#that sounds mean but i more just mean how this season has played out okay

[onlyhereforthestories]

Chica Medica - Part 6 (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Okay, so the end of this has taken on a world of its own so I've split it into more parts so you get more frequent updates. We are very near the end now so buckle in for the final few parts. Also this outfit on Ale gets me everytime 😍

The first session back after the Christmas break felt different. The usual energy in the training facility was there; players catching up, coaches making rounds, but the tension between you and Alexia was undeniable. She had been avoiding you ever since the team returned from their respective holidays. You’d noticed the way her eyes barely met yours, the clipped tone in her voice when she answered your questions, and the way she seemed to disappear the moment the session ended.

It was driving you mad. After everything that had happened, the gift, the Instagram post, Alexia’s coldness towards you stung. You had thought the necklace meant something to her, but now you weren’t so sure. Maybe you had misread the entire situation. Maybe she had decided to push you away, after all.

After another training session where she barely acknowledged you, you decided you couldn’t let this go on any longer. If she was upset, if something had changed, you needed to know and you needed to know why. You had to understand what had happened between the two of you.

As the players filtered out of the gym, you approached her carefully, trying to mask the anxiety bubbling inside you. "Ale, can I talk to you for a minute? I need to go over some review forms with you for your progress this season. We can do it now if you have time."

Alexia’s body stiffened at the sound of your voice, and for a moment, you thought she was going to walk away. But instead, she turned around, her face cold and unreadable. "Fine," she said shortly. "Let’s get this over with."

You led her into the office, your heart racing in your chest. She sat down across from you, her arms crossed, her posture defensive. You could feel the distance between you, the walls she had put up since Dubai, and it was suffocating. How had you got to this point.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep things professional. "I just need to get your feedback on how you're feeling physically. Have you got any lingering injuries, anything we should keep an eye on for the rest of the season."

Alexia didn’t respond immediately. She just stared at you, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowed. The silence stretched on for too long, and the tension in the room became unbearable.

Finally, she spoke, her voice sharp and laced with frustration. "Are we really going to do this? Pretend like nothing happened?"

You blinked, caught off guard by her tone. "What do you mean?"

Alexia slammed her hand down on the table, her eyes blazing. "Don’t play dumb, Y/N. You know exactly what I’m talking about. All the messages, the gift, the way you made me feel... And then I see you with Leah. After everything, you go back to her."

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. "Alexia, it’s not what you think—"

"Not what I think?" She cut you off, her voice rising. "I trusted you! I let you in, more than I’ve let anyone in for years. I told you things I haven’t told anyone since my dad died. I opened up to you because I thought we had something. And then I see you with her, like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter."

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you could see the pain in her eyes, the vulnerability that she was trying so hard to mask with anger.

"Alexia," you started, your voice soft, "Leah and I aren’t getting back together. That night, we were just talking. We needed to clear the air, to get some closure. I would never go back to her, not after everything we’ve been through."

Alexia stood up abruptly, pacing the small office. "Then why didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to see it through someone’s Instagram story? Why did you let me believe..." She trailed off, her hands trembling slightly as she turned to face you again.

You swallowed hard, standing as well, trying to close the distance between you. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you understood what the gift meant, what I was trying to say."

"The gift?" Alexia’s laugh was bitter, her eyes flashing with emotion. "Yeah, I thought I understood. I thought it was your way of saying that you felt the same. But now... I don’t know what to believe. I feel like I’ve been led on, like I was just someone you could toy with until something better came along."

Her voice cracked on the last words, and your heart broke seeing her like this, so guarded, so hurt.

"I didn’t lead you on," you said quietly, stepping closer to her. "I care about you, Ale. More than I’ve been able to put into words. I didn’t think... I didn’t realize how much this was affecting you. I should have told you everything sooner."

Alexia shook her head, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I haven’t felt this way about anyone, I don’t think ever. I haven’t let anyone in this much, and now I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had just kept my distance, because this... this hurts more than anything I’ve felt in a long time."

Her words hung in the air, raw and full of pain. You could see the regret in her eyes, the regret of trusting, of opening herself up to you, only to feel like she had been left behind.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’m sorry, Alexia. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted you to feel like I didn’t care, because I do. I care about you more than you know."

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you thick and heavy. Alexia turned away from you, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"I don’t know if I can do this anymore," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don’t know if I can let you in again."

You felt a lump in your throat, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to fix what had been broken between you. But you knew one thing, you weren’t ready to give up, not yet.

"I’m not asking you to make a decision right now," you said softly, taking a step closer to her. "But please, just... don’t shut me out. Not like this."

Alexia stayed silent, her back still turned to you, the weight of everything she had said hanging heavily in the room. You could feel the distance between you, a chasm that had opened up, but you weren’t ready to let her go. Definitely not without a fight.

Months had passed since that tense confrontation in the office. The coldness between you and Alexia had grown into something you had never experienced before. Every interaction was brief, detached, and painfully professional. You felt the weight of her unspoken emotions in every glance she avoided and the way she seemed to slip away before you could even say goodbye after training.

Despite the distance, your feelings for Alexia hadn't faded. If anything, they had only continued to grow, but the space between you both felt greater with each passing day. The tension was thick, but you didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

Training sessions continued as usual, but you noticed Alexia had been pushing herself even harder as the season wore on. And then came the first leg of the Champions League quarterfinal against Wolfsburg.

The game had been brutal. Wolfsburg came out strong, overwhelming Barça with their physicality and relentless pressure. By the time the final whistle blew, Barcelona had lost 2-0. The entire team looked defeated, their heads hung low as they left the pitch. It wasn’t just the scoreline, it was the sense of being outplayed, of the fight slipping away. And with the second leg looming, the pressure was immense.

Alexia was one of the last to leave the field, her frustration clear. You watched her, torn between wanting to reach out and the fear of being pushed away yet again.

Later that evening, as the team had mostly dispersed and the changing room quieted down, you were preparing to leave when you heard familiar footsteps approaching from behind.

You turned, surprised to see Alexia standing in the doorway, her posture tense, her expression unreadable. She looked exhausted, both emotionally and physically drained.

"Can I talk to you?" she asked, her voice low and hesitant, as if the words were difficult to get out. You noted as well that she spoke without looking at you.

You blinked in surprise. After months of icy silence, this was the last thing you expected, but you nodded, your voice gentle. "Of course." You thought twice about adding the you can always talk to me, you didn’t want to push it.

She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her, and stood there for a moment, struggling to find the right words. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating, and you could tell something was weighing heavily on her.

"It’s all too much," Alexia finally said, her voice quiet but strained. "This... everything. I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this."

You stayed silent, waiting for her to continue, giving her the space she needed to open up.

"The game today..." She shook her head in frustration, pacing the room. "It’s not just the loss. It’s everything that’s been building up. The pressure, the expectations, the weight of everyone thinking I should be carrying this team. And now, we’re down 2-0, and I don’t know how we’re going to turn it around. It feels like it’s all my fault."

Her voice cracked slightly, and you could see the vulnerability behind her words, the weight of the captaincy, the pressure of being the one everyone looked to when things went wrong. The public perception of her being the one that needs to do it all, even though there are 11 players playing each game.

She stopped pacing and looked at you, her eyes filled with frustration and something deeper. "And you..." she continued, her tone softening but still filled with hurt. "I’ve been avoiding you for months because I didn’t know how to handle everything I felt. After what I told you, I regretted opening up. I felt like you led me on, like I let myself get too close, only to see you with Leah and feel like it was all for nothing. Like we were nothing."

Your heart ached as you listened to her. You had known she was upset, but hearing her admit just how much she had been hurting hit harder than you expected.

"Alexia, I—"

"I haven’t let anyone in like that since my dad died," she interrupted, her voice breaking. "And when I finally did, you made me feel like I made a mistake. I haven’t felt that vulnerable in years, and I hate that I let myself care so much about someone who was still hung up on her ex."

You stepped closer, your heart heavy with guilt and concern. "I wasn’t leading you on, Ale. Leah and I were never getting back together, are never getting back together. We just needed to clear the air. I should have told you sooner, but I never want you to think I don’t care about you."

Alexia’s gaze flickered, the anger and frustration slowly giving way to the exhaustion that had been building inside her. "I miss talking to you. I miss... us. But I don’t know how to fix this. Theres this massive gap between us now and I don’t know how we close it."

You stepped even closer, your hand hovering near hers, unsure if she would accept your touch after months of distance. “There’s no gap that can’t be closed, Ale,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “But we have to want to close it. I want to fix this with you.”

Alexia’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, her guard still up. “How?” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. “How do we go back to... before?”

You took a deep breath, searching her face, seeing the exhaustion in the lines etched into her brow, the pain in her eyes. “We don’t go back,” you said, shaking your head. “We can’t. Too much has happened. But we can move forward. We can try again, take things one step at a time.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor, her jaw clenching as she wrestled with the emotions that had been bottled up for so long. “I don’t know if I can,” she admitted. “I don’t know if I can let my guard down like that again. Not after...”

“You can,” you interrupted gently. “You already did once, Ale. I know it’s terrifying, but you don’t have to do it alone this time. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out together.”

Her eyes finally met yours again, and you could see the cracks beginning to show in her hardened exterior. “But what if I do?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What if I push you away again?”

“You won’t,” you replied, your tone steady. “And even if you try, I’m not going to let you. Not this time.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of the months of silence and hurt hung heavy in the air, but there was something different now, a fragile thread of hope, pulling you both together. Alexia’s defences were crumbling, bit by bit, and she was letting herself feel again, even if it scared her.

“You meant more to me than I let myself admit,” Alexia finally whispered, her voice barely audible. “And when I thought you were moving on, I didn’t know what to do with that. I didn’t know how to be anything other than... angry.”

You could feel the vulnerability in her words, and it broke your heart to know how much she had been hurting, how deeply she had internalised everything. “I was never moving on,” you said, shaking your head. “Not from you. I was just... figuring things out. Trying to make sure I could leave my past in the past before starting my future. But not having you to talk to... that hurt me too.”

Alexia nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She let out a shaky breath, her hands fidgeting slightly at her sides. “I’ve been holding onto this anger because it was easier than admitting I was scared. Scared of what it meant to care so much, to let someone in.”

You took a small step forward, closing the final distance between you, and cautiously reached out, gently taking her hand. To your relief, she didn’t pull away this time. Her fingers curled around yours, the touch hesitant but real.

“It’s okay to be scared,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing gesture. “I’m scared too. But that’s part of this, right? Taking the leap, even when it’s terrifying.”

Alexia’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she squeezed your hand tightly, as if grounding herself in the moment. Her voice was a whisper, full of uncertainty and emotion. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you said, your voice steady and full of conviction. “I’m here, Ale. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She let out a shaky breath, her body relaxing slightly as she allowed herself to trust in your words. “I haven’t felt this close to anyone since my dad died,” she admitted softly. “And it scared me how much I needed you.”

Her words broke the last piece of tension between you, and you stepped even closer, gently pulling her into your arms. She hesitated for only a second before she leaned into you, her body melting against yours as if finally allowing herself to feel the comfort she had been denying for so long.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into your shoulder, her voice thick with emotion. “For shutting you out. For everything.”

You held her tightly, your hand gently rubbing her back in slow circles. “I’m sorry too. We’ll work through it,” you whispered, your voice soft but full of promise. “We’ll get through this together.”

For the first time in months, the tension between you eased, and Alexia’s walls came down completely. She rested her forehead against your shoulder, her breath steadying as she let herself be vulnerable with you.

After what felt like an eternity, Alexia pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. Her expression was softer now, the anger and frustration replaced with something else, something deeper. “I miss us,” she whispered, her eyes searching yours. “I miss... this.”

You smiled gently, your hand brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “So do I.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Alexia smiled, it was small, hesitant, but real. The gap between you wasn’t gone, but you were starting to build the bridge. Slowly, carefully, but surely and together.

The atmosphere inside Camp Nou was electric. The roar of the fans echoed throughout the stadium as you sat on the bench, your eyes fixed on the pitch. This was it, the second leg of the Champions League quarterfinal against Wolfsburg. After a 2-0 loss in the first leg, the pressure was on, but there was a quiet determination in the air. The team knew what was at stake, and you could feel it in every passing glance, every focused expression. Tonight felt different to the last match against Wolfsburg, it felt like the girls had all taken the loss personally and were out for redemption.

From your position on the bench, you watched as the girls took their places dotted around the field. Aitana, Caro, Jenni, and Alexia stood at the ready, their eyes locked on the opposition, the tension almost palpable. Your heart raced in sync with the crowd’s chants, well until your heartbeat grew so loud in your ears that you could barely here the girls on the bench next to you. Tonight wasn’t just about advancing to the semifinals; it was about proving to the world that loss was a small blip.

The whistle blew and within minutes, the tension began to ease. Aitana, always so composed on and off the ball, burst forward and connected perfectly with the ball. In just three minutes, she had found the back of the net. The stadium erupted, and the weight of the first-leg defeat seemed to lift, even if only slightly.

You smiled, feeling some of the tension in your own chest loosen. It was the perfect start, exactly what the team needed. You glanced toward the pitch, where Alexia stood with her teammates, a fire in her eyes that hadn’t dimmed despite everything she had been through.

Ten minutes later, Caro added to the tally with a brilliant finish, sending the crowd into another wave of celebration. The momentum was shifting, and you could see the belief growing stronger with each pass.

As the game neared the half-hour mark, Barcelona were relentless. They pressed higher and higher, refusing to give Wolfsburg a moment to breathe. Then, in the 33rd minute, Jenni Hermoso received a perfect cross into the box and, with her trademark composure, slotted it home.

3-0.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. You could feel the surge of energy coursing through the team, and yet, your focus kept drifting to Alexia. She was commanding the midfield with a quiet intensity, orchestrating every movement, every attack. And she looked really good doing it, although you would not ever share that thought with anyone except maybe her.

And then, just five minutes later, in the 38th minute, it happened. A sharp pass from Aitana found Alexia on the edge of the box. With a quick touch to control, she unleashed a precise strike that soared into the top corner of the net.

4-0.

The stadium erupted in a frenzy, but in that moment, everything around you seemed to blur. Alexia, breathless and triumphant, turned toward the bench, her eyes finding yours. The relief was clear, the weight of months of tension visibly lifting from her shoulders. In that brief second, you shared a silent exchange, a connection that had been buried under layers of misunderstanding and distance. Her eyes said it all without any words needing to be uttered. Thank you, I needed this.

You smiled, your heart swelling with pride for her. This was the Alexia you knew, the one who carried the weight of the team but had finally found a way to let go of some of that burden. To find the joy in the game that she really loved to play.

The game pressed on, Barcelona in full control. Wolfsburg tried to push back and did get a goal, but the momentum had shifted irreversibly. As the clock ticked down, Barça kept up the pressure, refusing to let Wolfsburg find any momentum after the goal.

Then, with just minutes left on the clock, Barcelona were awarded a penalty. The crowd held its breath as Alexia stepped up to take it, the ball resting at her feet. The stadium fell into a tense silence, the kind that only a moment like this can create.

You watched closely, your heart in your throat. Alexia stood over the ball, calm and collected. Then, with the same precision you had seen from her countless times, she sent the keeper the wrong way and buried the penalty in the bottom corner.

5-1 on the night. 5-3 on aggregate.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, a wave of relief and celebration sweeping through the stadium. Barcelona had done it. They had pulled off the comeback, securing their place in the Champions League semifinals. The players on the bench jumped to their feet, cheering, hugging, and celebrating the incredible turnaround.

But your eyes were still on Alexia. As she celebrated with her teammates, a weight seemed to lift from her entirely. The game had been a battle, both on the field and inside her heart, but tonight, she had won on both fronts.

As the final whistle blew, confirming Barca’s 5-1 victory on the night, you stood from the bench, your heart pounding with pride, relief, and something deeper. The crowd was in full voice, chanting Alexia’s name, and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by everything she had accomplished, not just with the team, but for herself.

Alexia glanced back at you one last time before the celebrations truly kicked off on the pitch. This time, there was no hesitation, no doubt in her eyes. Just relief, pride, and maybe, just maybe, a flicker of something hopeful.

The celebrations were in full swing. The team had gathered at a private club, the sounds of laughter, music, and excitement filling the space. After the dramatic 5-1 win over Wolfsburg, it was time to celebrate not just the victory, but the resilience and unity that had brought the team back from the brink.

Everyone was buzzing, adrenaline still high from the match. Drinks were flowing, and the room was alive with the chatter of teammates recounting the goals, the tension, and the triumph of the night. You sat in a booth toward the back of the room, watching the team’s joy unfold around you. It was one of those rare moments when everything just felt right, well at least when it came to the team.

But there was another reason your heart raced tonight, and it had nothing to do with the match. It had everything to do with Alexia.

You had caught glimpses of her throughout the night, her laughter mingling with the music, her smile wide and free as she embraced her teammates. But every now and then, her eyes would find yours across the room. There was a warmth in her gaze that hadn’t been there for months, and every time it happened, you felt the invisible thread pulling the two of you closer.

As you took another sip of your drink, trying to shake off the nerves bubbling in your chest, you noticed Alexia making her way across the room. She moved through the crowd with that calm confidence she always carried, but this time, her destination was clear, she was headed straight for you.

Your heart thudded in your chest as she approached, her eyes never leaving yours. When she reached the booth you were in, she paused for just a moment, glancing at the player sitting next to you, Claudia, who had been laughing at something Patri had said.

"Mind if I sit here?" Alexia asked, her voice soft but firm making it very clear what she wanted even if she had phrased it as a question.

Claudia glanced up a bit surprised, but not one to argue with her team captain. She smiled at Alexia and nodded, quickly sliding out of the booth to make room and grabbing Patri’s hand as she did dragging the woman with her. "All yours, Capitana."

You could barely suppress the smile tugging at your lips as Alexia slid into the booth beside you, close enough that her thigh brushed against yours. The warmth of her body sent a jolt through you, but you tried to play it cool, glancing at her with a casual smile.

"How are you feeling after that performance?" you asked, trying to mask the nervous energy that had crept in.

Alexia smiled, that familiar spark in her eyes that you hadn’t seen in so long. "Relieved," she admitted, her voice low so only you could hear. "And exhausted."

You chuckled, nodding. "You deserve to relax after tonight. You were incredible out there."

Her eyes softened at your words, and for a moment, the noise of the party seemed to fade into the background. It was just the two of you, sitting close, sharing the relief of the night’s victory, and happy that the months of tension between you was slowly melting away.

Alexia shifted slightly, her leg pressing more firmly against yours as she leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. "I missed this."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you managed to keep your voice steady. "I missed it, too."

She looked at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she was trying to find the right words. The playful, teasing glances from earlier had been replaced with something more genuine, more vulnerable.

"I’ve been thinking," she began, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the edge of her glass. "About everything that’s happened. About us."

You held your breath, not wanting to interrupt her train of thought.

Alexia took a deep breath before continuing, her voice quieter now. "I didn’t know how to face you after everything. It was easier to avoid it, to push you away. But... that just made everything worse."

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words hanging between you. "You don’t have to apologize, Ale. I know it’s been difficult. I should’ve been clearer with everything. I should have been more upfront about Leah, about how I feel."

Her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. "How do you feel?"

You hesitated for just a moment, then met her gaze, deciding it was time to be honest. "I care about you, Alexia. A lot. And it wasn’t just about the work, or the physio sessions, or even the football. I care about you."

Her breath caught, and for a moment, you saw the same vulnerability in her eyes that she had shown after the loss to Wolfsburg. The walls she had built between you were slowly crumbling, and now, sitting so close, the months of distance between you felt like they were finally closing.

Alexia smiled softly, her hand finding yours under the table. She didn’t say anything at first and she didn’t need to. The simple act of reaching out, of closing that physical gap, spoke volumes.

The room around you buzzed with the energy of celebration, but for you and Alexia, the noise had become background static. All that mattered was the connection between you, the understanding that despite everything, you were still here, still close. That there was still something there to explore.

"Thank you," Alexia finally whispered, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "For being there. Even when I pushed you away."

You squeezed her hand gently. "I’m not going anywhere."

Her eyes met yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no doubt. Just the quiet promise of something that had been waiting to be said for months, now slowly beginning to surface.

The celebration carried on around you, but you and Alexia remained in your little bubble at the booth. Her leg was pressed against yours, and her hand occasionally found yours under the table, both of you taking comfort in the quiet connection that had begun to rebuild.

It was only a matter of time before someone noticed. And, unsurprisingly, that someone was Mapi.

From the corner of your eye, you saw her making her way toward you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Leila followed close behind, a grin already forming as they approached your booth. The second Mapi spotted the two of you sitting close together, she raised an eyebrow, her teasing smirk unmistakable.

"Well, well, well," Mapi drawled, crossing her arms as she came to stand beside the table. "What do we have here? Cozying up after a big win, huh? Looks like more than just the game turned around tonight."

Alexia shot Mapi a warning look, but her lips twitched with amusement. You felt a flush creep up your neck as you glanced between them, unsure whether to laugh or feel embarrassed.

"Mapi," Alexia warned lightly, though there was a smile threatening to break through.

But Mapi wasn’t done. She wiggled her eyebrows, clearly enjoying herself. "I knew something was up when Claudia said you asked for some time in the booth without others. Didn’t think you’d be making moves this fast, though Ale. Capitana’s got game on and off the pitch, huh?"

Before you could respond, Leila, having been quietly observing, stepped in. She gave Mapi a pointed look before swatting her on the back of the head. "Cut it out, idiot. Now’s not the time."

Mapi yelped, rubbing the back of her head in mock outrage. "Hey! What was that for?"

"For being a pain," Leila deadpanned, her eyes darting between you and Alexia, clearly sensing that this wasn’t just light-hearted fun. "Come on, leave them alone."

Mapi looked between you and Alexia again, her expression softening as she realized Leila was right. "Fine, fine," she muttered, though the teasing smile never quite left her face. "But just remember, Ale, I’m watching you." She pointed her fingers at her own eyes, then back at Alexia’s, as if to say she was keeping an eye on things.

Leila rolled her eyes and dragged Mapi away by the arm, pulling her back toward the dance floor where the rest of the team was letting loose. Mapi threw one last cheeky grin over her shoulder as she let herself be pulled into the chaos of the celebration.

Alexia shook her head, chuckling under her breath. "She never lets up, does she?"

You smiled, the tension from the teasing already dissipating. "Not even for a second."

But as Mapi and Leila disappeared into the crowd, the quietness returned between you and Alexia. It was as if, for a moment, nothing had changed. The warmth of her presence, the way she leaned into you, it was all still there, unspoken yet undeniable.

Alexia glanced over at you, her eyes soft with affection and amusement. "I should have known Mapi would notice."

You laughed softly, leaning in just slightly. "I think the whole team’s going to notice eventually."

Alexia smiled at that, the corner of her mouth lifting in that way that made your heart flutter. "Let them. I’m not hiding anything." Alexia’s hand slipped into yours under the table once again, her touch gentle but steady, like the wave that had always connected you.

The tension that had once defined your relationship with Alexia was beginning to melt away. After the celebration following the comeback win against Wolfsburg, something had shifted between you. The stolen glances, the shared smiles, the quiet conversations. They were all part of the rhythm you and Alexia had started to fall into, like finding your way back to something that had always been there, that was just waiting for the right moment.

A few days after the match, with the team preparing for the final of the Champions League, Alexia had sent you a text. Simple, to the point, but it had made your heart skip a beat all the same.

Coffee after training tomorrow?

It wasn’t exactly a grand gesture, but it was the kind of thing you had been hoping for, something normal, something easy, something for just the two of you.

The next afternoon, training wrapped up, and the usual buzz of the team filled the air as everyone began to drift toward their cars. You spotted Alexia across the car park, pulling her bag over her shoulder and heading in your direction. She gave you a small smile, one that made your stomach do a little flip, and you smiled back, trying to hide the nerves fluttering inside you.

A short walk from the training grounds, tucked away in a quieter part of the city, was a small café Alexia had mentioned a few times before. It was one of her favourites because she found it charming and cozy. It was a small whole in the wall shop with a few tables lining the windows and a barista who already knew her order by heart.

When the two of you walked inside, Alexia nodded to the barista, exchanging a familiar smile. "Dos cafés, por favor."

You found a table by the window, the late afternoon sunlight spilling in and casting a warm glow over the café. It felt easy, sitting there with Alexia, even with the unspoken weight of everything that had happened in the past months. Somehow, that weight seemed lighter now.

As you both sat down with your coffees, you couldn’t help but smile. "So, is this the famous café you’ve been talking about all season?"

Alexia chuckled, her eyes bright as she took a sip of her coffee. "This is the one. Best coffee in Barcelona, in my opinion."

You raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from your own cup. "I have to admit, it’s good. I can see why you’re a regular."

The conversation flowed easily, both of you falling into a natural rhythm. You talked about the upcoming matches, about the team, about the Champions League final that seemed to be looming on the horizon. But every now and then, the conversation would drift to lighter things like your favourite places in Barcelona, stories from when you first started working with the team, and little tales about the players that made you both laugh.

At one point, Alexia leaned back in her chair, her gaze soft as she looked at you. "It’s nice, this. Just being here with you."

Her words made your heart flutter, and you could feel a warmth creeping into your cheeks. "Yeah," you agreed softly. "It is."

There was a quiet between you for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that comes when everything feels right, like you don’t need to fill the space with words.

Alexia’s fingers gently brushed against yours on the table, a subtle but meaningful gesture. You smiled at her, feeling the connection between you strengthen with every shared glance, every light touch. It was simple, but it felt important.

As you finished your coffees, Alexia glanced at her phone, checking the time. "We should probably head back soon," she said with a small sigh, though there was a playful glint in her eyes. "Can’t be late to the next team meeting."

You nodded, not wanting the moment to end but knowing that the world of football never truly stopped. "True, but this was nice. We should do it again sometime."

Alexia smiled, standing up and offering you her hand. "How about dinner next time?"

You felt your heart swell at her words but kept your voice steady. "Sounds perfect."

Over the next few weeks, as the games piled up and the pressure built toward the Champions League final, you and Alexia carved out little moments like that coffee date. There were lunches after training, quiet dinners at out-of-the-way restaurants, and even the occasional late-night walk when the city was quiet and still.

Each date felt like another step forward, a chance to know each other outside the pressure of the pitch and the weight of expectations. It wasn’t rushed, it was comfortable, like two people rediscovering something that had always been there, but they hadn’t taken time to fully realise it.

One evening, just a few days before the final, you and Alexia found yourselves at a small tapas restaurant, tucked away in one of Barcelona’s quieter neighbourhoods. The evening air was warm, there was a soft murmur of the city around you as you shared a meal, laughing and talking like you had known each other for years.

At one point, Alexia reached across the table, her hand covering yours. "You’ve been amazing these past few months," she said softly, her eyes meeting yours. "I know I wasn’t easy to be around, but... I’m really glad we’re here now."

You squeezed her hand gently, your heart swelling with affection. "I’m glad too."

It was in these quiet moments, between games and team obligations, that the relationship between you and Alexia grew. It was no longer weighed down by misunderstandings or hesitation, now it was just two people, finally allowing themselves to enjoy the moments they shared.

As the final approached, the nerves and excitement would soon return, but for now, in the warmth of the evening, everything felt right.

[nonbinarylesbianherb]

The issue with Ryan Condal saying stuff like “it’s all about them and will continue to be” (in regards to Alicent and Rhaenyra) as well as other statements about them and just generally being seen as pro rhaenicent- is that when the show fails to properly represent a character or continue important plots (e.g b&c and the grief that helaena faces and is experiencing + such distinct changes of characters choices that it is out or character from s1) is that people will take their anger out on rhaenicent/ rhaenicent fans. I love rhaenicent and seeing scenes with them BUT i wanted to see Helaena’s descent into grief and madness, I wanted to see plots continued or start, I wanted to see characters properly represented. Why couldn’t he do BOTH? why couldn’t he provide us both without lacking or misrepresenting other things. whyyyy

[staraxiaa]

sunflowers

pairing: bakugou katuski x f! reader contains: childhood frenemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining status: standalone, one-shot, completed wc: 17840

note: canon-compliant but i bend it; early childhood and then up to season 3. also cross-posted to ao3.

summary: there you stand at the beginning of the world, with you and your sunflowers; your lovely liar's smile.

The first time you meet Bakugou Katsuki, you are six-turning-seven, and you remember it well. Not just because it’s the first day of school, or even that it’s your birthday. Rather, you remember it because of him, and though you think you would rather die than admit it, there is some part of you⏤ a more rational part⏤ that can temper itself down to acknowledge the fact.

You remember it well, because that morning, your mother makes sure to doll you up extra pretty. She dons you in a frilled dress like it is your armor, taking extra care with your hair, its bows, and she does: so much that there is an extra skip to your step as you walk. You don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. But you still make sure to say your thank yous to all the unfamiliar faces that compliment you with gummy smiles and a not-so-quiet, conspiratorial grin. “It’s my birthday!” 

You remember the way your cheeks hurt from forcing the wideness of it, the way you think it has started to sound like a mantra. You remember smiling, nonetheless, at his friend, as he wishes you a happy birthday! in return⏤ you are smiling at his friend, and not him.

You remember it well, because the first time you ever meet him, he looks you up and down, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and dares to call you ugly. 

If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. Already, your new friends are tensing for the inevitable confrontation. “You can’t just say that to her,” Sueko says, her eyes already narrowing in a glare.

“And who the hell are you, extra?” The crimson-eyed boy scowls right back. 

The other girl wilts a bit, but her glare remains set.

You decide, right there and then, that she is your new best friend. 

You smile. If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. But you don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. So you only give him your kindest smile, because your mother told you to play nice in the morning, as she brushed out your hair. You make sure to give him a once over, glancing down, and then up. 

“It’s okay!” Your eyes curve, ingratiatingly polite; ingratiatingly sweet. “Some people are just born blind. And stupid.”

“HAH?” His reaction is exactly what you hoped for, and it’s almost too easy. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING���” 

The slight quirk of your mouth is amused, but you only turn, pointedly, to your new best friend. “Any chance you’re free this weekend? Let’s hang out.” 

She stutters an answer, eyes darting between you, and the blond you know is seething behind you, if the glare he’s practically boring into the back of your head means anything.

You tilt your head to the side. A little inquiry, a little push. “So?”

