#please please reblog this i spent so much time and effort making this from scratch

[hanasinbloom]

> "I'm not... going to run away anymore..." > "I promised him. So please... watch over me."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ — PERSONA! — ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blessed Are The Meek 5

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I’m sure yall didn’t expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You wipe the Commander's face and stand with the cup, brush, and blade. You go to the sink to clean it all up and put it away. As you do, you hear him shifting in the water. You've already set out his soap and shampoo on the ledge. The smell of it laces the air. 

You glance at the door, wondering if you should go. 

"You will wait and have a towel ready."

His order is taken as diligently as any other. 'Yes, Commander' and you take the bath sheet from the rack, standing by the wall and staring at your sleeve. He sighs as he lingers in water, drawing out the tension.

When he stands, water slaking noisily from his body, you come forward and open the bath sheet. He steps over the wall of the tub and waits. You wrap it around him and he finally clasps the top.

You recoil and move aside. He passes you and you roll up your sleeve to pull the stopper from the tub. You don’t return to the bedroom right away. You give him time before you near the door, head down.

“Would you like your tea?” You ask the floor.

He sits on the side of the bed. He reaches for the thick tome on the round table beside the wooden frame. He lifts the bible and flutters through the gold-edged pages. You listen to the noise but refocus on the cold hardwood.

“Even piety cannot outweigh the law,” he says, “did you chance a verse or two, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, Commander.”

He snaps the book shut, clutching it between his hands. He runs his thumb along the spine and leans forward. He stares at the cover then hurls it at the wall, making you flinch as it falls onto its pages.

“Tell me then, what did you read? Before?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t believe he truly cares. This is just what the men do. They play on their power, pulling the strings of the women they made into puppets. You won’t tell him of the cheap novellas that kept you company in a tub very much like the one in the next room or the fantastical tales of dragons and magic that first awakened your love of literature. 

“I am not the woman I was before. I cannot recall.”

He sits up and leans his head back, “you are just like every other woman. You say what will do you best, but never the truth.”

You don’t argue. He is right, but he does not admit why. That if you do speak honestly, you will be sent to the wall or worse.

“Or maybe you read nothing at all. Maybe you were the sort to watch a screen until your head turned dull. Or spent your time with a bottle of liquor…” he presumes as he scratches along his neck. “Certainly, there wasn’t much time for reading with a son to rear, eh?”

You try not to falter. Is it a lucky guess or does he know? He could. Surely, if he wanted to know who you used to be, he could find that out.

“Tea,” he orders bluntly and lifts his legs onto the bed, sprawling wide so the bath sheet slackens around his legs.

“Yes, Commander,” you affirm, twisting sharply as you fight to keep your nerves from boiling over. It is a test. One you must pass.

🌫️

The Commander dismisses you as he sits thumbing through the bible’s bent pages and sipping his tea. You leave him with the soft clasp of the doorknob behind you. You wade through the dark and down to the first floor. You resume your seat on the bench, drawing your legs up as you lay on your side.

It is stiff and uncomfortable. You feel the knot forming in your neck already but you are too tired to worry about it. You sleep shallowly, cramped and rigid, until you are awakened by the creak of the stairs.

You sit up with an effort. Your neck screams and your shoulder blades throb. You lean on the wall for just a moment as you muster the strength to stand. The pain is almost inhuman. You knew you would regret sleeping on the bench but you hadn’t much choice.

You rise and brace your hip without thinking as you face the Commander coming down the stairs. He wears only a robe in the pale light of early morning. It cannot be more than four.

“I called for you,” he stops on the middle step.

“Apologies, Commander.”

“Why are you down here?” He sneers.

“I… I did not know where else–”

“Hush,” he demands curtly, “you think too much and say more.”

You lower your chin in submission. You swallow your standard acquiescence and wait for further reproach.

“Upstairs. This house is frigid, I require another duvet. Find one.”

He goes back up as you hesitate to follow. You ascend, step by step, tamping down a whine as each lift of your foot zings up to your neck. You go to the narrow closet door and open it, revealing a spare blanket. You bring it with you and enter through the open bedroom door.

The Commander is abed already. You approach him and throw the duvet across the bed, grunting through your teeth. You tug the corners straight and he reaches to grasp your wrist. You pause, his touch almost stinging.

“You may sleep across my feet, like a dog,” he snickers, “it would do better than that bench for your decrepit bones.”

You stay still, not daring to rip your arm away from him, “Commander, I don’t mind–”

“It is not up to you. Go on, dog, take your place.”

He lets you go and you stand. Your eyes burn with humiliation as you sidle towards the end of the mattress. You put one hand down, then the other, climbing up on all fours like an animal. You lower yourself onto your side, back to him as you stare at the dark doorway.

“Just like a loyal old bitch,” he remarks as he jostles the bed, kicking you from beneath the blanket, “aren’t you?”

“Yes, Commander,” you force through your tight throat.

[youarejesting]

Sly like a...? Part 9

[Master list] [Sly Master List] Beta: n/a (at the moment) Rating: All Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have plot in those scenes and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story. Words: 1.5k

Summary: Human’s strive to be better, faster and stronger looking to animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.

[First] [Prev] [Next]

Tonight you had decided to ask Hoseok what he wanted to eat for dinner. A quick knock on his always-open door and a peek inside showed him sitting on his bed. With his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees he looked young. He was staring forlornly at the wall, perhaps you thought he was feeling a little homesick. The city was much different from what he was used to. 

“Hoseok, hey?” You sat beside him the scent of fresh pine on his warm-toned skin. Waving your hand within his line of sight in an effort to gain his attention. The deer blinked, giving you a bright smile and a cheery laugh. 

“Sorry, I was lost in thought?” He straightened out his legs. You patted the soft comforter in front of you. 

“Shuffle your butt over here,” you spoke softly. He continued to face the wall and shuffled over, you pulled him to lay back against you, “Are you feeling homesick honey?”

“Yeah, I guess I miss nature. It’s just, it’s so bare” he muttered looking around his room, a desk with a laptop, a bed, and bedside tables he sniffed wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I miss it.”

“How about we get you some plants as many as you want, to fill the room, if you really want we can tear up the carpet and lay down grass instead,” Hoseok laughed as you described a tall plant by his desk flowers on his bedside tables and hanging pots from the ceiling. “You can call them, that’s why I got you this,”

He nodded taking the phone you held out to him, he dialed a number and placed it to his ear. “Hello?” 

“Hello my sister,” he said, relaxing as he heard the familiar voice. 

“Hobi!” She called through the phone, which seemed to cause a commotion on the other end of the phone as many voices could be heard, “what is it like in the city? Are they treating you nicely? Have you been eating?”

“It’s really nice and everyone is so fun and nice and we eat lots of food together,” he cheered. The family was talking happily and you grinned scratching Hoseok's head happily laughing with him. 

“We are going to decorate his room with plants,” you assured his family that he was being treated well, “oh! tonight is your choice for dinner so what would you like?”

“Unnie, Hobi likes Japchae and meat,” his sister giggled over the phone and you leaned around Hoseok and grinned. 

“What you think Hobi-ah? Sounds good?” You used their nickname teasingly but in hopes, he would feel more at home and at ease around you. 

“Mm, Hobi wants japchae!” He said cutely, making you laugh, you gently pushed his firm and warm body until he was sitting up enough to slip out from behind him. 

“Alright, you keep talking I will round up Jin and Yoongi and we will get to work cooking,” bidding your goodbyes to Hoseok’s family, you headed out to the kitchen. Yoongi was tying up his apron and Jin was playing video games with the youngest of the group. 

You decided against asking Jin as he seemed truly engrossed in playing his video games. Sorting out ingredients and finding a recipe Yoongi and yourself shuffled around the kitchen. There were moments where you reached over where he was cutting vegetables and your shoulders would brushed and just for a second you would hear a small purr. 

Jin lost to Jungkook and pouted, scuffing his slippers as he entered the kitchen, “Ya! The game likes Jungkook better!” He whined, with a grin on your face you pulled him into a hug. Arms wrapping around his tiny waist as you buried your face in the soft sweater he was wearing, it smelt sweet like figs and his ears twitched. 

“I am just happy you tried your best,” you praised him, as you felt the vibrating chittering in his chest almost like a purr but more like a rattle. He nuzzled your hair breathing in your scent. You got him to join in with the cooking. Your instructions interrupted by Taehyung who was complaining about being hungry.

Sliding between the two hybrids to get past, you got some ingredients from the fridge. You sat at the breakfast bar mixing the ingredients in a big metal bowl. Taehyung had been your neighbor for at least five years now and you knew his favorite foods. 

“Try this and tell me how it is?” you held a ball of rice out in a plastic gloved hand and he leaned in eating it. His eyes lighting up. He gave a deep mmh-mm of approval and his tail was smacking Jungkook in the thigh, the young boy looking at the offending appendage and swatted it away.

“Me too, noona” He smiled pointing to his mouth and you popped one of the Jumeokbap onto his tongue. He chewed it happily his cheeks puffed full, a purr filling the room loudly. You turned to Jin offering him a taste, he praised it with a thumbs up.

Carrying the bowl around to Yoongi you smiled, “You want to try one Yoongi?” He didn’t reply but leaned his head towards you eyes on the food mouth opened.

He let you put one in his mouth, and you pressed your ear to Yoongi’s shoulder, his purrs were definitely the quietest out of all the felines in the house, they were ones that vibrated deeply in his chest but didn’t make too much noise unless it was really quiet and you listened intently.

“I smell tuna!” Jimin grinned bounding over his long legs barely touched the ground and he smiled, “Me love, one for me”

You were trying to roll one but he had started rubbing his face on your jaw and neck impatiently, as he purred sweetly, “I am making it as fast as I can,” the words barely came out through your giggles his soft hair tickling your neck, his ears twitching at the sound.

“Here try this one,” he leaned in wrapping his mouth around the rice ball his eyes never leaving yours. “Is it good?”

“Mm very good” he hummed standing behind you his hands wrapped around your waist as you made one for Namjoon. He held out his hand and ate it, nodding before awkwardly shuffling around waiting for the food to finish. Hoseok exited his room smiling brightly, it seemed the conversation with his family had eased his loneliness.

Namjoon at dinner was a little scary all he could see was food and his deep purrs were so loud that it almost sounded like thunder rumbling outside. You brought up the question at dinner and watched them all choke on their food. 

“It is only natural, I am just wondering when and if you know your rut schedule so I can put it on the calendar and if you need any assistance during this time we can look for a suitable companion or items that can relief your needs.”

Jungkook was bright red and Jimin thought honestly, “I don’t need assistance but if when I am not in my room we could cuddle,”

“I also do not require assitance I will just be in my room,” Namjoon said with a small reassuring smile.

“I have never had a rut,” Jungkook said his cheeks never losing their rosey colour, “They gave us a hormone blocker every six months so we would behave, we just got really annoyed”

You nodded they all seemed to agree that they would be fine on their own in their room but you thought you would look into somethings as a fail safe. After your goodnights to each of the boys giving them a sweet kiss on their foreheads, you sat on Jungkook’s bed and told him more of the stories of the fox.

“In Korean legends, the Kumiho is often described as a terrifying and sad creature that strives to become a real human. It is said that a Kumiho can turn into a real human by eating 100 human livers or by marrying a human and living with them for 100 days without their true identity being discovered. There are many more theories on how they came to be but they…”

Once everyone was tucked in, you spent the night in the lounge. Searching the web for eligible companions and items that could assist the seven young men. You hoped they were all settling in nicely. A figure appeared in the hall, ringing his tail in his hands, you gave a soft smile, surprised as the figure came closer.

It wasn’t Jimin as you had first thought, it was Jungkook, you walked him back to bed and he whispered, “I am nervous what if I do something bad during my rut?”

“I know your true nature Jungkook, I know you don’t want to hurt any of the boys or even myself and when the rut passes well then you will be back to the old Koo we know and love.”

“Can you sleep in my room tonight?” He said and seeing your apprehension he added, “Just until I fall asleep?”

“Alright just until you fall asleep.” Not knowing how exhausted you were and how the bed was so soft and enticing. You had fallen asleep almost instantly, letting Jungkook pull you into his arms and nuzzle your shoulder.

[First] [Prev] [Next]

Tags:  @simplymemyself​​ @lolsiiike​​ @min2jeon​​ @notruercolors​​​ @luvaffaire​​​ @grazysf​​​  @ella-mella​​​ @lustremyg​​ @sonnymii​​ @moments-of-melancholy​​ @calling-dips-on-j-hope​​ @jiminiessipabo​​ @staerryminimini​ @afangirl91​ @halfway-insane​ ​​​​ (please make sure you have tagging setting on so you get notified when the story updates)

How can I save this to receive and read updates?

‘Follow’ and turn on ‘Notifications’ so you never miss an update

Add your name to a ‘Tag’ list [HERE]

‘Reblog’ this post with the hashtag #BTSsly

Or you can ‘Like’ this post (but good luck trying to find it a week later, we both know how many things you like a day, perhaps we will meet again in the future.)

[rpbetter]

Hey, can I get some advice on improving my descriptions / becoming more literate? I feel like I'm really dull when it comes to my writing and would like some advice! Thank you!

You absolutely can, thank you for asking! I apologize it took me a bit to get to this, tumblr didn’t show me notifications and I’ve been rather busy. Hopefully, I can offer some good advice!

Please, keep in mind that, as always, it is just my advice. If these things do not work out for you, don’t feel bad about it! You just need to find what does work for you. And, if you have anything that jumps out at you that you wish me to elaborate more on, or even that simply occurs to you more specifically to ask as you read, please, do ask! I am always happy to have those questions, of course.

Being more literate in itself can help. It can also be a hindrance, however, as we tend to compare ourselves to others negatively. I’d say not to do that, but it’s something you have to unlearn, not something you can simply stop doing. We’re taught a lot of self-criticism by comparison in both the educational system and our society. You’ve got learn to approach material you enjoy as just that, something you enjoy, not a standard you need to uphold. All writers should be unique, they’re all individual people! I think the death of a good many unwritten works hinges on that, honestly; the writer couldn’t live up to their own expectations, born of comparison to their literary heroes.

That being said? Read.

Read new and diverse things, and revisit old favorites. Learn as many words as you can in whatever way works best for you; through reading alone, through word of the day apps, or looking up novel words you run across/looking up words as you write to compare them to synonyms. I know, tumblr has gotten really nasty in recent years about writers who seem to have “regurgitated a thesaurus.” There is always a bad way to do something good, there are always excesses when you’re passionate about something. Don’t replace every third word with an exotic one simply because you think it looks better. Do replace words that are, legitimately, better in how they evoke the setting or mood you are going for. Remember that word flow is important, perhaps especially when it comes to descriptions.

If you do not tend to read much material that is description heavy, I’d suggest doing so. Try to find works that are still descriptive, but fit with the genres you like to both read and write the best to get you started, but don’t stay there exclusively. It doesn’t need to be something like...let’s say, Tolkien. Not to piss anyone off, I’m not anti-Tolkien or anything, but I could never get into his works, regardless of interest or effort, because they’re so description heavy, and in ways that don’t pique or hold my interest much. So, if you find that you are not into description laden works, that isn’t a poor reflection on you! It’s more likely that you simply aren’t into those specific works, you need to find something that is more of interest to you, personally.

If you do tend to read many works that are descriptive at all, take up a few of your favorites and pick some passages within them that you enjoyed the most. Ones that you could feel. When they described an outfit, you not only saw it, you saw the way it moved on the character, knew what it would feel like to touch it. When they described a setting in nature, you had a sensory experience there as well; you could smell the hyper-specific scent of wildflowers on a warm breeze, or the electric chill of a sudden summer storm moving in.

Ask yourself what does this for you so that you can experiment with doing it yourself. Is it the words, the word flow? Is it what the author isn’t saying, leaving the reader to automatically fill in with their own sensory recollections? There are so many ways of being descriptive in writing, as many as there are writers, and as many as there are things to be descriptive about.

So, it’s, again, a bit of a situation of finding what naturally pulls you into those descriptions yourself. While there are always good rules that can apply across the board with writing, it is a creative art. If you’re only following the rules others have set down, you can end up feeling negative about the process, yourself, and the product...or your readers/RP partners feel like the work is lacking or boring. Even when people can’t quite put their finger on something, forced work feels forced, unnatural, or lacking substance.

Diversify what you consume.

I know, I just said that thing about the familiar stories! Once you’re better able to identify what it is that stands out as evocative to you, though, you can better feel that in unfamiliar works. You can get a better idea of how language itself works as a living thing. Read some things out of your usual genres, ask for recommendations from friends or family who read, check out some older works, and even follow some blogs that post a variety of poetry quotes or full poems.

Reading song lyrics and a variety of other spoken-word style things like slam poetry and rap is helpful as well. They’re all doing the same here, evoking imagery and emotion. That is what you are trying to do as well! These formats, additionally, use highly evocative words to describe in a shortened way. They are great for realizing unique ways that familiar words can be paired.

By going outside of your usual bounds, you may encounter words, writing styles, and other descriptive qualities you hadn’t considered before. If you don’t, you still end up with a fuller grasp on writing itself. Everything is a potential learning experience if you are willing to approach it that way! Use it to play around with words and styles, Use this as experimentation, and realize that it is perfectly alright for it not to work out. That’s part of the exercise of finding what works for you; realizing what doesn’t work.

When you have some ideas of what makes you experience the things being described, practice. Pick anything. In fact, incredibly mundane, irrelevant things are perfect for this. If you can describe a sock in good detail, in a way that isn’t either inaccurate or boring, giving it relevance and life, you can describe anything.

Use ask memes and writing prompts, and write them out from your character’s perspective.

Even if you are not writing a first person account, it helps you to use narrative language that the muse might use, or that gives the reader a intuitive feeling for the muse. Don’t try to fill the whole thing up with descriptions. Sometimes, just simplifying is a good thing, and will help more relevant details stand out.

For example, I will often use things in the environment around my muse to help pair with, further denote, and give the reader a feeling for the muse’s emotions, psychological state, and so on. If that muse is in a hectic state, I’m not going to describe something in the environment that isn’t, like a peaceful meadow. I’m going to describe the seeming chaos of some ants in the grass taking apart their food, the erratic seeds or spores on the wind, or the clatter of an old farm truck on the roadway that breaks up the peace of the surroundings.

It’s a very different effect than describing the entire meadow in high detail, in ways that are perceptible to my muse and not, down to a blade of grass or a rock. It then takes over too much of my reader’s imaginative process and agency without giving them anything of nonnegotiable importance about the scene or the muse. Details that reflect a state of internal distress, like the ants, seeds, or truck, then fall by the wayside of this massive scene-setting I’ve done. And, as unfortunate as it is, if you are writing RP especially, your audience is looking for details that are pertinent and impactful. They’re likely to, intentionally or otherwise, skip several paragraphs of descriptions no matter how beautiful they are.

Since you just said “descriptions” and “writing” {nothing wrong with that, I just want to be sure I’m covering as much as possible that might be of help to you}, I’m not sure if you are meaning external descriptions or more internalized, character-driven ones, and not sure if you are writing only RP, only traditional writing, or a combination thereof.

As I said above, using descriptions that reflect things about the muse is useful and interesting, regardless of how or what you are writing. So, even if you were not meaning internalized descriptions, doing the things I’m about to talk about relating to this will still be helpful!

Internalized descriptions include things like: mood, thoughts, memories, and sensory perception.

To do these things any justice, you have to really know your muse, be able to experience things from their unique perspective and not just your own - or just what you wish the reader to experience through them.

If you didn’t have inspiration for the muse, you wouldn’t be writing them, but inspiration isn’t the same as knowing them as well, maybe better, than yourself. To do that, it is a process of learning and experimentation...and practice.

Those memes I mentioned above? Those are useful here, too! It doesn’t matter if it isn’t an ask meme you want to reblog, or if no one sent you anything from it; you can find a variety of memes, save them, and ask yourself the questions.

On sentence memes, or “starter memes,” ask yourself what your muse’s internal reaction to having that sentence said to them would be, how it might externalize (or not), and if these things are true, or just your perception/what you would like to have happen. If you’ve developed this muse from scratch or spent time learning them from canon, you should have some pretty good ideas as to how they’ll feel. Expand on that instinctive or learned idea. Does it change if a different muse or character type says this? Say it is an inflammatory sentence, something accusatory, derogatory, or pushy. Do they react the same way if a loved one says it instead of a stranger? How about a person who is obviously intoxicated, or a person who is under the influence of youth, so to speak? Take that, and write out two different scenarios.

On ask, or “headcanon/development memes,” pick a question and answer it yourself. Just answer it in depth. Now, have your muse answer that question. You may notice that the muse didn’t want to answer as clearly, is lying or omitting things, and/or had other thoughts generated by that question. If you didn’t already do it this way, answer the question again as a story in which your muse goes through those thoughts. Describe their emotions using words that carry the same emotional resonance, not all descriptions need to be lengthy if the right words, right word order, are found for optimum impact on the reader. Write out the thoughts they are having, just as messy as they are naturally having them.

Outside of memes, you have yet more options for helpful exercises that get you in touch with your muse and your writing.

Try out photography and inspiration blogs. Pick a some pictures that drew your attention, and write about them descriptively. Write out how the picture makes you feel, what it makes you think about. Practice not just describing how something looks, but how it would feel to be there. Using the same pictures, write as your muse in the same way. Put them in this scene to give their experiences. It helps you get a grasp on putting impressions and experiences down in creative ways that allow others to experience it the same way, and it helps you more easily step into your muse’s mind and experiences.

Seeing things through your muse’s eyes (through the lens of their life experiences, preferences, biases, emotions, and thoughts) is critical in giving authentic descriptions. To do more of this, you can practice in every day life. Even if you cannot write it out, or write it out yet, you can consciously think as your muse. If your muse was watching this TV show or hearing this song, what would they think? Don’t just answer as, “they would/n’t like it.” Answer as to why they would or would not, what it makes them feel and think. You can continue doing this with your muse’s impressions of different environments and people.

You can even simply contemplate an emotion and how your muse feels and expresses it.

Adding on underlying and overarching emotions to the mix as you go along; emotion, and thought, is complex. We very rarely are only angry, sad, or happy. We are very rarely only thinking of a single thing, and even rarer, thinking of it out of nowhere. It’ll help you identify the way your muse experiences emotion and thought, as well as how best to describe these things.

For example, I write a muse that can easily present as simply being quiet and angry. Additionally, as the character develops, his actions and general behavior can seem to not match well with his overall, genuinely kind nature. It’s necessary for me as a writer to identify where the anger comes from, what its components are; it isn’t just anger. It’s built on the things anger so often is; frustration, sadness, and fear. It gives the reader insight and helps delineate the muse’s expression of “anger.” When the anger is coming more from a place of insulation and protection than it is frustration, it presents differently.

I describe the sensation of the most obvious emotion, the anger, but also the underlying states that have led to it being apparent. How it really feels to be a wounded animal in a corner. I describe an experience or two pertaining to the emotional pain and fear, keep it relevant throughout the text in callbacks (what set him off is related to those experiences in some way, and during or after the experience of anger, those other situations are referenced again). Maybe it is an outright flashback, maybe it is less thematically stated. The descriptions I use, again, of his surroundings-not just his expressions, tone of voice, or movements-denotes that he is in this particular state of mind. He might notice similarities in the environment relating to a previous bad experience, since he is in that mindset, or he might be noticing things in a more critical way than he normally would. Things he might see every day are being processed as hateful in some way; garish or otherwise visually displeasing, might be seen as outright harmful, or even menacing. Bold colors, sharp lines, stand out. Things come into high relief and are painted in large swaths of color, the minute details missing suddenly.

Further, you can think of things that make your own similar state of mind so much worse in these situations. Is there a repetitive sound in the background? Is the person he is speaking with seemingly blowing him off in some way? Is he hungry, tired, thirsty, in physical pain? I then write those things throughout as additional, building irritants. 

Using your personal experiences isn’t a bad thing, I really wish tumblr hadn’t gotten into that mindset. Unless you really have written a 100% self-insert character, they shouldn’t experience things exactly as you do, no. However, you have a basis to go off of already when you are describing their inner life; your own.

Maybe you have never been so wracked with grief that you collapsed, but you have been caught up in a significant loss of some sort that you can build upon. If you can better imagine what your muse’s experience is, you can describe it not only better, but also in a way that reads as legitimate. It’s not a description of grief that you could have gotten from anywhere else, doesn’t have cliché lines in it about grief, such as, “though he was drowning in an ocean of loss, he knew he had to be strong for his friends, so, he put on a brave face.” (There are other issues with that, but that’s a whole other post!)

My point is, you have the tools of accurate inner life within you, and you should use them to build that accuracy in your writing. Again, play with the words and structure, make sure you are building the feelings or otherwise being immersive about them. Keep them throughout the thread, do not have a muse magically become the opposite of what you’ve described because it is no longer convenient, and do not forgo little reminders that the muse feels the way they do, no matter what their actions might be saying.

When you describe your muse’s actions that are being influenced by an emotion, good or bad, use words that evoke the emotion while describing those actions.

If the muse is very sad, do not use words that bring to mind vivacity and passion. Don’t use metaphors that bring to mind those same things. Your muse doesn’t slink like a jungle cat to the table when depressed, but they might move in a daze, like a shadow, or a have to put maximum effort into their every step as though heading to their own execution.

I don’t think anyone should describe, let alone to an extreme, every action their muse undertakes, but when you are imparting these things with emotional tone or thought processes, it really shouldn’t be done. It’s exhausting for you to write, and just as exhausting for your reader, who is very likely going, okay, we get it, she’s angry. Like the descriptions of the surroundings, try to keep it to important and telling actions. You needn’t describe your muse’s every eye movement, but if they are so embarrassed they’re having trouble keeping eye contact, or so annoyed they glare, that is a description you want to add.

Writers never seem to forget facial expressions or dramatic body movements, which is reasonable, considering how visual a species humans are, but quite often forgo tone of voice and word pronunciation entirely. These are great ways to denote what your muse is feeling. Consider how your muse speaks most often, whether they work at proper pronunciation and hiding an accent, or if they simply let their most natural speech flow. Then, consider how different emotions might impact that. I’m not talking about the only go-to many muns on tumblr have, the “my muse speaks -first language here- when angry” thing. I’m talking about your muse entering into any emotion strongly enough to drop crisp pronunciation, outright mess up familiar and easy words, stumble, stutter, or pause. Write emotion into your muse’s speech, and don’t keep it to adding things like, “said angrily.”

That’s telling, not showing, and is the death of descriptive writing of any sort.

Doing any of the above in a document is highly recommended. Not only are you less likely to encounter tumblr eating your drafts as you work on them, you have more freedom to open it up later and play around with the structure. Additionally, writing directly on the platform can be distracting in more ways than just the desire to dash scroll! It can make you feel like you need to be doing what you owe instead, need to be responding to messages, posted memes, comments. Taking it off site feels more like your own space and time for experimentation.

I know this was long, and covered many points (though, it could always use more). So, I’m going to kind of rehash some below!

For learning and inspiration:

read things both familiar and not in order to figure out what sort of descriptions speak to you, then practice doing them yourself

read a variety of works, not just books, and not just new books; oftentimes, the lessons in older books will stand out to you even more for using descriptions that are no longer common. Those lessons still hold, like the very act of using common, highly recognizable objects and settings to describe a person, place, or thing. In those cases, see what you can rewrite that would give the same feeling using things that are currently so recognizable

don’t count out things like music and poetry, they flow with emotion and it is imperative that they give emotion and setting in unique ways

use ask/starter memes, pictures, and even common situations occurring around you to experiment with both writing descriptions and getting into your muse’s mindset

think on your own experiences with your environment and emotions

consider how your muse’s perceptions may change based upon thoughts and emotions, and/or how you can describe the setting to reflect and drive home these factors

really get to know your muse by exploring headcanon memes, giving yourself a refresher on their canon (yes, even if you wrote it), and comparing and contrasting your experiences with your muse’s on the same topics

experiment with new words, their use, and their flow

seriously, practice! Outside of writing you intend for anyone else to ever see!

Things to Remember:

you are unique as a person, therefore, you are unique as a writer...and that is a good thing, you just need to find what works for you

describe things that are important in setting the scene in ways that are not just visual; be emotive, and pick things that have bearing on the immediate topic

don’t forget that your muse’s voice and spoken words use can, and should be, impacted by thoughts and feelings

just like you, your muse is unlikely to see the same objects in the same light under any manner of strong emotional influence

also just like you, who is saying something and in what context is extremely important in how your muse reacts internally and how that is presented externally; if your muse feels and reacts the same way no matter the other party, they’re a little cardboard and you’re not being descriptive or thoughtful enough

listen, if you just really need to describe something utterly irrelevant to live another second? That’s fine, but you need to make it relevant. Perhaps, your muse noticed the cracks on that rock because they’re in an altered state - be that by way of a substance, or an emotion

there is a reason why we use clichés, and I am not going to say they should never be used, just that you should try to be more creative with them, and they should always be viable ones that truly match the mood

the same is true of words, we have some words that are just so commonly expressive of sensations and emotions that they come up quite often, but again, try to find something similar if possible, and always make sure it’s still evoking the right thing

I repeat: get in touch with your muse, even if you do not write them from first person. The language you use as a writer to describe them and their world is better if it feels like them

no support for tumblr’s anti-wordiness, but huge support for optimizing word use for maximum impact

to that end, if you’re a RPer, even a fic writer, please know that your desire to write descriptively isn’t going to be appreciated by some people. That’s their fucking loss, and you are better off without them. You will find the audience that will properly appreciate what you’re doing!

I hope some of this helped to give you some starting points you might not have thought of!

[lettering-is-my-music]

finished making all Eeveelution Pokepens!!!!! super proud of myself for this. Not only did I make the pens but I made the Pokémon blanks from scratch!

These are made from the actual Pokémon trading card. They come in both fountain pen and rollerball.

(details of the giveaway for one of these pens will be on my Instagram tomorrow!)

(please reblog I spent so much time and effort on these i ruined so many shirts because I got resin on them)

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

Jealous of a Kitten

Author's Note:

Hey y'all! So I was b l o w n away by the response to my last Loki x Reader oneshot, so I thought I'd give writing for him another go! I've had this fic in my drafts since literally last year lmao. If you end up liking it, I'd love a like, reblog, or comment to let me know! And if anyone wants to request something for Loki or any other MCU characters, feel free to send me a message and let me know! As always big thanks to @twentytwohearts for their help reading and helping out with this fic!

Y/N POV:

“Good heavens mortal, haven’t you got anything else to occupy your time besides pestering me?” Loki grumbled affectionately from his place on the sofa. He was reclined comfortably on the couch, back pressed up to my front as he rested in between my bent legs. My hands were tangled within his inky black locks, fingers lazily scratching through his hair as I braided small sections. I grinned widely.  

“Nope!” I replied cheekily, ensuring to overexaggeratedly pop the “p” at the end. “Cap gave me the rest of the day off from training, so you’re blessed with my presence all day, snowball."

The prince sighed melodramatically as he turned a page in the book currently resting on his lap. 

“I wouldn’t exactly describe it as a blessing pet” he remarked dryly. His tone was nonchalant, but I could hear the small smile in his words despite his clear efforts to seem passive. 

“Oh please, we both know you love when I ‘annoy’ you." I rolled my eyes with a giggle. Loki merely hummed in response as he continued to read whatever tome had caught his attention this afternoon. Deciding to mess with him a bit, I removed my hands from his now-wavy tresses. 

“Or maybe not?” I pouted, feigning hurt and leaning my chest away from his body. He stilled slightly with his fingers paused mid page turn. His back tensed just a bit, and I could practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he tried to decipher whether or not I was serious. Though he only panicked a moment or two, it was enough to make me silently delight in having seemingly tricked the god of mischief. He huffed childishly, his hand grabbing mine quickly and placing it back on his head. 

My smile widened so far at his reaction I was almost fearful it may actually split my face in two. He didn't say anything, but was certain Loki could feel the satisfaction coming off of me in waves. Even though I'd known from the beginning, it was nice to be reminded just how content he was to be entangled with me for the moment. He could pretend all he wanted, but I knew something about the lanky god that most people didn't. 

He was a huge cuddle-bug. 

As stiff and regal as he presented himself most of the time, he never failed to make it known just how much he adored physical contact with me. I'd even go so far as to consider him touch-starved when we'd first met. I mean, it made sense. He was a prince and the only meaningful contact he'd probably experienced came from those that used to help him dress or bathe. The thought of him going for so long -- literally thousands of years -- without the affectionate touch of another living being made me genuinely teary. Once we'd established ourselves as a couple, he instantly became a constant presence at my side. It didn't matter the situation nor the company surrounding us, if he was in the same room as I was he would gravitate towards me. Whether it was a hand resting across the small of my back or fingers linked firmly through mine, he always found some way to initiate some kind of physical touch. I was more than thrilled at his open displays of affection -- even after months of time spent together I still felt the delicious ripples of electricity run through me each time his skin met mine. 

Moments like today's were rare. Days when neither of us had any obligations or work to be done, when we could just spend time with one another. Sweet, domestic slices of life when we could just cuddle close to one another and pretend for a moment that all the struggles of the world were gone. I sighed softly as we lapsed back into comfortable silence, both of us content to simply be in one another's presence. 

But, as always, no peaceful moments around here could last that long. 

Peter came bursting through the door, looking even more flustered than usual. Which, for him, was saying something. He was wearing his suit sans the mask, carrying a giant throw blanket, with his brown curls mussed wildly and eyes desperately searching the room. He spotted Loki and I fairly quickly. A brief look of relief passed over the young boy's features as he rushed over to where we laid.

