#the shot of four different hands reaching down to drag him off the ice

[tiger-balm]

auston loses a blade and his teammates drag him off the ice | leafs @ redwings | dec 14th 2024

[hisyntha]

The Bartender

WARNING: This story contains EXPLICIT CONTENT and you are here by WARNED. Read at your own risk. Oral, three-some/ mention of four-some, vulgar language

A/N: thank you so much for reading, this is posted on AO3. I enjoyed writing this a lot so I hope you enjoy it as well. I recently started watching supernatural again and couldn’t help myself, anyway, ENJOY!!! 💕✨

It was an unusually slow night at the bar, with only a handful of patrons scattered about, nursing their drinks and chatting quietly. As the door swung open, the bar's calm atmosphere was shattered, and my gaze was drawn to the trio like a magnet. The two men, their suits a stark contrast to the casual attire of the other patrons, exuded an air of confidence and authority. The taller man, with his long hair and chiseled features, seemed to embody the phrase "tall, dark, and handsome," while his companion, sporting a Tex-turned-crew cut, appeared more rugged and rough around the edges. The young woman, dressed in a fitted dress that accentuated her curves, trailed behind them with an air of quiet compliance. As they approached the bar, their eyes scanned the room with an unspoken understanding, as if they were on a mission.

My gave warm and welcoming smile before I asked, "What can I get ya?" My hands moved on their own, quickly whipping up a tequila shot and pushing it forward to the shorter man. His smirk was a mixture of amusement and mischief, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as our eyes met.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.” He shot me a quick wink before slamming the empty shot glass down on its rim. I nodded grabbing a cup and filling it with ice before looking to the taller one.

As I poured the whiskey with a gentle flourish, I turned to him with a sly smile, my fingers drumming a tantalizing rhythm on the counter. "And what about you?" I purred, my voice husky as I raised an eyebrow, my free hand resting suggestively on my hip, hoping my tight fitted clothes would draw him in closer. He gave me a slight, uncomfortable, look before glancing at their female companion who stood between them, not exactly paying attention to me. I kept my flirtatious smile up, but deep own, I was hurt and taken aback by the look he gave me. Something was off with this one, it only seemed to make me want him more. I’ll just have to up my game.

With a courteous tone, “I’ll just have a draft,” his eyebrows arching slightly as he did so, his lips compressing into a subtle line. My eyes locked onto his, my mind whirling with tantalizing thoughts as I looked him over again. I couldn't help but bite my lip, my thoughts conjuring up images of him in a different light – one that left me trembling with anticipation and my heart racing with excitement. My hand reached under the bar, slightly bent over knowing my breast will definitely catch his interest. With a quick pull, slightly bouncing, I pop the bottle cap off and placed it in front of him. His gaze averted me before he turned around, once more scanning the bar. I hid my frown turning to the petite woman, but before my lips even parted she spoke up.

"I'll take a shot, whatever you prefer," she said, her voice as smooth as honey, yet devoid of any warmth or flirtation. Her words hung in the air, and I noticed her gaze linger on me, waiting for a response. Without thinking, I crafted a buttery nipple and slid it across the bar to her. A faint furrow appeared on my brow as I turned away, feeling an inexplicable tension in my chest. There was something unsettling about her, something that piqued my curiosity. I'd met many people before, effortlessly reading their emotions and intentions, but this trio was different. I needed a breath of fresh air. I looked to my coworker, giving him a quick way to take over the bar before I slipped out to the storage room then out the back door to the empty alley way.

I lit a cigarette and took a long drag, savoring the bitter taste as I paused to inhale the toxins. The cool night air filled my lungs, and I let out a slow exhale, feeling the stress of the evening's events begin to dissipate. As I stood in the alleyway, lost in thought, I shake everything off dropping the half cigarette and stepping it out. I made my way back inside, deciding to take a chance on striking up a conversation.

“So, you guys aren’t from around here are you?” I give my best smile watching the three. I noticed the paperwork spread out on the counter top of the bar as the woman began to quickly shuffle it back together into the folder she had.

“Uh, no we aren’t.” The taller one gave another tight lipped smile, placing his empty bottle in front of me. I quickly pop another one from him trading for the empty one.

“I see,” the tension seemed to rise in my chest, but they seemed as calm as daisies. “Well, if you’re staying for a bit longer I’d love to show you around.” The shorter one seemed to chuckle lightly, leaning on the bar, a flirtatious smile playing on his lips.

“I’d love to,” he paused waiting for me.

“Oh, Amy.” I smile softly, his eyes trailing me up and down.

“Amy.” He repeated softly that earned an elbow jab in his ribs. He hissed glancing at the women, but the taller one hid his amusement by drinking his beer. “well, I’m Dean and that’s my brother Sam.” He jesters to him and his brother while his other had loosened his tie like he hated wearing it. I raised a brow taking note that they were brothers, I wouldn’t have guessed that. Dean opened his mouth but was cut off.

“I’m Y/N.” Her voice never changed from earlier. My brows raised slightly but quickly shaking the expression away. I study her a small moment while her gaze was fixed elsewhere. Her skin was flawless, not a scar or pimple in sight, long hair pulled in a tight pony tail, curves of her body well accentuated by her dress. I couldn’t help the slight jealousy I had building up in my chest by looking at her. I finally shook the thoughts away pressing a smile.

“Well, Sam, Dean and Y/N,” I began, “If you need anything while in town, you know where to find me.”

———

I watched as the trio finished their drinks and left the bar, and I couldn't help but feel an unexplainable urge to follow them. I excused myself to my coworker, claiming I needed to leave early and for him to close up without me. My mind racing with a growing sense of curiosity. Without being seen, I slipped out of the bar and into my car, the engine purring to life as I blended into the night. I kept a discreet distance, my eyes fixed on the Impala as it led me to a rundown motel on the outskirts of town. As they pulled into the parking lot, my brow furrowed once more. My curiosity was sparked by the unusual choice of a motel on the outskirts of town, a place that seemed to be perpetually shrouded in a thin layer of neglect and disrepair.. The shorter man emerged from the vehicle, his movements calculated as he unlocked the door to room 217. The other two followed, their gazes scanning the area with an air of caution before disappearing into the dimly lit room. My eyes lingered on the door, my mind whirling with questions. What were they doing here? And why did I feel an unshakeable sense of unease as I watched them disappear into the shadows?

I hesitated, grappling with the conflicting thoughts racing through my mind. I knew I shouldn't be here, and I certainly shouldn't have followed them, but I had. I quietly closed my car door, my footsteps silent as I crossed the parking lot to the opposite side of the motel. The forest loomed behind the motel, a dark and foreboding presence. A light flickered on in one of the windows, illuminating the room I assumed was theirs. I crept closer, crouching low to peer through the glass. Dean sat on the bed's edge, flipping through channels on the TV while his brother hunched over his laptop at the table. My brow furrowed in confusion wondering where their female companion had vanished to. Just as I was pondering this, the bathroom door swung open, and she emerged, her robe clutched tightly around her small frame. I ducked just in time, holding my breath as she turned towards the window. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum, my breaths coming in short gasps as I feared she might have seen me. I remained frozen for a few tense moments before slowly turning back to peer in, my eyes widening and my mouth parted a small gasp. Y/N’s robe was off her body and she stood before Dean naked. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. Why is she naked in front of them both?

“What the fuck?” I let the words fall from my lips. Quickly, I glance behind me seeing only the forest still standing silently. I turn slowly to look through the window, my hands pressing to the brick of the shabby motel reminding me this is real, what was happening right before my eyes was indeed, real.

"Dean," she said, her arms crossing over her breasts. A small smirk playing on Deans lips as he tossed the remote onto the other bed, his attention fixed solely on her. Her expression clearly showed she was upset, but I struggled to make sense of the situation. "Do you like her more?" she demanded. Dean's gaze flicked to Sam, who watched with an air of amusement, his hands clasped together in a relaxed pose as he leaned back into his seat. My brow furrowed at Sam's state of relaxation while Y/N stood there.

“Who?” Dean finally replied after a long pause then snapped his fingers, “OOH! The woman on the tv?” He playfully teased going to reach out for her waist, but she pulled away giving him a threatening glare that I could even feel through the glass. “The women at the bar?” He raised a brow, still having that teasing smirk. I watched as Y/N just stared at him for a moment before slowly swaying her way to Sam, who openly removed his clasped hands and letting her take a seat in his lap. His hands finding themselves resting under her breast and the other wrapped around her frame to grip her hip. I bite back a whimper, my chest tightening seeing how large his hands were compared to any other mans. Just one hand engulfed her body, a snippet of jealously filled my chest.

I watched as Sam nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, her lips parting and letting a soft moan escape them. He then pulled away slightly, giving his brother a look before attacking her neck once more while his hand cupped her breast and the other gripped her hip tightly pulling her closer to his chest. Dean only tightened his jaw, his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed saliva. Y/N only continued to whimper and moan softly, keeping steady eye contact with Dean. I couldn’t pull my eyes away while Sam only moved her to sit directly on his erection and spread her legs for dean to watch in silent pain. Sam’s long fingers found their way between her folds, his middle and ring finger gently caressing her clit. I swallowed the salvia building up in the back of my throat. I felt like a creep watching him fondle her, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. At this point, I was to invested and I had to admit aside form the jealousy, I wanted to watch.

“Y/N,” Deans voice pulled my attention to him. Sam stopped, to see what his brother had to say. She eyed him, sitting up, purposely grinding herself against Sam to earn a grunt from the taller one. I could see the dying, begging look from here, Dean wanted her too. “I want you,” He began again, “only you.” His voice raspy and deep with a hint of pleading behind it, as if he might even choke if she said no. She eyed him for a bit before lifting a finger, curling it, allowing him to come over. He stood, hesitating before taking a few steps in front of them. Sam’s hands lifted towards her breasts once more, cupping them while his finger and thumb pinched her nipples, letting them roll between his fingers. Dean lowered himself between her legs, one hand on her knee while his lips pressed to the other, leaving a trail of kisses into her inner thigh. She gasped slightly at the soft touch of his tongue lightly dragging on her out folds, teasing her before his tongue dove deeply into her. Another moan came from her, louder than the last, she went to close her legs on him, but his hands held them apart. Sam grabbed her wrists in one hand and his other held her throat.

“Shh,” Sam cooed in her ear, “you’ll wake the neighbors.” He then tilted her head up so their lips met. Dean moaned into her, his lips pulling away with a popping kiss, his lips and chin glistening from the mixture of her wetness and his saliva.

“I love the way you taste.” The comment hung in the air while he leaned back down, his tongue working faster to please her. Her hips bucking with the friction earning a throaty moan into Sam’s mouth who savored it with his own moan in response. Her leg lifted to push dean away, his head tilted with a pleased smile. “All done?” He propped her foot on his shoulder, holding her ankle.

She shook her head as her lips parted, “I’m not even close.” A small smirk played across her lips. Dean and Sam shared a lustful look to each other, Dean pulling her off his brother’s lap to connect their lips while Sam begins to remove his clothes. Sam pulls her away from Dean catching her lips, deepening the kiss while Dean glared at his brother removing his own clothes. With swift motion dean stood behind Y/N, kissing the side of her neck and shoulder, his hands finding their way to her breast. Sam continued to kiss her, stealing every moan and breath that escaped her. I finally looked away in disbelief, pressing my back to the cold brick wall of the motel. Their voices echoed through the window, each moan sending a shiver down my spine. A loud “yes” and “oh god” from Y/N brought me to look back through the glass. My lids couldn’t get any wider, Sam, leaning against the wall, held Y/N just by her thighs, her legs spread apart while dean stood between her. His hands gripped her thighs just below Sam’s larger ones. My eye stuck on their cocks, slowly moving in an out of her, the way her chest arched and her eyes rolled back. A ghostly feeling ran through the lower parts of my body, as if I could feel it, the pain and pleasure being received by the brothers.

“I guess they startd without me.” A rugged raspy voice, followed by the swooshing of wind startled a yelp out of me, throwing myself away from the window to fall on my butt. My eyes darted to a man in a trench coat who only watched through the window, the erection clearly showing in his pants. I continued to blink looking to him when he finally laid his eyes on me. I sat there, shaking, seen as I had been found by this, man who appeared from no where. He approached me, my heart beating loud by how close he knelt down before me. He raised a hand, two fingers pressed to my forehead, “Goodnight.” Was the last thing I heard, my eyes fluttering close and the cold grass caught me.

[fruitcoops]

Night Changes

This isn't based on an ask, but I've had some early-Cap ideas brewing and think about the first time the team heard him laugh a lot. His and James' friendship is so sweet in SW--the beginning of it must have been such a shock to them both. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

So maybe James had bitten off more than he could chew. It wasn’t the first time, to be sure, but coaxing (read: drag kicking and screaming) his new teammate out of the carefully-constructed mosaic of scowls that made up his entire personality was proving to be a little more challenging than he previously expected. With most rookies, all it took was some elbow grease and overenthusiastic inclusion in group events to get them to open up—with his brand-new soon-to-be best friend, he had to handle things a little more delicately.

Sirius Black was a puzzle wrapped up in one of those freaky code-breaking machines from World War Two Lily liked to talk about. He was one of the best hockey players James had ever seen, but off the ice he seemed to shut down. The intense focus on his face smoothed out into almost perfect neutrality, and in the four months since he joined the Lions, he had never once smiled for real in front of the team. He sat in his stall and padded up in silence, then went out and kicked ass before following Pascal home like a living shadow.

Naturally, James took it as a personal mission to pry Sirius Black’s closed-off persona open like a stubborn oyster. He tried including Sirius in group events—the rookie went along with a quiet “yeah, sure”, but sat at the table and nursed a single drink for the entire night. He tried getting into friendly banter with him on the ice, but it was like Sirius had never joked with anyone in his life. Hell, he even tried finding him a girlfriend, which tanked harder than the goddamn Titanic.

“Rookie!” James shouted down the hallway.

Sirius jumped and turned around, obviously confused. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” James laughed, jogging over to toss an arm over his shoulders. “What’s up?”

“Not much.”

He waited for Sirius to continue, then rolled his eyes and gave him a friendly shake. “C’mon, man, how was your weekend? Has Dumo coerced you into being a stay-at-home babysitter yet?”

Sirius’ frown deepened. “What? I come with him to practice every day.”

Change tactics, change tactics— “Got any plans for Friday?”

James knew the answer, of course; it was always no or not yet or a simple shake of the head. If he was a less observant man, he would have assumed Sirius didn’t actually want to hang out with the team. But the longing looks toward their easy rhythm and the way he always tilted himself toward locker room conversations told a different story. “None yet,” Sirius said with a shrug.

James gave him a friendly slap on the back. “Good, ‘cause I’m having a party at my place and you’re not allowed to miss it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want you to be there, duh.” The bewilderment didn’t fade from Sirius’ face, but beneath it—well, maybe James was just seeing things, but he looked almost hopeful. He ruffled Sirius’ hair and headed for the locker room. “Friday at five, rookie! I’ll be waiting!”

--

The week passed in a slog of practices and cold weather. Sirius clammed up more and more as the party drew closer, but James didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered between the rest of them like he was analyzing a play. He would make one hell of a captain someday, if he could just relax a little.

“Hey, rookie, want a ride?” he asked when the big day finally arrived.

“Don’t you want to go home and set up first?” Sirius’ brow furrowed. For an eighteen-year-old kid, he was awfully thoughtful. James couldn’t wait to see him let loose a little. “I wouldn’t want to get in your way.”

“It’s a yes or no question,” he teased, poking the bit of exposed shoulder through the widening hole in Sirius’ under armor.

“I…” He faltered, then the corner of his mouth twitched up. It was the closest thing James had seen to a smile from him yet. One point for Potter. “Sure, Pots. Thanks.”

“No problem. Meet me at my car in five or so, yeah?”

“D’accord.”

“Oho, fancy French,” James laughed, turning back to unlace his skates.

It wasn’t until thirty seconds after Sirius left the room that he remembered he never told the rookie what his car looked like. Horrible, terrible visions of the poor guy wandering around the parking lot—or, god forbid, thinking James had left without him—flashed through his mind. It would undo everything he had been working so hard to build.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath as he shoved his gear into his duffel with reckless abandon and hurried out of the locker room. His legs would be stiff from trying to run so soon after a grueling drill practice, but it was worth it to save his friend. “Rookie? Hey, Sirius, you still here?”

There was no response. James cursed again and made a beeline for the door to the parking lot. Please, God, don’t let him get lost. I need him to trust me.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he panted as he burst out onto the half-frozen concrete.

Sirius looked up from his phone with a strange expression. “Are you okay?”

“Thought I lost you for a sec.”

“You said to meet at your car, yes?” He glanced between James and the car in sudden worry.

“Yeah, yes, absolutely, I just—” He made an aborted gesture and dug his keys out of his pocket. “I realized I forgot to tell you which one is mine.”

Sirius blinked at him. “I know what your car looks like.”

“How?”

“Because you drive it here every single day and you gave me a ride three weeks ago.”

‘Dumbass’ went unsaid, but James could feel it hanging in the air. He coughed lightly. “Right. Anyway, you can toss your bag wherever and hop in the passenger seat. My place isn’t far from here.”

Sirius took his duffel as he unlocked the car and settled both in the trunk with more care than James’ poor, battered bag had ever seen in its life. That was another thing that confused him about Sirius Black—he was so careful. He walked quietly for someone so tall, and each movement seemed pre-planned.

Each movement, that is, until he tried to get in the car. “Uh, Pots?”

“That’s m—oh.” James covered his mouth to stifle his laughter as Sirius tried to fold himself into the passenger seat and failed miserably. “I’m sorry, my girlfriend was sitting there last. Uh, there’s a lever on your right—yeah, there, just give it a pull and—”

With a harsh ka-chunk, the seat slid all the way back. Both men froze. It took everything in James’ power not to burst out laughing at the deer-in-headlights shock on Sirius’ face.

“Yep, that one,” he managed. “Nice job.”

They drove in relative quiet—James chattered on about weekend plans and hummed to the radio while Sirius watched out the window with the occasional monosyllable response. It took James a bit by surprise how comfortable he was, even without a steady stream of banter. Sirius might have been stubborn and silent and determined to foil all James’ plans at getting him to socialize, but he was calming to be near, like an anchor on unsteady water. Despite his overall quiet air, he was obviously paying attention to every word that left James’ mouth.

“You’re a good guy, y’know that?” he said as they turned onto his street. Sirius glanced over in surprise. “Most people tune me out within, like, five minutes.”

“I’m a good listener.”

James opened his mouth to respond, then paused. “Was that—Sirius Black, was that a joke?”

Something akin to mischief—mischief!—crossed his face. “Maybe.”

“Were you roasting me?” James gaped at him. “Oh my god. The guys are never gonna believe this.”

“Probably not.”

“You sick bastard. They won’t believe me.”

“You can give it a shot,” Sirius said with a shrug as the engine turned off. Pieces began to connect in James’ head as he stared, incredulous, at the rookie he thought would never even crack a smile. Four months of work had not been wasted, as he had feared; every joke, every one-sided conversation, and every attempt to get Sirius involved had been seen and heard and taken to heart. When he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen Sirius actively agree to something unless James asked personally.

“We’re friends,” he said aloud, too surprised and too happy to hold it in. Not friends in the way James was with the rest of their loud, over-the-top teammates, but friends all the same.

“Well, yeah,” Sirius said as if it was obvious.

James unbuckled his seatbelt and socked him lightly on the shoulder, barely suppressing a shriek of excitement. “Love you, man. Grab your shit, we’ve got a party to set up.”

----------------

As much as it pained James to say it, having someone around who was six-foot-three was a huge help. There was no blow to his pride as he dragged Lily’s stepstool out; no grudging acceptance that he simply couldn’t reach those last two inches on the wall. Instead, he could foist any and all responsibility on his brand-new best friend in the whole wide world and focus on the things that mattered, like putting anything breakable or important far away from the grubby hands of his inebriated teammates.

His success was still ringing in his ears when the guests finally arrived—throughout the evening, James rode the high of accomplishing his mission to pull Sirius Black into his tight-knit circle. Every minute of those four months was worth it.

Midnight came and went, and by one-thirty in the morning James’ cramped living room was packed with tipsy hockey players in a vague imitation of a circle. “Non, non, I’ve gotta good one,” Dumo said, hiccupping. The room fell quiet as he leaned forward. “What do you call a body of water with a chicken in it?”

“What?” Kasey whispered, starry-eyed like a kid at Christmas.

“A swimming pool.”

The room stayed quiet, and then someone started to laugh. Slowly, they all turned to the source of the noise, and James felt a ripple of shock roll through the team as Sirius snorted. “It’s a swimming pool,” he said around a smile, his accent thick from three drinks. He had a nice laugh; James could get used to hearing it. “Like—poule, like chicken?”

His whole face was alight with happiness. James wasn’t sure whether to cry or cheer. That’s what I’ve been waiting for, he thought. That look, right there. Sirius fit in among the group like a missing piece of their puzzle, snickering away as if he hadn’t been stoically silent a day in his life. His laugh was downright bubbly.

“I don’t think they get it,” Dumo said into the rim of his cup.

Sirius shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “D’accord, so—so ‘chicken’ in French is poule, yeah? So a chicken in a body of water is a swimming poule. Do you get it now?”

A few oh’s of understanding washed over them, but several people continued to stare. “Too drink for this,” Sergei grumbled, though James could see the smile pulling at his mouth as Sirius turned to him with bright eyes.

“But it’s funny!” Sirius protested, so earnest it made James’ heart hurt.

“I think it’s funny, rookie,” he assured him with a clumsy pat on the arm. “And it’s my house, so I say Dumo gets a point this round.”

Kasey hiccupped. “Hey, anyone who makes the rookie laugh gets points in my book. No offense, dude.”

“None taken,” Sirius said, though his cheeks were pink.

James nudged him with his shoulder as Talker started a knock-knock joke. “It’s okay,” he said under his breath.

Sirius picked at the label on his cup. “I know I haven’t been very social,” he muttered.

“It’s okay,” James insisted. “It always takes rookies a while to warm up, so we’re just glad you’re happy. I’m glad my best friend is having a good time at my party.”

A heavy silence fell between them as Sirius looked over, eyebrows raised. “Best friend?”

“What, like you didn’t see this coming?” James slung an arm over his shoulder. “Yes, you French-Canadian nerd, you’re my best friend. And that means I’m your best friend, and there’s no take-backsies.”

“What the hell is a take-backsie?” Sirius laughed. “Did you make that up?”

James grinned. He had the feeling this was the beginning of an excellent friendship.

[lacheri]

streets

pairing: dom!Levi x stripper!fem bodied reader

content: modern au, sex work (stripping), degradation, hint of praise kink, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, choking, slapping, dom/sub themes, Levi's a whole freak in the sheets, also mf has a split personality, minors DNI

summary: erwin drags his lonely best friend, levi, out to a strip club.

wc: 7.7k

Violent vibrations of bass shook through your platform teasers, one leg moving tantalizingly slow in front of the other as neon lights flashed around you. The silver pole loomed in front of you, your hips swaying as you strutted across the stage. You could feel the intense stare of eyes belonging to strangers as you finally wrapped your fingers one by one around the cold metal, circling so slowly around it, pushing your ass and chest out on display. You flicked your eyes up, heavy from false eyelashes, and searched around you.

Some familiar faces, most new, met your gaze as the club’s lights lit up in a dark red. They were all focused on you, sitting forward patiently in their plush seats, waiting to devour your body with their eyes. You leaned your back against the pole, looking down at your body. You were glad you had worn your favorite set of dancing gear, a see-through black mesh bralette and a matching set of panties, and of course, your six inch sparkly pleaser heels. It was simple, yet so effective when it came to the stuffed wallets of your onlookers.

There was one man in the sea of others who caught your attention tonight though. He sat directly in the center, his expression seemingly unamused and unentertained. You wanted to roll your eyes, discarding yourself of this fantasy you were presenting on stage. You resisted the urge, instead, turning your head in the opposite direction, and rolled your torso until you sat crouched. You leaned forward, head turned straight now, ass sticking right up in the air as the tops of your breasts squished against the stage. You used the leverage from your knees to shake your exposed ass cheeks, watching the raven haired man bring his hand to his face, stroking along his jaw as he took in the sight of you.

You parted your legs slowly, bringing a knee in front of the other, crawling towards the edge of the stage. You pushed yourself up from your elbows until you were in an upright position, allowing your hips to sink forward as you continued to roll your body to the beat. Still, no reaction, or sign that he was going to throw money on you, you scoffed internally and turned your attention to the blonde gentleman sitting closely next to him, a wad of dollar bills crushing in his grip. You smirked mischievously, leaning backwards until you felt the cold metal brush against your back. Flattening out, you brought your legs up, shaking them high in the air to allow your ass and thighs to move in rhythm. You felt the air brush past you as bills went flying in the air, and you smiled in euphoria. Money was your love language, and anyone who threw bills at your half naked form became your lover for however long your dance lasted.

You placed your feet on solid ground, leveraging yourself upwards to a full stand, turning around sauntering back to the pole. You wrapped a lone leg around the cold cylinder, elongated from your heels, and jumped into a spin. Your hands gripped high above you, dangling your head back as you swung in a pretty circle, your other leg posed straight down. Once you had found this balance, you let your right hand leave the stability of the pole, running it down the front of your body, over the swell of your breasts and the flat of your stomach, stopping right before you met your center. You slid downwards until both your feet met the stage floor as you crouched once more, popping your ass out to move the muscles one at a time of your cheeks. You glanced backwards, and you were pleased to see the dark haired man’s cold steel eyes locked in on your body.

He was very handsome, as was his blonde friend. Your best guess was that they were in their late twenties, maybe early thirties. You watched the ravenette reached in his pocket, almost in disgust as he pulled out single bills. You couldn’t see the dollar amount from your angle, so you maneuvered back onto your knees to give all your attention to the man in front of you. You tried the same move as before, crawling on all fours as seductively as you could, this time your knuckles wrapped around the very edge of the stage. You learned forward, a couple of feet away from the man as his expression darkened. As if you were a gravitational pull, he leaned forward as well, only a few inches away. Close enough to reach out and touch him, your thumb and pointer finger met the collar of his white button up, softly trailing the fabric. At the same time you reached out, he was doing the same, tucking the small stack of cash in between the valley of your breasts, managing to not touch any of your exposed skin as he did so.

Thinking about your other awaiting customers, you quickly withdrew your teasing, a smirk laced on your lips. You blew the man a kiss, winking, crawling backwards on the stage.

Your onlookers ravaged your body with their eyes as you continued your dance. Your chest was rising rapidly, out of breath as you did your final spin on the pole. You ended your dance in a slow split, toes pointed and curled as you felt your clothed pussy meet the now warmed material of the stage under you. You pulled yourself up after an explosion of cash was tossed on stage, flashing a seductive smile before retreating behind the curtain to the back of the stage. You’d have one of the security guys clean your cash up before the next girl walked on, knowing they’d get a small cut from doing you the favor.

You relaxed your body into a chair in the dressing room, sighing loudly. The room was empty, makeup and costumes littered about the mirror space as all the girls working were either out on the floor or giving out private dances. You just needed the quick break, you had danced pretty hard out there. You were debating switching outfits, as this one was a little too revealing for casually strolling on the floor.

You shrugged, getting up to get into your locker space, retrieving a cropped leather jacket, chains dangling around the body, brushing against your exposed skin and as you pushed your arms through the sleeves. This would at least give you the illusion that you were covered up much more than what you had believed.

Powdering your shiny face before you exited, you breathed in deeply as neon lights greeted you once again on the club floor. You worked at a pristine strip club, ratings high and prices even higher. There was a twenty dollar fee to even get in the place, and when you finally got in the door, the bouncers up front would make a copy of your driver’s license, just in case you fucked up somehow and they needed to add to you the banned list. Which was a pretty long list, hence the photo copies.

The dancers were high quality as well, all different shapes and sizes and ethnicities. It was almost like a buffet, you could get whatever you desired, just had to go out and look first. Everyone working the shifts danced, absolutely no exception. Of course, you’d want to dance though, making exceptionally more money than on the shifts where you’d stick behind the bar crafting drinks. If you were asked by one of your friends how much money you’d make on a night like this, you’d feel guilty as you would humbly lie, not wanting to entice them into auditioning at your place of employment. When the club was at full capacity, as it was right now as you sashayed to the bar, you could easily walk home with a couple grand. This job paid your bills, bought you pretty things, put food in your belly, it meant everything to you.