Hands slam down on your desk, cutting out her squeaked yes. You jump a little at the sound, your eyes widening⏤ both a little bit at the sound, and how close his face suddenly is. All of a sudden, you’re glad you didn’t call him ugly right back⏤ it would have sounded petty, after all, and almost certainly would have bit you right in the foot, considering how this crimson-eyed boy is so clearly not.

“I’m talking to you.” Well. You think, he’d probably be a great deal prettier if wasn’t glaring down at you, face contorted in what seems like half snarl, half scowl. 

His friend adds, a little bit placatingly. “Bakugou-san’s not stupid. He’s really smart, actually, always been top of the class. He’s really cool!” 

You note the way the class eyes him, the way the blond’s eyeing the door. He grunts. “I also have twenty-twenty vision.” His chin raises, arrogance in the set of his features, a bit calmer at the praise, but also a touch quieter, almost a bit wary. 

The door opens. He glances back, just as a man walks in, old enough that you assume that he is your teacher. 

It takes effort to keep the shit-eating grin from spreading across your features. “Are you sure?” You ask instead, completely straight-faced. ( You should really consider acting, you think. You’re practically a genius! ) You simper, a hand covering your mouth. “Could’ve fooled me.”  

It’s almost too easy, you think, the way he explodes, literally. 

“YOU WANNA FIGHT, EXTRA?” Miniature blasts pepper the table, and you might have thought it intimidating, if it’s not for the way your sensei is stalking over, looking almost as murderous as the boy himself. “I’LL KILL YOU!” 

You coo a little, fearless with the backing of your newfound supporter. “You’re really scary. That’s illegal, you know.” 

He opens his mouth. But then⏤ “Bakugou. Seeing as it’s the first day, you won’t be getting detention.” His mouth closes mutely. You grin a little at the way he’s being pulled away from your desk, fingers still clutching at the edges of it⏤ by the scruff of his collar, and somewhat like a dog, you think.

His eyes flash, a little bit angry, a little bit dangerous. He points one grubby finger in your direction. “She started it!” 

The sensei also pins you with a stern look. “The next time this happens, the both of you’ll be staying after class to clean, as detention. Am I clear?” 

You gape at both of them. It’s half genuine, half not. You think this verdict is a little unfair. The boy grins, smug.

A complaint is on the tip of your tongue, then you see the sensei’s expression:  deadpan, tired, and unsympathetic.  You sober up, frowning a little. 

“Okay. Sorry, sensei. I’ll try.” 

The crimson-eyed boy is still glaring at you, a little victorious, a little smug, but with a gleam in his eyes. This is war, they seem to say, silent and from across the room.

Little does he know, it has been, ever since the moment he decides to look you up and own, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and calls you ugly.

You blow him a kiss.

He jolts. The face he makes is obviously a frown of disgust. 

The sensei straightens. You smile ingratiatingly, turning away.

This is war, his eyes seem to promise, and really, you can’t help but agree. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your revenge is served not even three days later, on a Saturday evening, and you think it is the sweetest thing you have ever tasted.

You have your father to thank for it, actually. The boy, whose name you learn is Bakugou Katsuki, is something of a mini celebrity at your school. 

This means that the surface level things are easy to find⏤ he has anger issues, an explosive Quirk, and is smart, consistently at the top of the class. ( You frown a little when they tell you. These are all things you already know, and the only new information⏤ he likes spicy food⏤ isn’t helpful in the slightest. ) But this also means that, knowing his temper, there are very few willing to actively take your side, and much more openly against you. You are the new girl, the outlier, and though he can’t quite make you an outcast⏤ you and your horde of girl-followers ( bought with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ he has enough friends, or rather sycophants, that will ignore you in the hallways, or mutter names at you.

The boy in question doesn’t, though.

He storms up to your desk the second day. You are chatting with your friends, as he slams his hands on the desk and snarls: “Fight me.” 

Catching your pencil just before it falls, you frown up with him. “What ever happened to: hi, hello, how are you?” 

“Hi, hello, how are you.” He sneers. “Scared?” 

“No, and my answer is no.”

His scowl deepens. “So you are scared.” 

“I’m a healer.” You lift your chin in outrage, affronted. “I’m not violent.”

“Nah. You’re just an extra.” 

Internally, you seethe. First ugly, and now an extra. You have never been called such things in your life. You open your mouth, a retort on the tip of your tongue. 

The sensei walks in. 

It dies in your throat, Bakugou’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. He turns away, head held high; arrogant and condescending, having won this encounter by a mile. 

Wrath boils in your ears, but you tamp it down, expressionless. Your pencils are carefully aligned, your notebook opened with just a little more force than necessary. Internally, you promise yourself, he’ll get what’s coming to him. You will make sure of it. 

You get your chance soon enough on a Saturday evening, dolled up again in a dress your mother painstakingly picked out for you, your hair pressed into careful curls. Your father had told you: your family had been invited to dinner by a friend he’d met at work, and that they have a son in the same grade as you, in the same school. 

You had shrugged. So long as there’s a chance their son would be willing to join your Anti-Bakugou Society ( consisting only of you at the moment ), you don’t particularly mind.

“Play nice,” Your mother reminds you now, as you stand before the door; your father knocking on it. There is a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in your hands, matching the color of your dress, and you only scrunch your nose up a little at her. 

“I’m always nice.” 

Your mother doesn’t get a chance to respond, because then there’s a⏤ Katsuki, get the door!⏤ along with an answering⏤ “SHUT UP, OLD HAG! I’M GETTING IT!”⏤ and then, you blink.

The name sounds rather familiar. The voice, too. 

The door opens. You stare, wide-eyed, as a head of blond hair enters your vision, familiar and crimson-eyed.

He’s just as stunned as you are, as you watch, with no small amount of delight, as he takes one look at you, and then the sunflowers you hold in your hands, and sneezes. 

Christmas has come early, you think. “Katsuki! This is your house?” You step a little closer, a sickly sweet grin on your face. 

He dodges the sweep of your bouquet. A pity, you think, but you are successful: he only sneezes all the harder.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you… by any chance allergic to sunflowers?” 

Your mother gasps, tearing the bouquet from your hands. She had been the one to pick them out.

He doesn’t need to respond for you to know the answer: as soon as they’re taken away from his immediate vicinity, his sneezes lessen.  

Your mother had been the one to pick them out, and you had disliked the way they looked. But you decide, there and in the moment, that they are your favorite flower. 

He straightens. His nose is still red, and there is murder in his eyes. “Why the hell are you here?” 

His mother sweeps in, pinching him by the ear. “You will not address our guests that way.” She hisses, before looking up at the three of you, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to teach him manners, I swear⏤”

“No worries at all, Bakugou-san.” Your mother says, correcting herself at the other woman’s oh, just call me Mitsuki! She pinches your ear in turn. “This one is much the same. A righteous demon, she is.” You narrow your eyes a little at her. 

The blonde laughs, and the way she ruffles her son’s hair is terribly fond. “That’s just part of their charm, I suppose.” 

He hisses up at her. She hisses right back. 

You love her, you think.

“Oh, where are my manners!” She straightens, blinking. “Please come in. Masaru’s in the kitchen, just setting up⏤”

Your parents walk in first, complimenting the decor. Mitsuki beams at them, and down at you. “Masaru tells me the two of you go to the same school,” She says. “Have the two of you met before?” 

You say: “Yes!” at the same time he gives a flat, but resounding, “No.” 

He glares daggers into the side of your head. You grin. “We’re in the same class, and he’s my best friend!” You exclaim, the lie rolling easily off your tongue.

“No the fuck I’m not.” 

“Language, Katsuki!” Mitsuki reaches for his ear again, her face the picture of delight. “I’m so happy you’re finally making friends!” 

“WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!” 

She gasps, affronted, looking like she wants to tear him a new one. You smile. Your parents look on, utterly lost. “It’s okay, Mitsuki-san. That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, you angel.” And from the look on her face, one might have thought she truly believed it. She whips around to glare at her son. He glares back. “I don’t know how she puts up with you, but you’d better treat her well.” You grin at him from behind, terribly smug, and terribly victorious. 

She turns around, and your smile is pretty again, pleasant and soft.

Mitsuki coos at you. You think the dichotomy between the way she talks to the both of you is like heaven and earth. “Come over to our house more often. I’d love to have you over anytime!” 

“HAH? WHAT⏤” 

“We wouldn’t want to trouble you, Mitsuki-san.” Your mother says, assertively. She is shooting you the look, the one that means she knows what you’re up to. 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” She dismisses the statement with a wave of her hand. “Katsuki has few enough friends as it is.” 

Your father laughs, ever the mediator. “We’ll have to invite you over next time as well. We live just down the street.” He brightens. “Actually, seeing as they’re classmates, they could maybe walk together in the mornings?” 

Your mother’s grip tightens around his arm. 

There is a wicked grin on your face. “I’d love that!”

The boy in question doesn’t even get the chance to protest, because Mitsuki’s already chirping. “It’s settled, then!” 

You think: it doesn’t even matter if he emerges victorious in all the encounters you have after this, because when the adults turn, you get to stick your tongue out at him.

The look on his face is so quietly violent, so blatantly murderous, as you wave your still sunflower-smeared hands in his face, that you think you will remember the sweetness of this victory for the rest of your life. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your relationship does not change in the slightest after that.

Mitsuki invites you over to her house once a week, and your parents do the same. The adults do their own thing, and you do yours: trying your best to annoy the daylights out of your newfound nemesis, and he only does the same to you. You’ll make fun of his All Might merchandise, the ones displayed proudly in his room, and he’ll make fun of your Recovery Girl ones, the ones you have so painstakingly collected⏤ she’s not nearly as popular of a Hero. He’ll sneer: “So that’s why you used to kiss everyone you healed?” 

You’ll sneer right back, cringing internally at the reminder of that phase, though you are still Recovery Girl’s number one fan. “My Quirk’s literally activated through touch. You’d be lucky if I poked you with a ten-foot pole, let alone heal you with a kiss.” 

He’ll make a face. “Eugh. You wish, idiot. I’d never want to kiss an extra like you.” 

The two of you have learned to act relatively civil with adults in the house. You smile up at him, sickly sweet. “Yeah. This extra is an idiot, and she definitely didn’t score higher than you on the last history test.” 

By one point, but still. 

He snorts, though you can tell the reminder irks him. “That’s only ‘cause you sucked up to sensei like, three classes in a row.”

You sniff in derision.  “I did not.” Sure, it’s true: you’d definitely been a little more active in class, and answered more questions than usual, but you’d studied for it! You’d studied a lot!

He sneers back. “Did too.” 

You have learned to imitate the murderous glare he likes to level you with, and the first time you mimic it, you grin a little as his eyes widen, stunned.

The two of you are civil for the most part, though, at each other’s houses. His mother would tear him a new one if she heard him acting anything but⏤ ( she has )⏤ and you think you like his parents too much to ruin your relationship over something as trivial as this. 

School is a different story, however, as are your walks in the mornings. “Shut the fuck up,” He’ll snarl at you.

“But Katsuki-kun!” You’ll coo right back, using the tone you know he hates. “I haven’t even started talking yet!” 

He’ll scowl at you. You’ll simper right back. He’ll speed up, and you do not slow, nor do you attempt to match his pace, because you know: if you slow, he will too. Always keeping that same distance, and if you speed up⏤ well, you’d tried that once. And you’d kept pace with him for all of two seconds, before he’d sped up in turn, until the both of you were practically sprinting to school. 

You lose, of course. You have never run a day in your life.

( You start training right after. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack.

( Your mother picked out the flowers, but you are the one that held them, and you were also the one to decide, there and then, that these were your favorite flowers in the world. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly stunning in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. 

“You’re ruining my shirt,” He grouses. “Stop crying. I’m literally more injured than you are.” 

You sniff. “I’m not kissing you better.” 

He snarls. “Come anywhere near me with your mouth and I’ll blow your face off.” 

“You want it so bad it makes you look stupid.” You tell him, and he tenses beneath you, but you only press your cheek to his neck, and think, heal.

The pain of the bruises lances through you, and you feel the way he relaxes.

You droop. “Onwards, steed.” 

“I will literally drop you.” 

“I just healed you. I’m tired.” 

“No one fucking asked you to.” 

He doesn’t make good on his promise, though, and eventually, you sigh a little into his neck.

“What.” 

“Nothing.” 

“What, dumbass.” 

You hum, a little absentminded. “You’re going to UA, right?” 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“Oh, I was thinking of applying for the healer understudy openings.” You shrug. “Dunno if I can get in, though.” 

“You will.” His certainty surprises you. 

You smile. “Didn’t know you believed in me so much, Katsuki-kun.” Your head flops back onto his shoulder. “Will you still walk with me in the mornings, then?” 

“After school, too. Even if you don’t get in.” 

You shift to blink up at him in surprise. 

He clicks his tongue. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this uncomfortable.

“Who the fuck else’s gonna punch shitty stalkers for you?”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before, like the sun cresting upon the horizon, lighting up like a dawn inside your chest. You laugh at the feel of it. “Are you sure you woke up on the right side of the bed today? Besides, you don’t even know where I’d be going.” You reach up to pinch him on the cheek. 

He jerks away, the look on his face disgusted.

“Then I’ll teach you to fight.” 

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like. There’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. 

( That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you tell Mitsuki-san, once upon a time, and though you are not sure if it is love, you think: you do not mind it. )

This is how your relationship is, and how it remains, until the end of the second last year of middle school, right before the both of you enter UA.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are asleep at your desk when you are jumpscared awake. 

“UA? That national school? Isn’t their acceptance rate really low?” Someone in your class is asking. 

“That’s exactly why you guys are just extras!” You roll your eyes as the ash-blond jumps straight atop his desk. “I aced the mock test! I’m the only one at this school who could possibly get into UA. I’ll definitely surpass All Might and become the top hero!” 

This is not the first time you’ve heard this tirade. Sueko nudges you, quietly. “Hey. Didn’t you say you were applying for one of their healer slots?” 

“Oh, yeah.” The sensei glances down at his list. “Midoriya wanted to go to UA as well, right? And someone else…” You tense.

The class bursts into uproarious laughter, and it seems you are temporarily saved. 

“Huh? Midoriya? No way! You can’t get into the Hero course by just studying!”

The green-haired boy stammers. “Th-they got rid of the rule! There’s just no precedent…” 

You roll your eyes at the sound of familiar explosions. “Huh? Deku! You’re below the rejects! You’re quirkless! How can you even stand in the same ring as me?”

“No, wait! Kacchan! It’s not like I’m trying to compete with you or anything! Believe me!” He falters “It’s just that it’s been my goal ever since I was little! I won’t know unless I try…”   

“What do you mean, unless you try? You’re Quirkless!” 

You slam your textbook down with a little more force than usual, and the whole class turns to you in surprise. “He has a dream that he dares to try for,” you say, coolly and careful. “Isn’t that enough?” 

“And what the hell would you know about that?” 

Disbelief rushes through you, and you turn to look him squarely in the eye. The class tenses, and his own eyes widen. It has been a while since you’ve challenged him like this directly, whether in school or otherwise. 

Sueko pipes up, unhelpfully, from beside you, as if he wouldn’t know. “She’s also applying for UA.” 

You don’t get the chance to glare at her, because your sensei continues the thought. “Oh, yes, that’s right! You were the last student applying to UA! The healer routes are notoriously difficult⏤ how’s that coming along?” 

“Ah, I applied to some hospitals for volunteering, but I don’t know if they accept middle-schoolers,” You laugh. 

Your sensei nods, in support, but also a little condescendingly. “Well, it’s also a very difficult path, so don’t beat yourself up about it too much, yeah?” 

The smile on your face feels a little bit painful, a little bit stretched. 

You are distracted for the rest of that day. So out of it, in fact, that when the sensei calls upon you, his favorite student, you take all of five seconds to respond⏤ blinking, first, then glancing up, with a: “Sorry, what was the question?” You are so out of it that you bump your hip into your own desk as you move past for lunch, wincing at the twinge of it, and you are so out of it that you forget your pencil case when you leave after class, and have to go back to get it.

“Believe that you’ll be born with a Quirk in your next life, and take a last chance dive off the roof!” 

You know that voice. You pause. But then, the blast of familiar explosions. 

Before your hands, the door slams open. 

You don’t know what you were expecting. Bakugou and Midoriya both, obviously, and you suppose you should have known his two lackeys would have been there, too. They turn from their face-off, and your glare is sharp and terrible. “So what if he’s Quirkless?” You snap, storming over to grab the green-haired boy by the wrist. “At least he has a dream. At least he dares to try. That’s more than I can say for the two of you.” 

“Stay out of this,” The blond snarls, a warning. 

You are not entirely a good person. You lie as you please, wielding the power of your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and do things entirely for your own amusement, uncaring of the aftermath. You know Midoriya, or rather, you know of him, and how he is a frequent target of Bakugou’s scathing remarks. At first, you had assumed he’d just been one of the people that disliked you, but it had become increasingly evident that he was just one of the people that didn’t dare to brave the blond’s wrath. And you are not entirely a good person, because you just didn’t care. Not to talk to him, not to stand up for him, not if he hadn’t even tried to for you.

You are not entirely a good person yourself, but even so, you know that there are lines that should not be crossed. 

You lift your chin, and say, quietly. “Apologize.” 

“Hah?” He tilts his head. “And why the hell should I? Why the hell are you defending him?” 

You feel incredulous. “What does that have anything to do with it?” You don’t see the way his eyes flicker down to where you are holding the green-haired boy, by his wrist. “There are things that you should never, ever, say to a person.” His eyes narrow, but there’s an irrational anger within you, a disbelief. “You’re literally trying to become a Hero. How can you, an applicant of UA, who hopes to become one of the best heroes in the world, tell someone to kill themselves, and not think there’s anything wrong with it?” 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Little explosions are escaping his hands, in the uncontrolled way they do when he’s furious and unaware of them. 

You think Midoriya makes a pained sound, what with the way your hands are clenching, angry and white. Heal. A sting pulses through you, and you drop his wrist, but your eyes are flashing. “You’re being an ass. Apologize.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.” 

You lift your chin. “If you value our friendship in the slightest, then yes, I do.” The vehemence of your words stuns you a bit, and the blond recoils, as if he has been physically struck. 

You think you have won, for all of a moment, and then he scoffs.

“Yeah, right. What friendship? The one you lied to my mom about and said that we had? That friendship? The one that doesn’t exist? Won’t exist?” 

His sneer is not harsh, but the breath that leaves you is shaky.

You do not hear his next words.

( You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly nice in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like, and there’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one.  )

This is how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you say to Mitsuki-san once upon a time, but now, you know, because you have learned to read between the lines of his words; to understand him: that this is just how he treats liars who worm their way into his world, and how he tolerates them.

Your lip wobbles. There is a lump in your throat. But you will not cry for him, nor will you plead. Play nice, your mother chastises you once upon a time, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. She chastises you once upon a time, because you do not particularly care to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are petty, yes. Vindictive, too. You may not be that much of a good person, and you are not without your own feelings, hypocritical as that may be. But you are trying, and you are genuine, or at least as much as you can be, as much as you ever have, and he⏤ he has just thrown all of that in your face. 

“Fine, then.” You smile, and you are unfeeling as you lie. “I’ve never thought of you as a friend, either. Don’t talk to me again.” 

The door slams behind you.

You do not hear his next words, so you do not hear him mean: not while you choose him, and not me.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Katsuki is six-turning seven the first time he meets you. 

It is the first day of school. You are seated at your desk, a crowd of adoring sycophants around you. “Happy birthday! You look really pretty today,” His friend says from beside him, and he looks you up and down. You are wearing a sky-blue dress, with your hair pressed into careful curls.

His cheeks warm. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, but he only grunts, looking away to the side. “Dunno. She looks pretty ugly to me.” 

“You can’t just say that to her,” Your friend hisses. He doesn’t know her face. 

He scowls at her. “And who the heck are you, extra?” 

She wilts under the force of his glare, and he feels a little better, as if satisfied.

“It’s okay!” You smile. He blinks. Maybe he should call you ugly more often.

And then you call him stupid. And blind.

And the rest is history. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The results of your hospital volunteer application are sent back the next week, and the first thing you think of, somewhat bitterly, is that at least now, you have a proper excuse for skipping out on your weekly dinners. 

You have already skipped out on the first, pretending you feel sick. 

Your phone is still silent. You have not talked to him since that day, not even to check up on him when you see the news, though your fingers itch to. You think of sunflowers: how you didn’t even like them, until him. You think of how your bag now feels empty without its signature pins, how you have thrown every scrap of yellow clothing into a pile in your closet, your sunflower-themed charms and notebooks tucked away. 

Proof of life comes from your mother, and you do not turn on your phone. 

You break your silence two days later, pushing your vegetables somewhat morosely around your plate. “My volunteer application was accepted. They’re letting me intern at the hospital.” 

Your father beams. “That’s great news! You should’ve told us earlier! Honey, we have to eat out to celebrate! Oh, I need to tell Masaru⏤” 

“I won’t be going to weekly dinners for the rest of the summer,” You cut in. Your mother’s chopsticks pause midair. 

Your father blinks at you. “Surely the hospital isn’t making its interns work that much.” 

“Well, I’m applying to UA.” You shrug. That much is true, but it’s also just so you can fill in your hours, work yourself down to the bone. “I’d like as much experience as possible.” 

Your mother is watching you carefully. 

Your father clears his throat. “Well, don’t work yourself too hard.” He says, jokingly, as he dishes another helping of food upon your plate. “You tell us if they’re giving you any trouble, alright?” 

You force yourself to smile back. “‘Course, dad.” 

( Your mother asks you, a week later, when you arrive home from your internship. “Are you still friends with him?” She has asked you a similar question once, years ago and late in the evening, at the end of the dinner party, your father drunken and half-leaning on her shoulder.

You give her the same answer you did then, and in the same way. Cheery, and without a hint of hesitation. “Nope!” 

She is watching you carefully. 

You excuse yourself, and she does not ask you about it again. )

It feels like the days never end, and yet summer passes by before you can blink. You banish all thoughts of blond hair and crimson eyes entirely from your mind, and truthfully, you do not have the mind to think of him much, anyways. You steal the pain of your patients and make it your own, smiling at the brightness of their faces as you heal one, then two, then several more. It tires you terribly so, and between your time at the hospital and pre-studying for the UA exams, you’re so fatigued each night that you fall asleep before your head even hits the pillow. You don’t even have the time to meet up with your friends. And before you know it, the last year of middle school is upon you, as are the start of your applications. 

It is a whirlwind of things to do, so much that you feel you do not have the time to breathe, or even think. Katsuki’s been placed in a different class from yours, which comes as a relief in more ways than one⏤ firstly, that you don’t have to see him, and secondly, because you can let your grades fall just a little, and still come out as top of your class. Between your intern shifts, your mindless studying, the applications, the tests and quizzes and preparing endlessly for interviews, the thoughts of anything else vanish entirely from your mind. You do not feel the emptiness of your afternoons, nor much of your mornings. 

About two months in, Midoriya Izuku is the one to seek you out. 

There is a spoonful of rice halfway to your mouth, a textbook in your other hand. You notice him when a shadow falls over it, blotting the light out. You glance up, drawling. “Yes?” 

“Can I… talk to you for a moment?” He ventures, nervously, a tray gripped in his hands. 

You eye him a little strangely. 

You haven’t seen him since four months ago⏤ you haven’t really been paying much attention, and even the reminder sets your walls of iron slamming up. He’d been shorter then, you think, and significantly more hesitant. The boy from back then would never have even dared think about approaching you like this.

He flusters. “I-I just! Another time is also okay, or if you don’t want to, that’s also okay⏤” 

There he is, you think, a touch amused. “Can it be said here?” 

Beside you, Sueko’s jaw drops. You can feel the stares of your friends boring into the side of your face.

“Y-yes?” 

“Then make it quick.” You flip the page of your textbook. 

He hesitates. “Is it really okay…? For me to sit here?” 

Your eyebrow arches, high. “Since when have you been unable to sit where you like?” 

Mutely, he sets his tray down, and sits. 

You only flip another page. “You can either eat or talk.” You say, conversationally. “Lunch won’t last all day.” 

Obediently, he takes a spoonful of rice, and swallows. “I just… wanted to thank you.” He begins.

You know exactly what he is talking about, and your throat tightens. ( You think of your backpack, how empty it feels, but your refusal to tack on your sunflower pins anyway. ) You shrug. “No need to thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”

“Even so,” Midoriya perks up a bit. “N-no one’s ever stood up for me like that before, and especially not to Kacchan… I-I’m really grateful, either way!” 

You snort a little. Never would you have thought Midoriya Izuku, of all people, would stand here one day, thanking you. 

“I think you’re a really good person,” He says to you, a little bit hesitant. It jolts you a bit, the genuine honesty of his tone, but what you are not prepared for is what comes after. “And I know Kacchan does, too.” 

Your spoon stops halfway to your mouth.

“He still cares about you,” Midoriya says, a touch softer. Your friends are not looking at you, but you can still feel the weight of their gazes, their ears.

You say as you set your spoon down. “If you want to be friends with me, then you will never speak of him again.” 

Midoriya watches you carefully, notes the finality in your tone. His gaze rises to a point above your shoulder.

He flinches.

He does not speak of what he sees, or of this conversation, ever again. 

You do not turn, and you do not ask.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The week of UA acceptances arrive, and you await your own with bated breath. 

Your father laughs as you run out exactly at eight every morning to check, before he finally deigns to tell you that the postman usually delivers to your house around twelve. “I knew that!” You say, and he laughs at the obvious lie.

You stick your tongue out at him, but you still sneak out the next day at the same time, just in case. 

But as it turns out, the postman is late. You know this, because Midoriya texts you late in the evening, after dinnertime, with his signature All Might emoji and a brief: check your mailbox!!!!!

You stop, your heart in your throat. You don’t think you are breathing. 

He’s still typing, spamming your text messages with a thousand All Might emojis, each of them more despairing than the last. You do not know what this means. And then, you see his next message: I got in!!!!! 

It turns out that you are not, in fact, breathing.

You feel like you are holding your breath the whole time you’re fumbling through your mailbox, dropping random letters haphazardly onto your doorstep. That one looks like it’s important, you think, distantly, and it gets dropped somewhere onto the growing pile at your right, scanning them all for a familiar logo, and⏤ you see it at the very bottom of the pile.

You thumb it open with shaking hands. Congratulations, it reads, and you scream.

( You think for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. )

Your father pokes his head around the corner. “I heard screaming. Everything alright?” 

Your mother is smiling. “Mitsuki just called. Katsuki’s in.” 

Your father is looking at you with wide eyes. You are grinning, there are tears in your eyes, and you are wordless in your delight. 

Your mother laughs, soft. “I suppose two congratulations are in order.” 

“Midoriya also made it, so make that three.” You correct, grinning. 

Your father whoops. “THAT’S MY GIRL!” For the first time in almost a year, you feel light as a feather, like the world is spread wide before you, and you are a young god before it, your wings wide and at the ready. 

For the first time in almost a year, you think, for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. You think of reaching for your phone⏤ ( and if you did, you’d see his icon that you’d purposefully wiped blank bubbling )⏤ but you don’t. You think of a boy with blond hair and crimson eyes that you have not looked at in almost a year, how you’ll brush past him in the halls, surrounded by your gaggle of friends, your uniform and makeup, your armor, and try not to note how he’s grown taller. For the first time in over a year, you think of him, and your heart does not feel like an empty cavity in your chest; you do not feel so hollow, nor do you ache.

Your heart only squeezes, a little tight, but. 

You think you will be fine.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are delusional. You are not, in fact, fine. 

You are standing in front of the classroom door. It spells the code of your class: 1A, in bold lettering, proportions inhumanly large. You are three minutes late, but it’s really not your fault⏤ you’d simply fangirled so hard over the fact that you’re finally getting to meet your idol in person last night that you’d barely gotten any sleep, and your mother had had to haul you practically out of bed and out the door, throughout the whole of your alarm. 

You slide open the door. Instantly, you’re met with a sea of faces, and you steel yourself⏤ but then. 

For the first time in over a year, you see him, and all of a sudden, you are painfully aware of the lack of yellow on your figure; your backpack entirely empty of its signature sunflower pins. 

The smile is frozen on your face, and he looks just as shocked as you feel. 

A voice drawls at your side. “You must be the healer,” You are glad for the distraction; the source a scraggly-haired man halfway through removing himself from a sleeping bag. Your sensei, you deduce. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sensei!” You bow. “I overslept because I was fangirling too hard over meeting Recovery Girl today! I promise it won’t happen again!” 

A wave of soft laughter ripples through the class, and over the din, you hear a⏤ she’s kinda cute!⏤ at the same time as a⏤ oh, I love her already. 

“If I get hurt, will I get to see you?” A voice calls, and you turn to see a boy⏤ blond, and your heart stutters for a moment, but his shade isn’t ash, it’s golden. He’s grinning cheekily up at you. 

“No flirting in my class.” Your sensei warns. “But yes, seeing as she’s 1A’s healer understudy.” He turns to you. “Recovery Girl’s waiting for you in her office. You know where it is?” 

You nod cheerily. “Sir, yes, sir!” 

“Good.” You turn at the obvious dismissal, shooting a wave at your green-haired friend as you do. 

You leave the classroom with your shoulders set, your chin tilted high, your outfit your armor, and your makeup your helm.

You pretend like you do not feel the crimson glare that seems like it’s trying to pierce through the back of your neck. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Recovery Girl likes you, and you feel as if you are floating for the whole of a day. Not even meeting Bakugou’s gaze the next morning can knock you from it, nor can the grape-haired boy’s leering from across the room. You can’t really dwell on them for long, either, not with the crowd of people aggregating by your desk. You blink up a little, surprised.

It’s not like you’ve made an effort to dress up especially pretty today, and you don’t think you’ve come off as incessantly nice. You are not the you from first grade anymore⏤ you don’t just think yourself pretty, you know you are⏤ but are confident enough in your own skin that you have stopped putting on airs; have allowed yourself to be as cold and sarcastic and dry as you want. Most of your girl-followers⏤ ( the ones you buy with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ have only seen glimpses of you like this, and you can count on one hand the people outside of your parents who know you as you are. 

Sueko, Midoriya, and of course, him. 

You do not dwell on it for long. You are confident in your own skin, and though you would like some more friends, you do not wish to temper yourself to gain them.