"Hey guys, uhm I could use some help," he blurted breathlessly once he reached the couch. I chuckled, amused by the poor flustered teen. 

"You'll have to be more specific than that," Loki grumbled from his place between my legs. I didn't need to see his face to know exactly his expression. Clearly he was annoyed to have our peaceful moment interrupted, and I would bet money that he was scowling at Peter as a result. Frowning slightly, I pinched the back of his arm in reprimand. 

"OUCH," he exclaimed dramatically. His arm darted out of my reach, the other hand coming out to rub the sore spot childishly. "What on Earth was that for?"

"Leave him alone snowball, he clearly needs something," I scolded lightly. He huffed once more, settling back into my legs and turning his attention back to his book and grumbling inaudibly. I rolled my eyes. 

Peter's eyes went slightly wider as they darted between Loki and I. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the raven-haired Asgardian when he was actually behaving, and given Loki's current grumpy demeanor he seemed especially on-edge. I smiled brightly, hoping to ease his discomfort. 

"What's up Peter?"

His eyes darted back to mine suddenly, relief overtaking his face at the save.

"So I was just out, ya know like patrolling, and I was helping this old Italian lady. She was carrying all this stuff right -- and I obviously figured I would try to help -- but she didn't speak English. She was like kinda mad at first and she hit me a couple times, cause I think she thought I was trying to rob her, but eventually we got everything sorted and got all her stuff back to her super old car and --" Peter rambled, words slurring together with that inhuman speed that only teenagers could seem to muster. My brows furrowed in confusion and I lifted my hands up like a criminal surrendering. 

"Whoa WHOA Spiderling, take a breath man." I chuckled good-naturedly. The teen's face flushed slightly at my interruption. 

"Sorry. Right. Sorry." he mumbled. "Anyways, so I finally get all her stuff in her car, and she just leaned into me and patted my head. I was gonna swing away, but she handed me this and drove away." 

He gestured to the large blanket in his gloved hands. My brows furrowed. 

"Okayyyyy," I drawled, still confused as to the issue. "And you're mad she gave you an afghan because…?"

His eyes sparked with realization, mouth forming an 'O'. 

"Oh no, no that's not it. I mean that is pretty weird, like why would I need a blanket in the first place. Maybe she thought I looked cold or something, but --"

"Norns, child!" Loki interrupted. He shut his book with a snap, abruptly shifting positions on the couch so he was sitting upright. "Could you perhaps get to the point sometime this century?"

I slapped his arm disapprovingly -- he scowled at me, stubbornly scooting further from me in silent protest. I turned my attention back to Peter with a soft smile. I nodded at the red-faced teen, waving a hand in indication that he should continue. 

"Right. Sorry Mr. Loki. Uhm, so anyways, she gave me this and I don't exactly know what to do with it," he finished. He opened the chunky-knit blanket to reveal the smallest, fuzziest kitten I'd ever seen. The kitten was tiny, no bigger than my fist, fur matted and full of tufts of orange and white hair. As soon as Peter opened the blanket the small kitten blinked it's tiny eyes against the harsh light. Adorable high pitched squeaks came from the teeny cat, who was clearly displeased with the sudden disturbance to it's sleep.

I gasped, my heart practically melting at the sight. I stood suddenly, hands reaching out unconsciously and making grabby motions towards the adorable creature. Peter readily complied, gently transferring the mewling baby over to my awaiting grasp. I cradled the little cat delicately, blanket and all, against my chest and cooed soft, unintelligible words of affection. My hands instantly found a spot behind the kitten's ears and began scratching lightly. The kitten responded positively, nuzzling into my touch readily and purring loudly at the attention. My heart felt like it was positively melting at the sights, sounds, and feel of the small animal in my arms. 

"It's so cute," I gushed, though whether it was to myself or the guys I wasn't even sure. I finally managed to tear my gaze from the cat when I heard a quiet growl come from Loki's direction. 

He was in his same spot on the couch, but I could instantly tell he was annoyed, even without the little grumble. His posture was rigid, hands sitting atop his legs balled into fists, and eyes suddenly dark with anger. Only moments before his face had seemed soft, the sharp planes and angles relaxed as we'd sat together. Now his expression was stony -- the stern mask of irritation he so often wore back with a vengeance. I was momentarily distracted from the small creature in my arms. Twinges of worry and the impulse to comfort him planted low in my belly ran through me at the sight. 

"He is cute," Peter's voice interrupted, clearly oblivious to Loki's abrupt mood shift. "At least I think it's a he? Anyways I can't bring him home, May is allergic to cats and anyways I don't think they're allowed in my building. I was kind of hoping you could watch him for a while?"

"Absolutely n--"

"Of course!"

Loki's head snapped up towards mine as we spoke at the same time, his scowl deepening at my response. I furrowed my brows in confusion, slightly surprised at his aggressive reaction. Peter's eyes bounced from my face to Loki's -- the awkwardness radiating from him as he shifted from foot to foot. 

"Can you not just take it to a shelter or something of that nature?" Loki seethed, glaring at the poor teen. Peter was clearly flustered by the question -- red creeped up his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort. 

"Well, see, I tried that! I did, but they told me he's too young for them to take -- cause he's just a baby -- and they can't take him," he stuttered. "Plus, they said they've got too many animals right now, and if he doesn't get adopted soon then they might have to...you know…"

I gasped, instinctively tugging the now-sleeping kitten closer to my chest. Loki shrugged, nonplussed. 

"So?" he questioned. "That is what happens to unneeded animals on this realm, yes?"

My jaw dropped and I frowned disapprovingly at Loki. I knew he could still be, shall we say, difficult at times; though he was definitely on his way to being 'rehabilitated', old habits die hard and he often still struggled with concepts like compassion and kindness. Particularly when it came to anyone or anything that wasn't, well, me. Even still, how someone could look at the tiny creature in my arms without feeling the warm, protective emotions that I did baffled me. 

"We are NOT sending this poor baby to be killed!" I stage whispered the last part, glaring at Loki and cradling the kitten protectively against my chest. "Good lord Loki, just look at him!"

I held the small orange cat down slightly, revealing it's angelic sleeping face to the scowling god. He glanced at the kitten briefly before turning his attention back to me and quirking a brow. 

"I have." he stated plainly, voice laced with poorly concealed contempt. I scowled at him and stuck my tongue out childishly before turning back to Peter. 

"Ignore him Pete, of course we'll take care of him." I reassured the flustered teen. Peter's young face instantly flooded with relief and he mumbled a muffled 'thanks!' as he rushed back out of the room. 

Smiling and chuckling, I turned back towards the couch where Loki still sat. His facial expression remained annoyed and he'd crossed his arms tensely against his chest. I couldn't help but giggle outwardly at his pout; he looked like a child who's toy had been taken away. Though I found his pouty face adorable, I still found it slightly infuriating that it was over the innocent little bundle in my arms. My obvious amusement only caused his scowl to deepen and he scooched over further from me as I sat in my previous spot on the plush couch. 

"Somebody's a bit crabby," I stage whispered to the still sleeping kitten. Loki scoffed. 

"I am not 'crabby' pet," he grumbled. "I simply don't understand your fascination with this little creature.”

I chuckled, the noise hollow and closer to a scoff than anything. I rolled my eyes before turning my attention back to the small kitten in my arms. He began to stir lightly, stretching out his tiny limbs and squeaking out the most adorable yawn before turning his attention to Loki and I. His small eyes appraised the two of us with a kind of innocent curiosity. Eventually he deemed us safe enough, and he began to slowly venture out from the confines of his blanket. As he tentatively explored my lap and the small section of couch that separated Loki and I, I felt my face split into a wide smile. Warm, happy feelings blossomed in my chest at the sight of the curious creature. 

"What's your name gonna be, huh?" I cooed to the small, exploring cat. "Are you a Tom or more of a Finn hmmm?"

Loki rolled his eyes, face never leaving his book. 

"How about blot?" he suggested plainly. His tone was even, controlled, and even though his lips didn't quirk up even the slightest bit at his suggestion I was wholly suspicious instantly. Sending a frown his way, I replied quickly. 

"Dare I even ask what that means?" I quipped warily. His eyes flashed momentarily to my face as he shrugged. Even with the briefest glance I could see the tell-tale spark of mischief in his eyes. Rolling my own eyes in exasperation, I turned my attention back towards the small tabby and ran my fingers across his back. 

"Hmm, what else?" I pondered out loud. "How about Tigger? You look a lot like Tigger."

The tiny cat purred louder at my words, curling around my hand as I spoke. Encouraged, I scratched his fur a little harder. 

"You like that huh? Alright, Tigger it is!"

 A quiet scoff came from the other end of the couch. To my utter confusion, Loki was still radiating complete and total annoyance from his place across from me. He sat tensely in the opposite corner of the couch with his boots tucked petulantly beneath him and his body angled as far from mine as gravity would allow. His head was bowed down slightly, his attention seemingly directed back to his book. Despite his best efforts, I could tell that he was only idly paying any attention to the words on the page. Gone was the smooth look of contentment that had graced his beautiful features mere minutes before; his face was once more a cold veil of poorly concealed contempt as he feigned reading. The look, though common to the rest of the world, was troubling to me. It’d taken months, but I thought I’d broken through the raven-haired god’s stony exterior. The sudden return of the stern facial expression caused pangs of concern and sympathy to prod at me from within. I reached a hand out instinctively to grasp his hand in mine, determined to display my silent support. 

Despite his ‘silvertongue’ reputation, Loki often struggled to verbalize feelings of anything other than contempt, rage, or disgust. I’d learned quickly that often he didn’t need me to attempt to discuss anything he wasn’t ready for -- rather it seemed the best way to comfort him in these times was a physical show of my presence and affection. 

This time was no different, and though his head barely moved an inch I could instantly feel the way he calmed under my touch. The muscles in his hand immediately relaxed as he moved to twine his long fingers between mine. His tense expression softened, although only fractionally as he grasped my hand. He turned his attention from his book slowly, deep blue eyes turning to meet my worried gaze. 

"Hey, talk to me snowflake," I demanded softly. "What's going on?"

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but a small mewl cut him off before he could speak. I glanced down and giggled lightly at the sight of the small orange tabby beneath us. The tiny kitten had wandered down the couch and was currently sitting mere inches away from our intertwined hands with a curious look overtaking his small face. Evidently he wasn't quite pleased to have the attention taken from him so quickly, and he reached a paw out tentatively to hover above our hands. Eventually deciding it was safe, the small cat placed a paw over the tops of our hands, eyes darting between Loki and I with a kind of content curiosity that made my heart practically melt. 

Loki, quite obviously did not share these feelings, and withdrew his hand instantly. His face was once more overtaken by a deep scowl as he snapped his book shut and swiftly stood. He turned curtly and exited the room without another word. My eyes followed him as he left, brows furrowed with concern and confusion. Tigger, meanwhile, was clinging to my chest by his tiny claws, his heart beating with an insane speed. He was clearly scared by Loki's sudden moves and general demeanor, and I cooed soft words of comfort to the small creature. My eyes never left the door though, thoughts of interest and concern overtaking my mind as I wondered what exactly had gotten into my raven-haired companion today. 

A few days later

Loki's POV

Sweet giggles filled the halls of the tower as I walked towards Y/N's room. A small smile overtook my features as the sound filtered through my ears. Typically I found midgardians irritating and their laughter grating, but as was almost always the case, Y/N was an exception. Y/N simply radiated happiness at every turn, and over the past weeks the sound of her infectious laugh had become one of my favorite sounds. Her mere presence had the uncanny ability to both calm and excite me at once, and I'd grown progressively more fond of my time spent with her in a way that baffled me and those around us.

In fact, the past few days had proven increasingly difficult for just that reason. Y/N and I had spent less time together as of late -- a fact that saddened and irritated me in near equal parts. For the past few days I’d found myself yearning for more time with my dear mortal, having been separated by the rather irritating presence of a certain small animal. Ever since the young Spiderchild had thrust a stray cat into Y/N's care she had been wholly and utterly enamored with the useless pet. She doted on the feline, which she'd dubbed 'Tigger', and spent nearly all of her time either caring for, amusing, or simply fawning over it. 

It was becoming rather taxing. 

At first, once I had begrudgingly accepted that the cat wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, I'd attempted to simply ignore it and go about our time as usual. It was only a day or two before that notion was entirely dismissed. Each time I made such an attempt Tigger had made his presence unmistakably clear. The loathsome, needy thing seemed to share my desire to be near Y/N, and was constantly sitting on or pawing at her. And even the precious few moments in which it wasn't physically touching Y/N it took to mewling and crying until she gave in and picked it up. I hadn’t had a single moment with Y/N in which we were truly alone for days, and I was reaching my breaking point. 

As I finally reached Y/N’s room and entered, the smile that the sound of her laughter had put on my face immediately turned to a scowl. Inside the room was Y/N, beautiful as ever, sitting casually on her bed. The sight, which normally would have filled my stomach with a tiny stir of happiness, was marred with the unwelcomed addition of a certain small kitten. The wretched thing was sitting in between her legs, happily jumping and pawing at the toy she waved above him. She was looking over the stupid pet with such fondness in her eyes -- a look which I'd once thought was reserved only for me. Irritation overtook my senses at the sight, and I couldn’t help the scoff of annoyance that came from me. 

Y/N looked up at the sound, initial confusion turning to excitement as she realized my presence. My own feelings of resentment faded marginally at the sight of her beautiful features lighting up with a smile of genuine happiness at the sight of me. 

"Hiya Snowball!" she greeted me excitedly, rushing up from her place on her bed and striding up to where I stood. She tucked herself into the fold of my arms easily, her head resting comfortably against my chest and her arms wrapped tightly around my waist. I sighed lightly, my own arms winding around her relatively smaller frame and my face coming to rest against the top of her head.

"Hello my love," I murmured lightly into the crown of her head, placing a sweet kiss in my wake before burying my nose in the soft hairs there. She hummed softly in contentment, and we stayed in this position for some time. It could've been moments, minutes, hours -- I was never quite aware of the passing of time when I was with Y/N like this. I was wholly encased in the safe little bubble that only her presence seemed to create. I was surrounded by her: the unique scent wafting from her hair, the feel of her body melding against mine, and the soft thumping of her heart against my chest that provided the ideal background music for our calm moment together. I was completely entranced by our embrace, all feelings of irritation gone for the moment. 

But only for the moment. 

The sound of tiny cries and the feeling of a small body thumping and winding its way across our ankles broke through the peace we'd established like a freight engine. Y/N's chuckle vibrated low against my chest before she pulled herself out of my arms to peer down at the kitten. Annoyance seared through my body as she detangled herself from me and squatted down to scoop the needy thing into her arms. She stood up once more, cradling the spoiled little creature in her arms and scratching its face with her long slender fingers. 

"Someone wants a hug too, huh?" she cooed playfully to the cat. My frown deepened at her soft tone, the same tone she often spoke to me with -- the small, loving voice that had crooned to me during late nights or early morning moments spent wrapped in one another's embrace. The same tone that never ceased to comfort me or make me feel as if she was possibly the only person to truly love me. The sound that I treasured so dearly was now being directed to a lowly, disgusting animal. It sent a wave of rage through my entire being like a white hot flame. 

"Norns Y/N!" I snapped. "Can we not have a single moment without the presence of this...this animal?"

Her eyes widened as she took in my words, brows practically flying upwards in surprise and hands stilling against Tigger's face. Her wide eyes blinked a few times in complete shock as she surveyed my face carefully. 

"I'm sorry?" she questioned confusedly. I exhaled loudly in irritation, arms coming to rest across my chest in a display of my annoyance. 

"Does it not bother you that we've not spent a moment together, alone, since the creature was forced upon you?" I questioned, tone acidic and face a stone mask of anger. Her brow furrowed deeper in confusion briefly before a wave of understanding flooded her eyes. Expression softening, she set the kitten down lightly onto the floor before crossing the few steps required to reach me once more. Though her eyes held nothing but concern and understanding within the deep Y/E/C irises, her face had the tiniest hint of a smirk.

"Well I'd ask if it bothered you snowflake, but it seems that may be redundant at this point," she replied to my earlier question with ease. Her soft hands reached up towards me and wrapped easily around the back of my neck. Almost of their own accord, my own hands found the curve of her waist and held her firmly. In lieu of a response I simply scowled in her direction. She chuckled lightly, and propped herself up on her toes briefly to place a gentle kiss on my cheek before she led me over to her bed and motioned for me to sit. I complied, albeit somewhat begrudgingly, and she ensured we were settled against the head of the mattress before she spoke again. 

"Loki, are you...jealous of Tigger?" she questioned. Her tone was very matter-of-fact, but the ghost of a smirk still lingered on her face. I felt my face flood with heat, and though I'd like to blame the color on anger I was certain she could tell that I was embarrassed. Though she was largely correct, I was struck with the ridiculousness of the statement as I heard it tumble from her lips. Glancing away from her expectant gaze I mumbled out a response, though I wasn't entirely sure what it was. 

Her gentle fingers moved slightly around my head, delicately stroking the skin of my neck and face until her soft palms rested against the sides of my face. She applied the gentlest pressure to my cheek, forcing me to look her in the eyes once more. I reluctantly complied. 

"Because if you are," she continued. "I'm sure I'd have to tell you just how insane that is. Outside of the fact that Tigger is a cat and you are my not-so-human boyfriend, the idea that there's anyone or anything I'd want to spend time with more than you is just completely inaccurate. He's a baby, and he needs a lot of my attention that's all. Since you haven't been coming around much I just assumed you were busy with other things lately -- never once did it cross my mind that I was the reason I hadn't seen you much." 

I felt my furrowed brows relax slightly. Stupid and petty as my feelings may be, I couldn't deny that hearing such reassurances straight from the one person I truly cared for had taken away a considerable amount of unease from my mind. I exhaled a long breath and shifted unconsciously deeper into Y/N's hold.

"Regardless I'm truly, very sorry that I made you think I was choosing something else over you. I would never want to hurt you like that, or make you feel like you aren't the most important person in my life." 

Her worried gaze was still locked firmly on my face as she spoke. Though the majority of my chest was filled with a feeling of relief from her admission, there was a twinge of guilt lurking deep within my stomach. I often forgot just how caring and gentle Y/N could be and this may have been one such occasion. Of course she latched onto the feeble creature -- was that not what she did with me as well? It was simply a part of her nature to care for the weak or disadvantaged. 

I frowned once more as my mind reeled with the realization of my own selfishness. Y/N clearly mistook my expression however, and I could see the guilt in her eyes as she spoke up once more.

"I can ask Peter if there anyway he can watch him for a bit, maybe just give us some time alone. Or maybe --"

"No." I cut her off abruptly once again. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she opened her mouth to reply. My own finger came up to her face fast as lightning to silence what would undoubtedly be more apologies. 

"Dearest, clearly the fault is not on your end in this case," I started, hoping to ease her mind. "We both know I often, shall we say, struggle with expressing my thoughts at times. Of course you wish to care for the kitten, just as you care for everything in your life. I was wrong to assume your affections were completely diverted and for not mentioning my feelings sooner. For both, I am truly sorry."

Her expression softened at my apologies, face relaxing under my hand as I spoke. She smiled a small grin of appreciation before thrusting herself forward and deeper into my arms. I let out a small 'oomf' at the force of her body attaching to mine, but regardless my arms wound their way around her frame and I cradled her to my chest. She sighed in contentment, and we stayed in this position for a few moments before I felt her chuckle against my body. I pulled my head back just enough to give her a questioning look. 

"I'm sorry," she giggled, face alight with mischief and glee. "Did the big, fearsome Loki just say he was sorry?"

However unintentionally I felt my face heat up once more, although this time it wasn't from anger. I rolled my eyes lightly before smirking down at Y/N's smiling face. 

"If I were you, I'd mark this day down in your memory, as it isn't likely to be said again anytime soon," came my dry response. 

I heard Y/N's melodious giggle from where her face was pressed against my body, sending delicious sparks of happiness across my frame. Outside of that, her only response to my statement was nuzzling deeper into my body -- a welcome action that I easily reciprocated. My eyelids closed as we settled ourselves into a comfortable silence, content to simply be in one another's presence. I hummed, utterly at peace with my current position, when I heard a tiny mewl from nearby. 

Opening just one eye, I saw a curious little face near mine. Tigger had evidently decided it was now safe enough to venture close to where Y/N and I laid. He was pawing hesitantly back and forth across my lap, eyes assessing me with tentative curiosity as he made tiny circles around my stomach. I chuckled at the feeling of his impossibly tiny paws kneading my lower belly as he settled into a lying position. Y/N opened her eyes at my amused chuckle and shot me a sheepish grin. 

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I can take him somewhere else. I think Peter's around, he'd probably watch him for a bit."

I shook my head, placing a small kiss to her forehead and placing a hand on Tigger's ears.

"It's alright love. I meant what I said when I was sorry -- he didn't do anything wrong, he simply wishes to be around you as much as possible. Obviously, that is a trait we both share, and I think I could expend a bit more energy in attempting to bond with Tigger." I answered genuinely. The kitten purred loudly in response, inching his body further up my chest until he was resting just beside Y/N's face. He closed his eyes sleepily, and curled into my body constantly as he slept. 

Y/N grinned widely, her lovely face alight with such genuine love and glee that I was taken aback at her beauty. She placed a sweet kiss to my lips in thanks before returning to her place on my chest. I closed my eyes once more, smile firmly in place as I lied quietly and revelled in the peaceful moment. 

Taglist: @grahoundart

[ask-de-writer]

In the Desert (1 part), a fantasy of Dirkhan in the Desert and Uman the Fat

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Dirkhan in the Desert

IN THE DESERT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Cover by Wind the Mama Cat

1474 words

copyright 2013

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan activity including but not limited to art, stories, musical compositions, plays or anything else is ACTIVELY ENCOURAGED.

///////////////////////

The nomad’s arrow thumped into Uman’s camel. That was an accident. He had meant the shaft for Uman. The beast gave an expressive groan and took off like it had wings instead of feet. Very few things can catch a camel that has made up its mind to run. Uman the Fat hung on and let the camel have its head. It easily out-paced his pursuers’ horses and settled down to a distance-eating trot.

Uman reflected that he was not much better off now than he was as a prisoner in the gem mines of Lusk. He earned that fate by being a mercenary on the wrong side of a civil war. He’d always earned his living by dame Fortune. Uman had been many things in his life: fortune hunter, thief, adventurer, mercenary soldier. The big adventurer had worked harder for his independence than most who labored for a living. In the process, he had earned and lost more than many would ever see.

On the first day of his flight from Lusk, he had the misfortune to run into a band of nomads. Even worse, they knew him from the recent civil war. Hence, the arrow flighted at him.

On the second day after his camel was hit, it began to stagger and show severe distress. Before noon, it pitched onto the ground and died. Uman gathered as much of his gear as he could carry and began to walk.

The Skrald Iden seemed even hotter once he was on foot. The heat caused shimmering mirages that made the stones waver and dance. Uman walked as long as he was able. At last, he came to the end of his water, and soon after, the end of his considerable endurance.

Uman drained the very last drop of water from his canteen. He shook it in futile frustration. He was about to hurl it away with an oath. Thinking better of his action, he contented himself with the oath. Rehanging the canteen by its strap, he averred to himself, “Never can tell, it might be useful again.”

Spying an outcrop of rock that ran from east to west, Uman hastened into its shade. “This will last until the cool of the evening. Travel will be easier then,” he thought, loosening his head-cloth and settling himself as comfortably as he could. He began a futile attempt at napping to save his energy for the evening and night’s travel.

He could not get comfortable. There were hard, lumpy little stones everywhere. Looking more closely, he saw that there was a layer of gravel under the cap of rock on the outcrop.

“This looks like the gravel they made me dig when I mined for gems in Lusk,” he muttered to himself, running some of the small stones through his fingers.” I wonder…”

Uman began idly scrabbling at the gravel to pass the time. He was about to give it up as a complete waste of effort when he found a pebble that looked different from the others. He licked it, to see better what it looked like. A brilliant blue winked back at him when he held the dampened stone in the sunlight. “I don’t believe it! This is a sapphire or I’m a eunuch!” he exclaimed.

Uman began digging at the gravel like a terrier digging for a rodent. With each new find, he exclaimed in delight and dug again. After a while, he rested from his digging. In his hands were five sapphires, three rubies and a beryl.

As he admired his finds he said, “This is a nice little packet. Still, I have to get out of the Skrald Iden alive if I am to enjoy it. I would trade the lot for enough water to get to Derkhan.”

Suddenly he froze. A desert viper had silently crept to within inches of his leg. “You spoke my name and I am here,” said a voice that rasped like dry stones within his brain. “Your bargain is acceptable.”

“Who are you? Where are you?” asked Uman in an urgent whisper.

“I am Skrald Iden and I am beside your leg,” came a reply like a slide of sand.

“There is a viper by my leg. Is that you?” inquired Uman softly.

“That is my form. I am the god of these waste-lands. If you honor the bargain that you offered, I will not bite you. I will guide you to water.”

“It’s a bit strange, conversing with a serpent, but I will follow you,” replied Uman with more confidence. He gathered his few possessions and stood up, saying, “Lead on.”

As he followed the reptile through a maze of tortured rock, he said conversationally, “I thought that Skrald Iden was the name of the desert.”

The reply in his brain was like a sere wind. “It is the name of the desert. This desert was named for me.”

Uman was tired, hot and thirsty after several hours of following the reptile. He was beginning to stagger some when a small building came into sight. It was made of a translucent green stone.

The building proved to be a small temple. As he entered it, he faked a stagger so that he could lurch against the stone and feel it with his hand. It had a cool, almost silky feel.

The altar was empty. The snake crossed the floor, found purchase on several inconspicuous projections and climbed onto the altar. It grew larger, until it had filled the top of the altar, arranged itself neatly and turned to stone.

The desolate voice spoke inside his brain once more, “Your bargain, man. Put all the stones that you have found into my mouth.”

Prostrating himself before the altar, Uman asked, “Are your fangs still poisoned? They look sharp.”

The arid voice inside his head replied, “I will not hurt you, man, if you do as I say. Water awaits your cooperation.”

Placing the stones into the god̓s mouth, Uman asked, “I know that you do not come every time that someone speaks your name. Was I just lucky?”

“Indeed you were,” replied the god, its scales turning from dusty brown to jewel-like blues, reds and pale green as the stones vanished from its mouth. “Most of my time is spent with my fellow gods. I look over my desert about once every hundred years. Those works needed to keep my land untamed were just finished and I was about to go when you spoke my name and thereby gained my attention.

“Even when I am not here, worship pleases me. Bring others to my temple. You will know where it is.

“Dig no more gems from the desert. They are mine.”

A set of certainties began to form in Uman’s mind. He knew the location of all the water-holes between the temple and Derkhan and the best routes between them… Then, he felt an absence and knew that Skrald Iden was gone. It was only a short way to the first water-hole. He filled his canteen and took a long, refreshing drink. “I don’t have to dig any more gems,” he muttered as he returned to the temple. Carefully dislodging small block of the green stone from the temple, he said, “An adventurer has to take what fortune gives him.”

For four days, he was sustained by his dreams of the wealth that the temple would bring him. He worked his way through the wilderness of stone and sand, going from water-hole to water-hole until he came to the caravan track that lead to Derkhan-in-the-Desert.

Uman glared at his last date as if it were the fault of the fruit, somehow, that it was the last edible thing that he had. It did not make a satisfactory meal. After that, he went hungry.

A day and a half of trudging the dusty caravan route brought him to Derkhan. Uman entered the city by the Gate of the Setting Sun. He made his way past the blank facades of the homes of the wealthy, passing the small shops and hovels of the poor. He pulled his head-cloth tightly about his face. There seemed to be more flies in Derkhan than in all of the deserts round about. Once he found the market-place, he sought out a trafficker in gemstones.

“I have borne this across half of the Skrald Iden,” said Uman with pride, holding out the small block of translucent green stone. You will find it worth your while, I think.”

“You carried it that far?” asked the gem dealer, taking the stone. “Jade is indeed be worth my while,” he said, scratching the rock with the tip his dagger, “but this is only soapstone.”

In the back of his mind, Uman heard the sound of laughter like the sliding of dry gravel and sand.

-THE END-

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Dirkhan in the Desert

This completes In the Desert. If you enjoyed what you just read, please go to the Master Story Index for links to all of the stories that I have posted on Tumblr.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Make-up Assignment

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, coercion, breeding/forced pregnancy.

This is dark!Ransom Drysdale and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this drabble request: Ransom Drysdale + “No, not there, in my lap.” + breeding/forced pregnancy + Maybe dark professor ransom with a naive student? Like naive naive, too trusting as request by Anonymous

Your nerves were running wild. The way your heart dropped at the sight of your grade still resonated within you. You couldn’t fail this course and if you did, you had to wait over a year to retake it and that could mean an extra term entirely.

You couldn’t help but fidget as you watched Professor Drysdale read your paper over again. You wanted to know why he gave you such a low mark, a better explanation than the slanted writing on the last page. You needed another chance.

“It’s a well written paper but your thesis just wasn’t strong enough. It’s not what we discussed,” he set it down on his desk, “it’s about symbolism and yet you spend so much time on the literal descriptions.”

You twiddled your fingers and frowned. You couldn’t say you didn’t struggle with the essay but all that effort, the sleepless nights, and the hours spent bent over a library table had done nothing to help. Were you really that hopeless?

“Can I-- Can I make it up?” you asked, “please, I could rewrite it or do an extra paper--”

“I don’t do that,” he shook his head, “it’s not fair, is it? You had as much time and resources as every other student--”

Your eyes blurred with tears as you folded your hands against your lips. You bit down and sniffed back the wave of dread. It wasn’t impossible to pull yourself back up on your other assignments but it wouldn’t be easy.

“Hey, come on,” he leaned forward, “don’t cry.”

“I’m not-- I’m sorry, I’m just overwhelmed,” you dropped your hands, “I really did try and I just… I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Well,” he flipped the front page again and perused your introduction, “we learn from our mistakes, don’t we? Let’s go over it and it might put things in perspective.”

“Alright, I… okay,” you murmured and wiped your sweaty palms on your skirt.

“You can’t see all the way over there, come on,” he waved you around the desk and slid his chair back just a little.

You stood, slightly confused, and rounded the desk. You stopped by his shoulder and bent as his fingers tapped on the paper. He chuckled and pulled his hand back. He rubbed his thigh as he looked up at you.

“No, not there, in my lap,” he patted his leg.”

“What--I--”

“We have a lot to go over. You stand like that all night and you’ll hurt your neck,” he touched your wrist, “it’s fine.”

You scrunched your lips and stared into his eyes. It was… weird, surely it was wrong, but you needed to do better. You sidled in front of him as he pushed further back and sat carefully. He brought his arms around you and lifted your paper. His breath grazed your neck and slipped down the collar of your dress.

“Your structure is good, style too, but you need to make an argument you can support with more than… conjecture,” he began and his deep voice crawled over you, “there are several instances I can think of that would support the theme of regret but you didn’t really present them and when you did, the explanation just wasn’t there…”

You listened, or tried to as you felt heavy against him. You felt as if you were hurting him as you sat on him but he barely seemed bothered by the awkward position. When he shifted, you tried to lift yourself.

“Sorry, am I too--”

He dropped your paper and pulled you back down. Your ass met the bulge in his pants. Your head snapped up and you gripped the desk.

“Professor Drysdale,” you uttered.

“Shhh,” he slid his hands under your skirt, “you want another chance, don’t you?”

“Please,” you tried to stand and he held you down. He wiggled under you and groaned.

“Don’t act so innocent,” he rasped, “you sit in every man’s lap like this?”

His fingers pressed to the crotch of your tights and you took a sharp breath. You shivered as his other hand tanked your skirt out from under you. His fingers poked at your tights until the sheer fabric tore and he rubbed your panties as his breath hitched.

“Do you want the grade?” he asked, “or I can knock a few more percent off for inappropriate conduct.”

“Professor--”

“It’ll be quick, a fair trade,” his other hand snaked under you and he pushed down his zipped as he scratched against the nylon.

He brought his knees between your legs and spread them as he lifted you slightly. Frozen, you let him and it was only as he tore the whole in your tights bigger that you realized what was happening.

You stared at the circled number in red on the paper and gulped. He slid your panties aside and urged you down onto him. His tip met your entrance with resistance but he forced his way in and filled you completely. You whined and grabbed his hands as he gripped your hips.

“Wha--”

“That’s it,” he began to move you, “you don’t have to do anything, baby.”

You quivered and squeezed his hands harder. He leaned back and stretched his legs out as yours splayed out over his knees. He rocked into you from below and trailed his hand up the front of your skirt. He shoved his fingers through the whole and toyed with your clit as he sped up.

His fiery breaths surrounded you as the sensation of his fucking filled your core. Stunned and senseless, you could only let him use you. Even if you thought of stopping him, you didn’t have the strength. You were terrified. It was too late anyway.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, “mmm, you're so tight.”

“Please,” you begged as he wrapped an arm around your middle and bucked his hips wildly, “pull out, please, I’m not--”

He spasmed and muffled his moans as he came. You tried to push off of him but he held you down and kept moving, using you until he was done. He stilled and took deep breaths as he descended from the high but kept his cock buried in you.

“Why--”

“You’re so sweet,” he purred as he nuzzled your head, “you’ll make such a good little mommy.”

---

Please leave some feedback and reblog if you enjoyed!

[kryptsune]

🌼Yes I know I said I needed a break but here is my proof that I love what I do. I spent today and yesterday crafting a little drabble for Felldritch. I am unsure if this is going to be exactly how this story is going to go but it’s a general idea. If it becomes a proper fic then I will elaborate more. Hope you enjoy it C: Tell me what you think and if you would like to see more.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION IT IS NOT FOR YOUR USE. IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD! It helps me so much! It makes such a difference.💙If you want more of these just let me know! It’s the only way I can gauge interest!