“Hey, Annie! Gin and tonic, pretty please,” you batted your thick eyelashes at your favorite blonde bartender.

She only nodded, shooting a desperate plea between you and the overcrowded area of the bar area with her eyes. You snickered, feeling her pain all too well, having spent many a night behind the counter, non-stop pouring drinks. Annie slid your drink over as quickly as she could, being stolen away by an already drunken man requesting a round of shots before you could hold a conversation with her. You shrugged, taking large gulps of your glass. You were parched from your dance, alcohol quenching your thirst. You hadn’t realized you downed your cocktail until you felt the clink of ice hit the front of your teeth. You left the empty glass at the bar, turning around and leaning against the counter as you planned out your next moves.

“You should dance to Doja Cat more often,” you heard a familiar voice hum next to you, looking up into the eyes of your security guard, Connie. A black bag you knew was full of your cash was held in his grip, a playful smile on his lips, “Took me like ten whole minutes to clean this up off the stage.”

You laughed lightly along with Connie, “What would I do without you? Could you put that in my locker for me, babe? I just left the dressing room.”

“‘S gonna’ cost you,” he joked, already leaving your form to follow your request. “You owe me a round of tequila shots, Patrón!”

Connie disappeared in the sea of bodies before you could call out a remark. You sighed, flopping your head onto your shoulder, eyeing back the gazes from different men who took in your relaxed body. None of them piqued your interest, and you found yourself feeling quite lonely in the middle of the club.

This was the last place on Earth Levi had pictured himself in. When Erwin had grabbed Levi’s arm, tugging him out of his home office, a strip club was the very last place Levi could’ve fathomed ending up in.

“You, my friend, are going to have a good fucking night!” Levi recalled his blonde friend shouting at him, tossing the much smaller man into Erwin’s passenger seat of his truck. Levi had only grumbled, disappointed his hot cup of tea would become cold in his absence, the novel he had been reading left disheveled on his desk. When Erwin had pulled into a parking lot, Levi finally had taken notice of their destination.

“What the fuck are we doing at a strip club?” he spat through clenched teeth, a migraine coming on.

“Attempting to get you laid,” Erwin smirked, sliding out from the driver’s seat. Levi had no choice but to follow, Erwin not giving him even a moment to try and talk his way into heading back home.

“Why?” Levi was seething, blood pumping loudly in his ears. Why did Erwin care about Levi’s state of his love life, or lack thereof?

“Levi,” Erwin paused, sighing before the entrance. “I’ve known you since sophomore year of college, that was almost six years ago, and that entire time I’ve seen you go out on one date. You didn’t even see the girl again after it either!”

“She was boring,” Levi defended, his eyebrows furrowing. “Most people are boring. Why waste my time?”

“Because, some people are worth it. I forced you to be my friend, and look at us now!”

“You’re not an idiot,” the corner of Levi’s lips lifted.

“I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Erwin chuckled, tone sarcastic. It was true though, Levi would’ve never allowed Erwin to try and befriend him all those years ago if he had been a total lost cause. Erwin was smart though, driven and ambitious. He worked hard and never slacked off, traits Levi deeply admired. “C’mon, what’s the harm in having a bit of fun?”

There was a lot of harm, turns out. Levi was caught completely off guard by how nice this club was, bouncers all over the pristine premise. He visibly relaxed at this point, his inner germaphobe sated. Though he did use hand sanitizer generously before sitting down on the plush chair in front of the stage, Erwin chatting in his ear over how beautiful the dancers were here. Levi half listened, more interested in his glass of whiskey than his best friend. He downed it easily, almost like he was drinking water. Then the lights dropped, and you had walked out.

With all his might, Levi tried to act like he wasn’t enticed, not wanting to bring Erwin any satisfaction. It was true, Levi’s love life was basically nonexistent. Only having sex with maybe three girls in his lifetime, it had been awhile to say the least since he had seen a beautiful woman in this state of undress. When you had leaned down, breasts pressing so sinfully against the stage, crawling towards him all on fours, a primal urge rippled through Levi’s body. Like you were daring him to act out, to cave in entirely to your will.

He felt a piece of himself missing when you exited the stage, but the room felt lighter, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Erwin was in a similar frame of mind, shooting Levi a knowing look.

“Well, what’d you think?” Erwin leaned towards his friend, a small smile on his face.

“I think that’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” Levi groaned, uncomfortable admitting this, rubbing his hands across his face.

“You should pay her for a dance, I know I’m definitely going to get one later,” Erwin’s eyes followed a thick dark skinned woman, swaying her hips, winking at Erwin as she walked past. He pushed up off his chair then, “Actually, hold that thought.”

The absence of his friend so suddenly had left Levi feeling awkward and out of place. His lips held an amused scowl as he watched Erwin confidently approach the woman, her luscious lips twisting into a smile of her own as she grabbed his hand, and led him away from Levi’s view. The ravenette stood then, empty glass in tow, and decided that he would need another drink to get through the rest of the night.

That’s when Levi had seen you, leaning so casually against the marble countertops of the bar as if you had owned the place. Your eyes drooping in disinterest, too cool to associate with the crowd around you. You didn’t even seem to notice various men eyeing your form, talking amongst each other, never breaking their focus from you. And Levi had to admit, you did look so fucking cool. The realization that Levi himself had joined the crowd of your many onlookers startled him, beginning to feel embarrassment and guilt for admiring you almost as if you were an object. When your eyes had met his though, and a pretty smile changed your entire expression, any and all thoughts and feelings rocketed out of Levi’s mind.

He felt his feet move towards you before he could think thoroughly. You stayed, still and collected, eyes never breaking from his. As his strides graced closer and closer, Levi broke the connection from you, stopping to your side and calling out an order to a blonde bartender, ignoring you entirely.

Your shock rang through you like a gong, deep and humbling. This wasn’t what you had predicted in those fleeting seconds when you had seen the raven haired man making intentful strides to you. He was close enough to your body that you could hear the soft cotton of his white button up brush against the thick fabric of your leather jacket, and you felt licks of insecurity, a rare emotion for you.

“What? Shocked I’m not down on my knees begging for you?” Levi couldn’t stop the words from leaving his lips, noticing from the corner of his eye that you had stiffened dramatically.

You whipped your head to see him, to see his stupid expression as you were sure this man thought he was God’s gift to mankind. You knew this personality well, a common one with your clients believing that because you were after their money, you were technically working for them. To your surprise, you were met with the man’s steel grey eyes hard set in disinterest.

“No one’s going to give you a dance with that attitude, sir,” you huffed, clawing mentally to keep your cool. “Keep it up and watch how fast we get you kicked out.”

This man, a complete stranger to you, only ‘tsk’ed, digging in his black slacks to pull out his thick wallet, “I’ll pay you a grand if you take me back for a dance right now.”

Oh shit, you blinked, trying to process his offer. That’s a lot of fucking money.

“You have a funny way of showing that you like me,” you quirked an eyebrow, debating internally. “What’s the catch? What’s your thing?”

“My thing?”

“Your kink, your game, what’re playing at?”

“I’m not going to pay you to stand there and talk to me about what I like in privacy,” Levi scoffed, slightly embarrassed at the very public conversation that he believed was always meant to be in private.

“Fine,” your hand shot out, circling around his bicep, his strong bicep. “Let’s go, sir.”

Honestly the pet name was a shot in the dark, your best guess at what could possibly please this very attractive client. His moody attitude was throwing you off of your very whimsical and flirty facade, parts of your real personality peeking through the cracks. You didn’t know that Levi was actually enjoying this interaction, feeling flutters of admiration at your sharp tongue and quick mindedness.

You guided him to the back of the club, a bouncer stationed outside of a hallway. You nodded to the burly man, and he stepped aside and allowed the two of you to enter the hallway of doors. Numbers gold plated on each wooden door led the way, and Levi was starting to feel flickers of impatience.

The feelings settle once you unlock a door, pushing it open and Levi gazing inside. A plush leather couch sat in the center of the small room, LED lights flashing different colors slowly along the ceiling, and you guided him to sit down. His face was passive, and had you known the man’s thoughts in that moment, you’d know that Levi was unbelievably nervous. While he had the help of the liquid courage provided by his whiskey neats, Levi was incredibly inexperienced when it came to beautiful women, more specifically, you.

“What’s your name, love?” you cooed, hand trailing over his bicep as you placed yourself next to the ravenette, taking in his stiffened form.

“Levi,” he managed to choke out, feeling the deep stir of arousal from your simple touch. How could he not be attracted to you? The way you pressed yourself to his side, so tempting, you were an enchantress.

You mumbled out your stripper name, and Levi felt a pang of unease knowing that the ridiculous chosen name was not your real one. Your fingers trailed electricity over his clothes, the pads of your digits playing with the end of his sleeve. You leaned further in, breathing right against the shell of his ear.

“Ready for your dance, Levi?”

Levi gulped, raising a hand to push back his fringe from his face as you stood before him. His hands finally settled atop his thighs, legs comfortably opened and spread as he took a deep breath in, willing his mind and body to relax. Like Erwin had said, what’s the harm in having a little fun?

Goosebumps raised on Levi’s skin as the smooth bass of a somewhat familiar song kicked in. He had heard it on the radio once or twice, finding it quite catchy and therefore had never felt the need to change the station. His heart hammered in his ribcage, mouth drying as he watched you shift into character. A very fitting one, he thought to himself, a total and complete vixen.

Your back arched as you posed before him. His eyes drinking you in hungrily lit a flame deep within the depths of your soul, feeling the dire need to please the man in front of you. You bent down, tips of your fingers brushing against your toes, and then you threw your head back, hair falling seductively around you at the force. Levi was cursing profanities in his mind, a very verbal ‘fuck’ exiting his lips at the sight.

You turned your back to your handsome client, giving him a full view of your scantily clad ass as you teasingly slid your arms out of your jacket. Levi’s eyes followed every move, afraid to miss a single thing, every detail of you and your body becoming his biggest priority. Your leather jacket fell to the floor noisily, chains clanking as they hit the wooden planks. You threw a longing gaze over your shoulder, a pretty smirk on your face, and Levi had the startling realization that he had never felt a stronger attraction to a woman in his life. In fact, the intrusive thought had his mind traversing through past experiences, and had him wondering if had truly ever felt the tingling of arousal that you had awakened in him.

“Levi?” you brought your fingers under his chin to his surprise, angling his gaze to meet your curious expression.

“I’m alright, just,” Levi paused, letting his focus drift away from you. “This is my first time.”

Your face softened at his confession, genuine concern as you spoke, “‘S okay, just let me know if you want to stop at any point. And if there’s anything at all you want me to do, tell me.”

Levi was mildly stumped at the second half of your response. He could make requests of you, of this dance? The last thing he wanted in the world was for you to stop, in fact he never wanted this moment to end as you resumed your routine, eyes never leaving his.

Levi felt the blood rush to his lower half as you positioned yourself on the balls of your feet, leaning over his seated deposition, ghosting your lips over the shell of his ear, “You know, you’re quite handsome. You probably get that all the time, but truly, you are.”

“Thank you,” Levi managed to mumble, thoroughly embarrassed by the heat of your compliment. “You’re very pretty.”

You smirked, pushing yourself back to take in his shy appearance. You had a hunch that maybe if you provided Levi the confidence he needed, this hesitance would melt away. With that in mind, you turned your body once more, hands reaching behind you to undo the clasp of your lacy bra. Levi’s eyes widened, his fingers twitching in anticipation. When the material was released, you let out a silent sigh of relief from the pressure of the tight material. Your mesh top fell off your arms, you gently flicked it to join your jacket on the floor. Instead of showing your freed breasts to your handsome client, you bent down to your toes once more, shaking your ass and thighs. Levi’s eyes were ready to roll out of his skull.

You finally did turn, crouching between the space in between his thighs. Your hands slid from the bottom of his shins to the top of his thick thighs, you felt the subtle flex of his muscles as he tensed. His lustful expression showed you that Levi was less than hesitant, actually he was really enjoying himself now. This was his private show, and Levi was feeling extraordinarily special. He didn’t dare to raise his touch to grace your exposed skin though, not wanting to risk breaking any rules.

Your knees heaved you up once more, and you moved to straddle the raven haired man’s lap. You felt the hump of his erection between your thighs, and you bit back a moan at the sensation. Levi was in a similar frame of mind, trying not to let his bodily instincts and desires take over entirely. You rolled your hips, teasing his clothed length, and his grasp on control was nearly lost. Your naked breasts pressed against his chest, nipples hardened from your excitement. By no means were you the kind of girl to sleep with your clients or even entertain the thought, but when Levi’s lids fluttered and he bit the inside of his lip, you were rethinking every morally right ideal you held within yourself.

On par with the beat of the song, you leaned back, hands on his knees, and thrust your hips lazily in rhythm. Levi watched your ribcage expand and disappear under your naked torso, your navel shrinking and opening at the rolling motion. You flicked your hair behind your shoulder blades, your lips parted, and you let out a shaky breath. You were flushed against his hardened member, you could feel your center weeping at the contact. This was not your intention, to rub yourself all over this stranger, but the way his hands twitched and his eyes were so hungry had you feeling things you only indulged in by yourself, in the comfort of your bed and with your favorite pink vibrator.

“Make it fifteen hundred, and I’ll let you take me back to your place,” you mewled against your better judgement.

Levi’s concentration was broken, the whites of his eyes exposed as he shot his attention to your face. His lips contorted into an egotistical smirk, a contrast to his past shyness, “We haven’t even been in this room for five minutes, and you’re already wanting to leave?”

“Two grand,” your eyebrows furrowed, pushing your hips into his pelvis, satisfied when you heard a hiss leave his lips. “Keep teasing, and my price goes higher.”

“I’ll pay you whatever I want,” Levi’s features darkened. “Get your things. I want you to finish your dance when we get back to my house.”

You never did complete that dance. Levi was gripping your thighs and lifting you before you could even protest, your back slamming into the wall after he had unlocked his front door. His lips were all over you, your lips, your neck, your exposed collarbones. Your fingers were woven into his scalp, clinging desperately to the man.

He could barely contain himself on the drive home, seated palming your thighs in the back seat of a taxi. He had sent a quick text to Erwin, not explaining much but letting him know he’d talk to him tomorrow. Erwin hadn’t responded, not that Levi cared, but he had a feeling his blonde friend was in a very similar situation.

“You,” Levi growled into your neck, sliding his hands greedily under the t-shirt you had thrown on in the locker room of the club, “Are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

His teeth sunk where he could feel your pulse the strongest under his lips, and you wantonly moaned out. Although Levi lived a generically organized lifestyle, in this moment all he craved was chaos. He wanted to see your perfect body littered in his marks, his bites and bruises. He wanted to wreck you, bring you out of your nonchalant attitude, stupefying you. Levi was going to fucking break you in all the best ways.

“Levi,” you breathed shakily. “Please, bedroom.”

Levi rammed his clothed hips into the center of your spread legs, your ankles hooked around his waist in this position. You gasped, moaning at the contact. Your nails raked up his back, and you felt a similar urgency as he was feeling, wanting to feel the tear of his skin underneath your fingernails. You felt Levi’s hands grip your thighs to adjust his grip, and soon he was carrying you into the unfamiliar territory of his home. He guided you easily up his staircase, reaching his opened bedroom door and unceremoniously throwing you on your back on his mattress.

Levi was on top of you in an instant, his lips swallowing yours as he grabbed the collar of your shirt with both his hands. He fisted the material, and with a quick fluid motion, he tore the fabric in half. You were shocked, but figured you could easily borrow Levi’s clothing upon your exit. You didn’t stop him as he treated your bra in a similar fashion, thankfully not ripping the expensive lace. He reached under the arch of your back, unclasping it, and you pulled your arms through the straps and the remnants of your poor shirt. Your breasts were on full display for his eyes now, and Levi’s mouth pulled away from you. His hands snaked up your exposed torso, thumbs rolling past your hardened nipples to your neck.

Levi wrapped his right hand around your neck, and your breath hitched in your throat as he mumbled, “You like it rough, don’t you, brat? Want me to use your body however I want?”

You didn’t answer, wanting to seek punishment. His fingers tightened, and you felt a gush of arousal slicken your lower lips. Your hips bucked upwards, eyes pleading as you watched a sick satisfaction cross his expression.

“Answer me,” he spat venomously, leaning in to brush his nose against yours.

“Yes, sir,” you stuttered out, feeling the tips of your ears redden. You were so turned on right now, body responding loudly to every word and touch.

“Good girl,” he praised, not releasing his grip around your neck. His left hand stayed at your breast, tweaking your right nipple roughly, rolling the beaded skin between his forefinger and thumb.

You whimpered, bringing your own hands to rest above your head, stretching your skin more for Levi. His eyes were honed in on your face, all your desperate expressions as his hand left your chest and dipped under the elastic of your grey cotton shorts to meet the lace trim of your panties. His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as you panted. When you tried to reach up to capture his soft lips in a kiss, he only squeezed tighter around your neck, discouraging you from trying again. He wanted to watch you squirm, memorize the way your eyes would flicker and your lips would quiver at his touch. His fingers tugged the cotton of your panties aside, and ran two digits across your folds, the pads soaked at the contact.

He circled your clit agonizingly slow, spreading your essence over your hood. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, back arching up to feel some kind of skin to skin contact. Levi was not going to allow this though, and ripped his touch away from your cunt. You whined at the loss, tears pricking on the edge of your lash line. You yelped suddenly when you felt the harsh slap of his palm against your folds. Levi’s gaze was hardened, lips almost pulled back in a sneer.

“Stop, or you’re not getting what you want,” he growled, and even though he was hovering over you, you could swear you felt the vibration from his chest deep in your bones.

You meekly nodded, willing your body to lay there as still as you could be. He smoothed his palm over the reddened area of your center, and his soft, teasing touch returned. His middle and pointer finger spread your lips open, ring and pinky finger kept your panties tucked to the side. Levi tucked his digits inbetween your heat, caressing your folds. It took everything in your resolve to not buck your hips at the feeling of the roll of your clit in between the pads of his fingers. You whined, blinking tears away rapidly.

Levi felt merciful for a moment, and fled his intimate touch down to your fluttering entrance. You could feel your muscles clenching in anticipation, letting out a moan of relief as he dipped the two extremities into your tight hole.

“You’re so wet, all because of me?” Levi teased, brushing his lips against yours. “Such a good slut, you’ve wanted me to touch you since you got on that stage tonight, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you panted sharply, his fingers curled inside your walls and began to pump. “Wanted your attention so bad.”

“Like I had a choice,” he chuckled without humor, flicking his wrist hard into your core. “You came out looking like that, what was I supposed to do? This, you on your back, so needy, this was the only conclusion.”

He fucked his hand harshly into your sopping cunt at the end of his sentence, sending your mind reeling and your lungs gasping for air. Your plush walls encapsulated his fingers, you could feel the ridges of his knuckles deep inside of you. His finger pads prodded your sensitive spongy spot, and upon hearing your deep groan of pleasure, Levi aimed for that destination with every thrust.

“Feels so good,” you praised, your knuckles white from gripping the pillows above you. Levi still had his right fist around your throat, he could feel your esophagus tighten as every muscle in your body clenched.

With a hasty release, his right hand came down to pay your heaving breasts attention. His lips replaced his fingers, sucking harshly on the most sensitive parts of your throat. You were almost screaming as he plunged in and out of your pussy, your left nipple harshly being pulled with his other hand, his teeth sinking into your neck. Your clit was throbbing with need, your coil in your stomach desperately searching for any form of release.

“Levi,” you cried out loudly. “Wanna’ cum.”

“Are you asking or telling me?” he grumbled against the column on your neck.

“Asking, please, need you to touch my clit,” you begged, too far gone to care about vulgarity, clearing noting the ravenette’s disregard for formality in the heat of the moment.

He let out a ‘tch’ at the nape of your neck, and pulled his fingers from your dripping heat, “You’re not cumming unless it’s around my cock.”

With his soaked hand, he tore your shorts and panties down to your knees in one swift motion. You lifted your legs, allowing Levi to slide them down the rest of the way and throw them onto the floor. Stark naked and exposed completely to the man now, your knees bent in the air, Levi slapped the backs of your thighs. You whimpered, clenching around nothing upon impact. He let out a groan, tugging his button up over his head, not bothering with the buttons. Your hands left the safety of the pillows above your head, fumbling with the belt that rested on his hips. He met your hands, finishing the job for you. Belt unbuckled, slacks unzipped and freed, he stood quickly, shoving the pants and his briefs to the floor.

You jaw slacked in amazement at the sheer size of his cock. Levi was hung, his member standing tall and proud and mouth watering. He returned to you in an instant, positioning his lower half to align with your spread center. His dick throbbed at the wet contact of your vulva, teasing the head against your clit. You threw your head back, arching your back and angling your hips to allow Levi better leverage. His fist flew to the base of his aching length, roughly fucking himself above you. You could feel the tightness of his knuckles as he brushed against you, and you moaned out his name.

“Such a needy little slut,” Levi degraded you, face set in false anger. “Desperate for my cock, huh?”

“Yes, yes!” your eyes screwed shut, you could feel the pounding in your pussy. “Want you so fucking bad. Please fuck me.”

“Please, what?” he cocked an eyebrow, letting out a groan as his thumb pressed into the underside of his head.

“Please, sir,” you begged as a tear fell down your cheek.

“All you had to do was ask, gorgeous,” he chuckled darkly, sinking the tip into your tight little hole.

You thought he would enter you slowly to allow you to adjust to his enormous girth, you were sadly mistaken though as he plunged his entire length deep inside of your soaking pussy. You let out a strangled whimper, more tears rolling down to your chin. Levi wouldn’t give you the pleasure of patience, pulling out just enough to threaten his head falling out, snapping his hips right back until he brushed your cervix.

“Fuck,” Levi moaned loudly, his hands circling the tops of your thighs, throwing your ankles over his shoulders. “Feels so fucking good.”

All you could do was fist the bedsheets under you as he took you violently. Sobs of pleasure racked through your chest, tits bouncing at the sheer force of his thunderous thrusts. The sounds of your cunt squelching around his intrusion was deafening accompanied by the smack of the skin of his balls hitting your ass. Levi pounded mercilessly into your heat, searching for his own heights before addressing yours. Of course he wouldn’t cum before you did, but the way your pussy fluttered around him gave him clear signs that it wouldn’t take much to push you over the edge.

Levi let out an animalistic growl as his pace quickened, slapping the meat of your thighs as his grip adjusted your knees to your chest. He leaned forward, and in the dim lighting you could see the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. His steel colored eyes were locked in with yours, lips parted as he breathed heavily from exertion. Levi could feel the burn in his hips as he gave you everything he could, fucking you as hard and as fast as he could.

You were nearly screaming, unable to bite back any noises at his assault. You felt his fingers slither around your neck once more, tightening dangerously around your windpipe. He could feel the collection of your tears in the dip of your throat, and his cock was throbbing at the sensation.

“Crying ‘cause it feels so good, aren’t you?” Levi snarled, placing his sweaty forehead to yours. When you didn’t answer, he released your throat to bring his wet palm in a roaring slap to your cheek, “Answer me.”

“Yes!” you screamed at the tops of your lungs, your cunt contracting at the stinging pain turned pleasure. “Please, please, please, let me cum!”

Levi barked out a groan as he felt your plush walls tighten, making his hips stutter in his rhythm. His free hand came down to your clit, slapping the top of your pussy with no real force. His thumb commenced its own pattern then, rubbing the engorged bud with vigorous intention. Levi plowed briskly, his climax on the horizon. You were quivering under him, fat tears leaking from your eyes as hiccups and whines left your throat. You could feel the soreness in your hole, and knew the second you came, you’d be squeezing the ever loving fuck out of Levi’s massive cock.

“So close,” you sniffled, vocals raw from the pressure of Levi’s fist clenched around your esophagus.

“Gonna’ cum all over me, pretty girl? Yeah, fuck, c’mon, my little fucking slut,” Levi’s eyes were smoldering, veins prominent in his neck as he approached his own release.

“Fuck fuck fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” your eyes attempted to close.

Levi slapped your cheek, “Keep your fucking eyes open, bitch. Don’t look away, wanna’ watch you.”

You nodded meekly, the build up in your stomach at its peak. His thumb circled faster, and you could feel every single motion in your pussy as he slammed his fat tip against your g-spot. It was too much, too intense, and you felt your coil snap as you clenched viciously around him.

With a loud gasp of air, not enough due to Levi’s fingers digging into your throat, you couldn’t stop yourself from bucking your hips. Your vision blurred over in thick tears, your skin was burning hot as Levi cursed above you. Your pussy contracted around him in a mind blowing flow, pleasure seeping in every pore and every cell in your body. If Levi had neighbors, or roommates, the noises you were making would be entirely concerning, sounding as if something gruesome was occurring in his home.

Levi was pushed out of your cunt from the pressure, and he dared not to slip back in your contracting hole out of fear of dumping his seed deep in your womb. He pushed your legs flat down after removing his touch from your clit, positioning his hips over yours as he fucked his fist at the same rapid pace he was drilling into your center. Loud moans escaped his parted lips, pistoning his pelvis with a death grip on his red swollen cock. Thick ropes of cum shot across your breasts, his thrusts never slowing.

You pushed your breasts together with your hands, fingers toying at your nipples to visually stimulate the man above you. He growled at the sight, “So fucking hot, yeah, take my fucking cum.”

He stilled, head thrown back as he let his girth fall from his grip, his cum oozing from his slit. You moaned at the sight, your mouth watering. Had you not been in such a hurry from the start, you would’ve gladly swallowed his cock down your throat, consuming every drop of his load. Maybe another time, if there would be one, you thought.

Your orgasms simultaneously slowed, until the two of you heaved heavily from the hard labor of the vigours fucking that had just occured. Levi moved off of you, grabbing tissues from his bedside table, and wiped up your torso. Before he could collect all of his cum though, you let a finger dip into a puddle in between your breasts, Levi’s eyes watching adamantly as you placed the digit on your tongue, rolling your eyes back into your head at the taste.

“You’re so needy,” he teased, a smirk crossing his exhausted face.

“Maybe,” you giggled breathlessly. “Maybe I just wanted a taste.”

Levi hummed, pushing back his dampened bangs from his forehead. He gazed at you in curiosity as you pushed your aching body off the bed, wincing at the indistinct soreness between your thighs, “I have clothes you can wear, don’t worry about giving them back either.”

Ah, so here came the awkward after the one night stand conversation. You smiled politely then, “I wasn’t worried. ‘Was gonna’ steal them one way or another.”

“Lucky I didn’t catch you then,” he mused, pushing himself off the mattress as well. “You’re welcome to take a shower, if you need to. I’m about to get in myself.”

“Nah, I should probably get home, it’s late,” you searched for your phone on the floor, finding it in your jacket pocket as you tapped on the Uber app.

“I can drop off the money tomorrow at the club, if you’re working,” Levi leaned against his bedroom wall, biting his lip as his demeanor changed back to his previous one from earlier.

You smirked, looking up at him through your eyelashes, “Baby, believe me, you couldn’t pay me to have sex like that. I wanted to fuck you, the money was just a fun little fantasy.”

Levi felt his ego inflate at your confession, his own lazy smirk rolling off his lips, “Let me pay for your Uber at least.”

And so he did, walking you out to the car when it arrived. You were swallowed whole by his comfortable clothing, and he placed a sweet kiss to your lips before you ducked your head into the vehicle, closing the door behind you. The car drove off swiftly, and Levi dug his hands in his pockets, walking back inside the comfort of his home to take that much needed shower.

The usual neon lights greeted you as you spun around the pole the next evening, less customers this time. You were feeling the undeniable soreness of your throat and center as you twirled around. Thankful for full coverage foundation to hide the bruises and marks littered across your entire body, no one had questioned why you were walking with such a limp. Well, aside from your favorite security guard.

“You’re off your game tonight,” Connie noted as you placed your sore body onto the bar stool. “Any reason why you can’t sit fully down without wincing?”

You flicked a unamused glance his way, “Any reason why you’re being so fucking nosy?”

“Just wondering why that guy left with last night has been following you around the club all night is all,” Connie took a swig from his beer mug, eyes batting to point behind you. “Hm, yes, very strange.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your head in the direction of his gaze. Your breath caught in your throat as Levi strided cooly over to you, a small smirk on his handsome face. He ordered a whiskey neat over the counter next to you, and cleared his throat as he finally looked into your eyes.