You smile a little at the question the purple-haired boy asks, disliking the way his eyes are lingering at your chest. “You’re all welcome to drop by the clinic anytime you like. It’s what we’re here for, after all. Though, if you want a kiss to make you feel better,” 

You pause a little bit for dramatic effect watching the eyes of several boys brighten just a bit.

“You’ll have to go to Recovery Girl.” 

Your straight face is very well-practiced, but you do not hide the small quirk of your mouth as you watch their souls die. 

An arm slings around your shoulder, its pink-skinned, pink-haired owner grinning at you. “I think we’re going to be best friends, you and I.” 

You remember thinking the same thing about a different girl, when you are six-turning seven, and you hear the same genuinity behind it.

( You are clad in your outfit like armor, your makeup a helm. Today, you are exactly as cold and sarcastic and dry as you like, because you are confident in your own skin, and you do not temper yourself in the slightest. )

You smile up at her. “I think I’d like that!” 

Her grin widens, but then, an older Hero walks in⏤ Cementoss, you think. You have made an effort to memorize the roster. “To your seats, everyone.” He calls. 

You take out your notebook, neatly arranging your pens. New year, new you. You don’t have as many shifts at the hospital anymore⏤ you don’t need the experience exactly, as you’re sure UA will look good enough on your resume, but it can’t hurt. Besides, you enjoy working there anyways; the older nurses who help you out with a kind smile, the doctors who are almost always willing to answer a question. But the lessened shifts allow you to breathe, just a little, to settle back into a healthier routine; one no longer so bogged down by your thoughts. 

Math transitions quickly into English. You think you prefer Cementoss’s teaching style just a little, even if Present Mic is more energetic⏤ a little bit too loud for your tastes, you think. The material is basic, seeing as it’s the unofficial first day of class, and though you’ve already pre-studied most of the content, you end up writing most of it down, anyways. 

Lunchtime arrives. You balance your tray on your hands, walking side-by-side with Mina. Midoriya waves at you from his table, surrounded by an assortment of friends, and you nod back. “Let’s sit there!” The pink-haired girl points excitedly at a particular table. 

You see several boys from your class, some more familiar than the rest. A head of ash blonde, crimson eyes that glance up to meet your own. 

“Midoriya wanted me to sit with him today,” You say, a touch apologetic. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?” 

Her eyes widen a bit, and you note the glance, the observance. Her own smile is your mirror, just as apologetic, and just as assertive. “Maybe another time,��� She says.

She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to say it. You like that about her. 

You incline your head, eyelid pulling down in a wink. “Do let me know which one you like,” 

She only laughs at you, her answering grin somewhat sly. 

All Might steps into the room after lunch, and though you’ve never been one of his particularly die-hard fans⏤ you think of your sunflowers, how you make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours⏤ you can admit that in person, he stands a legend in real life. You are just a little starstruck, you think, as he smiles at you, and says⏤ “Do try to keep your injuries to a minimum, though not to worry! Our healer team will be here to assist you!” 

You find yourself grinning a little as you respond, “Nothing fatal, though. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything about anyone bringing a dead person back to life.” 

He booms a laugh. “Naturally! You are all Heroes! You should refrain from using lethal power whenever possible!” 

He speaks too soon. The first teams are called up, and the matchup is almost comical. 

Bakugou will be fine. You know this. You are not worried for him in the slightest⏤ not that you would, you tell yourself, a touch sardonically.

No. What you worry for is the state of your Quirkless friend, and you are right to worry. Bakugou seems almost angrier than you’ve ever seen him, and that’s saying a lot, considering how good you are⏤ how good you used to be, you correct yourself⏤ at getting on his nerves, though Midoriya seems to be holding up very well. 

Your friend has grown, you think. He is not at all the same person he was over a year ago in that classroom. 

But you are right to worry, because All Might is shouting into his microphone. “Young Bakugou, stop! Are you trying to kill him?” 

No, you think, immediately, instinctively. You know Bakugou is many things, but he is not that. Never that.

You feel the force of that explosion from here. “This is supposed to be a class!” One of your classmates, red-haired and red-eyed, is saying. “You have to stop him!” 

“He knows what he’s doing.” You find yourself saying. Somewhat cold, somewhat callous. There are eyes on you, surprised.

You shrug.

You don’t really know why you say it, either. 

“Young Bakugou, the next time you use that, I’ll stop the fight, and your team will lose. To attack on such a large scale inside is inviting the destruction of the very stronghold you are supposed to be protecting. That is a foolish plan for both heroes and villains, and you will lose a lot of points!” 

You don’t need to look at him to feel his teeth gnash in anger, but you still watch the screen, anyways. 

Their clash is violent. You remember saying, once, that you dislike violence because you are a healer. But that is not entirely true, you think: you see the passion in their every movement, even as your green-haired friend receives the brunt of the beating, the callous elegance of it. The careful calculations, the years of training that you have walked alongside most of to witness. 

“This looks bad!” One of the classmates from before seems to shout. “Sensei!” 

You don’t dislike violence just because you are a healer. What you have always disliked is the senseless brutality of it, the cruelty of its aftermath. Not because you have to deal with it, but because sometimes, you can’t. 

You look to All Might. He seems to be struggling with something. 

“So long as it is not fatal,” Your voice is soft, but no less firm. “I can heal it.” 

His mouth tightens, but you see his decision made in that moment. 

You turn your attention back to the screen just in time to see Midoriya’s Quirk. Your eyes widen. It’s so sudden, so powerful, that you almost miss it; the blast entirely different from Bakugou’s own. So he was not Quirkless after all, you think, but all thought of that vanishes when you see the aftermath. 

All Might is turning for you, but you are already running. 

You see the two you are unfamiliar with first. “How is she?” You ask the blue-haired boy who stands upright. 

“I’m fine!” She gasps out. “Just nauseous! But Deku⏤” 

You hear the nickname, and you think you look a little strangely at her for it. You don’t dwell on it very long, though, because you’re already slipping past. 

Then, you see him, and though your heart stutters a little in your chest⏤ ( your bag, empty of its sunflowers )⏤ you still look him in the eye. You are professional. “Are you hurt?” You ask, because he is standing there, still gaping, a little open-mouthed. 

He turns that look upon you, and his eyes widen. 

The eye contact feels slightly unsettling. You look away first. “Well. If you are, you can let me know.” 

You kneel at the green-haired boy’s side. 

A hand stops you, just as you reach out. They’re a little bit bigger than what you’re used to, a little bit more callused. “Wait,” He says, voice raspy, and you tense a little: both at the familiar and unfamiliar touch, and because it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. “You don’t have to⏤” He scowls, cursing. “Recovery Girl.”

You blink up at him, a little confused. 

But then you see his eyes dart towards your arm, and then the green-haired boy’s, lying prone on the ground. 

“I am a healer. It’s what I do.” 

“That’s not what I⏤” He curses again under his breath. “The damn nerd will be fine. Does he even know about your Quirk?” 

“Why would that even matter?” You are confused, and you shove his arm away. Your friend is still hurt, and he is keeping you from your job. Why do you even care? You want to say.

You bite your tongue, and think: heal. 

Midoriya blinks awake halfway through. Your arm is covered in purple contusions, and he gasps, jerking away. “You⏤ your arm!” 

They fade within seconds. You only reach again for it, feeling the crimson gaze burning into the side of your face, as you’re sure the rest of the class is too, from their camera screens hundreds of meters away. You stare straight ahead, and think, heal, even as your arm ripples in agony again, painted and purple. 

You steal your patient’s pain, and you feel all of it, but you don’t show a thing. Because you are a healer, and that’s what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are a healer, and that’s what you do, but the next day, Aizawa-sensei still admonishes you for it. 

“Your records are very impressive,” He tells you first, and you straighten. You figure: he is likely a man notorious for his lack of praise, so you might as well lap it up while you can. “However, just because you have a very high pain tolerance, does not mean you do not feel pain. Am I correct?” 

“Yes, sensei.” You dip your head. 

“The lot of you hear that, right?” He addresses the rest of the class. “She’s a healer, and she can heal almost anything, save those who are already dead. That’s very impressive, and it’s very rare. Don’t let her become your crutch. She will not always be there, and though she might say she doesn’t mind your burden, others will. Whether it’s yourself, your fellow Pro Heroes, or the civilians you are trying to save.” 

There is murmured assent from the class. 

He turns back to you. “Heroism is also about knowing when to step back and let others handle the situation. It is okay to share your burdens,” He tells you. 

You blink a little, surprised at the comments that are not really criticism at all. “I am a healer,” You state. “It’s what I do.” 

He sighs. “You’re just as stubborn as your mentor,” He says. 

You smile at this, chirping. “Thank you!”

“That was not a compliment.” 

You sink into your chair a little sheepishly, but it’s like a sun has been lit in your chest, because you take it as one anyways, and you are grinning. 

Lunchtime is a little strange today, for more reasons than one. Mina invites you again, but she doesn’t protest your decision, a knowing glint in her eye. But she doesn’t mention a thing, and you are grateful for it. 

Midoriya is sitting with the same people as yesterday, and he beams, delighted, as you slide into the seat beside him. Iida and Uraraka nod at you from across the table, and you nod back. 

Surprisingly, it’s the red-and-white haired boy across from you⏤ Todoroki, who breaks the silence. “My father says he would like to meet you.” 

You blink. That’s certainly not what you were expecting. “Endeavour, right?” 

He nods, his face deadpan. “Please decline.” 

You choke a little bit on the bite of food that has just entered your mouth. Midoriya slides you a napkin. 

You cough around it. “Wow, Todoroki-san. You really dislike me that much?” 

He shoots you a strange look. “Not at all. Why do you ask?” 

You’re a little confused. “Oh, that was a joke.”

“Apologies. I have never been very good with jokes.” 

“Nothing to apologize for, and I was planning on declining, anyways. I’m going to intern under Recovery Girl for the rest of my life!” 

“I will communicate that to him, then.” 

Midoriya coughs lightly from your other side. You elbow him. 

Uraraka giggles, but whatever she is going to say is cut off by the sound of the alarm. There has been a level three security breach, you hear. 

“Trespassing,” You hear someone clarify. 

You stare at the horde of gray-uniformed students crowding the hallway. You have never been a huge fan of crowds, especially ones as tightly-packed as this. Besides, you think, a touch dryly, that if there were an intruder, walking headfirst into a mosh pit like this would probably be the best way to get yourself caught up in a mass murder. 

But you don’t get to voice any of these concerns, because then Uraraka is tugging at your wrist. “If we don’t get ourselves in there now, we’re never going to get our way out! Come on!” 

You fall, weightless, and are carried away upon the sea.

It’s horrible. Internally, you curse the girl, and almost don’t even feel bad about it because yes, she’s like the sweetest person you’ve ever known, but she’s also reason you’re in the midst of a thousand wayward bodies right now, wrinkling your nose at the reek, and practically fighting for your life to keep your head above the throng. You are a healer, you think, a little despairingly, as you elbow someone so harshly that your own limb twinges. You are fighting a desperate battle, but nonetheless a losing one⏤ at least you are, until hands lift you by the waist and carry you forth; your savior cutting his way through the crowd with ease.

Your back hits the wall, and gratitude is on the tip of your tongue as you look up, but then you see him: ash-blond, and glaring at you with crimson eyes. “The hell were you thinking?” He hisses. “You don’t even like crowds.” 

You hate the familiarity in the way he says it, as if he still knows you, and you hate the way he cages you in against the wall, his body larger than you have known, but how it still feels the same, pressed up against yours.

( You think of your sunflowers, how your bag feels strangely empty without them. )

It is the nearest he has been to you in well over a year. You hate the way he smells, like burnt caramel, and you hate the way your cheeks warm. 

You want to say: neither do you, and you want to ask him why he even bothered to try and save you. You know he doesn't like you, not even in the slightest, not this liar who has wormed their way into his world; this liar that he tolerates. You think of a thousand witty remarks, ones that used to make his eyes light, the curl of his scowl somewhat harsh, but no less familiar, of giving voice to your outrage, to your feelings, and simply storming past. 

You choose none of the above. 

You still your features, the picture of calm, set the steel of your shoulders, and stare straight at a point above his shoulder. “Why do you even care?” 

You do not look at him, so you don’t see the way he recoils, ever-slightly. The expression he levels you, half-bewildered, half-disbelieving, the rest a complicated mix of emotions even he could not decipher himself.

You don't see the way he opens his mouth, because then Iida is there and shouting. 

You see your chance, and you don’t wait for his answer. You weren’t expecting one, anyways. 

He doesn’t even have the time to reach for you, before you slip past, and are gone. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You stand before the mouth of USJ, your heart in your throat. 

You barely notice the weight of the device upon your wrist; a monitor that connects you to all the ones distributed amongst the class, because there are villains down there, you think, a little dumbfoundedly. Real villains, like the type you see in movies, and you feel almost ridiculous, out of place, as if someone will smack you upside the head and tell you: wake up! and that you are not in a story. And you are not, because you pinch yourself, and yes, this is real life. 

You have never seen a villain yourself before, because you are a healer, and have only ever dealt with the aftermath of what they have done. You know the damage, the pain, the torture it can inflict upon a soul; the way sometimes, no one can ever fully heal them afterwards, not even you. So though you are a little wide-eyed, your thoughts blank, when the mist wraps around you, you don’t even think. 

You lunge. 

Crimson eyes widen, and he catches you, just one second before you fall into darkness as one. 

You try not to think about the way his body feels against yours, how he is cradling you, the way his hand automatically wraps around the back of your head. You feel the impact in your bones, though he bears the brunt of it. Automatically, you reach up, and think, heal, but you don’t have the time to do much else, because then his eyes widen, and he’s shoving you away. 

“STAY THERE!” Distantly, you think he is roaring at you, and another time, you might have protested that you could defend yourself. But the shock of it all is still settling in⏤ ( these are real villains, you think dazedly, and this is real life )⏤ and you are a healer, right now, you are nothing more than a civilian. 

In the aftermath, you still stand, dazed. Bakugou and another red-haired guy from your class are panting, smoke curling from your familiar ash-blond’s figure, and you register, like the world is separated from you by a film: it’s over. 

“Oi.” There are palms cupping your face, and you blink a little, startled, as crimson eyes boring into yours. “You hurt anywhere?” 

No, you think, a little too stunned to speak; the harshness of his tone at odds with the gentle manner of his touch. But then you see a hint of blood trickling down the side of his cheek.

As if on instinct, you reach out for him. He jerks away.

Wow, you think, the lump rising to your throat instantly. You had not known he hated you this much, to the point that he is unwilling of even your touch. 

“I am a healer,” You say, your throat somewhat tight. ( You think of sunflowers, your bag that is empty, your closet and its piled-up yellow. ) “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.” 

You sense that he is watching you carefully, but your eyes do not rise to meet his gaze. You simply steal his pain, and you barely feel a thing⏤ even if his injuries were not so light, you think you are too numb to, anyways. 

You move past, and he does not reach for you. The red-haired classmate⏤ Kirishima, you recognize, grins at you, saying that he is unharmed. He offers to escort you back to the front, but then, your wristband is beeping, a location upon it.

You straighten. You are still afraid, you recognize, but there is someone out there that needs help, and this is simply another obstacle you must overcome. You will not always be in your hospital, tending to those that manage to get themselves wheeled in⏤ and though there is fear in you, there is also an equal determination. 

“There are people who need healing,” You say, and that is all you need to. 

You are a healer, but that does not mean you are any less brave.

You are a healer, and this is what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You ask Aizawa, two days later, if he would be willing to teach you self defense. 

( You remember a boy, back from what feels like eons ago. You, on his back, the sun in your chest as he offers to walk you both to and from school. You don’t even know where I’m going, you tease, and he only scoffs at you. Then I’ll teach you how to fight.

You think of your sunflowers, and your bag, empty of them.

Your throat tightens, and you make your decision. )

He looks a little surprised, and asks you if you are sure. He warns you that he will not be a lenient teacher, but you have seen how this man dove headfirst into danger to save his students; seen his kindnesses that are masked in the form of tough love. 

You also know he likes you, at least a little bit. If he hadn’t, he would not have complimented you like that on the third day, would not have had the hint of fondness in his tone as he drawled, that wasn’t a compliment. 

And even if he doesn’t, you know he will be at least a little lenient. 

You had been the one to heal him, after all. 

You are wrong.

You hate running. Always have. You started training, years ago, but that had been entirely out of spite, and in the wake of it⏤ ( your bag, empty of sunflowers )⏤ you had stopped. You hate running, always have, and you have no time, you’d told yourself, nor the energy⏤ but really, you hate it because it reminds you of him.

Now, you hate it for a different reason. You hate it because Aizawa pushes you, hard, until your lungs are gasping for air, your knees and legs trembling⏤ you think, somewhat sourly, that none of your healings had ever prepared you for this. You have healed all manner of wounds, cured a variety of diseases, but that does not change the fact even back when you were running, you had not put everything you had into it, and that now, you are trembling, bones soft, muscles even more so, somewhat like a deer.

You heal fast, though, you always have. You would not have been able to heal without it⏤ Aizawa knows this, which is why he pushes you hard. “If you hadn’t been so dedicated to medicine,” He tells you, “I would’ve told you to go the Hero route instead.” 

You shrug. The thought has never occurred to you. Your mother is a doctor, and as soon as your Quirk had developed, you had never thought about anything else. But you don’t get a chance to voice it, or even to thank him, because then he’s hauling you up by the arm.

“Break’s over,” He informs you, a signature shit-eating grin on his face. You think you’re beginning to hate the sight of it. “Back to running.” 

You sigh, before dutifully acquiescing. 

Schoolwork is easier, at least, though between your sparse shifts at the hospital and Aizawa’s daily after-school training, you are pretty much spent. You don’t even register Mina chatting excitedly beside you about the upcoming UA sports festival that Aizawa has just announced⏤ you only think, a little despairingly; more work. 

You glance up at your pink-haired friend’s surprised exclamation, and you see: a crowd of people, so many that from your vantage point, it seems like it’s the intruder incident all over again. A scoff, vaguely familiar⏤ “They’re obviously scoping out the competition, small fries. We’re the group that made it out of the villain attack.” Someone protests, telling him to play nice⏤ no, you think. This is him being nice. “Out of my way, extras!” 

“I came to see what the famous Class 1-A is like, but you all seem pretty arrogant. Are all the students in the Hero courses like this?” 

You see: a head of purple hair, mussed, and you think⏤ wow, he could be Aizawa if your sensei’s hair was shorter, purple, and he were using his Quirk. 

“Seeing something like this makes me disillusioned. There are quite a few people who enrolled in general studies or other courses because they didn’t make it into the Hero course. Did you know that?” 

You didn’t, but he only continues. 

“The school has left those of us a chance. And based on the results of the sports festival, they’ll consider our transfer into the Hero course, and vice versa. Scoping out the competition?” He scoffs. “I, at least, came to say that even if you’re in the Hero course, if you get too carried away, I’ll sweep your feet out from under you.” His eyes flash, chin raised high. “Consider it a declaration of war.”

You sigh a little internally at the theatrics. “Excuse me, coming through.” You call. You ignore the way the ash-blond tenses a little as you walk up beside him, and you smile politely at the crowd; your uniform your armor, and your makeup your helm. You can do damage control just fine. “I’m class 1-A’s healer, so I don’t have a bone to pick with you really, but,” You cock your head. “All we did was fight off and survive a villain attack. I’m not sure how that’s arrogance. Have any of us gone out of our way to bother you?” 

You are sure your classmates haven’t, because though you have not known them long, you are observant enough to tell that they are good and entirely dedicated to the path of Heroism. And you are right: he is wordless in the face of your diplomatic tone, the maturity of it all. 

But then⏤ a laugh, somewhat mocking. You think you recognize the voice, and you do: it’s class 1-B’s understudy, standing in the middle of the crowd. You have not talked to her much, thinking her quiet, but it seems that really, she just dislikes you. 

“That’s so rich of you to say,” She says, with a scoff. “Sucking up to Recovery Girl all the time, parading around like you own the place, all because you went viral and people started calling you The Best Healer of our Generation.” 

You blink⏤ you remember Sueko mentioning it once, you think, after one of your co-workers, one of the older interns had started making videos of you, with your consent. You had not put much thought behind it, and you hadn’t the time to, between your many hours and the boneless weariness that had been so constant in your life after.

“Get off your high horse,” She snarls, a vehement finality to it, as she scans you, up, and then down. 

You don’t know what to say, because honestly, you had never thought of yourself that way; had not thought of any others thinking of you that way. There are cries of outrage from behind you, you hear, distantly, as if you are underwater, but you are still stuck on the way she scans you. As if you are less than what you are, reduced to the painted trim of your nails, the makeup on your face, less than what you are and undeserving. As if it does not matter that you go to the hospital more often than not, your features clear, your hair pulled up, and lose yourself in your work; the agony of your patients, healing them and then some more until your bones ache with the ghost of their pain and you drop dead to your pillow, your phone turned off. 

You are silent not because you are hurt, exactly⏤ you do not know this girl, and she does not know you⏤ but because you are so stunned. You don’t know what to say, because you have never thought yourself reduced to just this, less than what you are and undeserving. Distantly, you hear the cries of outrage, you feel yourself, adrift amidst an ocean, your hands clenching. You don’t know how to start, or what to even say.

But he does. 

“She doesn’t use social media,” He starts, and yes, you don’t, but how does he know? “It obviously wasn’t even her recording the videos, you fuckwit, and it says in the account biography that it’s owned and run by a friend.” 

You are staring at him, your heart held like hope in your throat. ( You think of your sunflowers. ) You don’t understand why he is saying this, why he is stepping in for you. ( You remember making fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You remember finding that you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He never calls himself your friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )

He does not look at you, nor does he pause, and though there is anger in his voice, you think he is holding himself back. “High horse?” He laughs sardonically. “Get off yours. She’s already ten times the healer, hell, the Hero, you’ll ever be.” 

( He doesn’t call himself your friend, but he still stands up for you. )

You don’t know what sort of expression you’re making, but it has to be ugly, something complicated, not exactly bewilderment nor gratitude or simply hope but some combination of them all; like something in between. 

“And what would you know? What are you, her guard dog?” She snarks back. 

And finally, you find your voice. 

“He does what he likes.” 

You are still watching him, and you see the way his hands clench, and then unclench. 

( You think very briefly of your sunflowers, and you think that you will always miss them. You can heal any wound on this earth, save the fatal ones, but you cannot heal the hole he has carved into your heart; not the one from this boy who knows you, every facet, both the good and the bad. You have never needed to hide the unsavory parts of yourself from him; after all, your very relationship was built upon a lie. You think a part of you has always loved him for it, will always love him for it⏤ this boy who is not your friend, has never been your friend, but still knows you, stands up for you, and believes in you, in all of you. And, you think, even if he does not care for you, there will always be a part of you that always cares for him. )

You turn to level her with a cool stare. 

“He’s right,” You say. “I don’t use social media, and before you call me a liar, just listen.” You add, as her mouth opens. 

( Your mother is a doctor, and when your Quirk develops, you know you want to go the same route. You have never even considered anything else; never even thought of being a Hero, until your sensei tells you that he might’ve pushed you for it, had you not already been so dedicated to the path.

And you will not pretend like you have been good every step of the way⏤ you are not that much of a good person. Your mother tells you to play nice, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. You are not that much of a good person, you have never particularly cared to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are grown now, better now, you know, but some elements of you still remain. You still wear your outfits like your armor, though it is not your hair but your makeup that is now your helm, you take time with your appearance and you take care of it every morning. Your volunteering at the hospital was not born entirely out of unselfish intention⏤ firstly because your mother said it was what you should do, and second because you thought the experience would look good, especially since you were applying to UA. But⏤ )

“I don’t know why you applied to UA, but I know why I did.” You say, simply. “It was because I wanted to become a healer, and this is one of the best places in the world to do it.” You straighten, jerking a finger at the ash-blond beside you. “We all went through the same application process. Take him, for example. He’s arrogant, he’s loud, and he always gets on your nerves. But that doesn’t make him any less passionate, or any less of a Hero. It doesn’t matter, because if you’re determined enough, strong enough, you’ll eventually rise to the top.”

You are the center of attention, but you have never been so aware of a singular set of eyes, burning straight into you.

You continue. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want to be, but that goes for the rest of you, too.” You jerk your thumb back to your classroom. “There’s a green-haired boy in there that everyone thought was Quirkless, including himself. But he had a dream that he dared to try for, and look where he is now.” 

You look at your fellow intern, the class 1-B one. 

“I don’t use social media for a variety of reasons, haven’t for a long while, and I won’t pretend like all of them were good. But ever since I started volunteering at the hospital, whenever I think about it, I think: every second I spend scrolling the internet could be another life lost. Someone I didn’t save, something I didn’t learn that could’ve helped someone in the future.” Your shoulders are set, and you lift your chin high. “You can think I’m a liar all you want, but I would hope, as a healer, you would be at least able to understand this.” 

She is mute, and you look at the rest of the crowd, wearing your outfit like armor, your makeup, your helm. 

You raise one eyebrow. “Anything else?” 

Silence is your only answer, and you shrug.

“See you around, I guess.”

The crowd parts mutely before you, but then your wrist is clasped in a hand⏤ you think, very briefly, of sunflowers, but then you turn, and it is Mina grinning up at you, several others from your class in tow. “You’re so fucking cool,” She tells you, bright and genuine. 

You are not that much of a good person, never have been, and, you think, you are not entirely sure if you ever will be. You will never be entirely unselfish, free of your precociousness, your pettiness, your occasional lying habits, and all the other thousand-and-one flaws you could find in yourself, if you really tried. 

But you are growing. You are the same you that you were before, and you are also different. 

You grin at her. “I know I am,” You say. 

You are not that much of a good person, but you are growing, just as much the person you were before, as you are someone new.

You are a healer, you are yourself; this is who you are, and this is what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

His mother calls him out on his sulking, barely a week in.

“Did something happen between the two of you?” She frowns, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest.

“S’fine,” He snarls. “Keep your damn nose out of my business, old hag.” 

For once, his mother does not take him up on the challenge⏤ he almost wishes she would. He’s been itching for a fight, to get it out of his system somehow, but she’s always been able to read him⏤ just like you.

Mitsuki waves the phone in her hand. “Her father said she won’t be joining us for weekly dinners anymore⏤ she’s started volunteering at the hospital, and just won’t have time.” She states, plainly, and without judgment. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, or if you’re still friends, but you were probably a little shit like usual, so get off your ass and go apologize.” 

Apologize. That damned word. He hates it. And he’s considered it, but then he remembers: you, your face, the way it had crumpled, and then the way you’d sneered, don’t talk to me again.

He has always been able to tell your lies from your truths, and it stunned him in the moment, because it had not seemed like so much of a lie. 

And it’s not. He sees the truth of it, a week later, when you skip out on your weekly dinners, accept your volunteer position, and cut the whole of him from your life, just like that. He sees the truth of it, on the first day of school, as he waits by your intersection and is almost late because you aren’t there, as he scans his class for your face and finds you absent, when you pass him in the halls and don’t even bother to look up. He sees the truth of it two months later, when that damned nerd stands at your table, a tray in his hands, and you allow him to sit. His heart is in his throat, clenching around something painful, there is smoke rising from his hands⏤ Deku looks up instinctively, flinching, and you do not even bother to turn. 

( You and your sunflowers, the way you smile like the sun when you find out he is allergic, and go out of your way to plaster sunflower-themed things all over yourself, and he’s not quite sure if they are your favorite flower, or you do it just because you hate him. But then he gets to know you, slowly and over the years, a thousand-and-one forced interactions until he finds, one day, that he is not reacting so sharply to your barbs, uncaring that you flop onto his bed and muss up the sheets, unminding of your chatter, your studious, stupidly competitive nature, the way your eyebrows knit a little when you focus on a more difficult concept, or how you’re grinning as you annoy him, rambling about anything and everything; your fictional crushes.

You say you want to be a healer, and the first thing he thinks is: that’s stupid, why not a Hero?⏤ but your eyes are determined as you say it, there is a fire in them, and he sees that bleed into the way you do things; the way you act. You never call him your friend⏤ you have, once, very clearly a lie⏤ but he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, promises to walk you to and from school, even if he does not know which one you might go to, promises to teach you how to fight. It’s stupid, he knows it is, the way he tenses when you joke that you want him to kiss you so bad because he’s imagining it. And then the guilt after, when you press your cheek softly into the curve of his nape, feeling the dried-out tracks of your tears, the way you shudder as you steal his pain⏤ barely-there, but he feels it, anyway. )

He looks at you, properly, fork crumpling in his hand. “Yo. You’re staring.” One of his friends nudges him, gently, and he forces himself to look away. 

( You, the sunflowers you bedazzle yourself in, your bag absent of them, and the way you never wear anything yellow ever again. )

He’s angry at you, at first. It’s unfair, he thinks, the way you seem to carve him completely out of your life, with all the practiced precision of a surgeon, that he spends almost all his time thinking about you, and that you do not do the same for him. You don’t want to talk to him, you’ve made that abundantly clear, and that’s fine⏤ he has his pride, and he is not going to beg you to stay. Not when you chose the nerd over him. 

But then you stand in the doorway. You look like you did the first day, clear-eyed, but older. Your eyes widen when they catch sight of him, ever-slight, but he’s never missed a single expression on your face, and he does not miss it now. All of a sudden, he wants to talk to you so badly that it hurts⏤ he sees the bags under your eyes and wants to tell you to sleep, the bone-weariness with which you carry yourself, your step absent of skip. 

But then, your gaze drops. He sees your bag, absent of its sunflowers. 

He feels as if his gut were a stone, heavy and damning. 

He remembers: you have never once thought of him as a friend, and he will not beg you to. He will respect your space, your wishes. 

And yet. You stand by the entrance, the day of that first class, fierce and silhouetted by the sun. Are you hurt? You ask him, and it feels as if he were floating, stuck in a dream.

He takes too long to respond, and you give him a once-over, clearly discerning he is fine. You kneel by the damn nerd’s side, and he feels the absence of your attention like a physical thing, but even that is secondary to the horror he feels when you reach the other boy; his arm painfully bruised and almost a terror to look at. 