FELLDRITCH DRABBLE {1/3}: The Madhouse

Chocolate colored walls surrounded her day in, day out, though chocolate was something one would associate with something pleasant. This room. Was not. All appearances led one to believe in the fastidious nature of this place. This containment. This prison of foul-smelling chemicals of an unknown substance. The scent of something burning followed by screams for mercy. No…they never heard that. No. This was not a place one would associate with something sweet. 

It was a facade. A simple show for those that did not know any better. A dull green leather sofa sat along the wall. The rivets bolting it down were just hidden by an ornate rug of ghastly reds and browns. Some unknown crimson stain that was never able to be washed out was just covered by a wooden table. A few books here and there slightly worn decorated its surface. They were books one would not make an effort to pick up. The Nature of the Mind, An Essay on the Success of Electrostimulation, CareGiving, A Safe Haven. All books that might lure one into a false sense of security about this place. This madhouse of screaming lunatics and suffering patients. Ruttledge Asylum… The home for the Mentally Tortured and Disturbed.   

A large wooden desk, a full coat rack, a diploma hanging just over some gaudy floral cream-colored wallpaper. Giant books filled with fancy penmanship. A ledger and a quill. Meaningless. Small details that had no value or purpose other than to be eye candy. A pale face watched it all from above surrounded in a golden frame, “Frisk… are you even listening?” Chocolate eyes flecked with ruby stared down from that pale face. Its lips moved expressing a lack of thoughtfulness. A dull tone of acceptance, “I’m sorry Dr. Ruttledge. I will pay more attention.”

The voice that came from that pale face was soft, almost a whisper. One would question if they were truly there, to begin with. A kind of lifelessness that illuminated the tribulations of the past, present, and future. The face that stared back, mahogany hair cut in places haphazardly sticking out, a bandage around a pale throat, eyebrows furrowed with despair. This was her… 

A young woman lay on a lounge staring up into the mirror that the nurses and doctor had placed there. They had claimed it was a means of self-reflection. To be able to see one's own progress and health improving. To her, however, it was a wraith. Every time she stared back at that girl she could see herself being whittled away.  Every question asked left her more and more hollow. No one believed her and why should they? Her experience was something out of a fairytale. Something that only the mad would conjure up, “Frisk I am going to ask you once more and I want you to respond honestly. Do you understand?” 

Dr. W. D. Silias Ruttledge owned this madhouse. He was the presiding caregiver and psychologist to those that did not have violent tendencies. The rest were thrown in solitary beating their empty skulls against dirty white padding. Only hearing the voices of others through a bolted latch in the door. At night she would hear them pacing or talking to themselves. 

He had a suspicious voice. One that was soothing in understanding but he didn’t take that tone with everyone. She always felt he was hiding something. Of course, he would just add paranoia to her list of ailments if she even exhibited such an accusation. His black hair was neatly combed where she could just see a streak or two of grey by the side of his skull. A crooked nose had a pair of golden spectacles perched lightly. She noticed it was a habit of his to pull them off and clean them with this handkerchief when he was beginning to grow irritable. A faint scar ran from the bottom of his left eye and she could have sworn also the top of his right. He was properly groomed, a high white starched collar resting below his chin. An ebony and cream waistcoat showed how successful he had been in his career. The finery of a medical professional.

A set of hazel eyes were kept focused on the clipboard he had resting on one leg dressed in black slacks. A lapel pin of a deer rested on the fabric standing out very minimally. It must have been his lineage she guessed just from his British accent, “Yes sir, I understand.” He tapped the quill he was using to write against the inkwell gently ready to write down any notes that may implicate her level of delusion. It was hopeless.    

“Frisk, can you explain to me how you got here?” He replied, moving in his chair to find a more comfortable position before reaching for his usual cup of tea and taking a sip, “I want a full and complete answer, no one-word responses today.” 

She just turned her attention back up at the doppelganger in the mirror, watching it speak but not feeling anything about what it was saying. It could have been a doll or a dead body for all she cared. That was how hollow she had become. Was there even a soul left within her? Her eyes fell closed before he even asked. It was a typical procedure. Everyday, “Yes, Dr. Ruttledge. I promise I will answer completely and honestly.” Even answering fully wouldn’t put any emotion behind it. A soft sigh escaped her, “I was found wandering the woods late at night nearly seven years ago.

He nodded his head, never once looking up at her, “Yes and why is it you have found yourself in our care?” His quill scribbled something down as she responded, “I was confused trying to remember what had happened to leave me there. Alone in the woods...” The writing stopped, soft scratching absent from crumpled parchment, “You were found exclaiming that you came from a world of monsters. That you needed to help and that you made a promise. A promise to free them from their underground prison.”

Frisk swallowed thickly, “Dr. Ruttledge please I-” He cut her off, listing off her supposed illness calmly. She didn’t want to hear it anymore, “You became hysterical and physically aggressive when you were found and brought here. You begged to be released. So that you could return to them. You continued to talk about these demons… skeletons, fish people, dragons, and goat beasts.” He removed his spectacles and set them down on his clipboard, folding his hands in front of him, “Now tell me, is this due to some trauma or hallucination that you have had? Do you still believe in these fabrications?” 

Her eyes fluttered open to look off to the side, “Frisk? Did you not hear my question?” She took a breath but did not respond to the question. She could just hear that soft sound of metal folding upon metal, “I see. We shall skip that question for now. Now... tell me about these friends that you talk about. That you confide in.” 

She stared as he sat calmly looking down at her. He never seemed to move positions except for maybe switching the leg he crossed. His attention was back on his notes, but only for a second, “Let’s start with your ‘Best Friend’. You seem to talk about him quite a bit.” Frisk felt her body stiffen. Of course, he would ask about him, “Frisk, I want you to talk about him.” She didn’t want to. She never wanted to because she knew what would happen when she did. 

“He was one of the first monsters I met. He helped me and watched over me… protected me. We became close friends. He saved me. I would have had to sacrifice myself to save them all. They all told me that it wouldn’t be the same if I was gone. He begged me to leave my mission behind. Save myself.” 

Dr. Ruttledge just nodded his head, “Yes, as we have discussed before. I must ask if your analysis of this… situation is correct. To me, it sounds as though you possibly had feelings for this demon. Which concerns me greatly.” Frisk shook her head before bolting upright, “He is not a demon!” He raised a brow before shaking his head, “Is? As in present tense. Oh, Frisk, I thought we had made progress today. We will continue tomorrow. Rest up, I will see you in the morning.” He rose from his chair, setting the clipboard down on his desk with a soft sigh and opening the door. His gaze was locked on her, just waiting for her to leave his office, or the most likely reason: waiting for the nurse to “escort” her out. 

Of course, she was upset. He just called her best friend a demon. He was nothing of the sort, even if he was skeletal in appearance. His brother was not that way either. As much as she wanted to play the game to get out of here she wasn’t going to agree to that. Sans and Pap. They were her friends and family. Nothing would ever change that. Even as the nurse glared at her, grabbing her arm and leading her down the hall. 

She didn’t even bother to look around the room she was in. It was the room she had been in for nearly seven years. The soft clink of the lock reminded her that she was still a prisoner, regardless of her “ailments.” At least she had a small window to look out over the grounds. It was sad, really, to think that such a small thing was even worth mentioning. It was dark outside with the fire of the lanterns flickering back and forth.

Her hand slipped from the wooden frame only to make her way to the small bed she knew. All she could think of was her bed back in Snowdin. How she would cuddle under those warm covers, snuggled up with the boy's pet dog. Well, more like a wolf. Now she just laid there cuddling a plush she kept close to her. It was a rabbit. A white stuffed rabbit with little button eyes. She had painted them green one day with some of the paint from the rec room. A place she was apparently forbidden from for it would “worsen” her delusions. 

All she could do was close her eyes and try to rest, all while slipping into her memories of a better time. One that she wanted to return to. A place where she was loved and accepted. A place that withheld judgment. Home. She buried her face gently against the plush in her arms, her whole body shaking from the thoughts that clawed at her mind. It was at that moment she felt terribly alone and hopeless.   

Frisk could feel the tears slipping down her cheeks as she curled into a ball on top of the thin blankets. A few soft sobs caused her to choke on what little words she could get out, “I want to go home.” Would they even recognize her anymore? She was broken. A fragile thing putting up a smiling face in the jaws of adversity. That tightness was starting to constrict her chest before she let it out. Trails of tears poured from her eyes as she fell apart, slowly struggling to take in proper oxygen. This place was breaking her. If she just admitted that they didn’t exist maybe they would let her leave. Maybe she could live a normal life, but that wasn’t the one she wanted.

A few hours later and she was shaken awake only to be greeted by an old frowning face. The nurse. Frisk didn’t bother to remember her name. She was a crotchety old crone that treated the patients like dogs. The cup in her hand found its way into her cheek, squishing against her face and forcing her to take it from those leathery hands. It was her medicine. The kind that would make her sleepy. It was a feeling she hated; not being in control of herself properly. She took the pills and hid them under her tongue as the nurse walked away. Normally they checked to see if they were swallowed, but they had never caught her not taking them before. 

She spit them out before tossing them through the bars of the window. There were worse things here then not taking ones medication. Tortures she had been subjected to even though she was not supposed to. That was when she noticed a sliver of light coming from the hallway. The nurse had forgotten to shut the door. 

All that was running through her mind was that she could be free. She could escape this place. Adrenaline was coursing through her as her feet flew toward the crack in the metal. A promise of freedom and escape. There was no one in the hallway. 

She grabbed some of her clothing. The same ones that she had been found in and threw them on. The striped shirt that she wore in the Underworld for so long they had thrown away a long time ago. Now all she was left with was the patient clothing now hanging on her shoulders and a pair of boots and socks. She hated being stuck in that sterile smock, but she couldn’t waste any time. 

She grabbed what she found valuable from her room before creeping down the hallway, passing a security guard easily. The spare keys were kept in the office as she snagged one from the drawer before rushing toward the door. That soft click of the key being inserted into the lock caused her heart to jump, as she stumbled out into the night. Where was the mountain? She could just faintly make out the silhouette of Ebott from where she was. 

Frisk ran as hard as she could and as fast as she could, stumbling through the trees, climbing rocks, and doing everything in her power to reach the summit. She knew where she had fallen; it was all rushing back. A branch caught at her cheek, causing a thin line of crimson to bead from the wound. Just a little bit more. 'Seven years ago she had been here,' she thought as she stared down into the open mouth of the mountain. So long ago. 

It didn’t matter… she was going home.

A simple jump and she had flung herself into the darkness once more. Only this time she knew what awaited her. At least… she thought she did….

[glaivenoct]

Swept Away

Relationship: Nyxnoct Rating: T Words: 2,124 Summary: Nyx plans something special for Noct on his birthday. Something better than sitting through meetings

Also over on (ao3). Please, pretty please consider to stop by a drop a comment or maybe give this a reblog if you enjoy? I appreciate it and would love to hear your thoughts :) (I’m not late, Noct’s birthday is all weekend what are you talking about)

-

“Where do you think you’re going, birthday boy?”

Noctis nearly drops the notebook in his hands when he collides into Nyx, who he swear appeared out of thin air. Nyx, with quick, heroic reflexes, steadies him before he can stumble backwards in his startlement. A soft gasp and Noctis is tugged close so they’re inches apart, looking up into the suave, steel blue of the glaive’s eyes. The subtle curve of Nyx’s lips is far more captivating than Noctis could have prepared himself for, and it has his own parting in love-struck awe like a bad romcom cliche.

“Nyx, what the hell?” is all he can think to say in reaction. There’s a blush waiting to shoot from his neck to his ears, but he stops it short with a meager glare, forcing a little distance between them.

“Sorry.” Nyx leans close like he wants to kiss him but waits for some sort of permission. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Noctis glances over his shoulder and past Nyx for any crownsguard or citadel staff. You can never be too sure in these long corridors. When he’s sure the coast is clear, he turns his head just enough to give Nyx the okay and gets a kiss on the cheek. “You know where I’m going, hero.”

“That I do, and I’ve decided you’re not going.”

“You can’t do that.” Noctis snorts, prepared to step around Nyx and be on his way, but his path is blocked.

“Oh, but I can! What kind of lover would I be if I let my little king work on his birthday?”

“We went over this. I have a meeting.”

“Right. With me. Pretty sure it was supposed to go a little something like this.”

Noctis has nowhere near enough self control to stop Nyx from capturing his lips in a leisurely kiss. To not melt into the brief touch of fingers propping beneath his chin to tilt his head back to deepen it. To fight the urge of jumping right into his arms and respond accordingly to the tease of tongue and the graze and nip of teeth. Noct doesn’t even care that anyone could turn the corner at any given moment and see them.

He should care, though. He really should. He has a meeting, damnit.

But he still has to stop himself from whining when Nyx finally parts from him. Noct stares at him like the unreal man he swears he is sometimes, breath almost catching in his chest.

“There might be a few more finer details to go over.” Nyx says with the cock of his brows and a suggestive grin. “Y’know, in private. Where I can take my time.”

Noct resists the shiver fluttering through his spine at the insinuation. Straightens himself and clears his throat, ducks his head to stare at the notes scribbled on the open page of his notebook.

“We were supposed to do all that tomorrow…”

“And we will. But it’s your birthday, and you’re crazy if you think I’m letting you sit through meetings all day.”

Believe it or not, Noctis is a firm believer in not working on one’s birthday.

He recalls being six years old and all but demanding that his father’s birthday be declared as the king’s “Do Not Disturb” day. Being not much older and pleading with Cor and Clarus to take a day off for once, that he would look out for his dad just fine so they didn’t have to worry about a thing! The “As your Prince, I command you” line worked well enough on Ignis as they grew up together, and Prompto in high school. While he saved the more sarcastic reasonings for Gladio, claiming with a grin that he was only looking to get out of training.

There was less control when it came to Nyx. Noctis knows there were years where Nyx spent his birthday behind enemy lines, treated to makeshift dinners and celebrations around the campfire of their secret headquarters. Though it’s been years since such a thing happened, there was always the possibility. But if Noctis could help it, none of his loved ones were allowed to work on their birthday.

Noctis isn’t excited about the idea of spending his birthday stuck in meetings either. At the same time, he brought this on himself and felt obligated to face the consequences of his organizational blunders. He’s usually better than this. Or so he likes to believe, but he really should’ve looked at a calendar when he said “Yeah, Friday works.”

Rooted somewhere beneath that overwhelming sense of obligation, Noctis knows no one would dare to question him for rescheduling. He was the Prince and it was his birthday. How could anyone say no to that? They wouldn’t. And that was just it. Despite it all, Noctis takes his charity work seriously. Knows that the people he’s meant to meet with have been eager to brainstorm with him for a special project that’s been in the works months now. Prince or not, it didn’t feel right to delay the progress of the project out of his own selfishness. 

Plans with Nyx and his father and friends were set up for the weekend. He could tough it out this one day. It’s not like they were council meetings.

“Nyx, I have to be there…” Noctis insists, though the hesitance and indecision is clear in face and tone.

“No, you don’t.” Nyx insists with far more confidence and a smile that hypnotizes Noctis further to the thought of resignation. “Because Ignis agreed to take care of it in your place. Already has copies of your notes and everything. Said he’ll fill you in on everything later and schedule another day you can meet with them yourself.”

“But -”  

“He also said no buts. So did your dad. And me.”

“But -”

“Nope!” Nyx slaps his hand over Noct’s mouth, muffling an outraged yelp. “None of that. Don’t make me kiss you.” Noct narrows his eyes and huffs against the warm fingers, tempted to bite them out of spite. Nyx laughs as his hand is pushed away instead. “We’ll still do everything we planned to do tomorrow, Noct. But I wanted to do something special for you today too.”

“Special?” Noct tries not to sound too curious. 

“Well, I hope it’s special. What do you say, little king?” Nyx offers a hand to him. “Let me sweep you away?”

There’s not another dimension or universe in which Noctis has the heart to refuse such gesture. A dashing smile sprouts across Nyx’s face, accenting the hopeful kindness in his eyes and making Noct’s heart buzz. Nyx was like his emboldened knight, stealing him away from the confines of his responsibilities within the citadel. Off to their own fantasy land where the only thing Noct cares about is the press of his lips, the caress of his fingers, the scratch of his beard, and the dopey things Nyx says to make him laugh.

There’s not much else Noct could want on his birthday. He doesn’t need anything grand. Nyx being this adamant about it is already special enough for him. Meeting’s and guilt be damned. It’s his birthday! He bursts into a smile as he allows Nyx to take his hand and squeeze it.

“Everything’s taken care of?”

“Everything’s taken care of.”

“Then lead the way, hero.”

Nyx leads him with all the thrill of fugitive lovers on the run. Off to the sanctuary of his small apartment tucked discreetly into the city’s lower districts. He doesn’t let go of his prince’s hand until they reach the door, and each second he spends fishing for his keys and fiddling with the lock feels like an eternity to Noctis. It has him eagerly shifting his weight from foot to foot.

The first thing Noct notices when the door opens is the smell. Something that reminds him of the crisp morning air of a forest after rain with the faintest hint of syllelblossoms. There’s an incandescent flicker cutting through the abnormal darkness inside, and Noctis looks at Nyx curiously, waiting for an explanation. It’s all in the step Nyx takes out of the doorway and the gesture for him to enter first. 

Noctis only hesitates because he’s unsure if he’s prepared to face whatever sweet thought and effort Nyx’s clearly put in to this.

One step past the threshold and Noctis stills in that spot, taken aback at the pathway of tea light candles before him, paving the short route to Nyx’s bed. The two windows in the apartment have been covered up to minimize the amount of sunlight peering in. Ahead are spare sheets and blankets draped and hung strategically above the bed, enveloping it like a tent with a perpetually open flap. Old, white holiday lights Noct recalls bringing for the winter holidays are strung inside, turning the area into a cozy, golden cove. A blanket fort, he should say. A cozy, golden cove of a blanket fort. Noctis blinks, lets out a stunned huff and drops his notebook.

Meetings are the farthest thing from his mind now.

“I’ve got three movies picked out.” Nyx says just as Noct notices his armchair pushed aside near one end of the bed. On it rests the small TV that’s normally mounted on the wall. “They’re all ones you’ve mentioned wanting to see. Got all your favorite snacks too. Don’t tell Ignis.”

Noctis can confirm for himself that Ignis would not approve as soon as he spots the small table near the other end of the bed, covered in an array of junk food and sweets that have his stomach ready to grumble any minute now. 

Down the flickering path of soft candlelight Noct goes. He hears the door shut and Nyx following quietly behind him. The closer he gets to the bed, the wider he finds himself smiling, and the more he notices the plethora of pillows and fuzzy blankets stuffed inside. It’s more than Nyx has ever owned and Noctis soon recognizes that most of them have been hijacked from his own apartment. He moves one of the flaps aside to peek in further, noticing a folded article of grey clothing. A knit sweater. He picks it up and presents it to Nyx with the rise of one brow.

“Your favorite, right?” He asks. “Can’t give you a movie night without something to get comfy in.”

It’s one of Nyx’s sweaters. Noct’s favorite to steal and snuggle in after a shower or enduring the cold of winter and rainy days. Set out for him like a warmhearted invitation. Noctis could’ve tackled him then and there, pinned him to the ground and kissed every dose of gratitude into Nyx’s lips before the rush of it threatened to make his own heart implode.

“Nyx…” Noctis starts without quite knowing what else to say beyond it.

“I know, I know. Crowe said it was dopey. After she helped me set it up, but it’s still better than sitting in a meeting. Right?”

“Way better.” Noct rises on the tips of his toes to gift the start of many grateful kisses. “It’s perfect. Thanks for sweeping me away on my birthday.”

“Allow me to sweep you into bed next.” Nyx smirks and grabs him a sudden bear hug to topple into their blanket fort together. Noct’s stifled yelp turns into a string of giggles once he feels Nyx’s hands at his waist, encouraging the removal of his current shirt in favor of the sweater. 

In their own time, they settle down. After Noctis is comfortably down to the sweater, his boxers and socks. After Nyx finds the self control to pull away from his kisses to wheel the snacks closer and move the armchair with the TV accordingly. After they’ve worked through Noct’s indecisiveness on what he wants to watch first, and Nyx teases him for already knowing he’d end up picking sci-fi. After they’ve picked the snacks they’re craving most.

They meld together in their cozy fort, Noct’s back to Nyx’s chest, an arm slung around his waist and legs sloppily intertwined. Noct doesn’t care to move from the position throughout the entirety of the first movie, only wriggling every now and again throughout the second to stretch. Halfway through the third, when he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, he finally moves. Turns around completely so he can tuck his face into Nyx’s chest and escape the bright light from the TV.

Both arms come around him this time in another squeezing hug. Noctis smiles drowsily into Nyx’s shirt and feels a kiss atop his hair, drifting off to sleep on the thought of this being a birthday well spent. The best part being that it’s just the beginning. 

[onewaywardwitch]

Just A Typo (5/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Hacker!Reader

Summary: It was a simple challenge between a very competitive group of friends. A challenge that ended very differently than anticipated.

Warnings: None I think

Word Count: 2213

A/N: I finally got a chance to write the next part! The feedback has been amazing so thank you to everyone who likes, reblogs, and comments. It really does make my day! Also I just watched Fantastic Beasts 2 and I have so many questions.

It didn’t take long for me to settle into my new routine. Alarm goes off, get up twenty minutes later because I pressed snooze again. Look for my keys which I somehow manage to misplace every morning. Then grab my morning hot chocolate and a bag of jellies on my way to the tower.

Each morning I made the effort to greet everyone I bumped into in the tower, and soon enough, it payed off. People that were previously cautious around me grew fonder. I was doing my best to not give anyone a reason to dislike me. It worked with most of the staff, but the Avengers themselves were a whole other story.

Tony and I grew close. He invited me upstairs often, sometimes to talk about work, others to just have a chat. It was nice to talk to someone other than Angie or Becca. I couldn’t help but notice that there was never any other Avenger around when I was there. When I mentioned it to Tony, he brushed it off, claiming they were on a mission or simply busy elsewhere.

From that moment on, I became determined to make them all less uncomfortable around me.

~~~~~

“Why do you have this need to make everyone like you?” Angie questioned me a few days after my conversation with Tony.

I scoffed at her and shook my head.

“Don’t be ridiculous, why would you think that?”

“Because you're literally making brownies for the Avengers that apparently hate you just to get them to like you,” she replied, eyeing me in my current situation.

My hair was thrown up haphazardly in a bun and the sleeves of my jumper were rolled up to my elbows. The flour that was supposed to be in the bowl was on the floor, but I was too busy trying to scoop out the eggshells that had fallen into the mixture to notice. I tried brushing some of the flour that was on my face away, only succeeding in getting egg on my face as well.

“No, I was just in a baking mood. I didn’t think there was any harm in making some for my co-workers too. It's not a big deal.”

“We both know those brownies are going straight to the top floor and nowhere else.”

I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, hoping the Avengers would accept my peace offering. It was incredibly frustrating that most of them hadn’t forgiven me for the hacking incident and for some reason, I couldn’t accept that. That was why I was desperately trying to bake brownies while unbelievably close to tears.

“Please help me, Angie,” I whined. “I can’t make the food taste like actual food by myself!”

She chuckled at the state I had gotten myself into and began rolling up her sleeves to help out. I let out a sigh of relief, yet still unsure about whether or not this would work at all.

~~~~~

On one hand, I had hoped to just give the brownies to Tony so he could distribute them to everyone else. On the other, I knew that I needed to do this in person to have a chance at apologising properly.

The secretary gave me a quick glance before allowing me on the lift once they recognised me as a friend of Tony. Once in the lift, I attempted to fix my hair a bit. I had woken up late again and barely had time to get ready and grab the large box of brownies I finished making with Angie late last night.

The ding of the elevator caused me to nearly jump out of my skin. My nerves had increased tenfold and I resorted to mumbling reassurances to myself to try and calm down.

“Are you alright?”

The soft voice behind me made me whip around quickly. It was Sergeant Barnes, watching me curiously as I fumbled over my words. He definitely wasn’t the person I thought I'd be bumping into first. He seemed far more reserved than the others and was known to showing up to very few public events.

“I, ugh, yes I'm okay. I mean, I have these, ugh, brownies? I thought, well, I don’t really know what I was thinking,” I scratched the back of my neck, only now realising that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. “I know you guys are still annoyed about what I did, and I thought this might help make up for it. But it was stupid of me. You guys are superheroes, you probably don’t even eat brownies! But I don’t know what superheroes eat. Oh God, I've screwed this up completely, haven’t I? Sergeant Barnes, I am so sorry− “

“Bucky,” he cut off my ramblings as soon as he processed why I was here. He found my predicament endearing. I gave him a confused look. “Call me Bucky.”

“Right, sorry, Bucky. I just shouldn’t talk anymore− here.” I practically shoved the box into his hands as he looked at me with an expression that I couldn’t quite identify.

I rolled on the balls of my feet slightly while he glanced at the contents, a small smile forming on his face. He actually has a nice smile, why haven’t I noticed before− no! Stop it, you moron.

“I should probably just go,” I said slowly. Bucky lifted his head up quickly.

“You don’t have to.” He cringed inwardly at how eagerly he replied. “Don’t you want to see the others?”

After a few moments of hesitation, I agreed to his suggestion. It couldn’t hurt to try apologising in person once again.

We found most of the Avengers gathered in the kitchen, chatting amongst themselves. Their conversation died down when they saw me. An awkward silence hung over us all before Bucky cleared his throat.

“Y/N brought us brownies.”

It was only when Bucky said it out loud that I realised how ridiculous it sounded. I was in the middle of working out the probability of my survival if I was to jump from the nearest window, when another voice spoke up.

“Yes! I'm starved,” Clint exclaimed, jumping up and heading towards the food.

I let out the breath I didn’t even realise I was holding in. Natasha was eyeing me suspiciously as I shot Clint a grateful smile.

“Oh man, these are great! Here, try some,” Clint said, thrusting the box towards the remaining Avengers who were now looking a lot less uneasy.

“They were supposed to have chocolate chips in them but I, er, ate them,” I said tentatively, but no one was listening other than Bucky. I noticed he was still nervous around me but tried to brush it off.

Wanda saw me standing beside him and invited me to take the seat across from her, which I accepted gratefully. Just as I sat down, Natasha quickly got up. Before she left the room, she whispered something to Bucky, who tensed immediately. I didn’t think too much of it as Wanda pulled me into a conversation between her and Sam.

~~~~~

Bucky, being the gentleman from the 40’s, offered to walk me back to my apartment. I was surprised at first, until I saw that I had spent nearly the whole day at the tower, and it was pretty dark outside. Not too keen on walking back alone, I gladly took him up on his offer.

We walked in silence for a bit, the winter wind not as strong as it normally would be. I took a moment to observe the man beside me as discreetly as possible. His dark hair was pushed back behind his ears, and every so often a few strands would fall into his face until he pushed them back again. He had kind blue eyes, much softer than I previously thought. I heard his story before, of course. But it was difficult to be intimidated by him after seeing how gentle and soft-spoken he really was, and I couldn’t help but comment on it.

“Hagrid!” I blurted out, my face turning a bright shade of red. Bucky turned his head in my direction slightly and raised his eyebrows. At least we weren’t walking in silence now.

“Sorry?”

“Hagrid… that’s who you remind me of. From Harry Potter. Y’know, the whole ‘gentle giant’ kind of thing? You both look scary, but you're softies on the inside.”

It was Bucky’s turn to blush, his ears tinged red. I smiled to myself at his reaction while he stuttered a reply.

“Thanks? Is that a good thing?”

I stopped walking and narrowed my eyes at him in thought before breaking out in a grin. “Definitely a good thing,” I agreed.

He accepted my compliment and nodded his head, continuing on our path home. But I couldn’t help but notice the small smile that graced his face after that.

“Tony said you were working on something new to prevent another hacking incident,” Bucky said in attempt to keep our conversation going.

“Oh yeah! See, I figured that if someone else is going to try hack into the tower, they’re not going to make a stupid mistake like I did, right?” I glanced across to Bucky, who was focused on what I was saying. Not needing any reply, I continued on.

“I'm installing this new system that’ll basically send a virus to whoever is hacking you. So, while they’re hacking into our system, we’ll be doing the same to theirs without them even knowing. That way, we’ll be able to access everything they have and know where they are. And it’ll be impossible for them to get into our system at all now. They can try, but I've made it virtually unhackable. The only person who would be able to hack us now is, well, me,” I explained proudly.

Bucky nodded slowly, deep in thought. I could tell he was trying to process what I said, and I was about to explain once more before he spoke up.

“I don’t think ‘unhackable’ is a word.”

“Oh shush.”

~~~~~

Surprisingly, everyone was still in the kitchen when Bucky returned home. The box that previously held Y/N’s brownies was now completely empty, lacking even a crumb. Bucky was about to complain when Steve appeared at his side, a small brownie wrapped in some tissue in his hand.

“Here,” he said, handing his friend the food. “You're lucky to even be getting this much. Sam and Clint devoured the rest.”

Bucky was munching on the brownie happily when Wanda noticed his arrival. She nudged Sam, a grin forming on his face at once.

“Hey, Bucky, get your girl home safe?”

Tony looked up from his conversation with Natasha in interest. Bucky glared at Sam, who could barely contain his glee at having something to tease Bucky with.

“She’s not my girl. It can get dangerous here at night. I was just making sure she got home safe, that’s all.” Bucky tried to convince Sam with little success. He stared at the rest of the group. Wanda, who had immediately taken a liking to Y/N, was beaming at the soldier. Tony and Rhodey both appeared slightly confused at what was going on. Steve simply clapped Bucky on the shoulder, but Bucky’s gaze was fixated on Natasha, who had yet to say anything. She must have felt him watching her, as she sighed before speaking.

“Look, she doesn’t seem like a bad person, but I still don’t think we should be trusting her this soon. She spends half a day up here, and suddenly everyone approves of her? Are we forgetting the reason we met her? We don’t know her.”

“We know enough,” Tony replied, getting tired of Nat’s constant disapproval of the woman he had grown quite fond of. “Give her a chance, Nat. You might actually like her.”

She shook her head and caught Bucky’s eyes.

