m gon’ make you cum til you pass out.”

 Joe gives you a smiling kiss.

“And I’ll let you….once we finish round two.”

 Well, looks like I’ll be going back to the bookstore sooner than I thought.

~ ~ ~ Taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @teenmagazines​ @liebgotttme​

[i-need-air]

bruh i almost really only if you’re okay with it wanna part 2 of kiri’s but like it has a married life and kids because dog hybrid kiri with kids or normal puppies too just sound adorable

That sounds so cute so I decided to mix both things. Here you have Kiri with doggos and kiddies 🥺💕

In here reader can get pregnant and ig goes by "mommy", I wanted to make it like this bc imagine smol lil kirishimas running around with smol black tails and wiggly ears and;;;; I'm soft—

Word count: 1.4k

[ Main Hybrid!Kirishima HCs ] [ Masterlist ]

× since we've established he starts as a dog trainer, expect to have doggos around the house all the time

× but it takes some good months for him to ever consider adopting one with you

× he's really aware of both of your financial situation so he'd need his business to boom before considering it, and maybe renting a bigger apartment

× what was good was that his internet fame got him sponsors and extra-cash

× whenever the time comes to consider it and talk it with you, he'd sit you down and mutter a cute "I was thinking—" while he's cuddling into your chest

× guess who's ready to do at the next shelter to adopt? Kiri is so eager to help another life 🥺

× adopts a big pitbull that's the sweetest thing in reality and in a few days he takes the doggo with him at work

× seriously loves seeing you cuddling big soft furry baby but gets jealous playfully; dog's in your lap? lifts you both up and now you're all in his lap, don't question it

× calls it Dynamo or something, saying he wants to honor his friend that he still had to find 🥺🥺🥺

× they're inseparable and look so intimidating together ajdjkejs until he smiles brightly and dog starts jumping around happy to exist; they both wiggle their tails and i swear just the cutest ever omg

× now before he considers children [ daydreams about it around 2 hours a day but sure ] he wants to be able to give you more

× saves up for a promise ring a few months in the relationship

× "My heart will forever be yours and someday I want to officially be able to call you mine" manly speech but he's tearing up while he puts it on your ring finger

× marriage between species was still a dicey issue, although it was legal some people still protested about it daily

× still believed in your relationship and was willing to take whatever came your way

× wants to do it the right way because he's a firm believer you deserve the best and wants to give it to you

× you did have to have a very small wedding but it did not matter to him and hopefully to you either

× KIDDIES!!!! skfjsljdhs I'm melting bc

× you guys planned it, right? it had to be a good time for both of you and had to have space for a smol little pack

× yeah, he calls it a pack; it seems it comes from his old days where his closest friends called themselves that and he now wants his own

× when you're settled and surprise him with the news???? falls on his knees, puts his forehead on your belly and sighs, taking his shaky hands to place them there too

× it's happening, it really is

× both him and Dynamo get very protective of you

× they've always been but it's as if the dog actually feels his owner on the edge protecting his mate

× from the day you've told him you're expecting he's gonna carry you around

× i mean, he likes to do it, leave him have it

× but he's fucking embarrassing as hell; once your belly starts getting bigger and let's say you find each other on the street, he's gonna pick you up bridal style and walk you home

× all the neighborhood simps for you both

× [ unrelated but everyone has a crush on him and are jealous of u, i don't make the rules ]

× doesn't matter if you scold him all flustered bc he's just going to laugh wholeheartedly and say some cheesy stuff like "It's just that I'm too happy right now" and he makes you shut up and boil of embarrassment

× oh my god; he puts his head on your belly and listens to two heartbeats [ has very good hearing ] and gets soft as fuck

× when the bundle of happiness arrives he's crying

× like he cries cries

× holds the baby and cries

× baby cries and he cries

× you're washing the baby and he observes the scene, crying

× absolutely adores both of you

× hear me out; smoll bby has an even smoler tail

× that they wiggle whenever they see their momma or dadda...

× yeah, from the first few weeks baby does that and it kills you

× [ imagine: ] it's 3 A.M., baby woke you two up crying and he kisses your forehead, urging you to go back to sleep; he goes to the baby's room and picks em up softly, holding them close to his chest and singing a sweet lullaby in his deep raspy voice, just above a whisper; Dynamo is a self-proclaimed bodyguard so the dog is always by the baby's door... you get up to see what's taking him so long and he's just sitting on the armchair in the room, kissing your baby's forehead tenderly...