He wants to say: you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to hurt yourself. There are other healers in the building, and don’t you have a mentor? You raved about Recovery Girl all the time, there’s no reason you should be taking his pain for yourself. And the nerd will be fine⏤ anger clenches at him, then, because if the nerd knows about your Quirk and still allows you to hurt yourself for him⏤ “Why does that even matter?” You ask him, and he hears the ghost of what you don’t say: why do you even care?

He does. Of course he does. He always has, even when you giggle to yourself about something so blatantly stupid, even when you are an entire pain in his ass. 

But then he thinks of you, your bag empty of sunflowers, the way you have not worn yellow since. 

His arm drops back to his side, and he says nothing more to you, just as you’d like. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You have always disliked crowds, but so has he. 

He is watching you when it happens, sees you lingering hesitantly by the exit. You’ll be smart about it, he’s sure⏤ he’s hotheaded, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid or blind. But then⏤ brown-haired cheeks tugs you by the wrist, forcing you into the throng, and he thinks: what the fuck? 

He knows it’s stupid, and that you won’t thank him for it, but he dives after you, anyway. 

He forces his way towards you, watching as you elbow someone particularly hard with a surge of pride, before he’s holding you and marching away, towards the wall, towards free space, trying not to think about how you feel in his arms, how you feel with the whole of you pressed against him. He needs to say something, anything to distract himself, so what he says is: “What the hell were you thinking? You don’t even like crowds.” 

Your cheeks are a little flushed, and you are staring at him. He feels his own warm in turn, and he feels like a kid again, heart like a sun in his chest. 

Your features still. Your mouth flattens, and you are cold as you say what you did not only a day before. “Why do you even care?” You ask.

He does. Of course he does. 

But you do not ask this question in hopes of an answer. Your gaze slides past, and then you go with it, refusing to give him even the time to reach for you. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

When the mist envelops him, the first thing he turns towards is you. 

His eyes widen⏤ you are already in the air, lunging at him, and he barely has the mind, the presence of thought to catch you. You fall as one, and his gut lurches⏤ he wraps himself around you, shielding your vitals, your head from harm, and gladly takes the brunt of the impact. He has all of a second to check up on you, to feel you pressed against him, know that you are safe, before he catches sight of more villains behind. “STAY THERE.” He shoves you into a corner, setting his back to you⏤ and when they are done, you have not moved an inch.

He sees the daze of your eyes, the shock, and cups your cheeks anyways, trying to ground you. “Oi,” He says, harsh, but also soft. “You hurt anywhere?” 

You blink up at him, and then at the red he barely feels sliding down the side of his cheek. 

He jerks away. He doesn’t want you to touch him, not to heal him⏤ he’s strong, he’s fine, he can deal with it, he doesn’t need you to steal his pain. Not when it’ll hurt you. 

“I am a healer,” You say, and his heart clenches again at the sound of your voice, and again when you tell him: “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.” 

He hears the steel in your voice, lets you touch him.

He would give anything to curl into your touch, even if for the rest of your life, your relationship is just like this: he, the dog, and your favors, the bone. He wants it, so long as you will keep on touching him like this, and yet he also doesn’t want it, because he cannot bear to be the one causing you such pain. 

He is angry beyond words when the extra starts laying into you like she does, and you simply stand there, bearing the brunt of it all. 

He’s watched the videos, seen every single one. Seen how hard you work inside of them⏤ the comments talk about how beautiful you are, but all he can think of is the tired pallor of your face⏤ but what’s more is that he knows how hard you work outside, too, and who is this girl to even talk about you like that, when she doesn’t know what it’s like to take the pain of another, and make it into your own? His tone of delivery is quiet, no less than lethal, and he speaks with every ounce of pride he has in you and the person that you are. 

You are watching him, he thinks, and he thinks, somewhat dizzily, that this is it. You’ll chew him out in front of the crowd, call him out on his bullshit, tell him to stop speaking about you, speaking for you, that you hate him, that he’s stupid, anything and everything of the above. 

But you do not.

You only rise, and he thinks that you are not at all the girl he has known before. Some parts of you are the same, entirely unchanged, but you have grown⏤ so much that it takes his breath away. You have always been coolly elegant in your deliveries when you mean it, but this⏤

He thinks: it is okay if you never want to talk to him, if you don’t care one bit. It is okay if you choose never to wear yellow again, your bag remaining empty of its sunflowers, it is okay if you carve him entirely from your life. 

He will respect your wishes, and watch from the sidelines, basking in the radiance of you: the healer, the girl, and simply everything that you are. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You should not be here. 

You feel terribly out of place in this darkened room, with a crowd of familiar villains before you, disoriented and groggy. 

If it were not for the ash-blond by your side, you think you might’ve started hyperventilating. You are quiet as you wake. You notice: his hands are bound, but yours are not⏤ they know you are a healer, you think, and they do not fear you. 

You feel, rather than see, crimson eyes slide to yours. You blink up at him. 

And then, his eyes flicker up.

You see the resolve set firmly onto his face. You know him, likely more than he does himself, which is why you know what he will say. 

He says: “I’ll listen. I’ll consider working with you, so long as you make sure to leave her out of it.” 

No. The word clangs into you with a force, a viciousness. You jolt upwards, so fast your head spins⏤ no. You know he won’t. He is a Hero to the core, and you know this, because you have decided early on that you will remain a step behind him always, even if he does not care at all for you, there and ready to steal away your pain. You have decided: you will see him live out all of his days, full of glory and entirely unscathed, victorious, and you will not watch him burn his life away like this, tucked away in a corner of this world, quietly and without a sound. 

He lies to protect you, and you decide there and then that it isn’t worth it. You know him, have spent a thousand and one days getting to know him, just as you know that his bluff will be called before long, because though Bakugou Katsuki is many things, you have always known him to be a terrible liar. 

You aren’t, though.

You straighten, and rasp. “No, he won’t.” 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He watches you straighten, watches you drawl, and he feels a terror like ice creeping up to his throat.

Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, soft and lovely under the candlelight, but then⏤ “Katsuki’s going to be a Hero,” You tell them, and his heart stutters because when was the last time you actually called him by his name? 

“Shut the fuck up,” He tells you.

You ignore him.

“Trust me when I say, this guy’s like, the biggest All Might fan you’ll ever see. Well, actually, maybe not the biggest⏤ Midoriya’s collection is insanely impressive, but you get the point. Did you really see his actions at the Sports Festival and think that was your opening?” 

You stand, a smirk on your face, and he wants to tell you to shut the hell up again, to just stop talking, but⏤ you turn, you flash him a grin, and it’s like he’s six again and seeing you for the first time. You see him, in a way no one else ever has, in a way that assuages all the criticism he’s seen since, narrowing his world down to these things: you, and your unwavering confidence in him. Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, you are scared and terrified and pretty much everything in between, but he hears your words, hears your truth.

“Newsflash, losers. He’s wanted to be a Hero ever since he was a kid, and nothing’s ever going to change that.” 

His heart swells so tight he thinks it’s going to burst. You, in this moment, like you still care, that he’s not alone in this, and that he cares for you more than anything else in the world, loves you more than you will ever know. 

You do not need to say anything else, because there is a knock on the door⏤ pizza delivery, someone calls, and then the door opens; All Might in the flesh. The heroes⏤ and then you are scrambling for him, your fingers fumbling with the knots, but he simply jerks his hands apart, tearing the fabric, and reaches for yours. 

You still a little, surprised, flinching back a bit, but his heart is singing⏤ you care, he thinks, somewhat dumbly, like a mantra bouncing around inside his head. He barely registers the rest of it⏤ he emerges by the ruins of a building, your hand still in his, piloting the both of you around the villains who try to keep you. Shitty Hair, calling down at him from the fucking sky⏤ what the fuck? but then he’s calling for you, and then there is you: looping your arms around his neck, knowing, instinctively, what he means.

His chest warms like the sun, ethereal and glorious. 

You blast together into the night. His hand lands upon another one, similarly callused, and then he’s curling his other around you, latching you to him. Your head is settled in the crook of his neck, and you don’t protest it in the slightest, only untangling yourself once you land.

You don’t reach for his hand once you do, but that’s okay. His heart is singing. 

He snarls at the others in his usual manner, and you assert yourself with your own. He follows you as you walk, a step behind. The others leave you at the police station, their own parents plenty concerned, and he doesn’t mind it in the slightest⏤ he gets to walk you home, after all. 

You are silent as he does. He walks a step behind, and does not prod you. 

You stop. He does, too. Your hands ball up into fists. He watches, waiting. 

Finally, you whisper. “Why the hell’d you do it?” 

That is not at all what he’s expecting you to say.

“Hah?” He’s never been good with his words, always more combative than means. Particularly with you. Especially with you. “Cause I wanted to, dumbass. The hell do you want me to say?” 

You whip around and slug him instantly, punching him square in the gut. 

He barely bends from the force of it. You clutch your fist, teary and glaring. 

“Fuck you,” You hiss. “Fuck you, Katsuki. You don’t just get to pretend like you care when you want to, whenever it suits you! You don’t get to⏤” 

He’s stunned into silence. He’s the one that’s pretending like he cares about you?

Your mouth opens and closes, so angry that you cannot quite find the words. “You don’t get to just fucking try and sacrifice yourself for me! What the fuck!” 

He steps closer, disbelief lighting a second sun in his chest.

You lash out. “Stay away from me!” 

He catches it in his hand, and you try to fucking headbutt him. He dodges that, too, and then he’s pulling you into him, as tight as his heart feels.

You stiffen. Frankly, he doesn’t give a shit, not when he’s figured out how you really feel. 

“I’m sorry,” He rasps into your ear. “I care for you. I’ve liked you since we were fucking six, and you shoved your stupid fucking sunflowers in my face. I was angry. I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll have me.” 

You do not move. Do not breathe, and for all of a second, he thinks: this is it. 

And then, you crumple. 

He can count the number of times he’s seen you cry on one hand, but you weep into his shoulder now, a year’s worth of repressed emotions wrung out of you in an instant. You melt into him so perfectly he feels as if he was made for you, the weight of you so perfect and familiar in his arms. “You’re so fucking stupid,” He thinks you are saying though it’s somewhat unintelligible, between your sobs and the way your voice is muffled from being pressed into his chest. 

He chuffs in your ear. “Feel free to add blind and ugly to the list, if you’d like.” 

You laugh, broken and teary, but then your arms rise, and you are wrapping them around him.

He thinks: it’s okay if the world ends right then and there, so long as he gets to hold you; just like this; just then and there; just for a moment longer. 

( He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How your face had lit up in absolute delight at the sound of his first sneeze, and how you’d stepped forward to thrust it further into his face, a wicked grin on yours all the while. How you lie your way into weekly dinners, and he’s furious, swearing he won’t talk to his parents for the whole of a month⏤ but then you’re there, in his room and making fun of his figurines.

You say, somewhat disinterestedly, that you think you remember a new All Might one on the market. He caves, and his vow lasts only a week. 

He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How he had always hated the sight of them before you; a young god faced with his one mortal weakness, but as time went on, he learned how he did not quite mind the look of them on you. He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile; soft and lovely under the candlelight, scared and shaking and terrified but still believing wholly in him, just as he does you. 

He thinks he has loved you since forever. )

Absent-mindedly, he presses his mouth to your hair.

And in the light of the dawn, pink-streaked and painting you awash in sunflower yellow, you look up at him, and smile. 

bc i need to rant about this fic: afterword

[pumpkin-cake]

begging for ANYTHING fix it related for the most recent season !!!

five x reader and they are married?? it would be nice if the reader had a more relaxed job in comparison to five in the CIA (the reader used to also work for the commission but wanted a calm life)

like maybe working in a daycare or flower shop?

i’m honestly begging for anything sweet please if you’ve got the time !

THIS HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD. YES, I WILL WRITE THIS FOR YOU <3 I ALSO HATE THE WAY THEY CHARACTERIZED FIVE IN THE NEW SEASON. This will be very domestic :3 And it's been a while since I've written Five, I hope he's not too out of character, let me know if you have any pointers :3

The door to your apartment creaks open and heavy footsteps enter, the jangling sounds of house keys hitting the ceramic bowl reaching your ears with a sigh following.

"Good evening, Jerome." You coo.

"I did not pick that name, quit calling me it." Five huffs as he shrugs off his suit jacket, entering the living room. He looked tired, but he was okay with that. He didn't want to settle for some repetitive job he'd be bored as hell at. Even if they gave him stupid aliases like Jerome.

"You could have at least asked. That's embarrassing, telling people your name is Jerome. What about...Ethan? Or even something that's close to Five. Like, Finn, or something." You answered with a chuckle, while Five crumpled on the couch next to you.

"There isn't any point. It's not like you need to go around calling me that name." He said, taking off his tie and laying it across the arm of the sofa. "Anyway, how was work?" He asked, taking off his brown Oxfords and laying them nearby but out of the main walkway. He reached over to the stack of papers on the coffee table and looked at the first page. "Jesus, this is the sloppiest handwriting I've ever seen."

"Ah yes, because children who still have shitty motor skills are going to be writing in perfect print. That's why they only have to write their names, not write full-fledged essays." You said sarcastically, plucking the piece of paper from his hands. You looked over the assignment your kindergarteners were given. The instructions were to count the different types of bugs on the paper. There were no more than 9 of each bug. 4 butterflies, 7 caterpillars, 1 beetle, 8 spiders.

"I was never that dumb." Five said a little snarkily, pointing to the answer spot that said there were only 5 caterpillars.

"Don't be such a prick." You huffed, getting out a blue pen. You didn't like to use red, too harsh. You circled each answer wrong, not making any corrections.

"How are you even meant to teach them this? It's basic counting." Five asked, sort of actually curious.

"We'll just go over it in class tomorrow. Everyone will count together."

"Then what's the point of the homework?"

You groaned. "We are not having this conversation anymore, old man." You pulled out a pack of stickers, putting one on each sheet of paper.

"You're just as old." He countered with a smirk, leaving you to roll your eyes and continue 'grading' the papers. He did shut up and drop the subject, letting his hand stray to your hand that wasn't busy grading papers. He wasn't ever one for physical affection in the past, but ever since getting to this place? He was more lenient. He was never hanging off of you, but his touches were gentler. Each contact of skin was a small way of saying 'I love you', because it was hard to say it out loud after years of isolation.

The biggest way of him saying he loved you was twisting the ring that nicely fit on your finger like he was doing right now. Like he was making sure you were aware of its presence and meaning.

You finished the papers in less than five minutes. You did not envy the fourth-grade teachers who had actual homework to grade. "Your dinner is in the fridge." You told him, taking his other hand and playing with the black band that adorned his ring finger.

"Not hungry." He said shortly, like he was offended you'd ever assume he wanted to do something aside from this. He wouldn't ever say that out loud, of course.

"It's sushi. Made by yours truly." You added, holding back a chuckle when he sucked in a deep breath, very torn between the options. It was weird, able to sit and think about something. He wasn't rushing home to eat and go to bed, he got to do domestic shit with you and fuck did he love it.

"..." Five stayed silent like a brooding teenager.

"I'll come with you." You reasoned, and he reluctantly sat up. You smiled and got up with him, the two of you traversing to the kitchen. He opened the door to the fridge and grabbed the small Tupperware of delicious looking sushi. You were not a fan of Commission cafeteria food, and you took pride in buying the best ingredients for you and your spouse. You were already grabbing him a pair of chopsticks, sitting with him at the kitchen island.

"...thanks." He said after eating a roll. He was stubborn, but he really did appreciate you taking the time to make more for him when he got home late. It was so nice to come home to a homemade meal. It reminded him of Grace.

"Of course, honey." You smiled, sitting in silence while he ate. He savored every moment. After being in the apocalypse for forty years, he really grew to appreciate the things he didn't have. He swore he would never take this life for granted.

He never questioned why, because the whole reason was sitting right next to him.

[anadiasmount]

night in - jb blurb.

warm bubble feeling burns your chest as you feel jude place a kiss on your temple, sitting right next to you on the floor, placing your hot drink next to his. “you’re having way to much fun on this,” he teased, resting his chin on your shoulder, while looking at you intently as you finished the second bag of the moana’s flowerpot legos.

“i fear i’m having way too much fun,” you joke back, clicking and connecting the small lego. “you realize these are made for nine year olds right?” he pushed further, helping you separate the legos in piles so you could find the legos easier. “so? i don’t complain when you play fifa at your grown age? screaming like a little girl when you unpack a player?” you defend watching jude open his mouth in shock, a glimmer of surprise in his eyes.

“i’m glad we stayed in. i haven’t seen you much lately and i didn’t want to have just dinner and the call if a night. i love these little moments with you, d’you know? our playlist playing in the back, some baking, maybe cooking? but definitely how i have you all to myself…” jude says, his hand running up and down your spine, making you spin and face him directly where you brush a tamed curl back to already done hair.

“sounds like you just want to keep me for yourself?” you say watching how jude is ready to explain and yap but you cut him off quickly. “i’m kidding. i love staying in dates. especially around this time of your when your season is beginning to get hectic. believe it or not these dates have so much more meanings to when we’re out. i get to see a side of you only i can experience and see, and im so incredibly grateful for that. for you,” you smile leaning into his side where jude shyly looks down.

“don’t get shy with me mister.”

“oh like how you get shy after we-”

“okay so that’s like completely different?” you laugh dismissing the idea that was brewing in his head. “also i get to play house when i’m here. look at this place! the kitchen? the pool? the garden? the garden is my favorite we’ve grown so much in just under a year!” you say excitedly, giving up on the lego set, as now all you wanted was to be next with jude. to feel his safe embrace, his scent, to feel the comfort only he can give.

“those damn bunnies ruined it at first, i swear i was going to insane. i just know they were doing it on purpose after one stared me down as it ate the cherry tomatoes!” jude reclaimed, leaning back against the couch, bringing you to his lap where he traced your bracelet and the tiny tattoo on your thigh. the one of many you had, but this one was jude’s favorite. you didn’t have to tell him, but he could tell it was meant for him.

“to be fair you tormented that poor thing,” you recalled, thinking of the endless possibilities jude did so he could get rid of the bunnies in a happy manner. “it got what it deserved,” jude shrugged, taking a sip of mug, offering one of the infamous pumpkin pilsbury cookies to you.

“what else is on your fall bucket list?”

“we’ve done mostly all besides watching scary movies, visit a pumpkin patch and get a couples costume for trent’s party soon. besides that we’ve knocked everything else out,” you say cheery, the sense of joy never leaving you, knowing you were able to cross off and completely those wishes. “what has been your favorite activity yet?” he asked, tugging on a tiny string from your knitted sweater.

“probably decorating your house for the fall, since it was way to white… that or when we painted the pumpkins with the little kids,” you spoke softy and gently. watching jude’s eyes crinkle from paying attention to remembering the beautiful memory. “i really enjoyed that too, but nothing could beat fright fest,” jude laugh making you shake your head rapidly. t

“jude! i still haven’t forgave you for that! you take us to apparently a theme park and then walking in, there’s horror everywhere. especially those damn clowns…” you say, a tint of nervousness as you spoke out loud. “but i made it up to you,” he pouts, leaning up and pulling your face closer to his. “i won you a plenty stuffed animals and went downstairs for a week to get a glass of water. i was your protector.”

“you always are,” you hug him, your fingers grazing and tracing his ears down to his. “the beard has grown on me. you look very manly,” you say, his hairs tickling your palm. “i was thinking about shaving it soon,” he says, feeling completely relaxed as you touched him. it was that effect you had on him and he loved that so much. no feeling or person could make him feel the way you felt.

“nope. it will take too long for me to get used to,” you deny shaking your head as jude chuckles, grabbing your thighs and placing you on your back, jude not holding back from his physical touch. peppering kisses on your forehead, nose, cheeks, your lips then down to your neck where you had another tattoo. your weak spot. “stop it, i know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work,” you warn.

“i’m just trying to show you my love and affection,” he said sarcastically, playing with the fabric on your chest, as he had layed his head gently on you. “yes but you have two meanings towards that… your mom is also right upstairs…” you whisper the last part, afraid of speaking to loudly. this was her house as much as it was his as well. he sighs, accepting defeat and pulling you closer to him. not before pulling you into a kiss that made you want to say fuck it. that damn kiss that forever leaves you breathless and wanting more.

“we should watch a horror movie,” you try to say between his kiss but jude was to focused on you. how you kissed him. how you tasted. feeling weaker but also stronger than ever. “no,” he stoped, this time flipping you over so you could lay on his chest.

“right i forgot. you’re a scaredy cat when it comes-”

“no i’m not! i just don’t want to bring any bad energy in my house,” he cheesed hardly, looking up knowing you were giving him a “are you serious look”.

“the best i can do is watch the nightmare before christmas. take it or leave it,” he shrugged hearing you laugh. “works for me, i’ll hold you tight so you don’t run off,” you teased, jude gasping. “listen the movie is already creepy as it is… especially that little scientist,” he shuddered.

after cleaning up and putting away any mess and cleaning the dishes, instead of traumatizing your tall boyfriend, you settled with his choice of movie. happy either way since you knew jude loved showing you his collection of favorite old films. another part of his love language towards you. you couldn’t count how many times, not just with movies, but items, people even, that meant so much to him.

“are you sleepy?” you whisper, jude nodding. “i am but i want to stay up because i want to spend all the time i can with you,” he yawned, kissing your head. “i can stay the night if that’s okay with you and your mom,” you suggested knowing jude would be immediately agreeing. “my mom adores you and you know she would rather have you stay than leave so late, especially me,” jude said, his thumb drawing circles on your hip.

“i’ll stay,” you smile, cuddling closer to jude as he looked down and smiled. not holding back from taking a picture and posting it, with an old school r&b song. soft launching you once again to the world. which you didn’t mind. “hey, why aren’t we shark boy and lava girl for trent’s party? or-” jude said abruptly.

“i’m leaving.”

“wait no!”

[kajibunny]

⟡˖ ࣪ ren kaji as your boyfriend ₊˚⊹⋆

✿ summary: relationship headcanons (ren kaji x reader) ✿ warnings: awkward silliness, some parts are a lil suggestive ✿ a/n: i love this man so much you don’t understand pls ;__; hi i'm new here and ofc my first post is abt my love, ren kaji hihi pls be nice!! ✿ wc: 960

ꕤ kaji is more than just your bf, he’s also your bff, partner-in-crime, and sometimes guard dog (lol).

ꕤ he’s a little mean, but he means well. 

ꕤ everyone in town refers to you both as each other’s “other half”, as he relies on you quite a lot. not because he wants to boss you around (well, well, iykyk second year grade captain ren kaji mode on) but because he immensely trusts you.

ꕤ you also rely on him a lot, and he is a very protective boyfriend. he won’t let anyone harm a single hair on your head if he can help it.

ꕤ lots of people thought you two were already together way before you two actually got together, since you two were always…well, together. to the point that you adapted each other’s habits and vocabulary. (you catch yourself picking up kaji's direct tone of speaking and occassional "damnit!") no one was at all surprised when he introduced you as his lover. to everyone, you two were practically married already.

ꕤ it’s either both of you are bantering or play fighting one second, then all over each other the next. if ever you two have serious arguments, he’s usually the first one to apologize and ask how he can make it up to you. kaji is very mature that way, and is scared of hurting you, as he treasures you with all his heart (and body lol).

ꕤ has this habit of putting his lollipop in your mouth - just to see what you would do. loves the faces you make when you least expect it. thinks you’re so cute like that, but of course, will never admit it out loud. 

ꕤ when agitated, he calms down when you give him head pats and tell him that he’s a good boy. (double meaning i’m telling you)

ꕤ his love language is definitely quality time! he loves hanging around with you, walking home together, having deep talks in high places like a grassy hill or rooftop until the sun rises, listening to music together while you lean on his shoulder absorbing the sound from his headphones.

ꕤ your pet names for each other are lowkey insults like “idiot, dumbass, stupid” but affectionately. it became kind of like an inside joke between the two of you. he’d say the sweetest things, then pair it with a completely opposite word, like “it’s because i love you…you fool.” and you can't tell whether he wants to fight you or if he wants to kiss you. 

ꕤ kaji likes having collaborative playlists with you. doesn’t matter if you two don’t have the same music taste, since he’s always curious about what you’re listening to. sometimes sneaks in a few hidden messages using song titles in his playlists, for your eyes only.

ꕤ during the cold season, he lets you slip your hands in his hoodie pockets, embracing him from behind, like he’s your natural heat pack.

ꕤ when sleeping together, he’s a (literal) freak in the sheets. a blanket and pillow hogger, takes up more than half of the bed, ends up in the strangest sleeping positions, and at times accidentally pushes you until you end up on the floor. 

he definitely does not mean it though, if you hug him or hold him tightly while sleeping, there’s a higher chance he’ll stay still.

ꕤ when not on the bed, kaji likes to take naps on your lap or your shoulder, because according to him “it’s comfy and soft. like a pillow”

ꕤ lets you hold his valuables - lets you wear his hoodies, lets you hold his headphones, lets you drink from his bottled water, and even lets you suck on his lollipop (the one in his mouth okay but maybe also sometimes the one in his pants asdjbjdjcnd;;) but only you are allowed, because you’re special.

ꕤ you had to learn basic first aid because kaji always ends up with many injuries after fights, and gets angry at anyone who tries to touch him or disinfect his wounds, except for you. (soft!kaji *sighs* the effect you have on him aaaa) 

ꕤ makes a barrier with you in his arms whenever you’re passing with him in a crowded or busy street, to make sure no one bumps you or gets too close to you, to keep you safe.

ꕤ kaji is naturally such a good kisser, but claims he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. he tells you it’s just because he’s eaten a lot of lollipops, so he probably practiced unknowingly with his mouth and tongue. (help this is so funny)

ꕤ so many awkward and cute moments, that makes you love your little idiot ren kaji more and more each day (if that’s even possible) 

accidentally bit your hand when you fed him food. (from that day on, woke up to the realization that he might have a little bit of a biting kink)

once tried to do a kabedon on you like you two saw in one film you watched together but ended up tripping a bit, landing on top of you and squishing you.

there was a time he asked for love advice from hiragi when you two started dating, and umemiya ended up eavesdropping on them, and kaji ran away so fast as if he saw a ghost (ref: ch 58 kaji-senpai lol)

forgot he was wearing his headphones with music on full blast and broadcasted a little too loudly about how much he missed you because “you were gone on your trip for so long” and he “wanted to kiss your annoying face” all in front of his giggly vice captains, who of course heard every single thing he said. you made sure to tease him a lot about it afterwards.

© kajibunny 2024 / all rights reserved

[multifandomslxt]

Quiet Rage

MDNI

MINORS GO AWAY

Pairing: bsf!Johnny x reader

Synopsis: You wanted to test a theory and ended up making Johnny "Quiet Rage" Suh pissed all the way off. Surely he wouldn't take it out on you though right? after all, you were his best friend.

WARNING: THIS IS SMUT...arguably one of my dirtiest yet. reader is a little shit and Johnny is the quiet guy in the friend group. Johnny in glasses. Dirty and I mean DIRTY talk. spit, sweat, mentions of bruising skin, drooling, overstimulation, exhibitionism via video call, just dirty stuff alright

A/N: This took forever to get out and I apologize for that. it's exam season and I really wanted this out so I pulled some all-nighters. so I apologize for the grammatical errors and so on. I'm very very nervous about this because I did not expect the teaser to get that much attention. but anyway, enjoyyy. @neoculturecollectives @calibabii21

"I swear, Johnny's into you," your girlfriend claims, and you almost spit out your latte. You shoot her a look, throat burning, and coffee dribbling down your chin. "What the hell makes you say that?"

She rolls her eyes, handing you a napkin. "Come on, babe. The guy gives you that intense stare all the time."

You stare at her in disbelief. "He gives everyone that stare. It's just Johnny."

She grunts in frustration. "Y/n, he calls you 'baby' for crying out loud."

You shrug, trying to play it cool. "So? It's not like it's some romantic declaration."

This scenario is all too familiar, and it annoys you. People always misread Johnny and you, trying to turn your perfectly platonic relationship into something more.

"Alright, if you're so confident, come with me to Jay's party tonight," she challenges.

Your heart sinks.

Jay, aka Jaehyun, is her boyfriend, and you've crossed paths quite a bit. But you already know you can't go.

"He doesn't like you like that, right? So let's settle it, Y/n. Let's end the speculation."

"That's dumb. I don't need to prove anything," you argue. But truth be told, your heart is still doing somersaults. You both know why you won't go, or rather, can't.

Johnny has this strict no-party rule for you. Sounds stupid, but it's his way of keeping you safe. One bad experience with some idiot led to this.

"Come on, just this once, and I'll drop it, promise," she pleads.

"Fine" you reply, already feeling your energy drain.

~

You find yourselves in what's supposed to be Jay's living room turned dance floor.

"Where's that man?" your friend complains beside you.

You hadn't been paying much attention to her anyway. Tonight, you're on a mission to prove a point. Yep, you're scanning for Johnny.

"Yo, ladies!" A familiar voice greets you from behind.

It's Mark. Awkward, cute, and definitely on some kind of high.

weed probably

"Markieee." you smiled and hugged him.

"Have you seen Jay?" your friend asks, not even bothering to greet Mark.

"In the upstairs bathroom," Mark replies, the thumping bass of the music echoing through the house.

"Thanks, y/n, call me if you need me," she says, her voice almost drowned out by the distant laughter and chatter.

"Okay," you agree, even though you know she's most likely going to be too busy to pick up. With that, she confidently stalks off into the lively chaos to find her man.

You're still hugging Mark throughout that, the music's pulsating rhythm vibrating through your bodies, and neither of you makes a move to release the other.

"Markie, how high are you right now?" you ask, half amused and half concerned, the scent of various substances hanging in the air.

"I'm not high," he insists, his words slightly slurred.

Yep, he's as high as a damn kite. "Alright, let's get you seated," you decide, guiding him through the animated crowd.

You hug him a little tighter to your side as you maneuver through the sea of people, completely unaware that the man you had been scanning for was silently observing you from across the dimly lit room.

Johnny tilts his head ever so slightly, the ambient lights flickering, casting enigmatic shadows on his intense expression as he observes you cradling the nearly unconscious Mark in your arms.

"Yo, Johnny! Where you goin'?" Heachan's voice echoes from the kitchen, where the clinking of glasses and laughter weave through the air.

"You can't bail on me now, man. You promised to try this strain with me," Hexhan pleads, his tone a mix of whining and cajoling.

"Another time," Johnny responds tersely, striding away without a backward glance.