“Whatever you do, be careful.”

~~~~~

“Why does everyone think I like Y/N?” Bucky questioned Steve the following day while they were on their morning run. It had become a routine for the two. They enjoyed having the few hours to talk, and Bucky found it beneficial to have a constant every morning. His life had been a series of unpredictable complications. This gave him something steady to hold onto.

“You’re just acting different around her, Buck. A little more nervous. And you stutter around her too. You don’t stutter,” Steve laughed, his friend glaring at him.

“I don’t know, she’s different, but a normal kind of different. Not our kind of different. She’s gentle too. And nice, but for no reason. No one is ever just nice anymore. But she doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit either. She nearly lost it when Clint told her he still uses Internet Explorer.” Bucky chuckled at the memory of how frustrated Y/N got last night while trying to explain to Clint that Internet Explorer was completely rubbish. “But it doesn’t matter. She deserves someone who’d be good for her. She’s probably already got a boyfriend too.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Buck,” Steve remarked. “She’d be lucky to go out with you. Plus,” he picked up his speed, shouting back to Bucky, “she definitely isn’t dating anyone right now.”

“Wait, how do you know that? Are you sure? STEVE, ARE YOU SURE?” Bucky yelled at Steve as he chased after him.

Taglist (open):

(if there’s a strike through your name it means I couldn’t tag you)

@amybarter15 @imperialoath @throw-some-music-my-way @mamaraptor @marbleowl @lydklein1 @wantingtobekorra @alysawrites @uhholyhazza @ladymelissastark @sarcasm-n-insomnia @foxylupines @myrabbitholetoneverland @amazingficsthatididnotwrite @markusstraya @padfootormoose @worldofchoices @just-some-stuff-in-life @colie87 @catsandbooksinafarawayplace

[welllpthisishappening]

The Fine Art of Going Viral

Listen, hockey children are my greatest weakness. Cute hockey children who do not know how to actually skate are, somehow, even worse. Better? It doesn’t matter. Several different people sent me this video (heyo @optomisticgirl @shireness-says and @peglegsjones and...my husband) and @distant-rose listened to me plot this and I wrote 4.5 K of Matt Jones mic’ing up his younger brother at practice and turning him into a social media sensation. Emma and Killian are not pleased. 

The Rangers keep losing in OT and it’s going to ruin our draft pick, so I’m going to keep writing hockey fic to make myself feel better. 

“Let me get this straight, you mic’ed up your brother?”

Matt didn’t answer, which was, honestly, even more of an answer than actually responding to the question and Killian was only a little frustrated that he was kind of impressed by the whole thing.

“While he was at practice?”

More silence.

Killian lifted his eyebrows, a move that usually worked better than it had in the last five minutes of, mostly, one-sided conversation and the video was everywhere. It had thousand of hits and even more retweets and reblogs and Emma had already seen it picked up by several different news outlets and more than one Rangers blog.

David had sent him a link.

He hadn’t actually watched it yet.

“Matthew. I asked you a question, kid.”

“Yeah, I know,” Matt mumbled, the words barely that when he didn’t actually open his mouth very wide. “And I mean…we did it before practice. Technically.”

Gravity made sure Killian couldn’t shift his eyebrows anymore, but his mind latched onto we and it didn’t really surprise him that this was a group effort. The whole lot of them – next-gen Rangers as the tabs liked to proclaim them when they made it in the tabs and they’d all done a very good job of trying to keep them out of the tabs as much as possible – were impossibly close, even if they weren’t all that close in age.

Killian was dimly aware of a group text that was almost constantly dinging, updates and plans and he had been a little worried that Matt and Peggy’s phones were going to explode when Roland set up that game-winner in overtime earlier in the week.

He should have expected that Matt had cohorts.

He just needed to figure out who.  

“How?”

“What do you mean how?”

“I mean, how, Matthew,” Killian said, hooking his foot around the nearest chair in the kitchen and crooking his finger. “Get off the counter.”

Matt sighed – although if that was from the demand to get off the counter or the use of his full name again, Killian wasn’t entirely sure. As it were though, he was mostly focused on figuring out where his oldest kid had gotten enough video equipment to tape his youngest kid at hockey practice and how his middle kid inevitably fit into all of it.

And possibly Roland Locksley.

Or Lizzie Vankald-Jones.

He was fairly sure Henry didn’t have anything to do with it.

That was why they let him take Chris to practice. And pick Matt up from school. He was responsible. An adult. Some kind of quasi-cousin, almost-uncle, thing. He was, at least, some type of authority figure.

He wouldn’t have gone along with this.

“Now,” Killian said, voice low and decidedly paternal when Matt didn’t move quickly enough. He huffed, sliding off the counter with more drama than a thirteen-year-old should have possessed and his eyes widened when he heard the footsteps coming around the corner. “You might want to sit down,” Killian suggested, nodding towards the chair on the other side of the table as Emma moved into the kitchen with a phone in her hand. “This could take awhile.”

Matt winced.

“Mom—“ He started, shifting his weight between his feet and waving his arms slightly and his eyes still hadn’t returned to their correct size yet.

Emma shook her head. Matt’s jaw snapped shut almost audibly. “Where’d you get the microphone?” she asked, stopping next to Killian and he didn’t think she tried to lean into his hand when it moved to the small of her back, but it happened anyway and that was kind of nice.

Matt flushed.

“Matthew,” Killian muttered, working another disgruntled groan out of his kid and a soft laugh out of his wife. HIs eyes flickered up towards hers, a smile tugging at the end of her mouth. “Answers, kid.”

“It’s really not bad. It was just...well, we thought it’d be kind of funny. Did you—did you watch the video?”

“How’d you get the microphone, Matthew David?”

He’d never actually sat down, so it was incredible when Matt’s whole body seemed to just fold into itself, slumped shoulders and hanging arms and Killian was fairly positive his hair actually got longer, just so it could fall across his forehead. “You’re going to get mad.”

“We’re already a little mad,” Killian said, and it could not have been good for Matt’s teeth if he kept clacking them like that. The video was already all over the internet. “Chris is four. He should not be on the internet.”

Something, something gone viral or some other phrase that was absolutely horrible and disgusting-sounding and the whole video had lasted for nearly five minutes. They must have edited it, somehow.

God, he was really getting frustrated with how impressive the whole operation was.

“But—“

Killian shook his head deftly, Emma hissing when his fingers gripped hers too tightly and he mumbled a quick apology into the bend of her elbow. “I just—I don’t understand what would even go through your mind to do this,” Emma said. “And, seriously, how.”

Matt’s neck appeared to have given up on trying to support his head. “You keep asking the same question.”

“That’s because you’re doing a very good job of avoiding answering it.”

“If I say media training are you going to ground me?”

“Oh, you’re going to get grounded no matter what you say,” Killian muttered, Matt’s face paling slightly. “But if you want to dig yourself into an even deeper hole by making poorly-timed jokes, be my guest.”

Matt yanked his lips behind his teeth, eyes falling to his feet and Killian was fairly certain he heard him mumbled captain voice under his breath. It was difficult to hear when his shoulders were so slumped, though.

“So,” Killian continued, “it’d probably be in your best interest at this point to tell us several things. Why you did what you did. Why you thought it was even remotely a good idea after Mom and I have spent half a lifetime trying to keep you guys off the internet—“

“—Ru already yelled at me for that.”

“God, when did she find time for that?” Emma mumbled, half to herself and the scope of this entire project was drifting dangerously close to epic. “How are we coming in second in the disciplining our kid race?”

Killian’s laugh lacked a distinct bit of humor – mostly because he couldn’t get the phrase viral video out of his head. “Nothing about this entire thing makes any sense, that’s why. Lucas didn’t tell me about it yet.”

“Probably because she was too busy chastising Matt.”

“Well, all her hard work about media training-related jokes has clearly been for naught.”

Matt hadn’t gotten much of the color back in his cheeks yet, but there were bits of pink on his skin and he had one eye squeezed shut when he lifted his head up. There wasn’t an actual word for whatever noise it made. It sounded uncomfortable, like it was scratching at the sides of his throat. “And she’s really mad at Rol,” he mumbled, Emma’s shoulders rolling back quickly like she’d been shocked.

Killian was very glad he was sitting down.

They should have made some kind of flow chart for all of this. And named it Kids are the Worst or something.

“Oh my God, what does Roland have to do with it?”

“He’s the one that posted it. More followers.”

Killian cursed, Emma rolling her whole head back so she could stare at the ceiling like that would help. “Of course, of course,” she grumbled, starting to pace a small semi-circle and glancing at Killian. “Should we be getting updates from Roland Lockley’s social media pages?”

He rolled his eyes. “If that’s what it comes to, then I think we’ve crossed a line we can’t retreat from, love. I’ll give you very good odds that he’s getting glared at by Gina now, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a very good point.”

Matt was silent again.  

“Ok,” Killian sighed, dragging his hand across his face. Matt hadn’t blinked in hours. “You’ve still got questions to answer, kid. And how did you get Chris to agree to it? I’m very curious about that.”

“Incredibly,” Emma amended. She moved half an inch to her right, letting his fingers tug lightly on the back of her shirt and Matt made a noise that was distinctly un-human when she perched on Killian’s thigh.

He hooked his chin over her shoulder.

“That’s not even fair,” Matt grumbled. “You’re double-teaming me.”

Killian didn’t have to see Emma’s smile to know it was there. “Must be because you’re such a scoring threat. Dad’s going to keep using your full name if you don’t tell us the truth, kid. Who got the microphone? Roland’s on the road, so…Dylan? Lizzie…somehow? Leo? Was it Leo?”

“Mom, Leo is eleven. That’s like asking if it was Mar.”

“Was it your sister?” Killian asked.

“Henry,” Matt mumbled.

Emma nearly fell off Killian’s leg. He tightened his arm. “No!”

“Swan,” Killian muttered, a soft reprimand because they were being authorities and he wasn’t all that pleased he was wrong. He hadn’t actually watched the video yet.

Emma clicked her tongue, the ends of her hair brushing over his cheek when she rolled her head. “Ok, ok, I’m—just, honestly, Henry? Really?”

Matt nodded seriously, suddenly looking a bit more confident than he had now that he’d given up a 27-year-old for getting sound equipment to mic up Chris during hockey practice. Chris was four. Chris could not really skate.

It was probably a fairly hysterical video.

“Henry,” Matt promised. “He—I don’t know, he knows someone who works somewhere and it was—you’ve really got to watch the video. C is—he’s so bad at skating. And he talks all the time.”

“Matthew.”

“It’s true!”

Killian narrowed his eyes. “Did you take the video?”

“No.”

He couldn’t wave his hands when he was trying to keep Emma from falling onto the kitchen floor and Matt couldn’t seem to stop moving and the whole thing had dissolved into farce much quicker than Killian expected it to. They should have brought Peggy into the kitchen too.

Maybe Chris.

Chris really was not the best skater in the world.

“Matthew.”

“Ok, that part was actually Leo, but that’s only because he’s got really good hand-eye coordination and he could hold his arm steadier than me and—” He cut himself off when he noticed the look on Killian’s face. And, presumably, Emma’s face. She was better at the face thing than him. “He met us at the rink.”

Killian had no idea what to do with that.

“Leo Nolan, who, as previously discussed, is eleven years old met you at Chelsea Piers because you what? Asked him to help film your brother on the ice? Why?”

Matt blinked, eyes darting between Emma and Killian more than once. “I just…I just explained. His arm is better, but don’t tell him that, he never shuts up about it anyway.”

“That’s not an answer, Matthew David.”

Emma groaned, letting her head fall back until her hair was everywhere. Killian didn’t tell her to move. He was too busy trying to temper his frustration and control his breathing and—

“We spent a very long time trying to make sure you guys didn’t get headlines. Tried to keep you out of the spotlight and that’s obviously going to change some now with you playing, but Chris isn’t there yet. He’s a little kid, Matthew. He gets what you got. He gets to be…” Killian bit his tongue when he tried to say the word normal because it had never really been normal, road trips and tabloid-invented nicknames and Roland Locksley was setting up game-winning goals in OT now, so the headlines seemed inevitable, but none of them had ever gone viral before and he assumed Mary Margaret had not appreciated her eleven-year-old kid taking the 7-line crosstown to get to the Piers.

Some of the texts he’d been ignoring on his phone were probably from her.

And David.

“Your brother is four,” Killian repeated, voice dropping low and fingers curling around Emma’s hip. “What was the point, Matthew? To play him as a joke? He shouldn’t be the best skater in the world yet.”

Matt got paler. That was, honestly, also impressive. His jaw dropped and his eyebrows furrowed and he almost had the gall to look annoyed, which was actually more surprising than the Henry thing or the fact that this had been a group effort and his eyes were barely more than slits when he looked at Killian.

He looked exactly like Killian.

A few seconds before checking someone.

“I wouldn’t ever do that to C,” Matt whispered, but with an intensity that left little room for doubt even from a slightly angst-filled teenager who turned his younger brother into an online sensation. “Never.”

Killian tilted his head – and he couldn’t actually glance at Emma when she was still sitting on his leg, but he felt her tense and they both knew that voice. That wasn’t a lie.

“I wouldn’t,” Matt repeated. “Not to C. And it wasn’t—it wasn’t a joke, it was—you really should watch the video, Dad.”

Killian opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but his head snapped to the sound at the front door and the slightly nervous knock and it had only been a matter of time. Emma’s shoulders shook when she laughed.

“It’s open, Henry,” she called, not bothering to look away from Matt and it took a few seconds for the footsteps to make their way into the kitchen.

He’d taken his shoes off.

“Hey,” Henry said, dragging out the word until it felt like an official statement from front office. Matt was very preoccupied with the floor again. “So, uh…Gina called me.”

Emma laughed again.

“And how’d that work out for you, exactly?” Killian asked knowingly. Henry gritted his teeth.

“Not great, honestly. So, uh…I’m here to apologize. In person. Like a grown up.”

“A grown up, huh?”

“Something like that. Did you watch the video?”

“No,” Matt answered despondently, and Killian clicked his tongue at the sound.

“We didn’t,” he said. “It’s been a little hectic here, you see?”

Henry hummed, taking half a step closer to Matt like there was strength in numbers or extensive video plans. “I’m sorry you guys didn’t know before Rol posted it. That’s—well, apparently there’s been some discussion about that too, but, uh…you should really watch the video. It’s not heinous.”

“High praise.”

“It’s not, Killian. It’s—“ He took a deep breath, exhaling it with enough drama that Killian wondered if, maybe, they’d overreacted slightly. He needed to cal Robin. And answer David’s texts. And ground his kid. “It’s really actually pretty nice, but Matt and I didn’t think Rol would be some kind of social media celebrity, so really it’s his fault and—“

“—It’s because he’s so popular on Instagram,” Matt grumbled, eyes widening when he realized he’d rejoined the conversation.

Killian’s eyebrows were going to be stuck in the middle of his forehead.

“No practice,” he said, waving the hand not still wrapped around Emma’s middle when Matt opened his mouth to object. “I can’t do anything about yours because the United States will probably kill me if you don’t show up, but nothing with me. Nothing with the team. No going to Tarrytown, no film. If I see a tablet in your room in the next two weeks, I’m pulling sticks out of there, got it?”

Silence.

Except Henry breathing. He sounded very nervous. Gina must have yelled very loudly.

“Got it?”

Matt nodded.

“Good,” Killian said, turning his attention back to Henry. “I can’t do anything about you, you’re not actually our kid.”

“And I get the very strong impression you’ve already been reprimanded enough,” Emma added.

Henry rolled his eyes. “I’m going home after this. That’s—well, that wasn’t really up for debate. I think she and Robin want to talk to me and Rol together.”

“How’s it feel to be thirteen years old again?”

“As weird as you’d expect it to be.” Emma hummed, and Killian didn’t have to move to know her lips had quirked up slightly. Matt was still frozen to the kitchen floor. “And,” Henry continued, “you should really watch the video at some point. It’s…well, I doubt it’s going to go anywhere now, but it’s not as bad as you think it might be.”

Henry’s phone buzzed, as if it had been waiting for a lull in the conversation and he snapped his jaw when he saw the name on the screen. “I’ve got to go,” he muttered, clapping Matt on the shoulder. “Listen, I know we messed up, but it’s…seriously, Toph is pretty entertaining on the ice. You know he never really stops talking.”

“So we’ve heard,” Killian said.

“Right. Well, he got McDonald’s out of the deal after practice, so, trust me, his psyche hasn’t been messed up or anything.”

“Sure.”

Henry sighed – and Killian knew he resisted rolling his eyes again, but his phone was also ringing incessantly now and it was suspiciously quiet in the rest of the house. He was fairly certain Peggy was eavesdropping at the other end of the hall. “Am I allowed to see your kids again?” Henry quipped.

“Obviously,” Emma muttered. “Plus, you’re the only one who ever actually volunteers to babysit.”

“We do this again, though, and we’ll actually ground you,” Killian warned.

Henry grinned. That felt wrong. And…not.

What a weird day.

Peggy ran into the kitchen, colliding with Killian’s side and yanking on Emma’s hair, a mess of limbs and words and Henry’s smile got louder when she jumped towards him. He lifted her up. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Henry promised, pressing a quick kiss to Peggy’s hair. “I got to go, kid, but I’ll see you day after tomorrow, right?”

“What’s the day after tomorrow?”

“We’re going to take pictures on the High Line,” Peggy cried. Directly into Henry’s ear.

“If I don’t go deaf before then, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Killian echoed. “Alright. Go, before you lose practice privileges too.”

“I don’t think that’s really an option.”

“You want to test it?”

“I mean…”

Killian laughed. “Exactly.”

And he had every intention of watching the video, he did, but life was life and Chris had another hockey practice and Matt had made the U14 team and they couldn’t keep him from that practice even if Emma was very quick to point out that maybe suggesting the United States was going to kill was us wasn’t the best move and Peggy had some book report due that, apparently, required glitter.

And a trip to the High Line.

And, suddenly, it was a two days later and Chris was still an internet star and Killian hadn’t seen the video, jogging on a treadmill with Ariel a few feet away and several TVs on and he had to grip the sides of the stupid thing to make sure he didn’t fall off.

Because his kid was on the TV in front of him – speaking words that were incredibly familiar.

“How is this still being talked about?” Killian asked, Ariel laughing from her own treadmill and she didn’t slow down when she wiped the sweat away from her face.

“Cap, are you kidding me? It’s the cutest thing in the world.”

“What?”

Ariel stopped running. She nearly fell on the floor. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, did you not watch it yet? Killian, this has been not he internet for a millennia!”

“Ok, that’s not true at all.”

“Days! Actual days!”

He rolled his eyes, hitting a few buttons until the machine under him slowed and the video was still playing.

“One, two, one, two, one, two.”

The mantra echoed in Killian’s ears and his brain and, possibly, his heart because Chris was counting every time he skated and it wasn’t really skating. His blades came off the ice whenever he moved, more steps than gliding anywhere and he’d taught him that, and told him to count when you move so it’s easier the very first time he’d gotten on the ice and the realization that it had stuck made his breath catch audibly.

Ariel laughed. She was sitting on the treadmill now.

“Told you,” she muttered, eyes flitting back to the screen when Chris kept talking. He really never stopped.

“I’m going to have a nap.”

“No, Chris, you can’t just lay down on the ice.”

He laid down anyway, stick still clutched in his hand and head flat on the ice with his legs splayed out wide. Killian refused to be held accountable for whatever sound he made.

God, he hoped he wasn’t as close to crying as he felt.

“One, two, one, two, one, two.” He bobbled slightly, keeping his balance with the blade of his stick. But he didn’t fall down. “One, two, one, two, I did it! I did it!”

“Oh, I didn’t hear that part before,” Ariel mumbled, glancing at Killian with slightly glossy eyes. “Did you tell him that?”

Killian nodded numbly. He wasn’t sure if he was still breathing anymore, only a little frustrated when the video cut off, but that was the nature of TV and he jumped when he heard Emma’s sneakers behind him.

She was holding her phone.

“Reese’s finally wore me down and got me to watch the video,” she explained with a shrug. “You know he falls over at one point and just decides to…crawl on the ice?”

Killian’s laugh flew out of him, smile stretching across his face on instinct and—“Ah, shit we’re going to have to apologize to Matt, huh?”

“Eh, I mean…there was still the filming thing and Rol’s incredible social media presence.”

“It’s because of his Instagram and Scarlet’s dog,” Ariel reasoned. “Also, don’t tell Scarlet that.”

Emma saluted. “I think we’ve established a solid parental base for turning our kids into internet celebrities while also acknowledging that it’s pretty goddamn cute. Here,” she added, pushing her phone towards Killian, “look at this.”

“Watch out everyone!” He didn’t even try to stop. He crashed over, approximately, three kids, two sticks and collided directly with the boards. “I win!”

“Oh my God,” Killian muttered.

There were more footsteps. Of course there were. “That was my favorite part,” Ruby said, leaning against the open door of the gym and Ariel rolled her eyes at their disregard for the workout schedule. “Did I apologize yet for not instructing any of your kids on how to use the internet?”

“I don’t think that’s really your fault, Lucas.”

“Eh, Scarlet’s been a dick about it.”

“That’s doesn’t surprise me either,” Emma muttered. Chris was still running into the boards in the video.

“Seriously, do not tell him about the dog,” Ariel said again. Chris mumbled something else, a string of words Killian was fairly sure he understood, but desperately needed to hear again and maybe they should really apologize to Matt. “Oh, no, what was that part?” Ariel asked. “Was that what I thought it was?”

Emma rewound the video.

That was a very old sentence.

“I’m going to go so fast. Matt fast. Like Matt.”

“God damn,” Ruby said, a catch in her voice and Emma’s head fell onto Killian’s shoulder. “That’s the cutest thing i’ve ever heard. I mean he shouldn’t have put it on the internet, but—“

“—He’s thirteen,” Emma reasoned.

“Yeah, yeah, young and whatever. Cap, you’ve got to teach that kid how to go fast.”

Killian wrapped his arm around Emma’s waist. “It’s a work in progress, Lucas.”

And it was – two weeks later, after the grounding and the lack of film and there hadn’t been a single tablet sighting in Matt’s room the entire time because the video was cute, but it was also agains the rules, all four of them standing on the ice in Tarrytown with sticks in their hands and one, two on their lips.

Peggy refused to be kept off the ice.

“You’ve got to keep your feet on the ice, C,” Matt called from the other side of the rink, standing in front of the goal with his weight resting on the front of his skates. “You’re going to fall over otherwise.”

Chris, very promptly, did just that.

Killian rolled his eyes, ignoring the shouts from the peanut gallery of cell-phone sporting family members in the stands. He looked at Emma instead, a smile tugging at the ends of her mouth.

“One, two,” she yelled.

Killian skated forward, tugging Chris up by the jersey with his name and number on it because that was just how it worked and it took them a moment to get him back on his skates. “Alright,” he said, crouching down and brushing some of the ice off the fabric. “Matt’s right. You’ve got to keep your blades on the ice. Here,” he added, holding his hand out, “move your hands down your stick. Try and follow Pegs because she’s got the right rhythm, ok?”

Chris nodded – as if he understood the word rhythm in regard to skating – and Peggy beamed at the compliment. “I can do it, Dad.”

“I know you can. Just…if you fall, don’t lay on the ice, ok?”

“It’s cold.”

“I know that too, kid. That’s what I’m saying.”

Killian ducked his head, a quick kiss to his son’s cheek and squeeze of his shoulder and Chris didn’t seem to appreciate either of those things.

“C’mon,” Matt groaned, swinging his stick like he actually played goalie. None of them were wearing pads. “You’ve got to take the shot, C!”

“Just follow me, Toph,” Peggy said, the smile lingering on her face as she started drifting towards the blue line and Chris only stumbled a little.

They moved slowly, Killian still crouched at center ice, and it was far from the best goal he’d ever seen. It wasn’t even really a shot, Peggy mock-screening the net and getting in Matt’s way and he didn’t try to move. He stood stock-still with his legs wide open and a five-hole that was more like a twenty-hole at that point.

Chris pulled his stick back though, just enough power to get the puck to move and Killian had a very strong suspicion that he saw Peggy’s wrists move. She knocked in.

Directly through Matt’s legs.

And it didn’t matter.

The cry they both let out as soon as the puck crossed the goal line made it seem like they’d won a gold medal or a Cup or something better than both of those things combined, tossing sticks in the air and jumping up and Chris kept yelling I did it over and over again.

Matt moved quickly – far quicker than Chris ever would, honestly – bending his knees and catching his brother around the middle, all limbs and shouts and—“What a shot, C,” Matt grinned. “You did great!”

It took them awhile to get off the ice, all three kids complaining and whining and that probably shouldn’t have been a good thing, but the video had been deceptively cute and it wasn’t trending anymore, so that was probably for the best. And Killian knew Emma had recorded the whole moment as well, but that video never saw the light of internet day, something that was just theirs and them and a collective unit that was better than hits or social media presence and eventually, years later, when Chris had hung up his skates and Matt had gotten even faster on the ice, he flicked his wrists right in front of the net at the Garden, tipping the puck in five-hole against a goalie Killian never knew the name of.

And Chris had shouted, the phone in his pocket buzzing because they’d never gotten rid of the group text.

[dragoninthecloud]

Cold Front - Wrap up

Last bit of Cold Front for @ao3bronte <3

Little bit of Ladynoir interaction, little bit of Marichat snuggling.

Start - Previous

-~-

Chat Noir bounced across the rooftops on his way to meet Ladybug. He was feeling great! He’d spent all afternoon yesterday and as much of school as possible wrapped around Marinette, saying hugs were the best medicine. No one had really commented, given how much closer they had gotten in the last few months which had involved more physical contact anyway. In fact, most everyone had been sympathetic, thinking he was just a clingy sick person because of his lonely home life, and went out of their way to give him shoulder pats and hair ruffles. It’d been nice.

Nino had been glad he’d found someone else to be his cuddle buddy, and Alya kept aww-ing at him and trying to film him, “as a good mother should” she kept saying. And Marinette had seemed happy to let him, leaning in to him more and more as the day went on, but they hadn’t had a chance to talk without someone else around. Which was why they were meeting now.

He landed on the warehouse roof that was their meeting point today and saw his Lady leaning against the stair housing, rubbing at her arms. He whistled as he walked towards her, not wanting to startle her and be thrown off the roof like the last time. She looked up at him and smiled.

“Hey there. How’re you feeling?”

“I’m feeling purr-rity good Bugaboo. I bribed Plagg with extra cheese to make my suit thicker until I’m completely better and it seems to be helping.”

“Oooh, that’s a good idea. Why have we never done that before? I’ll have to ask Tikki if she can do it too. I’m freezing right now.”

She did look cold. Arms wrapped round her, huddled as close to downwind side of the building as she could get, and shivering slightly with a red stain across her cheeks and nose. He stepped forward and opened his arms to her, and she practically jumped in to them to wrap herself around him.

“Ooooooooh. Warm kitty, gooooood kitty,” she purred as she rubbed her face against his chest.

He laughed and started to shuffle her backwards until she hit the wall, then arranged himself so he was blocking as much of the cold as he could, pulling her arms from around him to curl them up on his chest. “Better?”

“Much. Thanks.” She rested against him a moment and he thought he heard her teeth chatter before she seemed to shake herself and look up at him.

“So. Before we start, I need to say something.” She looked nervous, eyes darting over his face and tiny wrinkles between her brows. He wanted to smooth them away, but when he started to loosen one of his arms she shivered violently, so he pulled her closer instead. She took a big breath, then let it out slowly.

“I need to apologise to you. I don’t know how much you remember, but I broke in to your room and invaded your personal space when I knew you were sick multiple times. It was wrong of me, and I feel like I took advantage of your feelings for me too, when I was trying to make you feel better, but it doesn’t matter why I did it because it was wrong. I’ll understand completely if you hate me or need some time to think things over and want me to back off or-“

She stopped when his lips pressed softly against hers and they stood like that for a moment. When he pulled away he studied her face. Her lips were still parted mid word and she had glassy eyes leaking thin tear tracks down her cheeks. He ran his thumbs over them, then let his hands rest there to frame her face.

“Nothing to forgive lovebug. If you hadn’t come over to check on me, then I’d probably have collapsed on the way back to bed, or get there but not have covered up, and I’d have been even worse off than I was. And Nino wouldn’t have shown up so early either, so it’s fine. And please, take advantage of my feelings for you whenever you feel like it. I’m all for you looking after me whenever you want.”

He grinned down at her, and got a small, shaky lip twitch back. He bundled her closer again.

“You are one of my closest friends, both in and out the suit. You are welcome in my room whenever you want, for whatever reason. I trust you, ok? Nothing’s ever going to make me not trust you.” He paused, tipping his head side to side a few times as if in thought. “Save teaming up with Hawkmoth, but I’m sure we could work that out somehow if you did.” He rubbed her shoulders a few times when that got a slight chuckle out of her. He let his lips rest on the top of her head which he realised was overly warm as he let his hands drop down to hold hers.

“Everything’s ok Bug. Everything’s going to be ok. But I think we should maybe move this back to your place, hmm? You’re both freezing and roasting. I think I got you sick.”

She hmmed against his shoulder where she had was rubbing her nose, but made no effort to move away. He sighed.

“C’mon Bug, let’s get you home.”

He carefully picked her up, one arm holding her firmly round the waist as he got her arms to hold on to his shoulders. She held on tightly and tried to bury her face further in to his neck as he started them bouncing gently across the rooftops back to the bakery.

~~

Chat landed on her balcony the next night and swung his bag off his shoulders. Marinette had missed school today, which wasn’t surprising given the fever she’d been running when he’d got her home last night. Luckily (or not, he still hadn’t decided), the noise of him getting Marinette through the trap door and on to her bed had woken her parents, who had come to check on her and found her laying on top of her bedsheets running a high fever. When he’d tried to visit at lunch today he had been turned away with some of Sabine’s homemade steamed buns and more soup. Since he was only just over his own cold, they said, they didn’t want him to re-catch it by going near Marinette.

So he was here as Chat to look after his bug. He crept towards the trapdoor and listened carefully before cautiously peeking in. The main light was off and the door to the main room was shut, but a small light was by her bed, showing her sitting up and staring at a pad of paper. He knocked quietly and smiled as she lifted a hand vaguely in his direction without moving anything else, and he took that as an invitation to enter.

He swung himself down and landed next to the bed, letting his eyes adjust before dropping the bag he’d brought next to her.

“Hey,” he whispered as quietly as he could, remembering how much his head had hurt. She grunted, waving her hand again. He chuckled as he crawled on to the bed and settled down next to her, lifting his arm in invitation which she accepted, fitting herself against his side. “What’re you drawing?”

“You,” she slurred as she tilted the pad so he could see the rough sketch of him as Adrien in the middle of a fencing pose. She lurched forward with a hacking cough before flopping back again with a groan. Oh his poor bug.

“I’ve got throat sweets and liquid medicine and some of those things you squirt on your pillow to clear airways if you want to try any of them? And crackers to help scratch your throat, if you need to?” he told her gently as he rubbed her arm.

She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly and slumped more against him, but then dropped her drawing things and made a grabby hand at the bag. He pulled it closer and took the things out, and she fished out one of the liquid things and broke it on a handkerchief which got tucked under her pyjama’s strap.

“So I’ve been dying to know, when did you figure me out?”

She shrugged again, leaning her head back against his shoulder. “When I got home Saturday, after you sneezed. Tikki heard Plagg when she was washing, and was mad at him for dropping you in the river,” she said, talking slower and slurring things more.

He chuckled quietly at that, shifting her slowly so she was laying on the bed instead of him, snuggling against her back to keep her wrapped in his arms.

“I think I suspected,” she murmured, and when he looked her eyes were starting to droop. “Why I called you kitty.”

He hummed at that, and let it set off the purr in his chest and he heard her sigh. Simply having her near had helped him feel better, so he could only hope that him being here would help her

They still needed to talk. He wanted to know where they stood now, how this changed things both good and bad. He wanted to talk about the kiss from last night, and all the little kisses she’d given him over the weekend. He wanted to know if he could keep holding on to her when neither was sick anymore. He needed to know if she’d maybe, hopefully, want to be more than just good friends now.

But it could wait till later he thought as he started to tug her blankets up. He then bit his lip and tried not to wake her up as he silently shook in laughter at his next thought. He tucked the blanket under her chin, to stop her from getting a cold front.

-~-

So that’s it. This is now finished, as far as I’m concerned. I MAY write a few bits from Marinette’s POV, but I’m not entirely sure yet. I have other things that are floating in my brain that I want to poke at a while to see what they do.

Thank you to everyone who’s read this, liked it, and reblogged it. You’re all amazing <3

-~-

Start - Previous - AO3

[anaboo-thewriter]

Reckless (Part 8)

Summary: The Fast and the Furious AU. You’re an undercover cop with a mission to infiltrate a team of street racers responsible for the theft of millions of dollars worth in electronics. However, you didn’t think you would fall for the leader of the team and your target, Bucky Barnes. Now you must make the decision, will you turn Bucky and his team in order to become an FBI agent you’ve always wanted to be, or throw caution to the wind and continue to fall for a criminal?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: Angst, slight tension

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I have a lot of people tagged, but I’m not getting a lot of feedback. My tag list is still open, but if you’d like to be tagged, then you have to reblog, Likes don’t count as feedback, they are a bookmark for you and nobody sees that. Those who are tagged and just like will be removed from the tag list.

Reckless Masterlist

Finding out what was under Rumlow’s hood was a small victory, but you still had to make the adjustments in order to win. Thinking about how to turn your car into the fastest vehicle to participate in Race Wars was becoming difficult with what Natasha said about you running through your mind. If she discovered your secret she would be sure to tell Bucky and you would blow your chances of being in the FBI. If you wanted to get back on track you had to know if Bucky truly believed Natasha.

Bucky’s eyes were trained on the road, one hand on the steering wheel the other on the gear shift, as if he were ready to make a move. His facial features were more relaxed than you had expected given tonight’s events. If you were going to pick his brain about Natasha, this was your only chance.

“You okay?” Bucky asked as if he knew you were dealing with your internal crisis, “you look a little distressed,”

“Just thinking about something earlier tonight, nothing important” you chuckled in an effort to brush it off.

“Come on,” he removed his hand from the gearshift to give you a gentle, playful shove to egg you on. “You’ve helped me escape the cops, fix up a car, and we just snuck into Rumlow’s garage. I think we’re at the point where you can tell me anything,”

His smirk was inviting and safe, a boyish grin you could reveal everything to and you knew he wouldn’t tell a soul. As cars past by, the headlights illuminated his insistent blue eyes, a feature you never fail to fall for.

“Fine, I’ll tell you,” you managed a giggle at Bucky’s antics. The time the two of you spent together has brought you closer together, making it almost effortless to tell him what’s on your mind. “I overheard what you and Natasha said before we left earlier tonight,”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. He shifted in his seat and his jaw clenched together. His grip tightened around the steering wheel, before releasing it with a sigh. You’ve never seen Bucky like this, so frustrated and conflicted. His hand slowly slid down his face and let out a groan. “I’m really sorry about Nat, she’s just really protective of me since my dad died. She’s skeptical of people she’s not familiar with, especially women,”