“Thought I’d actually get to catch your dance this time,” Levi greeted. “Y’know, since I missed it last night.”

You heard Connie snort obnoxiously, and your eyes threw daggers in warning. Connie threw his hands up to mock surrender, taking his drink and walking away. You returned your attention to the ravenette beside you, “Just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

“Just couldn’t get you off my mind,” his eyes trailed to the pout of your lips. “When does your shift end?”

“In a few hours, why?”

“I wanna’ see what kind of place a girl like you can afford,” he smirked. “Maybe get a private dance this time.”

“You do pay pretty well,” you flirted, trailing your fingers up to the collar of the fashionable black sweater. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll make it worth the pain,” Levi breathed out cockily, swiping his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip. “Wouldn’t want to get out of here now, would’ya?”

“I guess I could for the right price,” you parted your lips, lightly biting down on the tip of his digit.

Levi didn’t respond, instead he grabbed your wrists and led you impatiently out the door. You’d text Connie later and have him hold your tips until your next shift. You had a very important client to dance for.

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

[ivyglow]

Mine | Anthony Beauvillier

A/n: this idea came after we had a very sexy- I mean- Angry* Anthony pushing Sidney Crosby. Barbie and some anons send the good energy and so althought it took me forever here it is *cheers*. A huge thank you for @barbienoturbby​ for sending me some specific ideas (sharpies, choking etc hehehe), putting up w my random messages in the middle of the night or being a insecure bitch, ILY BARBIE! Huge shout out to @sebs-aston​ for proofreading this so fast *you’re amazing, liv!*.  PS. More than ever I’m gonna need your feedback because I’m an insecure bitch and this is my first time writing smut (freddie was thigh riding, I don’t consider it too much). So please just lmk if you like it or hate it <3 

Word count: 4k

Warnings: smut, mention of chocke, spitting, oral -female receiving- and all those dirty stuff. 

Summary: after getting angry on the ice, you decide to make Anthony angry in bed too. 

You knew Tito was a dom in bed as soon as you met him: he helped you to sit and to get up on your first date, and he led you to your car with his hand on your lower back. One month into getting to know each other, you were planning a gathering with his friends and he was the one to assign everyone with a task. Some days he would use fewer words and stick with hand gestures or eye contact to tell you what he wanted or what he was silently saying. 

So when you two had sex for the first time and he was on top, you were not surprised, you also weren’t surprised when he asked how would you feel about hair pulling, choking, and tying. And, well, you’d never tried any of this, so you were honest with him, knowing that honesty was the key to make things work. He promised to go slow, and he watched you intently while he did everything just to make sure you were comfortable. You can still remember how it felt when he first stretched you, how your heel went to his back to accommodate his waist better, how this movement gave him the perfect angle to go all the way until the end. 

You also remember the hickeys he left on your skin, mostly on places where your clothes could hide, but some you knew he purposely made for people to see. And people saw, indeed and also heard. He got a noise complaint twice because his old bed would scratch and bang on the wall, and that wouldn’t be a huge problem if it was anyone else, but it was Anthony, a hockey player, at that point -your boyfriend-, and he had the stamina to go for hours. A chug of water, maybe a fruit snack, and less than twenty minutes later he was ready to go again - or he would use these twenty minutes to get you off with his mouth and fingers. So the noise complaint was very much expected. 

Now six months into the relationship, this wasn’t a problem anymore. Tito bought a new bed, and even talked with a friend about the possibility of getting soundproof walls. That’s why you were drinking your water and eating one of his energy bars while watching the game. The dynamic after games was usually very sexual, it didn’t matter if he was on the road or at home, you would find a way to get off, either phone sex or spicy pics. He never left you to your own hands. 

The Isles were playing against the Penguins and you knew he was pissed off because of their losing streak against that team. That made him angry with some specifics players too. When he got home last night, you just cuddled together and went to sleep, he was tired and fuming because of their loss, and he probably heard a handful by his coach. Because of those losses, you knew he was going to skate his way around the ice tonight more than ever, and, especially, that he was angry. 

You were laying on his couch when the game started, the Isles skating around the ice in a way you would have bet was a premonition for another loss, but ten minutes in things started to go differently, and that was the exact moment when you sat and gripped Beau’s shirt before an amazing shot hit the Pens’ net. They kept the rhythm on for the next two periods, although they were pretty much stressful- a handful of times you caught yourself holding your breath or cursing. The last two were also a stage for your boyfriend’s anger. He was pissed in a way you’d never seen before on the ice, and when Sidney Crosby pushed Pulock, Tito had had enough and shoved the opposition’s player on the ice. Torn between finding it hot or funny, you chose the latter letting out a loud laugh. Yet, when another exchange of pushes happened between the Pens’ superstar and Beau you sure felt the heat taking up space inside your body and you shifted on the couch. There was another goal and the game kept on providing stress and anxiety for the fans, but you were stuck on the scene your boyfriend had just put up. 

He was usually like this in bed, but not that much on the ice, and seeing that happening outside the four walls left you with a lingering warmth inside your body, and not the cute warmth you usually felt when he cooked for you or told you how much he loved you. But the warmth you got whenever he bent you on the kitchen counter or held your hand tight while going down on you. 

It was past midnight when you heard the door open and close, the soft click making your heart beat faster. He was home. You heard the thud of his bag on the floor and his steps bringing his scent closer to the living room where you were sitting on the couch wearing only his jersey and his favorite lace.

“Hey you, winner,” your voice echoed in the dimly lit apartment and you could see his lips curling in a small smile.

“Hey, babe,” his lips found yours on a quick peck and you looked up for more contact, but Anthony was already walking to the kitchen. 

“Are you ok?” you asked, barefoot padding the floor until you reached the stool.

Your boyfriend was already busy cutting some bananas in a bowl, “Yeah, just a little stressed with the game and hungry,” he answered.

“But you won,” you stated in confusion. 

His eyes scanned you for a second before going back to his task. The silence was everything you needed to know: he really was not in the mood for long talks after the episode, but you were a woman on a mission and you knew exactly what to do to get Anthony riddled up. 

“You guys had a great game…” you began, cautious with your words and actions, hands reaching for a banana on the fruit bowl. “How was playing against Sidney Crosby?”

You saw how his eyebrows raised slightly before pouring honey on his bowl and whipping his fingers with his tongue. You knew the action wasn’t supposed to be filthy, yet you’ve been dating him long enough to know that he knew every action of his could be seen as sexual at some point. 

“It was normal, he’s a normal hockey player like any of us,” his tone is nonchalant. 

You suppress a grin, “he’s not like any of you, he’s Sidney Crosby. Just last night he reached his thousandth game,” Tito’s now chewing on his fruit and you can see how the motion seems tighter after your words, still you keep going, “he’s like a superstar! I would love to meet him any of these days…” you trail off busying yourself on biting the banana you just peeled off. His eyes trained on how your lips wrap around the piece of fruit, your tongue purposely darting out. Your boyfriend chooses silence again and you huff rolling your eyes. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he queries, eyes on his bowl, jaw still clenched tight while biting another piece of his fruit. You dart your eyes in another direction while biting your banana again, this time without so much care on giving him a hard time. “I asked you a question, y/n,” his tone was sharp and his voice low. You shake your head. 

He grabs his water bottle before chugging half of the content, “Cat got your tongue? I swear I just saw you poking it out while eating that banana to provoke me,” he tauntingly  gives you a defiant look. 

Anthony motions for you to come to him and you follow his orders willingly, eager to finally have your way with him. You’re within arm’s reach when he tugs you closer, making you stumble in the middle of his big thighs. In a blink of an eye, you feel the sting on your butt cheeks, his big hands finding it again one more time before grabbing your chin. “You can’t even wait for your man to eat,” it’s a low grunt and he seems more annoyed with your playful smile, and you see the perfect opportunity to tease him a little bit more, “You could eat something else, there’s nothing stopping you…” 

With that Anthony seems to lose his judgment before swinging your body on top of the counter, “you’re being such a brat tonight” his hands grab your butt squeezing it hard, “that’s not how you get the things you want” 

“No? Then why are you about to fuck me?” you mock him knowing damn right that this would only make him go harder on you. 

“Crisse,” (holy shit) his French accent makes your pussy throb. You loved when he talked in French to you.

His big hand pushes you back in a swift motion, the same hand spreads your legs for him, and it’s only a second before you’re fully laying on the counter. Still wearing only a lace thong and his jersey, you know the former is about to be ripped out of you. Anthony drags his fingers from the bottom of your belly to your breasts before gifting you a devilish smirk as soon as he notices you’re not wearing a bra. 

“You think Sidney Crosby is the superstar, but you know damn well I’m gonna be the reason why you’re seeing stars tonight,” he whispers before sitting on the stool and kissing up to your thighs. His lips are sticky from the honey and because they’re cold it sends chills running through your warm body. You stretch your arms to reach his hair and he hums grabbing your wrists harshly, “no hair pulling for you tonight,” his murmurs hit your skin and you let out a small whine. 

In order to play with your sensations, you see him taking a long gulp of his cold water. You know it will make his mouth colder and slicker, and you know he’s only doing it because he’s planning to spend a long time between your legs.

And that he does.

You sigh when his lips finally reach your pussy, the shock it causes is good and you can’t help but close your thighs in an attempt to bring him where you are really yearning for his lips. Nevertheless, that’s not what he has planned for you, and he drags his mouth between your pussy lips long before finally wrapping his lips on your clit and humming in pleasure. 

“Oh fuck,” you let out a whine when his fingers reach for your nipple and twist it hard. His wet tongue flickered on your clit and he dived in deeper, making you feel all of him, from his stubble that was starting to grow to his full lips, you could feel it all.

“Anthony,” you try to form a sentence in the exact moment he pushs one finger inside of you, but your voice comes out as a prayer. A plea for more. 

You were a sinner for him.

“You taste so good,” it’s a pleasure mumble and it comes just before his palm strikes your butt cheeks in a firm slap. “I could spend days here, bébé” 

“Anthony,” you try again and this time he laughs with his lips still wrapped around your clit. The vibrations send shivers through your whole body, your toes curl and you try to reach for his hair again before his hand holds both of your wrists. 

You’re close and he knows it because he adds another finger and curls it. It’s a ‘come here’ motion and from another dimension, you were almost able to hear him whisper the same words in French. 

“Give it to me,” he demands, and you do as said just as another finger hits your right spot. For some seconds the kitchen’s ceiling turns black with dots and your vision goes blurry. Toes curling, the pitch on your belly button finally making its way out just like the curses and moans that leave your mouth. Most of them being his name and how good he makes you feel. 

You’re not even done with your high when his big hands grab your ankles bringing your body to the edge of the counter and making you sit. “Open your mouth,” he demands. 

You moan, eyes rolling back from pleasure, “put your tongue out for me, má chérie,” his hands, now holding your jaw, tighten around you. There’s a whimper of bliss and you part your lips wide bringing your tongue out just like demanded before he spits on your mouth. 

“See how good you taste?!” Anthony hums and you swallow it before poking your tongue out again and licking from his glistering chin to his lips. The action fuels a passionate kiss and it’s seconds before your weak legs wrap themselves around his waist bringing him closer. Your core finds the bulge on his pants and you whimper feeling aroused again. 

Your boyfriend is fast to grasp the underside of your thighs bringing your body close to his before making his way towards the bedroom. You take your time licking and kissing his neck and jaw until your body hits the mattress and he’s unbuckling his belt.

“Take it off” he commands, unbuttoning his dress shirt. You’re fast to obey taking off the jersey you’re wearing, now you’re fully naked in front of him. 

“Hands,” you put both of your wrists together and he fastens his belt around it tight. 

From the way his eyebrows were slightly up to his lips parted, you knew he was about to give you another orgasm, you knew that he wasn’t done and he wouldn’t be any time soon. 

“Do we have a safe word tonight, bébé?” his full lips find your jaw and neck and he nibbles on your ear before sucking harshly on your neck again. 

His purpose is to mark you, not only where people can see, but also where they can’t. Just like your waist is being held with such fierceness, you know it’ll leave prints there. You hum a yes dropping your head to the side so he can have more access to your skin, “use your words, you know I need to hear you say it,” he whispers now bringing his mouth to your nipples and biting it lightly. You whimper, “our safe word is blue.” 

“Perfect,” you can feel his smile on your skin and when you reach for his hair with your hands tied, he pushes them up. His strong arm swings on top of your belly and he takes his time on your breasts before making his way lower. There’s a pitch bubbling on your belly again just with the idea of it and he gives you mischievous grim kissing and licking your thighs. 

“Beau,” you whine already feeling your legs weakening again.

“I told you I was hungry, you were the one who suggested the meal,” the funny remark is accompanied by a flicker of his tongue on your cunt. “Now I’ll only stop when I’m satisfied.” 

You curse closing your hands and trying to bring your waist up. He shakes his head, “huh huh, that’s a bad girl attitude,” he spits on your pussy and you moan loud, “and you know exactly what we do to bad girls in this house, don’t you?” 

You nod and he chuckles.

“Words.” 

“I know, sir.” 

“Now, there’s my good girl,” he praises finding your clit and holding it carefully between his teeth, “now give it to me just like you suggested,” he murmurs before diving on your pussy, his tongue gentle and slow, in contrast with his solid arm pinning you to the bed and his rough behavior. 

It would be a long ride and you would feel every step taken, because each one would bring you closer to the inevitable. You felt urgency though; you wanted him to fuck your brains out already. But Anthony took his time, and you knew he was being good because he let you cum in the kitchen even after you provoked him. When his point finger entered you, your eyes couldn’t focus and you knew you were closer, yet instead of giving you a release, your boyfriend took his kisses to your thighs grinning at you one more time. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he speaks under his breath, eyes trained on your pussy. Yet you don’t feel ashamed, because it’s Anthony, and he knows you like the back of his hands, he knows what to do to make you comfortable and he knows how to make you feel good. He would praise and love your body rightly, so you let him. You spread your legs wider and gave him a lopsided smile. 

“Please,” you plead again that night; however, he follows your request this time. 

Anthony dives in again, licking and spitting, flickering his tongue and using his fingers. Giving you what he got and what he knows you like. Your body is fast to answer, your waist trying to go higher to find his mouth, your toes curling, your head shooting back and your eyes rolling. 

He got you there. Fast.

And he made sure to ride you out of you high, this tongue not the least careful with your sensitive bud, while cleaning you up he kept licking it lightly. Full lips brushing it with dedication. 

“Now I want you on all fours,” there’s a dirty smile on his glistering lips and you hold back another moan with the image of Anthony sitting between your legs, face glowing with your cum, “allos y,” (c’mon). You turn your body, holding your hands before supporting your head on the pillows, ass up for him.

There’s the noise of a slap and the sting on your butt cheeks, right before a soft kiss is placed on top of the surely red mark. His hands roam around your body and you shiver when he grabs your hair. “Crisse, tu as l'air si chaud,” (holy shit, you look so hot) Anthony slaps you booty again and finally slips his finger at your entrance feeling your wetness pool around. You’re already ready for him again and he seems pleased with the realization. So pleased it doesn’t take long for him to slip inside of you hitting just the right spot. Your body shots upward and he holds you by your waist keeping your butt bent. 

“Anthony,” you moan loudly when he starts moving ruthlessly inside of you. There’s something hot about how his body is being aggressive and you are taking it all, how his hips are almost knocking your body down, “right - fucking - there,” you whine and he keeps going, this time grabbing your hair and making your body lean towards him. 

“Whose name are you screaming tonight, bébé?” he mumbles bending his own body on top of yours without completely letting go of the position. 

“Yours,” your answer between groans. 

“Let me hear you” 

And you do.

You say his name out loud and clear, and you’re almost sure the neighbors are going to hear it. Yet you do it again and again while the sound of your voice is mixed with the noise of his skin hitting your skin and his feral grunts. He’s big and hard inside you and every time he goes out to get inside again you can feel your pussy stretching out to accommodate him. 

“Beau,” you moan and he chuckles leaning his body down to kiss your back. You see from the corner of your eyes when he finds the black marker on the top of your drawer, you can almost see his head working on ideas, and then he’s grabbing the sharpie you were using to write on your sticky notes earlier today. 

His body is straight up again and his movements are now slower, as he unclasps the marker and you feel its cold material hit your skin. There’s a long up and then down movement, you’re almost sure it’s an M, and then there’s a harsh line of an I, you can hear his grunts louder and he stops himself for a second before shooting his body towards yours again. The sharpie finds your skin again, this time to draw an N, you knew he was doing it big, not only for his eyes, but for you to feel and to know exactly what it was as he wrote the last letter, an E. 

You roll your eyes when he closes and throws the sharpie somewhere in the room before leaving another one of his blows on your butt cheeks. Anthony swings his arm around your torso bringing you up to him, your back hitting his solid chest, “you’re mine,” and that’s what it takes for you to come undone on his still hard cock. Your whole body trembles and your vision goes blurry again, there are tears in your eyes, and this time your moans turn into screams of satisfaction. 

He keeps fucking you through your high and you curse dropping your head back on his shoulder. His hand sneaks in front of your body to touch your sensitive clit, and you hold it sinking your nails on his skin. “Oh fuck,” he grunts drawing his finger deeper. You’re not sure if your body can’t take so much pleasure.

“Let me ride you,” it’s a prayer, a plea, a cry, and you can feel his lips on your neck before your bodies are turned and you’re on top taking him deeper, touching new spots. 

“That’s it, bébé,” he praises you and you roll your hips using your last energies. His hands find their way to your thighs and his short nails dig on your skin bringing you impossibly closer. There’s a deep grunt from him and a small whine from you. It’s hard for your eyes to focus, and you use your body to pin his down and your tied hands find his neck before squeezing it. His hips shot up under you and you scream, tightening your grip on him and squeezing his dick inside of you. 

You can feel another knot on the pitch of your belly, but this time it feels different to recognize this new sensation. That’s when you notice the wetness under you dripping onto his cock to his belly button and in the bed. 

“Fuck,” he moans, “Oh shit, you’re squirting,” his big hands go to your back and he keeps shooting his hips up to meet your pussy, “that’s it, bébé, give it to me once more,” and you’re squeezing him one last time before giving both of you a mind-blowing orgasm. Your body tumbles on top of his and this time things go pitch black instead of blurry. You can still feel his hot body under you and his rapid heartbeat, but your body is fluttering and there’s nothing in front of you. There’s only his body. There’s only your boyfriend existing under you with his cock still deep inside of you. 

It’s seconds before his caresses on your back become some kind of poking, “y/n?” 

“Huh?” you mumble, your voice raspy. He chuckles.

“Fuck, you passed out,” he sounds proud and you giggle. 

“That was the best sex we’ve ever had,” you confess without finding the strength to move your hands and caress him back, but Anthony keeps the tip of his fingers moving softly around your body, “I think I should talk more about Sidney Crosby, huh?” you joke and his hips shot upward making you moan Anthony’s name. Although he just came, he’s still hard and deep inside your soaked pussy.

“What were you saying?” he questions with a smug grin. “I think you were saying something about a certain player, Sidney Crosby maybe?” 

You arch your eyebrows, “who’s Sidney Crosby? I only know Anthony Beauvillier,” and he laughs at your answer before kissing your lips softly. You know there’s gonna be a time for water and a fruit snack later and then he’s going again, because he’s never done until you’re completely wrecked, the only name able to escape your lips being his. 

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[live-the-fangirl-life]

Your fics are so cute. If you have time I would love to see this as a prompt for Rowaelin maybe? (Make it crazy if you want 😘)

“I would love to kiss you right now but my lips are on fire.”

For the Aesthetic

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Answered Prompt

“I would love to kiss you right now but my lips are on fire.”

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

1305 words

***

The party was in full swing by the time Aelin and Rowan arrived. If there was one thing Dorian did better than anyone else—even her, she’d begrudgingly admit—was throw a kick-ass party.

Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, bright purple and orange lights flashed, and dry ice was bubbling up from around the bloodied punchbowl. Aelin caught glimpse of her friends dressed like zombies, sexy cops, celebrities, superheroes, sexy superheroes, and a dozen other obscure costumes.

She smirked as she took in the cheap, generic-looking outfits. If Dorian won at throwing Halloween parties, then Aelin won at attending Halloween parties. She’d scoured the internet and thrift stores for the perfect pieces for her and Rowan’s ensembles. Her costumes were always the best, and she’d made sure that this year she and Rowan had the most amazing couple’s costume.

Rowan knew that Aelin would take reigns for Halloween, so he simply sat back and let her put together their costumes. Even if he tried to help or offer a suggestion, she shushed him and told him that Halloween was hers and that he could be in charge of one of the boring holidays. The insult was sweetened by lots of kisses, so Rowan didn’t put up much of a fight.

This year, she’d decked them out in full pirate costumes. Rowan’s shirt hung open to show off his broad chest, something Aelin had insisted upon with a wicked smirk. Aelin wore an authentic corset, and they both had shining swords hanging from their hips.

She had even found this website that specialized in edible glitter lipsticks. Aelin bought four different colors and was currently wearing the gold shade, making her lips look like shimmering sunlight or golden doubloons...and even more tantalizing than usual given the way Rowan could hardly keep his gaze off them for more than a few moments.

It didn’t matter that her lips had felt tingly ever since she put it on. Or that she felt a slight burn along her tongue after she’d licked her lips, but that was probably from the shot she’d taken before leaving the apartment.

They’d said hello to their friends before Aelin reached for a cup of the spiked punch. Maybe another drink would take her mind off her burning mouth.

Aelin dragged Rowan into the living room where the furniture had been pushed aside to create a make-shift dancefloor. He spun her around once they found an empty space before pulling her back into him, grinning.

Rowan’s hand on her waist tightened as he pulled her closer and moved his hips with hers in time to the music. Aelin let herself get lost in the dancing and the feel of Rowan as he leaned down and trailed kisses along the column of her throat. Aelin didn’t hold back her soft moan as he found the sweet spot right behind her ear, the music drowned out any noise she made, anyway.

When he brought his face up to hers, his eyes were dark and a smirk pulled at his lips as he admired the marks he’d left on her skin. Rowan bent his head to kiss her, but Aelin pressed a firm hand to his chest. He froze, the heat in his face dimming as he gave her a questioning look.

Aelin winced, wanting nothing more than to let him keep going, but she couldn’t.

“I would love to kiss you right now, Buzzard,” she told him, pulling him close so he could hear her over the music, “but my lips are on fire.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Rowan jerked back and his eyes scanned her face, landing on her golden, shimmery lips. His brows furrowed and he focused on her mouth before his eyes shot back to hers.

“Aelin, your lips are swollen.” He told her incredulously, “Did you have any strawberries?” he glanced over towards the food table, “I didn’t see any, but you know you’re allergic, you can’t eat them just because they taste good.”

She winced. Allergic. She must be allergic to the lipstick.

Rowan caught her wince and his concern deepened as he surveyed the food table with unerring scrutiny, searching for a fruit he wouldn’t find. She squeezed his arm, pulling his attention back to her, and told him, “No strawberries.” His shoulders relaxed a fraction, but he was still tense, trying to figure out why she was in pain, “I think it’s the lipstick.”

His eyebrows shot up as he focused on her lips once more. “The lipstick. Damn.”

It was her turn to look confused. “Damn? Why?”

He snorted but was already grabbing her hand to lead her from the dance floor and towards the door. “Because I really liked that lipstick.” He winked at her over his shoulder as he steered them out of the party. “I wanted to see it left on other places.”

Aelin blood turned molten...almost as hot as her lips felt.

She focused on them again and couldn’t contain the sharp inhale as she fully registered the pain she was feeling now that they were out of the suffocating party.

Her lips were on fire, so was the tip of her tongue, and she was positive they were swelling up to the point where she’d be unable to talk soon.

As soon as they got into Rowan’s car, Aelin dug into the glove compartment for her emergency bag to grab a pack of makeup remover wipes. Rowan started the car and got pulled out onto the road while glancing over repeatedly at her to watch as she scrubbed furiously at her lips, desperate to remove the cruel lipstick

It took three makeup wipes, but as soon as her lips were clean, Aelin immediately felt better. They were still swollen and felt like a dozen tiny fire ants were making their home on her face, but it was better than it had been on the dancefloor.

“Did it hurt the whole time you had it on?” Rowan questioned from the driver’s seat, reaching over to thread his fingers through hers.

Sighing, she leaned back and relaxed into the leather seat, “Yeah, but it wasn’t so bad at first. By the time we left it was only an incessant tingle.”

His head whipped towards her, “You felt it before we even left the house, and you still kept it on?” He shook his head trying to understand his girlfriend’s thought process. “You didn’t think maybe it’d be a good idea to get rid of the thing that was irritating you?”

She raised a single brow at him and smirked, refraining from making the obvious joke. He rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what she wanted to say.

Aelin used her free hand to tuck a stay wisp of hair behind her ear and lean closer to him across the center console. “It’s all about the aesthetic, Rowan. The lipstick completed the look,” she scoffed, “I wasn’t going to go to Dorian’s Halloween party with a sub-standard costume.”

Aelin grinned as Rowan loosed a long-suffering sigh and glanced side-longed at her, “And I suppose you have a reputation that not even physical pain would deter you from upholding.” He said drily.

Aelin just squeezed his hand in confirmation and he huffed a laugh before squeezing back.

“I might not be able to wear the lipstick,” Aelin murmured, inching closer to him, “But I do have a part of my costume you haven’t seen yet.”

His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as his eyes flicked back to hers, now wicked with amusement. His gaze roved over her scantily-clad body before saying in a voice an octave lower than normal, “Part that I haven’t seen? Are you wearing it now?”

Her answering smirk had Rowan speeding the rest of the way home.

*****

Taglist:

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[sarcastich]

Crown Made Of Barbwire

Everyone got their wings, sooner or later.

Feathers of every color, size, variation.

They start as two little bumps on your back, itching like a growing tooth, around the same time you hit puberty. A bit earlier for girls, a bit later for boys. They grow over the course of your teenage years, and stop once all their feathers have reached their full size.

Some people could fly with their wings, some couldn’t. Most people’s wings were two meters on each side when they were outstretched.

Peter’s wings had only taken two years to grow fully, and were beautiful, pure-white angel wings.

He’d never seen anyone with wings like his. All the other white wings were more like snow owls, speckled with browns and grays, or had underlying colors that gave the top feathers a tint.

He couldn’t quite fly with them, but they were perfect for gliding. He’d scale the tallest buildings in his area, and get a running jump off of them, plummeting for a moment before he got pulled up and flew around the neighborhood until his wings got tired. Of course, you couldn’t just fly anywhere whenever you wanted to. You needed permits, licenses, there were laws to uphold. Most people preferred staying on the ground, anyway.

But not everyone got to keep their feathered wings.

Peter had always heard stories of the burnt ones.

His aunt used it as a reason for him to be good, or when his friends were yelling about seeing criminals they’d allegedly seen out ‘n about.

“-Eat your greens or your wings will burn right off, Pete”

“-I’m telling you, man! His wings were all black and torn up, I’m not kidding!”

They were the result of corruption, evil, immorality, and sin. Once soft feathers scorched, charred, and turned into soot. They blackened and burned away, turning into a shadow of their past wonder, skeletal and black.

Peter had never imagined that one day he’d be standing at the Four Seasons, shooting photos for The Bugle, trying to get a good shot of the Tony Stark.

Peter was among the crowd of journalists and other photographers, rapidly clicking away, aiming his camera lens at Stark. Reporters were yelling out questions, waving wired microphones and recorders over the barrier between them and the walkway Tony Stark was walking down.

There was something about his wings that set them apart from a normal burnt set. Most CEOs, businessmen or just rich, successful, famous people had burnt wings.

But Tony Stark’s weren’t just burnt.

They had horns cascading from the tips to the forearms. The burning away of the pure white feathers had revealed bat-like structures. Stark had no idea why, or how. That was just how they were. Or so he’d told the public.

Peter’s breath caught in his throat when Stark focused on him, looking into his camera and flashing a well-practiced smile. Peter fumbled for a moment before he looked through the viewfinder and took several photos.

And again, he’d never imagined that he’d get a personal request for a photoshoot, by the Tony Stark.

He packed his camera bag with shaky hands, taking extra drives and lenses.

His boss had pulled him aside earlier that morning, and told him that Stark had reached out and asked for Mr. Parker to be the one present and in charge of the interview’s photos. Peter, of course, had accepted in a second. He’d be an idiot to decline. Tony Stark’s picture on his portfolio? What kind of artist would he be if he said no?