× i really love the idea of Kiri having a daughter just because he'd be such a great dad; pick cute clothes, do her hair, play with her, have tea-parties; 🥺 strong big man with cute daughter? 💘💖💘💖💘

× gets so soft for his pup; calls your kid a pup; pup responds with wiggly tail

× she starts learning the puppy eyes from his dad and now, for sure, it's the death of you

× you're gone now, one of those looks and you can't argue anything and give in

× i feel he'd post about his family online and that's when his following would just explode, basically turning him into an advocate for hybrid lives and showing the world they're not different from normal humans; still keeps his privacy cuz people are mean mfs sometimes

× can we just accept the fact that they're both a mess? loud, clumsy and sunshine-y?

× her first words are Mamma and he instantly jumps in her face to ask "Hey, what aBOUT DADDY?!?!?!?"

× will get out of his way to make his smol sunshine giggle and her adorable cute laughs are his life juice

× gets energy to eat the world afterwards

× has this exagerated way of talking just to entertain the baby; even mundane things like: gasps —and I— dramatic pause to look around —made a MILKSHAKE! throws his arms in the air, making bb giggle and clap

× ridiculous dad;

× places your daughter on Dynamo's back and makes it carry her around like a horse

× gives her a paper made sword and roars a battle cry

× adorable squeal-like roar in response from his daughter

× also will have her be on his shoulders if you guys walk anywhere, keeping her in place by holding her chubby legs secured

× dumb songs for everything while they walk; "We're going to the mall, WE'RE GONNA BUY IT ALL, WE WANT SOME CHICKEN NUGGETS AND MAYBE GET SOME MUFFINS"

× "No."

× insert puppy eyes

× "... fine..."

× "WE'RE GOING TO THE MALL—"

× will want more children; like i said, he wants his own pack

× is more than happy to adopt hybrids too; he knows specially the youngest ones are treated badly so if you can't have children, please consider it

× because he will love them with all his heart and he has so much love and care to give

× just think about how he'd be surrounded with two, three children, all trying to climb on him, one hanging on his beefy arm, another clawing his leg, one on his shoulders; such a sight~

× every time he sees his kids doing anything he watches them carefully then turns to you with love in his eyes

× "You make me the happiest man alive"

× you gave him a new life, such happiness he only dreamed about in his darkest days and is thankful every single day;

× sometimes forgets how incredibly amazing he is, yet your words help him

× if your children call him the best dad ever?

× beams

× brighter than the sun itself

× will give it all for your family

× now and forever

[caspercryptid]

In Perpetuity

This was supposed to be for Mel week day 4, AU, which was yesterday, or maybe for a requester in my inbox asking for Melora, which it is, but also, I did polyam and went on about meljay a little too long and now i’m gonna write another fic. So this is late on both counts. But! Happy Mel Week, and for everyone reading HAMMER TO FALL, here’s another one shot for the Heroes & Villains verse. If you’re not: Established relationship meljay, Jayce is a superhero, he’s Viktor’s roommate and is still crushing on him, that’s all the context you need for this one. Enjoy!

TW: Heights. 

___

It’s a day like any other day, or maybe a day like a thousand other days, or maybe there’d been a few too many days like this, lately, because Mel is...not having a good one. 

Jayce is lovely, really he is, and she was certain he’d be understanding if she gave him a call, but he’d been...going through a lot lately. That felt like the understatement of the century, the longer she considered it. 

And he’s kind of the problem, anyway.

So Mel has pushed her apartment window open to try to get a little fresh air, and she’s sitting with one leg hanging down over the street. It’s reckless, yes, but she has one foot planted firmly on the floor inside, and it’s a fairly roomy windowframe, and she thinks maybe she needs the fear in her gut. It helps her think. 

It has been a bad week, she reflects, a little distantly. A really, exceptionally bad week. Out of the window, some part of Piltover proper is still smoking, because there’d been another incident, and she doesn’t know if it was the Defender of Tomorrow this time– and dammit, Jayce, that name was... not his best choice. She had no idea if it had been Jayce, or Vi, or Camille, or one of the other heroes smashing through her city. All she knew is that she’d been asked again to do cleanup, and it’s getting....tiring. 