You were flattered by Natasha’s intimidating and, maybe, envious behavior causing a warm sensation to flow through your cheeks. However, you couldn’t let flattery cloud your judgment of what you were supposed to be investigating, the job she wanted Bucky to do.

“I don’t mean to pry,” you tried to play innocent to dampen your reservations, “but what was this job she was talking about?”

“It’s nothing really, just something to earn extra money,” Bucky tried to brush it off, but you weren’t going to let it go.

“Whatever it is, I want in,” you insisted.

Concern read across Bucky’s features as his eyebrows knitted together and released a sigh. “Y/N, I really don’t think you should do this, it’s dangerous,”

“Bucky, I need the money just as much as you do. Let me be apart of this,” you weren’t backing down and Bucky knew it by the shake of his head.

“Fine, you’re in, after Race Wars,” he sighed, but a sly smile slowly crept on his face as he gave you a wink.

The wide smirk on your face masked the feeling of butterflies in your stomach going haywire; however, the satisfying sensation was replaced with dread. You were going to get the information you needed to close the case and the promotion of a lifetime, but you were one step closer to turning in your love interest. You had a major decision to make, and somebody was going to be disappointed with you.

The once deserted area was turned into an oasis for street racers. Big time car fanatics from across the country gathered to show off their cars and to race without the fear of cops to interrupt their fun. People came together in recreational vehicles, ready to spend their weekend doing something they loved. Women pranced around in their skimpy outfits in an effort to win some of the men’s attention away from the cars, while the men were trying to look under the hoods of the cars. Various types of music were playing from different vehicles, creating a chaotic sound as the music came together. You’ve dreamt of coming to Race Wars since you were a teenager, and it was more spectacular than you could have imagined.

Bucky and you were the first to arrive in the group, driving in the freshly tuned Supra. Steve, Sam, and Natasha came later with the RV to spend the night in. You had registered your car to race for the day and was marked by the number 86 on the side window. In less than 15 minutes, you would be in your first Race Wars race and you were feeling nervous. Your palms were sweating and you couldn’t stop pacing back and forth, nearly creating a trench from your path.

“Wow, Y/N,” Steve said as he walked out of the RV, “I’ve never seen you this worried,”

“Yeah,” Sam chimed in following behind Steve closely, “What are you worried about, you’re the best racer out here,”

The compliments made you stop in your tracks. “I’m nervous because what if I lose?” you questioned, “what if I lose money or the car? I can’t afford to start from scratch again,”

You didn’t notice Bucky come out of the RV until he was heading toward you. When he was standing in front of you, he placed his hands on your shoulder, immediately calming your anxiety. With a simple glance and a nod to the direction of the race, Bucky turned you around and draped his arm over your shoulder and guided you to your upcoming race. Bucky’s presence has had a calming effect on you lately, especially when he’s physically touching you. All the apprehension you were feeling left your body, but the thought of losing was still there.

“I know you’re worried,” Bucky said once the two of you were out of earshot of the crew, “but there is nothing to be worried about. The guy you’re racing is a hothead and a showoff. I’m sure he’s going to hit the nitrous first, so after he does it, I want you to press that button and win that race,”

The instruction Bucky was giving you was as if they were from experience, but you took him at his word. “Thanks, Bucky,” you smiled as you felt more at ease.

Bucky’s boyish grin caused his blue eyes to sparkle brighter than before. He pulled you in and wrapped his arms around your waist for a tight hug. It was longer than usual. Neither of you wanted it to end, until the last person you expected to see so soon called for the two of you.

“Hey, Barnes,” a familiar husky voice shouted, Rumlow, “I just wanted to tell you I’m dusting your girlfriend’s ass in this race, so if she wants to pay me now I’m fine with that,” he threw his head back in laughter before heading to his car.

The joy the two of you shared was replaced with distaste. Bucky’s eyes narrowed and a scowl covered his features while your eyebrows knitted together and clenched your fists, digging your nails into the palms of your hands. “Y/N” he growled, “kick his ass,”

“With pleasure,” you smirked.  

Please tip your author with your feedback here

Tags: @capbuckybuchanan​ @thecheesecakeklutz​ @caplansteverogers​ @cap111218​ @sebastian-stans-thighs​ @ursulaismymiddlename​ @fandomlifeuniverse​

@after-avenging-hours @asirenscalling @totheendofthelinepal @bookybuns @papi-chulo-bucky @captainrogerss

@satans-knitting-club @nedthegay @ex-bookjunky @lostinspace33 @avengedqueen26 @thefallenbibliophilequote @vaisabu @learisa @delicatecapnerd @booya--18 @pinkisokay @lachicadelamanzana @hollycornish @void-imaginations @its-daydreamer23​ @showbuckysomelove​ @scarletthornrose @blazey24​ @palaiasaurus64​

[miraimisu]

Blanket Pals

[Read at FF.net]

[Read at AO3.]

Summary: the blanket was shared, his voice, warmth and aroma fleeting all around her. Their eyes stared at the movie in front of them, but all they could see was each other, lost in a sea of emotions they couldn't put a name on, herself lost in his licking flames and him, lost in the night sky of her eyes, sinking until he couldn't breathe.

 Rating: T

 Word count: 25.299 /faints, I'm breaking records wtf

 Author's note: Ok so I am here again with a SUPER LIGHTHEARTED FIC FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT because I enjoye Kacchako so much? And uh, I write long stuff, IT'S MY JAM NOW! It's a bit messy too? BUT EVERYONE LIKES MESSY STUFF AM I RIGHT? :D /silently hopes you do Bear with me, because I love this fandom and it's not gonna be the last of me! I WILL THRIVE!

So I have to give credit to @ everyone who has sent me any ask, any reblog, any new follower, any like, anything. Anybody who reads this mess is fucking credited because I LOVE THIS FANDOM?? So ou guys know who you are, fam. I made the wise decision to upload at FF.net first for those souls who can’t read this here. Also, don’t expect the same quality from the other fic. That’s impossible to beat, fam. And it’s not that good /derp

I don’t like this. It was so hard to write and I STRUGGLED SO MUCH YOU GUYS WOULD NOT BELIEVE YOUR EYES

Warnings: roller coaster ahead. It's gonna crush you.

It all started with a silly petition– the most extra of conversations in the most extra of scenarios.

“Yo, Uraraka.”

As soon as she registered who the voice belonged to, her whole form turned around to face the ashen blonde boy. His usually knit brow only deepened after seeing the weight in her arms. “What the fuck are you doing with that stupid hat– and what’s with that dirt all over you?”

Uraraka opened her mouth to explain that he was also supposed to be participating in that damn harvest activity with the other classes, that he should be making some social life apart of his loyal friend Kirishima and his animal hands– but as words were going to leave her mouth, she just decided to drop it, and sighed.

“Good afternoon to you, too.” she smiled at him, turned and proceeded her way. “Is there anything you need from me?”

Surprisingly, Bakugou trailed behind her, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, yeah.” that perked her interest, so she stopped in her tracks. Her round eyes peeked and looked at him in pure curiosity. It didn’t usually happen that Katsuki Bakugou – Jerk Explosion Murder for his… friends? (if he had any apart from Kirishima) – chased after anyone, especially if that someone was close friends with his mortal enemy.

“It’s not like I fucking need anything from you, don’t make misleading assumptions.” grumbled he, frowning and all with his hands deep in his pockets. His forehead was glistening with sweat. “That damn nerd redhead has sent me over to you. He wants us to have a movie night.”

Uraraka blinked. Once, then twice, until she started to freak Bakugou out. The basket almost fell off her arms and he swore he had broken her. “You mean, as in, like, the two of us?”

A mad blush spread throughout his pale face, eyes darting everywhere but her round face. If he looked at her he’d lose all the courage he had been building up. “The fuck, Uraraka? Of course not! Please, I thought you were damn smart.”

Uraraka left the basket by her feet, starting to lose her cool against the guy. Like, she had no problem hanging out with Kirishima, none at all– but Bakugou was a different story, a mess of anger and frustration in a neat package. She had no idea how to deal with Bakugou for an hour, imagine two or three. Arms crossed, her brow furrowed. “Well, then word your intentions correctly!”

“Look, fine, whatever.” spat Bakugou. His red irises burnt against hers. “Kirishima wants the three of us to hang out, like, seeing some damn movies at the common room tonight. He said he thinks you’re cool and stuff and he has never had the opportunity or some shit– and I still don’t know why I’m fucking drawn to this plan, but whatever.”

The prospect of a night with Kirishima sounded solid enough to her. It was true that they did get along and had never spent much time with each other. Clearly they could use some bonding time, even if it meant spending time with a potential psychopath. And don’t get her wrong, she actually cares for Bakugou– but spending quality time with him sounded like a hard challenge.

However, it was weird that Kirishima himself hadn’t come to her and asked himself.

Uraraka turned her head and searched for the redhead with her eyes– ah there he was, helping Tsuyu out with some strawberries. Oh, he was waving at her! Uraraka flashed a big smile and waved back, picking the basket up afterwards.

“Sounds like a good plan.” answered she, and saw Bakugou deflate of relief. Did it really take that much effort to him to go and ask her? What a weirdo. “I’ll be there. Just please make sure Kirishima doesn’t pick extremely violent movies, or very cheesy ones.”

“Does horror sound good? Or does the miss have any more requests?” his tone was so sarcastic and acid that the brunette was unimpressed, but feigned offense.

Uraraka frowned and spun around, chin high and pout present. “You can be such a pain sometimes, Bakugou.”

His fist rose up to the air, the air around them dangerously heating up. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY, ANGELFACE?”

Kaminari, who was walking by along with Jiro, sighed in resignation. “Not this again.”

Uraraka still felt the ashen blonde following her, sensing his anger physically come out of his body, and turned around. His hands were closed in fists, as if he’d dare punch her in front of so many witnesses. “Horror sounds good. And please stop screaming.”

Bakugou dug his feet in the ground, trying to be civil with his soon-to-be movie buddy. “Then stop bitching. I’ll get some horror movies, or something– like I cared!”

She stomped her way to him and started throwing carrots to him. “If you didn’t care why would you ask, you–?”

The carrots came back to her, hitting her on the face and dirtying her more if it was possible. “Watch who you’re picking a fight with, you bitch!”

She was about to go and take out all his intestines, brains, hairs– just destroy him like she knew she could, make him go flying to some other dimension where is presence was required, when four arms came to seize her. “Uraraka-san, please stop the ruckus!” pleaded Deku, his grimace evident even when she couldn’t see him.

Upon feeling his voice near her, she instantly calmed down. However, her eyes still wanted to eat the ashen blonde alive. “What nerve, to come attack me when he’s the one inviting me over!”

Iida, the other restraint, pushed her back. Bakugou muttered something along the lines of a farewell and made his way to Kirishima and Tsuyu. Uraraka glared at his neck with a pointed look, growling. “That guy…” breath in, breath out. Once the boys felt her calming down, they slowly let go of her. Uraraka sighed. “Sorry for that.”

Deku looked at her, impressed by her sudden outburst. And he wasn’t impressed in a good way. In fact, Uraraka felt his disapproval in his eyes and she instantly felt ashamed. “What was all that about, Uraraka-san?”

She cleaned her uniform of any dust and growled. “Bakugou happened.” once again, she picked her basket up. “And I’m just so tired of taking these from one place to another. He didn’t choose a good moment to pick up on me.”

Uraraka marched towards the truck where the veggies were being charged and just let the basket drop. She cleaned her forehead clean and looked ahead: there were still many portions of land to harvest, and everyone was working hard– she must do so as well, help and do her job! She rolled up her shirt sleeves and smiled to the horizon.

However, her face resulted in a heavily shadowed face with a smile and a frown, half mad at the explosive teen and half happy about the prospect of working with her friends.

Deku and Iida looked at each other, terrified of what their friend was up to.

And that’s how this madness started.

When she saw what had been set up for the movie night, Uraraka had been mildly surprised.

The whole common room had been fullfilled with blankets, food on a table, the whole place was pristine and spotless – last party had been a bit of a mess, but controlled and surpressed after some time – and there was no extra windows closed, or any of them purposely open so bugs would get in the building– Uraraka hated mosquitos. That’s why the surprise was evident: she saw that Bakugou had remembered all that stuff about her and even carried it all out so she’d be pleased.

While putting another bowl of popcorn on the table, he squinted at her. She had stopped halfway, pinkish blanket in her hands and that stupid perplexed look on her face. “What.”

She snapped out of her reverie and made her way to him, both alone in the room. The whole class had gone out in a special permission for a night out, Miss Midnight going with them to ensure their security and that they didn’t consume any alarmingly toxic substance– because let’s be clear, of course they’d drink some alcohol, but there was no need to take it further than that.

Bakugou had refused to go, the same as Uraraka, Iida and Kirishima, surprisingly. Iida was too much of a legal guy to even go to the outing when he himself rejected the idea. Uraraka was just too tranquil for such jam-packed places, and Bakugou was pretty much the same. Kirishima must have stayed in favor of the movie night.

Which prompted the following question. Uraraka scanned the room warily, stark of any noisy redhead. “Uh, where is Kirishima?”

Bakugou stiffened at the question, and his ears turned red for some reason. She could clearly see them from her angle. “He decided to tag with those damn alcoholics, so it’s just the two of us, I guess.”

Wait.

What.

“Wait, what?”

Bakugou looked at her, already frowning at her fidgety form. “What the fuck is up now, Uraraka?”

“Ah, no, everything’s fine!”

Everything was not fine. Uraraka had most certainly not signed up for a movie night with a guy who could clearly murder her if she dared to speak during a movie or if she dared sit too close to him– maybe even just breathe too loudly! Like, the prospect of hanging out with Bakugou on a regular basis wouldn’t even startle her because she had always been able to see through him and she could handle his outbursts.

However, there was this big temporal difference between having a small conversation, a walk down a street– compared to something more intimate and longer like a movie night. Well, not like they were going to do anything relatively important, but it was still a big step regardless.

What was she even thinking when she thought it’d be a good idea to have a night with King Explosion Murder? Why hadn’t Kirishima warned her? What a jerk, that guy!

When he saw her make a constipated face, he just shrugged it off. She should’ve known what she had signed up for. Well, there was no way she would have known, but would Kirishima’s presence made any real difference? Did Uraraka despise the explosive boy that much? “Just come here and sit down already, angelface. Or I’ll start the fucking movie without you and I never, ever rewind.”

Uraraka scurried to the couch, expectant to see what movie he had picked up. Suddenly, the idea that her fluffy pajamas, teddy bear and pink blanket were a bit too childish occurred to her. She threw her flippers under the sofa and jumped to the sofa near Bakugou, wrapped and bundled in a pink, fluffy– wait,

“King of Doom?” read she from his blanket, disbelievingly blinking and looking at him.

Bakugou just cuddled deeper into the blanket, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Shut the fuck up. Yours is a dumb blanket, bitch. At least mine is… not pink.”

Uraraka elbowed him, to which he responded by reflexively pushing her away. “You’re so extra, Bakugou.” commented she, searching for the remote. He proudly showed it to her. “You could be a generous guy for once in your life and give it to me.”

His arms shot up, remote falling to the rug. “I’M ALWAYS GENEROUS, YOU DAMN BUBBLEHEAD!”

Uraraka picked the remote from the floor and hummed in approval. He leaned against the sofa’s arm and got a good deal of pillows to support his mistreated back. Unbeknownst to him, the fact that so many pillows were piled up only made him be closer to her. The idea didn’t put him at ease, but it didn’t exactly bother him, either. He just sighed and waited for her to adjust the TV to her liking.

Watching Uraraka fiddle with the TV was a challenge for anyone’s patience. She was rather clumsy when it came to any kind of gadget which possessed buttons– then, he guessed that maybe she wasn’t allowed to touch many of these things because her quirk has a rather easy activation. But seeing her stumble so much around a general-knowledge gadget like a remote was… fascinating.

He looked at her dainty hands. They were round, pale, and deft. They also had those weird pads to activate her quirk, and he wondered: what would they feel like? It was an absurd question, but also a very important one.

He glanced at his over stimulated companion. This was going to be one eventful night. The first thing he should do was teach her how to use a remote properly. “Uraraka, what the fuck are you–?”

“I have sensitive eyes!” exclaimed she, her eyes gleaming under the room lamp. “I need to adjust the imbalances so it doesn’t burn my eyeballs off!”

Bakugou sat up and rubbed his face, seeing that the screen coloring was just not right. “For fuck’s sake Uraraka, are you trying to blind us or something?” he reached out for the device. “Gimme that.”

She adamantly refused to have the item stolen from her and just got up to avoid his hands touching anywhere near here. “Off-limits, sir! This is my territory!”

He got up as well and when he again, tried to get the goddamn thing, she refused. Bakugou had to chase her around the table before he sat down and screamed internally. She was making the screen be over saturated, overly contrasted and too bright. And woes betide if he doesn’t end up throwing his eyes off the window to avoid such display of colors and sunshine.

Uraraka fought against the TV, but ended up giving the remote to the ever-so-perfectionist Katsuki Bakugou. “Here, have the thingy. I can’t find the thing for the thing.”

He blinked at her, disbelief written all over his features. That stupid girl was going to be the end of him. “Care to elaborate?”

“As in,” she gestured to the screen. “an option to make the image sharper?”

Again, he sighed, and reset all options to 50. “Having the TV be a flash of fucking rainbows isn’t healthy for either our eyes or our brain.” he got up to gather all the movies he fetched that morning. Some had old boxes, others were brand new purchases. “I have a bunch here that are damn flashy.”

She peeked a bit, interested. Bakugou then realized how close she was and coughed. She didn’t notice his discomfort, only leaned in a bit closer and grabbed a few movies. “I don’t know why you have that fucking dumb smile on, but you ain’t deciding which movie we see first.”

He got up to get his first started, ignoring her puffings and moans. “Why do you have to be so mean? You’re the one who invited me over!”

Bakugou frowned, snarling already at her. “WHO ARE YOU CALLING FUCKING MEAN?” and he threw her the box of the movie, with all intention to hurt her on the head.

Instead, she grabbed the box in mid air and read the title of the movie they were watching. She rolled her eyes. “When I said you were extra I didn’t mean this extra.” the box was waved in her hands. He glared at her. Furiously. “I was hoping for some decent movies.”

“ARE YOU QUESTIONING MY PICKS? FIGHT ME YOU ROUNDFACE!”

In response, she threw the box back to him, effectively calming his tantrum. “Just put the film on, Bakugou. Unless you want me to choose movies instead?”

He stopped playing around and put the movie in, finally, but still fuming over the fact that she had dissed him so badly. He’d make her pay for that. After a few seconds he made it back to the couch, lying on the stack of pillows with his blanket wrapped around him. Uraraka eyed him closely. “I would have never guessed you were a blanket type of person, though.”

His head snapped to hers. “I would have never thought you were so talkative during a fucking movie, you know.”

Ah, that’s what she was talking about. She sighed and got up to turn all the lights off. Once this was done, she hurried to the couch and jumped, bounced and got accommodated on it. Bakugou looked at her from the corner of his eye, seeing how she tried to find the right posture. The light of the TV made her look completely different, somehow.

“Stop fidgeting already.” spat he. Uraraka froze. “Let’s just watch the damn movie.”

Yes, this was what had her so nervous about the movie ordeal. Because she usually had no problem with nobody, she was so uncomfortable now. She had never experienced such a rocky relationship as the one she had with Bakugou, with him being a douche and her not giving a damn. Was that what had him so worked up, that she was unfazed by his bites?

Uraraka eyed him while the movie started blasting, the main soon-to-be-killed protagonists rolling on the screen. She sighed. It was gonna be along night.

Deciding to try and be relaxed, Uraraka picked one of the massive bowls of popcorn, smelling the sweetness of butter all over the snack. She grinned and took a mouthful of popcorn– fuck. That was when all problems began.

As her fingers touched the snack, there was a dim pink glow in the bowl. She almost shrieked as the events unfolded according to her quirk nature, all in silence. The gravity manipulator glanced at her companion briefly, who didn’t even suspect that something fishy was going on just a meter away from him. So, for the sake of a peaceful night, she held the popcorn in their place.

Fifteen minutes into the movie her hands started shaking, so the gravitational pull of the popcorn faltered for a second. One popcorn made its way out of her grip and, out of all places, landed on Katsuki’s nose. The aforementioned felt the tap and growled, thinking it had been her trying to be funny. However, when he looked up, just for the sake of making sure there was nobody else around, his breath haltered.

“What the f–“ all of the popcorn from the bowl had started to float in mid air, hovering near the ceiling and dangerously spread around them. He changed his question. “How the fuck did you do that?”

She started trembling. All options she had were to hold them in the air or let them go, scattering the little kernels all over the room and make a mess. Uraraka clenched her teeth. “My quirk… it just activates when I’m not mindful enough.” whispered she. Uraraka dared to look at him despite the incoming disaster. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem vexed at all.

If anything, he seemed amused. “Can’t you just like, fucking gather it all together?”

They were aware of the movie blaring on the TV, and since Bakugou never rewinded or apparently stopped the goddamn movie, they’d be missing some of it. “I can make things float according to their… momentum.” he nodded, still looking at the floating goodies. “If they have no prior movement, they won’t move. Since they had been compressed into the bowl, they have gained slight momentum and spread around.”

“Your quirk is goddamn crazy, you know.” spoke he in the softest voice he would ever muster in such random circumstances. “How long has that been up there?”

Uraraka checked a clock nearby and made some quick calculations. “I’d say around twenty minutes, now.”

“Shouldn’t you be throwing your shit out?” she blinked at him, surprised he even knew about her quirk’s limitations. “Yeah, don’t gawk at me like I’m fucking dumb. I’m always hearing Deku mumble about how much you can handle shit floating and stuff.”

“Shut up.” that was Bakugou’s usual line. It didn’t fit her usual easy-going demeanor. “We have to get all of that down. Maybe if I lower them a bit we can gather them in the bowl altogether.”

“Then hurry the fuck up. I don’t wanna have you vomiting while we’re watching the movies.”

It turns out that having the popcorn in mid air, closer to the floor than the ceiling– it was a nightmare. Having the popcorn near the ground but not touching either meant that she had to hold them tighter so she didn’t let go of the frail pull. To her, it was like carrying a bucket of water on her arms, or in this case, having to carry it with a long handle.

Bakugou though, was having the time of his life. While the popcorn were at shoulder length he spent a minute or two tapping them and watching how they clashed and moved around in silence, without rolling. And since they had no momentum limit due to his antics and pushes, they were starting to widespread all along the common room.

“Bakugou, for the love of god stop playing around, please.”

“This is what you get for trying to mess with me before.” stated he, stale, and starting to gather the popcorn in the bowl as if it was water. “Next time, watch who you’re messing with.”

Uraraka hissed. “You know I could perfectly drop them to the ground and let you there, picking every single one of them, right?”

“I’m damn aware.” muttered he, almost done with the popcorn business. “Stop putting it as if I was a baby playing with sand, I got this.”

She breathed in and glared at him, trying her best not to lose her concentration. The nerve of that guy… – however, she’d admit to herself that some of his antics were quite funny to her. Not everyday you saw somebody act so collected during such a crazy thing like making popcorn randomly float on air.

Like why had she–

Oh.

Oh.

Was it because Bakugou’s character made her kinda, sorta, a little bit intimidated? Well, not intimidated but, a bit jumpy? He was a bit snarky, rude, so no one could expect much from him. He’s so unpredictable.

Bakugou came back with the bowl full of popcorn, finding Uraraka staring at the nothingness of the floor beneath their feet. “Earth to roundface. What the fuck is wrong with that face of yours?”

Uraraka squirmed in her seat and propped her feet up the couch, completely covered by her blanket. Bakugou was by her again, deciding against the pillows this time, and sitting a little bit closer to her. The couch was particularly big, but the spot they were on was the best one to watch TV – it was common knowledge, so there were a few fights about who would take the magical spot.

This time though, they sat relatively close, sharing the spot. They weren’t touching, but they were about a foot away, and the idea of proximity to a human furnace bode well with her. All they had to do was reach out and they’d be cuddling, sharing heat and–

Bakugou heard a disgruntled noise come from Uraraka – why was she feeling so flustered at the thought of cuddling with him? –, but paid no heed to anything but the movie. He had already lost the track of the movie for that damn bubblehead loser and he swore it wouldn’t happen again. He did spare a glance at her anyway.

He came to a shocking realization. “She’s… pretty cute.”

When he had called her angelface during that fateful Sports Festival he had done it in the spur of the moment. He didn’t really wanna dwell in his classmates’ lives, he didn’t give much a damn about them– as in, their lives, their problems, and stuff. He had enough to worry about with his career as a hero and his parents being… his parents. So, when he called her angelface, he did it considering her most special trait – in the same way he called Todoroki half-n-half, called Iida four eyes and Kirishima redhead loser/ass, whatever he came up with.

He hadn’t actually considered that not only was she only cute, but she was also really pretty. At that moment he only saw a rival in her, a very weak one, at that. However, her beauty didn’t only come from her pump cheeks, round eyes and flashy smile – he long ago realized, in a night of lots of thinking – no, it also came from her heart.

Yes, he would never forget the fact that she was close friends with the bastard, but he could forgive her.

Now that he thought about it, that nerd liked Uraraka as well, right? He also had come to know that some time ago, the thought was so irritating– and he couldn’t see why it was like that. Why did the notion of her liking that loser irk him so?

This was going to be a long night.

One hour into the movie and Uraraka was already swinging on the edge of the couch, knees under her chin and eyes fixated on the next scene.

And it had no reason to be that way, really. It turns out that the movie he chose really was not only extra, but very boring one as well. Bakugou sat with crossed arms on the couch, fully sprawled on the sofa with the most irritated face one could pull at an unanimated object that shouldn’t be doing any harm to him– but it was clearly vexing the poor teenager. He then glanced at Uraraka, and his irritation came back in tenfold. What was so good about that goddamn movie that had her so wound up?

“Bakugou, Bakugou!” called she, excitement clear in her voice. He rolled his eyes. “Are you watching?”

“No shit Sherlock.” muttered he, rubbing his eyes. “It’s an ass damned boring movie. You sure I was the one to pick this shit?”

Her eyes threw daggers at him, shoulders tense. She drew a bit closer to tap on his chest. “That’s what you get for being a meanie to me earlier.”

His fangs showed up, arms sprung up, claws out and he seized her by the neck with his arm, pounding her head with his fist over and over. “You were the one who said it was a bad movie before and you’re fucking enjoying it now?” she yelped as he hit harder, frown knit in frustration. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Who is the meanie now!”

Uraraka bit on his arm and he hissed, like cats usually do, and drew away from her. “Don’t get near me, you bully!”

Irony would get her for that later. Actually, not that late.

“Whatever you say, angelface.” he said sullenly. But the faint smell of flowers and citrus had invaded his nostrils, he had noticed how frail her wrists were in his reach, or how soft her hair was. There was something about her, something so soft, intangible and–

“KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

While scurrying to the furthest point on the couch, the ever-so-predictable protagonist let out a loud, piercing scream that sent a shaking Uraraka back to his arms, absent-mindedly searching for a source of heat– an anchor after such shock. Her jaw was trembling in utter terror after such a high-pitched and sudden sound.

Bakugou, having the same emotional approach as a coconut, visibly recoiled from her touch. “What’s gotten into you, you damn hysterical woman?”

Oh goodness, she was positively shaking. “It’s just, I hadn’t expected that at all and she was so loud, Bakugou!”

He gritted his teeth, brow shrunk in discomfort and all his physical awkwardness showing through his glaring irirses. “Well of course she’d be loud, this is a damn horror movie!” he hurried the blanket around her form so she’d stop trembling– it was so goddamn uncomfortable to see her like this, and he didn’t know why. “This is what you asked me to get and I just fucking complied–“

“I just meant the scream, not the whole movie, you jerk!” Uraraka pouted and crossed her arms, her head turned from his. “At least I’m having the decency to watch it!”

Bakugou’s feet flew to the couch and, suddenly, he was standing on top of the cushions, disbelief written all over his features. “WHO DID YOU JUST CALL JERK!?”

But Uraraka was already engrossed in the movie– his tantrum long forgotten, feet dangling from the couch and her hands grasping the sheets– it was weird to see her excited over something so tribal to him like a goddamn fictional movie. Finger to her lips, she shushed. “Shut it! The most important part of the movie is kicking in!”

His jumping came to a halt as he looked at the screen, still bouncing on the sofa a little. Since he had lost a good deal of argument with so much bickering and popcorn picking, the movie had lost all appeal to him. He frowned. “I don’t see the fucking point in watching this forsaken movie if–“

“Bakugou.” her hands reached out for his ankle, made contact and released his leg in a swift motion. “In nights like this, you know, you should just…” and then, he was weightless. “…lighten up.”

The ashen blonde groaned as loudly as possible, snarling at her. She didn’t pay much attention to him, just went on watching the damn movie. Her lack of control over his gravity and his little momentum with his silly fit made him start hovering upwards. Bakugou grabbed the back pillows for dear life, feet up. “Uraraka, for fuck’s sake.”

Giggles aside, she was being too naughty for her own good. His jaw clenched as Uraraka turned to look up at him, holding in her laughter. He tried to make his way down to her, grasping the fabric of the couch with disdain. “Stop bitching around, for kicks and giggles?”

“You’re the one who has to stop being a party pooper.” stated she. Her eyes couldn’t help but trace the way his figure looked so funny upside down. Also, he was pretty… muscular. And his biceps were making the effort to drag himself down, flexing. It was all sorts of appealing. “Besides, I now have more room on here to–“

The movie’s main monster – also known from now on as weekly yelling jerk – boomed across the whole room and deafened Uraraka’s ears, who shrieked and abruptly released Bakugou from his weightless status. There was a loud thud behind the sofa and a moan of pain, making her flinch and look behind, slightly concerned.

“Sorry! It’s just–“

Out of the blue, he was already on his feet, hands on his waist and a scowl deep enough to make the very same monster run away. “Yeah, I know, your fucking quirk playing games again.”

He jumped to the cushions again and eased the blanket around him, still mad at her for trying to float him out of the room. Instead of focusing his energies in being mad at her – even if he wanted to make her suffer endless pain for ruining what he thought would be a great movie night, with or without her in silence – Bakugou tried to stay put, be calm and focus on the movie.

It turns out they were heading towards the climax building. There was this silent, subtone music wrapping the scene while the protagonists made their way through a bleak – obviously there was someone there, but he would never be such a douche and spoil such surprising bit to her – dark cave. Despite the fact that Bakugou had already watched the very same film with his parents once a long time ago and despite knowing where their stride would lead up to, he was unsettled with the scene.

He eyed his previously thrilled and edgy friend to find her scrunched up in fear, and shockingly near him. Their shoulders were barely touching, hers mildly quivering against his quieter posture. Her hands grasping the sheets to her heart in interest, irises wavering in tension while she just– her body was shaking again, she was fidgeting with so much tension in the air, her teeth were clattering, maybe? and she would start bouncing to and fro anytime soon.

Before such lame thing happened, she started inching closer to him, her citric scent taking over all his senses. Bakugou felt her shoulders finally collide with his and he snapped. “Oi, what the–“

She most likely wasn’t even realizing how close she was until he opened his damn mouth. However, if this newfound arrangement annoyed her, it went unnoticed. Uraraka just glared at him for less than a second and continued her self-torture. Her arms were encircled around her knees, panic setting on her pretty round features, with the blanket loosely hanging to her hunched form. Most importantly, she was leaning into the explosive teen, the very same boy who could blow her away– that is, if he wanted to.

The thing is, he wasn’t exactly uncomfortable with their position. He wasn’t exactly tranquil with the painful pace of the movie, nor the tense music or his shaking mate beside him. Her head was stuck to his shoulder– his very comfy and warm shoulder, forearms touching, hairs tangling together and sharing warmth.

The very same notion of proximity, warmth and sweetness was so Uraraka, it was overwhelming him to the point of mental shutdown. He was severely torn between giving her a good push so this weird fuzzy sensation would stop and pulling her closer.

Regardless the option he chose, none were going to help the situation that Uraraka, that woman who could pull buildings off their own foundings and also be smiling in the process and that girl who was unfazed by his rash behavior, that stupid girl that was tiptoeing into his heart in the most bizarre of ways– that girl was leaning on him, warming him up, and almost hogging him at this point.

Honestly, he had to either embrace the feeling or push her out of his zone– shrugging it off wasn’t an option anymore with such colossal blush adorning his cheeks.

The response was instantaneous. “What– Bakugou?”

He shuffled her closer to him, his blanket thoroughly wrapped around both of them. There was a toxic mixture of her sweet fragrance and his rainy spark inside the blankets, but it was completely fine by him. His arm around her shoulders– oh she was so small compared to him, now he noticed – kept her close.

He used said arm to shush her with its belonging hand. “Shut it. I wanna hear the movie, bitch.”

Uraraka stifled a giggle under her breath – after all he couldn’t call her bitch if he was keeping her so close. It was a weird discovery to see him so calm with sharing his personal space after having almost winced at her presence an inch nearer than usual. Well, it did ease the tension from the movie and gave her a strange feeling of peace. He was undeniably warm, strong muscular arms keeping her near and not far for a change, and his husky breathing– oh no.

She didn’t sign up for this! Her hands tried to hide the evident red in her face to no avail. Recount: she had King of Doom Bakugou Katsuki by her side, finally engrossed in a movie with her, pulling her as close as he deemed healthy, in the most proximate concept of cuddling that he’d ever consider carrying out.

So, she had two options: welcome the blush, his warmth and intimate, finally cool and rare behavior– or gently move away.

A part of her raged over his proximity and dared to try and throw away all of Bakugou’s developments socially speaking, and reject all the good things that came with this close version of cuddling.

Uraraka obviously decided against such outrage and moved closer, his arm adjusting to the idea of side hugs and her enjoying every moment of it, her head cradled on his neck while she paid attention to the show as he was doing, because his eyes seemed to be absorbing the movie like a sponge and, meanwhile, she had been so busy musing over cuddles that she wasn’t grasping the plot of the movie.

Look, none of them were really paying attention to the movie– they had never had such intimate contact with anybody, especially cuddles. It was all sorts of alluring and embarrassing. Bakugou was struggling to keep himself in check. Uraraka though, her mind was at the verge of short-circuiting itself.