Peter stepped out of the glass lobby of The Bugle offices half an hour later and looked up from his phone, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a deep red sweater over a white collared shirt, the front tucked into his soft beige dress pants. He hoped his outfit wasn’t too casual for the occasion, but he didn’t really have time to change anyway.

Just as he looked away from the screen, a sleek black car pulled up in front of him. The driver’s window rolled down.

“Peter Parker?” the driver, a roundish man, asked.

“Y-yeah- yes!”

The man jerked his head towards the back seat door.

“Get in, kid.”

Peter did as told, nervously sliding into the car, barely moving when he sat on the leather seat, hugging his bag.

“Wh- Where’re we going-?” His voice came out a lot squeakier than he’d meant for it to.

“Stark Industries Tower, where else?”

Almost an hour later, the car stopped in front of the blue, glass building. The driver got out and opened Peter’s door. He hadn’t moved since he’d gotten in.

Getting out of the car and almost forgetting his bag, he mumbled, most of his attention drawn by the tall tower.

“Thank you- uh, mister- um-”

“Hogan. Happy Hogan.”

“Yes! Thanks!”

With a nod, he closed the car door and got back in, driving off. Peter took a deep breath, held his bag properly again and started towards the building.

After a short chat with one of the three receptionists, he was led to an elevator a bit farther away from the general area of the entry. He and a shorter woman entered the lift. Judging from her formal attire, Peter guessed she was an assistant. Her wings were far smaller than his own, made up of light blue feathers with streaks of royal blue. He kept his own wings contracted to offer her enough room in the small space.

“Friday, take us to the penthouse, and please let Mr. Stark know that Mr. Parker will be arriving shortly.”

Peter looked at her, confused until a soft tone went off and the elevator started its ascent.

She smiled at him before he let out a soft “Oh-” and averted his gaze.

With another soft tone, the lift stopped and she gestured for him to step out.

“Thanks-”, he started to say, but the elevator door was already closing behind him.

The elevator had opened to something like a living room area. Two sleek, white sofas were facing the rounded glass walls, with an ornate sculpture between them that looked like five giant bowls stacked on top of each other. Everything Peter could see was modern and minimal, with a white-gray aesthetic throughout the penthouse.

He looked around nervously, holding on to his bag by the shorter strap.

“Mr. Parker, welcome.”

Peter gasped and turned around with a jump, startled.

“M-Mr. Stark! Y-yes, hi, I’m Peter Parker, I-I’m here for the Bugle interview shoot?” He inwardly cringed at how he sounded, stuttering, his voice a lot higher than it usually was, clutching his bag for dear life.

Stark smirked at him. “I know, kid, calm down.” He gestured towards the sofas. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Peter stuttered out a thank you, and sat down at the far end of one. He kept his wings close to his body, feeling like he was taking up too much space, still hugging his bag to his chest. He looked up shyly, taking Stark in properly. His wings were relaxed as he walked to the sofa facing Peter, sitting down comfortably.

“Are you afraid of me, Mr. Parker?”

“N-No sir. I mean, you’ve obviously done s-some- uh-.. Not so great things- but uhm- You’re an icon, people admire you-”

“Would you like anything to drink?” Stark cut him off, motioning to the minibar that had very literally risen from the ground.

Peter stuttered out, “Oh- N-No, thank you, I can’t drink on the job-”

Stark poured himself two fingers of whiskey in a lowball glass, without ice, and gently pushed down the top of the minibar, and it reclined back into the floor, looking like another dark grey ceramic tile.

He took a sip, eyes trained on Peter.

Peter cleared his throat, relaxing a bit. “So, where d’you think would be best for the uhm- the shots-?”

They talked about light placement, the conversation somehow dragging over to technology and science, Peter engaging a lot more, and forgetting his nervousness eventually.

After about an hour, they got up, Peter set up his camera, and took his photos.

A behind-shot of Tony Stark with his hands tucked into his pants pockets, wings stretched out behind him. A side profile, while buttoning his suit, and various other shots.

Peter was on his knees, getting a photo of one of Tony Stark’s iconic shades on a small table, the city line stretching out behind it.

Stark had excused himself to take a call, and told Peter to take photos of anything that he wanted. Peter didn’t hear him step back into the room, too focused on trying to set his camera’s shutter speed. Stark quietly took long strides to him, stepping in front of the table.

“Oh, Mr. Stark-! I just wanted to take a shot of the glasses, they’re-”

He stammered into silence as Mr. Stark softly ran the back of his finger along his cheek. He held it under Peter’s chin, tilting his head up. Peter was blushing furiously, but couldn't make himself look away.

“Let me see your wings, angel.”

Three months later, Peter’s life had changed drastically.

He was decked out in the latest designer clothes, a skinny white Etro strap top to match his wings, baby blue Dolce & Gabbana shaded glasses perched on this nose, sitting by a marbled kitchen counter, a Valentino white leather clutch bag resting on it, and inspecting his manicured nails.

A man in an obsidian black suit entered the room, buttoning his jacket and running a hand through his hair, smirking.

“Ready, angel?”

Peter looked up, a cheeky smile on his lips. Wings fluttering, he slid off his high stool and made his way to him. He straightened Tony’s tie and pecked his nose.

“Yes, daddy.”

He leaned away, but Tony let out a growl, grabbing Peter by his waist and pulling him flush against his body.

Peter gasped, “You’ll ruin my outfit!”

“Angel, I bought it.”

Peter pouted, “Well yeah, but you gave it to me”

“I’ll buy you a new one, you spoilt brat.”

Peter giggled and cupped Tony’s face, looking into his eyes and leaning into his touch. “Y’know I love you, Tones.”

They kissed softly, Tony not letting go of his vice grip on Peter’s waist.

“Tony, we’re gonna be late... I want you to check the set up one last time-”

“Angel, I had you set things up. I trust you.”

Earlier that day, Peter had gone to the hotel’s restaurant on the top floor, under a different name and reservation. He’d checked the entire place for wires, mics, or anything that could put them in any sort of bad situation. He checked exit points, weak spots, and all the cameras. He’d been thorough.

He had taped a Glock 9 mm handgun underneath their side of the table, checking repeatedly to make sure it was fully loaded and had its safety off.

Peter grumbled a bit, before letting go of Tony, dramatically sighing, rolling his eyes and picking up his handbag from the counter.

“Well, we should get going anyway.”

Tony shot him a wolfish grin before grabbing his wrist and pulling him back.

“You missed something, i mio angelo.”

He tilted his head to the counter, a navy blue felt box sitting on it now. Peter was surprised. He knew it was a jewelry box, but he hadn’t asked for anything, and even though Tony loved showering him with gifts, there was usually some silly occasion he used as an excuse for it.

He curiously looked at the box, wondering what it was. Something beautiful, no doubt.

“Go on then, Angel, it’s yours.”

Peter stepped back up to the counter and set down his bag on the nearest stool. He pulled the box closer to himself before glancing at Tony, who was smirking at him, arms crossed against his chest.

He slowly opened it, keeping his eyes on Tony until the lid was completely vertical.

His eyes flicked down to the box, and he took in a sharp gasp, hands flying to cover his mouth. “Tony, you didn’t!”

Tony’s smirk grew into a full grin again as Peter rushed around the counter to kiss him, cradling the box in his arms, even though he could easily just hold it in one hand.

“Of course I did, mia carissimo.”

Tony took the box from Peter’s hands, setting it down on the counter. He pulled out the choker he’d gotten for his princess, with Round Brilliant cut, D rate diamonds in the center of Cushion cut diamonds arranged like figure eights.

Peter lightly grazed his own neck with his fingertips, already feeling the weight on his neck, even though he hadn’t touched the jewels yet. Tony held up the necklace.

“May I have the honor?”

Peter silently turned his back to Tony, holding his head high. Tony pressed a kiss to the back of Peter’s bare neck and gently ran his hand through Peter’s feathers, making him shudder before placing the necklace on his neck and fastening the tiny clasp. It didn’t have a chain at the end, it had a specific size. Peter’s size.

Half an hour later, Tony held the passenger door of his Audi R8 Spyder open and led Peter out, Peter giving him his hand like a princess, to the entry of the hotel. There was no swarming press, just the coming and going of guests of the hotel.

Handing his keys over to a valet, Tony pressed a kiss to the back of Peter’s hand.

“Relax, angel.”

They walked into the lobby hand in hand, people stopping to stare at them every few feet. Even if they didn’t know who Tony Stark was, they’d stop to look at the man with the bat wings and the boy who looked like an angel.

They didn’t stop at the reception, they walked straight to the private elevator that led to the restaurant, Tony’s security detail already armed and ready at the top. Once they got there and had been patted down and checked for weapons by Osborn’s security, Tony walked them over to their table.

It overlooked the city skyline, winking lights dotting the land underneath them. He pulled out a chair for Peter, getting a soft smile in return. Sitting in the chair next to him, he held his hand again. Peter shot him a worried look.

Peter kept his voice low, “I thought you said he’d be here on time?”

“Princess, he’s only five minutes late. His detail’s here, he’ll be here, too.”

Peter toyed with the table’s centerpiece while they waited. After about ten minutes, Tony abruptly got up, rebuttoning his suit.

“C’mon bambino, we’re leaving.”

Before Peter could get up, there was a short yell and a loud muffled thump from the elevator.

The glass wall beside their table shattered, rapid shots taking out most of the security team. Tony yanked Peter down by his suit collar, looking out at the building in front to try and see the snipes. The elevator doors ominously opened, a man in black armour stepping out. His wings were plated with metal.

It all happened in the span of two seconds.

He shot the remaining guards before training his gun on Tony. Before he could get a word out, Peter pulled the gun he’d hidden earlier. In an instant, he cocked it and aimed for the man’s head.

The assassin had been a split second too late in aiming at Peter.

Peter fired.

The shooter fell to the floor, dead.

Peter dropped the gun, falling to his knees, a sudden hiss sounding behind him.

His wings had burst into flames.

He yelled out, pain blooming in his wings and along his back. Tears sprung from his eyes and ran down his face, ash falling around him, smoke rising behind him as Tony rushed to his knees beside him, holding him as he cried into Tony’s shoulder, his agonized screams muffled.

In the matter of minutes, his angelic wings were gone.

[kashimos-hajime]

reflection (4/8) | r.b.

summary: He thinks that’s what he clings to the most. The Candidates, and the chance to see you again, just to give what he wrote to you. Or, the truth comes out.

WARNINGS: angst!!! swearing, yearning pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 4.9k

a/n: part 4!!! time to get sad!!! a shorter chapter but the next chapters are MUCH longer until the end so enjoy!!

masterlist

crossposted on ao3

Reiner walks all the way back home to grab it. 

His mom was blissfully unmotivated to interrogate him, and he slips the metal tin into his breast pocket, one he bought as soon as he returned to Marley as he leaves the house. It’s similar to the one he used to store Ymir’s letter to Historia. The only difference now is what it contains.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about it. No one knows he even has this little container of secrets—it’s been hidden underneath his mattress, wedged between it and the frame for four years, only removed on birthdays, holidays, days where he can’t even recall why he should get out of bed which seem to be more and more often as of late. If anyone found out, he’d probably be interrogated, possibly killed.

It’s treasonous, but he can’t bring himself to fling it.

The silence is nice. There aren’t a lot of people in the streets, considering the show. Not even his thoughts are raging against him, and the sun is warm even as it slips below the horizon to make room for the moon. Glancing up at the clouds, purple and yellow and red, he shoves his hands into his pockets and closes his eyes.

The wind curls against his face, all gentle-like, a caress almost, and his heart begins to ache.

“Isn’t that Vice Chief Braun?”

His eyes open, and he catches two kids standing by a mailbox, gaping at him and he smiles softly waving at them.

“Hi, Mister Braun!”

“Get to the show, kids,” he calls back, and they glance at each other, eyes alight with pure joy. It’s enough to make his smile last until they’re gone, and he turns his gaze back to the path he’s walking. With every step, though, the tin in his breast pocket seems to weigh heavier. The faint clinks and scraping noises of metal against metal accompanying his heartbeat, he sighs.

Not for the first time, he hears his mother’s voice in his head, chastising him for not continuing their honorary bloodline, and not for the first time he imagines a home by the sea, with kids of blonde hair and a certain twinkle in their eyes running along the sands.

Reaching up to his breast pocket, he pulls the tin out and cracks it open, looking down as his feet take him to the stage. The sunlight dies, and as the last rays fall on the gleaming metal band inside the metal container, he pinches it in his finger and lifts it up to the orange. The silver winks at him, all mocking, and he shakes his head, looking down at the letters inside.

A thousand apologies, confessions, regrets, inked down in crazed ramblings as his body tried to heal from the battle in Shiganshina on a ship sailing back to Marley. Some written after that. Sometimes, he can barely even look at what he’s jotted down or else he’ll tear it to shreds.

Most of the time, though, he wants to give it to you. He thinks that’s what he clings to the most. The Candidates, and the chance to see you again, just to give what he wrote to you.

Shaking his head, he puts the ring back into the tin and closes it with a tight click before sliding it back into his breast pocket. In the distance, he can hear someone whistling a familiar tune, and he frowns, trying to place it.

He still has some time. He could try to find who’s whistling, or he could just get to the show early. 

It’s not like he’s exactly needed anywhere before hand.

Pricking his ears, he veers off the road and into an alleyway. 

.

Reiner and Bertholdt might be traitors. Maybe it’s both of them, a voice in your head murmurs as you ascend up the wall. 

Armin, why did you trust me to tell me about Annie?

Your shoulder and leg are screaming at you to stop moving, and the pull of the wires at your hips makes you feel like a million pounds as you manage to get to the top of the wall. Mikasa greets you there and you flash her a quick smile, one she returns faintly before procuring something out of her pocket.

Do you think I’m a traitor, too?

“My sling?”

“Put it back in before you lose all feeling in that arm.” You let out a relieved sigh as she helps you unbuckle your gear, and your hips feel like they’re melting at the relief. Sasha comes over as you clutch onto your shoulder. It feels inflamed and swollen under your gentle touch, and you wince as you bend your elbow, sharp pangs slicing through your joint.

“Here, let me help.” Sasha grabs your unequipped ODM gear as Mikasa pulls the sling over your neck and guides your arm through. Your limb feels like a pile of rocks, and you let it hang numbly in the bandage.

Maybe, I’m the weakest link.

“Thanks, guys. Really.” Mikasa only nods, patting you on your uninjured shoulder and you turn to see Eren pulling Reiner up the wall. The mere sight of him sends a shiver down your spine and you look away, clenching your jaw.

Him, a traitor?

Bertholdt gets to the top, climbing out all long-legged and lean, before helping Reiner ease down away from the ledge.

And Bertl? You, too?

Still, Hange’s orders echo in your mind and you remind yourself that nothing’s changed until it’s confirmed. Walking over to him, half-limping, you catch golden eyes and a half-smile. Cross legged, Reiner straightens up when he sees you and you feel a smile pulling at your own face.

What am I saying? How could I ever suspect them? They’d never betray us. We’re… we’re family. Maybe it’s all one big coincidence. Maybe Annie worked alone. That’s how it is, isn’t it? Annie works alone and I’m left hanging.

You wonder if this is why she never answered the letters you wrote to Stohess, asking how the MPs were. Reiner always said it was probably because she was busy. No. No. The more you think on it, the more the convoluted web in your head begins to straighten out and you shake your head.

“Hey.” You reach the boys as Bertholdt walks to the other side of the wall, leaning over with his hands on his knees as if calculating the distance, and his face is so innocently concentrated that you can’t help but stare, imagine him as that giant red Titan with soulless eyes. Electricty dances down your back. Deciding to leave him to his own devices, you slowly sink to a crouch beside Reiner as he reaches out to touch your shin.

“How’s the leg?”

“Been better.” Goosebumps rise along your arms and you swallow tightly. “We’ve got matching slings, now.”

Reiner smiles, and a soft, poisonous voice in your head crows, You never suspected Annie, and look what that got you. Civilians killed like sport.

Your blood chills. Everything feels so sluggish after the long night they’ve had, and they both look it. Your movements are dragged, like you’re swimming through honey as you reach out to touch his arm. He looks like hell’s beaten him up, and Bertholdt straightens up, sends him an uneasy look over his shoulder. Reiner’s flesh is warm through the bandages and a sick curiosity pricks at you.

If you’re really a traitor, you wonder to yourself, what would you do if I… 

You let your fingers push deeper against a mark you feel through the sling only for him to flinch back.

“Son of a bitch!”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” you whisper, hushed, and he sends you a scandalized look as Eren looks over his shoulder. “It seems bad.”

“You all right, Reiner?”

“Not by a long shot.” He covers his face with his hand, pain twisting his voice. “A Titan nearly gnawed off my arm. That was… pathetic. I thought I was done for.” Scooting closer, you rest your hand on his shoulder as his eyes slide shut. The words he says next sound like that of a soldier, and your eyebrows screw up as he talks mostly to himself. 

Sharing an uneasy glance with Eren and Armin, you try not to say anything until—

Second time? Second time you nearly died? It bounces off your skull until your mouth opens and the words tumble out before you can stop yourself.

“Annie almost… killed you?” you breathe. Reiner nods numbly, fist to his brow and you look down at the stone. “Reiner…”

Then, you can’t be a traitor, you try to reason quickly. Why would she kill her ally? 

But what about what Armin said? About how Reiner asked about Eren’s location? Carving it into her hand. He was always making excuses for Annie at every turn. For her skipping out on training, her being exhausted and sleeping in. No, this isn’t right. No, no, no—

And that realization only makes you nauseous as you sit back and stare at Reiner’s fractured expression. Reaching a shaking hand up to his face, your entire body freezes as his frenzied gaze stares right through you.

Reiner…

Stomach turning, you glance up at the tall boy who only looks more and more concerned with every passing second. He catches you looking and his eyes only widen even more almost guiltily. Jerking your gaze away, you press your lips into a thin line and look at the blond sitting before you. 

Bertholdt…

Someone calls them over your shoulder and you see it’s Connie. Getting up much too quickly with a groan, you send one last look at Armin and Eren out of the corner of your eye before walking over to the others unsteadily. Your entire body feels tilted, your legs struggling to push forward as if trying wade through thick sheets of ice, and even though Sasha bounds up to help you forward, you don’t think you have ever felt heavier.

What have you done?

With the quick update from Hannes and the unsettling revelation that there is no hole in the wall, you cannot stop your eyes from flitting to Bertholdt again.

He speaks to Reiner as they begin to walk away, and you fall into step beside Mikasa, your limp only more pronounced now that they realize this was all for nothing. The adrenaline is drained from your body, and your boots drag along stone as your shoulders fall forward.

Silent, Mikasa slows down her pace so you can keep up and you stifle your wince with every step as you look out the wall. 

The sky is as grey as ash. It looks like rain, soon. Not good if they have to fight in this weather, for their bodies or for their ODM gear. Visibility might be a near zero. 

Reaching up to cup your shoulder on instinct, you sigh.

“Is your leg okay?” Mikasa finally asks, stopping.

You nod. “It will be.” Glancing back at her, you frown when you realize you’ve walked on without her and turn to look over your shoulder, only to find her glancing back at Reiner, Eren, and Bertholdt. Eyes narrowing at the confused anger warping Eren’s face, a thousand weights slam down into your gut. Mikasa’s stare hardens and you walk back towards her, ears pricking. You can’t make out the words from where you stand with her, but you can read the tone, and by whatever Reiner’s saying, it’s making Bertholdt nervous.

Your spine goes ramrod straight, and suddenly, you wish you hadn’t taken your ODM gear off so early. Glancing back, you wonder if you can ask Sasha to strap you back in before you realize what you’re thinking and your limbs turn to lead.

No, you realize. It’s too late.

When you look back at the three again, a cold stone lodges right next to your heart, chilling you from the inside out.

“Hey, we’re leaving!” Armin calls, but you don’t budge. Neither does Mikasa. Eyes widening, you can only watch as Eren crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head back. Mikasa’s hand moves to her hand grip, unholstering it and sinking it into a blade. The sound of metal scraping makes you blink as the wind begins to pick up. Something clicks. Your heart skips a beat.

Howling in your ears, your muscles lock Eren begins to walk back towards them, but your eyes stay on your best friends as the air seems to shift. It smells like static and iron and something bitter, too. The clouds drift speedily above them, and your boot shifts along stone just as one of the flags snaps in half, the wood splintering under the force of the beginnings of a storm.

Everything freezes.

The only sound is clattering wood against cobble and your rapid heart.

Then, against all odds, sunlight.

It’s blindingly white, streaming through the clouds that drift off in the current, and you swallow. You can hear something rattling and you know it’s Mikasa’s hand on her blades, fingers trembling against the triggers of her gear as gold spears through the dim grey, slamming into the wall and illuminating the stone. Your arm in its sling ways heavier by the second and you shift your forearm against the fabric, your hanging hand rolling into a tight fist.

Your eyes find Reiner’s back, staring as hard as you can, but he only hangs his head and you step forward against your will as his voice grows louder, more deranged. 

The coldness in your chest spreads.

It sinks deep into your muscles, bites into your bones with fangs of steel until you think you hear them break as he lifts the sling off his neck and turns around. 

“But the only choice for me now is to face the consequences of my actions.” Lifting his hand, you can see the blood begin to steam and your mouth drops open when it evaporates off his skin. “And as a Warrior, fulfill my duty to the bitter end.” The flesh begins to close, orange embers flecking off his forearm. Your knees lock.

“Reiner!” Bertholdt’s voice scratches with desperation—the sound of a horrified beast pulled out of its cave too early, too soon and all too against his will. A darkness overtakes his face, and it punctures you as Reiner flicks dried blood off his arm. “Are we doing this? Now? Right here?”

“We settle this… right here! Right now!” 

You force yourself to move, but still, you barely budge as Reiner stalks up to a paralyzed Eren, and you feel it more than see it as Mikasa takes off to a sprint, the sound of metal scraping against metal filling the air. She runs around him, slashing through his arms, blood spraying the stone in sickly splats. Lodging the blade through his forearm, there’s a ragged shout as she whirls around. 

Blood seems to fly everywhere as metal swings to cut Bertholdt down next.

You stand, entranced at the mere sight of it; red droplets splash through the air like the crystalline water in that fountain in Trost, years, no, months, weeks ago. The memory strikes through you like a bolt of lightning, and for a moment, you are not on Wall Rose but in a café sitting in the sun, watching children flicking coins into the water, waiting for someone you weren’t sure would come.

“What do you say to a game of twenty questions?”

“Sounds perfect, creampie. I promise, I’ll be perfectly honest.”

Bertholdt’s ragged wet screams jolt you back into your body, and for a moment that is all you see. Mikasa running towards him as he falls onto his back, clutching at his neck, the image growing clearer and clearer, bigger and bigger, as she pins him down with a boot to a shoulder and a sword in two hands, poised to plunge through his throat. Blood spreads over the floor as his gargled screams, wretched and raw, scratch the heavens.

It is then you move.

Your feet slap against the stone as you lift the sling off your neck and toss it aside. Heart pumping, ears roaring, you don’t recognize what you’re doing until your hands are on Mikasa’s shoulders and you’re wrenching her off with a force you cannot recognize you muster. A burning ignites in your chest, spreading through your entire body, engulfing your heart until it sputters out flames.

For a moment, there is nothing; no colour, no blood, no sound. Only pure instinct and your best friend about to die. 

“Bertholdt!”

Mikasa lets out a infuriated scream, blades flashing in the grey sunlight as she’s thrown back and you whirl around. Frozen over Bertholdt’s body, your eyes meet widened, bloodshot eyes and you whisper his name, fragile and full of broken glass just as the sound of footsteps patter behind you. Turning, you watch as Mikasa’s arms shoot forward, her knuckles white around the hilt of her sword.

Your thighs seize and Bertholdt’s hand lifts weakly, just barely brushing your shin. His lips are moving but you can barely make out a word. Is he speaking? You can’t hear over the blood flowing out of his mouth. “St-stop—“ 

Your heart beats in your head, once… twice… waiting for your legs to bolt into action, for Mikasa to see you.

But she isn’t stopping—not even if you stand in her way, she’ll cut around you if she can but in her eyes, you see it. The one question even you don’t know the answer of anymore.

TRAITOR? TRAITOR? TRAITOR? TRAITOR?

You’re shoved out of the way and blood flashes across your face, landing in warm, steaming droplets. 

Falling aside against hard stone, your ribs explode in pain as Mikasa’s eyes widen. Her sword sinks deeper through Reiner’s eviscerated arm and she jumps back, releasing the blade with sharp, vicious breaths.

You struggle to your feet. Crackling yellow light burns into your irises yet you can only look into Reiner’s eyes as he stares through you, face resolute. 

You think the sight will haunt you for the rest of your days as he only looks at you, as unfeeling as he ever has. Maybe more honest than he’s ever been.

“Reiner!“ You lunge forward but arms hook underneath your own, hauling you back and you kick out your feet as his name is torn from your chest. “Reiner, no!”

“Stay back,” he whispers harshly, turning away, and you struggle to your feet, boots sliding along the stone.

“No…” The word comes out so quietly you think he hears your heart shatter. “No… you—you can’t be—They can’t be right about you. They can’t. I know you! This isn’t you!“

And somewhere, lingering in the back of your mind, is his voice, promising you: “I’ll break you first.”

He doesn’t answer as the clouds begin to gather above them, and you hear Armin scream as your gaze tears to Bertholdt who only stares at you in guilt, regret, fear. Tears trace down his skin, and your hand reaches out for him as Mikasa wrenches you back one final time.

“No! Let me go!”

The other Scouts run towards them but there is nothing anyone can do as lightning spirals down onto the wall and cracks the stone, striking Reiner and Bertholdt. Wind howls in your ears until your skin is burning from the cold, and debris flies past your face. Steam erupts, burning away the numbness as chips of stone fly at your face. Throwing up your arms, you feel shards dig at your skin as hot steam swarms you. Scalded, you let out a piercing shout as you fly back, Mikasa’s arms only tightening around you as they’re flung off the wall.

Activating her ODM gear, she manages to catch them both and you let out a choked groan when you stop abruptly, your shoulder screaming, your body on fire.

Grabbing the arm firmly around your waist, you plant your feet into the wall and look up as ribs sprout from thin air and dig into stone, cracking it easily. Your eyes begin to sting, from tears or from pain, you don’t know. A huge shape appears out of the steam that sears your face. 

Head swimming, you watch numbly as the blistering gales force them into stillness and the giant figure with glowing yellow eyes reaches for Eren.

.

Brushing the itch off your cheek, you adjust your grip on the sack of apples when you see Sasha standing there, packing her bag and you stop when she calls your name, watching for a moment.

“Hey.” 

“Hi,” you reply unsurely. You glance at the stables where you’re supposed to go to make sure your new steed is rested and well fed for their expedition. The past three months have passed in a strange sort of blur for you—whether it’s going to sleep late or waking up when the sun barely rises, sometimes both—you can’t recall ever being so alone. You don’t even remember the last time you spoke to any of your comrades outside of missions. Ever since the coup on the government, you’ve stayed out of the way. You helped mine the crystals from the Reiss Chapel cave, trained with the new Scout recruits, but you didn’t want to go out of your way to talk to them. 

After all, what is there to say? You saved Bertholdt’s life back on the Wall. Even if now it means his powers can be transferred, you hadn’t know that back then. You just didn’t want him to die.

 The blood of the Scouts lost getting back Eren is on your hands.

“Good luck on the mission,” Sasha says at length. You nod. “You could sit with us at the feast tonight.” Lips pulling back, you give her a fake smile. “We miss you.”

“Uh, no thanks, I’m not going,” you tell her. Sasha’s face falls and you look away, eyes fixing on the ground. “I don’t want to put a damper on your guys’ fun. Besides, I have some last minute preparation to do.“

“That’s a lie,” Sasha blurts, and your eyes snap to hers, but her eyebrows are arranged fiercely on her face, a warm determination burning in her eyes. “You’re acting just like you did when you first came to the cadet corps—we’re not strangers, you know? We don’t hate you.”

Your fingers tighten on the sack of apples you have in your hands. “Thanks, Sasha. That’s really nice of you, but I really have stuff to do.”