You told him to do this A small part of her brain reminds her, and yes, she had. She had because he’d wanted to. He’d wanted so desperately to do something, to be a hero, so she’d said he should. That she’d back him up, however she could. And she’d kept her word– and of course, it wasn’t just for him, she’d done this because she believed in it too. The heroes needed help, they needed people on the ground who were willing to do the cleanup that didn’t end when the rubble left the road. She’s a lawyer, writing press statements for newspapers was... easy. She has some connections, making nice with the superheroes and the council also just made sense. She would have done it without Jayce. With him, it was easy. She said she’d back him up. She did.

He wasn’t around terribly often, anymore, though. 

In fairness, she thinks, as she swings her leg and feels gravity trying to pull her shoe from her foot. She isn’t either. They’re constantly just missing each other. She gets pulled into a particularly contested case the week Machine Herald takes off and Jayce is actually home, and then Jayce gets the tar beaten out of him when she had a rare break in cases. Bringing him coffee in the infirmary is not a date. Especially not when Heimerdinger is there. 

Or Viktor, for that matter.

It’s not a problem that Jayce is in love with Viktor. It isn’t. Any more than it’s a problem that Mel’s in love with–-

The door opens, on cue, because of course it does, Mel can’t get a break, and there’s only two people with her apartment keys and one of them is probably on fire right now, so she turns away to reassure Elora that she is not, in fact, climbing out the window. 

She catches sight of Elora and promptly forgets how to speak, which hopefully just looks like guilt, but Elora just laughs. 

“Well, this beats sitting on the deck railing. Do you remember that one? At the Kiramman’s charity gala?”

Mel grins, a little. “You startled me so badly I nearly fell.”

“Nearly?” Elora challenges, and ah, well. Now that Mel thinks about it, She remembers the single pinwheeling moment of terror, Elora’s arms catching her, the view of the sky and Elora’s face upside down, her hair dangling down, her eyes, wide and dark, remembers having the most vividly stupid one liner in her head about falling for her and remembers thinking Jayce would have said it. She hadn’t. He had been absolutely insufferable about teasing her when she’d told him. 

“Well, backwards was much better than forwards.” Mel says. “Even if it wasn’t that far of a drop.”

“You would have ruined your dress.” Elora chides her, and Mel snorts as she leans back on the window frame. 

“Speaking of dresses.” She says. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re dressed up today.”

“–Ah, I suppose I did.” 

Elora’s wearing a short red dress cinched at her waist, her hair twisted up with a red clip, which is a perfect match to the– blush. She’s blushing. Mel processes, a second, but Elora beats her to it.

“I was thinking,” She says, “That since your boyfriend seems to be indisposed today, and you had those tickets to the opera on your schedule– If I could be so presumptuous–” She breaks off, smiling. “Mel, you can’t grin at me like that, I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me.”

“Finish the sentence.” She prompts.

Mel realizes that she is smiling, but she can’t quite seem to stop. 

“Well now I'm embarrassed to.”

“Are you about to ask if you can be my boyfriend for the evening?”

“I wasn’t going to phrase it like that.”

“My girlfriend?” Mel says, and then realizes she’s just asking. “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“–for the evening?” Elora asks, red.

“No.” Mel says, and then snorts, pressing her hand to her own cheek. “I mean, yes. Presumably for this evening. And then onwards. In perpetuity.” 

“Well, that’s a little forward.” Elora jokes. “Might run into some legal trouble with that contract.” 

“Thankfully you know a very good lawyer.” Mel says. 

“That seems like a conflict of interest.”

“Don’t we have an alignment of interests?” 

“I think this metaphor is getting away from you.” Elora is smiling, though, bright, doing something almost horrible to Mel’s chest, and then she extends a hand. “Come here out of the window before you scare me to death.”

“It would be a shame if I fell for you.” Mel says, and Elora covers her mouth to suppress her laugh, and Mel can’t stop smiling. 

Maybe this week isn’t so bad after all, she thinks, as she silently vows never to tell Jayce she used that line.

[izzielizzie]

no 1 cooper/kris 🥰

1: a conversation you wished had happened in canon

"Your friends are nice," Kris tells me as I sit next to him on his couch the night after Nate was released from jail.