“Am I seated in a good position? Do I smell? Is he completely alright with this? Maybe I am in a position that is uncomfortable for him and he isn’t comfy enough, but how do I ask him if he’s so focused on the movie and” her trail of frantic thinking came to a halt when she felt his muscles stiffen– they were a kiss away “is he ok? why is he so tense? oh no, he must be so un–“

“Yo,” whispered he, his breath fanning across her sensible ears. He sure wasn’t aware of the impact he had on her, but Uraraka, her mad blush and the goosebumps on her skin sure felt his presence. She was about to explode. “are you ok with this?”

The way he worded it made it seem like a much more important deal – well, maybe for him, it was a big deal. She curtly nodded and buried herself in his smell and warmth, not a bead of sweat apparent on her pale skin or a drop of awkwardness issuing from her approving hum. It wasn’t uncomfortable physically-wise, but his closeness was stirring all kind of clashing and incoherent emotions inside her little being.

“Girl, stop fretting over this.” mental slap. “Focus on the movie and enjoy the boy. After all, as soon as the night ends, you’ll be on the same level as before.”

Uraraka tried to make herself more comfortable, and his body – surprisingly, considering how inconsiderate he was most times – shifted along with hers, relaxing under her form on the back cushions. Fuck, he had expected the night to go as two friends watching a bunch of movies, no contact needed unless it was something major– but it had turned into two friends watching a bunch of movies, with her cuddling and suffocating him with her presence.

Worst of it all – admitted he all along, while he saw the scenes roll by with an unfocused stare – was that he was enjoying every second of it. This was, probably, the toughest decision he had made so hard that day and it was, by far, the best one he had made all his life. Having someone tucked under his arms had never sound appealing to him, not even once in his life. In spite of the startle of her proximity the first time, he had grown accustomed to it.

They moved closer to each other, her brown hair sprawled all over his shoulder and his skin feeling the warmth of hers, as if she was some kind of neat, nice and aromatic tea cup, dampening his insides in that electric, relaxing and overly light feeling of floating, his head floating out the door and leaving a happy man behind. Somehow, he was sure she felt it too, that shift.

His eyes abandoned the climax of the film to look at the crown of her head, accommodated on the crook of his neck– and it felt so right, to have her there, so close, safe, as if the whole world had faded away into a variety of grays and she was the only color in the room, shining straight into his heart and shattering his fears into smithereens, melting them and making them fly away to another place, another time– somewhere where they didn’t exist, where they wouldn’t be a burden.

His hand, previously hanging loose in front of her, brushed an unkempt tress of hair like a sailor cleans its boat: carefully, sincerely, and almost unconsciously. Of course she felt it– oh, she felt it so fast, her neck almost snapped when she titled her head to look at his red, fierce staring irises. Their breathing went erratic, getting stuck in weird places of their throats and their stomachs lurching in a delicious manner.

Yes, she definitely felt the tweak in the air. Not shift, not a blunt change– just a tweak.

Her brown pools blinked slowly, trying to make words out of his shaking eyes, those who always reflected proud feelings, his anger burning all around her– all but her, that girl who never jumped at his remarks, who he was a bit weak for, the woman who never burnt with the others and faced him all the time.

Interest had been there all the time, that’s for sure. But did such passion in his eyes, such cracks on his armor, the tenderness and approval; had it all existed before? Now he realized what he had really called her over for, and what the outcome had been. Bakugou couldn’t brush her away so fast though– not when he had dived so deep into the waters of her incandescent skies of brown.

His head, ever so slowly, made its way towards hers, shifting her form so she had better angle to move closer, her lips starting to part, eyes closing. Her breath was crossing his, mixing, tangling them together and pulling the cuddling pair even closer than before, their hearts soaring– his lungs breathed deep, and then, his hand grasped her neck, fingertips brushing the ends of her hair, and then, their lips inched closer, and closer, and–

“Yo, guys!”

Uraraka straight headbutted him in surprise, and they recoiled from each other with a disgruntled noise of pain and grief, feeling the catastrophic presence of Kirishima by the elevator. Uraraka spared a glance at Bakugou – who had turned into a blushing, raging mess of frustration and lack of self-control – and finally looked at her redhead friend.

“Good evening, Kirishima!” called Uraraka, grinning at her friend. She was so glad he decided to come in the end! “I thought you had gone to the party with the others…”

Kirishima wasted no time on sitting by Uraraka, squeezing her between him and a glaring Bakugou. “Nah, I ended up deciding to come with you guys. I’m so happy you’re still in one piece, Uraraka.”

The redhead chucked, and a vein on Bakugou’s head popped. Uraraka was beaming, though. “That’s great, I’m so glad you could finally make it here!”

The ashen teenager’s heart stopped beating. After such close call with Uraraka his heart had been beating hysterically, but it just snap stopped when he heard her. Kirishima blinked at her, confused. “Huh, finally?”

Thank goodness the brunette was too believing for her own good. She gripped her blanket to her neck, footprints of her cuddling plus that something with Bakugou pinking her cheeks. “Bakugou told me you were leaving with the others, so you wouldn’t be coming with us to the movie night like planned. I was so disappointed that you wouldn’t be coming when you were the one to invite me over!”

Again, Bakugou froze. Kirishima blinked at her and had this brilliant idea of looking at his best friend. He was looking– glaring at him, one eye twitching and an alarming amount of teeth showing beneath his snarl. “Movie night?” his eyes fell on how close they were to each other, how the blonde was still blushing, and the clench of his fists. “Oh.”

Kirishima smirked at Bakugou, understanding how he had made her come to his makeshift buddy movie night. “Sneaky bastard.”

And the funniest part was that he had been theoretically invited to the movie night, but he was at the same time clearly not invited to the movie night considering how Bakugou was mentally plunging daggers in his heart, twisting it, and bringing him all sorts of pain for interrupting such special moment with her.

His smirk only got wider. So interesting.

When Kirishima dragged his bastard ass towards her and swung his arm around her shoulders so casually, Bakugou saw red. “I ended up cancelling the outing plan for you guys, to come to our movie night.” Uraraka rose her fist in victory. “I see you have finished this movie already?”

Their eyes glanced at the static screen, credits already having rolled long time ago. The girl blushed, realizing that they had spent so much time gawking at each other that they had missed the ending of the movie. Bakugou gritted his teeth and got up to change movies, grabbing the first one he had at reach.

Kirishima turned to her. “I take it it’s been a good night so far.” the ashen blonde mumbled something to himself that his friends didn’t catch. “­­You guys must have been comfortable with so many pillows and blankets.” Kirishima knew where to hit next. “Can we share blankets, Uraraka? I forgot to bring mine.”

Bakugou’s back straightened, frown getting deeper and deeper. He made the TV eat the damn movie with a slam. He wasn’t jealous.

“Of course we can, Kirishim–!”

“Actually,” deadpanned the explosive teen, making his peers turn to him. “you can have mine, Kirishima.”

Uraraka was startled by what was to come, knowing what he was aiming for. Kirishima smiled knowingly at him – his arm remained wrapped around her nonetheless. Oh, how he loved teasing him so much. The moment he came into the room and saw them so close, he knew that his stay would be doomed with Bakugou’s glare. And that very moment he interrupted must have been very important, too.

“Are you sure, man?” asked the other, looking at the abandoned blanket by Uraraka. He chuckled. “Sorry, I meant King of Doom. How could I forget, your majesty.”

Like he always did when his name was spit on, Bakugou turned around and started bawling at him like a maniac. “Oi, watch your damn mouth, redhead loser!”

Uraraka shifted closer to Bakugou’s empty place, afraid of what pointy object he’d throw at him and how his aim could backlash when his temper got the best of him. “Don’t get so worked up, man! It’s your blanket who is speaking for me.”

Bakugou threw him a decorative ornament he found nearby, hitting his friend on the forehead, who groaned. Seriously, this guy could be pretty decent and all when needed, but he was also a total brute sometimes.

The blonde gave him the final we-have-to-talk-later glare and made his way to Uraraka, who had ended up nestling herself near Kirishima while the movie got started. Her blanket was still in her hands, and he’d be damned if he lost his cool again to her for the second time in a row. No way he would ask her for a blanket he didn’t even need, because the movie itself sounded promising and well, she also looked comfy in her own burrito arrangement.

Her eyes peeked at him for a second. Sensing his discomfort after their little bubble had been burst by Kirishima’s arrival, she nudged him with an elbow. Bakugou, with crossed arms and a neutral look on his face, watched her offer him a part of her blanket, a suggesting smile sketched on her pale, brilliant and childish traits.

The blanket ended up spread wide on them, a little bit short on his end. He grunted at her as a response and looked at the movie. His fingers nervously tapped on the couch’s arm as he glimpsed at his friends, unable to stop thinking about this– distracted by how she was shifting towards Kirishima and not him, how her head was angled towards him in low chatter and the way their knees brushed whenever she shifted– fuck, he wasn’t jealous, but Kirishima knew he’d be pissed if he was so touchy with Uraraka and he was doing it all on purpose.

So he did the most proper thing: glare the shit out of his best friend, who was still hugging Uraraka and didn’t even give signs of acknowledgement– then he turned his head and saw those piercing eyes of his, again pouring all his anger and hate onto his poor best friend. Muscles tense in agitation, eyebrows still twitching in possession towards that little girl who leaned too much towards the movie in expectation, her smile widening with every flash of light.

Kirishima felt, for once, truly afraid of his friend. Bakugou’s arm hung on the back cushions, a ghost hug for her over-stimulated form. Something interesting was going on in the movie, but Bakugou was too irritated by his friend’s arrival to care about the goddamn kissing scene in that low-key horror movie. His hands reached behind Uraraka’s leaning form to grasp at Kirishima’s pointy locks, growling in silent warning:

“Go an inch nearer.” his teeth shone to the white light of the TV, making him look dangerous– more than usual. “Go an inch nearer and you’re fucking dead, loser.”

Kirishima squinted at him in exasperation– was it really such a big deal that he was bonding with Uraraka? Geez, he might have arrived in the worst of times, but that didn’t make him a criminal! Bakugou continued pulling his hair behind a totally unsuspecting Uraraka, her eyes still bathing and dampening on the romanticism of the scene.

Before their silent bickering went noticed, Bakugou decided to mutter something about a kitchen, water, and Kirishima. The female was too wrapped in the scene to even notice their tantrum, so they left without being noticed– maybe that’s why dragging his best friend out of the zone and into a much more dangerous one with glass and knives was so easy for Bakugou.

There was a loud thud against a counter and the sound of wood cracking under a certain boy’s smoking hands.

“What are you doing here, you red punk?” muttered the ashen blonde, all but content smile showing his beast fangs. “I thought you’d be sulking up there like a moron over that alien girl’s whereabouts. Who the fuck invited you here!”

Kirishima crossed his arms, serious this time. There was no humor or glee in his always light voice, which now sounded chapped and slightly concerned. “You, apparently.”

That did the trick and shut him up, hands in his pockets and fuming because his friend was right. The redhead sighed. “What is going on here, Bakugou? Why are you with Uraraka, alone…”

There was a rapid blush spreading throughout Bakugou’s wincey face in a second. His hands grabbed the cracked surface, wanting to burn stuff again with scorching fervor. There was this wicked spark in his eyes after being busted so badly. “Get your mind out of the gutter, you bastard. Stop looking at me like I tried to rape her or something.”

However, based on the mysterious glint of his irises when his eyes diverted to her relaxed body on the couch, something akin to desire was crossing his mind. And Kirishima obviously saw it crystal clear.

“You two kissed, didn’t you?”

Kirishima was against the counter a second later, shirt fisted in a furious Bakugou’s hands. “What the fuck are you insinuating, you loser!?”

“Ah, so you did.”

“We didn’t!”

“But you wanted to, anyway, right?” Kirishima effortlessly freed himself from Bakugou’s grip, who growled and looked back at him. The booming of an action scene echoed all the way to them, but Uraraka – he was unconsciously peeking at her from his friend’s shoulder – didn’t even flinch at the flashy thing. “You seemed rather uptight when I dropped by.”

The blonde sighed. “We were going to… yeah.” the k word was too much for him to handle without losing his tough appearance in front of that nerd.

Kirishima tapped his index finger against his chin, deep in thought. “So, it’s been going on for a while, hasn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve liked her for long, I reckon.”

Bakugou’s heart set on fire, his tremor climbing all the way to his wrinkled brow and pumped up cheeks. “WHAT ARE YOU–“

A hand was slapped to his hand to stop the rant before Uraraka heard their heated discussion. “Don’t make a fuss out of this. I’m just stating the obvious.” Bakugou blinked at him in a perplexed stare. “It’s a bit evident you treat her differently – and well, seeing how much of a douche you are to mostly everyone, how you’re attentive of her sometimes and… this thing you had going on with her.”

The blonde’s back was turned to the other male, tense in irritation. Kirishima could hear the frown in his voice, his back muscles stiff after such bold statement. “Fuck off already, Kirishima.”

The other chuckled, unfazed by his brash friend. “But I’m not wrong, am I?”

A pair of seconds passed, then a whole minute. Then, Bakugou’s back deflated. The male turned, a troubled look in his face. He didn’t look like your cool average Bakugou– he seemed actually affected by the issue.

“I invited her over to… kinda understand whatever fucking thing I feel for angelface.” Kirishima encouraged him to continue with a nod, arms crossed and a pleasant surprise evident in his gentle smile. “I felt awkward around her at first but… I got the hang of it very easily. I didn’t feel like I was being a sucker by being nice to her. It was a pleasant feeling.”

Bakugou sat on a stool and rubbed his face with a hand to relieve stress. “So, you do like her, huh?”

The explosive teen’s eyes travelled to Uraraka’s brown mess of hair at the sofa, who stared at the movie with intention. His scowl faltered. “I enjoy being with her, but not in the same way as I do rarely enjoy your fucking pestering.” Kirishima dramatically grasped his shirt for dear life. “Her smile is cheesy as fuck, and she has that thing she does with her chubby ass fingers– and she never fucking shuts up. Also her eyes twinkle when something exciting happens, somehow. She’s stubborn as a motherfucker, too.”

Kirishima dared to ruffle Bakugou’s hair, earning him a menacing glare. The other laughed good-naturedly. “I guess that’s Bakugou talk for: I like Uraraka in such a frustrating way that I feel slightly intimidated.”

“What is most fucking frustrating” still looking at her from afar, Bakugou put his head on his hand, elbow on the counter. He snarled loudly. “is that she’s always drooling for that good for nothing quirkless bastard.”

His swearing was filled with so much rage that Kirishima whistled, lowly. “Sounds rough, buddy.” his face brightened for a second, finger shot up. “Hold on, didn’t you two almost kiss back there?”

The explosive teen growled again. “It means fucking nothing. We were almost cuddling, it was bound to happen.” he ignored Kirishima’s scandalized blush. “Besides, you didn’t give her time to step back. Thanks for that, loser.”

“I’m not sure if that’s an honest expression of gratitude, but you can be a sarcastic bastard when you really want to.” he was the one to ignore Bakugou’s face of utter ire after that insult. “But whatever the case, we don’t know if Midoriya-kun likes her back, in case she actually has the hots for him.”

“Are you fucking messing with me? You haven’t seen her around him then, blind ass. Maybe it was painfully evident before, but it still lives within her stupid, bubbly and bitchy self.”

“And how would you know if you live in a bubble outside the human emotional spectrum? I’ve never seen you being that emphatic or analytical before.”

Bakugou sighed. “It may be because, despite the fact that I am undeniably tough, I care for her.” he instantly checked if Uraraka gave any signs of having heard him. Apparently, she didn’t. “I’ve had people talking about her stuff at Gunhead like fanatics, it’s hard to ignore she has more value than some sorry asses at our class. I’m not constantly fawning over her whereabouts like you with alien girl,” Kirishima blushed at that. “but as somebody I respect and someone I enjoy fighting with, I do worry about her wellbeing.”

“I can’t believe you are a jerk even when talking about a girl like Uraraka.” before the other snapped at him, he cleared his point. “You can’t really say much about such stuff without hyperventilating or getting irritated with your own softness, so I guess you’re trying hard.”

“No matter how hard I try to be more open,” it was incredible she couldn’t feel such burning stare on her. Bakugou truly was an animal. “it doesn’t change the fucking fact that she’s obviously infatuated with the brat. And I can’t see what she sees on him that I ain’t have.”

Kirishima eyes his friend warily. “Feelings, care and sanity, maybe?”

It was clearly a joke, but Bakugou would never see that with such sensitive matter at hand. “You aren’t fucking helping, Kirishima.”

The other chuckled. Seeing his friend so worked up over a topic like love was hilarious. “It doesn’t matter if he’s got bad things though, she’s always looking at everyone’s virtues. The same goes for you man.”

“Are you telling me she sees me like a fucking god or something?”

“Of course not.” clarified Kirishima, sitting down on another stool in front of Bakugou. They were taking too long in getting what they had classified as glass of water. “But if she saw the version that everyone sees in you, she wouldn’t be with you right now. I’m pretty damn sure that most of our class would run away at the prospect of a night with you. But she’s there, dude. She’s constantly pushing you to become a better person. She’s not your regular classmate.”

Bakugou murmured to his hand something akin to “You bet she isn’t.”

Kirishima looked at her too. She seemed calm at last, “She’s something special, dude. I can’t tell if she likes you or not, but I can tell you that Uraraka doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to. She’s not that kind of girl.”

The explosive boy continued to stare at her, trying to decipher the big mystery that she was. Kirishima’s words were heard as a far-off voice. “She’ll always see the good in you. If she’s still willing to spend time with you despite your foul attitude, perhaps she actually wants to bond with you.”

Bakugou glanced at his friend, still troubled. “She seemed awkward at first, though.” not that much, really, but he was trying to get his hopes up for what would be a disaster.

“As anybody would be. This thing you two have here isn’t any kind of everyday routine, y’know. And I know for a fact that she cares for you no matter how stupid you can be sometimes.” Bakugou didn’t seem to be listening, focused on the girl, but Kirishima carried on. “Just try to be there for her and make her realize that you can be pretty cool, too.”

“I’M ALWAYS COOL, YOU DAMN LOSER!” yelled he in a whisper, seizing his neck in a livid grip. “And I can be as softie and stupid as that quirkless bastard, or more!”

Kirishima rose his hands in protest, sweat pouring from his forehead. “That’s not what I meant!” Bakugou let him go with a light push, sulking in his seat. “What I’m trying to tell you is that you have to highlight those virtues you have, and make her see your value the same way you kinda see hers.”

“So I have to be an overly bright version of myself? Like, be made of cotton candy and stuff?” he grumbled, frowning. “Not gonna happen. I ain’t losing my chill for her that badly.”

“Dude, I’m not telling you to go on full on her, or become someone else. If there’s a chance she likes you, acting differently will drive her away.” Kirishima sighed at his friend’s stubbornness to see that he was trying to help, that this issue didn’t need any embroiled solutions. “Just try to give her a bit of attention, listen to her for a bit. It’s not as difficult as it seems.”

Bakugou eyed him like he was the pest. It wasn’t a look Kirishima received often. “You’re telling me to fucking listen to all that crap about Deku she may want to say?”

“I seriously hope you don’t think that you’re destined to always hear what you wanna hear, because we sometimes have to face unpleasant issues – either because of necessity or just because someone vents their feelings on you.”

His head turned to him, brows furrowed. “’The fuck does vent mean?”

Kirishima shook his head. “Of course you wouldn’t know what such an emotion-charged word would mean.”

“Whatever.” Bakugou got up and padded to the sofa. “I just hope this bitch won’t come moaning about Deku or I’ll–“

Kirishima crashed with Bakugou’s back and moaned of pain. He looked at the couch afterwards. “What the hell, man– oh, this is new.”

Or course Ochako Uraraka would fall asleep on the couch after such a long conversation. Of course the most sleepish person would fall asleep in the middle of a movie night after such hard work on the harvest activity. The blonde’s fist hit the back cushions, teeth clenched after wasting such a valuable night with her because of–

His glare landed on his best friend. “Don’t you dare blame me for this.”

Bakugou sighed/growled and approached her. “We can’t have her sleeping here, or she’ll get a back ache or something.” mumbled Bakugou, picking her up. He had wanted to carry her on his shoulders, but decided against it just in case she woke up. Instead, he picked her up and carried her bridal-style.

“Yo, let me take a pic of this milestone moment–“

“Don’t you fucking dare.” spat Bakugou, walking to the lifts. “Wait here or– whatever, knock yourself out.”

Kirishima buried himself in Uraraka’s girly blanket and Bakugou’s one with a content smile. Both smells blended in before the redhead’s nostrils as he rewinded the movie on the screen. “I’ll be waiting for you here, darling!”

Hadn’t it been for sleeping beauty in his arms and he would have sent Kirishima flying to another dimension, somewhere with no possibilities to come back to him. Kirishima was a good guy, but he was a handful to deal with at times like these. The little ding of the elevator made him advance faster so he’d get away from his teasing, prying eyes.

Bakugou groaned once he was inside. Because this little girl was a reckless bitch who worked herself to exhaustion and she didn’t know when to fucking stop, and also because she had him wrapped around her weird fingers– now, he was stuck with her. He gave her a few shakes, musing over how light she fucking was and how that somehow worried him. Her tresses were disheveled to the point of being a case of bed hair, skin smooth and flawless, her plump lips parted in slow breaths.

She looked like a princess taken out from his wildest dreams, a little girl in rags who didn’t need saving or a man by her side to protect her value– all of her was a treasure, he knew. Somewhere along the way he came to see her shining through the bars of his heart, melting the ice around it and squeezing all the air out of it. It was such a sick, venomous but sweet grip she had on him, he tried to relish on her attention, every single one of her eye lashes, and her shattered breath on his neck.

He knew– the crash after the fall would hurt him eventually, the dread closing in and making his heart do all sorts of things, none of them natural. But for now… he just drew her close and stepped out of the lift, finding himself alone in the girls’ corridor at the fourth floor.

His steps were like ghosts in a cemetery. The eerie silence around him made him feel slightly intimidated, accustomed like he was to the loud chatter of his classmates all over the corridors. The lack of sounds wrapped around him like the warm air of a dark night on a meadow, alone and blind. It was all sorts of unnerving, but he had been through worse things.

Luckily for him, Uraraka had left the door unlocked, so all he had to do was give it a light push and make his way to her bed in the middle of the dark. He had only been to her room once or twice, but he knew how she had set it all up. His feet made out the outline of her rug, dodged the nasty table in the middle of his path, and gently lay her down on her bed. He opened the futon to cover her and tucked her in with utmost care.

There was a dim streak of light coming from the corridor, landing on a side of her face in a orange hue, making her glow in a strange way– his heart throbbed inside his chest, beating out of cadence and failing to let him leave or take his eyes off her. Bakugou gulped, nervous for once in his goddamn life, hands trembling as he gingerly took her face, fingerpads caressing the mountain of her rosy cheek, and took in her sleeping form. For once, she wasn’t moving, talking, fussing over anybody or making shit float.

Somehow, the very thought of her in such motionless state irked him, stirring all kind of twisting feelings in his already tangled heartstrings. Without thinking, his lips kissed the holy skin of her forehead in a mere brush that lasted a pair of seconds, but it sent his heart on a wild soar of euphoria. In a way, he felt repaid for the prior interrupted kiss fiasco, and the little secretive smile on his face proved how important that woman was to him.

And he’d get that kiss back someday – as soon as she realized that he could give the world if she so desired, he’d scoop her in his arms and kiss the air out of her, thrill rippling through his veins and eyes shining–

That girl was turning him into a poodle of love and goo. He couldn’t lose his chill in front of her so easily. He gave her cheek another caress and brushed some lost strands of hair from her face before walking back, his back turned to her so he wouldn’t crave into the urge of staying with her an make sure she was officially having a good sleep. Bakugou took his leave lighting fast, flexing his arms a bit so the soreness would wear off, and closed the door with a little click.

Sweat beads strode down his temple after such intimate moment. “That was a fucking close call.”

He silently strode down the hallway, step proud and his lunatic smile automatically on after melting for a few minutes. Yet, after exiting the elevator and hearing the TV blaring on the background his mood completely descended to the fires of Hell, down below the Earth and entering a whole new dimension– his bubble burst as he made his way to the couch, teeth clenched in a tight fit, the high from the kiss wearing off.

Needless to say, his lovely, peaceful and eventful night with Uraraka turned into a mess of screaming, rage and deadpanning with Kirishima.

Sunset rolled out fairly soon that day. Yueii had been cursed with a hot day full of battling, physical activity and tons of heated swearing from the classes’ number one lunatic. Of course it’s Bakugou, who else would it be?

The poor boy hadn’t had much more than a blink of sleep, and in all honesty, it wasn’t his fault. Kirishima couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he wasn’t sleepy enough or just plain tired. He had been working in the harvest the day before, but that guy had too much energy for his own good. That bubble head, though…

Bakugou glared at her from the classroom doorway while she spoke with Deku heatedly, both smiling and laughing at some stupid joke he did and no– no, Bakugou wasn’t jealous, jealousy was for little babies and he was no baby whatsoever. But the nerve of that guy, blatantly flirting with with her movie buddy in the very same place! Ugh, disgusting.

The ashen blonde did notice how something about Uraraka was off, and it was so obvious – or either he had become attentive of her after his heart to heart with Kirishima – that it vexed him that the bastard wasn’t paying attention. Was his world so narrow that the lack of spark in her eyes, how that big smile of hers never reached her eyes, or the lackluster of her cheeks– all of that, went unnoticed?

Bakugou frowned at the pair, feeling Todoroki’s stare from behind him, who was casually leaning on the wall. The blonde was extremely aware of the thousand conspiracy theories going on inside half-n-half’s brain, but he didn’t care as much as he cared about Uraraka and that bastard.

“You should stop stalking her, you know.” spoke the calm teenager, stale and dry as sincere and good-intended. There was a crack on the door, and a growl. “You will end up being discovered.”

His conversation with Kirishima suddenly started playing on repeat in his fried brain, making him jump into wrong and misplaced conclusions. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING A STALKER, YOU NERD? And what has Kirishima actually told you about me!? Shut it!”

Of course Kirishima hadn’t told him anything, and of course this seemed like a big, big issue for Bakugou, so Todoroki let it pass with an indifferent stare at his companion’s shaking back. He was livid at the pair of lovebirds. His display of pure rage and childish internal fits was pleasing to the eye– finally Bakugou would be frustrated at something with an actual reason.

Midoriya appeared on the doorway a minute later and he was scared shitless after seeing Bakugou’s deformed expression of anger and fixation on making the poor boy’s life miserable as hell. With his fearsome features still scrunched in such murderous intentions, he watched Deku trail behind Todoroki’s unaffected stride.

He calmed down a little and turned around to see Uraraka staring at him intently. Bakugou jumped a feet behind. “What the fuck, angelface! What’s the sneaky business for?”

“I was about to ask you the same.” her head titled to a side, and he had the urge to do the same for the sake of bonding. “Do you need anything?”

Bakugou watched the spark in her eyes flicker into nothing, her eyes darker than he had ever seen them. She was shamelessly smiling despite the hidden turmoil she was going through after last night– remembering that night only made her blush and start fidgeting with her fingers. And god, how he hated seeing her so uneasy around him. Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest, sensing that something was wrong.

“You fell asleep last night.” stated he, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Uraraka immediately jumped again, remembering how comfortable the blankets around her had felt and how her world had faded before the boys came back to her. “I’m terribly sorry about that! I was just too tired and–“

“I don’t give a fuck about you being tired.” the gravity bender blinked at him, startled by his sudden outburst. “Don’t do that again. It’s damn annoying.”

When he turned around to leave, hunched over and mumbling about her being too much of an unnecessary hassle, she saw the meaning of his words. Her breath wavered and she felt lightheaded out of the blue. “Hold on, again?”

His steps haltered as he turned around, an unreadable expression in his face. “We’re repeating this movie night stupidity again. I never leave business undone.” the brunette stared blankly at him, flabbergasted after such brutal honesty. “You fell asleep halfway through the night. You ain’t escaping this so easy.”

As he turned to leave again, she took a few steps in his direction. “W-Wait, I may be late!” Bakugou groaned and spun around to face her, nearing a dangerous edge between being relatively calm and indeed mad at her. “I have some stuff… to do…”

She started, again – he was suffering while seeing her so shrunk – doing the thing with the fingers. Her eyes were downcast, hair shadowing her roundy, kissable cheeks. The world around her was covered in a static of blacks and whites, the only color around her being the red of Bakugou’s eyes and his burning stare– his white skin, the golden of his jacket, or the pearls of his teeth and the tremble of his lips upon seeing her so shaken up.

And she didn’t want to leave, feeling so drawn to the animal in front of her, the animal that had consumed her feelings so easily.

Something was writhing inside. Her mind had always been a clear slate of purity, pristine and transparent feelings showing in her big eyes of illusion and wonder. Yet, after so long, while her feelings remained unchanged, there had been a twitch in her heart. It had reactioned– it had beaten for the first time in years right before last night, and hadn’t stopped beating ever since.

What was with this change? Why did she feel unchanged, yet so disturbingly deceived at the same time? Uraraka knew where her heart stood, but did her heart wanna be there? Was it the best option? This adrenaline– this corrosive feeling of thirst and desire after his lips had brushed hers… why was it dampening her resolve? Why…

Why was she so frustrated with herself when she still loved another man?

Somehow, the relief of generalization sounded petty at best. She faced Bakugou again. “But I’ll try to be there as soon as possible!”

Bakugou approached her and stood dangerously near to her. He looked at her, eyes stabbing hers in a menace, but it somehow ended up being a low warning more than a straight-up murder threat. He stared down at her, brown orbs shining to his. “Don’t be late or you’ll be fucked.”

The burning notion of an unrequited love weighed him down, too.

With that, he parted to his dorm to think about the mental consequences of having an undeniably cute girl in your dorm for a night. Meanwhile, with her afternoon plans still beating hard in her mind, something bigger and foreign throbbed inside– something akin to those things she had experienced with that boy in the past but had experienced last night with this man.

And her heart wouldn’t stop hammering.

“If I love Deku so much…” her hand flew to her mouth. “why did I and Bakugou almost–“

And she cried, too. Ah, she felt that small tweak now.

When he opened the door to her, he hadn’t expected to see this. If she had been the one to be pleasantly surprised by his initiative, it was his turn to be bitterly puzzled with his guest.

It was now when he realized that it was raining cats and dogs outside. Her hair was soaked wet, raindrops falling down the tips and trailing down her face, neck, and arms. Her skin was rough after what must have been a long ass time in the middle of the rain. She wore this apologetic smile on her face, smiles on smiles on smiles that never filled the void in her eyes, endlessly saddened by something he couldn’t point, but that must be pretty tough if the star girl was in fucking shambles.

He quickly took her in, frowning at her disposal to partake in the tradition of having a cold after the exam season. “Oi, don’t come dripping me wet, you bitch.” he rubbed her arms to give her some warmth, flustered at her dumfounded expression after such a caring action. “I’ll go get you a fucking towel. You stay out.”

“Damn woman, damn her to hell.” his thoughts furiously pushed him into the bathroom, looking for a decent towel for her to dry her head with. Her hair had been so messy, all her tresses tangled into little knots of undying despair. Uraraka fucking Ochako wasn’t going to cuddle – because he knew she would be seeking some source of heat after being exposed to  harsh temperatures outside, and he wasn’t going to have her all watery and messy.

Bakugou grabbed a smooth looking piece of cloth– it could even be a t-shirt, he didn’t even give a fuck. All he wanted was to have her dry and make her smile again so his life would have a sense of peace again. He stomped his way out the bathroom to find her sitting on his bed, looking at her hands absent-mindedly.

He almost asked her.

Almost.

Then, he remembered it wasn’t his business. She already had Deku to talk about this stuff. If she wanted to ramble though, Bakugou would listen.

He threw the towel to her – she immediately snapped out of reverie to catch the red towel, and stared at it blankly – and went to fetch his laptop and pendrive. “I have some good shit here.” he waved the thingy proudly. “I bet you’ll like whatever we watch here.”

When she didn’t come up with a snotty remark like she used to, or when Uraraka never rose up from her seat to berate him or throw a pillow to him– just do something, something snapped in him. Fearing an encounter with an awkward crying baby, he turned around, as slowly as ever. She was looking at the towel with a distant stare. She wasn’t crying, but her heart was crying a river inside of her.

He sighed and padded to her, kneeling in front of her. His deft hands grabbed the towel from her hands and he started to clumsily dry her hair. If she wasn’t going to cooperate, he’d sure as hell make her presentable for their bonding night. Fuck her and her turmoil–

When he saw her shiver for a second, those curses died in his throat. Despite the guilt climbing all the way to his gut, he still didn’t call her out on her silence. He continued messing with her hair and watching the drops fly around. Her hands were clasped on her thigh, fingers entangled with each other in a death grip.

This girl, that girl who was tough no matter what, suddenly rose up again. “Sorry!” the smile was beaming, heart breaking and painfully deceitful at the same time. “I was just a bit off.” the towel was shrugged off her shoulders, and she got up. After letting her mask fall down for so long, she had picked it so fast that it knocked the air off his lungs.

Uraraka got up, purposefully hiding her grimace while going to choose a movie. No matter how much she tried to act, after such a deadly silence, he knew something was wrong with her. His frown deepened, hands clenched in frustration– he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t let his care for her show.

After all, this girl belonged to another damned bastard. He was the first one who didn’t want it to be that way, but fuck his luck, really.

She threw him the pen drive. “Earth to King of Doom! Is this fine–“

He threw her the towel so she’d finish his handiwork. “Dry your fucking hair, you raincloud! I don’t wanna have my dorm getting puddles of water.”

“Opsies, sorry.” once the towel was in her hands, she stepped away from his laptop – he was dangerously glaring at her – and started getting rain off her hair. Her bowl cut had turned into a bird nest in a matter of seconds, all thanks to his careless hands. Her expression turned devilishly nasty as she strode towards him in silence, then buried his hair in the towel and started rubbing the cloth up and down.

Bakugou furiously tried to get rid of that pest of a girl by tugging at her sweater sleeves, feet pounding on the ground. “OI, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!”

She giggled while resuming her previous work of drying her own mess. “You needed to see what it–“ her towel was taken from her as he looked at her, growling like an angry dog. “Oh. Oh my.”