Johnny can't fathom any sober reason for Mark to be draped over you like that.

"And you shouldn't even be here," Johnny muses to himself.

"Y/n," his gruff voice calls out, a single word that carries volumes.

You pivot, finding yourself face to face with your long-time best friend, a man whose relationship with you blurs between suspected boyfriend, occasional fling, or perhaps something more permanent.

His towering figure looms over you like an impending storm, his mouth contorted in a sneer, eyebrows knitted in displeasure. A quick appraisal reveals he's opted for a relaxed ensemble tonight—black hoodie and grey joggers, his signature black rimmed glasses resting on his nose.

"Johnny, I've been looking for you. Where the hell were y--"

"Y/n, have I ever told you that your tits make the best pillows ever? Oh my god," Mark interjects, completely oblivious to Johnny's presence.

In one swift motion, Johnny shoves Mark away, causing him to collide with people behind you.

"Johnny, what the fuck!" you gasp, caught off guard.

"What are you doing here, Y/n? I'm only asking once," Johnny demands, his hand firmly gripping the back of your neck, forcefully pulling you into the shelter of his chest.

"Answer the question."

"I'm here for you," you assert, making no attempt to deceive.

"You could've called me if you missed me so much, baby," he responds, his voice softening, and his eyebrows gradually easing.

"Yeah, I know, but I wanted to have fun too," you argue.

It becomes apparent that you've made the wrong choice as his hand tightens slightly around your neck.

"Have fun at home. No parties. I'm sure I told you that," his voice remains calm, but the increasing pressure on the back of your neck contradicts his demeanor.

"Go home. Now," he states, leaving no room for argument.

For a moment, your body twitches as if to comply, but it seems you're on a defiant streak tonight.

"No. I'll stay and have fun. I've seen you now, so I'll just go look for the others and enjoy myself," you declare.

He stares at you, a blank facial expression revealing nothing.

"Y/n, baby, go home," he says softly.

Successfully prying yourself from his grip, you retort, "No."

You stalk off, leaving him standing in the middle of the living room, hands straight by his sides, and his gaze unwaveringly black yet watchful.

As you navigate through the crowd, encounter familiar faces here and there.

~

You find yourself on your umpteenth shot of tequila when, unexpectedly, you're invited to a game of truth or dare, courtesy of Haechan.

Johnny is nowhere to be found, and the absence begins to stir a sense of worry and nervousness within you.

The game had unfolded over an extended period, leaving your mind increasingly hazy with each passing moment. Holding your liquor was never your forte.

You observed as the bottle spun and twirled before ultimately settling on the guy positioned beside you.

"dare" the guy simply said.

"I dare you to kiss y/n," Haechan's slurred yet mischievous voice announced.

As Haechan proclaimed his dare, Johnny ambled into the room, seemingly oblivious to your presence, it left you feeling bothered and angry.

Fine, you mused, if he's going to act that way.

Perhaps it was the influence of the alcohol coursing through your system or some other inscrutable force, but you found yourself impulsively lunging towards the guy next to you. Teeth clashed in a messy, audacious kiss, and, fueled by the audacity of the dare, you dared to explore further by delving your tongue into his mouth.

A cheer erupted from the onlookers, making your heart swell.

Basking in the attention, you pushed the boundaries, only to be abruptly seized by the neck for the second time that night, this time by none other than Johnny himself.

Without hesitation, he mused, "Go to the car and sit. I'll be there soon."

"But, Joh—"

"Go. To. The. Car, Y/n, and shut your fucking mouth. I said I'll be there soon," he asserted, his words punctuated through gritted teeth.

~

The last ten minutes had passed in utter silence as both of you sat in the car.

When Johnny finally slid into the driver's seat, his gaze never once met yours. Without a word, he started the car and left the party, only sparing you attention when he needed to secure your seatbelt.

The oppressive silence weighed on you.

"That was a fun game, wasn't it?" you ventured, attempting to break the tension.

Silence persisted.

"I bet Haechan has a video of it. Probably gonna send it to the group later," you added, attempting to inject a touch of levity into the atmosphere, though your laughter carried an undercurrent of awkwardness.

"Quit playing with me." He bites back, completely unamused by your attempt at a joke.

Your body stills as you stare wide-eyed at the man beside you. You didn't expect that from him. He wasn't the type to be so aggressive, especially with you.

"I didn't mean for that to happen, John." You said weakly. He had to understand, you were just trying to get his attention.

"But it did y/n and now I'm gonna have to show you what happens when you don't fucking listen" He rages quietly, eyes still on the road ahead.

It was always quiet with him.

little did you know.

To the untrained eye, he seemed cool and collected. But, you could tell he wasn't quite there. Maybe it was the way he squeezed the life out of the steering wheel or how he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw. Or, you know, the massive tent in his pants…

either way, you knew

somehow, you managed to piss off Johnny Suh.

"I suggest you start thinking of a way to apologize because you have no fucking idea what I have planned for you." He momentarily looks at you just long enough for you to see the dangerous glint in his eyes

~

Arriving at Johnny's apartment, you found yourself comfortably settled on his couch while he busied himself in the kitchen, fetching a glass of water for you. Since his remark on the way here, a palpable silence hung in the air.

As he approached you with the glass of water, he broke the silence, "Thought of a way to apologize yet?"

You glanced up at him from your spot on the couch. "I'm sorry. I should've listened to you," you managed to utter, your gaze dropping to the floor, a strange sense of shame washing over you.

He snorted in response, "That's all you came up with, Y/n?"

Meeting his disappointed gaze, you took a deep breath. "I should've known better," you added quietly.

He sighed, handing you the glass of water. "Drink."

Taking the glass from his hands, you started sipping as he watched you in silence. Then, without breaking eye contact, he nonchalantly remarked, "I'm going to fuck some sense into you and then fuck it out of you."

You choked on your water, hastily wiping at your mouth as you stared at him in disbelief.

"Your apology wasn't going to satisfy me anyway. I made up my mind when you said no the first time," he asserted, his tone casual yet loaded with an underlying intensity that left you flustered and strangely intrigued.

"And what if I don't want it." You daringly ask.

you knew you did.

The way he was watching you made that clear as day.

"Then say no." He shrugs

"Now finish the drink and head upstairs when you're done."he adds

and you did exactly that.

~

Johnny was a man. You knew that, he knew that, and the whole world knew that. But sometimes, it felt like you didn't always keep that obvious characteristic at the forefront of your mind, as you should have.

Entering the room, nothing struck you as special. It was the same as always: his bed in the middle of the space, surrounded by walls adorned with retro posters and pictures he had taken over the years with friends, family, and you. Despite the numerous times you had visited his home, particularly his room, it didn't feel as intimate as it did now, and for some reason, that excited you.

As you let your gaze wander, movement from the door pulled you out of your thoughts, and you turned your focus to a strangely quiet Johnny.

You both stood in silence, staring at each other for what felt like long, drawn-out minutes.

"I didn't think I'd have to tell you to strip, y/n," he said seriosusly.

You hiccup, startled. "E-excuse me?"

He stepped closer to you. "Fucking strip."

Your heart hammered in your chest at the complete unfamiliarity of the situation.

"John, you can't be seri—"

His hands fisted in your hair, causing you to tilt your head up, meeting his hard gaze. "Strip. I won't ask again. You're always free to leave, y/n, but you and I both know you don't want to."

~

"move your hand"

you twist and turn writhing your body all over his bed, hand trying to stop his fingers from fucking into you.

"Johnny, please! I said i was sorry " you scream as tears line your eyes

"I said move your fucking hand" he grabs your writs and pins the above your head

his fingers pummeling into you repeatedly. long and thick. you felt like you could feel all the ridges and callouses on them. all the fucking veins. it was torture.

SQUELCH SQUELCH

you try to squeeze your thighs together only for him to pry them back open almost immediately.

it was almost embarrassing just how wet you were really

"God. Fuck you're all over my sheets baby hmm" he moans his eyes never leaving your pussy.

almost.

that did it for you though

"Johnny, Johnny m'cumming"

“not yet baby”

you couldn't hold it

“Y/n, I said not yet” his actions contradicted his words as his fingers curled rubbing against your g spot

your body involuntarily shoots up off the bed as your lower abdomen contracts

"I can't hold it."

You cum with a high-pitched scream. Squirting all over Johnny's hand before lifelessly falling back on the bed.

you’re trying to get your breathing under control when you hear Johnny’s displeased voice

"you don't fucking listen do you"

fingers still in you, he manages to add even more pleasure relentlessly pumping into you

your legs start trembling from the intense pressure building in your abdomen once again.

Your scream is ear piercing as you cum for the fourth time

fifth...

you don't even know.

gosh, He hadn't even fucked you yet

you didn't even realize the drool running down your chin. eyes rolled back and lashes fluttering, your skin gleaming with sweat and thighs trembling. Your chest heaved as you breathed hard still coming down from your high.

In Johnny's eyes, you looked so fucked out and so fucking pretty.

He knew his version of foreplay was intense but he also knew he took it a bit further just for you.

his stubborn girl. He loved it but you needed to be taught a lesson.

with your mouth wide agape, he takes the opportunity of your oblivious state and shoves his middle and index finger down your throat causing you to gag.

"taste yourself...that's right baby suck my fingers clean" He coos as your mouth clings to his fingers.

when satisfied he pulls his away

"knees" is all he says.

you mumble uncoherent words trying to tell him you can't get up but it seems he is already way ahead of you helping you get comfortable in your position on the floor.

He begins to pull his sweatpants down revealing his erection fighting against the fabric of his black underwear. he wastes no time in pulling his cock out and you almost drool.

so harsh but so fucking pretty.

big and veiny with the prettiest pink tip. No wonder the foreplay was so intense. there was no way he was gonna fit without stretching you that much.

You look up at him with hopeful eyes. you wanted him in your mouth so fucking bad your pussy actually ached.

"So cute," he spits in the palm of his hand before bringing it down to stroke his cock.

"open and suck" He states.

Wasting no time your hands replace his and you begin to pump his pretty cock. you lick from the base of his pretty cock to the even prettier pink tip teasing him just a little with small kitten licks

"no teasing" he warns.

But of course, you don't listen continuing to push him over the edge with those kitten licks. even having the audacity to maintain eye contact while doing it.

You see the way his jaw clenches as he loses his patience and grabs the back of your head thrusting and forcing his cock to hit the back of your throat.

Your eyes widen and begin to water as you start to harshly breathe through your nose.

Gagging multiple times as he continues to relentlessly fuck your mouth

"no teasing and you continue to fucking tease huh? who's fucking in charge here y/n? Who's fucking cock's fucking your pretty mouth?"

not being able to speak you hum around his cock watching as his gaze becomes more sadistic by the second.

"Ah fuck, you're gonna make me cum like this baby?" you hum in response causing him to groan from the vibrations

"Ah, shit"

You watch his expression contort into a pained one before he somehow manages to make his cock hit even further than the back of your throat and cums in your mouth.

"Dont waste it, baby, swallow for me" he says airly

you swallowed his mouth full of cum. loving the pleasantly salty taste.

you wheezed and choked so overwhelmed with just how rough Johnny really was.

Where was this side of him hiding?

holy fuck

"your mouth, keep it open," he grumbles still heaving firm his previous orgasm.

you open your mouth a gain forming an 'O' shape and surprise takes you as he spits in your mouth before lightly slapping you across the face.

your hair was all over the place and your entire face was decorated with a mixture of precum, smudged makeup, tears, snot, and sweat

"Atta Girl." he praises you.

He helps you to your feet before giving you a quick peck on your lips

"turn around and bend over. Yeah just like that... spread your legs for me"

you used the bed as support as you got into the desired position.

he wastes no time thrusting his cock into you rough and hard.

the sound of skin slapping and the squelching of your pussy around him cause your knees to buckle as you threaten to lose your stance.

You were gonna cum soon.

feeling your swaying form, he grabs your neck pulling you into him as your back meets his chest

"don't you fucking dare" he threatens.

"Ah... please please, please! m'sorry... m'so sorry I won't do it again just please make me cum john, I'll be good I swear" you cry gasping for air between words. soon your sentences jumble into a whole lot of nothing.

he keeps his hand wrapped around your neck as he uses the other to hold your hand behind your back

"no. Cum when I say so. you need to learn to fucking listen."

snapping his hips at a quick pace.

the area around your hips already beginning to bruise from how hard he was holding you.

"t'much please johnny!" You scream as your legs begin to shake for the umpteenth time

"you can fucking take it. This is what you wanted right? To piss me off? Having mark all on you like that?" he says begrudgingly

he grabs your left breast and squeezes your nipple hard enough for your pussy to clench around him

"so damn sensitive" he whispers in awe.

he pulls out and pushes you on the bed. you look back and he's

standing over you with messy hair, dark eyes, and a cock so erect it slapped against his stomach with the slightest movement.

"get on your back and spread your legs" he says pulling your legs to the edge of the bed .

You flip over and he immediately fucks into you even harder than before.

once again your hands flay erratically as you scream trying to get away from the aching pleasure that was starting to make you see double.

"look at that baby, " he coos eyes staring at your stomach.

you look down and see his cock bulging in your lower abdomen.

You gasp at the sight

'Johnny please" you whimper not even sure what you are asking for.

"I might just fuck a baby into you. keep you home like a good little wife hmm." he says seriously, eyes still set on the bulging in your lower abdomen.

you clenched around him liking the sound of carrying his children

"you like that huh? " He groans

you nod as tears start to stream down your face.

suddenly he stops thrusting causing you to cry out

"Just gimmie a second baby gotta fix your mistake," he says as he reaches over to his nightstand picking up his phone.

"I'm calling Mark " he says nonchalantly causing your heart to race.

"you're off-limits and they fucking know that but it seems all of you need to be reminded of how things are tonight hm?"

the dial tone blares out before a muffled "hello?" comes through the speaker. Mark.

"watch " Johnny says before he thrusts into you so fucking deep you could taste him

you moan loudly

barley registering the "fucking hell, man" that comes from the phone. That was Haechan

'watch' Johnny had said earlier and you begin to understand that it was a video call.

Mark and Haechan were witnessing Johnny fuck you into oblivion.

"see this? this is my fucking pussy and nobody else can fucking have it." he fucks your relentlessly a familiar feeling building in your stomach.

"j-johnny its t'much"

"nah, you can fucking take it."

"oh, fuck! " you scream into the pillow

"my fucking pussy and she can't give it away ain't that right y/n"

"mhmm" you say not having the strength actually speak.

you cum with a shiver and a whine and even then he didn't stop

still drilling his cock into you

overstimulating you more and more

you try to get away and he never once let his cock leave you.

"tell them how many times you cum tonight." He challenges, knowing full well that you couldn't form a word much less a sentence at the moment.

you mutter random words too fucked out to think

a sharp slap to your face brings you back

"how many fucking times?" he says through clenched teeth

"Alot" you scream.

"good girl" he says before hanging up the phone and throwing it across the room.

"just give me one more" he continues.

you moan as your toes curl from the overwhelming sensations building in your stomach

with a sharp thrust, you squirt all over Johnny's cock just as he cums inside you.

"next time you do that shit I’ll fuck you right in front of them instead of over the phone."

[bookshelf-dust]

healing

billy hargrove x gn!reader

word count: 5,445

warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of past trauma (starcourt), slight sexual innuendos??

a/n: hi! remember when i made you do a poll for my 1k celebration? and one bed with billy won? well this is that fic! i'm sorry it took so long to get here, but school was kicking the ever loving shit out of me. anyways, i really hope you like it. it's a little different than other fics i've written, but i think that's a good thing. just for context, this is post the end of season three, with billy and hopper being okay and jopper being in full swing. i think that's all i wanted to say. thanks again for 1k followers. that's still so wild to me. i love you. and billy loves you too <333

————

November 1985

“No.”

“What do you mean no? You just fought an interdimensional being, don’t you want a vacation?” 

Lucas wipes both hands down his face, flopping down on the arm of the couch beside where Max sits with El between her knees, tying off one of the two braids she’s trying to make. 

“Max, can you help me? Please?” Lucas has been arguing about this for fifteen minutes. 

She rolls her eyes, but looks up from her work nonetheless. “Billy.”

The man in question crosses his arms, locking eyes with the redhead. “Maxine.”

Max finishes Eleven’s braid and she hops up to join Will where he’s working on a puzzle. Joyce brought it home from work a few days ago, and it’s been spread out on a card table in the corner of the living room since then. Will couldn’t watch The Golden Girls with Joyce from the kitchen table. 

“Just come with us, Billy. We all know you hate it here. It’ll give you a chance to get away for a little while.”

Except that’s not totally the truth. He doesn’t hate it here. Not with you around. 

“There’s a pool.” Will looks up, a little shyly, from the puzzle, fingers flipping around a single piece. “At the place Robin found.” 

Billy nods, and it’s enough to make Will smile at the acknowledgment. 

It’d been Steve’s idea, after everything that happened in July. He thought everyone going on a trip together might be a good idea. Go a little ways out from home, calm down. 

You and Billy started going to school, though Billy is still working. He found a job at a record store across the street from Melvald’s that opened after the mall went to shit. It definitely wasn’t his first choice, but it works. And he’s slowly fixing up the Camaro. 

Steve had offered to pay for the repairs in full, considering he did most of the damage when he rammed the side of it, but Billy couldn’t handle that. So far Max has only convinced him to let Steve cover the really expensive parts. It hurts Billy more than he’d care to admit—having Steve Harrington give him money. 

But he can’t lie, going somewhere away from Hawkins, even just for a couple days, sounds really nice. It’s the group part that’s bothering him. He’s still not used to everyone wanting him to tag along, but apparently major trauma brings people together.

There’s the slamming of car doors, and footsteps running up the driveway before the door swings open, Robin bursting in with a stack of movies in her arms. She’s followed by Dustin and then Steve, bags and keys being tossed every which way. 

Billy doesn’t see you for a moment and starts to worry maybe you aren’t coming. He’s already supplying excuses for having to go home, but Steve left the door ajar, and after a moment, there you are. 

You look sleepy, footsteps the quietest of everyone else as you carefully push the Byers’ door shut behind you. He watches as you accept a hug from Eleven, overhears her ask, “how did your test go?” 

He’s happy to hear you tell her it went well. It’s only after you’ve looked at her and Will’s puzzle and snapped a few more corner pieces in that you make a beeline for the open spot on the couch beside Billy. 

When you’ve settled, your knee bumps against his. “Hey.”

He looks at you, a little grin playing at the corners of his mouth. His arms are still crossed, thumb playing with the pendant resting on his chest. A chest surprisingly covered by a sweater, though the sleeves are pushed up. 

“Hey. Glad your test is over?”

That sound of his voice makes you smile, and he’s never been so grateful for something, even if it’s just an expression. “Yeah.”

You glance down at the new tattoo on his arm, a dark colored snake wrapping around the skin covering his elbow. You run your thumb across the tail that flicks across his forearm, and Billy relaxes into your touch. 

“You have work today?”

Billy shakes his head. You’re glad he had the day off. And you’d tell him so if it weren’t for the sudden bombardment. 

Lucas is suddenly standing in front of you, having returned from the kitchen where you think he and Dustin may have been cleaning out Joyce’s fridge. 

“Holy shit, thank god you’re here. I need you to convince Billy to go on vacation.” 

You glance at Max, assuming she’s already tried. She looks rather annoyed. “Lucas, would you sit down?”

The boy looks at Max, and she glares at him. Clearly he knows better and sits down next to her. 

“Billy doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do,” you finally say. 

The man in question turns to face you. You have to lean your head back some because of how close he is. 

“Are you going?” he asks, voice quiet and thick with something you don’t know that you’re supposed to notice. 

“Y-yeah. I was gonna. Robin only went on about it to me for an hour over the phone last night. I just think it might be nice to get away for a little while.” Billy doesn’t break eye contact with you, and while it makes you a little nervous, it tells you he’s listening.

“And I can watch Max for you if you really don’t want to go. Just make sure she doesn’t kill Lucas or anything.” Max snorts at your response, though Lucas looks at her in panic, already calculating how best to prevent that sort of situation. 

Your gaze softens and you fight the urge to reach out and run your thumb across Billy’s cheek. 

Please come with us. I want you to go. I want you there, you think. But it’s not what you say. You don’t know how badly he needs to hear it. 

“You really don’t have to go, Billy. Not if you don’t want to.”

“But there is enough space, man.” Steve stands behind the couch, handing El a scrunchie he retrieved from her bag. His voice is calm, informative. “If you decide to go. There’s plenty of room, and we’d be happy if you did.”

Billy could make some smartass remark. But he won’t. He knows that Steve is being honest, and that he’s not trying to be a dick. It seems that witnessing the guy who beat the shit out of you almost die not even a year after he moved to town really brings you together. 

Billy gives an acknowledging nod. “I’d be very happy if you did,” Eleven says. She loves having Jonathan as an older brother, really she does, but Billy lets her play with his hair. And in her books, that really ups the scale. 

He smiles at her, and El considers that a win. 

You notice him shift next to you, and then he’s leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “Come with me?” He cocks his head in the direction of the door. 

He gets up, assuming you’ll follow him. You always do. 

When you’ve shut the door, you move to the porch swing. It’s your favorite spot out here, and Joyce says it makes her happy to see someone use it. She used to sit there with Will in the mornings after Jonathan left for school and read to him. She did the same with Jonathan, but he was a much more fidgety kid, wanting to find something else to do. 

Billy lights a cigarette, and you watch where he fidgets with the ring on his middle finger. 

He’s standing a little ways away from you so as to not breathe the smoke directly in your vicinity, but you wish so badly that he was closer. You like having him close. The weight of his body next to you, the warmth, how solid his arm feels when it’s pressed to yours or when he slides down on the couch some and it's more so pressed to your side. 

“Which part of it are you worried about?” you ask him. 

He shrugs. “You really think they want me there? You think Max wants me around?” “Billy, I know she does. And I know that voice in your head is telling you that it’s a pity invite, but it’s not. And, besides…” you trail off, but he’s not having that. He needs you to reassure him. 

“Besides what?” 

You look up at him. “I want you to go. And yeah, I’ll be sad if you don’t go, but that shouldn’t sway your decision either.” You push your feet against the concrete porch a little harder, and the swing responds to the movement. You move quicker, now feeling very pleased with yourself. 

Billy almost laughs at the child-like look on your face, but you look so at home on the swing that he holds it in. A grin escapes nonetheless. 

“Say that again.” He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray either Hopper or Joyce have left outside. He’s watching you again. 

“What?” He’s not gonna let you go all shy on him now. He needed to hear that. He needs to hear it. 

“You know what.”

“I want you to go.”

“Then it’s settled. Need to get out of this shithole anyways.”

————

The place Steve found is about two hours from Hawkins, with three bedrooms, a shockingly luxurious pull-out couch, and bigger common areas than you’ve ever laid eyes on. Excluding the ones in Steve’s house. In short, the rental is like Hopper’s cabin, if Hopper’s cabin were updated and substantially larger. It feels like the kind of place rich people have to take weekend trips. You’d rather not find out how much Steve is paying for the lot of you to stay there. 

Robin takes you on a grand tour while everyone else explores the backyard. Dustin is already determined to climb a tree. One of the rooms has two sets of bunk beds, dedicated to the four boys. “To ensure no cootie-spreading,” Robin proclaims. 

She and Steve will share the couch, with Max and Eleven in the smaller bedroom. 

Robin stops at the end of the hallway. “Which leaves…” 

You and Billy. 

You and Billy Hargrove.

Sharing a room. 

Sharing a bed. 

Speaking of, the man in question brushes past you, setting his bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. Robin takes that as her queue to leave and gives you a thumbs up on the way out. You hope she can feel your death stare on the back of her head, and she knows it, being quick to run down the hall. 

“So we’re roomies, huh?” Billy says, gathering his hair at the base of his neck. You hadn’t even realized he had a tie on him, and it takes him finishing off a lazy bun to realize it’s a blue scrunchie. You have to bite your lip to keep from saying anything. 

“I can sleep with Max and El, if you want. Or–”

That crease between Billy’s brows forms. “Why would you do that?”

You’ve gone all warm. You’d have to sleep in bed with him. And you sit next to him all the time, but this is different. Isn’t it?

Maybe it’s not so weird. You’re just friends. It’s like a sleepover, right?

“I don’t know, you might not want to sleep together or something.”

He cocks a brow, but you catch the double meaning of your words just in time. “You know what I mean, Billy.”

He sits on the end of the bed, and reaches out for you. You move towards him slowly, but the moment you’re within his grasp, Billy spreads his legs and grabs your waist, slotting your body between them. 

“You can go if you really want to. If you think I’ve got cooties or somethin’ and you don’t wanna share a bed with me.”

You snort, and Billy drinks in the sound, knowing he’s the one that made you laugh. 

“I don’t think you’ve got cooties.”

You realize in that moment that his hands haven’t left their spot on your waist, never straying anywhere else. The weight of them on you is enough to keep you focused on him, and he seems to acknowledge that. 

“Then what is it?” he asks, in that low drawl you fear could get out any answer he wanted from you. 

You hesitate, but say it anyway. “You don’t think it’ll be weird? Sleeping in the same bed?”

Billy fights the urge to rest his forehead against your stomach. He wants to tell you he’s wished you were in his bed on more than one occasion. Sometimes he just wishes you were there so it wouldn’t feel so cold, so he’d have someone to pull him out of his thoughts before they eat him alive altogether. 

“No, I don’t think it’ll be weird.”

You nod your head, and try to move back from him. 

Billy whines. “Uh uh. Nope.”

You go to put your hands on your hips, and they graze Billy’s on the way. He grabs hold of them. “You don’t want to have a sleepover with me?”

Billy’s looking up at you with those watery blue eyes, and you know this is a battle you’ll never win. 

“Really?”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, and your eyes fall to his neck when he tosses his head back. 

“Yeah, baby.”

Baby. 

It feels like every cell in your body has been sent into overdrive, like you can’t compute a single coherent thought. All because Billy called you “baby”. 

And if he’s being honest with himself, he feels the same way. He hadn’t meant to say it. It’s just that he calls you “baby” in his head all the time, and it just…happened.

“I’d love to have a sleepover with you, Hargrove.”

“Mhm. Thought so.” 

This time he lets the laugh out, and it’s a beautiful sound. The kind of sound you’d commit unspeakable acts to hear again. And this time, he does let his forehead drop to rest on your stomach. It surprises you, but you’re not mad about it.

“Oh, fuck off,” you say, and you can feel his chuckle against your skin.

When he quits, you find yourself just standing there, find your hands moving around his back. He’s always so warm. You rub your hands up and down his back, the denim of his jacket rough on your fingertips. 

You feel him shift, feel his change in position, the hard press of his chin against you. Billy is looking up at you, and you know he’s hoping you’ll return his gaze. His eyes bore into yours, and you hate to think of what you must look like from this angle. Clearly he doesn’t mind. 

You push a curl behind his ear, a shockingly perfect ringlet that’s too short to be contained like the rest of them. 

Billy would be taken aback by the gesture if it weren’t for the fact that you always go this easy on him. Like you know he’s healing, in more ways than one. 

“We can’t stay here forever, you know. I wanna go look around.” 

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I’m sure it’s riveting.” He lets you go anyway, following you down the hall to the rest of the cabin.

————

Your back rests on the base of an oversized chair, one that’s surprisingly comfy, your body in between Robin’s legs. She’s sitting next to Steve, watching you moderate El, Lucas, and Will play Twister. Dustin’s already out. 

“Right hand blue.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“Sinclair, have you never played this game before?”

Lucas scoffs, trying to reach the blue on the other side of the mat without toppling into Will. Max went with Billy to the store, but they should be back soon. You have a sick feeling they’re taking advantage of having been given Steve’s debit card. 

“Yes, I’ve played the game before. If you’re so good, why don’t you get down here and show us how it’s done, Harrington?”

“Yeah, Harrington, why don’t you show us how flexible you are?” Billy’s voice makes you look up from where you’ve been mindlessly twisting the spinner on the board around with the tip of your finger. 

He stands just inside the living room, holding the door open with his leg. He kicks it shut once Max has made it in. She heaves the paper bags she’d been holding up and onto the counter. Steve rises to help unpack them. You follow on instinct, handing the spinner to Robin instead, and Dustin is quick to take Steve’s spot before Mike can. 

Billy won’t let you take anything from him, but he will let you help figure out what the hell to do with all of it. “Do I even want to know how much you both spent?” you ask. 

He gives you that fucking smile, and you know you don’t. “Max said she wanted to have a spa night–whatever that means–with El, so we sort of split up. I’m sure Steve’ll live.” 

“For your information, Lucas,” Steve continues, clearly not ready to let the quips towards his limberness go, “I was the captain of the swim team.”

“What’s that got to do with being flexible, dingus?” Robin directs the two remaining players, the young boy in question having just busted his ass. 

“Swimming is an art form, Rob. You gotta learn to respect it.”

You choke on a laugh, and Billy is quick to rub your back while he chuckles into your shoulder. 

“Something funny over there?” Steve questions. 

You straighten, trying to wipe the smile from your face though it’s to no avail. “Nope, Steven. I’m sure you’re just incredibly stretchy. Like Mr. Fantastic.”

His brow furrows. “Mr. Fantastic?”

Dustin snorts, elbow deep in a bag of chips, and you quickly realize that you probably shouldn’t have given him an opening, but you don’t exactly regret it either. 

The lot of you spend the rest of the night in this fashion, playing games, eating way too much food, taking turns smacking the top of the television so your movie will keep playing. 

It feels like home. It feels safe. You wish it always felt this way. 

————

You’d just finished brushing your teeth when you hear the bedroom door click shut, hear footsteps you can tell are in search of you. 

You peek your head out of the bathroom and Billy grins at the sight of you in pajamas, a smear of moisturizer on your forehead you’ve yet to rub in. 

He squeezes in the small room, about the same size as his at home, to join you. There’s something about this moment, the domesticity of it, that makes your heart swell. It feels like something you could get used to, getting ready for bed with him. Neither of you have to say anything, you just do your own thing, but having him be there, having his presence–it’s more than enough for you. 

When you climb into bed, you try and read for a while, the sounds of Billy washing his face comforting you. You find it easy to read even when he does get in with you, the mattress sinking underneath his weight, the sheets rustling as he moves around experimentally, trying to get comfortable in a bed that isn’t his own. 