I stare at the wall, trying to figure out what to say. Kris sighs next to me and shifts until his head is on my shoulder. "It's okay to not be okay right now," he tells me.

I realize, now, that I've been waiting for someone to say that to me. To look me in the eye and acknowledge that I've been through some fucked up shit in the past couple months. It's too bad that not many people are willing to look at me right now. I want to turn to Kris, to squeeze his hand and thank him, for the millionth time, for staying right here. I guess that what's Nate was trying to do yesterday with Bronwyn. But he sent her home crying, and I don't want to do the same to Kris.

But, like the idiot that I am, I keep staring at the wall. Kris slips his hand into mine and I rest my head on his.

"How's your hand?" he asks me as he grazes his fingers over the bruises on my knuckles.

"Injured," I inform him.

He hides his laughter in my neck. "Thanks for letting me know."

"Any time."

"And Addy's okay, yeah?"

"Physically," I assure him. Mentally, I'm not sure.

He moves on past that. "And Bronwyn and Nate?"

I let out a sigh between my teeth. "They're... well... they're-"

"Bronwyn and Nate?"

That makes me laugh. "Yeah. Something like that."

"And Bronwyn's sister?"

I finally turn to look down at Kris. "Maeve? What about her?"

Kris just smiles sadly at me. "She's hurting, that's all."

I think of Maeve's dull eyes in the past few days. I never really thought about her. I guess that's a potential problem, since it's obvious Bronwyn isn't either.

I shrug. "The thing about the Rojas sisters is that they're golden. They're going to be fine." I tell Kris, sounding more convinced than I am. I'm starting to realize that maybe there are things about people's lives that we'll just never know about.

Kris looks unconvinced but he doesn't say anything. He lifts my hand up to kiss each scabbed over knuckle in turn.

We stay that way for a while until I finally find the courage to say something I haven't really even admitted to myself. "I'm not."

Kris turns to me. "Hmm?" he asks mildly, muting the TV.

"You said it was okay to not be okay," I remind him. "And I'm not."

"Ah," Kris says. He turns so he's sitting cross-legged in front of me. I mimic the pose. He takes my hands in his, and I'm reminded suddenly of a therapy session. If Bronwyn was here she'd tell me that I probably need one. "I know that," he informs me.

Of course he does.

He waits, holding out until I say something first. Normally that would freak me out, but the way he's looking at me, like the only thing that matters is hearing what I have to say, makes me want to cry. "I just, I feel like everyone's moved on you know? Simon's dead. We're liars but he's the biggest one. That's it. People just forget you know? Like Luis texted me this morning inviting me to a party. A goddamn party. He's done. His best friend isn't a murderer so he can chill you know? No worries for him, time to party senior year away like he always wanted to."

Kris is still looking at me, so I figure I should continue.

"It's like we were a detour in the lives of people in Bayview. Everyone goes about their days but for two months they have a question hanging over their heads. The question's gone so we don't matter anymore. But how do we get over everything that happened to us?"

I can't talk anymore, so Kris can just keep staring I guess. But he stops when it's obvious I'm done. He just leans forward and presses his forehead against mine.

"I don't know," he admits, like he's revealing a great shortcoming. Like it's killing him that he can't fix my problem. It probably is.

I wonder briefly if this is how Ashton feels about Addy. And how Maeve feels about Bronwyn and Nate. God. We're killing the people we love.

"I'm not sure you get to move on," Kris admits. "This is something that has happened to you. And it sucks. It fucking blows -" he pauses, letting me laugh in surprise at the fact that he swore. He continues talking. "But it's part of you. You can't change what's happened to you Coop. All you can do is move on with the knowledge that you, and everyone else, can do something differently the next time."

I squeeze my eyes shut as my throat burns. I want to cry so badly it hurts.

"And, as for Luis, I don't think he's being insensitive. He's just trying to help you move on best he can. He's a good friend."

"And you're a good boyfriend," I whisper around a sob.

I open my eyes to see Kris's expression softening, his own eyes glazing over with tears. "Come here," he says quietly, pulling me into his chest. It's not a very comfortable position, my legs still crossed underneath me, but I don't ever want to move.