His hair was so disarrayed and messy– his spikes were pointed in wrong angles, some shrunk into curves and other weighed down because of the wetness of the towel, causing some of his strands to be completely fucked up. Other parts were fuzzy and askew. The whole picture was sinful and hilarious. It didn’t take time for her to notice how embarrassed and stupidly angry he looked to just burst out laughing. She ended up having to sit down.

He was having a hard time. His hands were throbbing to find any sort of pointy object to pop his eyes out– her laugh was so nasal, loud and honest that it was both irritating and adorable.

“O-oh my g-oo–“ laughs, laughs, and he grew even more flustered as he dried some of his spikes and set them in the right directions while looking at a mirror on his closet. “That- that’s a masterpiece-e! Best Je-Jeanist would–“

He immediately turned to her with decent hair – not perfectly fine, still a bit wet –, throwing the towel to her in a futile attempt of shutting her up. “Don’t you dare bring that guy’s name up!” she still went on laughing a few meters away from him, hands reaching for the towel. “He’s such a sassy motherfucker…”

Her laughing fit stopped – finally, he groaned – as she started rubbing the towel on particularly wet points of her hair. “I’m sorry, but that hairdo will show you how you can’t mess with my hair ever again.”

He arched an eyebrow to her. He could have cut her hair short and thrown it to a bin and get it all over with – of course she wouldn’t see that he had been gentle. That little smile on her stupid face showed that she had noticed his intentions though, but it’s not like she’d ever thank him for giving her a beehive as a hair style.

“I mean,” the towel was removed from her hair, revealing a ball of brown locks. “what’s wrong with you?”

Bakugou spared her with a few seconds of silence before walking to her, sitting down in close proximity and putting some hairs back where they belonged. He did it with such slow pace and intent that she was momentarily breathless. Forgotten was her prior silence and problems outside the room. His fingers would sometimes brush her cold, sensitive skin– his finger pads burned her. All she could feel and see was his pale skin and his burning flames softening from a hair to another.

He focused on putting the mess he made in a minute back together, focusing in everything but her unblinking eyes– oh, how soft they were, and how easy it was to dive into an airless sea of monsters, darkness and frightening tides, only to look into her eyes and peek inside her soul, see what had been troubling her earlier and what she felt– what she felt for him, for the world, for herself. He outwardly inched a bit closer in concentration, fixated on having her with a decent hairdo so she wouldn’t bitch about it all night long.

It could also be because her presence calmed the tornado of ashes that went through him whenever her skin brushed his fingers. It could also be because he enjoyed being surrounded by darkness but her light, or how her lips were slightly parted, insinuating wait– they whispered longing in a thousand languages, screamed at him to kiss them, to bite them, to make all kinds of atrocities to those uninjured roses of hers. He heard her sigh contently for the first time in ages.

Then, of course, he had to break such tranquil moment in a whisper.

“I’ve seen you at worse times, though.”

Her spine stiffened as she looked at him, horrified after such blunt and unfortunate comment. Realizing how he had come across as violent and how her silent disposition to his touches had been shattered into smithereens, he pulled away, coughing uncomfortably. “Go get yourself a brush, you bubblehead. Stop fucking bitching about it.”

There she was with the giggle business, touching the parts he had merely arranged on instinct. She could still feel the touch of a man that, despite the hell outside the room, could make her feel like nothing once and, suddenly, build her a monument and make her feel special and all giddy inside. And she had no idea why. “Thanks for the help, Bakugou.”

In some way, she was pouring much more meaning than what one could catch. He did notice how gentle her voice was, and the rasp in her vowels and the tiny tiny smile. It made him only more aware of her presence and it was disturbing.

He didn’t dare to speak against her and hummed a response, scrolling through his movie archive with skeptic eyes. A minute later, she had already settled in front of his bed with an army of fluffy pillows and his whole futon torn from the mattress. Such heresy struck him like a bolt, pointing at his naked mattress in pure horror.

“What fucking fortress are you building on the floor, you bitch?” he grabbed his laptop – in a Bakugou way: violently – and flung it in front of her, crashing next to her. Since her makeshift sofa was relatively small, they had to sit close to each other. None of them had a complaint against the arrangement, though. Well, Bakugou did in a way. “Couldn’t you have done this on the bed so this would be less messy?”

She blinked at him, again with that unimpressed look only she would pull at him. “Yeah. But where’s the fun on a movie night without a messy arrangement?”

“There were many other ways to go about this.” spoke he, refusing to believe that she had done all this mess for the sake of being fun – then, he realized that Uraraka was damn crazy and random when he never asked for it. He still loved it anyway. “We could have gotten some blankets and settled on the bed with a few of them, or taken those puffs and set them in front of the table...”

Another suggestion rushed through his mind, but he didn’t dare to word it. However, the way he voiced his ideas made it clear that he had another way for them. She gestured with her hands for him to go on. Rose twinkled in his cheeks– thank god it was dark in the evening and there were clouds and rain all over the sky. Uraraka’s presence made it all quieter and the rain, one way or another, was forgotten in the heat of their previous banter.

He nodded to the bed. “We could take the bed, lay down under the futon, pillows, and just put the damn laptop on that table.”

The idea sounded cuddly as hell, and it spelled intimacy and a level of closeness that they clearly weren’t ready for. She blushed at the idea of sharing a bed with Bakugou– but fuck, what could go wrong? It was just a movie night and it sounded horribly comfortable. Some healthy snuggles in a perfectly fine and fluffy bed, warm and possible cuddles – she needed some cuddles to get past today’s tiring and draining hell – sounded like a plan to her.

She nodded and hurriedly climbed up the naked mattress, watching his face go from unbelieving to smirking. “I would have never thought that getting you in my fucking bed would be so damn easy, angelface.”

That

that was weird.

She blushed in all kinds of red as he put the comforter around them, elbows touching as they set their heads on their arms. Oh, that shameful expression of hers made all kind of delicious twists in his stomach. He wasn’t one for making people blush or trying to make girls’ panties drench– but hell, he had to fucking try. He was always in for making people ashamed, especially if it was the out-going, witty and fearless Uraraka.

The moment they were lying down, him quickly getting the movie started with that mischievous glint in his eye– oh, she was in for a horrible night.

A moment later, the movie was started, both teenagers fighting for a good posture under the thick feather blanket. Their eyes were deeply focused on the shitty movie Bakugou had once again chosen – he was so stupidly dramatic and over the top when it came to filmography – but their hearts were beating irrationally fast. They would sneak glances at each other when one would reach out for popcorn, or water. Also each time Uraraka tried to get some goodies Bakugou would slap her hand away, lest the incident from the previous day happened again.

Whenever his arms flexed to reach out for snacks or just shut her mumbling by smashing her head against the pillows, she’d gulp. Being so close to a man, to a beast in the skin of a not-so-humble man– his hair was again a bit disheveled, making her wonder for the first time if he regularly brushed his mess of spikes, or if he just shook his hair after a shower like dogs do and made it roll like that.

Her fingers travelled to his head, then he flinched and glared at her from the corners of his eyes. Incandescent orbs threatened her to suffocate her in flames and hands on her throat. She chuckled as the softness of his tresses – something she had never really stopped to think about but was currently enjoying to her heart’s content.

His voice bubbled inside her chest. “The fuck’re you doing, pest.”

Her fingers continued threading around his locks. “Your hair was a bit messy; I’m just making you a favor.”

His face buried itself on his arms. The tension music echoed around them, making her uneasy as she absent-mindedly combed his hair and focused on the movie. His blush went unnoticed for her, and he unconsciously nuzzled on her soft, tender hands– dude, stop.

He abruptly pulled her hand away with a grimace, but his discomfort wasn’t noticed either. His reflexes had kicked in too late, now he had lost his cool again. Goddammit, what was this girl doing to him? His hands fisted the mattress and started tugging at it, all while Uraraka fawned over the protagonist’s back story and murder reasons– her face when she did the thing with the fingers, all interested in such stupid stuff annoyed him so much.

Nevertheless, Bakugou had never felt so at ease yet struggling to keep himself in check around someone. Her proximity was dawning on him like a bug on his back, nonsense dots of gee shining in her brown eyes. Sometimes, he’d catch her glancing at him for a second or two, maybe to check if he was enjoying the movie as much as she was.

In all honesty, having his newfound love interest less than an inch away from him wasn’t helping him. He had all odds against him: not only the movie was bland and cheap, but he had this fidgety, sweet and mumbling adorable Uraraka elbowing him to focus. He could do anything but focus on the movie. He dug his chin on the skin of his arms– he tried for all his remaining sanity not to look at her.

So… he didn’t. He snuggled his elbows and looked either at his bureau in a corner of the room or at the movie. Bakugou shifted on the mattress, and felt her squirm after a moment of contact. Not long after that he’d discover that she wasn’t really making a fuss over his skin brushing hers– his heart did stop for a second and the hairs on his nape shot dramatically. Glancing at the movie with spare annoyance, he discovered that the movie was reaching its romantic climax.

Classic female in distress was confessing, moved to tears by a male who had sacrificed himself for her safety– her whole being was trembling, quivering in hear and succumbing to the harsh reality that her beloved was dying. Ah, apparently, some shit scary monster had stabbed the loser with an axe. Bakugou had the urge to scoff. Too much corny stuff for him to deal with in a horror movie. Expecting Uraraka to be giggling at this bullshit scene, he smirked, ready to make a snarky, vicious remark for the first time–

She was crying. Her eyes stared at the screen as if she had seen a child die in the hands of a murderer. Her orbs were blown wide, mouth ajar and her hair was a mess again– it was a ghost portrait of what Uraraka was. Her cheeks were puffy, eyes glassy and his heart wrenched awkwardly in his chest. Her shoulders shook slightly, the lowest of hiccups issuing from her ribcage in a broken lullaby.

Whatever underlying distress she was going through, he couldn’t ask. But he could make her speak, too.

“Oi, Uraraka.” sighed he. The aforementioned immediately brushed her tears away and smiled like she always did – but it didn’t reach her eyes, it wasn’t genuine, and Bakugou was sick of it. “Stop crying, it’s a goddamn cheesy piece of garbage.”

Her head turned to the screen in slow motion, then, stared at it blankly. “Yeah, sorry.”

So this was the part about being understanding and shit that Kirishima told him about, huh? Bakugou laid his forehead on his arms, awfully tired. All the patience he had been keeping inside for whatever time she needed help with anything petty, all the hopes he had for this night to be more peaceful, for it to be spectacular, eventful, and possibly end with them a bit cuddled under the blankets– ok, maybe not that, of course Bakugou would never cuddle with someone again. All those expectations flew out the window and crashed ten feet below the earth surface.

“Uraraka.”

Still slightly doe-eyed, she looked at him with wonder. “I ain’t gonna pry whatever shit you have going on from you. If something’s bothering you, whatever the fuck it is, tell me. Feeling you cry beside me is annoying and I’m not gonna have this night screwed over again.”

He could have been gentler, but Bakugou didn’t do gentleness or tactful approaches. He would have liked to bask in her warmth and sweetness, but her tears had stirred something in him. Of course he wouldn’t ask – it was not his business. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care about her. In the wake of the day and the ending of the night he always wondered why her absence was so noticeable, or maybe he’d wonder what he could have worded differently so she would see– just see that he cared in his particular manner.

Her silence overpowered the music from the movie, making it all around him be soundless for five good minutes. This time, ironically, he could clearly hear the pitter patter of the rain against his window pane, water splashing the glass and making him wonder if Uraraka had somehow provoked this foul weather. A big storm would come soon, so all he did was move a bit closer to her to make her snap out of her tempesting haze.

Bakugou looked at her like she was his moon, and, in response, her eyes shifted to his and drenched in his blood, soaking in chaos, and just stared like he was her sun. In the wake of one and the end of another, they could only see each other for a few minutes– but after her appearance, stars would lit the dark sky like she had done with his heart, lighting sparks in parts of his body he didn’t even know.

He just needed her to know he loved her. Unilateral or not, he wanted to get the point across: she was starting to consume his world, and all he asked for was an explanation as to why it was crumbling down in pieces.

Her scrunched form suddenly found its way to his, sides touching as his hands ached to hold hers. He resisted the thought.

Uraraka breathed in.

“I confessed to Deku, today.”

A cold bucket of water soaked him to the bone, made his legs wiggle and for the first time. The unbreakable man silently swept the floor with his broken heart. However, her sniffles were the part that hurt the most. He feared to know what was coming next.

Despite the pain, she looked at him like she always did: smiling, corners trembling with the heaviness of demise. “He… didn’t return my feelings.”

His soul, brain and heart made a run for it and leaped out the window. His little red organ painfully groaned once it hit the ground, and when it tried to make its way back to its owner, it had been already broken in half again. Bakugou’s eyes trembled as he looked at her– he was dumbstruck, stunned, sad, and mostly livid at this point.

So he only dared to murmur his mess of unintelligible thoughts and articulate them in the simplest ways. “He… rejected you?”

Uraraka feebly nodded, her smile turning sour and drops of salt falling down from her eyes. Something in him was destroyed instantly after seeing her shake, crumble, crack, and finally break. Her sobs were quiet, shoulders still shaking minimally. Something told him she was holding back all the pressure that this newfound discovery had made her shoulder.

Of course she had been hoping for Deku to be drooling for her, all the class was waiting for them to fucking finally make out and proclaim their love. However, much to his surprise and discontent, the bastard had rejected her.

Uraraka. He had rejected fucking Uraraka.

His teeth started grinding, seething– Deku couldn’t be a quirkless dick, have all the luck by him, try to intimidate Bakugou, and now reject what would most probably be the best thing that ever fell in his hands. Bakugou would be the devil if he were happy for this. Of course he wasn’t, not when she was obviously in love with Deku and she was shaking like this.

He couldn’t be more than a friend, so he’d act as such.

His arm snuck around her shoulders and pulled her close, fireworks erupting in his chest as he did so. The feeling was inexplicably bitter. “What the fuck are you doing crying for that loser, angelface.”

She shuffled closer to him her head directly touching his. “I’m sorry, Ba-Bakugou… it’s just…”

He was fully aware of the next movie automatically starting, but he didn’t dare interrupt this moment. His hands awkwardly rubbed her side, up and down. He sure was shit at cheering people up. “Shoot it already.”

After one little sob, Uraraka spoke up. Her voice was chapped and completely worn off from crying. “I had expected for Deku to say that he loved me too, but… I’m sorry, I don’t usually cry in public…”

He was damn aware. And the fact that she was alright with crying in front of him– because there was silent understanding and mutual respect for each other, and they had already let their walls. She could lift him up in the air if she so desired, and, in a way, he was sure she would be willing to be set on fire by him any time he needed her to. It was an unspoken bond that only rose to the light once it was needed. And she needed him now.

“I know, angelface.” and he respected her for being so strong when others needed a flashlight to guide them through and give them hope. For that, he held her tighter.

“I’m just confused…” Uraraka painfully remembered how Deku had struck her with the truth, in the middle of the rain. He was completely unscathed by the harsh waterdrops, and now she was soaked to the core with confusion and misery. Her eyes had dropped to the ground, heart wincing in her chest after Deku had looked at her with pity like no one ever had. “His face was so… he was hurt by rejecting me.”

Bakugou grunted and messed with her hair to snap her out of it. “Stop thinking about that fucker.” eye roll ensues. “Did he tell you why? Was it because you’re a witty bitch, or maybe because you make popcorn float?”

There surfaced the camaraderie they had going on under layers of heroism and his short temper. She smiled for a brief moment, making Bakugou feel accomplished in the silliest of ways. It didn’t last though, only flickered and then fell again. “He said he wanted to focus on becoming a hero. And that he couldn’t afford a girlfriend with all that’s been happening with All Might.”

At least she wasn’t stutteting like a fish out of the water anymore. Her voice was still dragging with darkness and the usual perkiness of her vowels was completely destroyed. This Uraraka was a tragedy. And he knew it would take her a while to get over it. And despite understanding Deku’s ambitions and reasons – and maybe even respected them a tiny bit – he was furious at him all the same.

“What a douchebag.”

“It’s not his fault, Bakugou…” suddenly, she lay on her side and hugged him, snuggling with his shoulder. “I think… it’s mine.”

Her movements startled him, made him jump in the place and turn to her, as well. They were fully hugging now, laying on the mattress and him trying to awkwardly hug her back. She wouldn’t feel his touch for sure with so many raging emotions inside of her, but the slim chance of her feeling him made him react. Bakugou nuzzled her head, eyes closed.

“I just feel…” her hands gripped the back of his black shirt, shaking. “I feel like not only have I destroyed our friendship, but I feel… I don’t feel as sad as I think I should be.”

This statement brought him to confusion. “Fucking elaborate, Uraraka. I can’t read your damn thoughts.”

She stiffened, either because of his harsh words or whatever she was going to say next. “I was completely sure of what I felt for Deku. But I have been… having these thoughts, lately.” her hands loosened and they just slackened on his back. His muscles instinctively tensed. “I was sure I loved him, and I said it with so much conviction before… the crash still hurt me. Yet… I’ve been having this feeling that I may not love him in the way I thought I did. I felt like we were… meant to be. But somehow, I…”

His hand came to rub her head in the gentlest manner he could. His respect for this woman pulled her to unimaginable limits– he was blushing, shaking because this was too intimate and her presence was lulling his brash brain to sleep. Yet he wanted to do this. There was no harm on being a good friend. “What the fuck, angelface? What if he had” his grip on her grew frantic, as if she would slip away in a second. “accepted your feelings? Would you have fucking pretended to love that bastard because you just felt you were meant to be?”

“I do think I love him!” screamed she, muffled by his chest. The sound of his palpitating heart tickled her stomach. “But… I just wasn’t aware of how much. And while I do feel like I love him and shit, this hurts like fire… things changed, somehow.”

“How?”

“Well… I’m hurting no matter how much I try to convince myself that my feelings weren’t that strong. But… I’m not as sad as I would have expected.” he wanted to tell her that it was because she was strong, because she was brave and she’d heal from this– but she had different thoughts. “I think… my heart…”

Uraraka couldn’t say it. Not after all she had realized, all she had come to terms with some time ago but was refusing to admit. Her heart, made of powerful towers and strong foundings– it had been torn apart, blown to ashes. But this man with her… why did it all feel like nothing was wrong when she was in his arms? Why did she feel so… safe?

Uraraka shed more tears. Why did she feel so terrified of something she didn’t even know?

“Spit it out already. I’m not a teddybear and my shirt is a mess.”

Of course he’d sound so reluctant and stupid out of sheer instinct. He wanted to get this over with, he needed to have her in peace again so he’d be in peace again. “I’m terrified that… that all the feelings I felt for Deku, all the feelings I still feel for him… that they may be unfounded.”

Bakugou frowned for the first time in too long. “Uraraka…”

“I feel that” her fingers trapped the fabric of his chest, feeling his heart beating under her palm. It was awfully soothing. “My heart is so out of control now. And I’m hurting. But all I can think about is how hurt he looked, and how little I’m hurting. But I still feel like the truth would have hurt more, and I think it may be because– because I…”

Uraraka trailed off. Bakugou put the pieces together in silence.

“So you’re all messed up…” he weighed the impact of his words wistfully. “because you think that, despite loving him so much, you are not fucking sobbing all over the goddamn building. So you think that your love for the bastard wasn’t as strong as you thought.” he felt nod. “You’re hurting because you are not hurting.”

“I feel like my heart has lied to me, and that’s why I’m still breathing. That even though I felt like I loved him… I didn’t feel what love may be like.” cried she, tears subsiding. “My heart didn’t beat as hard as it should, or that my skin doesn’t tingle when he touches me. I felt like I loved him, my admiration drove me to that conclusion but…”

The idea of Uraraka experimenting those sensations with somebody else other than Deku struck him like a knife. It hurt like hell that maybe Deku wasn’t her only option – he should have known there could be other people chasing after her. She was pretty, nice and talented. If he, the stone man Bakugou, had fallen for her, anybody could.

Fingers snuck through her hairs while her arms circled him again in a petite hug. The movie, long ago forgotten, blared in front of them. “So you were fucking wrong.”

Her nod only made her snuggle more against him. A grunted sigh escaped his lips outwardly, feeling her whole being against him. No matter how severe the matter was, her presence was keeping at him at bay– his ire had calmed down, only feeling the thick air around them prop him higher and higher until he was facing the moon of her dark irises. His muscles were yet to get loose after the agitation of Deku’s rejection.

He had rejected Uraraka and made her end up like this. The queen of fortitude and happiness was gliding down the slippery slope of a lie – all because Deku had messed with– misled her. Bakugou was pretty damn sure that Deku knew about her feelings for him, yet he decided to not call her on it despite knowing about it all growing in her mind– and their game went on til’ tonight.

But, if Deku had accepted her feelings, would it had been any better? Ugh. These situations were the main reason why Bakugou never dared to peek into these fucking dramatic issues. Thinking about it was giving him a pounding headache.

“Uraraka.” mumbled he, feeling her still and quiet for the first time that night. “When you say you don’t feel that shit with Deku…” the suggestion was evident in his voice, dripping with a bit of jealousy and embarrassment. “does that mean you have felt it with somebody else, then?”

“A-Ah.” among his flustered state, his chest felt the heat of her face. He knew what she was thinking almost instantly, and his flustered blush spread to his ears. “Well… you could say I have…” she pursed her lips, thankful for the darkness in the room and how she could hide her face on his chest.

She didn’t dare say anything else, because it had been too much of an emotional day to dwell into how her breathing was erratic, or that the air in the room wasn’t enough– suddenly, they weren’t in the room anymore, they were flying in the sky, embracing each other in a sweet grip. He was a bit too strong, probably trying to hold in his anger for Deku, but she was endlessly caring in her touches and caresses. Every time her fingers slid along his pearly skin, or touched his hair, he wanted to fly.

And every time he looked at her, her heart pounded irresistibly hard against her bones, exploding when he was too near, and dying when his lips were an inch nearer than needed. His touches were like feathers falling on her, the touch of a fearful animal doubting on where to caress, unsure of what to do. He was a fearsome monster that would crawl behind her without losing its dignity.

Why hadn’t she ever felt this with Deku?

What were those emotions that were making her hurt somehow?

And why was it so painful to smell his shirt and feel closer to a future home? What was this?

“Then,” whispered Bakugou, pulling away from her now that she was fully calm, collected and controlled after the breakdown. “do you love Deku, angelface?”

Her answer was almost instantaneous. “I don’t think I can say I don’t, because the pain– it’s still here, Bakugou. The fact that I may have screwed our friendship is nagging at me. But at the same time, I’m confused.”

“Confused?” yes, Bakugou was socially disabled, and couldn’t see that the fact that Uraraka was madly blushing at him was a big hint of where the confusion came from.

She nodded, pulling away a bit as well to give him space. “The rejection still hurts despite it being a lie. After all, this false feeling– or whatever this was, it felt nice, and I thought he felt the same, too. I’m just a bit beaten up, that’s all.”

Her eyes fluttered close for a second, and he brushed a strand of hair away. Too much for a tranquil night with her. Still, the hush between them was brushing all their fears away, leaving them restless. Her eyes opened again, revealing that little spark of hers ignited by warmth and the reflection of his desire for her. His eyes travelled to her parted lips, shining in the darkness.

That was the worst time to kiss her. Yet, given the unholy mess she had become, he wanted to make it all feel better by kissing the pain out of her– wanted to make her sigh, smile, giggle his name and not her offender’s. Why couldn’t fate be merciful with him?

“You know,” there was that little giggle of hers again. His stomach made summersaults upon those little squeals and pearls of uninterrupted joy. “you can be a real softie when you want to.”

That was when his frown was again wrinkling his angular features, eyes bulging and fangs showing once again. Her heart fluttered out of her mouth for some reason. “Oi, who are you calling a softie!? Weren’t you my guest, and I’d kick you out!”

Normalization was good. This jump from sadness, crying, to just normal Bakugou raging over the littlest of details– it gave her life in a thousand spoken ways. “You can actually kick me out.” Bakugou squinted at her. “But I doubt you will.”

“Fuck off already, Uraraka.”

The gravity bender laughed naturally, showing her teeth and leaving her in a grinning mess afterwards. She turned, face down, and looked at the suspended screen of his laptop. “I think we kinda lost track of the movie, huh.”

His fist shot out of the blanket, face down as well, like before all this mess ensued. “And who’s fault is it, you damn crybaby!”

She bumped him with her elbow playfully, smirking at his antics. “Stop being so extra and get a damn movie already.”

“Oi, are you going on at me with the extra shit again? Who are you calling extra, you damn bitch?”

And despite the fact that she was looking undeniably better than ten minutes ago, Bakugou made a friendly reminder to himself to have a little chat with the quirkless bastard the day after.

A day after the storm, the explosive teenager was ready to start his bastard hunting.

Bakugou was sitting near the dorm building, rays of Friday cloudy sunrise reflecting on his blonde tresses. His hands were deep in his pockets, backpack readied with all his books and his jacket blowing with the morning wind. His usually serene but moody features were constricted into a deep frown and a constant glare at whatever thing that moved in his peripheral vision.

Thus, when he spotted Deku leaving for class on his own, very possibly the last one to exit the building, Bakugou’s eyes instantly narrowed. The tears on his short from Uraraka’s bratty crying and how she had wailed for her heart to stop hurting– and oh, how he had heard sobbing behind her door when he dropped her at her room, how quickly she had broken down once danger was not a threat.

Yeah, she was always dealing with her feelings in the shadows– alone, right?

Not anymore.

Once the freckle boy was nearby, Bakugou coughed, making Deku look at him. The latter started sputtering, and when Bakugou’s expression turned potentially threatening, he tried to hurry away. He wasn’t having none of his murdering business this early in the morning, especially having some serious talk to do with Uraraka.

Before he could scurry away, the beast with fangs seized him by his shirt and dragged him to a shadowy side of the residence, morning dim light hitting all over the place but around them.

And once they were successfully hidden from the public eye, Bakugou wasted no time in smashing the teen onto the concrete wall, grimace deeper than imaginable. He wanted to punch this guy, pound the living lights out of him– but he couldn’t. As much as he hated Midoriya, as much as he wanted to hurt him because he had hurt Uraraka in a way…

She wasn’t his. But he could still call him out on her actions as her friend.

“What the fuck is your goddamn problem, bastard!?” yelled Bakugou, his hands already producing sparks to vent the anger he was feeling. It was pure adrenaline, notion of knowing that he had a damn reason for once to insult him. “What the fuck are you doing rejecting angelface like that!?”

It seems like Deku had been giving the very same topic some thought, because he snapped the moment he mentioned Uraraka. “Why are you calling me out on this, Kacchan?” Midoriya’s distress was evident. There were heavy bags under his eyes, teeth clenched, and fists as tightly squeezed as possible.

But Bakugou paid no heed to his worry about the matter, just wanted to get answers out of him. “Because I had Uraraka crying to me for a solid hour, telling me how fucking messed up she was because you rejected her yesterday!” his vice grip only tightened, and he crashed the other’s head against the concrete once again. “Give me a fucking answer as to why she isn’t enough for you, nerd!”

“Is it my fault that I don’t feel the way she does, that I am already planning my life beforehand!?” tears were gathering at the corners of Midoriya’s eyes. Damn crybaby loser. Bakugou snarled. “Can’t I have higher ambitions than her, and have my goals–“

Bakugou punched him on the face, knocking him to the ground below. Deku didn’t even try to get up, just winced and rubbed the sore spot. The blonde looked down at him, red eyes burning with intense fervor and bloodthirst.

“I hadn’t intended to come and use damn violence against a nerd like you.” scowled Bakugou, sweat running down his forehead with emotion. He cleaned some of it with his wrist. “But you ain’t gonna say to me that her goals are in any sort higher than yours, when I’m pretty damn sure you know her motivations. Don’t try to sell me some drama material, bastard.”

Deku looked up, mute and unable to speak a word. Bakugou only glared harder at him. “You have two ways out of this, nerd.” he spit near his enemy, face deformed in a perpetual wince. “You can run away like a fucking coward, or answer my questions. If you wanna leave, do it now.”

But the other didn’t make a move. Instead, he stared at the ground below him, still sitting. Bakugou gripped his shoulder and forcefully picked him up. Midoriya stood in the shadows, face cast down– and Bakugou stood in front of his classmate, uneven spots of sun between clouds hitting on his face and making him look like an ethereal being when such notion was far from reality.

Bakugou was a fearsome monster, somebody who was to be respected. He was awkward, protective, socially lacking and incredibly talented. This time though, he was being needy, too– needy for answers, needy for closure on what Deku had done to wrench Uraraka’s heart so powerfully.

Deku had had her in his grip and just… squeezed all happiness out of her.

“Help me fucking understand, Deku.” mumbled Bakugou, making his way to him again. His hand travelled to his already wrinkled collar, trembling with bottled up rage– oh no, there was a big storm coming. “If you had this thing about being a single hero – or whatever business you had, then–“

Bakugou’s spine hunched over, teeth clenched together. Her whimpers the feel of her hot body against his still ran deep in his blood, not providing good aid to help the situation. The blonde was sinking inside, feeling how rage took over him, a wave of rushing curses and violence coming to him like it had never come before. These walls, the four walls of his existence were fracturing, starting to show creaks of fire coming through–

Then, he just screamed at him and his fist came flying to Deku’s stomach. “WHY GIVE HER THE HOPE, WHY LEAD HER ON WHEN YOU HAD PLANNED ON REMAINING FUCKING SINGLE!” his voice boomed at top of his lungs, deep and hoarse. “Why make her wait, why make her make the move just to– JUST TO FUCKING REJECT HER LIKE YOU HAD PLANNED TO!”

Bakugou would have been fine with Deku not reciprocating her feelings, or just having feelings for someone else. It wouldn’t have hurt Bakugou to death to see Uraraka tie the knot with Deku in the end, either– at least she’d be fucking happy.

But everyone knew Uraraka had feelings for Deku. It’d be nonsensical for the very same boy not to notice. So Bakugou punched the wall, making cracks on the surface. “I can’t fucking understand how you call yourself her friend when you knew her feelings– because you…”

He glared at the panting teen on the ground again, and a shadow passed by his eyes. The fact that he refused to stand on his feet again told him all he needed. “because you knew about her feelings, didn’t you.”

Deku nodded curtly, a tear trailing down his cheek. “I should have fucking known–“

“But I also knew…”he watched as Midoriya removed some dirt from his face, breathing hard. “I also knew that her feelings… I knew she’d let go of them. I knew her feelings…”

A droplet of heaven water fell down Bakugou’s arm, but he didn’t give a damn. All he could see was a boy who had played with Uraraka, someone who was trying to find excuses… as if he knew the truth. Uraraka’s feelings might have ended up being a lie to her– she had started feeling stronger things for someone, it seems. She felt that true love was bubbling in the surface of her heart, stronger feelings and emotions sparking up in her compared to the petty butterflies Deku just provoked.

But whether her feelings were feeble, he had hurt her anyway. She was confused: she had fallen in love for the longest of months, found that she felt more for someone else while still loving Deku, confessed, and gotten her heart broken to only find that she wasn’t entirely disgusted, just heartbroken.

Unfounded feelings or not, they had been there. And Deku had played with her. Bakugou kneeled in front of his opponent. “She fucking loves you, asshole. And you basically told her that being a hero matters more to you than her.”

“She doesn’t love me, Kacchan.” sputtered Deku, vocally grumpy. This was the roughest part of Midoriya that Bakugou had never seen. “And I’m sure you know that.”

“And how in hell would you know that.” deadpanned Bakugou, hands flinching with violent urges.

“Have you seen… her eyes, lately?” oh, so he had noticed the lack of stars in the sky of her eyes. “They… didn’t shine as much. Something had changed, Kacchan– somebody made her change. The way she looked at me after yesterday… I just realized how it had all gone downhill, it was crystal clear then.”

There was a moment of silence between them, rain starting to pour from the sky in slow pours of random droplets. Bakugou seemed unaffected by the weather, only preoccupied with injuring this bastard real hard. “She may have found a better partner for her. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still hold fucking feelings for you, idiot. Even if she tries to let them go, it will take her a damn lot of time.”

Midoriya dug his nails on the concrete of the floor, his heart shaking uncontrollably and painfully constricting his train of thoughts. He visualized Uraraka, smiling at him with those beaming eyes of hers, and her hair floating in a halo. The thought of her crying didn’t bode well with him, maybe because he had never seen her cry.

But Bakugou had. Why?

“If she has found that there are better things for her out there, I’ll never be the one to hold her down, Kacchan.”

“You said you didn’t know this at the time you rejected her – but after. Don’t come spitting lies at me, bastard.” still kneeling, he grabbed his throat in confusion and anger. “Don’t tell me you did it for her. At least be fucking honest and tell me you wanted to give priority to your career, and not her. I don’t think you were unaware of what she felt for you.”

“Are you calling me dumb?”

“I am dumb. I am dense and slow with these things. But look how quickly I caught you.” he didn’t let Deku go. “I am calling you stupid because you knew that she had feelings for you. You didn’t know about her stuff because this was a pretty damn newfound discovery when she actually came fucking crying after that and I was the first one to know. So don’t come at me with that crap.”

“She doesn’t love me!”

“DENYING THE TRUTH WON’T GET YOU ANYWHERE, ASSHOLE!” his voice was thick with emotion, veins popped wide and eyes bulging out of their sockets. His fingertips burnt. “She still fucking loves you like the silly bitch she is, and will still hurt for a long time. I already fucking told you: the fact that she has found her feelings were somewhat fake ain’t mean she’s over you.”

“I didn’t mean to mislead her. I never meant to–“

“But you still did anyway.” snarled the red-eyed boy, irises pointy in disdain towards the excuse of a hero in front of him. “You were all blushy with her, showering her in gifts and stuff while you fucking knew she loves you– you never even acted on your feelings like Uraraka did. At least she had the decency to be brave and tell you. The fact that she later discovered that there may be other options is irrelevant to the fucking clear damn fact that you broke her heart.”

Midoriya made an attempt to get up as Bakugou propped himself up. “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.”