You feel odd though, reading when he’s right there, so it isn’t long before you close the book and slide further into the covers with him. Billy’s quick to turn on his side, wanting to see you like this. 

He watches you yank the blankets up to your chin, looking at him over a blur of fluffy white comforter. “It’s fuckin’ freezin’ in here,” you tell him.

“C’mere then.”

You burrow further into your pillow, fearing you know exactly what he’s going to suggest. “Huh?”

“You’re cold. You always whine about me being warm or somethin’ and I’m telling you to come here.”

“Billy.”

“Stop.” He lifts the covers up some, untucking you from them, and he wraps his arm around your back, tugging you into his side. 

Suddenly you’re pressed against him, having slid across the sheets easier than you’d have imagined. 

He’s let go of you, his arm hovering over your back. “You want me to hold you or no?” 

“Yeah.” 

Billy lets his arm drop against your side, his fingers splaying out over your back. He rubs his hand up and down your spine, hoping it’ll warm you up. “This okay?” 

“Yes.” 

He nods. You’re looking at him like he’s something special.

Billy realizes, in that moment, that that’s how you’ve always looked at him. Even before. 

He also realizes that your hands are tucked under your chin and your legs are curled up and into you like you’re afraid of making any contact with him. 

“You can loosen up, you know. It’s just me.” 

You let out a breath of a laugh, and he can feel it against the skin of his neck. 

“It’s okay, I promise. You can touch me.” Billy has this feeling that you’re afraid of hurting him. He’s sure you’ve noticed that he’s wearing a shirt to bed, something he never did before. And he thinks that you’re worried he’ll break. 

“You’re sure?”

“Wouldn’t have said so otherwise.”

He watches you unfold your hands and stretch your arm over him, hooking it around his hip. You want to rub up and down his side, but you’re nervous. 

It’s just me. 

“Do they hurt at all?”

Your thumb skates up a little further, and you don’t have to tell him what you mean. 

“Not all the time,” he says, voice low and thick with drowsiness. “At first, yeah, like hell. Now it’s just sometimes. They can feel a little tight, or just bug me. Depends, I guess.”

You nod, feeling brave enough now to slide your hand up a little further. Your touch is light, barely there. You close your eyes, trying not to think about when it happened. How he’d screamed. 

He can tell when you’ve calmed down some, because your arm relaxes and you hug him a little more firmly. You scoot in a little closer, close enough that your noses would touch if you tried to make them. 

“Goodnight, Billy.”

He makes the move, dragging the tip of his nose across your forehead. He kisses the top of your head, and you grin so wide you feel like a kid in a candy shop. 

“Goodnight, baby.”

————

When you wake up, you almost don’t want to disturb him, but you know you should get out of bed.

Billy is sprawled out on his stomach, having separated from you at some point during the night. His tank top is rucked up from the tossing and turning of sleep, and you look away when you catch a glimpse of pink skin. It doesn’t feel like your place to look. 

You wander out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind you. You make it down the hall, and find that Robin seems to be the only other one awake. You should’ve guessed. She told you once before that her body doesn’t seem to let her sleep in. 

Steve is still passed out on the pull-out couch, completely covered by the blankets. The only sign of him is a tuft of messy hair against the light colored pillow case his head rests on. 

Robin waves at you from her perch at the kitchen counter, a bowl of cereal in front of her. “Want some?” she whispers, pushing the box in your direction. 

You fill up your own bowl, having a feeling that Robin is about to ramble. 

“Sleep okay?” she asks. 

“Mhm. You?”

“Fine. Though, y’know, Steve is a horrific bed hog. Seriously, he was half on top of me the whole night. I might have to bunk with Max and El.” 

You laugh, and Robin takes that as her queue to ask what she’s been pondering since she woke up. 

“Was it okay? Sleeping with Billy? Well, not like that. Well, I’m assuming not like that, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I just meant like actually sleeping? Please stop me.”

You grin at her. “Please breathe, Rob.” She does, over exaggerating her inhales. “And it was fine.”

“Okay, good. I was kind of worried you’d be frustrated with my matchmaking tendencies. I just really want you two to be happy. And he seems so calm when he’s with you, and I realize I’ve just told you that I’ve been pushing you two together and I–”

You wipe milk from your chin, having almost spit out your cereal. “Robin, sweetheart, it’s okay, I promise. I know about your matchmaking tendencies. But I think we’re just friends, right?”

“Just friends, my ass.” You hadn’t even seen Steve get up, but he’s reaching for the fridge and pulling out a carton of chocolate milk. He really can’t say anything about Dustin’s eating habits when he has the exact same diet. 

“Oh my god.”

“Listen, I’m just saying, there’s been something going on between you two since before the world went to shit. I don’t know why you two tiptoe around each other like it’s not obvious that you’re in love.”

“Steve!” you exclaim. “Seriously, what the hell? I’ve been up for like twenty minutes and you two are schooling me on my love life?”

“Or lack thereof,” Robin says. 

“Okay, damn. You know what, I’m going back to bed.” 

Steve pushes your bowl back towards you when you attempt to get up. “No, you’re not. I’m just saying, there’s no sense in avoiding this. You both clearly feel a lot for each other, and I don’t see any reason to avoid it when you could be together.” 

He’s being vulnerable with you, his big brown eyes boring into yours and trying to convey how serious he’s being. 

“Just think about it, okay? There’s no harm in talking about how you feel with him. And don’t say that you don’t feel anything, because that’s a goddamn lie.”

————

Billy’s had his swim trunks on all day, but he hasn’t done more than sit in the shade by the pool while everyone else makes a mess and plays ridiculous games in the water. 

It’s killing him to watch you in there from time to time, swimming around or sitting in the shallow end. You told him once that swimming calms you down. 

It’s not until after dinner, when everyone has moved inside for the most part, though there seems to be the plotting of a water balloon fight out front, that he’s brave enough to head for the pool. 

You follow him out there, see him contemplating the water. 

“Whatcha doin’?” 

Billy drops the cigarette he’d been smoking, snubbing it out. “Thought about going for a swim,” he tells you. 

“That sounds nice.”

“Mhm.”

“I can go back inside, if you want.”

Billy turns to face you. “No. No, I want you to stay.” He wants you to see. He can’t explain why, but he does. 

“Okay.” 

He takes a shaky breath, hoping you don’t catch it. You do. You always do. 

“I just…wasn’t ready for everyone to see.”

“I understand, Billy.” 

You know what he’s really saying. He wasn’t ready for everyone to see. But he’s ready for you to see. 

“I can get in first, if that helps. And I won’t look if you don’t want me to,” you say. 

“That helps, yeah. And you can look. It’s okay.”

He watches you wade in, watches the way your swimsuit changes color as you tread water. 

Billy takes another deep breath, and he’s pulling his shirt off. He’s quick though, diving straight into the deep end, knowing he needs to get it over with. 

When he comes up, his hair is sticking to his forehead, and he flips it out of the way, giving you a glimpse of the broad pink scar on his chest. 

He meets you halfway, and you think he’s in a serious mood until he’s splashing you like a child. 

“You motherfucker!” 

You get him back, and he’s laughing. 

Billy is laughing and he looks so pretty in the last of the day’s sunlight, beads of water sliding over his collarbones and down his arms, and you feel like you could die. Like seeing him this way is enough. You don’t need anything else.

You try to return a particularly aggressive splash, but he catches your waist, pulling you up and over his shoulder. 

“Billy!”

“What?” His voice is teasing. He tosses the rest of the way over, your laughter fading out into the water. 

You come up, a brilliant smile on his face. Billy’s sure if you stood close enough you’d be able to hear his heart beating. 

When you’ve both gone quiet, your eyes drop to the scars on his sides, the way they stretch across his skin, mean and twisting. Some spots are darker than others, and while it hurts you to look at them, you know it must hurt him even more. But he looks just as beautiful as before, if not increasingly so. 

“See something you like?” Billy says it on instinct. To hide the fact that he’s worried you don’t really like it. That maybe you think he’s gross looking. But he knows that’s all in his head. He fucking knows it. 

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Billy Hargrove.”

You say it with such surety, such admiration, that he can’t even begin to doubt that you mean it. 

He smiles at you. It’s boyish. You’d do anything to see a million more of them. 

He moves towards you, the sky having darkened enough that the outside lights have come on, the lights in the pool too. All that remains of the sun is a slash of deep orange, though the night quickly pushes it away.

Billy’s got you backed up against the wall of the pool now. His hands find your sides.

It’s overwhelming, having him this close. You can feel his breath on your face, see the rise and fall of his chest, the freckles on his cheeks. 

When he kisses you, you think your heart stops. His mouth is warm against yours, and he tastes a little like chlorine, but you don’t care. Your hands find his face, and you’re smiling so hard that he pulls away because he wants to see. You don’t let him for long though, pulling him back, wanting more. He laughs into your mouth, and your chest aches with this feeling.

Eventually you do let go, and when you hold his eye contact, he knows what you’re going to say. He needs to tell you first, though.

“I’m in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” you respond.

He tosses his head back in a laugh, and you press a sweet kiss to his throat. 

“I’m in love with you too, Billy.”

“Damn right you are.”

You snort against his chest, lowering slightly to kiss his scar. His breath catches. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve you. 

“About fucking time!” Steve’s shouting and Robin is yelling, and Max would be making barf sounds if she wasn’t so pleased with seeing her brother so happy. 

“So much for that,” Billy says.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

————

“I’m regretting this, Billy.”

“Stop whining.”

Billy wraps his arms tighter around your back, pressing a kiss to your jaw in hopes that you’ll let him keep doing this. 

“Get off.”

“No.”

“Get off, please.”

“Make me.” 

There’s the sound of a slap, your hand having met his ass.

He raises his head from where he’d buried it in your chest, looking at you drowsily. “You just spanked me.”

And you’d do it again. 

“Didn’t work, did it?”

“No. Shut up and take it.”

By that he means continue letting him lay on top of you, his entire body pressed to yours. It doesn’t matter to him that there’s an entire bed, one that’s made for two people.

You settle for playing with his hair, something he seems to enjoy, and you’d mess with him about the fact that he’s essentially purring if it weren’t for him looking so content. 

He might be heavy, but having Billy Hargrove sleep on top of you isn’t exactly something you just give up. 

He’s never had this before.

Hell, you’ve never had this before. 

And he thinks it’s healing him. More than the salve he puts on his scars, or the physical therapy, or fixing up the Camaro. 

You’re healing him. You. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

leather's in season

pairing: re8! chris x reader

tags/cws: semi-clothed sex, semi-public sex, implied to have had sex in the past, coworkers, p in v, cockwarming, the gloves stay on! (until they don't)

summary: chris and reader are bored on a stupid stakeout on a mission, waiting for hours in chris' car, and they're cold, pent up with frustration, and...

a/n: the gloves have me in a chokehold (jk but i wish they did)

div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

wc: 1.6k

tags: @vaaaaaiolet @faysslut @leonfucker3000 @rigorwhoring @withonly-sweetheart

Contrary to popular belief, the worst part of fighting BOWs for a living is not the constant threat of death. It's the boredom in between the thrill of fighting — protecting the world from alphabetical viruses that can turn cities into zombies overnight gives you a sense of purpose. Sitting in the passenger seat of Chris' jeep makes you feel… absolutely nothing.

Okay, fine. It makes you feel something. It wouldn't be that big of a deal if you weren't trapped in the car with this man, with nothing to talk about, nothing to even think about besides the one drunken night you've avoided discussing for almost two months. You could go the rest of your life without mentioning it, and so could Chris. Except, when he takes his coat off, it's impossible not to notice his muscular frame, and when he groans in exasperation, it sounds so similar to that one time when —

"What?" Chris says, sounding ticked off, though you haven't done anything. You've only thought about doing things. Things you know he likes, for that matter.

"What do you mean 'what'?"

"You're staring at me."

"There's not much else to look at, since you're taking up like half my field of vision."

An exaggeration, of course, but he is a large man. In many ways.

"It's fucking cold in here. Can I turn on the heat?"

"No. You'll burn through the battery. And it's not even that cold."

Men. They'll wear basketball shorts in the snow. Of course he'd say it's not that cold.

Chris pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Could you at least roll down a window if you're going to do that in here?"

"No," he says, "it's cold out there."

"I thought it wasn't that cold," you mock him.

He lights it despite your protests. He's the boss here — a fact he reminds you of at every opportunity. "It isn't. But it would be—"

You snatch the cigarette from between his lips, take a drag and blow the smoke into his face.

"What the fuck was that for?"

You not-so-subtly go into a coughing fit, having never smoked before. You hand it back to Chris, looking off to the side, knowing he'll make fun of you if you look at him. He takes it from you gingerly like it's a prized possession.

Minutes go by, the cigarette discarded in the ashtray in the center console, you pop a stick of gum in your mouth.

"Can I have one?" Chris asks.

"It's the last piece. Sorry." You're not really that sorry.

Chris is almost 50, but he pouts like a baby. It's almost cute. Almost. It would be if he hadn't made a fuss earlier.

"You can have it," you say, "I don't really want it anymore."

"Okay…" he says, suspicious — no, curious — about how you plan to exchange the gum you're offering him.

"Come here," you beckon him with a finger.

It's a trick as old as he is, but if nothing else, sitting in this car has made the both of you desperate, so he takes the bait and lets your lips touch.

It's quick, you play it off as a simple transaction, but Chris is nothing if not predictable. He grabs you by the cheek and kisses you again, harder this time, just as you expected him to — he takes control because he can.

"Get in the backseat," he says with a commanding, yet matter-of-fact tone that sounds similar to the one he uses with you in the field.

"Is that an order?" You ask, teasing him as he gets out of the driver's side, closes one door, opens another, and slides into the backseat.

Your eyes meet through the mirror on the windshield.

"You wanna stay warm, I'll help you, but I expect you to drop the attitude."

You want to be warm, and more importantly, you want to be closer to Chris, so you shut your mouth and get in the backseat.

Age, for Chris, just means extra gray hairs on his head and a greater proclivity for aches and pains after long days in the field. He's yet to lose that animalistic urge to tear your clothes off your body.

Your gear is long forgotten, lying idle in the front seat, but your turtleneck – skin-tight like Chris' – is very much still covering your top-half, a hindrance to Chris. His fingers fiddle with the fabric but you're quick to push his hands away.

"I told you, it's fucking cold."

"But I wanna see you," he says, with the voice of a middle-aged man, but the conviction of a whiny child, "I bet you look so pretty."

"You already know what I look like," you say, "unless you've forgotten."

"I could never forget that," he says between hungry kisses, "I've been thinking about the way you looked that night everyday since, which is why I want to see you like that again."

His lips find your neck, then his teeth tug your earlobe. "I'll make it worth your while," he says into the shell of your ear.

You agree to let him take your shirt off because when he's not demanding, he's convincing.

But he can't will his hands to heat up and he can't convince you that they're not cold. You shiver against his touch.

His solution is simple: keep the gloves on.

The feeling of leather against your skin is new, but Chris' deft touch is familiar. You know what his fingers feel like inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, making you cum with his hand over your mouth in the fucking supply closet. Only the location has changed, instead of a door, there are tinted windows. No one else is around (you hope), you can only hear the occasional voices of members of your squad coming from the radio.

You agree to strip when Chris offers you his coat (in addition to a place on his lap) to keep you warm. With you head tipped back, resting on his shoulder and his hands between your thighs, you say, without a thought in your mind, "I want you to fuck me."

You hear his breath hitch and feel his cock strain against his pants and you know he feels the same.

"Fuck, okay, but I'm not waiting for you to get comfy. I am not getting frostbite on my dick."

"Don't worry, I can handle it."

He hums, knowing you're likely overestimating your abilities but dying to be inside you nonetheless.

He lifts you up momentarily and you hear the clink of his belt and the zipper of his pants. He takes them down just enough to get his cock out. Without warning, he takes your hips and shoves it inside you, one deep thrust burying himself to the hilt.

It makes you gasp, it makes you whimper. Arousal makes you overconfident and the stretch is payback for your hubris.

"You're fine," he says. "You can take it."

"It's too much, I-I can't."

"Not my fault you're so fucking tight. Shoulda known based on your attitude."

"Well, your dick is almost as big as your ego."

It's hard to insult him when you're naked – aside from his coat – perched on his cock.

He laughs, rare and sweet – and proud. "Not my fault, either."

Chris' fingers, still covered by his leather gloves, play with your clit, making your walls flutter around him, every spasm elicits a grunt from him, and it only spurs you on – you try to lift yourself up, prepared to ride him like it's your life's purpose, like it's the mission you're in the middle of fucking nowhere to complete. He stops you, grabs your hips and holds them steady against his.

"What the fuck?" you say, pissed off (about how much his insistence on controlling the situation turns you on). "I thought you were gonna fuck me. This isn't fucking, I'm just sitting on your dick."

"Oh, it's not fucking?" he says. "Guess you're easy to please then, 'cause all I've done is stick my dick in you and you're about to fucking cum."

"I am not," you say, in a whine, as your cunt betrays you, clamping down around him, making it nearly impossible for him to fuck you if he wanted to.

Instead of taunting you, he takes his gloves off, shoves two fingers in your mouth and rubs your clit with more precision, more dedication to this mission.

"Cum for me," he whispers in your ear when he knows you're close.

You try to talk back. "Is that an or– oh my fucking god," your orgasm cuts you off. His hand covers your mouth before you can scream his name, and it's probably better that way. You're embarrassed enough as it is when you notice that you've soaked the front of his pants.

"You didn't–" you start, realizing he didn't cum. You're not sure if you should be grateful or offended.

"No, I have self-control," he says.

It's fucking reverse psychology whether he intends it to be or not – insulting you just makes you even more determined to make him cum, to pay him back.

"Oh yeah?" you challenge him as you sink to your knees.

He doesn't respond, doesn't protest. He lets you suck him dry.

You watch him go through the stages of pure bliss while you bask in the knowledge that you did this to him.

It's quiet finally, no arguing, no skin-on-skin, no moaning.

Except for the radio, which you realize you forgot to silence.

"I guess we have some explaining to do," you say to Chris.

"No need," says the voice on the other side, "we heard you loud and clear."

[nats--sw]

In your head | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x reader It's England's match against the Netherlands, and your girlfriend is willing to do anything to win. Warnings: I think you may find some of the comments a little suggestive. note: set in England's last game, but I changed a few things here and there

You hadn't seen Leah for days, each of you in a different country preparing for a big game as it was every time England played the Netherlands. Your team a little more comfortable than Leah's in terms of qualification, but you would be playing at Wembley in front of an abysmal crowd and as Leah used to say, "The English are never done", so at the end of the day it was a tough game.

At your feet was the chance for your girlfriend to qualify for the Olympics next year, but there was also the chance to take your team to the Olympics.

"Good morning, Miss England" Jill sat down next to you for breakfast, ruffling your hair as she passed behind you.

"Shut up" you said arranging your hair back to how it was before "Why are you only picking on me, Viv is sitting right in front of me and no one says anything to her."

Viv raised her head and smiled mischievously. "Don't drag me into your fights, kiddo."

"Well Viv's face doesn't change every time she has to play against her girlfriend" Jill said as if it was nothing "But you instead haven't smiled for days because you keep thinking about how you don't want to kick your girlfriend's ass."

"These are tough days" you muttered lowering your head "This week it's this game, but then when I go back to England it's Arsenal against Chelsea".

That was another factor, you were playing for Chelsea, having only just won a starting place this season, and winning that game would mean securing the top spot in the table, but Arsenal was desperate for those 3 points and of course Leah was too.

"You're messing with your own head," Viv commented, folding her arms on the table, "Leah knows how to separate things and you should do the same."

"Just worry about giving 100% of yourself" said Jill patting you on the back "Because I assure you Leah will."

"How was the flight?" Leah looked radiant through the screen, smiling practically from ear to ear "You look tired".

"Uh... yeah, I didn't get much sleep during the flight" you mentioned settling better in your bed "How have you been feeling these days? No complications during training?"

Leah narrowed her eyes "Are you trying to get information out of me?"

"What?! Of course not!" you quickly defended yourself "I'm concerned about the physical health of my girlfriend who is apparently going to have her first game as a starter since her injury"

"I'll pretend I believe you" Leah replied laughing "But everything's fine, according to Sarina I'm fit enough to start."

"Good news then"

"Huh, tell your face that" muttered Leah frowning "You know you don't have to go easy on me during the game, right?"

"Yeah" A lie.

"Babe, we're professionals, it's our job to do this. A lot can happen in a match, whoever wins this isn't better than the other, okay? Everything will still be fine."

"I know... it just feels weird."

Leah disappeared for a few seconds from your screen.

"Uh, the girls are calling me. I should go, but please stop thinking about us like that, okay? Go to sleep, I love you."

"Hm, I love you more. Bye."

The atmosphere in the stadium was overwhelming, the energy of the crowd could be felt from the tunnel.

"Looking good, number 25" Leah's voice sounded behind you.

"Uh, you too" you muttered without even turning to look at her, your eyes fixed on Jill's back, who was watching the situation out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh… but love, you haven't even looked at me" her tone was full of teasing. That plus the mixture of her perfume in the air was starting to get to you, "Babe?" your girlfriend's fingers took your chin and made you turn to look at her. "Hi" her smile was dazzling, she knew she was getting what she wanted "How do I look?" she asked raising her eyebrow.

You looked her up and down instinctively, did she look better than usual today? Probably. She always looked good when she wore her England kit, but today she looked amazing.

"You look... amazing" you replied almost as if Leah's gaze had you under a spell.

"What the fuck" Jill turned away, fed up with the situation, slapping Leah's arm to get her to let you go "Get out of here, Williamson."

Leah immediately raised her hands, pretending to be innocent, when she saw Daan also approaching to see what was going on.

"Good luck" she said looking at them and walked off to the start of the tunnel but not before winking at you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" said Jill giving you a little shake.

"What?"

"Your girlfriend is getting in your head" Daan said looking sideways at Leah who was still smiling "Please YN, we all here know Leah, we knew it was going to be like this because she needs to win this game"

"I told you Leah would give her 100%, and if she's resorting to these stunts it's because she doesn't care if she has to beat you, she'll get it one way or another." said Jill "Listen to me, you will go out there, do your job, you will destroy Earps goal and only after that you will remember again that your girlfriend is the England captain, do you hear me?" this time Jill whispered in your ear as all the other girls from the England team had arrived in the tunnel.

"Okay, enough you two" you said getting a little annoyed "I'm a professional woman, I won't let my relationship affect my work and you should trust me as my teammates and friends.”

"We just want to make sure that-"

"No, I'm not a child who should be told what to do, now shut up you two" was the last thing you said to focus your eyes straight ahead, totally concentrated.

You were so focused on the game that you didn't even notice Daan and Jill high fiving behind you.

The first goal for your team came after the first 10 minutes, thanks to you and your ability to leave Lucy Bronze behind you. You also had another advantage, it wasn't the first time you had faced Earps so you knew where to shoot at the right time, so it was no surprise that your shot ended up in the back of the net.

Jill was the first to jump on you as you ran to a corner of the stadium where you could see some fans wearing the Netherlands shirt.

"That's what I was talking about!" Jill shouted in your ear as she kept hugging you.

Leah was watching out of the corner of her eye, chatting with Lucy, her jaw clenched thinking about how hard it would be to stop you.

Lucy was the one in charge of marking you, but now on every corner kick the person behind you was your girlfriend.

"Nice goal" she murmured close to your ear.

It was the first corner kick in favour of the Netherlands, so you were scared when you heard her voice, thinking that another girl would mark you.

You didn't say anything back, just pressed your elbow against her abdomen when you felt her too close.

"Too bad it was the last one." She muttered again, this time placing a hand on your waist and squeezing.

"Get the fuck off" you mumbled, starting to move from side to side to get her off.

"That's cute" was the last thing she said before the ball was kicked into the box, specifically looking for your head, but finding Leah's head first, who had no trouble clearing it out of the box.

"Shit" you muttered, glancing at Leah who was ignoring you again to focus on her team's counterattack.

"Focus on the game, YN" Vic said walking past you, giving you an encouraging pat on your back.

The first half ended with the Netherlands holding a one-goal lead. You had had a couple of chances at goal, but now in addition to having Lucy behind you, Leah was making a double effort to mark you in the same way, managing three times to get the ball away from you as cleanly as possible, as she always did.

During the half time talk no one mentioned the issue of Leah getting into your head, because from the look on your face everyone could tell that you were 100% focused on the game.

There were only 45 more minutes to go.

But to increase the lead you only needed 20.

"Hey, gorgeous" Leah's voice was in your ear again at another corner kick.

"God, shut the fuck up" you said pulling your body back, pushing her away. Leah, taking advantage of your action, raised her arms when she saw the referee signalling for you to stop the contact.

"You know what you do to me when you talk like that?" she whispered pressing her body against you once her teammates blocked the referee's view "It makes me want to make you- Hey!"

Before Leah could finish her words, your elbow had hit her abdomen hard.

"You two!" the referee came running up to where you were, giving words of warning to you and Leah.

"Come on love, let's be professional" Leah said once the referee left, her face was serious, but you knew her tone of voice showed how much she was enjoying the whole situation.

"Yeah, professionals" you muttered before you heard the referee's whistle.

The ball this time didn't go to your head, but to Daan's head instead, who's attempt unfortunately hit the crossbar, making the ball bounce back to your feet, Leah away from you because she had gone to clear Daan's first attempt.

It wasn't the best position to shoot, you didn't use your good foot either, but still the ball hit the net with the little push you gave it.

Now the Netherlands was 2 goals up on the scoreboard.

The whole team went up to you, celebrating between the rest of the English players who looked at each other blankly, including Leah, who was shaking her head with her hands resting on her waist.

It was all up to you to score a third goal, there were still 15 minutes left, not counting extra time. In a counterattack you were left with only Earps in front of you, but Lucy didn't hesitate to put her foot between your legs making you fall.

The foul had been called and Lucy had got a yellow card, because although she had made you fall it was not a red card action. But after a minute you were still on the ground.

You had fallen badly, with your wrist taking all your weight, plus apparently you had hit your head, or so said Vic who was the first to get to your side to keep you on the ground.

"The stretcher is coming" she said brushing some of the dirt and grass off your face.

"Babe? What hurts?" for the first time in the whole match you heard the tone of voice that Leah was used to using with you, a tone full of softness. One of her hands was placed on your abdomen, and she used her other hand to help Vic wipe your face.

"It's my hand," was all you said, opening your eyes to see that she was kneeling next to you. You weren't sure, but it felt like Leah let out a sigh when she heard that the problem was your hand and not your leg.

"You'll go to the bench." Leah murmured, watching one of your teammates take off her jacket to enter the field.

"Oh, you'll be happy now, Leah?" Vic teased her with a smirk.

"Shut up, Pelova" she said denying, but smiled anyway "Good, here comes the medical staff. I hope it's nothing serious" she said giving you a squeeze on the shoulder before getting up and returning to her position.

When you sat on the bench you were not unhappy with your performance, you had scored the two goals that led your team to a momentary win, but within minutes of you being substituted Leah's iconic phrase was ringing in your ears.

"The English are never done."

It only took your girlfriend and her team the remaining fifteen minutes and 3 minutes of extra time to turn the game around and take the 3 points.

"I can't believe it" was what you muttered as the final whistle blew, covering your face with your jacket, tears on the verge of flowing.

One of your teammates placed her hand on your thigh to reassure you, you didn't know who it was because you didn't remove your jacket from your face until several minutes later.

"Come on, YN" Viv grabbed your arm, forcing you to stand up.

You walked hugging her all the way to the centre of the pitch, where Beth and the other Arsenal girls were.

"Damn YN, I didn't know you had those goals in you" was the first thing Beth said, giving you a hug "You did well, don't worry" she murmured in your ear, knowing -thanks to Viv- how much you were worried about this match.

"You were a real nightmare," said Alessia, who then gestured to you to exchange shirts. "I hope I never see you doing what you did today again" she said with a laugh, referring to the next league match.

"I can't promise anything" you said shyly, still a little upset about losing. You were about to add something else, but in the distance you heard Leah's voice approaching. "Uh, I'll go inside, I think my arm still hurts, so I'll see if they can give me something for the pain."

Viv noticed the lie, but didn't say anything, just gave your healthy arm a squeeze. As soon as you started walking away from the group Leah did too, but Viv was quicker and managed to grab her arm to integrate her into the conversation and stop her from going after you.

"Great game today," Viv said, forcing her to focus on the conversation.

"Yeah, but you guys did well too. I think it was just a bit of luck that goal in extra time."

"That was a masterpiece!" Alessia defended herself, as she had been the one to convert that goal. "But of course, no goal will be that great for you unless it's from YN" she teased Leah, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"It's the truth, what YN touches turns into a masterpiece" Leah said, puffing out her chest proudly "I love watching her play, but I'd rather do it from the stands and not a few feet behind her."

"Look at you, flattering your rival, never seen that before from you" this time it was Beth who teased her.

"Since she's been with YN she has become a softie" said Viv, pinching Leah's cheek "Oh, why that grumpy face Williamson?"

"You're all idiots" she said smacking Viv's hand "So what if I've become a softie because of YN? I don't care if you laugh at me."

"We know why you have that grumpy face, Williamson" Jill said appearing behind her, jumping almost on Leah's shoulders "It's because your plan to get into YN's head didn't work out!"

"What do you say?"

"I think you achieved quite the opposite with YN, your words instead of distracting her made her try twice as hard, so thank you for that. Shame we didn't manage to keep the lead but that's the way it goes sometimes."

"Damn" Leah folded her arms "You're saying if I hadn't picked on YN she wouldn't have scored those goals?"

"I mean, she would have anyway, but I think you gave her a little push, so thanks."

At the end of the conversation all the girls laughed at Leah, who had planned all morning to get into your head, but in the end her plan didn't work out.

No one mentioned anything else about the game, let alone Leah. And the truth is, you didn't think about her either, well, that was until after you showered at the hotel, you found a bouquet of flowers on your bed and Jill and Leah chatting on the side.

"No funny business, you hear me?" Jill said to Leah before walking out of the room and leaving you two alone.

The atmosphere was awkward, but Leah didn't care.

"Uh, I brought you flowers" she hurriedly said and took the bouquet, walking over to you and handing it to you, smiling as she saw you accept them "You were amazing today... you were a real nightmare for Lucy and me."