What you don’t say is that you find that hard to believe. With every waking second, you’re reminded of everything that’s happened. Preparing for the return of Shiganshina had only prompted another round of interrogative looks, whispers behind your back. You suppose you deserve it. Three years, and you’d been the closest to all three of them. What’s to stop you from being a fourth traitor?

There’s coincidence and then there’s correlation, and you’re more than aware of which side you fall on.

“It’s hard to kill your friends. We’re still with you. We understand—“

“I have to kill my family, Sasha. That’s who they are to me,” you murmur stonily, and Sasha’s eyes widen as you meet her gaze wretchedly. “I don’t want to go to the feast, but thanks for inviting me.” Again, quieter, softer, you tell her, “It was really nice of you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You turn to walk into the stables, and you find your horse near the back-middle in the right row of stalls. Horses lift their heads at your approach, and you sigh. This has always been a quiet place for you—horses don’t judge nearly as much as humans do. One of the steeds near the front nudges at your shoulder, and you smile to yourself, retrieving an apple for the stallion before moving on to your own horse.

A pretty dappled grey mare, she nickers at your approach and you reach up to scratch her ear before running your hand down her nose, stroking at the dark grey specks between wide black eyes. Leaning forward, you kiss her snout and she huffs against your cheek.

“Alright, alright.” Reaching into your bag, you retrieve another apple and she lips at the fruit before taking a bite and you smile when she drops it to the ground by your feet, a huge chunk taken out the side. Bending over to pick it up, pangs collide with your chest when you see the juices dripping over the bright red peel.

The sound of hooves against the dirt catch your attention, and you look up, picking up the apple and straightening up again. As soon as you spot black, you already know whose horse it is.

“Captain Levi.” You dip your head to your superior as he passes you, leading his black steed back into the stall next to yours, and he only gives you a brief surveying look. You feed the apple back to your mare.

“I heard you were visting Leonhart earlier today,” he says, pulling the door open and his horse walks in dutifully, turning around so Levi can take the harnesses off.  

Dipping your head, you hold the back tight in one fist and reach to cup your horse’s cheek, stroking the underside of her jaw to her delight. “Yes, sir.”

“She crack?”

“No, sir.”

He hums, as if he expected as much. Your shoulders drop. You know you shouldn’t relax, around Captain Levi especially, but the first month after the revelation of Reiner and Bertholdt had left the captain as your principal babysitter just to make sure nothing was out of sorts with you. 

It meant you had to sleep in separate quarters as the rest of the Scouts, was on Levi’s beck and call with tea, medicine, food, whatever he needed while in the office or otherwise. You had to force him to sleep a couple of times, and although you weren’t in the mood to be persistent, it still nagged at you until the month was up and Levi told you to stop following him.

“I could read out the report I wrote to Erwin for you, if you’d like,” he had said dryly. “Quiet, keeps to herself. Complies nearly to a fault—a model officer of the Survey Corps. Which is what you are. You’re not a caretaker or an administrative assistant. Now stop taling me like a lost duckling and get to work.”

You shake your head and sigh, extending the bag to Levi. “Does he want an apple, sir?” He eyes the bag apprehensively before taking it, pulling the bag open and extracting another gorgeous red apple. Lifting it to his horse, he hands the bag back to you as your horse nestles her head against your chin and you smile to yourself at the warmth emanating from her. 

She must be able to sense whatever’s off about you. Holding her head close, you kiss her quickly before stepping back but she lets out an impatient whinny, neck stretching to bump her nose against your cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whisper. “Get some sleep, girl.” Scratching underneath her chin, you turn to look at Captain Levi who eyes you for a moment, then gestures for you to follow to the back where the tack room is.

“I know what the stakes are for you, but you’re not the only one who is putting everything on the line here,” he says and you nod as he hangs up the leather harness before washing his hands. “Whatever happens, happens. We don’t have time to dissect your guilt over tea anymore.”

“With all respect, Captain, I just don’t think it’s wise for me to come.”

“Commander Erwin thinks differently.” You nod again and Levi meets your stare, flinging off the wet on his hands before grabbing a clean towel and wiping himself off. “We need all the soldiers we can get to reclaim Shiganshina for humanity. That includes you—no matter what your ties are to the enemy. You aren’t having doubts, are you?”

“No, sir.” You swallow, throat bruised. “I’m just scared the moment I look into their eyes, I’ll hesitate. And it’s not because they’re humans,” you add quickly. “Had my fair share of human bloodshed during the coup, but I should be angry, right? I should be so fucking mad, and I think I am, but mostly, I just want them back. There has to be something wrong with me.”

“I’m not here to psychoanalyze you,” he tells you. “But nothing’s wrong with you. You’re probably more sane than most idiots who join the Survey Corps.” Eyes widening, you meet Levi’s impassive stare, but he only continues, “Get something to eat tonight, then get some sleep. This is your nerves talking.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, he nods to you once more before hanging the towel up and walking past, out the stables. Looking down, your eyes find the sack of apples still in your hand and you lift it up, peering inside. Taking one out, you set the bag inside and head over to the sink nearby, washing the fruit off before looking up at the mirror hanging on the wall.

Closing your eyes, you take a bite and the sweet juices explode in your mouth. Smiling faintly to yourself, you can almost imagine a pair of lips teasing at the corner of your mouth and your heart aches when you realize you can barely remember what it’s like to kiss him.

[sentakushimasu]

diving off the deep end, breathe slow

pairing: sero hanta/iida tenya summary: Sero drowns during a training exercise. Today doesn't make Iida's list of top ten favourite days. genre: hurt/comfort, whump word count: 11.4k warnings: drowning, cpr, hospitals, slight vomit warning (no actual vomiting), hypothermia title from: dayseeker - drunk AO3

Sero tried to ignore the pang of disappointment in his chest as he saw Aizawa’s allocated teams. They were supposed to be randomly generated but Sero couldn’t help but feel like the world was out to get him.

Iida wasn’t on his team yet again.

It wasn’t a big deal, but every time they had a big scale training session, Sero wanted to try working on a team up with his boyfriend. They both had quirks that made them incredibly mobile, but they needed to work better in combat as a team.

Aizawa, however, seemed dead set on preventing that from happening.

Sero had to suppress a yelp as an arm wrapped around his neck and dragged him staggering along. He regained his balance as Kirishima let go of him, grinning widely.

Kirishima, Mina, Shinsou and himself in a team. They could make this work.

They’d all been arranged into five teams of four, tasked with placing quirk suppressing handcuffs on members of the other teams. Kirishima took the role of their self-proclaimed leader and happily accepted the five pairs of cuffs to share between the team. They’d been given the red ones, making it easier to keep track of who was cuffed by which team.

The other teams had other colours, and other interesting combinations of quirks. The blue team, consisting of Iida (their appointed leader), Yaoyorozu, Tsuyu and Uraraka, were likely going to be scarily efficient despite their lack of flashy quirks.

The green team was led by Deku, which, if that wasn’t scary enough, was followed by Shouji, Satou and Todoroki. Sero had to suppress a shudder just looking at that team. The only member who couldn’t easily snap him in half like a twig, could make mountains of ice and pyres of fire without batting an eye. He really hoped another team dealt with them before his team had the misfortune of running into them.

Less intimidating was the yellow team, fronted by Sero’s partner in crime, accompanied by Ojirou, Hagakure and Aoyama. Any team that let Kaminari take charge was not one that Sero felt the need to be scared of.

Bakugou was already barking out orders to the black team. Sero cringed in sympathy for Kouda, Jirou and Tokoyami. Their self-appointed leader was bound to run off on his own, leaving them without much opportunity to intimidate anyone they ran into. Tokoyami could be pretty terrifying in his own right, but going up against a team with Deku and Todoroki? He didn’t stand a chance.

Aizawa interrupted them, speaking in a bored tone, “the first team to use all of their quirk cuffs wins. No, you cannot cuff your teammates, doing so results in immediate disqualification for the entire team.”

Iida’s hand shot up. “Can we use the other teams’ handcuffs if we become separated from our team?”

“The team the cuffs belong to gets the point.”

Uraraka was the next one to raise her hand. “If we handcuff someone with their team’s handcuffs will their team still get disqualified?”

Aizawa paused for a second, regarding Uraraka with a lethargic look. “Yes.”

Okay, Sero had officially decided that the blue team was kind of terrifying. He wasn’t going to let himself be fooled by Uraraka’s round cheeks or the pink-heavy colour scheme of her hero outfit; she was out for blood.

As it turns out, Iida’s team was the only one asking any questions as Yaomomo joined the discussion. “Do we have to cuff both of their hands?”

“No, it’s the same as your previous exams. If you cuff one hand or ankle, you get the point.”

Mina leaned over and gave Sero a well-placed elbow to his ribs. “Don’t let glasses distract you, he’ll steal your handcuffs and disqualify our whole team while you’re busy making heart eyes.”

Sero just rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

As if to exemplify the fact that Sero was a filthy liar, he made eye contact with Iida who promptly gave him a wave that he returned with what was undoubtedly an utterly lovesick grin if Mina’s exaggerated fake gagging was anything to go by.

“We’re screwed,” she whined.

Sero gave her a half-hearted glare. “You have such little faith in me.”

Aizawa directed their attention to a map of the training grounds they were located in today. Between the cityscape of ground beta and the added area of the river and its surrounding banks, clearly he was prepared for a lot of big scale altercations. There were five markings on the map, all with a colour corresponding to the different teams.

“Every team has a starting location and the next fifteen minutes to get there

Most of the teams’ locations were within ground beta, aside from the red dot next to the bridge and the blue dot a little ways down the path from the bridge, away from ground beta. Great, an area that Sero couldn’t even swing the majority of, and they were completely exposed to the wind.

He was beginning to think that it was much too cold for outdoor training. As he trailed behind Kirishima and Mina. Shinsou hung back but Sero didn’t hold it against him, they were certainly a much louder group than the purple haired boy would be comfortable with.

Although that didn’t explain why he still let Kaminari follow him around like a hyperactive clingy puppy.

After all, Sero, one of the most chaotic and academically-underwhelming members of class 1-A had somehow managed to be dating Mr Perfect, the class president, for the past four months. Now that had been a shock to the rest of the class, most of all, Sero Hanta whose heart still skipped a beat when Iida reached out to take his hand.

Shinsou at least looked like his hero suit wasn’t going to let him freeze, his capture weapon even seeming to act like a scarf. The same could not be said for anyone else on their team as they began the trek down the pathway up to the bridge.

“Kiri, how are you not a popsicle? You have sleeves but no shirt!” Mina claimed as she shivered.

“I’m invincible,” Kirishima shrugged as he tapped a hardened fist on his now hardened chest. For dramatic effect.

“It’s too cold to be outside,” Sero piped up, rubbing his arms in an attempt to keep the blood circulating. He was kind of hoping that they ran into Todoroki during training, at least being gently roasted alive was better than the cold he was currently experiencing.

Maybe when the exercise started, they would be able to warm up, but the distance between them and the closest group was quite significant and he wasn’t sure they’d be too into an all-out battle.

Maybe if Yaoyorozu made a net and Sero accidentally let himself get caught, Iida would carry him back to base. That was always an option.

The bridge was a good location. From their position in the middle of it, they would be able to see anyone trying to sneak up on them. It was a better vantage point than what the blue team had, that’s for sure.

The group was just standing on the path along the riverbank, Yaoyorozu already sparkling as she used her quirk. As Sero squinted his eyes he could tell that she was handing a jacket to Tsu, he couldn’t help but to feel sympathy for his classmate who was much more sensitive to the cold than everyone else.

There was a ringing noise coming from the wristband Kirishima had been given as their team’s acting leader, to signal the start of the exercise.

“Theoretically, we could just wait for them to come to us,” Shinsou offered. “Let Bakugou deal with Midoriya and Todoroki before he tries to blow our heads off.”

“Good plan,” Sero supplies, trying to show Shinsou some support. “I’ll swing up the bridge supports and keep an eye out if you guys want to sit by the railing and stay out of the wind.”

Mina eyed him warily. “What about you? The wind is gonna be worse up there.”

Sero shrugged. “Pro-hero Cellophane isn’t bothered by the cold.”

“You’re not a pro yet,” Mina corrected him, folding her arms across her chest.

“If you get too cold you’ll come back down, right?” Shinsou asked, his voice laced with an emotion Sero couldn’t pinpoint. “If you faint up there, it would be bad news.”

“I’ll be extra careful,” Sero said with a wink.

Kirishima gave Sero a thumbs up and at that, Sero turned to look up at the structure of the bridge, quickly dispensing his tape.

As the tape curled around the support beam and held its position as Sero gave it a firm tug, he used it to propel himself upwards.

It had probably only been five minutes of Sero leaning against the cold metal of the bridge’s support beams before their first challengers arrived. Sero could see two figures headed towards them. Smaller in stature and both dressed dark, it only took Sero a few seconds to identify Jirou and Tokoyami.

Jirou, they could handle pretty easily. Tokoyami would be trouble.

Mina and Kirishima wouldn’t be at all effective against Dark Shadow, so that match would come down to Sero and Shinsou.

Scratch that, it came down to Sero.

He’d only just managed to swing down onto the bridge and alert his team to their visitors before Jirou’s quirk ripped through the air.

The volume disoriented Sero for a moment, knocking him off balance before he could swing himself back up into the air. He needed to incapacitate Jirou if they had any hope of using Shinsou’s quirk. If Tokoyami couldn’t hear him speak, he couldn’t be brainwashed.

Sparing a glance behind him, Sero noticed that Mina and Shinsou were both struggling to stay oriented as the sound assaulted their senses. It was no Present Mic, but it was powerful enough to pose a threat to their group when their most powerful quirk needed to be heard to work.

They were lucky that Sero at least had a quirk that worked long distance because while Kirishima and Mina had to get close to their opponent to use their quirks, Sero was able to maneuver through the air.

He had gotten much better at using his quirk midair during his time at UA, able to turn and shoot another reel of tape at the railing across the bridge and pull himself back down to the ground.

His landing was smooth as he folded himself to roll across the asphalt and up onto his feet.

He would never complain about the gymnastics classes his mum had forced him into during middle school ever again.

With another spin, he was wrapping his tape around Jirou and yanking her towards him, her arms pinned to her sides. She was too startled to maintain her quirk, whipping her earphone jacks towards Sero, likely in hopes of deterring him.

It didn’t work. Of course. As Sero slapped the quirk suppressant cuffs on her wrist.

He offered Jirou an apologetic smile as she glared at him.

The moment was cut short by an impact sending Sero flying to the side.

He quickly adjusted his form so that he rolled on impact with the ground and could easily pull himself back up on his knees. Only to find himself faced with Dark Shadow moving towards him, swooping side to side menacingly.

Sero was a big fan of the sentient quirk, it was like having a dog in the dorms, if dogs were made of shadows and could speak. What he didn’t like about Dark Shadow, was its ability to absolutely throttle him right now.

Forcing himself to his feet, Sero started to back away from the quirk, hoping that his team would figure something out while he had the threat distracted. If Dark Shadow focused its attention on someone else then Sero could possibly manage to restrain Tokoyami and cuff him if he was fast enough.

“Tokoyami, help!” Jirou called out, sounding so panicked that even Sero’s head snapped up at the sound.

Just in time to see Tokoyami’s expression go blank and his stance lose its tension. The consequence of calling out to his teammate in concern.

Shinsou was kneeling on the ground a few metres away, his hand still on his mask, his unruly purple hair moving in the wind. Clever.

Dark Shadow was quick to snap its attention to Tokoyami, fussing over the boy who wasn’t responding to him.

Sero saw his opportunity and took it.

He shot out the tape, wrapping it around Tokoyami to restrain him in case something interrupted Shinsou’s mind control.

Dark Shadow quickly retreated back into Tokoyami and Sero couldn’t help the proud smile spreading across his face as he nodded at Shinsou and gave him a thumbs up.

Shinsou’s quirk was officially his favourite. That was badass.

Their relief was soon interrupted by a loud clatter.

Sero’s eyes fell on the black handcuffs now sitting in the middle of the bridge. Which could only mean that someone else was here, and Sero sincerely doubted that Kouda would be dropping things from a height like that. Which left the last person Sero wanted to fight right now. Bakugou Katsuki.

The sound of an explosion confirmed his suspicions.

The dropped handcuffs weren’t a mistake, they were a threat.

Sero barely had a second to shoot out more tape and grab Shinsou, pulling his teammate towards him as Bakugou descended on the place where he stood, his hands popping with explosions.

With his hands on Shinsou’s shoulders, Sero steadied the purple haired boy, loosening the hold of the tape.

“Are you hurt?” Sero asked quickly, his eyes worriedly scanning Shinsou for any signs that the tape hadn’t been fast enough.

Shinsou looked thoroughly spooked but shook his head after a few seconds, snapping back into focus. “No.”

“Good. Did you cuff Tokoyami?”

Shinsou nodded. Great, that kept their threats to a minimum.

“Good job,” Sero said, giving Shinsou’s shoulder a supportive pat. “Stay where he can’t get you.”

Sero didn’t wait for a reply as he dispensed his tape and swung himself up into the fray.

Bakugou was fixated on Kirishima, hitting the boy’s hardened exterior with explosion after explosion. Sero cringed in sympathy, Kirishima said that it didn’t hurt but it still had to be hot.

Choosing that moment to look away from the fight, Sero turned to pull himself even higher up, reading another set of handcuffs in his non-dominant hand.

That was the easy part.

He turned back to the fight only to see that Bakugou had successfully cuffed Kirishima who was just staring at his wrist in shock. And Bakugou was notorious for not knowing when to quit as he reared up to set off another explosion at Kirishima.

Shooting out his tape in a panic, Sero grabbed Bakugou by his waist and tugged him away from the redhead. Only for the explosion to be rounded on him.

Bakugou missed his mark and Sero foolishly let Bakugou explode the tape that tethered them together.

His enemy was now airborne, setting off explosions as he hovered, staring at Sero with murderous intent. Sero hoped he looked good because this was going to be his last day alive with Bakugou looking at him like that.

Sero was a lot of things, a smart guy who thought things through before he did them was not one of them.

He shot out tape at a support beam directly across the bridge, and prayed that Bakugou didn’t sever it as he yanked himself to the other side. His other hand readied with the handcuffs.

In a stroke of dumb luck, Sero managed to clip the black handcuffs above Bakugou’s gauntlet. The older boy had made a mistake dropping those as a threat.

Sero had a split second to be proud of himself as the incessant sound of popping ceased before he realised that he was swinging over the edge of the bridge and Bakugou was plummeting.

He was getting too far away, forgetting to halt the unwinding of his tape until he was a ridiculous distance out from the bridge. There was no way he could reach the explosive teen now.

He shot a new piece of tap at the railing and tried to pull himself back down, turning to shoot a second strand towards Bakugou to hopefully help his descent.

The tape missed and Sero was swinging too low, on course to swing under the bridge before he could pull himself back up the other side.

Shinsou’s capture weapon caught Bakugou and Sero had to hope his fall wasn’t too dramatic as the top of the bridge left his eyesight.

He just had to swing under the bridge and come up on the other side, and then he’d be able to check on everyone. It would only take him a few seconds to be back topside.

Sero felt the release of tension in his tape and before he even realised what was happening, he was in freefall and on a collision course with the river. That was the thing about his quirk, the constant looming threat of falling. In his panic, he tried to fling out some more tape, hoping it would find a purchase on some part of the underside of the bridge.

Or the railing that entered his line of sight as he fell along the trajectory of his previous swing. He could almost swear he saw a head of fluffy pink hair peeking over the railing.

His tape failed to connect with anything as his body hit water.

Which was freezing.

The shock of the impact and the temperature drop had Sero taking an involuntary breath of nothing but water, the coldness eagerly filling his lungs and pushing out whatever air he had left. He wasn’t sure if his helmet was still on his head or if it was just whatever the opposite of watertight was.

Even opening his eyes to the assault of the cold water didn’t help his case. He couldn’t see any light to tell him which way the surface was. All he knew was that his lungs burned and he could do nothing more than try to swim and hope he wasn’t sinking.

He tried to stay calm, but there was really no option for him other than to panic and hope that someone fished him out of the water.

Kirishima would sink like a stone if he even dared to jump in after Sero, he would immediately harden in contact with the water. Mina and Shinsou could swim but the jump off the bridge was far too dangerous.

Maybe Bakugou could get to the water with his explosions, but Sero couldn’t remember if he’d be able to propel them out of the river even if he did go after Sero. He didn’t see the end of Bakugou’s fall, his friend could very well be dangerously injured, far too poorly off to help the one who was responsible for his fall.

His head was so foggy.

There was a different quality to the darkness that crept in around the corner of his vision in comparison to the darkness of the water. Sero had always thought he could hold his breath for a long time, but he guessed that the gut instinct of inhaling the water would be his undoing.

Sero vaguely recalled that there was another group, closer to the riverbank. He couldn’t remember who had been there, but he could only hope that Tsu was nearby, she was perhaps the only one who would be able to get him. She was very qualified with water rescues.

The fog was growing thicker, heavier, and Sero wasn’t sure he had the energy to keep up his fight towards the surface.

It was always fun when a training exercise became a rescue mission. He just hoped that someone fished him out before it was too late.

Everything was heavy and Sero let the water take him.

-

Iida’s entire team snapped to attention when they heard a scream.

“SERO!”

It was raw and filled with genuine terror. Iida felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head as he turned in the direction the scream came from. Just in time to see a dark form hit the water at a high speed, white strips of tape hanging uselessly in the air as they floated down onto the river’s surface.

With bated breath, everyone watched the surface of the water, waiting for Sero to surface.

Iida’s mind was a whirlwind. Had he hit his head? Had he been blown from the bridge by one of their classmates’ stronger quirks? Why had Iida yet to see his boyfriend’s hair pop out the top of the water?

No one needed to say anything before Asui was racing down the riverbank and throwing out her tongue.

Asui pulled Sero from the water with ease, how she had even known where he was, was beyond Iida. He would have to thank her later, after he checked on his boyfriend.

That water had to be freezing, and Iida was not unfamiliar with the knowledge that Sero would lose his body heat a lot faster in cold water. He was in his winter version of his suit but it wasn’t waterproof.

Sero’s helmet had fallen off at some point, maybe even prior to him hitting the water, Iida noticed as he raced over to meet him and Asui.

Iida didn’t know what he was expecting when he crashed to his knees next to his boyfriend’s wet form. Coughing and complaining? Sure. Sero being completely limp, soaked to the bone and not giving Iida’s presence any acknowledgement? Not what Iida expected.

Sero’s dark hair was plastered to his skin by the water, his eyes were closed, his lips and the tip of his nose going a jarring shade of purple and grey.

“Sero?”

Iida wrapped his hand around the top of Sero's shoulder, where it met the base of his neck. He tried to ignore how cold Sero felt to the touch, blaming it on the water, but the temperature of his skin had anxiety curling in Iida’s gut. "Sero? Hanta, can you hear me?"

Sero offered him no response, not even a twitch or grumble like he usually did when Iida bothered him while the older boy was trying to take a cat nap on the common room couch.

Okay. Bad news.

"Call an ambulance, and Aizawa-sensei!" Iida called out. It came out a lot shakier than he was expecting.

He leant down so that his cheek hovered above Sero's mouth and nose, his hand resting atop his boyfriend's chest. He was hoping, begging, for the sensation of air brushing against his face or movement under his hand, even the sound of Sero's breathing or the sight of his chest rising and falling.

Worse news.

Sero wasn't breathing.

Iida wasn't wearing his watch so he couldn't be certain that it had been ten seconds but he knew that it had been too long without any indication that Sero could breathe.

Aizawa regularly made them revise first aid so it wasn't like Iida didn't know what to do.

But there was a world of difference between a CPR dummy and turning his giggling boyfriend onto his side, and Sero being completely unresponsive and being entirely dependent on Iida to help him.

Taking a deep breath and trying to shove his anxiety deeper inside himself, Iida positioned himself. With his knees pressed up against Sero’s side, his right hand over his left and his elbows locked straight.

His mind was a whirlwind as he started the compressions. Was he pressing hard enough? Was it fast enough? Was he even helping?

He was quick to shove the thoughts out of his mind, he couldn’t afford to think about anything other than the compressions. If he hesitated or freaked out, it could cost Sero his life.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty,” Iida counted under his breath. He leant down to Sero’s face, his hands tilting his boyfriend’s head back and pinching his nose as Iida’s mouth covered Sero’s cold one.

Two breaths and he was back to pumping Sero’s heart for him. Iida’s head swam at the thought.

Iida was counting his way through his second ground of compressions when someone fell into place on Sero’s other side. Iida didn’t even bother to look up at who they were, he only cared about one thing right now, seeing Sero awake and breathing.

“Iida.” So it was Yaoyorozu next to him. “I have a defibrillator. Attach it while I do the breaths, okay?”

Iida nodded firmly. “Okay.”

Fuck, he’d forgotten all about the defibrillator in his panic. Had she made it? He tried to pull up the mental map of where AEDs were located around campus but it was all a blur in his head. He couldn’t think clearly about anything other than Hanta.

He says his “thirty” loud enough for Yaoyorozu to hear him and she snapped into action, passing the opened defibrillator to Iida as she placed a bag-valve-mask over Sero’s nose and mouth.

Either she was truly the best at locating things under pressure or she was incredible at using her complex quirk in a panic. Iida couldn’t rule out either.

He would be grateful for her for the rest of his life, he suspected.

Iida grabbed the shears from the defibrillator box and started to cut away Sero’s hero costume. It was a simple motion, starting at the base of Sero’s throat and stopping just above his pelvis.

Vaguely, Iida was aware that Sero’s chest was falling for the second time and Yaoyorozu was setting the bag valve mask down next to his head.

“I’ll get it, you do compressions.”

Iida couldn’t find it in him to say anything, getting back into the rhythm of pushing on Sero’s chest. It was more physically draining than he had expected, his arms ached and his chest was begging to feel tight with the exhaustion. But he couldn’t stop. He would keep going until Sero’s heart was beating on its own.

Out of the corner of his eye, Iida can see Yaoyorozu peeling back the film on the AED pads so he took over the breaths for her. He didn’t even bother fumbling with the mask that was on the other side of Sero.

In the span of two rescue breaths, Yaoyorozu had dried off Sero’s torso with a towel that would have seemingly appeared out of midair if Iida didn’t know any better and attached the pads to his chest.

Iida hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do.

Yaoyorozu’s voice was firm yet comforting as she spoke. “Keep going.”

Thankfully, at least one of them could keep their head on straight right now.

As Iida continued the compressions, his heart breaking ten times over with every one, Yaoyorozu called out to someone outside of his field of vision.

“Uraraka, can you use the bag mask? Just squeeze it twice when Iida does thirty compressions.”

There was a silent exchange and another body kneeling on the ground with them.

The AED made a noise when Iida stopped his compressions. How long had it been? It felt like a lifetime. The amicable chatter he had been exchanging with Asui and Uraraka as they walked down the riverbank seemed like it had happened forever ago. Where was Aizawa? They needed help.

“Analysing rhythm, don’t touch the patient.”

Iida snatched his hands away from where they hovered close to Sero, shuffling back until his knees were no longer touching his boyfriend.

They waited with baited breath for the machine’s verdict.

“No shock advised. Continue compressions.”

Iida was back in position in less than a second, pushing down on his boyfriend’s chest again. Sero’s sternum was firm below the heel of Iida’s palm.

How many times had he languidly traced his fingers across Sero’s skin, trailing ghosts of fingertips over his boyfriend’s sternum, a flat palm pressed over where Iida could feel the strong thumping of Sero’s heart? He’d become so accustomed to just reaching out and touching Sero, it was normal, but this wasn’t like that.

There was no sight of black eyes watching him carefully as Sero’s lips curled into a smile, a soft “I love you” on his tongue.

The stupid monotonous “press, press, press” from the AED was not helping to ease Iida’s panic. He couldn’t do more than try to tune it out.

“Come on, Hanta,” Iida pleaded, his voice breaking with the pent up emotion he had accumulated in the past few minutes. “Breathe.” Iida was still pressing on Sero’s chest, hoping that with every thrust downwards that it would spur Sero into motion. “Please, Hanta. You have to breathe!”

Yaoyorozu and Uraraka both refrained from saying anything as the tears started to fall, Iida couldn’t keep them at bay anymore. He was tired, he was desperate, and Sero was still cold and unresponsive.

His tears hit the back of Iida’s hand, others pooling on Sero’s skin.