The blonde rose an eyebrow at him. His face was already injured, face swollen and purple wounds already darkening his cheek– yet he was still defending himself. The nerve of this dude. “If I had accepted her feelings, if she knew of other options around her, it wouldn’t have mattered.” he coughed bitterly, “She knew there were other options for her, right? She may love me, but those other options would have surely nagged at her no matter how much she loved me. She wouldn’t be able to live knowing there’s much more to love than what I offered.”

And he was right about that. Uraraka was always in for the 100%, not less than that. But the point still stood out. “Yet you didn’t cut her feelings short. It doesn’t matter how she’s feeling now about her feelings, but how she was feeling right then about you. You let her believe she had opportunities with you when what you should have done was tell her straight away that you didn’t want anything with her, you miserable asshole – so shut your damn mouth, I hate liars.”

“Kacchan–“

“I SAID SHUT UP!” Bakugou pinned him to the ground, punching his ribs. Hard. Hit after hit, Deku became more aware of the fact that Bakugou wasn’t using his quirk– he didn’t want to destroy him to death, just feel him hurting so her suffering was compensated somehow. No matter how much he hit, pounded, and grunted at him, Deku didn’t budge. “What are you–“

His talking haltered when Deku flashed him a smile, one of those unreasonable smiles he had whenever he was in danger– that stupid grin that got him out of all trouble. And Bakugou was sick of it. “I am sorry for what I caused to Uraraka. I’m sorry that I misled her in a way that led us to this but… I would have hurt her either way, Kacchan.”

The aforementioned looked up to the sky, expression turning grim as rain cascaded down the sky in hues of rose. “Don’t come at me with your glittery business, Deku. If I weren’t so tired after last night, I would surely punch you for a damn while to my heart’s fucking content. You hurt her more this way, bastard.” Bakugou cleaned some rain from his face. The drizzle was light enough to damp but not as light as to go unnoticed.

The explosive teenager was soon getting up again, showing Deku who was still the boss there. “I am glad it’s over and that angelface can go on in life without worrying about a dick like you. But I ain’t forgetting this any time soon. Nor is Uraraka.”

“I will apologize to Uraraka properly as soon as I see her–“

“But you know, Deku.” spoke Bakugou, as softly as he could still be in his agitated state. “I’m both fucking angry and disappointed with how things turned out. It’s not like I trust you or anything, because I think you still are a lucky motherfucker.” intense glare at the boy, who frowned back. “But I would have never thought that you, of all people, would do things like these.”

“Kacchan, I…”

The explosive teen removed his jacket and tied it around his waist, palms rippling with small explosions. They’d soon be late for class and he’d be damned if he let Kirishima tease him for being a sleepyhead. “You don’t get to fucking apologize to me, asshole.” one of his hands dug into a pocket again, the other grabbing his backpack tight. “Get the fuck up, loser.”

And the aforementioned complied quickly, brushing off some dust. Bakugou wasn’t done yet. “You may be all the good guy you wanna, I’m cool with hero wannabes – after all, I can always punch the shit out of them or ignore them. But as soon as you interfere with my life, you’re done for.”

And then he glared at him with the same passionate, burning and possessive stare of his. “Don’t go near Uraraka to confuse her. Don’t fucking dare do your glitter-glitter-blush thing because I’ll kick your sorry ass to a thombstone. If I see you step in the wrong direction, you’re fucking dead. Got it?”

That last line was whispered so harshly and menacingly that Deku had to step back to feel out of his rage zone. However, with so much burning hatred throbbing in Bakugou’s voice, came a shocking realization for Deku. He stared at his classmate, taken aback by the rush of information that crashed within him as Bakugou was, slowly, making his way to the school.

“Kacchan, wait!” called Midoriya. And the blonde stood still, waiting for whatever bullshit he had to say. “Why… why are you so interested on Uraraka’s wellbeing? What has gotten into you?”

Bakugou looked at the face of his sworn enemy. Purple swells marred his fair cheeks, and dirt was caked on his hair after being on the ground with the mud for so long. The blonde turned around and took his leave. When Midoriya was once again going to demand answers, Bakugou answered in the most humble, defeated voice somebody had ever heard intoned.

“Isn’t it obvious, bastard?” but he kept on walking. “She’s gotten into me.”

Fifteen minutes after the confrontation between both boys, Bakugou made his entrance two minutes later after the bell had rung. Everybody felt him internally fuming, not completely satisfied with the outcome of his fight with Midoriya– no one dared speak. Something big had happened.

It was when a very beaten Deku entered the classroom, one exact minute later than Bakugou, that everyone made the connection. However, only one person in particular was able to put the dots together.

Bakugou glanced behind him to see Uraraka glowering at him, her teeth clenched and her pencil broken in twain. That what when he knew that he had fucked up again. And the feeling sunk his heart deep again.

Bakugou could almost see it, the freedom of a heavy day. His backpack felt especially massive on his shoulders, grasped with his calloused hands. The bruises from the fight, still fresh after being washed with morning dew, hurt his mistreated fingers. His jacked had become a wrinkled mess after carrying it around tied at his waist. Some teachers had called him out on it because of etiquette and stuff, but Bakugou hadn’t been paying attention.

Why, despite having poured all his frustrations on Deku – like a bully, he knew, but also in a deserved way because that kid had been a jerk –, despite having ignored Uraraka for the rest of the day and, even having talked stuff out with Kirishima– why. Why wasn’t that feeling out of his heart?

Bakugou sighed while making his way to the dorm building. The feeling of remorse, ashes of anger and that nagging feeling that Deku hadn’t been ounished enough– they were consuming him, eating him alive as hours tumbled around him. Where had his walls gone? Why had they collapsed after Uraraka had dared to step near them?

Of course he wouldn’t be used to the idea of being so emotionally exposed – after all, no one had ever dared to step near the sanctuary of his heart excepting her. Why wasn’t he satisfied with the beating, with seeing Deku to the ground? Was it because he had been relatively unfazed by his brutality, as if he was trying to make Bakugou believe he was a weakling? or, was there anything else left?

“Bakugou!”

Of course there was something left. There was everything left.

Bakugou heard the dainty steps of her feet running towards him. His step haltered just before the steps to the building, but didn’t dare to turn around. The sky had been watered with pinks, reds, and sun bathed clouds, giving birth to a golden lighting around them. He could picture how beautiful she would look in the midst of the path, her eyes determined to talk him off and her smile– it was always her smile what broke him, so cute and cheesy.

Her run stopped five good meters behind him. Bakugou finally turned around three seconds later, a hand on his pockets and the shallowest of expressions painting his face. There she was, of course she was there, like she had always been to torture him and, deep inside, he had a feeling that she’d always be there.

It was down to him and her. The wind blew around their halted bodies, staring at each other in wonder and surprise. It felt like centuries had passed ever since they last saw each other– all they could remember was the warmth of the other’s arms, the shine of her eyes and the fire, blood and metal in his deep, hellish eyes. Everything that had to do with her was heaven, a world of colors and sunshine. All he had was a void world of curses and solitude.

Yet, there they were, world sunk in black and golden as the sun glared on them. Uraraka’s eyes were slowly recovering their spark, stealing fire from his stance. He repared on how her hands were shaking, limp by her sides, and her breath was labored.

He didn’t realize, but his was also clumsy, stuck in his stomach and inflating his anxiety to see her, to touch her and please, please pray for her to be fine.

“Bakugou…”

He spit, guard back up upon the cold tone of her voice. “I thought we were above the name basis, angelface.”

“Give it a rest.” bit she, snarling and taking a step further. “I’m not like the others, I’m not going to leave so easily no matter how much you try to kick me out – just stop it.”

His silence welcomed her, mildly ashamed that she was being so stubborn on him but, mostly, because he couldn’t find a smart remark to keep her at bay. There was no point on denying it, she had long ago crossed the barrier.

Seeing her tear-stricken face, it seems like he may have also crossed her barriers too, because the way her eyes shone when looking at him was heart wrenching to watch, passion and frustration fighting for dominance. Was he hurting her in anyway?

Bakugou was going to turn and walk away again when her voice called after him again, cracking chords in the middle.

“Stop running away from me!”

So he stopped, eyes wide like stars and limbs tense under her control.

He could hear her shivering, struggling to get the words out. Was his presence troubling her as much as hers did to him? And why was she the only thing he could hear? The rustle of her hair against her face, riding the wind, or the battling of her eyelashes while fighting the tears…

She could only cry in front of him, couldn’t she?

“Why…” it came wavery, low and growling. There was a fight going on, and it definitely was not funny. “Why did you have to beat him up?”

Bakugou chuckled. Of course she would still defend him even after all the ruckus the previous day – it was Uraraka. She was always standing up for those in between, even if she had no reason to. “He deserved more than what I gave him. That fucker–“

“Shut up.”

“He misled you, Uraraka.”

“I said shut up!” screamed Uraraka as loud as she could, face reduced to a mess of wrinkles and unwanted tears. “I don’t wanna hear none of that bullshit, Bakugou!”

It was his time to fully turn to her, striding. “Why are you still defending that nerd when he gave you hopes all along, Uraraka?” he was a meter away from her, but it seemed like an abyss between them was widening and tearing them apart. It was unnerving to have her in reach, yet so far.  “He hurt you, for fuck’s sake. What were you crying so much for yesterday if you’re gonna stick to him despite those conflicted feelings you have?”

The way he called her, how he softly as he would only do tried to speak to her. Uraraka could feel his heart trying to approach hers, making all those emotions he had just mentioned jump in circles in her stomach. Suddenly, she was sinking, spinning, left dizzy and ever so sick with the aftermath of a rejection.

The weight of an unrequited, yet fake love… it hung on her, as well.

“He’s still my friend, Bakugou.” growled she, feet flinching in advance. “And I don’t understand why you, ironically of all people, would go and use him as a punching sack.”

His jaw tensed and clenched, eyes darting inside of hers. The stars of determination and recovery illuminated the darkness of misery, and his fires chased her fears away. It was an incredible spectacle. “Maybe because I do have business with him, angelface. And trust me, punching the hell out of him, after yesterday, wasn’t fucking enough.”

“After yesterday?” his words lingered in the golden rays of sunshine for a minute, clouding her vision as the terrible truth came to realization. “Don’t tell me– please, tell me you didn’t because of that, Bakugou.”

Bakugou refused to give a straight answer, so he wobbled around the attack and dodged the accusation as calculatedly as possible. “He didn’t deserve to go off without punishment, roundface. Not after having misled you for so long.”

“He isn’t–“

His bruised hands clutched her forearms, alarm and urgency in his red eyes. “Stop fucking denying that he hasn’t, already! He knew about your feelings, Uraraka. And if I knew about this, I’ll never fucking believe you didn’t know.”

The gravity manipulator didn’t know why, but the ground below her shattered and swallowed her quickly, leaving her in a cramped place. Her lungs constricted and refused to let her breath, because, because–

“I knew.”

He let her go, apprehensive of what she’d say next. There was this leisure smile on her face, painted against her will. She knew for too damn long.

“A part of me thought that if he was playing along was because he knew the drill and just… decided to play along. I arrived to the conclusion that he liked me back.”

And this was why Bakugou had given Deku such a hard beating– it was because of this. The way the stars in her eyes crashed to tears and how her smile faltered while murmuring sentences, drowning in the hard reality that a man she once came to love didn’t love her back, but even if he did, he’d choose being a hero over her. And she couldn’t find the heart to tell him he was wrong. Alas, so didn’t Bakugou, who despite having given Deku all sorts of wounds, still felt unsatisfied.

“But, even if I’ve reached the conclusion that I didn’t really love him– that it was a weak compared to these conflicted feelings, which I can’t name…” her head was held down, neck shaking in confusion. There were no strangled noises or major fidgeting, so there was on sobbing. She was trembling with fear, so vulnerable for once in front of her. In a way, he also wanted to cry. “Why is it that I still hurt over Deku? I don’t…”

Bakugou stepped an inch nearer when her voice raised a notch higher than usual. His hands felt the ghost of her skin caressing his soul, the flames of his eyes licking the sun that hit on her shoulders. “You still love him, angelface.”

“Why?”

The blonde sighed. “Because that’s what love is about, whether it is minor or big.” her dumb, big and gleamy eyes stared deep into his. His fingers reached for hers for a moment, but ended deciding against it, grim expression dangling. “Sucks, right?”

She would never love him back, would she? It seems like her heart would always belong to Deku despite her feelings for him being laughable at best. Uraraka had experienced what true love was, the adrenaline of having someone near and feeling that spark in your eyes, actually feeling it buzzing. Bakugou sighed, his shoulders faltering ever so slightly because he had to face it: Uraraka was in love with another boy who didn’t love her back. But maybe that was good for her, maybe Deku was after all a better man for her.

His scowl didn’t seem angry at her for once, just sad at himself– for he had failed at making her happy so she could quickly move on, failing on making those emotions she talked about spark on her, failed to at least stop her crying. But every time he was in front of her, she was always crying. And Uraraka Ochako was not a crier.

But he didn’t know that she didn’t cry because he was a failure, or because he hadn’t succeeded on making her happy – it was the other way around.

She cried because her heart had started beating once she entered that fateful common room and saw it set up to her liking. She cried because her fingertips were electric against his skin, or the way his hair glided so perfectly through her fingers when she combed through his mane. Her tears streamed down because her body in the bed would sometimes ache for his hands to burn her, how her eyes missed his and how badly she had been wanting to see them look at her with that ferocity of his.

Uraraka knew why she had almost kissed Bakugou that movie night.

It was because those newfound feelings turned her world upside down, and there was no way to put it in order anymore. She knew that there were weird things going on through her, something more powerful than her love for Deku and everything else she had ever encountered.

But… what was that feeling? Was she ready to embrace its whole power? Another little, tiny trail of thought waved in front of her as Bakugou suddenly turned away– he was tired of seeing her unmoving, still musing over that green haired loser who had injured her so when he could have given her all she needed, all she desired, and give away his little, stone heart for het to protect him.

But she would never love him back.

“What if he rejects you as well?”

The though flashed in front of her again, and Uraraka pounced. Bakugou had only taken one step away from her when voice reached his ears, shoulders stopping their shake and eyes stinging for so long.

“What is love, Bakugou?”

His shaking breath staggered in his throat, making it hard for him to recollect his thoughts and stop to think about what she had just said. It was a complicated question, that one. Millions of people asked the very same thing one day after the other, and there would never be a satisfying conclusion to such thing. Days, millennia and nights may pass, skipping generations of lost people in a crowd of mismatched shoes and hearts, everyone seeking for that little piece that made one’s life fuller, sensible and bright with colors. Uraraka’s world was white, lost in confusion, while his was deep black with dots of her eyes.

Bakugou had never experienced love before Uraraka, and even now he was struggling to understand what it really meant. She was barely making it through a rejection, but was still willing to hold on for Deku, he thought. She had had a past love, and knew what was the difference between the true deal and what a dainty kind of love she had for Deku. He didn’t know what was going through her head at the moment, but he knew that she had sounded desperate and ultimately sad when wording her doubts.

Could he, of all people, give her a satisfying answer? The reckless, short-tempered boy with zero control and just a weak side for her?

Bakugou didn’t know that answer.

But he knew what his answer would ever be, no matter who asked.

“Love is…” his head turned, letting half of his face to show. His eyes seemed torn, broken – and Uraraka’s heart sunk – at the fact that his answer could either matter a ton or just be useless. He still had to try once more. “Love is that feeling you get when somebody comes in through your life– more like barging, when you never asked. And no matter how hard you try to push them away, they stay despite your flaws, they just see through your words and will take care of your heart. It’s that feeling when a world you took for granted gets shaken up and bursts into color, sends you flying, and leaves you confused, afraid– it’s something you feel before knowing what it is.”

There was a moment of silence after he finished, then two. The golden lights hit the ground Bakugou looked at, not even ashamed of having given such a discourse to the girl behind him. The weight on his shoulders didn’t disappear– it only got heavier and heavier the more he listened to her breathing, his world still aware of the sun shining in its glory but submerged in a sea of darkness.

He was suffocating. He couldn’t be there.

Then, he heard it. A sniffle.

Bakugou turned around to find out that she had stepped back during his speech, and how her hands were grasping her shirt for dear life. Her tresses hovered in the breeze, letting through the rays of sunshine while her eyes– her eyes, they were glazed, tears falling down without her truly noticing because… because in the end, the final piece had fallen into place. Her world was consumed by static as it, then, exploded into roses and the sun, meekly noticeable, shone in all its glory on her.

She was utter disbelief while Bakugou looked at her, frantic, ambers shaking as his mouth fell agape. His mind tried to put the pieces together as she finally breathed out– and finally smiled.

His world, previously untidy, chaotic and mindlessly black, fell into place with hers, too. The colossal feeling of pressure on his being faded away slowly as their feelings fell into their place, together, in harmony. He felt it again, that twitch in his heart.

And this time, he was sure she felt it, too. Her eyes had blossomed into meteorites again, letting him dive into her pools of brown as he basked on a new feeling, the feeling of her by his side– she was meters away from her, but he felt her in his arms, hugging him again.

Bakugou didn’t feel alone, anymore. Uraraka didn’t feel heartbroken, anymore.

“Yeah,” her shoulders shook, her smile reaching her eyes for the first time in centuries. It made Bakugou smile too, and the mere gesture brought goosebumps all over her. “this feeling… this is the real thing.”

The emotions she had felt by his side… they were love after all– the electricity towards him, those powerful emotions for him… they were love. After all the pain, the doubt, and the fear of discovering that her feelings were not only unilateral, but also fake compared to the sharpness of these ones– suddenly, nothing mattered. That awkward feeling in her chest dissipated into the warm thin air as her tiny steps approached him, eyebrows low in a soft, sincere smile.

Those growing feelings that had stomped over those she had for Deku… these were real. She had been in the dark for too long already. The pain in her heart completely disappeared, and Uraraka wasn’t afraid of embracing them anymore.

“I think…” Uraraka was by his side, now. “I think I know what those new feelings are, now.”

His eyes widened. “You do? Then what the fuck was my moving speech for?”

“It was all thanks to you, Bakugou– that I may finally be able to move on from this mess.” her hand circled his elbow as she took him forward, towards the building. “C’mon, we should get on going. We’ve been here for too long.”

The tone of her voice, so soft and inviting… He didn’t feel unrequited, anymore. Rather, he felt light headed, flying, in peace. After the thunderstorm, the smell of her light and the sun hitting on his skin was the first thing to welcome him. And man, wasn’t he happy.

“There’s no need to hurry, angelface!”

She just giggled along the way. He felt the urge to giggle with her, kiss her, and hand her the world he desperately needed to share. It was too soon now, her coming to terms with those feelings and finally stepping away from Deku– but he’d make her realize that he was worth it, too. He didn’t know it, but deep down, she had realized this long ago.

After all the trouble, the scars and the regret, he could only think one thing as they made it through the doors.

“Man, am I not lucky.”

“Duuuude, hand out the money, I won the bet clearly by a day of difference!”

Kaminari regretfully handed Kirishima the stack of bills, letting the redhead count them with analytic eye. “I still don’t know why you leaked all this information though.”

“Yeah, that was a bit low from you, dude.”

Kirishima looked at both Tokoyami and Kaminari, who eyed him back twice as disappointed. “I had to take advantage of that motherfucker finally making a move on her. Don’t blame me for this, after all we were all on edge for this.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Tokoyami, shut it. Weren’t it for us and you’d be sulking in your room doing homework.” commented Kirishima as a joke, but it clearly vexed the aforementioned. “Besides, you have also gotten money for this.”

“That’s true.”

“Now, there’s this other bet I had in mind!” fearful for what the blonde would say about betting on the soon-to-be-couple, they prepared their weapons. “When they become an item, we have to– must, do a bet on when they’re having se–“

Kirishima had already risen his fists to pound the guy to the ground with the help of a rather tired Tokoyami, mumbling something about darkness and sexual themes on open air.

Kirishima punched Tokoyami, too, for being too emo. It was being a fun day for the redhead.

And like that, the world started again.

Author’s note: MAN didn’t this suck compared to the last one. I still love you guys tho. This fam is amazing. I accept asks sending me hate :D and bread as well, man I need food./derp

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 XXX

Warnings: dark elements, dub/noncon (fingering)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The king has some fun.

Note: Hey, it’s me again. I wrote this chapter after work in the brief interlude between soul crushing shifts. Hope you enjoy.<3 

Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

After Priskham, the progress continued to Lord Stark's lair at the Iron Tower and continued on to Lord Barnes's hold of Brooks's End. The castle had been abandoned for two centuries before him as its former family had been extinguished for their part in a plot against the Rogers' Dynasty in Western Uprisings. You suspected its history loomed in the mind of its current keeper.

The king was as diligent as ever but since your first night upon progress, you had done better to let him his desires. You didn't dare pretend at sleep again and when he made a request, you took it as an order. And Barnes, well you avoided him as you could, for his sake and yours. Not that he would look at or talk to you.

To mark the first full day in Brook’s End, Barnes arranged a feast. The wild boar, for which the locale was famous for, was served roasted with a medley of vegetables, and endless wine and ale. The king had a hand in the event; he bid that Barnes take a seat of honour upon the dais for his efforts. Steven sat in the middle and you were thankful to have him as a barrier.

You sat quietly as you ate. You didn’t have energy for much else. Travel, the king, the court; it all piled up. You listened instead as you awaited dessert, eager to retire for the night. There was to be no dancing as no band could be acquired but there was little outcry at the announcement.

“A final stop at Drissot and we can make for Shell’s Harth.” The king said gaily. “Asgard does seem most eager to have us and I’ve never the pleasure of visiting, even when that witch was alive.”

“King Thor did write of a tournament. Do you think it wise to partake?” Barnes asked dully as he rubbed his finger along the rim of his goblet. “It could be a scheme. A pointed lance could be easily disguised or a sword conveniently confused.” 

“Always so paranoid, my lord,” Steven teased. “Besides, it might have been a few years since my last, but when have I ever been felled at a tourney?”

“Never, your highness,” Barnes answered. “But that was among your own people.”

“I would be more concerned with a taster to guard my plate,” Steve countered. “And my queen’s.”

The king reached blindly to you and ran his hand over your skirts. He didn’t look away from Barnes as he gripped your leg through the fabric. You swallowed and looked down at his hand. He didn’t rescind it as he continued to talk.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Surely,” Barnes answered with a cough. “I was thinking… we might send an ambassador ahead of us. He shall need a party as well to see him safe. Perhaps a mole or two…” He paused and you felt the shift in your hem; the king’s fingers on your thigh as he gathered your skirt slowly. “To attain a preview of the Asgardian court?”

“Hmmm,” Steven said thoughtfully. He carried on tugging your skirt up, up, up, until it was past your knee. You tried to catch the hem and he yanked it sharply. A warning. “I suppose it wouldn’t be ridiculous.”

You stared at the king’s hand as it moved. You followed the brocade along his arm and tried to glance his expression as he kept his face to his companion. The tables below were unable to see past the long cloth hung over yours; the crest of the king beside that of Brook’s End. Steven slipped his hand past the satin and Barnes cleared his throat.

“And we should, uh…” Barnes’ voice was stunted and looked at each other. His gaze sent a thrill through you as his eyes rounded. He blinked and gulped and turned his attention to his goblet. “We should, um, keep an eye on his brother as well. Prince Loki is known for his spies; for having his ear… to the, uh… to the ground most anywhere he treads.”

“Oh, yes, I was not keen on the rodent.” Steven snarled. 

The king shoved his hand up until it met your vee. You squeezed your thighs around him and he pinched you sharply. You squeaked as he forced your legs back apart. He began to rub you with two fingers. You gritted your teeth and tried not to show your discomfort to the people.

Barnes was silent. He emptied his cup and placed it on the table with a hollow clunk. Steven did not relent. The nobleman sighed and shifted in his chair.

“Your highness,” He hissed. “I do not think this… appropriate.”

“Why, this is my feast, is it not? You did declare in my honour?” Steven taunted. “And I find myself rather bored without a band and so I must entertain myself.”

“Then do excuse me,” Barnes insisted as he made to rise.

“No, you shall stay. We are not done talking,” Steven purred as he swirled his fingers and you gasped. You grabbed the side of your chair and pressed yourself to the tall backrest. 

“Please, Steven, she is your queen. You would humiliate her in front of her own court.” Barnes remanded. “Is that the only reason you sought to wed her? To spite her for her denial?”

“Denial? She is mine,” Steven chuckled. “Look at her. She’s trembling, isn’t she? Always so receptive.”

“Don’t do this,” Barnes’ whispered. 

“Who can see but you?” Steven challenged. “I do wonder why it should disturb you so. You did not protest when it was Rose you brought to me. When you did see her to my chambers. Or the one before that… Was it Laura? Lana? Even when it was Eleanor, you did not flinch.”

Barnes’ nostrils flared and he gulped. He reached for his goblet again and found it empty. Then he grabbed the ewer and swore as he found it dry as well. He tossed it back on the table and sat back heavily. He crossed his arms and glared at the king.

“Don’t look at me, look at her,” The king ordered. “Look at that face. Do her lashes flutter? Her eyes roll back? She bites down and you can hear her breathing through her teeth. And she is wet. I can slip inside…” He paused as he pushed his fingers past your entrance and his palm against your clit. “So easily.”

“Steven…” You begged as you touched his wrist. “Please…”

“Do you think she begs me to stop or to cum?” Steven looked to you with a smirk. “Do you think it matters?” He turned back to Barnes. “She is my wife, my queen; mine to do with as I please.”

“Why are you doing this?” Barnes growled.

“Because I can.” The king sneered as his fingers worked faster inside of you. “Because, my lord, I want you to recall this whenever your eyes stray to her; whenever they linger on her as they are want to do; whenever you have those lewd little thoughts that do darken your eyes so.”

Your hands went to the table as you clutched the wood. You struggled not to cry out as you leaned forward into his hand without thinking. Your feet arched in your slippers and the crowd blurred in your vision; a streak of colours and voices. You shook your head as the ripples began to spread along your flesh. As the familiar prick started in your core.

“So watch, my lord, and remember who is king and who is subject,” Steven spat. “Who holds power over…” He paused as you spasmed. You sat back enough to cause the chair to wobble and held in a sob as you came. “Who.”

He slipped his fingers out of you as you tried to steady your breath. He lifted his hand to the light and admired the glisten before he licked them. Your head spun as your eyes found Barnes through the haze; he was livid and pale. His nails were sunk into the arms of his chair and his jaw was squared.

“I have never forgotten, your highness,” He said.

“Good,” Steven smirked and tugged your skirts back down over your legs until it fell upon its own weight. “See that you don’t.” He sat up and glanced around the chamber. “Shall I call for more wine?”

👑

You were to be at Brook’s End for a week. Three days in and you found the place unbearable. The king made it thus. He wouldn’t stop fucking you until you were screaming and he hadn’t grown any subtler in the presence of his host. Only half a week before you set out to the final stop upon your tour; until you would be on your way to your sister.

That day, you spent apart from the king. You and your ladies read from a poetry book, explored the east wing where portraits hung along the walls, and attended your prayers and meals together. For a time, you forgot the king and his favoured lord; although you wondered if his preference was very fervent anymore.

And then you were to return to your husband. You lingered with Marion in the corridors but knew you could forever. You clung to her as she bid you farewell and watched her go. Your guard was silent as you led him through the halls. You hated his thin, unmoving lips and his bushy brows. You missed Dolan. And Marion. Should you mourn them too?

You stood outside your doors for a moment. You looked over to the guard as he took his place opposite the king’s. They didn’t seem to notice you. As you stepped forward, they opened the doors for you and you stepped inside. The king was there, at his desk. He didn’t lift his head as you entered.

“My queen,” He said as he finished scratching his nib across the parchment. “I’ve been awaiting you.”

“My apologies, I did find myself prolonged by Lady Marion,” You lied. “How was your day, husband?”

“Fine enough,” He sat up and set his pen down. “And you, wife?”

“Fine, as well,” You neared the other side of his desk. “Though I do tire.”

“I should hope you aren’t very tired,” He stood and you fought not to wince as he rounded the desk. “I had it in mind that we might play a game.”

“A game?” You repeated. “What do you mean?”

“Cards? Do you know ‘Horses’, or prehaps ‘Lances’?” He asked and you blinked in surprise.

“Uh, yes, of course,” You smiled and for a moment he was silent. He looked down at you as he touched your cheek.

“Then you choose and we shall play,” He bent and pecked your lips. “First I should like a change of clothes.”

“I suppose I would too,” You said. “I like a challenge so I think Horses should do.” 

You followed him to the bed chamber. There was a flutter in your chest. True excitement alongside a sense of relief. You always played cards with your sister; you weren’t very competitive but you enjoyed the past time.

“Horses it is,” He agreed.

He loosened your laces for you and his hands did not wander. You were further surprised. You let the silk fall down your arms and undressed with a sigh. You pulled a robe over your shift and looked up at Steven. He pushed his hair back and stretched; his own robe hung open over a pair of shorts.

“I have set the cards out already,” He said. “You may deal as I pour the wine.”

“You know I do not drink very much wine,” You replied. “Is there water? Milk?”

“The wine is part of the game.” He led you to the table and waited for you to sit before he did. “For each round, the loser will drink.”

“Oh,” You took the deck of cards as he pulled the pair of goblets towards him and filled each with the dark wine. “Hm, well then I suppose I should want to win even more.”

“I wish you luck,” He slid a cup towards you. “So, let us begin.” You dealt six cards to each of you and set the deck in the middle. “Shall I draw first or you?”

“I should allow you the pleasure,” You sorted your cards by suit and waited for him to start.

It was promising at first. You each flicked your cards down one at a time and while you were not winning, you were not losing either. An even match until the last was laid down. The king cried out Horses and you shook your head. A sneaky move but not illegal.

“Drink,” He urged.

You exhaled and took your cup. “To your victory,” You raised it and drank. 

As you set it back down, he tutted. “You must finish.”

You lifted your brow but he did not waver. You lifted your goblet again and gulped deeply. You nearly choked as you emptied it and as you replaced it on the table, your vision swam just a little. He poured you another glass and shuffled the deck. He slid them to you and let you deal again.

And you lost. Again. You huffed and looked into your cup. It was quite a bit of wine. He laughed and gathered up the cards. “My dear, it is only your second cup.”

“I told you, wine does not agree with me.” You pleaded.

“You might still catch up,” He gloated. “Shall I deal this time?”

“As you wish,” You grumbled as you took your cup again. 

The wine was sweeter and easier to swallow but it had a more potent effect. He filled your cup again and you held in a belch. He doled out the cards and you swept up your hand and almost fumbled them. He let you draw first this time and you groaned. Not a good start. He flicked his first card down and you yours. You tossed each onto the pile in quick succession and you were ready to celebrate until that last card. The same trick.

“Lord!” You exclaimed as you threw up your hands. “You must cheat, my king.”

“I did change so that you would not suspect cards up my sleeves,” He held out his arms as his robe hung loosely from them. “And I haven’t anywhere else to conceal them.” He reached to nudge your goblet closer to you. “Do not be a sore loser.”

“I am not… sore.” You argued and grabbed the cup. “Next game.”

You drained the cup, a little dribbled down your chin, and slammed the cup back down. You felt bubbly and wobbly. You leaned on the table to steady yourself. The king dealt the cards and you took them clumsily. You had to win this time.

“How about this. For each card, I will ask you a question for each card and you may ask me one?”

“Ask you what?” You said through thick lips.

“Anything you wish. Shall I draw?”

“Go ahead.” You waved your fingers at him.

He drew and flopped the card down. “First question; I know you to be innocent before we wed, but did you ever kiss another before me?”

“What?” You scoffed. “N-no. Who would I kiss?”

“Is that your question?” He asked.

“No,” You laid down your card. “Why… did you choose cards for tonight?”

“Because they are simple and everything else is so complicated.” He answered. “And… I don’t know. You make me feel… young again.”

“You’re not old,” You chided. “Wait… are you?”

“Not your turn,” He warned and slapped his card down. “Did you ever fancy anyone before me?”

“Fancy? I… my king, why do you ask these things?”

“It is only a game,” He intoned. “I am curious. So answer me.”

“Not truly, I think,” You played with the corner of a card. “I suppose I did know which men were… handsome.”

“Oh, naughty,” He smirked. “Go on.”

You played your card. You licked your lips and thought of another question. “Do you cheat at Horses?”

“No, but I did not warn you of my skill,” He grinned and his card was added to the stack. “And did you list Lord Barnes among these handsome men?”

Your face was hot. Not just from the wine but from his question. Your mouth was acrid as you opened it. Your voice caught in your throat. You swallowed and found it at last. “My king…”

“Your honesty will not rile me,” He leaned an arm on the table, “But your dishonesty should.”

You stared at him. The edges of your vision were fuzzy and your eyelids were heavy. “He is not unattractive.” You answered.

You didn’t look at your cards as you placed the next. Your voice quavered. “Why the wine?”

“To soften you.” He admitted. “To weaken you.”

“And these questions?” You prodded.

“Not your turn.” He set down his card. The king. “When I did make you cum before him, did you imagine it was him touching you?”

You frowned. You reached to your goblet. He hadn’t refilled it yet. “I do not want to play this anymore.”

“It is too late to forfeit. Now, I did play my card.” He stared at you; his blue eyes unwavering. “I told you, your honesty cannot offend me.”

You pressed your lips together and touched your cheek. You nodded. “Only…” Your voice was brittle. “Only for a moment.”

He sat back and waited. You took your turn. You stared at the table in shame. “I have no question. You may ask yours…” You looked up slowly. “For I know this was a trick indeed.”

“I do not ask to entrap you, my queen,” He slipped a card onto the table. “Because I do trust you. I ask because I am curious. I ask because I know your character. And I know his.”

“And you distrust him?” You set your cards down and touched your temples as the wine seeped into your brain.

“I… don’t know,” He said flatly. “You are drunk, wife.”

“I am,” You grumbled as you slumped and held your head.

“Then let us finish our game,” He pointed to your cards upon the table. “And I will see you to bed.”