"Don't exaggerate, it wasn't that big of a deal" you said smiling as you saw the card with a dedication in the middle of the flowers "I was the player of the match you think?"

"Yes, I can't deny it" Leah took the flowers from your hands to put it back on the bed "I did what I did because I knew it would be physically impossible to hold you back" she said taking your face, caressing your cheek. "It was a lot easier when you were subbed off, but Lucy got a couple of words from me afterwards."

"You're an idiot for that stupidity to be whispering in my ear the whole game, how old are you? 10?" you said resting your head on her chest.

"What did you expect? You scored a brace, I had to stop you somehow." Leah defended herself.

"Whatever you say... So, we're good then?"

"Yeah, I told you. It's just a game and things happen. I thought you wouldn't want to see me for how much I pissed you off today" she said laughing taking the opportunity to caress your back. "How's your hand?"

"Fine, nothing serious but I need to rest it for a couple of days."

"Good" she said and then started walking to your bed without letting you go, sitting down and making you sit on her lap. "Now... about what I said during that corner kick before your goal..." she said putting her hands on your thighs.

"Hmm..." you settled on top of her, not taking your eyes off her lips "I think that's the first time it's ever bothered me to feel you against my back if I'm being honest."

Leah couldn't hold back her laughter, taking the moment to slip her hands under your shirt "I wanted to do this every time I was behind you" she said before she started kissing you.

You guys stayed like that for a couple of minutes, with Leah murmuring how much she loved you every time she stopped kissing you to catch her breath.

"I've been worried about this match all week" you confessed as you stopped the kissing knowing you couldn't do much more than that.

"Yeah, I know. I think I got text messages every day from your team cursing me out. But I didn't want it to be like that, I like you to give your all always, even if it means being against me."

"It was just a difficult situation, your first game as a starter, qualification, Wembley...."

"I didn't want you to worry about me" she said tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. "But I want you to know that despite the defeat, I'm proud of what you did today, and I feel like the luckiest person knowing who my girlfriend is and what she's capable of."

"You're such a sweet talker" you laughed but kissed her anyway.

"I know"

Leah patted your thigh to get you off her lap, standing up immediately after that.

"Well I gotta go, see you in a couple of days love."

"Good luck in your next match." You said giving her a last kiss on her lips.

"May the best team qualify, babe."

"Right. Go before you start your little mind games with me" you said pushing her out of the room.

"I love you!"

[xotication]

okay but.. a quiet gamer boy bf kaneki that loves when his pretty girl bottoms herself out as he’s in the middle of a game. <3

you love kaneki, & you can accept that he has a love & passion for video games too but.. how does he expect you NOT to wanna sit on him when he looks so damn handsome all the time?!

he’s sat in that gaming chair with a baggy tee & a pair of grey sweats. he’ll even be wearing a pair of blue light glasses so that the constant gaming doesn’t do too much damage to his irises. nd he just looks so good with this combination!! ugh. it’s not even fair.

on this particular day, he’s playing fortnite with touka & hide after not touching that game for a couple of seasons. he’s giving call outs, talkin’ bout’ “116 to the body” “he’s 1 shot” “knocked.. dead.” “pushing up behind us” & just a whole bunch of shit that you didn’t care to try & understand..

you’re a little frustrated, to be honest. you had a long day at work nd you just wanna be all up under him. especially now that he’s on the game with some girl he used to have a fling with..?

“ken..”

“kennnn..!”

upon hearing that, he moves his headset behind his ear with a push of his shoulder & gives you a soft hum.

“when’re you getting off?”

“oh.. i don’t know, baby. probably not for another hour or so”

“another hour or so..??”

“yeah. what’s wrong?”

you don’t even bother answering. he shrugs his headset back on & continues to clack away at his keyboard. you’ve already made your way over to him, nd you watch him play for a little before you lift his arm & saddle yourself on to his lap. you’re thankful that he isn’t streaming today.

you begin to peck sloppy little kisses on to his neck, not really caring if it’s loud or not.. you’re kinda hoping it is, though :3. kaneki lifts his head a bit to give you more access. his pale skin is still displaying the hickies you had left just a couple nights ago nd you giggle a little bit at this. they look soso pretty on him!

a couple seconds pass by & you’re just slyly rolling your hips down on him. he knows exactly what you want out of him & he’s not gonna deny you from it. you slide yourself off his lap, now on your knees in between his legs & you take hold of the hem of his briefs & sweats before pulling them down to his lower thighs. it’s no surprise that ken is already hard.

you can’t blame him! he’s got a hot gf damn near humping him in his chair, what man wouldn’t be turned on?! i digress.

you take him in your hand & lick all the way from the base to the tip, you can feel him tense up & relax afterwards. you spit in your hand to act as lube nd stroke his dick a couple times before fully sticking him in your mouth. you’re left jerking whatever else doesn’t fit & you hear his breathing get heavier.

there’s a lewd gluck gluck (i’m so sorry 😭) coming from you as things get sloppier by the second. kaneki was now fully hitting the back of your throat, not really caring if it was difficult for you to handle or not..

touka & hide are noticing him paying less attention & his gameplay getting a bit more careless. i mean right now his character was on auto-run, & he had your hair in a makeshift ponytail as he fucked your poor throat! :(

“kaneki! they’re on the mountain building up.. there’s 20 left. focus up”

“fuck bro. i’m down.. he’s at least 5 bullets tho- push that”

“kaneki… push, maybe?? you’re selling”

“can you both get the fuck out my ear?”

ken let’s go of your hair nd tucks it behind your ears before giving his full attention to the game once again. you don’t know what he’s doing up there but he’s going crazy on his keyboard.

you pull him from your mouth with a lil “pop” sound nd climb back into his lap. your panties are now pulled to the side & you’re fully sitting on his dick.. this man leaves you so full OMGG. there’s an adorable bulge in your tummy >.<!

kaneki brings his attention to you for a brief moment to give you a quick couple of pecks, nd then he’s back to the game. you wrap your arms around his neck & use them as leverage to lift yourself up & down on his lap. the chair is making a bit of noise nd ken’s friends are now overly suspicious..

“the fuck is going on over there?”

“mind your business.”

touka rolls her eyes at his response to hide. she’s already knowing what’s going on nd she’s not too happy about it. you did kinda steal kaneki’s attention from her when they were talking. boohoo, so sad. you were just better!

you were getting a lil tired from bouncing up & down, so you began rolling your hips. ken doesn’t feel much pleasure from this but he knows how good it feels for you, he’s happy to let you use him.

“we have circle. camp this hill nd stay on high ground”

kaneki mutes his mic before he wraps his arms around you & snaps his hips up into you.

“ken- oh my god!”

“couldn’t wait till’ i got off, hm?”

you didn’t answer so his hips came to a full halt & you whined, like a puppy. “i asked you a question, sweetheart”

“look at me”

you met his eyes nd he just smiled, “you’re so pretty, holy fuck” nd he started fucking you again, no warning!

“kaneki, they’re pushing”

at this point he didn’t even care anymore. he grabbed you by your waist, then carefully lifting you off his lap. ken stands up, turns you around & bends you over just to slip himself back into your pretty cunny. he’s ruthless with the strokes too.

went from sucking to clapping sounds & his mic ain’t off no more. “can feel you in my stomach, ken”

“yeah? tell me how it feels, baby.”

“feels too good.. shit! i can’t-”

“you can, y/n. let’s finish what you started.” ken lifts your leg so that it’s resting on his desk, “ts’ too much!” you somehow felt him even deeper & it made your eyes roll back. kaneki was dying in the game, both friends collectively screaming at him over the mic.

“you can take it, i taught you better than that.” you’re babbling other things he doesn’t really care to comprehend. your hand reaches behind your back to push his hips away but he only grabs your wrist & yanks it back so there’s a bigger arch in your back :( he tells you to ‘stop trying to run’.

ken eventually bends forward a bit to rub your clit, it all feels so good. he’s balls deep inside you nd stimulating you just right. he’s way too good at what he does. you feel a knot in your stomach & you start clenching around him, “fuck y/n”

“ken, i’m gonna-”

“not yet, angel. wait for me, please?”

you love the way he talks to you.

you’re nodding nd he picks you up to carry you over to the edge of the bed, he sits down nd encourages you to ride him all over again.

“cmon, ‘wanna record my pretty girl” he says as he picks his phone up off the bed.

“are you gonna send it to touka..?” there’s a smile on your face & he kisses you, “course i will, she’ll never get to be in your place. you’re so perfect.. this pussy was made just for me”

kaneki stretches his arm out nd records the scene in front of him, the camera angle perfectly displays all of what’s going on; he smacks your ass just to show off too. it leaves you even more needy, “can’t keep holding it, kennie, please”

“keep going honey, i’m almost there.”

you propped your feet on the bed- in a squat, bouncing even harder. “what a fucken slut..!” ken let’s out a light laugh, he’s almost in disbelief. now he’s rubbing circles on your clit again nd you’re practically sobbing from the pleasure. “fuck- go ahead baby, i’m cumming”

you let yourself come undone; there’s heavy breathing for a couple of seconds after, you’re both just trying to calm your heart rates once again.

“i love you so much kaneki, never gonna leave, i swear”

“i love you too, pretty girl. get up & show me what we did, yeah?”

“mhm!” you slowly lift yourself off of his lap & sit next to him. your legs are spread & both your juices are flowing out of your cunt.. kaneki slips two fingers into you & you almost close your legs on his arm, “i’m sensitive!!”

“i know honey, i know..” he’s laughing now, “cmere, i wanna kiss you. say bye to touka”

“bye bye touka!” you cheese real hard & the video ends.

“gonna run us a bath okay, my angel? i’ll come get you when it’s done!” kaneki had slid his pants back on so he could make his way to the bathroom.

after turning on the water, he sends the video to touka with a little message: “my y/n wanted you to see this :)”

sosososososo feral for this man. :(((((

(this was extremely rushed + first time kinda writing something like this in full! bare with me as i try & get better <3)

[null-skull]

Monsters learning to be human is one of my favorite tropes in stories and I love the way Malevolent handles it. Yes, John learns that he’s more than his past and learns to love Arthur and humanity, but not only does he “become good” he is also gains all the selfish emotions that come with being human.

Take lying for example. In seasons 1 + 2 he lies because that’s what he knows as the King in Yellow. He lies and manipulates for his own benefit. He does so uncaring how that affects Arthur because he is just an end to a means. And it’s hard to tell when he’s lied as he only points it out when he knows it would hurt Arthur.

Compare that to season 3 + 4. Despite lying being the core of who he was as the king, he gets kinda bad at it. It’s pretty clear that John is hiding things from Arthur about what happened to him when they were separated and why John wants to go to New York. He begins to sound so unconfident in his words because he now understands what he’s doing is wrong. Instead of lying to manipulate and hurt Arthur, he’s lying to try and hide the fact that he’s hurting him. He’s so scared of the repercussions of the bad thing he knows he did, that he lies to cover it and pretend it will all blow over. It takes a lot of guts to admit your own guilt, and deciding to shrink away from it instead is so human.

When John admits all his lies to Kayne in part 40 he just sounds so desperate. He truly believes that he’s in the home stretch. That just a little more lying and everything will be done and he won’t feel guilty anymore. He decided he’ll tell Arthur when it’s over because he believes Arthur won’t be that mad, that he’ll think “you did something bad, but it all worked out in the end so it’s okay”, but we all know that’s not how that works. He’s so horrified when it’s revealed Arthur heard his confession because he knew what was coming, all of Arthur’s feelings of betrayal, disappointment, and anger, and he wasn’t ready to face it. He feels so guilty that he probably can’t imagine Arthur understanding and forgiving him.

Of course Kanye’s deal makes this worse. John once again knows that this is wrong as he hesitates at the beginning. But once Arthur begins to threaten him to not take the deal, John decides to take it, once again trying to run away from the repercussions of his actions. John doesn’t know yet that lying more only makes things worse, and Kayne knows this and gives him one more bump to trip on before leaving John to the fate that he has been avoiding for so long.

Of course it’s enjoyable to see John gaining his humanity. Him showing compassion, sympathy, and enjoying the mundane parts of life like admiring the view or wanting to watch a movie. But humanity is a double sided coin that comes with emotions like jealousy, selfishness, and envy. It’s frustrating to see John make all these decisions that we know are wrong and will have bad consequences, but he hasn’t been in this position before doesn’t know how this will all play out yet. And we just have to watch him learn the hard way.

[aleskie-hischier]

Invisible String NICO x FIGURE SKATER SMAU SUMMARY: Mila manifested this relationship. She did. The fans have proof. Ice to Meet You Masterlist

Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: one swear word, mentions of getting drunk and cigarettes

"a string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons one single thread of gold tied me to you"

“Schatz, have you seen this?” Nico leans over the back of the couch, phone in hand, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Apparently, you manifested me.”

Mila glances over, placing the last plate into the dishwasher with a soft clink. His smile is cheeky. Full of mischief. 

“What do you mean, ‘manifested’ you?” she asks, wiping her hands on a towel before walking over to him. She saddles up next to him, her eyes narrowing playfully as they flit over to the Twitter thread he has open. “Since when do you even use Twitter?”

“Since Jack sent me this thread,” Nico says, draping an arm over her shoulder and pulling her closer so they both face the screen. “Look, they even have video evidence.”

Mila scrunches her nose, her stomach twisting. Oh god, what was she about to witness? Nico scrolls down to the first post. The text on the tweet makes her groan, a wave of recognition hitting her as she reads:

“CASE ONE: 2014 OLYMPICS WHEN SHE DID THAT RAPID QUESTION INTERVIEW”

The memory rushes back—she’d just finished her program and ran into an interviewer. The cameras were flashing, her exhaustion making her blurt out answers without much thought. 

“Oh god, I remember this.”

Nico nudges her, laughing softly. “This was ten years ago, how do you remember?”

Mila buries her face into his shoulder, groaning. “They really found that?”

Nico chuckles softly, but she can’t help but look at the screen. She’s much younger in the video where she’s talking to the reporter. Fifteen years old, younger, a bit more carefree. Just a girl who was happy to be there. The video plays quietly in the backgound, but she doesn't need to watch it to know exactly what she said.

“They did. Thirteen’s your favorite number huh? And you want to get into hockey? And visit Switzerland?” He raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Sound familiar?”

She looks up at him, half laughing, half mortified. “That doesn’t prove I manifested you.”

Nico chuckles, kissing her forehead. “No, but it’s a pretty good start.” 

Nico scrolls again and reads the next post out loud:

“CASE TWO: 2018 OLYMPICS WHEN SHE GOT ASKED WHAT HER IDEAL TYPE IN A MAN IS.”

This one doesn’t ring a bell. Then again, she’d pretty much blocked out that entire Olympic run from her memory. All she remembers is getting drunk in her hotel room after leaving the village and chain-smoking four cigarettes in a row. Not her finest moment, that’s for sure.

“Play the video.”

Nico glances at her, brows furrowed with concern. “Are you sure?”

“I wanna know what I said.”

“They’ve got the quote right there,” he offers, scrolling slightly to show it below.

“I wanna hear how I sounded.” She flashes him a pout she knows he can't resist. "Please?"

He chuckles, relenting. “Okay, you win.”

The video starts. It catches her off guard—she’s laughing. She doesn’t remember that. She was certain nothing could have made her laugh back then. Not after what happened. But there she is, laughing, carefree, even letting out a snort. The sound makes her smile despite herself, something about it tender, something she wants to keep. She files it deep in her memory, a fragment worth holding onto. Proof that maybe not everything was bad that year, that there were good moments too.

It helps that Nico is laughing too, eyes wide with amusement, his whole chest vibrating with laughter. He’s so not letting her forget this.

When the video ends, he looks at her with a mischievous grin. “So,” he begins, counting on his fingers, “Tall? Check. Teddy bear? Check. Gives great hugs? Definitely. And,” he raises an eyebrow, lips pulled into a small smirk, “you’ve always had a thing for authority figures, haven’t you?”

She rolls her eyes and playfully slaps his chest. “You’re forgetting the part where I said I wanted someone who looks like they’ve been through the most horrendous shit ever,” she smirks.

He leans back, pretending to be offended. “Well, I don’t.”

Mila chuckles, pulling him closer. She presses a soft kiss between his furrowed brows. “Oh, honey, your eyebrows are more expressive than you think.”

Nico laughs, shaking his head as he scrolls down to the next post. Mila reads the text:

“CASE THREE: 2020 USA NATIONALS WHEN SOMEONE ASKED HER ABOUT HER PERFECT MEET-CUTE.”

“You know,” she glances up at him, “Now that I think about it, this was almost exactly a year before we met.”

A fond smile tugs at her lips as the memory of their first meeting floods back. She can almost feel herself there again—bored out of her mind in that dimly lit bar in New Jersey.

Nico rests his cheek on the top of her head. “Why ‘almost’?”

“This interview was in January. We met in February.” She grins. “But the days match up.”

He hums thoughtfully, his fingers still idly scrolling. “Close enough.”

With a small chuckle, he hits play on the video, and they both lean in, listening intently. Mila’s voice fills the room, she's not that much younger but she talks with a confidence she barely remembers, describing her version of a perfect meet-cute.

As she watches, she can’t help but glance at Nico, admiring the way he’s so focused on the video. It’s funny how things turned out, meeting in a way neither of them could have written.

Mila feels his gaze lingering on her. “What?”

“You predicted everything,” Nico says with a smile. “We met at a bar, we clicked, and you found out I liked the ice just as much as you did.”

He pulls her in for a kiss, short and sweet, more of a peck, but the warmth of it lingers. “And now, here we are.”

“Huh,” she tilts her head, smiling softly. “I guess I did.”

They share a quiet chuckle, and Nico pulls her in for another kiss, this one lingering a bit longer. Maybe they really were meant to be. She’d never believed in soulmates, never thought there was someone like that for her. But there she was, cuddled up next to him.

“Now all I need to do is propose to you in the mountains and give you the wedding of your dreams,” he says playfully, "Do you think the Swiss Alps would work for a nice mountain proposal?"

She smiles up at him, her mind wandering as she pictures it—maybe on a hike, the two of them reaching the peak, and just as she turns around, there he is, down on one knee, holding a dainty little ringbox in his large hands. The thought makes her heart race.

Resting her head on his chest, she chuckles. “If we actually end up having two boys and a girl, I’ve chosen the wrong career. Clearly, I should’ve been a psychic.”

Nico laughs for what feels like the millionth time that night. It’s deep and hearty, and she thinks it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard. 

What a life. What a life. What a life.

[ciakina]

A Second Chance

Viktor Hargreeves X Fem!Reader

Viktor reconnects with one of his past lovers

A/N: I love Elliot page, and I think it is a CRIME that there isn't more Viktor fics out there. This is in the timeline of season 4 which I WILL rewrite bc idk wtf I watched but it wasn't Tua.

(Y/N will be used but won't be described)

"Viktor has officially ran through every woman in the town" A guy announced in the bar making everyone laugh. "Okay that's enough" Viktor said taking the keys a woman had slammed on the counter. Viktor walked back behind the counter to pick up the ringing phone "What is it Luther-" Luther's words faded as he looked at the entrance to see a woman walking in. The woman walked up to the bar leaning on the counter, watching Viktor put the phone away without saying goodbye.

"Hi Viktor" "Hi Y/N"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2 months earlier

"That's absolutely ridiculous V" Y/N laughed watching Viktor make breakfast. "I'm being so serious; we went back in time" Viktor giggled. Y/N took bacon from the pan "Okay so where are your so-called powers" Viktor rolled his eyes "I told you we lost them" "You lost them after coming out of a rich hotel with a killer bodyguard" Y/N busted out laughing realizing how stupid it all sounded. "It's not funny" Viktor wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her closer. "But it kind of is" She placed her hands on his cheeks.

They stayed like that for a moment, just enjoying being in each others arms. "So what else did your powers do" Y/N asked playing with his necklace "It was like energy blasts, vibrations and stuff" Viktor replied. A smirk grew on Y/N's face "Did your hands vibrate too" Viktor looked at her confused then sighed when he realized that she was thinking of "You're so annoying"

"You know you love me" "I do"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2 weeks earlier

"I can't do this anymore" Viktor said looking at his feet. "Come on, it's just a burger. You can finish it" Y/N giggled. Viktor looked at the woman in front of him. She was everything Viktor could wish for. She was perfect. Too perfect. It scared him. "I mean i can’t do... This." He gestured toward him and Y/N.

"Are you breaking up wit-" "Yes" Viktor interrupted. "Why? I thought we were okay, no actually. I thought we were great" Y/N stared trying to understand where they went wrong or what she could of done to make Viktor not love her anymore. Viktor had no explanation other than he was scared of falling in love with her. Even though he already has. "It's just.. too complicated. Your parents already don't like me and i have to run the bar, we barely even see each other." Viktor lied looking at his plate. Y/N had made them burgers and cake because of the success of the bar. And for their 5 month anniversary.

Y/N knew he was lying.

"I bring you lunch every day at the bar and I'm always awake when you come back. I even offered to help out. YOU were the one that said no." Tears started to fill her eyes trying to find an answer in Viktor's. He refused to look at her. Like she no longer mattered. "V. I've told you so many times that I don't care what my parents think. Or anyone else. It's my life, I choose what I do, and I can love who I want." Viktor needed to leave. He knew if he had looked at her everything would go wrong. Viktor headed for the door of Y/N apartment stopped when he heard Y/N's final words.

"Viktor, I want to love you... because I do but you- You have to let me love you."

Viktor left leaving Y/N with confusion and tears.

A/N: sooo.. should i delete myself and my page or keep going...🌚 PLEASE tell me what you think i genuinely don't mind advice as long as it's respectful.

[1-800-hwahui]

match of the season

member — college student radio host!junhui x f student!reader genre  —  smut, fluff, humor word count — 7.3k warnings — virgin!jun, shy clueless jun, fr that man does not know a single thing but it's endearing in a silly way, top!reader bot!jun (but no real dom/sub dynamics, more like reader leads until jun figures out how to take over), unprotected sex, jun big cock agenda, VOICE KINK (listen. you all knew it was coming), so much dirty talk, lots of consent bc it is very sexy, riding, little bit of dry humping?, mentions of an iud/birth control, jun is implied taller than reader (maybe size kink but only if you take it that way), jeonghan cameo and he's a menace, lots of fluff at the end (but also kinda throughout), please lmk if i missed any warnings! notes — this is a nsfw sequel to a sfw fic on my main writing blog @junekissed called sounds of the season, which is part of my series of winter-themed fics! if you haven't already, i would highly recommend reading that before reading this, since the stories are pretty closely connected. thanks to @onlymingyus for reading over this for me <3 i hope you all enjoy this as much as you enjoyed the first part. also like i said in part 1 i have no idea how radio works so if it doesn't make sense just roll with it lmao

you’re just putting the last finishing touches on your final paper when your phone buzzes. you glance down, grinning when you see junhui’s name on the screen.

unable to hide the butterflies in your stomach, you press a button to accept the call. “hi, junnie.”

“oh! hi,” his voice plays through your speaker with a giggle. “hey, i like that. ‘junnie’. do you want a nickname? but your name is so pretty, i don’t wanna change it–”

“whatever you want is fine,” you say, trying to hold back a smile. god, he’s cute.

“okay. i’ll think about it. oh, wait, yeah!” he says suddenly, as if he’s just remembered why he’s calling. “jeonghan left town early this week so it’s just me in the studio today, and it’s our last show of the semester. so anyway, do you wanna come over?” he stops, stumbling over his words. “well, not like, come over come over, i mean, we can just hang out, i–”

“give me half an hour,” you laugh, endeared by his eagerness.

“yay!” he cheers, and you shake your head with a smile.

half an hour later, a text pops up on jun’s phone, alerting him that you’re waiting outside the building. he leaps out of his chair, an excited grin on his face as he flings open the door and dashes downstairs to let you in.

he’s out of breath by the time he reaches the communications lab door, leaning on the push bar to let you in. “sorry, forgot they locked it already,” he pants.

“it’s fine,” you giggle. “so… everyone else is gone?”

he nods. “yeah, mr. choi said as long as i don’t mess with anything he’ll let me close by myself, so they all left early for break.”

you smile and hold out your hand for him to take, and he beams, hastily grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours.

he leads you up the stairs to the sound booth, squeezing your hand the whole way.

it’s your second time being in the school’s recording studio, but the feeling is still new and exciting. you definitely understand now what jun meant when he said being around all the equipment is a lot of fun.

once inside, he shuts the heavy door with a click, locking the door and flipping on the “on air” light. not that anyone could get in anyway, but it’s a habit he doesn’t want to accidentally get out of before he comes back next semester.

he slides in front of the computer for a second, queueing another song so he has more time to grab what he’s designated as “your chair”; the comfiest one in the studio, according to him.

he pulls it over next to his chair and pats the cushion for you to sit. you giggle and plop down on the seat, scooching closer to him once he’s sat in his own chair.

he raises his eyebrows at you with a grin, then clears his throat and moves closer to the microphone as the song ends to do his job.

ever since you accidentally admitted to him that you like the way his voice sounds, he’s teased you about it—or at least, attempted to tease you about it. he's too sweet for his own good, so even when he tries to poke fun at you it comes out like a compliment.

he presses the red button and begins to talk. “that was one of the classics, ‘a holly jolly christmas’ by burl ives. coming up next, another favorite, ‘the christmas song’ by michael bublé, and more great songs on your favorite program: 111.7fm’s sounds of the season.”

he lets go of the button and sits back in his chair, spinning it around to face you as the slow music starts softly playing. “hi,” he says shyly. “did you like that?”

you smile. it’s a little bit of an odd question, but you’ve started to understand his awkwardness; he just needs a little encouragement. “i always like it. you’re really good at this.”

“i like it a lot,” he grins back, bouncing his head in excitement. “can i kiss you now?”

you laugh at his enthusiasm but nod, leaning forward to press your lips to his. he sighs into your mouth, his hands falling naturally to your waist. for supposedly not going out much, jun is really, really good at kissing, you’ve quickly learned over the last few days. how he got so good at it, you may never know, but the feeling of him pressed against you is too perfect to waste time questioning why.

despite being surrounded by the cold, metal recording equipment, the sound of michael bublé’s crooning voice and the gentle warmth of junhui’s lips makes the studio feel like the coziest place on earth.

his hands tug at your waist and you slide easily out of your chair and onto his lap, sitting sideways across his legs, never breaking the kiss.

he pulls away for a second, his cheeks dusted with pink. “let me… put the playlist on,” he says, his voice a little breathier than usual. 

you hum in confusion, attention still focused on the curve of his lips and the little noises he makes when he’s kissing you. “what playlist?”

he laughs. “for the show. so we can keep doing… this, and not have to worry.”

“wait, so you mean, not all of it is live?”

he shakes his head. “almost all of it is, but there’s a backup playlist in case we get busy and can’t sit around pressing buttons for the whole hour. i used it a couple weeks ago when i had to finish my chem paper.”

he spins the chair around, facing you both in front of the computer screen and tapping a few buttons on the keyboard. he turns a dial on the soundboard and the background music in the studio gets lower, so quiet you need to strain to hear it.

he hums, and your attention turns away from the machinery and back to his eager smile.

“can i kiss you again?” he asks softly.

you giggle and put your hands around his neck. “you don’t have to ask every time.”

so he’s pushing his lips on yours again, kissing you like you’re the most delicate thing in the world.

and that’s when you feel it. the butterflies deep in your stomach that make you want to do things no person should be doing in a school building.

he pulls away for a second to catch his breath. “you’re so pretty,” he says dreamily, and you hate the way it immediately sends shivers down your spine, landing directly at your core. 

you hold back a whimper and shift the way you’re sitting, moving so each leg is on either side of his legs, straddling his lap.

he pushes his mouth against yours, hands gently kneading your hips. your fingers dance beneath the bottom of his shirt, fingernails gliding over the warm, soft skin of his stomach and feeling his abs contract at your touch.

“wait,” he whimpers, and you pull back immediately, taking your hands off of him and putting them on your thighs.

“do you want me to stop?” you ask quietly. shit, you hope you haven’t completely ruined this by going too fast.

“no!” he nearly shouts, looking panicked, then clears his throat. “no,” he repeats. “i don’t want you to stop. i’m, just…” he trails off, avoiding your gaze.

“you can tell me, junnie,” you say gingerly, wanting him to be comfortable.

“i know,” he whines. “i’m… embarrassed,” he says, voice small.

“i’m not going to laugh at you,” you say softly.

“i’m not– i haven’t–” he freezes. you give him a small smile that you hope looks encouraging, and it must be, because he sighs and starts again. “i’m a… virgin,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“oh! that’s all?” you ask, taking his hand and threading your fingers in between his. he looks up at you, trying (and failing) to hide the surprise in his expression. “you don’t need to be embarrassed. everybody has a first time.”

you pause, not wanting to force him into doing this if he really isn’t ready. you don’t care, you have plenty of ways of getting yourself off if he wants to wait longer. because you are willing to wait. “we don’t have to now, junnie,” you say. “i’ll wait as long as you want me to.”

“i want to now,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “i just… don’t know what to do,” he mumbles.

“that’s fine,” you whisper, bringing your other hand up to his face and kissing his cheek tenderly. “we’ll go slow, and you tell me what you want.”

he hesitates, then tentatively places his hands on your waist, still holding your hands. “i want to kiss you again.”

you smile. “i can do that.”

and you lean back in, pressing your lips to his. gently at first, until he grips your waist a little harder and starts kissing you a little deeper. you let him get used to it, allowing him to set the pace he wants.

testing the waters, you push down on his lap a little, starting to grind lightly on his crotch. he whimpers and tugs at your hips to help you, beginning to fall into a steady rhythm. 

you stay like this for a while, leisurely making out on his lap, for longer than you normally would with someone else. but this isn’t someone else, this is junhui, and you’re more than content going as slow as he wants. plus, all this is just making you wetter and wetter as time goes on, riling you up the more you think about what’s to come later.

you can feel him getting harder underneath you, and you moan into him, eagerly but patiently waiting for him. his hands climb up your back, hooking around your shoulders and pulling you almost completely flush with his chest.

he pulls away after a minute, lips red and puffy from the contact and breathing hard. “don’t– you need a c-condom, when… so you, don’t get pregnant?” he stutters out, struggling to get the words out and to stop from bucking his hips against you.

“i have an iud, it’s alright,” you say, also panting for breath.