Aizawa couldn’t have picked a better or worse time to show up.

There was some shuffling and Aizawa was kneeling on the other side of Sero, Yaoyorozu having moved to take over the position by Sero’s head. Where did Uraraka go?

“Iida,” Aizawa said. He was clearly out of breath. Had he run to them? Iida didn’t doubt that his teacher would. After all, he’d proven himself willing to give his life for them. “Next round you’re swapping out with me,” he commanded in a low voice.

Iida shook his head. “I can’t”.

“You can. You’re tired and you need to let me take over. You’ve done well, let me help, Iida.”

Iida couldn’t keep up his argument. Aizawa was right, he was tired.

As he finished his round of compressions, he leant back heavily, turning his legs so that he didn’t sit on his engines.

Aizawa offered him a sympathetic look, but there was an edge to it - worry.

Iida couldn’t do anything more than watch as Aizawa took over. He kept his eyes trained on Sero’s face, mostly obscured by the mask. Yaoyorozu also had tears in her eyes but with her lips pressed into a firm line, they didn’t spill.

That’s when it really sank in.

This was supposed to be a routine training exercise, and now Sero might not walk away from it. How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

Aizawa was still going when he spoke, “Sero, if you open your eyes, I’ll give you an A on every test left in the semester.”

There was a weird quality to his voice. Iida wasn’t used to hearing this much identifiable emotion from his teacher, a plea with the unconscious kid he was supposed to take care of, masked in useless humour.

Sero would laugh if he made Aizawa cry. It had always been such a bizarre thing to think about, but Iida wasn’t so sure anymore.

His timing was almost comical.

As Aizawa started on his second round of compressions, the student beneath him jolted, spitting up water as he desperately tried to suck air into his lungs.

“Sero!” Yaoyorozu exclaimed, Iida had no doubt that she was crying those tears now.

“Turn him on his side,” Aizawa instructed as he slid his hands under Sero’s shoulder and hip, turning him towards Iida who quickly moved to help guide Sero into a stable side position.

He was breathing, and it finally felt like Iida could breathe too.

Sero was coughing as his chest spasmed, emptying his lungs of filthy river water.

Yaoyorozu was cooing and brushing Sero’s hair out of his face. If the tape user was more aware right now he probably would have been blushing at the ministrations, but currently they just helped to settle his panicked writhing.

“Just breathe, Sero,” Iida says, his voice uncharacteristically shaky but no one dares question it. He’s completely focused on holding Sero steady as he breathes. The sound is laboured and wheezy but it’s the most beautiful thing Iida has ever heard.

Iida doesn’t even look when Aizawa unwraps his capture weapon from around his neck and slides the bundle of fabric under Sero’s head. His scarred and much bigger than Yaoyorozu’s hand rested against the back of his student’s wet head for a few moments before he retracted it, instead opting to hold onto Sero’s wrist, feeling his pulse and looking at his watch on his other wrist.

“You did good, kid. Focus on breathing.”

Sero let out a weak and breathless laugh. He seemed to be done with coughing up the water, much to Iida’s relief. “Praise from Aizawa-sensei, I really must be dead.”

Aizawa didn’t look up from his watch. “Do you know where you are?”

“Somewhere wet,” Sero grumbled before shuddering. “I’m cold.”

“Yaoyorozu, do you think you could make him a blanket?”

Iida looked up at Yaoyorozu, only really looking at her at this moment. Her eyes were red and her face tear-streaked, she looked exhausted. He felt bad that Aizawa was asking her to do even more after she just exhausted herself and her quirk to save Sero’s life.

But Sero was shivering pretty aggressively under Iida’s hold. His lips and nose were still discoloured, and from this angle he could see that the purple tint extended to Sero’s eyelids.

She nodded. “Of course.”

Aizawa wrote something on the back of his hand as he set Sero’s hand down. Iida had no idea where his teacher had produced the pen but he was fairly impressed with Aizawa’s efficiency and professionalism. Especially considering that Iida and Yaoyorozu were both still crying. The wetness on Aizawa’s cheeks did not evade the class representative’s notice though.

As the sparkles in the corner of Iida’s vision died down, he was handed the corner of a very fluffy blanket, Aizawa taking the other as they tucked it around Sero.

“The ambulance is almost here,” Uraraka’s voice chirped helpfully from behind Iida. He hadn’t realised that she was still there.

“Thank you, Uraraka. Do you think you and Asui can meet them when they enter the training grounds and guide them here?” Aizawa asked, his voice so soft it was frankly unnerving.

“Of course, sensei!”

And with that, the two girls were gone.

“Tenya?” Sero croaked, snapping Iida back to focus.

“Yeah?”

If Aizawa noticed the use of Iida’s given name, he didn’t give any indication. Maybe he was just too relieved that Sero was alive to care much about anything else. The teacher just continued to kneel there with a hand on Sero’s back and his eyes on his watch.

“Are you okay?” Sero asked softly, reaching for Iida with a clumsy hand. Cold fingers wrapping around Iida’s own.

Iida takes a few seconds to be surprised. “What?”

“You’re crying.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Sero hums thoughtfully. “I like it better when you smile.”

They kept up the random chatter until the ambulance arrived. Aizawa took the role of talking to the paramedics and Iida was incredibly grateful for that, he wasn’t sure he could get through a sentence without crying at the moment. He was feeling very emotionally raw.

The paramedics were nice enough to work around Iida, whom Sero was still holding onto.

Sero grumbled when one of the paramedics secured an oxygen mask to his face, letting go of Iida’s hand to try and remove it. He was sitting up now but his eyes were still glossy and he didn’t seem entirely present. Iida snatched Sero’s hand back with a firm look.

“Don’t do that.”

“It feels weird,” Sero whined, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

“Too bad. Don’t drown next time.” Iida felt kind of guilty when he was being so strict with Sero, but he wasn’t about to let his boyfriend interfere with his medical care.

“You’re so mean to me.”

Iida was about to respond but he was interrupted by one of the paramedics, he was unsure if it was the same one that gave Sero the oxygen mask or not. “Do you think you can stand?”

Sero paused for a second, mulling over the question before he gave the paramedic a shake of his head.

“That’s okay, we can go at your pace. You can sit here for a little longer and try again or we could figure out some other option that suits you,” the paramedic said in such a comforting tone that even Iida felt reassured.

Sero seemed to perk up at that. “Can Tenya pick me up?”

Iida internally groaned. Their relationship was not going to be a secret from Aizawa after today.

“If that’s what you’re both comfortable with, then sure, I’ll just hold onto the oxygen tank and we’ll get you on the gurney and loaded into the ambulance, okay? It’s much warmer than out here, too.”

Iida had no qualms about lifting Sero. His boyfriend weighed basically nothing and loved being carried around regularly. Sometimes he would be too tired to be bothered walking up to his dorm and made Iida scoop him up and take him there to prevent him from sleeping on the couch and waking up with a crick in his neck.

With an arm under Sero’s shoulders and another behind his knees, Iida easily lifted his partner. It was only a matter of steps to the elevated surface of the gurney which he nestled Sero on easily.

The other paramedic was quick to cover Sero in blankets, especially considering that the one Yaoyorozu kindly provided was pretty much soaked through at this point. Iida hoped she would get some rest when she got back to the dorms, but figured most of the class would wait up for news on their classmate’s condition.

As the paramedics loaded the gurney into the ambulance, one of them turned to speak. “Who’s riding with?”

Iida turned to Aizawa, expecting to be given instructions to handle the class while Aizawa went with Sero to the hospital but Aizawa just nodded his head in the direction of the ambulance. “Go ahead.”

“But sensei-”

“No buts. I’ll wrap things up here and meet you at the hospital. I trust you can handle things for an hour.”

“I- thank you sensei!” Iida said, following his boyfriend into the back of the ambulance.

Turning back to look at Aizawa who was bending over to pick up his sodden capture scarf off the ground, Iida saw the group of their classmates that had gathered. Only a few of them were there, but they all looked off.

Iida’s entire group was there, of course. Yaoyorozu was folding up the soaked blanket she had made for Sero, her face still covered in tears. Uraraka had her arms around Tsuyu, both of them looking worse for wear.

At some point that Iida would not have been able to pinpoint if he tried, Sero’s team had joined them. Ashido was holding onto Kirishima, looking like she’d barely just stopped crying, Kirishima didn’t look much better, his own face streaked with tears. Shinsou hung back from the two, his mask in his hand as he watched everything with wide eyes.

Bakugou wasn’t a member of either group but he was there, looking uncharacteristically solemn. Iida idly wondered how much they’d seen. Bakugou was not known for being quiet, and he was just standing there with a vacant look as his arms hung limply by his side.

Iida turned back to Sero just in time to see him giving his friends a wave.

Out of everyone, he seemed to be taking it the best. He was soaked to the bone, visibly exhausted and had an oxygen mask strapped to his face but he still smiled when he met Iida’s eye.

-

“Tenya don’t let them take my suit,” Sero called out. Iida was growing more accustomed to Sero speaking through the oxygen mask, making communication much easier. It also helped that Sero was now a lot more aware than he had been in the ambulance.

“It’s beyond salvation, you’re going to need a new one,” Iida stated.

Sero just whined at him. “I don’t want them to cut my suit.”

Iida looked over at the nurse who was already most of the way done cutting the fabric away from Sero’s skin. “I already cut it.”

“But it’s okay when you do it.”

“If you’re brave and listen to the hospital staff, you’ll be able to go home earlier.”

Sero perked up at that. “Really? Can we watch a movie back at the dorms?”

“If you’re feeling up to it when you get discharged, then sure,” Iida said with a soft smile. He rubbed his palms against his thighs, cursing how uncomfortable it was to wear his suit for non-hero purposes. He did not design it with sitting in a chair in mind.

The other issue was that his hands would not stop shaking. It had been a solid half an hour of sitting in the ER with Sero but Iida couldn’t quell the constant trembling. It wasn’t even subtle, he had planned on texting the class group chat with an update but he couldn’t hold his phone steady for long enough to even unlock it.

Sero had noticed, pretty early on actually, he mumbled something about Iida’s shaky hands and offered to hold them. That had lasted for a short while until Sero had gotten tired of trying to comfort Iida. He was very exhausted, losing the energy to do much more than pipe up occasionally when he thought of something funny that he wanted to share.

Iida sincerely doubted that Sero would be able to hold out for an entire movie by the time they got back to the dorms. That was unless the doctor decided to keep Sero overnight, which was still possible.

However, Iida really hoped that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t sure he could handle going back to the dorms for the night and not being able to confirm his boyfriend’s safety with his own eyes.

If the anxiety seized him right now, he could just reach out and take Sero’s hand or look across the bed at the monitor that beeps to reaffirm that Sero’s heart was beating fine.

Iida wasn’t sure he could ever shake the fear of the realisation that it wasn’t. It hadn’t been. He’d come within a hair’s breadth of not sitting next to Sero’s hospital bed as the older boy complained about getting his suit cut off.

He could be sitting in the dorms right now, grieving with everyone else. But he wasn’t.

Sero looked extra unimpressed as he sat up, Iida leapt from his seat, his arm coming up behind Sero’s shoulders to stabilize him.

The nurse quickly tied the hospital gown in place and Sero was eased back onto the now elevated mattress so he could sit up and pout at Iida with minimal effort.

Sero spoke when the nurse left the room, pulling the curtain shut behind her. “It’s ugly.”

Iida rolled his eyes. “It’s practical.”

“Still ugly,” Sero grumbled. “I’m tired.

“Take a nap, I’ll be here the entire time. Just don’t mess with the wires.”

Sero rolled over onto his side and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Goodnight, Tenya.”

“It’s like 3pm.”

“Goodnight, Tenya,” Sero said again, his voice firmer.

Iida couldn’t help but sigh as he stood up again to press a kiss to the top of Sero’s head in his semi-dry hair. “Goodnight, Hanta.”

He lingered for a moment, drinking in the sight of his boyfriend. The whiteness of the hospital gown, the bed sheets and blankets all served to amplify how pale Sero looked. He still had that purple tint to his extremities. There were at least a billion wires poking out from the top of the hospital gown, all of them connected to some monitor or another. The oxygen mask was still firmly fixed to his face, a little grey rectangular clip on the index finger of his right hand to document the necessity for the mask.

He knew Sero had to be feeling pretty awful right now, but his boyfriend continued to joke and try to make Iida smile, it made his heart squeeze in his chest as Iida reached for the bundle of blankets that had slipped to Sero’s feet. He tucked them up to his boyfriend’s shoulders and pressed another kiss to his hair before returning to his seat.

-

After a trip to radiology for a chest x-ray that Iida had to sit in the waiting area for the duration of, Iida followed Sero up to a room in the pediatric ward.

It was weird, following the orderlies and his boyfriend’s hospital bed through the corridors and a bunch of kids. Some of them were crying and screaming, others running around with friends and giggling. He felt very out of place as an almost-adult still dressed head-to-toe in his hero gear.

As Sero was settled into the room, his oxygen mask was switched to a nasal cannula that showed off the fact that the colour had come back to his face. He still had his pile of blankets as well as an additional IV that the nurse said was warm saline to bring up his body temperature a little faster.

The wires were still there, as was the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger, and a little paper cup of tea in Sero’s hands that he slowly sipped.

Aizawa joined them after a little while, as Sero’s eyelids were beginning to droop again. “What’s the verdict?”

“They killed my suit,” Sero grumbled, pouting like a child.

Aizawa quirked a questioning eyebrow.

“They had to cut it off of him when he arrived,” Iida supplied helpfully.

“I’ll contact the support class when we get back to UA,” Aizawa said simply, ignoring Sero’s pout. He lifted up a hand with two cloth shopping bags dangling from his grip. “I got your classmates to get you both a change of clothes. I figured you didn’t want to be Ingenium right now, and Sero is going to need something to wear when he gets discharged.”

“When is that going to be?” Sero asked, bringing his paper cup to his lips again.

Aizawa levelled him with a stern gaze. “You almost died, Sero.” His expression and voice softened considerably. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better.”

“So when do I get to go home?”

“The doctor said that once his temperature and Oxygen levels are back within a normal range, they’ll keep him for a few extra hours for observation. Said it’s unlikely that they’ll keep him overnight unless a complication arises,” Iida explained.

Aizawa pointed an accusing finger in Sero’s direction. “Don’t even think about wracking up pneumonia or, god forbid, a cardiac arrest. You’ve already traumatised poor Iida enough for one day.”

Sero tapped the finger with his pulse oximeter clipped to it on his chin. “I could do another cardiac arrest, for the drama of it all.”

Iida made a choked noise. “Please don’t.”

Sero and Aizawa both turned to him, Sero’s eyes wide and Aizawa’s eyebrows pulled together - in concern.

“Do you need a hug, Iida?” Aizawa asked in his usual monotone, regarding his student with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

Aizawa spread his arms in an invitation. “Free dad hug, one-time offer.”

“No-” Iida started, not even able to finish his sentence through his surprise. Aizawa was offering to hug him. “No thank you, sensei.”

“Your loss,” Aizawa said with a shrug, dropping his arms back to his sides.

Sero perked up. “I want a dad hug. Can I have a dad hug?”

“No. You give me heart palpitations, you don’t get a dad hug.”

“Aww, just one?” Sero asked, reaching a hand out towards Aizawa. It was clear that Sero was milking this opportunity for all it was worth, he knew he’d never be able to be so casual with Aizawa under any other circumstance without getting scolded.

“Maybe if you still want one when you’re discharged. Focus on recovering for now.”

“On it. You’ve neer seen someone more recovered from drowning than me.”

Aizawa set one of the bags of clothes at the foot of the bed, holding out the other one for Iida to take.

“The Ingenium suit can’t be all that comfortable right now.”

Aizawa’s gaze softened when Iida held the bag of clothes to his chest but didn’t move, his eyes still glued to Sero. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Get changed.”

Iida wanted to object but Aizawa wasn’t wrong. His suit was big and clunky and awkward. It was making his back hurt from the simple task of trying to sit in a chair.

He nodded and quickly shuffled out of the room and to the bathroom at the end of the corridor.

He changed in record speed, not wanting to be away from Sero for too long. The trembling he had finally managed to suppress came back with a vengeance when he left Sero’s company.

Hurrying back, Iida slipped back into the room, dressed in a much more comfortable hoodie and sweatpants.

Aizawa looked up at Iida from his place in the lone seat next to Sero’s bed as the door fell shut behind Iida. “Iida, can I speak with you outside for a moment? It won’t take long.”

“Sure.” Iida said, meeting eyes with Sero who looked equally as confused.

Aizawa continued walking up the corridor until they approached a vending machine. He punched in a few numbers and inserted his money, in a matter of seconds there was a chocolate bar being pressed into Iida’s hand.

“Eat it. You look like you’re about to collapse.” Aizawa’s voice was missing its usual commanding edge but Iida obeyed nonetheless.

“Present Mic is staying with 1-A in the dorms. Last I heard they’re watching movies and ordering food.”

Iida hummed thoughtfully as he continued to eat the chocolate bar under Aizawa’s watchful gaze. “That’s good.”

“They’re all worried, but glad that you’re here with him.”

Iida didn’t have much more to offer than another hum.

He was folding up the empty wrapper with trembling fingers when Aizawa spoke again. “If they do end up deciding to keep him here for the night, I’ll see what I can do about you staying with him.”

Iida looked up at that. “What? Why?”

“Your hands have gotten considerably more shaky the longer we’ve been out here. Staying with your boyfriend will help you keep calm, and I don’t think either of you would benefit from being alone right now.”

Curse how observant Aizawa was. They always forgot, but he noticed the smallest things. “He’s not my boyfriend-”

“Iida,” Aizawa cut him off, “I have known you since you were a baby. You’re going to have to be a better liar than that to convince me.”

“How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a few months, you’re not exactly subtle. But Hizashi and I have been in and out of hospitals enough, I know that look. And Sero calling you by your given name when he was half-conscious while insisting that he hold your hand and be carried by you did not help your case,” Aizawa supplied.

“Ah, that makes sense.”

They stood there in silence for a little longer, before Aizawa of all people broke it.

“Iida.” The softness in his voice was back. This had been a very out of character night for the both of them.

“Yes, sensei?”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine-” Iida started, looking up to meet Aizawa’s gaze. Which was full of concern as he regarded his student. Iida cut himself off with the strangled sob that clawed its way out of his throat.

And he fell apart. One crack in his resolve and it all came pouring out. He didn’t have the energy to try and stop the sobs and the tears in favour of saving face in front of his teacher.

Aizawa didn’t speak, he just pulled Iida into a hug. There was barely two inches of height between them but Iida had never felt so small.

He continued to cry, loud broken sobs into Aizawa’s shirt, his tears undoubtedly leaving a large wet patch in the fabric. He was just so overwhelmed, more than he had thought, and it all came spilling out of him at once.

Aizawa, to his credit, gave pretty good hugs. He held Iida steady, rubbing circles into his back and mumbling words of comfort. “It’s okay, let it out. You’re gonna be okay.”

It took a while for Iida to finally get his sobbing under control. He had no idea how long he'd been crying in Aizawa's arms but it was definitely too long.

Sero was probably wondering where they were.

Iida cleared his throat. "Sorry sensei, I-"

"Don't mention it," Aizawa cut in quickly. "You've had one hell of a day and you needed comfort. It's nothing to be ashamed about. Personally, I've probably spent more hours crying into Kayama's shoulder than I've spent sleeping in the past month."

"Midnight-sensei?"

Aizawa nodded. "She gives the best hugs."

“That makes sense,” Iida mumbled, wiping at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve.

“Are you feeling better?” Aizawa asked, punching a few more numbers into the vending machine. Iida was hit with the shocking realisation that he’d just had a breakdown in the middle of this corridor, in front of a vending machine. If anyone had wanted a snack all they would have seen was Iida sobbing in his teacher’s arms for god knows how long.

Iida laughed a little breathlessly, there was no humour in the gesture. “Aside from crying out half the fluid in my body, yeah. Thank you, sensei.”

Aizawa bent down to retrieve something from the vending machine, only to hand a water bottle to Iida.

“Let’s go check on trouble, what do you think?”

Iida nodded, smiling softly as Aizawa began walking back to Sero’s room.

-

Sero had been discharged at midnight. A full nine hours after his admission. It’d been a long night.

By 5pm, Sero had been taken off of his supplemental oxygen, and his levels stayed consistent in its absence.

The remaining seven hours passed without incident.

Most of them were spent with Sero insisting that Iida sit in the bed with him as he messed around on the younger boy’s phone. Iida had supervised Sero’s texting the class group chat and the older boy went as far as to send a selfie of himself and Iida to comfort their concerned classmates.

“Mina says you look worse than I do,” Sero chirped.

Iida just nodded, leaning his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Tell her I said thank you.”

Sero showed him a few pictures that had been sent in the group chat. One of Present Mic drinking a mug of something in the dorm kitchen with his hair out of it’s gelled spike and in a complicated arrangement of braids and Ashido standing next to him, looking incredibly proud of herself.

A picture of Bakugou sitting on the couch, his head on Kirishima’s chest, he appeared to be asleep, bundled up in a hoodie that was definitely not his if the print on the back was anything to go buy. Iida was fairly confident that Kirishima was the only student in their class who owned limited edition Crimson Riot merchandise.

Another picture, this time of the floor where Uraraka appeared to be demolishing Jirou and Todoroki in uno.

The final picture Sero showed him was a selfie sent by Kaminari, the electric boy looking very happy as he threw up a peace sign, Shinsou was sitting next to him and held up a less enthusiastic peace sign but still gave them a smile.

Soaking in the physical affirmation that Sero was okay as the older boy pressed into his side was enough to soothe Iida’s anxiety. He sat back as Sero messed around on his phone, chatting with their classmates until he got a little too overwhelmed for his tired mind to keep up with.

Sero had begged to watch a movie not long after he’d bid farewell to the class chat, only to fall asleep on Iida’s shoulder before they were even halfway through it. Iida, however, was not far behind him.

The nurses had been very stealthy with their regular vital checks, successfully not rousing either of the boys as Aizawa continued to do all the necessary paperwork and phone calls in silence.

The two of them were woken a little past midnight by Sero’s doctor carrying out a final check of the boy’s condition before happily handing Aizawa the discharge papers.

Aizawa and Iida waited in the corridor for a nurse to help Sero get changed. When the eldest boy joined them, he was wearing an outfit not dissimilar to Iida’s. In fact, he was wearing one of Iida’s hoodies that hung loose on his lanky frame.

Iida had half a mind to just carry Sero up to his room when he fell asleep in the passenger seat of Aizawa’s car, a blanket tucked under his chin.

Gently shaking his shoulder, Sero stirred with an unintelligent string of mumbling. “Tenya?”

“I know you wanna sleep, but we’re at the dorms now, so you gotta wake up enough to get to bed.”

“Carry me,” Sero grumbled, his hands fisting in the fabric of Iida’s hoodie.

Iida couldn’t help but to laugh a little at his partner’s antics. Sero was so clingy when he was tired. “I would, sweetheart, but everyone’s been waiting for us to get home and I’m afraid they might collapse if they see me carrying you inside.”

“That’s so rude of them.”

“Okay, you tell them that.”

“I will,” Sero said firmly as he stumbled, half-asleep, out of Aizawa’s car, his hands still latched onto his boyfriend, using Iida to steady himself.

Aizawa silently watched the scene unfold, never saying anything as he followed behind the pair. Eighteen sets of eyes landed on them the second they stepped over the threshold.

“Sero!” a cacophony of voices called out.

“Don’t crowd him, he’s exhausted,” Aizawa commanded over the buzzing activity around him. “Where’s Mic?”

Iida watched Bakugou shrug and point towards the common room couches with the jerk of his thumb. “He fell asleep.”

Aizawa quickly departed from Iida and Sero’s side, headed over to rouse his husband. Iida couldn’t fathom how they’d actually managed to keep their relationship a secret from the students for this long. They were nothing close to subtle.

Iida stepped back a little, his hand still in Sero’s as the class descended upon them. Kirshima, Kaminari and Ashido all took turns giving their friend a hug. There were lots of questions thrown around, and a lot more hugs for Sero to receive, even one for Iida from Yaoyorozu who looked as worn out as he felt.

Tears were shed, everyone basking in the relief that their classmate was back, safe and sound.

“You look wiped,” Kirishima said as he turned to Iida who just offered him a half-hearted smile.

“It’s been a long day. I think we’re just gonna head up to bed before Sero falls asleep standing up.”

Kirishima gave him a firm pat on the back. “Good luck with that, Bakubro is intent on feeding you both. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to admitting that he cares, do not take it lightly.”

Iida nodded before turning back to Sero who was almost swaying on his feet. “Let’s go sit down, Bakugou made food.”

Sero hummed, not even bothering to open his eyes as Iida wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “He’s a good cook.”

Sitting on one of the common room couches, under the watchful eyes of everyone who wasn’t convinced that Sero was okay just yet, Sero and Iida shared a bowl of tofu stir fry.

Sero didn’t have the stomach for much, and insisted that Iida feed him, too tired to operate chopsticks on his own. He’d fallen asleep curled up into Iida’s side before the bowl was even emptied.

Iida stayed on the couch with Sero for a little while, talking with his remaining company in a low voice until he started to feel himself drifting off. It was time they made their way up to bed.

There was truly no other option but to carry Sero upstairs at this point, it was nearing 2am and there was no hope to rouse his partner for long enough to get all the way up to either of their dorms.

Bakugou, Ashido, Kirshima and Kaminari had been the only ones to stay up with them until that point. Shinsou was also there but he had spent the better part of the last hour asleep with his head in Kaminari’s lap while the latter ran his hand through the unruly purple hair, so he didn’t really count.

Actually, Bakugou seemed to be the only one still fully awake, despite his tendency to go to bed much earlier than everyone else. He’d never admit to it, but he had been worried, Iida didn’t have to know Bakugou well to know that much.

“Thank you,” Iida said, careful not to wake Sero up as he spoke.

Bakugou just looked at him and huffed. “I didn’t do it for you, nerd.”

“I’m grateful nonetheless, do you want a hand getting everyone up to their rooms?”

“They can take themselves, just take him upstairs.”

Iida pretended not to notice the lack of his usual nicknames as he turned back to Sero, shaking his shoulder lightly.

“No,” Sero mumbled, turning to bury his face further into Iida’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Sero turned his head upwards to give Iida a pointed look through his messy and now dry hair. “You’re gonna make me get up.”

“Correct.”

“No.”

Iida leaned down until his mouth was level with Sero’s ear. “If we go upstairs we can cuddle,” he whispered in a low voice.

Sero hummed. “Really? Lead the way, Class Prez.”

It was not a complicated process to scoop Sero up and into his arms, one arm under his back, the other curled behind his knees. Sero’s weight was a comfort to have resting against Iida’s chest as he walked them to the elevator.

It was times like this that he was glad his boyfriend weighed the same as a bunch of grapes. On a good day, Iida could easily lift the heavier members of their class, but at that moment he was beyond exhausted and he wasn’t sure if he could even carry Sero much further than up to his dorm.

The elevator ride up to the fifth floor passed by quickly, and Iida easily made his way to Sero’s dorm.

If Iida had to wager a guess who had put the extra blankets on the bed and arranged what looked like a care basket on the little table in the middle of the room, he would put all of his money on Ashido. She notoriously would pick on and tease the other members of the Bakusquad but she had proven herself to be incredibly thoughtful and considerate on multiple occasions.

He would have to remember to thank her in the morning.

For now, his only goal was getting his boyfriend into bed. After everything, Iida felt like he could sleep for a week, figuring that Sero was not going to object to that plan.

Setting Sero down on the bed, Iida moved to pull the blankets on top of his partner. As he tucked the edge of the blankets under his boyfriend’s chin, he moved to smooth the furrow in Sero’s brows with his thumb.

Sero blinked up at Iida then. His black eyes found blue ones in the low lighting. “Are you staying?”

“Sure,” Iida said. He had been planning to sleep in the hammock, giving Sero space but also being close enough to verify that he was safe.

“Not in the hammock,” Sero said sternly, narrowing his eyes at Iida. “You said we could cuddle.”

Iida sighed, there was no use trying to argue, he was putty in Sero’s hands. “Little spoon or big spoon?”

“Little spoon.”

Sero pulled the blankets back as he shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, making room for Iida to slot himself into place behind him. It wasn’t the smoothest job of sharing the bed that they’ve ever done but Iida eventually settled in, sliding his arms around Sero and holding him close to his chest.