[marchtomydrums]

Jealousy pt. 7

Alex Cabot x Casey Novak x Reader

Lying down on the bed, the events over the past day are reeling in your brain. You can’t even imagine how hurt Casey is going to be, and Alex fucking hates you. And here you are just lying here crying your eyes out like that does anyone any good. You pull yourself up to sit with your back against the headboard pulling your knees into your chest. The little voice inside your head is going wild. “They’re going to send me on my way. They won’t want me after this. How can they? I’ve ruined everything.” Your so busy drowning in your sorrows you don’t even hear the knock on the door.

“Y/N.” Casey says softly. Casey walks into the bedroom Alex not far behind. Casey makes her way over to the bed sitting beside you on her side. She brushes the hair out of your face and kisses you softly on your temple.

“Honey, we need to talk to you.” Casey says softly trying to make eye contact with you.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can have my stuff out by the end of the week. Or I can just stay in the guest room until I can get my own place if that’s okay.” You say quickly trying to get it all out without sobbing.

Casey looks at you confused and shakes her head “what? No, honey we don’t want you to go anywhere. We just want to talk.” You hang your head low trying so hard not to breakdown as you ask “You still want me?” Casey is shocked and quickly says “of course we do honey. Casey glances in Alex’s direction to see her standing by the closed door with tears in her eyes.

“Both of you?” You ask hiccuping your question.

Alex immediately closes the distance between us and is now sitting right in front of you. She gently grabs your chin making you look up at her. She has tears streaming down her face and she gives you the sweetest smile.

Alex starts her speech of in a gentle and loving tone “My love, I would go to the ends of the earth for you. I would lay down my life for you and Casey. Truth is I would risk it all for you, and that scares me. I have never loved someone the way that I love the two of you. I was content to only ever sharing that kind of love with Casey until you walked into that door. I fell in love with you before you spoke your first word and that truly scares the hell out of me. I have never opened my heart to someone like that before Casey and it scared me to do it with you. I trust you, love you, and cherish you. That’s why it hurt me so badly that you could think so little of our relationship. That you could believe a strangers word against my love and devotion to you. “

The three of us are all sobbing at this point. Casey and you are hanging on to Alex’s every world. Falling even more in love with her as the words come pouring out of her mouth.

Alex continues “ I was hurt, and instead of explaining that to you I shut down. I let my anger take over. I let walls build up quickly around my heart because I couldn’t handle anymore pain. I won’t lie to you and say I’ll never do it again however, I’m telling you I will try my hardest to communicate with you so that we can avoid all of this. I love you. I can’t lose you. And I won’t. But you have to promise not only me but Casey too that you will try as well. You will talk to us and explain your feelings instead of running from them. That we never go to bed angry and we always say I love back to one another. “

Casey is nodding her head in agreement and looks over at me before she speaks “ We want you honey. We need you. We love you.” Alex smiles at Casey before returning her gaze back to you. She lifts her hand to cradle your face using her thumb to wipe away your tears. The physical contact makes your heart race and your eyes close as your body slips into relaxation. You open your eyes to speak. “ I promise you that I will try too. I’ll will never do this again. I’m sorry that I hurt you..both of you. I have never experienced a love like this before with anyone. Love from the two of you can heal almost all my wounds. I could never imagine loving someone else the way I do the two of you. And the idea of the two of you sharing that exact love with someone else kills me. Claudia‘s words poisoned me but your right something already had to be there. That’s my fault. I always fear that one day I won’t be good enough for you anymore. There is so much uncertainty with the future. For the first time in my life I’m not in control and is hard for me. “ you tell them.

Casey chuckles as she looks towards Alex “sounds like someone else I know.” You and Alex roll your eyes at the same time. Which causes Casey to laugh out loud. You chucked as you leaned into kiss Casey. She willing accepts. You pull back and look over to Alex who is watching you closely. She gives you a small smile has you lean in to kiss her as well. As the kiss ends Alex lays her forehead against yours. She whispers “How could ever ask if I still want you? You’re like the air that I need to breathe.” “I love you.” She says softly. “I love you too. Both of you.” You tell them.

You lean back against the headboard again before you ask “can we cuddle for a while?” Casey and Alex both nod their heads with smiles on their faces. They both stand up to pull back the covers to lay beside you. Alex pulls you into her side, your head laying on her chest. Casey wraps her arm around you from behind and kisses your head. All three of you sigh in content as you slowly drift to sleep.