“okay.” he exhales and leans back, letting go of your hips.

you look at him in confusion at his sudden pause. “why…?”

he stares at you. “uh, don’t you have to go put it in? or did you do that before you got here?”

you snort. “my iud? no, it’s in all the time. it doesn’t come out.” 

“oh,” he says, his cheeks flushing pink. “sorry, i didn’t know–”

“it’s okay, junnie. don’t apologize,” you say, trying your hardest to hold back a laugh. poor sweet, oblivious junhui. you’re not laughing at him, you’re laughing at how adorably clueless he is. you find yourself hoping you might be the one to help him understand these things, if he wants you to.

“have you… before?” he asks shyly, avoiding your eyes again.

you pause, knowing he’s already embarrassed and trying to answer him as gently as possible. “yes,” you say finally, and his face droops a little at your response. “but that doesn’t mean anything. it’s my first time with you, too, so we’re learning about each other. that’s all it is. so just… don’t think about it, okay? the only thing i’m thinking about right now is you.”

his cheeks are a deep shade of pink, but he nods. you take his hands carefully and put them at the hem of your shirt, guiding him to pull it up and over your head. you unclasp your bra and turn around to toss it over to your chair.

“now your turn,” you say gently, looking up at his eyes, which are still focused on your boobs.

“ju-un,” you murmur in a sing-song voice, and his eyes snap back to your face. “do you want to keep going?” 

“yeah,” he chokes out. “i mean– yes. yes, please.”

you coo at his manners, moving off of his lap to wiggle your pants down your legs. his eyes are completely transfixed on your body, admiring every inch of you that he can see.

“do you want to now?” you ask, and he nods rapidly. he stands up and throws his shirt off, and his pants are quick to follow until he’s sitting back in his chair in only his boxers. the lines of his stomach seem even more defined in the low light of the studio, and you so desperately want to run your hands up and down his torso, and feel every inch of him, but– one thing at a time.

you slide your panties off and go back to your position straddling his lap. “is this okay?” you ask again.

“mhm,” he hums lowly, and you feel it deep in your abdomen, walls clenching around nothing at the sound.

his eyes dart around your face, and you reach up to run your fingers through his hair, tucking it gently behind his ear. “are you ready?” you ask softly.

his eyes widen, and he springs into action, his hands flying to your waist again. “oh! okay, yes, yes, um…”

you try not to giggle at his enthusiasm. you trail your hand carefully down to the waistband of his shorts, slipping the tip of your finger inside the elastic. “you have to take this off, junnie,” you whisper.

“mm, okay,” he whines, and you lift up a little so he can slide them down without standing up. he kicks them off and you sit back down, looking down to see what you’re working with. now that he’s fully hard, you can see that he’s… big, much bigger than you expected from a man this shy.

but who are you to judge, so you adjust on his lap, sitting up to reach below you and take his cock in your hand, positioning it at your entrance. he whimpers at the contact as you slowly drag his tip through your folds, spreading your wetness around. 

“you just sit here and let me do all the work, baby, okay?” you hum, gripping his shoulder with your other hand. “let me make you feel good, hm?”

he lets out a garbled noise in response, barely comprehending your words at how engrossed he is with the way you’re holding his cock so delicately, waiting to push it inside and finally feel you.

“junnie, need you to use your words, honey,” you say gently, moving the hand on his shoulder to lightly cup his jaw, lifting his chin so his gaze lands on your face. “you have to tell me if you don’t like something or you wanna do something different, okay?

“i wanna do you,” he says, staring blankly into your eyes, and that’s when you know he’s already gone.

you giggle. “i know, baby. you’re going to. but you have to talk to me.”

“‘cause you like my voice.”

you resist the urge to cringe, still embarrassed that that’s the thing he remembers about you. “yes, i do, but no, that's not why. you need to tell me if you want to stop, at any time, and we’ll stop, okay?”

hearing your tone get serious, he seems to snap out of it a little. “okay,” he whimpers. “can i…?”

he trails off, and you shake your head. you know he’s shy, but you can’t let him off the hook every single time, or else he’ll never learn. “can you what, honey? use your words.”

by now the tips of his ears have turned red, and he’s beginning to lose control, his hips starting to grind against you involuntarily. “can i… fuck you?” he rasps.

“of course you can,” you coo, slipping your hand behind his neck and kissing him gently. “good job, baby.”

he mewls at the praise, and you finally start to sink down on his cock. it burns at first with how girthy he is, but soon the stretch feels good, and you have to fight to keep yourself upright on his lap, soft whimpers escaping your lips.

he groans, throwing his head back against the back of his chair, his grip on your waist tightening. it takes some time, but you finally sit all the way down on his lap, legs splayed on either side of his hips.

immediately he thrusts up into you hard, and you yelp, pushing on his shoulders to get him to stop. “wait!” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut in pain. “just… wait a second first.”

“s-sorry,” he whines, his adam’s apple bobbing with each labored breath.

“s’okay,” you breathe, beginning to adjust to the feeling of his thick cock throbbing inside you. “you’re… big, gotta– gotta give me a second, oh my god.”

he hums absently, clearly pleased with your response, but he manages to stop moving for a little bit.

you sit still on top of him, your muscles gradually beginning to relax as you get used to the feeling.

he sighs, his hands sliding up your back, caressing your skin beneath his fingertips.  “feels so good, just wanna… fuck, just wanna be inside you forever.”

you would be surprised at the sudden lewdness of his words, if you weren’t so focused on the way the tone of his voice has abruptly dropped an octave. he’s starting to get more comfortable, you can tell, and you won’t lie: it’s dangerous for you.

“can– are you okay now?” he asks, eyes focused back on your face again.

“mhm,” you manage, letting out a short exhale. you start to wind your hips in circles, bouncing slowly on his lap as his hands roam your body, touching every inch of you as if he’s trying to memorize every last curve.

it’s a gentle pace; although much too slow for you, you’re hoping it’s just right for junhui to start out with. you’re not used to being on top, so you’re doing your best to keep up, but your thigh is starting to cramp from the position you’ve been sitting in and having to do the work yourself.

he must notice your discomfort, because his hands fall back down to their place at your waist, kneading your skin as he lifts his hips against you in rhythm.

“can i take over?” he mumbles, voice breathy. “please, let me, please.”

“yes, please,” you sigh, your head falling forward to rest on his chest. his skin is burning hot beneath your cheek, and you exhale, closing your eyes from exhaustion.

as soon as you relax and stop moving your hips, his own start moving immediately, your surprised cry punctuated by hard thrusts up into you, over and over again.

you’re still trying to figure out where the hell he got all this stamina from when he starts murmuring in your ear, sweet, dirty whispers as he pounds into you from below.

“you’re so… beautiful, oh my god,” he says in the low voice you’re still struggling to get used to hearing come out of his mouth. “you’re so good, wanna have you like this forever, please–”

“jun, ke–keep talking, please,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut in pleasure.

“you like my voice, but you sound so pretty right now,” he groans. “you should hear yourself. wanna hear you cry and make you feel so good, wanna hear you– god, wanna fuck you like this all day and never stop.”

you let out a moan, his words going straight through you. the rumble in his chest as he speaks reverberates against your head. 

the combination of his brutal pace along with the innocently filthy words from his mouth brings you right up to the edge, and you feel the knot in your abdomen tightening.

you shift a little, moving up so you can wrap your arms around his neck, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

his hips falter for half a second at the contact, but he recovers quickly, wrapping his long arms around you and pressing you flush against his chest, jerking you up and down on his cock with fervor.

“you’re so pretty, you’re so beautiful, you’re so perfect,” he babbles, somehow remembering to keep talking you through everything. “love you so much– fuck, thank you, you’re so amazing, you’re so–”

you almost miss the four-letter word that slips out in between his praises, but it rings through your ears, nestling itself in your heart. you decide to ignore it for now, too focused on chasing your rapidly approaching high, but you promise yourself you’ll talk to him after this is all over and figure out what this is between you two.

you whine, breath catching in your throat as your own words tumble out of you in a constant stream. “keep going, jun, please– keep going, so close, please, junnie please, need you–”

“are you gonna cum? you’re so perfect, please cum for me, please, baby, lemme hear you.”

“fuck, yes!” and with that you’re catapulting over the edge with a sob, clenching around his cock as your orgasm slams into you.

he keeps thrusting into you, not once stuttering as he fucks you through your high, content to keep going and going and going until–

“jun,” you call out weakly, head swirling as you try to sit up. “jun. jun, you can s-slow down.”

his hips begin to stop, slowing down until he’s gently rocking you back and forth on his lap. “did you cum already?” he asks in surprise. like a dork.

you choke out a laugh, head lolling as your arms loosen around his neck. “yeah. yeah, i did.”

“oh.”

if you weren’t so exhausted already, you would burst out laughing. “you’ll figure it out,” you wheeze, hoping it sounds reassuring. 

he starts to move his arms to let go of you, still wrapped around your torso, but you whine and he freezes.

“just… stay here first,” you say, letting your eyes fall shut for a second.

“why?”

you sigh. “because it’s nice.”

“oh,” he says again. he settles back into the chair, holding you on his lap, arms wrapped around you, just sitting quietly.

after a few more seconds of peace you pull yourself upright, pushing your hands against his chest.

“ …what now?” he asks quietly, eyes finding your face.

“you didn’t cum yet, right?” you say. he hums out a no. “then we keep going.”

he yelps in surprise when you start to lift yourself off his lap, his still-hard cock slipping out of you, now soaked in your juices. “don’t we have to wait for you?”

you fight the urge to slap your hand over your forehead. “i can cum more than once, honey. we don’t need to wait,” you say with the straightest face you can muster.

he nods, taking in this clearly unheard of information.

“do you want me to suck you off?” you ask, bringing his attention back to you.

“wh-what?” he stutters, face turning red, clearly not expecting it.

you take in a deep breath. “where do you want to finish?” you try instead, thinking it might help him decide.

“where will you let me?” he replies, wide eyes searching yours as if it’s a trick question designed to make him fail and you’re hiding the answer somewhere in your tender gaze.

“wherever you want, junnie.”

he pauses, like he’s making sure you aren’t lying to him. “can–” he clears his throat and starts again, more sure of himself. “i have an, um… idea.”

“mhm,” you breathe, watching him expectantly.

“do you think i could, maybe… stand up? and, have– you, over the…” he trails off, gesturing to the empty table beside you and hoping you’ll understand what he’s trying to say.

“you want to bend me over and fuck me on the table?” you translate for him, blinking.

instantly his cheeks flare, the shyness returning. “well, i… i. no, um, uh–”

“you can say yes, junnie. it’s hot.”

“you think so?” he squeaks in shock.

you giggle. “yes. you can do whatever you want to, just ask me first.”

his face breaks out into a wide grin. “okay. will you please, um, follow me?” he asks, holding out his arm like a waiter leading you to a table at a restaurant. if he wasn’t so damn cute you definitely would’ve smacked him by now.

you finally move off of his lap and step away, giving him room to move from his chair. you’d forgotten how big he is until he stands up, towering over you, and it sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. he turns and starts walking away, expecting you to follow him.

you laugh and grab his arm, pulling him back. when he looks at you in curiosity, you take his large hands and place them on your waist, motioning for him to guide you.

his mouth falls into an ‘o’ and he follows your lead, pushing you by your hips over to the table.

he stands behind you, caging you in against the table with his tall frame but otherwise not doing anything. you glance over your shoulder at him, nodding in approval.

his hands leave your waist and ever so gently press on your lower back to tilt you over. you comply, letting him move you how he wants.

“is that good?” he asks softly.

“it’s great,” you say, wiggling your ass playfully. “good job asking.”

he hums, so low it’s more like a growl, and it sends another shiver down your spine. at this angle you can feel his dick pressed against your ass, hard and throbbing.

he grinds against you, dragging his cock up and down your hole. you know he’s not doing it intentionally to tease you—you’re not even sure if he’s capable of that—but it does plenty to rile you up.

“junnie, please?” you gasp out, writhing your hips in search of friction, anything. his grip tightens on you, stilling your movements.

“what do i do?” he whispers.

“put it in,” you whisper back, unable to stop the giggle that slips out. he whines in annoyance, so you stop, giving him real advice this time. “just go slow. you can do it, baby.”

you angle your ass up, hoping to give him better access to your dripping hole. he’s already been inside you once, so surely he can find it again… right?

your expectations are clearly too high, because suddenly you feel his tip pressing in between your ass cheeks, and he’s—

you yelp, and he freezes, his hands flying off of you. you reach behind and stick your index finger into your pussy, using the rest of your fingers to spread your folds apart so he can see. “this one, baby.” at least he was going slow, like you said.

“oh! sorry, i’m so sorry,” he mumbles, and even without looking you already know he’s redder than a tomato. 

“jun. don’t apologize. it’s okay,” you say softly. you move your hand away from your pussy and reach it out to him, craning your neck to see him. you wave your fingers at him, and he takes your hand, automatically twining his fingers with yours. it makes you smile. “just go for it, honey.”

“okay,” he breathes, and he starts slowly pushing into you again (the right one this time).

tiny gasps fall from your lips as you feel him fill you up again, stuffing you with his cock, inch by careful inch. once he bottoms out you exhale, letting out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding in.

when you don’t feel any more movement, you realize he’s stopped, waiting. you almost whine at how cute and considerate he is, but instead you just squeeze his hand. “baby, you can move.”

“okay,” he says again, and pulls out carefully before slowly pushing back in.

you moan as he starts to increase his pace, rapidly pumping into you as his hips smack against your ass. you arch your back a little, trying to angle him in deeper. each powerful thrust pushes you against the table, your hip bones hitting the edge in a way that’ll definitely leave bruises. but you can’t bring yourself to care when junhui’s thick cock is thrusting into you like his life depends on it. 

still holding onto his hand, you slip your other hand down to run your fingers over your clit, rubbing small circles. you can feel the pressure in your abdomen growing, and—

“fuck, you’re so tight,” jun groans, voice thick with need, and he begins pushing into you even harder than before, something you didn’t even think could be possible. you whine and move your hand from your clit back to the edge of the table to stop yourself from ramming into it.

he notices your elbow bent at an awkward angle to protect yourself, so he lets go of your hand and snakes around your stomach to pull you back so you’re standing upright, both his arms wrapped securely around your body. “feels so good… god, wish i had done this sooner, you’re so amazing, so perfect, for me.”

you whimper at his words, unintentionally clenching around him. “jun,” you cry out softly.

“fuck, baby, say my name again– please, like that, baby, please say it, again,” he begs you, fingers pressing into your skin that you’re sure will leave you covered in little oval-shaped bruises by the time he’s done.

“jun! please, i’m so close, jun,” you moan, repeating his name over and over again like a mantra, getting closer and closer to your release with each syllable.

“i’m cl-close too, baby, please… you’re so good, fuck! you’re so good.”

the constant praise is almost too much, and with one more sharp thrust you’re coming undone on his cock for the second time. your legs wobble as you struggle to stay standing, your hands coming up to hang on to junhui’s strong arms wrapped around you for support.

he whines loudly, and you know he must be getting close, too. “can i– can i cum on your back?” he pants out, still gripping you tightly. as much as he really, really wants to cum inside you, he figures it might be messier than cumming on you. and besides, he doesn’t want to get too greedy; it is only his first, after all.

“yes! yes please, yes, jun,” you manage, still wading through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

a little harder than he intends, he’s shoving you roughly down onto the table again, pulling his dick out of you to jerk himself over you.

“junnie, please,” you whimper out weakly, and the sweet sounding words on your lips have him choking back a sob as he cums, thick spurts of white painting your lower back.

he keeps moving his hand on his cock until he’s completely finished, panting heavily. by the time he’s done you’re both sticky with sweat, breathing like you’ve just run a marathon.

you let out a long sigh, feeling exhausted but satisfied. silence settles over the studio, the music long stopped, but you can’t tell if it’s a good silence or a bad silence.

you realize you’d closed your eyes while jun was cumming, and when you don’t feel his touch anymore, you slowly pry them open again, wondering where he went. 

you prop your head up in your hands and look behind you to see jun hastily pulling on his boxers and jeans. 

your jaw drops in horror. you’d thought, with his inexperience, he wouldn’t be like all the other guys who fuck and then take off, but apparently, you thought wrong.

“jun!”

his head whips around as he pulls his zipper up, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“are you seriously gonna just leave?”

his mouth falls open. “no! of course not! i was just putting my pants back on.”

your expression softens. “oh,” you say quietly, face flushing at having jumped to conclusions so quickly. “sorry.”

“why would i wanna leave after this?” he frowns, looking genuinely appalled at the mere idea that someone might do that. “you’re still here.”

“i thought, since–” you start, then pause. discussion for another time. “nevermind, it’s not important. but why were you putting your pants on like you were gonna leave?”

you’re the one feeling embarrassed, but it’s junhui that turns red and starts stuttering. “well, i– um, i didn’t want you to… see…”

you laugh and put your head back in your arms. when you don’t say anything, he calls out your name nervously, and you look back over at him.

“junnie, your dick was just in me. twice. i don’t care what it looks like.”

“okay,” he says shyly, but his fingers still fumble with the button of his jeans.

you sigh once he finishes adjusting his pants. whatever makes him more comfortable, you suppose. “jun, can you… help me clean up now, please?” you ask timidly.

he glances over at you, looking like he’s about to ask why you need help, but then he sees you still bent awkwardly over the table and his cum still covering your back, and his eyes widen. “oh! shit, yeah– yes, i’m so sorry, i will–” he stammers, almost tripping over his backpack in his hurry to go get a tissue from the box by the door.

you sigh, more exhausted than mad, knowing you can’t really fault him. he comes back over a second later, gripping a wadded-up handful of tissues.

he drops them on your back and begins wiping at your skin, gingerly cleaning you off. when he’s satisfied with his work, he balls up the tissues and tosses them into the small can by the door.

“oh!” he says, realizing. “i think we have antibacterial wipes in here too, do you want me to use one of those? er, wait, i don’t know if they’re safe for skin…”

with your back (mostly) clean again, you stand up, wincing at the ache in your hips. “it’s fine, don’t worry about it. i’ll shower when i get home.”

you limp over to your chair, picking up your clothes and sitting down to start getting dressed again.

when jun finishes pulling his shirt over his head and looks over at you he gasps, seeing the bruises across your hips and tummy. “holy shit! did i do that?” he asks, looking horrified, and you look down to check.

“oh. yeah, that and the table,” you shrug, hooking your bra behind your back.

“i’m sorry,” he says, voice quivering, and he genuinely looks like he’s about to cry until you convince him you’re alright and he didn’t do anything wrong.

“it’s not supposed to hurt, though, i thought,” he frowns. “i don’t want to hurt you. i lo– um, like you,” he says, “why would i want to hurt you?” he catches himself quickly, but you heard what he started to say. you decide now isn’t the best moment for you to bring it up, so you leave it alone.

“sometimes people like it when it hurts. sometimes people like it not to hurt. everybody’s different,” you tell him instead.

he nods, thinking. “i… liked this,” he says finally.

you smile, finishing putting the last of your clothes back on. “good, i’m glad. you’re supposed to enjoy it.”

“did… you like it?” he asks tentatively.

“yes, i did like it,” you giggle, and he beams, clearly proud of himself. and he should be. obviously it wasn’t the most perfect of your life, but when is it ever? it was close enough to perfect that it might as well be.

“you live on campus, right? so i don’t need to walk you to your car?” he asks, grabbing his jacket that somehow fell on the floor and tossing it onto his chair as he starts to shut everything down in the studio.

you sigh. damn, you’d forgot about this part. sure, a couple hours ago you could walk just fine to the communications building on the complete opposite side of campus, but you hadn’t planned on getting railed within an inch of your life so you hadn’t exactly thought to bring your car. “yeah, but i… it’s on the south end, and i probably won’t be able to walk very far,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “i’ll take the shuttle.”

he frowns. “i’m not gonna let you take the bus. i can give you a ride.”

“you don’t need to, jun.”

“yes, i do,” he says assertively, and it startles you enough to meet his eyes. you haven’t ever heard his voice that firm, and when you look up his expression is as equally determined as his tone. not that you’d ever admit it to him, but it is kind of… hot.

you decide not to argue with him, knowing you won’t be able to change his mind anyway. you nod an ‘okay’, and his face instantly brightens to the awkward, nerdy jun you’re used to, beaming like he did when you first agreed to another date, back in the café what feels like ages ago.

“are you doing anything tonight?” you ask, watching him shut down the equipment and turn all the knobs and dials to an off position.

“no. i mean, i was gonna catch up on my show, but then, i didn’t expect for… this, to happen, so…” he shrugs. “i don’t know.”

“do you wanna come over? i… i mean, not to do anything. just… wanna be with you.” your voice comes out smaller than you intend it to, but jun still hears you loud and clear.

“yeah,” he grins. “yeah, that would be really cool.”

he pauses, looking like he wants to ask you something but not sure if he should. “can i give you a hug?” he says finally.

you smile. only junhui would ask for something as small and sweet as a hug after having sex. “yes, please.”

he crosses the room in two strides, barely giving you time to process before he’s squeezing you in his arms. you sigh and automatically melt into his arms, inhaling the perfumey scent of his cologne lingering on his wrinkled clothes.

it feels… good, being cared about.

he finishes shutting everything down quickly and grabs his things, swinging his backpack over his shoulder as he flips off the lights and closes the door behind you, making sure it’s locked before heading down the stairs.

you hate the way your legs tremble going down the steps, cursing him for being so good at his first time, because who the hell is that good their first time? already at the bottom of the stairs, jun looks back to see where you are and why you aren’t beside him, and, seeing you gripping onto the side railing for support, he dashes back up the steps two at a time to grab your arm and help you.

“you weren’t kidding when you said you couldn’t walk,” he giggles, holding the door open for you, and oh my god you want to hit him. “does that always happen? i thought people always just made that up to sound cool.”

“yes, i wasn’t kidding, and no, it doesn’t always,” you mutter, face heating in embarrassment. “depends on the person and how rough it is.”

his smile widens, the implied meaning of your words sinking in. “so what you’re saying is, my di–”

“junnie, if you finish that sentence, i swear to god i will never have sex with you ever again.”

he giggles, but he shuts his mouth, helping you the rest of the way to his car in silence. this time you know for sure, it’s a good silence.

his car is nicer than you’d expect a man’s car to be: clean and fairly organized, and there’s no half-eaten fast food in the backseat. he swings open the door for you and tries to help you sit down, but you swat his hand away.

he jogs around to the driver side door and slides into the seat, slamming it shut behind him. he buckles up, then grabs a candy cane from the pile in the cupholder and holds it out to you. “candy cane?”

“i’m… good,” you laugh, forcing yourself not to make a joke about having better things to suck on. why does he even have those in his car?

the ride to your apartment complex is pleasant. as expected from the radio man himself, as soon as the key is in the ignition, he turns the radio on, humming along to every song. you find yourself spending most of the drive staring at him, studying the tiny features in his cheeks when he smiles and the way his adam’s apple bobs when he hums.

after a shower, clean pajamas, and a raid of your refrigerator for snacks and something to drink, you’re snuggled up on the couch with jun, catching up on the show he wanted to watch. it’s the middle of some random season and you have no idea what’s going on, but you don’t care. just being here with him is more than enough for you, and you’re glad he’s enjoying being here, too.

“do you have a voice kink?” he asks suddenly at one of the commercials.

you nearly choke on your gatorade. “i– well, i mean… i didn’t used to, but…” you sputter out, your cheeks burning in embarrassment. “where did you even hear that?”

“jeonghan said you might.”

you scoff. you still haven’t met junhui’s broadcasting partner yet, but you already have some choice words in mind for him when you do finally get to have the pleasure of meeting him. “well, tell him to keep his thoughts to himself,” you say, taking another smaller sip and avoiding his grin.

“so is that a yes?”

you roll your eyes and ignore him, which might as well be a yes, but you choose not to admit it. you know you definitely need to talk to him about… everything, but he seems so happy right now, you don’t want to risk ruining the evening.

but luckily for you, he brings it up himself at the next commercial break.

“how long do i have to wait until i can ask you to be my girlfriend?” he says, muting the tv and looking over at you.

you laugh. “were we not… already?” you ask. “we’ve been on, like, four dates. usually that part happens before you have sex.”

he looks a little disappointed, for some reason. not exactly the reaction you’d expect when someone tells you they want to keep seeing you. “oh. um, well…” he starts, scratching at the back of his neck. “i planned it all out, i was gonna do this big thing and ask you. i thought i was supposed to. i meant to do it earlier, but…” he trails off, cheeks turning pink.

your expression softens. “you… can ask me now,” you say, putting your hand on his thigh.

“okay.” he clears his throat, sitting up straighter on the couch. “will you be my girlfriend?”

you try not to laugh at how serious he is, knowing he’s really, really trying. “yes, of course,” you reply, trying to match his seriousness.

“is that okay? that i didn’t do it right?” he asks nervously, fiddling with the hem of the blanket covering your laps.

you smile and bring your hand up to his cheek, pulling him towards you to give him a quick kiss. “you did it perfect, junnie.”

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[probably-writing-x]

Blushing Boy

Drew Starkey x Reader

Summary: There were few things that made Drew Starkey lose his confidence, in fact, perhaps only one could truly ever do it; you. He didn’t know how, or why, but you just seemed to have that goddamn effect on him.

Warnings: Nothing besties, just fluffy as heck

Author’s Note: Thank you so so much for the love on my other post, I just had to post this one too !! Please please send in any requests you have my angels <3

Not my gif

You were just about nearing the end of press for Outer Banks Season 3, and all bases had been covered - you’d done interviews to see how well you knew your cast mates, ones looking at scenes from the show, and, of course, the puppy interview. Today was your last day, though all of you were split up in different places, on different projects, and so the last day of interviews would be done over zoom. This was your first experience working on the show, having come in to play Rafe’s love interest as the start of the season. Thankfully, the fans had fallen in love with you, and especially with your storyline with Drew. So much so, in fact, that they’d started to ship you two as actors as well, adoring every moment that they saw you spend together. The two of you were just friends, but you can’t say you didn’t find it amusing whenever theories were made. And, being honest, some of the edits did make you two look cute.

That was your side of things, anyway. Drew had fallen for you at the same rate that Rafe had fallen for your character. He wanted to see you every morning you started work, waiting to catch sight of you on set. He wanted to film all of his scenes with you, watching in awe whenever you acted. He was mesmerised whenever he saw you at events, amazed by you from the red carpets to the earliest of mornings. Drew felt like a schoolboy around you, stumbling over his words, blushing at prolonged eye contact, ears pricking up at the sound of your name. And it only got worse the more he saw of you.

“Okay, thank you guys all for joining me today,” The interviewer begins, smiling widely into the screen, “We’ve got Madelyn, Chase, Madison, Rudy, Jonathon, Carlacia, Drew and (Y/N), the cast of season three of Outer Banks, now streaming on Netflix. How are you guys doing?”

“I’m good,” Madelyn smiles.

“I’m tired, I flew back from Paris today and I’m so jetlagged,” Madison laughs.

“Okay, we’ll start off with a question for Chase, how has it been with the new additions to the cast this season - with Carlacia and (Y/N). How does that fit in with the dynamic of you guys working together?”

Chase leans closer to his microphone and speaks, “You know I think we got really lucky again to work with another great group of people, we all get on so well and these two just fit in perfectly with that, and it makes it so easy to go to work when you’re with such a good bunch.”

“Amazing, and (Y/N), what was your experience like being on set?”

You shift in your seat, glancing at all of the faces on screen, “Like Chase said, it was just ideal getting to work with everyone, it’s like being on one long holiday all working together, you’re out in the sun everyday, you’re on the water, you’re doing stunts, it was just such a great experience. And I was so lucky to get to share the screen with Drew, he makes it so easy to come into work everyday and, I mean, it’s not exactly hard to pretend to fall in love with him.”

You glance at him on the screen and the way his eyes seem so transfixed as you speak, like he holds onto every syllable one at a time. He’s wearing a purple t-shirt that brings out his eyes and his hair is messy in that sort of perfect way it always was.

“And Drew, what was it like to be working with (Y/N) so closely?”

“Yeah, I mean,” He coughs over his words, “It was great, (Y/N) is just perfect to work with, I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. She’s so talented, and kind and supportive as an actress and she just made me want to get up every day and come into work.”

You’re sure your cheeks heat with the vulnerability of what he has said. His are bright red too, and you’re relieved for a moment to share the same feeling even across the screen.

A few more questions are asked, Rudy explains about how many injuries he managed to pick up on set and Jonathon tells an embarrassing story about you and Madelyn from the wrap party. And then attention falls back to you and Drew.

“So, whilst I’ve got you guys here, I have to ask Drew and (Y/N) about the rumours that have been going around about you two, can you tell me anything the fans will want to hear?”

You laugh, slightly allowing yourself a bit more time before you figure out what to say, “You know, these things are inevitable when you play a couple on a show. But I think we take it as a compliment if anything, at least it was convincing enough for people to believe us, you know? Right Drew?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Drew chuckles dryly, “I’m just glad they know that we don’t hate each other.”

“Are you blushing Starkey?!” Rudy exclaims, coming closer to the screen.

Drew laughs and looks away, biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth, “Shut it Pankow.”

Everyone laughs but it’s as if you can feel all eyes on the two of you, and in that moment, all you want it for him to be there with you to share the attention. For him to be close enough that your hand could brush his, your eyes could focus solely on Drew’s, your laugh in rhythm with his. And, in that moment, perhaps for the first time, you realise that maybe those edits had realised something before you had.

“Okay, well it’s been great speaking to you guys, thank you so much for joining me,” The interviewer finishes up, closing off before telling you that you’re all done and you can log off from the call.

You shut your laptop and pull out your phone to see notifications already bursting through. They’re all from the groupchat you had with the other girls.

Oh my god did you see his face?

Are you kidding me rn??? That boy is in love with you

I’ll never forgive you if you don’t date Starkey fr

You laugh, fingers hovering over the buttons as you try to figure out a response. You wanted to tell them that they were being stupid, that there was no reason for them to think like that. But you can’t bring yourself to lie to them.

You swipe away from that chat, scrolling the short way down to where Drew’s chat with you was. The last thing he’d sent you was a fan made video of the two of you, a video from set where he had you on his shoulders in the pool and both of you fell under.

When you go to text him, he’s already typing.

And this time, you’re the one that’s blushing.