Iida buried his face in the crook of Sero’s neck, breathing in the scent of his boyfriend. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” he mumbled into his shoulder.

He felt Sero’s soft laugh against his chest. “Me too. I can’t have some dude hitting you up with a ‘he would want you to move on’, you’re mine forever.”

“Forever,” Iida said, tightening his hold around Sero ever so slightly.

Sero hummed, the sound was low in his throat and Iida could feel the vibration of it against his skin. “Forever.”

-

Iida was lounging on Sero’s bed, not quite bothering to get up just yet. His eyes trailed Sero’s movements as the older boy circled his room. He had a check in with Recovery Girl in an hour so he was intent on getting changed himself. After the past few days, the soreness and exhaustion were starting to ease and he was a lot more mobile.

And that’s how Iida ended up face-to-face with a shirtless Sero who was still trying to figure out what shirt he wanted to wear as Iida’s eyes zeroed in on the dark purple bruising covering the front of his boyfriend’s chest.

It looked painful but Sero paid it no mind.

“Hanta?” Iida called out, sitting up with a much more tense posture than he had had moments ago.

“Hmm?”

“Are those bruises?”

Sero looked at Iida for a moment, confused, before looking down at his chest and giving his boyfriend a chuckle and a shrug. “Oh, those, yeah. I assume they’re from you, y’know, restarting my heart.” He paused, running a hand through his messy black hair. “Thanks for that by the way.”

“No problem…” Iida trailed off, starting at the mottled discolouration on Sero’s chest. He wondered if it had really hit Sero yet, truly how close the older boy had come to losing his life only two days ago.

The two of them had been excused from classes for at least a few days unless Sero was feeling up to going to class before then. Sero’s absence for the purpose of rest and recuperation, Iida’s to keep an eye on his boyfriend and look out for any symptoms of secondary drowning or pneumonia. He helped Sero to remember to take his antibiotics as well as just helping him do tasks that were a little too strenuous.

Aizawa had given them a stern look and told them to call him if they needed to or if they were worried about something. He’d also told the two of them that they had appointments with Hound Dog scheduled for them on the following Monday.

The rest of the class had informed the two of them that all training exercises had been suspended for the rest of the week until any changes to improve student safety could be made. Iida did not envy the meetings that Aizawa was undoubtedly going to be sitting through in the week to come.

“You know, you could always blame those on Aizawa-sensei,” Iida said, hoping to lighten the dark look that had crossed Sero’s face.

Sero blanched. “Aizawa-sensei saw me without a shirt on.”

Iida couldn’t help but to raise his eyebrows at the shift in mood. “I think that was the least of his concerns.”

“I can’t show my face ever again,” Sero groaned, flopping face first onto the bed. Only to let out another groan and roll onto his back, rubbing a free hand on his chest that had undoubtedly protested the motion.

“You are being dramatic.”

Sero rounded on Iida, giving him a serious look. “Do you think he noticed that my nipples are uneven?”

Iida just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up. “Your nipples are not uneven, Hanta.”

Sero nodded sagely. “Yaomomo definitely noticed.”

Iida threw a pillow at his boyfriend.

[some-dr-writings]

Korekiyo, Kaito and Gundham cuddling headcannons

Korekiyo Shinguji:

·       You groaned hearing a knock at the door. You opted to stay in bed. Upon hearing that seemingly incessant knocking again you threw yourself off the bed and trudged to the door. “What is it?” You didn’t care that the sheer bitterness seeped into your tone, you just wanted this encounter to be over with. “Ah, I apologize Y/N, but you have not been answering your phone, nor had anyone seen you leave your dorm room. You have not even showed up to class or your lab, so I thought I’d check up on you.” “Kiyo! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Now you so regretted using that spiteful tone. Though his lips were covered by that mask you could see a smile in his eyes. “It’s quite alright. You are in some trouble I presume?” You were silent for a moment before a sigh escape you. You seemed to deflate and just looked exhausted. You took a step back, allowing the man into your room.

·       Kiyo never actively seeked out cuddles, but he was more than willing to accept them. Platonic, or romantic, didn’t matter, to him cuddles were cuddles and should someone want to do so with him, it was like an honor. For you and Kiyo it became a sort of routine that should the other be having a bad day, they would come to the other in their dorm room and cuddle on the bed.

·       Kiyo did not have any positions he preferred, he simply followed your lead and did whatever you wanted. That day in particular you hugged him tight, his back pressed against you as you buried your face into it. He didn’t say a word, he simply reached a hand back, gently patting your head and with his other hand held one of yours. After a few minuets you began to slowly vent your ever-piling list of frustrations that seemed to somehow grow larger and larger even just staying in your room. How you wanted to avoid snapping at anyone or to avoid your day getting worse, but… that didn’t seem to pan out.

·       On some other day as you were heading to the library, Kokichi ran passed you laughing like a mad man carrying something, moments later Korekiyo ran past you as well. After you finished your work, you shot Kiyo a quick text asking where he was. When the only response you got was ‘dorm room’. You knew you were nowhere fast or clever enough to catch Kokichi so the least you could do was comfort Kiyo after. You rested your head on his chest and Kiyo held you ever so tightly, muttering to himself about perhaps asking Miu to make a new security system again to try to keep Kokichi from stealing any more items.

·       For Kiyo, cuddling with a friend or loved one was the ultimate stress relief. Holding close someone he cared for swept his worries away. He simply loved it and enjoyed knowing he could bring you and others the same comfort through that same action.

   Kaito Momota:

·       “Alright! It’s cuddling time!” You, Maki, and Shuichi all looked to the Luminary of the stars in confusion. “No.” Maki then stood up from the table you all had been doing your homework on as if she were going to leave. “Kaito, I… Why?” It appeared Shuichi wanted to say more but was taken so aback by the question he couldn’t bring himself to say more. “Yeah Kaito. I don’t get this either.” He smirked. Making his way around the table he stood between you and Shuichi, draping his arms over your shoulders, pulling the pair of you close as he looked to you two before his gaze landed on Maki. “Team building! Cuddling and physical contact in general are great ways of communication and increases bonds among friend and teammates like us! Cuddling also lowers blood pressure and is proven to relieve stress and pain. And it just feels good!”

·       And that was how Kaito made sure he cuddled with the three of you at least once a week.

·       He’d gleefully go to your dorm, and if you didn’t seem to be doing much or were over working yourself he’d tell you it was time for your weekly cuddle session before dragging you to the bed. If you declined, he would back off.

·       Kaito always insisted he be the big spoon or that you rest against him, cradling your head in his lap or resting yourself against his chest, things like that. Even if you tried reversing roles Kaito would refuse saying he much preferred this positioning. However, on one particularly long, exhausting day you and Kaito flopped on his bed. You slowly stirred from your slumber, a warm feeling blooming in your chest seeing the stars and galaxy that was dimly projected onto the walls and ceiling. Hugging Kaito a little tighter you realized your positioning. You were the big spoon! You also noticed something else. Sitting up a little you saw how Kaito was grinning from ear to ear, he even nuzzled into you a little when you slightly shifted. His eyes fluttered open as he looked over his shoulder. Then he abruptly sat up. “Good, you’re awake! Feeling rested?” A soft, light shade of pink dusted his cheeks. You tried hiding it, but it was so difficult to hold back your devilish smile, and giddy laughter. So Kaito Momota did in fact like being the little spoon, loving it in fact.

·       You and Shuichi were winded after a rigorous evening of training, nagging Kaito to finish his curl-ups as Maki simply watched having finished long ago. When he got us for the last curl, you wrapped your arms around him. “Cuddle time!” You dragged him forward, back to the ground, face first now. With a hand on the back of his head you rested his head against your chest. Shuichi and Maki tackled Kaito, hugging both he and you from the sides. “Yes! Good on you for taking the lead my sidekicks, but Y/N let’s switch-” “Nope!” No matter what he said none of you were letting Kaito go. Reluctantly he gave in, wanting to encourage this new tenacity in the three of you. He blushed and sighed accepting his fate. He liked this, he really did, but felt much too embarrassed to admit it much to his chagrin. What made this even better was the fact all four of you were under the cover of stars, watching as they slowly drifted by. It was simply lovely… Kaito decided the four of you should have cuddle sessions after training more often.

   Gundham Tanaka:

·       You and the Dark Lord of Ice had been best friend for years. It was a long and slow process befriending one another, but in the end you two now had a companion closer to you than any other. In your time together you learned so much about animals and other creatures of all sorts. You sat side by side on the couch in his apartment, you mindlessly scrolling through your phone as Gundham fed his Generals some treats. “Hmm… Hey, Gundham?” “You have my attention.” You scooched over to him and held out your phone. There was a picture of some otters hugging one another. You then scrolled more, finding other picture of cats, dogs, even swans and many more embracing each other. “Staged, or real?” “… Those are all true moments of affection.” You placed your phone into your pocket. Once you did one of the Devas hopped into your lap, demanding pats to which you happily gave. “… All creatures, unless solidary creatures, crave companionship and affection, even from other species, right?” “Certainly. But it’s not only that. Showing affection speaks of the same sentiment as sleeping near another. It shows you have the utmost trust in the other to allow yourself to be in such a vulnerable position around them.”

·       “… Are you touched starved?” Gundham flinched, caught off guard by the question. “Because your skin is poison to the touch except by your companion creatures do you get enough affection?” It was only recently had Gundham started allowing some small touches on the skin. Sure you could touch his bandaged or clothed parts of him just fine before, but skin to skin contact is so vastly different, to Gundham at least. “I know you say you’re only temporarily mortal but, you’re still human now, and humans are highly social creatures. And one such way of communication is touch.” “… That is indeed true.” “Hey, place your feet on the couch.” You scooched back, giving him room. Though confused, he trusted you and did as told. You also placed your feet up, interlocking your legs. “Though clothed, this is bigger contact than accidently grazing hands.”

·       Slowly but surely you and Gundham got more acclimated to bigger touches. It first started with things that weren’t really too claustrophobic, like laying on the ground with your backs pressed against one another or laying your head in one another’s lap.

·       One day as Gundham exited the shower he realized the shirt he had set aside to wear had a stain on it that needed to be washed right away should he hope to save it. Only in a pair of shorts he made his way to his room to get something else. That was till he spotted you. You were laying on the ground, surrounded by a few pillows acting as a makeshift barrier, keeping the Generals penned, though if they truly wanted too they could have easily escaped. You simply played with them, luring them about with some treats you had made for them. In that moment… nostalgia hit him like an ocean wave against cliffs. He recalled how the two of you met. Funny to think back then he had no idea that chance meeting was going to change his life forever. You had been through hell and back with him, standing by one another’s side no matter what life threw you way. “Hmm? You want something Gundham?” He hadn’t realized it, but while lost in thought he had walked up to you… You truly were one of his greatest companions… His best friend. He kneeled down beside you and you assumed to greet and play with his Generals, so you didn’t think much of it. What did surprise you was how he so stiffly laid down, resting his head atop your chest. He even moved your arm out of the way as to not lay atop it, and hesitantly he draped it over himself. You were so shocked and in a state of disbelief you didn’t notice that slowly his eyes drooped closed as he fell asleep.

·       It was rarer, but he’d go to you for cuddles when he was ready. But after each cuddle he’d come back for more sooner. At first it was months till he sought out cuddles, then eventually weeks, then soon he’d come to you every few days or so seeking out the affection. Neither of you ever spoke during these times. Gundham would simply lean his head against your chest or his back against your stomach. He’d never say it, but he felt being the little spoon was a more vulnerable position to be in and… even if he’d feel more comfortable in some other position, he wanted to be as vulnerable as he could to show you he trusted you. Action speaks louder than words, and he deeply, truly wanted you to understand that fact, not just hear him say it.

[real-fanta-sea]

Hello!!💚😊 do you still write kiss requests?? For Trevor/Mike ship and can I request something for 'bury the hatchet' mission with 11 or 57 number? I really love to see how Trevor saves Michael so😍😱

Thank you!💗

Hi sweetie! I'm sorry it took me so long, but it's finally here! Find it under "keep reading". If you prefer AO3, click here to read the fic. tw mentions of violence, kissing, kinky old men

"Get the boyfriend!"

"The WHAT?" Michael huffed out, along with a small puff of fog, as he crouched behind a thumb stone that felt too small to shield him. Of all things, why would they think they were dating? Like, that were the signs? Can't two guys share a trailer, a bed, a shower, a coffee mug, cigarettes, whiskey bottles and take-out receipts without arising suspicion? Can't two consenting adults watch each other read a porn magazine while relieving stress? Is it a sign of marital status to carry someone over a threshold while high on... whatever was Trevor high on? Michael cringed inwardly as a bullet grazed the top of the stone and made the falling snowflakes find refuge on the back of his neck. There was no time to mull that over. The crunch of footsteps and angry commands closed in, and he had to act fast.

He did the math frantically. His pistol still had 16 bullets ready to be planted into the brains of whoever he aimed at. There was another full magazine in his jacket pocket. Good. Michael peered above the top of the stone, now chipped into a monstrous row of teeth. The silence has been ruptured by the sound of breaks. Judging by the urgent stomping, there were far more than 33 men to bury that night. Michael ducked and ran towards a statue of an angel reclining over another piece of stone, big enough to hide him under its sorrowful wings. Finally able to stretch out, he took a deep breath and cracked his neck. He remembered the last time he had to fight off so many people and cursed when he shot a look back towards Brad's grave. At that time, there was no blanket and a cup of hot coffee waiting for him. At that time, dance macabre was all too real for comfort. But it was not a time to die; he convinced himself. Not in the freezy shithole called North Yankton. Not without a fight.

Just when he peered over the side of the sculpture, the world around him slowed down into a strange state of blue trance. He shot four men in a matter of seconds, retreated to his cover, and resurfaced again behind a different piece of stone. All he could feel was a stinging sensation on his face as he collapsed with snowflakes, a soft crunch of virgin snow below his feet mixed with the recoil of the gun in his hand, going off in time with the rhythm of his heart. He wouldn't have minded if the state of focus and tranquillity remained his primary state of being. To be faster than others, not feeling the bullets licking skin and flesh off of his body, killing without remorse - he missed such balance in his retired life.

Not many voices filled the graveyard when Michael finally threw his pistol away and snatched a gun from a random unlucky henchman whose blood was rapidly cooling on the ground. The relative silence unnerved him. The math didn't add up, and even when he cracked his neck again to relieve some of the pressure, the popping sound didn't fill the space enough to be comfortable again. Only when he ascended from the aisle, ducking, eyes darting all over the dark place, he noticed how fast he was breathing and that his hands were shaking.

Fuck it, he thought to himself, that one extra burger, coke and pizza every now and then, when he couldn't sleep, did hurt after all. Maybe Mandy was right to nag at him for smoking too. Before he could make an oath to himself to start exercising once he got away from the situation. Before he could even turn around in awe, the bushes behind his back rustled and gave birth to a furious Chinese man. The newborn didn't spare a second to hit the back of Michael's head with something Mike later identified as the butt of his gun and knocked the dumbfounded Michael unconscious.

It didn't take long for Michael to wake up, but the world was swirling around him into a smudged black-eye blue mush, and it reeked of puke. There was a horrible echo of voices nagging in his throbbing head, and it took a lot of him to recognize two twitching shadows dragging him through the muddy snow. For a split second, he felt weightless as the shadows threw him inside a gaping black space and the thunder of the van door being shut made him shriek in pain.

For what felt like an eternity, his existence was reduced to watching a streak of orange light running towards his chest and vanishing before it reached his head. Michael scrutinized the small cut out in the wall that divided his dark cell and the cockpit of the van and marvelled at the sounds emerging with every blink of the orange light. The slight rocking of the vehicle only served to make him more nauseated in between his scattered thoughts. Why haven't they killed him was among the first coherent questions his brain was capable of producing. Why would they want him alive? The light blinked away rapidly and brought about the noise of radio static and two voices fighting over what frequency to tune in. Get the boyfriend. Why was the question coming back then?

Michael groaned as the deafening sound of Channel X pinned him to the ground again. Boyfriend. He recognized the music. He remembered. They thought Trevor would pay whatever price they demanded in exchange for his safety. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, and he didn't try to stop it for a change. How they could still think that after witnessing their bickering at Brad's grave, Michael wasn't entirely sure. What he knew with paralyzing certainty was that no one was coming to save him, and it was Trevor's fault. In between the blinks of light and throbbing pain, his memories ran back to the moment Brad unknowingly shielded Trevor as it often did in the past ten years and wished once again Dave either pulled the trigger a second later or aimed for Michael's head.

He didn't know whether to be annoyed or thankful when screeching breaks interrupted his daydreaming session. Judging by the high-pitched angry Chinese, they either had some very unfortunate flat tyre, or they ran into trouble. Or, which was something Michael didn't want to think about, they arrived at their lair and discussed the best way to make a chop suey from his guts. He shifted slightly, shaking off the inappropriate thoughts his mind offered him. It did him no good to think about alternate universes where all his problems were gone, and he was roasting under Los Santos sun by his pool.

The sliding door opened, and Michael was immediately hit into the face with a sluggish white light and smell of iron. Just one glance at the tiles plastered all over the walls, hooks idly clinging in the draft, and he knew exactly where they were. A shiny tray with a handsaw grinned right back at him from the centre of silhouettes of men. Oh god, he was so screwed. So fucked over. He made a mental note to kick Trevor in the balls when... IF... he sees him again. A pair of hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him out of the car, his head bouncing off the ground when it hit ice-cold concrete. Michael shivered. Was it really all there was for him? Would the famous Michael Townley, the phantom of the north, end up minced into Flormart burgers? A curse escaped his lips when he imagined the limp, tasteless slice of pickle and an unnaturally orange slice of cheese tiredly melting on his flesh in someone's microwave. He could withstand any torture but that.

"Hey you, you are awake, aren't you?"

Michael winced inwardly and squinted his eyes against the bright light. "Oh, am I? I didn't know! Are you a doctor or something?"

There was a prompt leathern shoe planted into his face. Michael hissed upon contact, the smell of cheap shoe glue imprinting into his memory. So much for a well-meant, friendly sarcasm.

"Ok, I got it. I'll shut up."

"You better should, pig!" There were several snorts around him, obscured by the bright light. Michael's cheek throbbed. If he was a pig about to be made into bacon strips, he swore to take them with him. The guy who kicked him circled around like a shark.

"Now, tell me. Where does your boyfriend keep the drugs?"

Michael just snickered and shrugged as best as his tied arms allowed. The shadows stepped closer, towering above him. He felt another kick; this time, the shoe bit into his ribs, making him hiss.

"ANSWER!"

A pair of hands yanked him onto his knees. The floor crushed into them, a painful reminder he should have picked up yoga when his wife told him so.

"I DON'T KNOW!"

The sole of the shoe pushed into the middle of his back, stretching his muscles to their capacity. Michael's forehead was pearled with sweat. He could barely breathe. Any further, and he was sure he would throw up.

"Do you think we are stupid?"

The pressure worsened. Michael gasped for air.

"We've seen him carry you over the threshold, and we know from a reliable source you share the bed with him,"

A picture of Ron shaking in the middle of a hostile office, surrounded by the same shadows, flashed through Michael's mind before he blinked it away. Another mental note was taken. Kick Ron's balls right after kicking Trevor's.

"AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO CLAIM YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHERE HE KEEPS HIS ASSETS WHEN WE KNOW YOU SQUAT ON HIS DICK EVERY NIGHT???"

"Believe it or not," Michael gasped and tried to turn just enough to look the bastard who stepped on him in the eye, "I don't know anything. Oh, and it's not me who squats; I am more of the top kind of guy."

It occurred to Michael the Chinese guy who led the interrogation had a strange sense of symmetry because before he knew it, he had another pulsating bruise spread over the other side of his ribs. He wanted to think the remark was worth it, even though his body told him otherwise.

"Hang that fag on a hook - let's see if he remembers with more blood in his brain."

For a second, Michael panicked. There were too many hands grabbing and groping him, turning him, and he remembered how he, as a little boy watched spiders do just that with flies in their webs, both horrified and fascinated. He has always considered himself a spider in such situations. Oh, how the turntables! He now was the fly, and the spider was walking away.

"HEY, WAIT!"

The hands kept him floating in the air, and the man stopped in his path, turning around.

"Hm? What is it?"

Michael's eyes rounded, even though he desperately tried to fight the trepidation. "You are terribly wrong about this. I am not his boyfriend, just an acquaintance. I have no idea how you guys are affiliated, but whatever this is about, it all runs down to money, right?"

The man folded his arms on his chest slowly, visibly taking pride in Michael's panic, but his thin lips kept shut.

"I'll pay you if you release me. Generous money, actually. That's what you guys want, right? That's what everybody wants."

The man took a few steps closer, right under one of the beaming tube lights. Michael gulped when he saw the grin on his handsome face. It took him a surprisingly low effort to come close to Michael and grab his jaw in a vice grip.

"Have your whining ever worked on anyone?"

Michael shook his head ever so slightly. He got a shark-like grin in response.

"What we want is to know where your lover, Trevor Phillips, keeps his merchandise and take what is contractually, thus rightfully ours. Tell us, and maybe we will let you go."

His eyes were as black as Trevor's when Michael last saw them, yet there was no shadow of affection in these. The man who looked at him was by all means already dead inside. The hand slipped away from his jaw, but Michael could still feel where his new friend left purple imprints.

"I thought so. Never mind, after the night spent upside down, I hope your point of view will change. HANG HIM!"

All of a sudden, there was a roar of an engine from somewhere above. Michael tried to locate the sound, but it glided away, much to his captors' disdain. There was a cacophony of stomping and foreign words bouncing off the walls, mixing in with the cry of sliding door and hum of the engine coming back.

"HEY!"

His voice was too weak against the noise. No one noticed him twitching; no one cared he was still there.

"HEY, MOTHERFUCKERS, WHAT'S GOING ON!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" was the answer from one of the men, along with a sting of a gunstock on his eye. Michael didn't need answers anymore, though, as the barking of shots and cries of mowed down men crept through the open door. Not so silently, he cursed Trevor for dragging him right into the middle of mafia wars, something he had no desire to see up close. Leaving him in the graveyard alone with a mob? One kick in the balls. Letting them kidnap him and hang him like a piece of ham? Two kicks in the balls. Letting the mafia kill him in a shoot out? Thousands of years of haunting Trevor and another kick in the balls as soon as they both reincarnate. Gunshots from outside closed in on him.

Michael tried to break free from the ropes but only managed to swing back and forth.

"Oh FUCK, I'm going to KILL HIM! YOU'RE SO DEAD, TREVOR!"

"MICHAEL!"

At first, Michael thought he was hearing things. In his state of panic, his brain couldn't get a grip of how the hell Trevor knew where to find him, let alone come and rescue him after he almost shot him. Then he thought that some kind of vessel must have busted in his head, for the familiar voice was accompanied by an even more familiar tall outline topped by a crown of ruffled dark brown hair. He couldn't help but blink rapidly a couple of times, dumbfounded in the middle of the slaughterhouse.

"JESUS, MIKEY!!!"

There were rushed steps, a sound of a gun falling to the ground, followed by two trembling hands cupping his face. Michael closed his eyes and relied on other senses to confirm his suspicion. First, there was a smell of late-night coffees, morning cigarettes, diesel fuel and cheap soap he bought for Trevor not so long ago. Second, there were two big hands, fingers brushing around the edges of his bruises in a way they did years ago when they both were different people, but somehow they did remember how to soothe him. Third, there was a deep-set voice trembling with worry whispering his name. And finally, when Michael opened his eyes again, there were the amber eyes, glazed, terrified and hurt. There was no doubt anymore. Trevor came back for him.

"Oh god, I was so fucking afraid!"

Michael couldn't keep angry when faced with the first shy tears welling in Trevor's eyes, but his ability to speak left him as they fell down and disappeared into the blackness of Trevor's shirt. So instead, he let Trevor's hands caress him, oddly at peace with the gentle touch on his face.

"To think I almost lost you again!" Trevor bit his lip. Something about the droplet of blood blooming under his teeth left Michael breathless. "I was so angry, infuriated much, yes, but then I imagined you laying there with Brad and..."

Trevor gazed into Michael's eyes with such urgency it immediately reminded him of their first kill. The fear mixed in with the red gleam in his eyes, the sense of irreparable, coming back from the past to haunt them. Lost in thought, Michael didn't register the swift movement right in front of him and was caught by surprise by a feeling of having his lips pressed against Trevor's.

They were hot, trembling, and tasted of cigarettes and blood, a mixture Michael desperately tried to forget about. Where they first gently touched his, as if they couldn't believe he was still alive and well, they pressed harder in mere seconds, making Michael's eyes flutter shut. It was difficult for him to admit, but Trevor's lips were the only drug Michael craved for long and lonely ten years. For once, he let his nagging reason get hushed by the shy movement of Trevor's lips, and all the hatred slipped his mind momentarily.

At length, Trevor broke the kiss, and still holding onto Michael's cheeks, he gently propped his forehead against Michael's. Michael let him take a break, listening to his shallow breathing, and their thoughts were buzzing almost audibly where their skin touched.

"Oh god, to think I almost lost you..."

"It's ok, T; I'm still hanging on."

"Yeah, but what if I didn't turn around and follow that convoy? What if they killed you?"

"You could say I would hang around for a bit, and then they would kick me out."

Trevor raised his head and furrowed a bit. "What's that with you and emphasize on hanging?"

Michael raised eyebrows at him and waited till the realization would dawn on Trevor. It took three seconds for Trevor's eyes to round and his mouth to form a perfect 'o'.

"Oh, yeah, uh, I see. Wait a moment, sugar."

Michael's feelings on Trevor holding a knife were usually on the border between panic and deep fucking rooted urge to run for the hills. When Trevor approached him and swung it around his face, Michael was momentarily inclined to the second option, twitching nervously under the cold gleam of the knife. Trevor eyed him with palpable exhaustion.

"Stop wiggling goddammit, do you want to get cut?"

Michael pouted at him.

"Hey, don't give me THAT face, pork chop! It wasn't MY idea to tie you up and hook you here!"

Trevor's knife slowly cut through ropes, murmuring as it bit through thick threads. The very tip brushed against Michael's leg, leaving goosebumps in the wake of its cold touch.

"But I have to say this is kinda hot, eh?" Trevor's grin was back, the brightest light in the room. "How about we try it again when we get back home?"

"What the FUCK are you talking about, Trevor?"

Trevor leant in, still grinning, his knife gliding against Michael's waist.

"I mean, I will send Patricia shopping,"

The knife dipped lower, slipping under Michael's shirt. He gasped, inwardly cursing for giving Trevor the tiniest bit of gratification.

"then I'll take some nice silk rope,"

The dull side of the blade ran through chest hair lush between trembling peaks of his nipples.

"tie you up and make some sweet, sweet love to you, cupcake!"

Trevor's lips were so close, his breath on Michael's lips again, who was petrified with anticipation. His heart hammered against the patch of goosebumps on his chest, and if the last bit of rope didn't snap and let him slide off the hook, Michael would have leaned in himself and stole that kiss. But, instead of the sweet release, he was sent to the cold ground head first, folding like a rag doll upon impact.

Not only Michael sustained another hit on his head, swearing and kicking around, not unlike the turtle Amanda bought for the kids and that he and Jimmy used to torture by putting it on its back, laughing about the way it tried to turn over, but it was Trevor who was laughing his lungs out, folded in half. Michael tried to stab him with a menacing glare, but it didn't help in the slightest. Gathering the last shred of strength, Michael scraped to his feet and balling fists full of Trevor's jacket, he threw them both against deadly green tiles.

Trevor's laugh died out soon after the impact, but the grin remained despite Michael pinning him down. At first, Michael's intention was to beat him up, partially to let the frustration out, partially to get revenge for the stolen kiss, but he was taken aback when Trevor's hands closed over his fists and squeezed gently.

"Whatcha gonna do, Mikey?" Trevor uttered in an irresistibly husky voice that sent shivers of excitement to all the wrong places, "Beat me for saving your life?" Michael growled.

"You fucking..." but the words he wanted to say got sucked back into the vortex of emotion running free in his ribcage. No, beating wasn't what Michael's mind supplied him with when it came to what to do with Trevor. He could barely resist the vivid pictures of Trevor, hair running down his slender back, undressing in front of him, leaving marks on his neck and long scratches speaking volumes about how Michael liked to celebrate their victories. And then, on that day, Trevor was there. Older, but just as tempting, daring, enclosing Michael in the smell of both freedom and slavery with each exhale. Michael took a deep breath. He couldn't help but give in to the craving.

Trevor yelped when Michael crashed his lips with his so hard their teeth clinked together. That was the thrill he wanted to relive, and as soon as Trevor's hands rested against his lower back, pulling him closer, Michael surged deeper and dared to brush his tongue against Trevor's. The choked moan he managed to draw out fueled his fingers in their haste, letting go of fabric and instead bury themselves into Trevor's hair, pulling him closer. Trevor's skin could have combusted any second with the heat it emitted, and Michael couldn't resist yanking him closer, eager to get burned once again.

"Mikey... Jesus Christ!"

Trevor could barely breathe, so much Michael could tell by the heaving of chest caught between the wall and his own body. He was proud of the trembling in Trevor's touch, of shallow breaths and flushed cheeks right in front of him. He still got it.

"What?" Michael grinned impishly and let one of his hands slide down Trevor's back and squeeze him. Trevor yelped in surprise but didn't try to wriggle out of the embrace and even giggled when Michael let his hand rest there. Trevor leaned in closer, his breath sending shivers down Michael's spine as it touched his ear.

"Let's go home, cupcake."

[lisbonsteresa]

You’re Once (In Any Lifetime)

🥳 🥳 HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAY( @eddiediaz)!!!!  🥳 🥳  (little late is better than never fingers crossed. a little something for my drew crew bestie who i have never yelled at, cajoled into watching a show, or threatened with a knife emoji. hope you like the...kind of au of the au of the - let’s just call it the 7th generation of an au 😘)

                                 ___

“She’s lingering again.”

“Call a spade a spade Bess.” George grumbled as she entered the kitchen with an armful of dirty dishes. “At this point she’s loitering.”

Nick glanced up from where he was reviewing that month’s order form at the prep table with a slight grin. “Don’t know if you can go that far. I mean she did pay for her dinner.”

“Oh please,” George shot back with a roll of her eyes. “It’s been 45 minutes since she paid her bill and she’s still nursing that iced tea like it’s a long island.” As if she knew they were talking about her, the redhead in the corner booth looked up from her glass and gave a small, unsure smile across the sparsely-seated dining room in their direction. She did not receive any in response.

“What I don’t understand is why she keeps coming here, of all places. I mean it’s not like our food is good.” An offended grunt came from Bess’s right, and she spun around to see the Claw’s cook pressing a burger to the grill with a wounded expression. 

“Oh no, Charlie,” she backtracked frantically, hands held out in a feeble attempt to placate the older man. “I just meant compared to what they must have at the yacht club.” 

Charlie gave a noncommittal shrug, apparently forgiving the unintended slight before moving down the line where he hopefully missed Bess’s whispered  “Or anywhere else…”

“Guys, come on.” Ace cut in, voice calm and measured even as he scrubbed determinedly at a rusting lobster pot. “It’s not like we don’t have other customers keeping us here. What’s so bad about Nancy lingering a bit?” 

“The fact that she’s not just ‘Nancy’, Ace.” George admonished as she tipped her dishes into the full sink in front of him, raising the water level until it sloshed dangerously close to the edge. “She’s Nancy Hudson. You know how the hill-toppers treat us townies -”

“When they’re not wheeling and dealing in back rooms to screw us over while they’re sitting pretty in their ivory towers.” Nick interrupted, his attention still on the sheet in front of him.  

“Exactly.” George gave her boyfriend an appreciative look as she leaned up against the prep table next to him. “And now what, I’m supposed to be happy that one of them deigned to grace us with her presence?” 

“Yes, and I had to take her hill-topper order.” Bess lamented, pouting near the line window until she noticed Nick looking at her with raised eyebrows. “What?”

“You know you’re a hill-topper, right Bess?”

She turned towards him, her expression scandalized and defensive. “That is completely different, Mr. Multimillionaire.” (Nick held his hands up in amused defeat). “I only just became a Marvin; I wasn’t born and raised a hill-topper, unlike some people.” 

“Besides,” she glanced back across the dining room with an insulted wrinkle of her nose, “the Hudsons and Marvins are long-standing enemies; it was humiliating to have to serve one of them.”

“The Hudsons and Marvins, maybe, but not you and Nancy.” Ace countered, leaning the lobster pot against the back of the drying rack before reaching into the increasingly murky water to start on George’s dishes. “You two barely know each other.”

Bess paused, playing with her necklace and staring into space as if considering this fact for the first time. “Well, I guess that’s true…"

“And she’s been spending her gap year here in town volunteering and helping Hannah Gruen set up a scholarship with the Historical Society.” Ace continued with a glance over his shoulder at Nick.

“I mean, that’s great, but -” Nick stopped, eyes narrowing “wait, how do you know that?”

Ace’s hands paused their motions, just for a fraction of a second, before he resumed rinsing a plate and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Must’ve seen it in the paper somewhere.” He muttered offhandedly. “And -”

“And nothing.” George cut him off, crossing her arms across her chest with a scowl. “A few good deeds don’t change the fact that this time next year she’ll be 300 miles away with a full ride to some Ivy League school just because of her last name, and the rest of us will still be stuck here cleaning grease traps in an old clam shack.” Ace’s shoulders tensed more and more with every word that left her mouth. “And since when did you start defending Hudsons anyway?”

“I’m not defending the Hudsons, I’m defending Na-” Ace spun around to face the room and froze, realizing that his raised voice had turned three sets of interested eyes in his direction. (Well, four, if you counted Charlie.) “I’m not defending anybody.” he continued after a beat. “I’m just saying you can’t help who your family is, and at least she’s trying to be better than hers. It wouldn’t kill you guys to try and see that.” 

No one said anything - this was the most upset any of them had seen Ace get since the time that nor'easter put a tree branch through Florence’s windshield. “Anyway, dishes are done; I’m gonna take my break.”

He tossed the towel that had been slung over his shoulder down onto the counter and stomped down the steps towards the storeroom. The back door slammed shut a moment later, and the others turned back towards the dining room to see that Nancy had at last abandoned her iced tea and was heading towards the exit with the air of someone in a rush trying very hard to appear relaxed.

“So…” Bess began, her eyes flicking back and forth between Nancy’s booth and the door. “when do we tell him we saw them making out by the loading dock last Thursday?”  

“I say we make him sweat for a bit.” George said with a shrug as she straightened and headed out to clear the table. “Serves him right for thinking he could keep something like this from us.” Bess and Nick shared an amused smile behind her, then got back to their own work.

If any of them noticed that Ace arrived back from his break 20 minutes late with his hair in disarray, they kept it to themselves.

                                   _____

“Great. I’m going to be picking seaweed out of my hair for a week. Thanks a lot Bess.”

Bess paused her efforts to wring out her dress to shoot an incredulous look in George’s direction. “I’m sorry, how is this my fault!?”

“It’s my birthday George!” Came the response in a mocking imitation of the Brit’s accent. “Just close for inventory George! It’ll be fun George!” 

“Well excuse me for trying to enjoy a nice beach day!” Bess shot back. “How was I supposed to know we’d be attacked by that kelkey-whatever??”

“Kelpie.” Nick corrected, stopping the bickering for a moment while all three turned their attention towards the redhead kneeling in the sand and frantically running her hands over a soaking wet and slightly dazed Ace. “That’s what you called it, right?”

The second Nancy realized she was being addressed, her hands dropped from Ace’s body like they had been burned. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, a kelpie. They’re Scottish horse spirits that drag their victims underwater and devour them. That silver necklace Bess had was its bridle, and -” she paused, looking around to see the others staring blankly at her. 

“Sorry.” Her voice sounded almost sheepish. “I volunteer over at the historical society a lot, and there’s some…interesting stuff in their archives.” Another moment passed. No one’s expression changed.

“…Anyway the bridle can be used to control it, so I think it attacked you to try and get it back. And since you didn’t know what it was, it just seemed easier to grab it and toss it then try and explain why it was making the giant horse spirit angry.” She finished with a weak grin, as if she’d been explaining the weather and not the most terrifying thing most of them had ever seen. 

No one spoke for a while longer, and then Bess’s quiet  “Oh.” broke the silence. “Well…okay. For a second I thought you just really didn’t like my necklace.” 

The tension broken, the others looked at her with varying levels of amusement before she let out a gasp and turned to address Nancy directly. “Wait my cousin Cassidy gave me that last night! You don’t think…”

“I don’t think she knew what it was.” Nancy replied with an almost fond smile. “When the historical society got the request to put the necklace in one its deposit boxes, the record just said it was a Marvin family heirloom; brought over aboard the Governance.”

“And the kelpie followed it all the way here?” Nick asked, eying Nancy sideways as he tried to shake water out of his ear.

She shrugged. “There are some records that say kelpies are bound to follow their bridles, wherever they go. They can’t leave the water though, so it could have gotten into the bay and then…gotten lost, I guess.” Bess was already nodding along as if everything Nancy was saying made perfect sense. “We didn’t realize the necklace was anything out of the ordinary until Cassidy came to request it and Hannah thought she recognized it from her research.”

“Well good thing she did, or this might’ve been Bess’s last birthday.” George smirked. “Never thought I’d say this,” she continued, ignoring her friend’s offended huff and turning towards Nancy, “but I’m glad you were around, Hudson.”

“Thanks.” Nancy sounded like she wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered or insulted by the statement. “I was looking for you guys, actually. When we realized what the necklace was, we called Cassidy and she said she’d given it to you for your birthday, and since you were coming to the beach Hannah and I were worried that getting it too close to the water might -”

“Wait, how did you know we’d be at the beach?” Bess interrupted.

Nancy stilled, her eyes darting over to a still-groggy Ace then back to the others so quickly that they might have missed it had they not been watching her so closely. “I must have overheard it the last time I was at the Claw.” Her voice was measured; almost deliberately calm. “When it’s slow there your voices tend to carry.” 

Bess and Nick gave each other an uneasy sidelong glance at Nancy’s implication, while George’s expression grew into something approaching begrudging respect. “Anyway,” Nancy stood, brushing sand off her pants and looking anywhere but in Ace’s direction, “I should get back to Hannah and let her know everything’s okay. See you around.”

She turned and started heading towards the parking lot, and Ace watched with worried eyes as his friends had a rapid fire non-verbal conversation. Bess nodded towards Nick, who responded with a shrug. They both looked over at Ace with small smiles, then turned to George; Nick with one eyebrow raised in question and Bess with what could only be described as puppy dog eyes. George glanced at Ace before letting out a labored sigh and rolling her eyes as she called down the beach: “Hey Hudson!” 

Nancy turned, hands twisting in the strap of the messenger bag. “You wanna meet us at the Claw after we get cleaned up?” George asked. “We’re closed for inventory - it’d be a good place to talk about all…this.” (Bess cleared her throat pointedly.) “And we have cake for Bess’s birthday.”

The smile that bloomed on Nancy’s face was beaming, even at a distance. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

                                 ______

It had been three weeks since the kelpie incident, and for all intents and purposes, Nancy had settled in as the fifth member of their little group. She and Bess had gotten along almost immediately, despite some awkward encounters when they had run into family while together. 

Nick had warmed to her considerably once she started helping him with his plans for a youth center in town. (It certainly hadn’t hurt that she’d ‘misplaced’ her grandfather’s application for the building on Spring St. until Nick’s bid had already closed). 

And while George and Nancy bickered almost constantly, they (usually) did it with smiles on their faces. If asked, they might not call each other ‘friends’, but they were definitely heading in a good direction. 

The first Friday afternoon of July found them sprawled out across the dining table of Nick’s loft, brainstorming ideas for that year’s ‘Still Summer at the Bayside Claw’ event. (Or rather found most of them. Truth be told, Bess’s focus might have been more on her online shopping.) They’d been working for an hour or so when a noise like the rapid honking of a clown nose suddenly interrupted the conversation.

“Shit,” Ace muttered, grabbing his phone and snoozing the alarm, “I’m going to be late for Shabbat.” He gathered his things in a rush, exchanged a quick “Bye” and kiss with Nancy, then froze. 

His eyes moved rapidly between the others - Nancy’s wide-eyed panic; George’s look of shock and disgust; Nick’s eyebrows shooting up his forehead; Bess’s almost giddy expression - before seeming to make a decision.

“Uh…Nick,” he croaked out before anyone could react any further, making his way over to where his friend was sitting with an air of forced normalcy and kissing him like it was something he did every day. “thank you for having me.”

“See you tomorrow, Bess.” He continued, leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek, causing a giggle to escape her barely-maintained composure.

He turned towards the other end of the table, eying George the way an antelope might eye a lion. “George -”  

“Don’t even think about it.” She cut him off with a glare.

“Right. ‘Course.” He glanced around the room one last time as he backed towards the door, eyes skipping over Nancy as if he was afraid of what his expression might reveal if he focused at all on her. “Um, have a good night everyone.” And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him as his rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway.

A minute passed in complete silence, then another. 

Nick looked absolutely mystified, his fingers stuck halfway to his lips like he couldn’t quite comprehend what had just happened. George’s grimace was slowly turning into an amused smirk, and Bess looked seconds away from breaking into complete hysterics.

Another minute passed before Nancy, staring at the table with a face almost as red as her hair, broke the silence. “So…how long have you guys known?”

“Since before the kelpie incident.” George answered bluntly, while Nick shook off his daze and turned his attention towards Nancy and Bess took a calming breath and tried to bite back her laughter.

“Oh.” 

Nancy’s eyes darted between the table and the door as if trying to decide if it would be worse to try and explain herself or just cut her losses and run. “Ok, well, we were going to tell you, we just -”

“You can relax Nancy.” Nick cut in, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch, but finally turned to see an understanding smile on his face. “You wouldn’t be here right now if any of us still had a problem with you.”

Bess nodded rapidly, reaching across the table to cover one of Nancy’s hands with her own. “You make Ace happy, and that’s what really matters to us."

A wobbly smile began to grow on Nancy’s face, before she blinked and turned towards George with apprehension and a bit of challenge in her eyes. 

George’s expression stayed firm until Nick cleared his throat and gave her a pointed look. She sighed and rolled her eyes, but the grin she gave Nancy was genuine.“Plus I guess you’re not horrible.”

That pulled a laugh from Nancy, even as she blinked back touched tears she knew George would make fun of. “Thanks guys. I really appreciate that.”

(To say Ace was confused when she walked into the Claw the next morning and kissed him in the middle of the dining room would be an understatement, but he definitely wasn’t complaining.)

[nerdyfangirl67]

Forget About Me - NCIS Reader Insert

Pairing: McGee x fem!reader/mom!reader, Gibbs x reader (platonic/fatherly relationship)

Warnings: anxious reader, child lost and scared, fluff ending

Word count: 2k

Request: @gibbsandpridegirl​

“I was thinking that McGee and reader find out their expecting a baby, and Anastasia finds out and runs away, because she’s scared that Tim and reader won’t want her anymore, and Anastasia gets lost and is all alone, and Tim is in full panic mode, and Gibbs won’t rest until he finds Anastasia, and Gibbs finds her, but she refuses to go home, and clings to Gibbs”

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long @gibbsandpridegirl​ ! I changed it a bit, so I hope you don’t mind and I hope you love it! This is another part of my one-shots with Mcgee x reader with an OC child. 

Thanks so much for the request darling! (Also, I chose this picture because I thought it was cute, but you imagine Anastasia anyway you want to.)

You stare at the pregnancy test in your hands, shock rushing through you at the positive result. Despite your suspicions (your period had been late and you had put on a few pounds despite Tim dragging you to early morning defense classes), you hadn’t expected the pregnancy test to come back positive. You lean back against the bathroom countertop, a hundred different thoughts running through your head, the predominant one being that of how you would tell Tim and Anastasia. When you had married Tim, you hadn’t expected that you would have children anytime soon, at least not within the first few years of your marriage. And yet here you were, within the first two years, with one pre-teen and a baby on the way.

You stand up and hazily walk downstairs, the forgotten test still in your hand as you sit at the kitchen table. You stay that way, blankly staring at grain in the wood of the table until Anastasia walks through the door, followed shortly by Tim. Anastasia comes up and gives you a hug, which you distractedly return as your eyes meet Tim’s. He must have seen the bewildered look on your face because you see him catch Anastasia’s attention and quickly sign something to her. She responds just as rapidly before stomping her way upstairs.

“Ugh, one moody kid is enough.” You murmur as you rest your head against the kitchen table, a wave of nausea abruptly washing over you. You feel a hand come to rest on your upper back, the chair next to yours scraping against the ground as it is pulled away from the table. 

“Y/N?” Tim’s voice is gentle as he starts massaging the tension away in your muscles with the hand he has on your back. 

You wordlessly slide the pregnancy test out from under your arms and over to Tim’s other hand, which was resting lightly on the table. You don’t lift your head, fearing any look of disappointment or regret that might come across his face. Instead, a gentle finger lifts your chin until your eyes meet his soft green ones, which are sparkling with excitement.

“You’re pregnant?” His voice betrays his unbridled joy, barely restrained beneath the surface.

Seeing his reaction brings a smile to your face as you nod. His arms are suddenly sweeping you out of your chair and almost into his as he pulls you in for a tight hug. The hug only lasts a moment though before Tim is quickly standing up and, far more gently, letting you go. “Sorry Y/N. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asks in a frazzled manner as he closely looks you over. His hands float over you, lingering around your hips and abdomen, as if to assess the damage he may have caused by hugging you.

“Tim. I am not made of glass. You can still hug me.” You say, a firm undertone carrying your words. Tim gives you a sheepish smile before looping his arms back around you. You bring your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his collarbone as you rest your head on his chest. The two of you stay that way for a while, before Tim moves back enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“We’re going to have a baby. A little baby McGee.” He whispers, his excitement reflecting in his green eyes. 

You smile softly at his phrasing. “Maybe we should call him Tony, Tony McGee.” You joke lightly, a laugh bubbling up in your chest at Tim’s horrified expression. “I’m joking Tim.” You step back enough to press a soft kiss on his lips. 

“We should tell Anastasia. She’s going to be a big sister after all.” You say, taking his hand in yours as you move towards the steps. Tim is quick to place a balancing hand on your lower back as you walk up the stairs, making you wonder just how cautious and protective he would be when you were heavily pregnant.

You reach Anastasia’s room, the first door on the left at the top of the stairs, but find it empty. You look at Tim, a curious expression on your face before you walk to the bathroom. You find it empty, a feeling of fear seizing your heart as you do. You roughly push past Tim, rushing to check the spare bedroom, as well as the master bedroom.

“Anastasia!” You call, despite knowing that she can’t hear you. You barely wait to listen for her reply before you are calling her again. After not finding her in the master bedroom, you frantically start looking through the upstairs rooms again before scrambling down the stairs and to the rooms on the main floor. Each empty room leaves you feeling a little more hopeless. 

Tim finally stops you, with a firm set of hands on your shoulders, when you start to head outside to look for her. “Y/N,” he starts as you desperately try to get out of his grip to continue looking for her. “I need to find her Tim. I need to find her.” You say, tears distorting your vision as the fight leaves you. “I need-I need...” You taper off as it becomes harder to talk through the tears. 

Tim pulls you in close, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “I called Gibbs and he’ll be here soon with Tony.” You press your face into his chest, allowing his familiar scent to comfort you. The two of you hold onto each other for a while before Tim leads you to the kitchen table, helping you sit. You sit stiffly in the hard chair, staring at the wood grain of the table top as Tim putters around in the kitchen behind you. 

Tim slides a plate with your favorite snack in front of you on the table, snapping you out of your trance. “You need to eat Y/N.” He says quietly, sitting down next to you as you shake your head at him. “I can’t Tim, not when she’s out there, scared and alone.” You whisper, blinking away the tears as you look at him. He leans in close, wiping away a tear falling down your cheek as he leans his forehead against yours. He places a soft hand on your cheek, pulling you in closer to press his lips against yours. The kiss is comforting and reassuring, not meant to be seductive but to serve as a reminder that he was there for you.

Just as the two of you break away from each other, a loud knock sounds on the door. You scramble up from your chair, moving quickly to the door. Swinging it open, you find Gibbs and Tony standing on your doorstep. One look at Gibbs’ all knowing, ice blue eyes and you feel the tears coming back. As he steps inside, you impulsively hug him, needing to feel a kind of comfort you only ever felt around him. He squeezes you tightly as he whispers, “We’ll find her Y/N.”

After twenty minutes of going over the night’s events, in which you quietly admit that you had discovered you were pregnant only a few hours earlier (to which you are greeted with awkward congratulations, considering the circumstances), the four of you decide to split up and search for Anastasia. 

Gibbs POV:

Gibbs was tasked with searching your neighborhood’s park and the surrounding area. The park was less than ten blocks from your house, so he decided to walk. He kept a brisk pace, looking for her among the darkening features of the quiet suburban street and scanning for any possible signs of struggle on the way. By the time he reached the park, his outlook had diminished and his fear of a possible negative outlook had increased. His initial scan of the playground equipment and the outdoor pavilion does not uncover anything, which doesn’t help his current feelings. He still does a thorough search of the equipment, his hope waning by the time he reached the old wooden castle shaped play structure. A soft whimpering sound catches his attention and he follows it. 

Huddled in the small space at the top of the structure is Anastasia, her legs drawn in close as she rests her head on her knees, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. Gibbs knows she can’t see him, nor could she hear him, so he takes heavy steps, hoping she feels the vibrations of his footsteps, as he climbs the playground equipment. She lifts her head and he can barely make out the terrified expression on her face due to the growing darkness, which is only broken up by the low glow of the park’s floodlights. 

“Poppa!” Anastasia’s garbled cry comes as she stands up and runs to him, throwing her small arms around him in a hug. He returns the hug, a profound feeling of relief flooding over him as he did. He holds her for a few moments before pulling back. 

‘Your mom is worried sick Anastasia.’ He signs slowly, making sure she can see his hands properly as he does.

Anastasia shakes her head violently, backing away from him at the same time. ‘No, no. I’m not going back.’ Her signing is rapid and choppy, almost to the point where he misses what she was saying.

He gives her a quizzical look before asking her, ‘Why don’t you want to go home Anastasia?’ She starts to sign quickly again, her movements jagged as she wipes tears away from her face at the same time. He places a hand over both of hers, waiting for her to look at him before he signs ‘Slowly.’ 

She takes a deep breath before starting again, much slower this time. ‘Momma and Papa are going to have a baby. They won’t want me anymore.’

Gibbs pulls her in for another hug, holding her close for a moment before moving back. ‘Anastasia, they are worried about you because they love you and will always want you. You are their child just as this baby will be.’ He signs.

Still Anastasia shakes her head. ‘I want to be with you Poppa. Please?’ Her signing is slow, yet still shaky as new tears form in her eyes. Gibbs wipes away a stray tear before pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

‘Anastasia, you can always stay with me, but you belong with your mom and dad. They love you just as much as I do.’ He stops a moment, taking her in before continuing. ‘If you ever need me, I’m only a call away and I will always let you stay with me, okay?’ She nods, taking the hand he offers her. Gibbs shoots you and Tim a text, saying he had found Anastasia and that the two of you were on the way back to the house. The walk back to the house goes by quickly, Anastasia clinging to his hand the entire walk back.  

Your POV: 

You hear the door opening and you rush to the foyer, your eyes searching frantically for Anastasia until they land on her. You pull her in for a tight hug, warm tears of relief rolling down your face. You trace the words ‘I love you’ on her back as you hold her close. Anastasia is stiff in your grasp for a moment before she returns the hug, saying “Momma” as she does. 

You pull back, sniffling out “Anastasia?” as you look at her. It was the first time you had heard her say the words and a feeling of joy courses through you.

You quickly sign in response. ‘Thank you Anastasia. It means so much to hear you say that. I love you so much.’ Anastasia lets out a small smile just as Tim comes around the corner. You take his hand, pulling him and Anastasia in close for a group hug. Even after the scare with Anastasia, you couldn’t feel happier. You had everything you needed with your family safe in your arms. 

[writingsbychlo]

gingerbread spice latté | stuart twombly

word count; 7629

summary; stuart is counting on a little bit of a festive miracle to get what he really wants for christmas.

notes; none, really. nothing to say here.

warnings; none. not a one.

If there was anything that Stuart hated, it was the chalkboards outside of the little coffee shop that he called his place of work. He hated the way the signs always seemed to look sloppy when he did them, and he hated balancing on a ladder - especially in the snow - and he particularly hated the way the chalk marks seemed to get everywhere, all over his clothes in stains and on his face, and drying out his fingertips and the feel of it on his skin. He had a lot of negative feelings about chalkboards, so, yeah, he definitely hated decorating the chalkboards.

If there was anything that Stuart loved, though, it was you. He was completely and utterly infatuated with you, he couldn't help it, not when you looked so insanely adorable as you scowled at a pile of knotted Christmas lights in your hands, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the counter. He’d helped you drag the tree you’d delivered three days ago into the back corner earlier, stabbing himself on a pine needle and almost choking on his breath when you’d rubbed your thumb over the spot on his index finger while cradling his hand to make it better.

The thing was, you’d been his best and closest work colleague for three years now, he’d formed a little crush on you from the very second that you had walked in two summers ago spelling like coconuts and mangos, and ordered an iced tea, before noting the ‘help wanted’ sign pinned up behind him, and pulled a CV out of your purse with an excited grin. You’d been all but hired form the moment you’d shaken hands with the boss, the interview being a formality, and just a week later, you’d been putting on the navy blue apron with the company logo stitched onto it and joining him behind the counter.

He’d kept it in control until now, because up until a month ago, you’d been in a relationship, a long-term one, and he'd been able to find a clear line and he had a great ability not to cross it. You didn’t stay late after the close-up shifts to have a drink with him, and he didn’t tempt himself into growing closer to you by talking to you outside of work. You were just the cute barista he saw four times a week. But, then you’d been single, and you’d started staying behind after work to have a coffee with him, and let him walk you home as it grew darker into the winter, and you’d even started messaging him outside of work. ‘Friending’ one another on Facebook had led to chatting, which was exchanging numbers, and then there were the times you were bored, or he was, and you’d spend hours on the phone just talking.

Since then, he’d been in deep. That was exactly how he found himself in his current situation, watching as you mumbled to yourself and huffed as you undid the lights, looping them in untangled trails around yourself as you went. Maybe he leaned a little too far to see you, maybe he just wanted to get a better look at your face as you sat illuminated by the fairy lights you’d already strung up along the counter that made you glow like an angel, because one moment he’d been writing ‘Christmas Specials - only $4’ on the sign over the door and watching you wistfully, and then next he’d been tumbling unsteadily on the ladder and landing on the snow, head cracking against the concrete as he groaned, thankful for the layer of icy flakes that had cushioned his fall somewhat, even if he had hit the ground hard enough that his vision had gone black for a second, and was still spotting slightly.

His head was spinning, and the second it cleared, you were leaning over him, wide eyes and distressed expression on your face as you knelt beside him, and despite having the breath punched from his lungs with the fall, he was now breathless for an entirely new reason. Heat rose to his cheeks, enough to melt the snow that was landing on his face as he tried to sit up, feeling your fingers snake around to cup the back of his head as you helped him up, shuffling back to sit on your legs as you contained to kneel beside him.

“Oh my God, Stu!” Warm breath was coming out in pants in the cold afternoon air, and his embarrassment only increased. “Are you okay?”

He groaned again, the pain of a nod making him wince, and he paused for a second to clear it, feeling the throbbing pain in the back of his skull getting worse. Your fingers were still within his dark tresses, tracing lightly over his scalp, and he hissed under his breath as the tips brushed across the sore spot on his head. “‘M going to be fine. I promise.”

“That is gonna’ leave a nasty bump. The one day you don’t wear your beanie is the day you could’ve used your extra head protection.” He couldn't help by laugh at your words, hating the way a spike of pain shot along his spine from his skull as he did.

“I know, I know.”

“How’d it happen?” You were staring at him instantly now, your hand slipping down from his head to sit on his shoulder, your thumb brushing against his neck each time you moved it, and he wasn’t sure if you even knew what you were doing, but you made his mind stutter to a complete halt, blank of any coherent thought as he stared at you.

“Just, uh, distracted. Slipped, I guess. Icy.” He gestured a hand around himself vaguely, hating the way he couldn’t even form real sentences, and you smirked at him, nodding your head.

“Yeah, icy.” You were teasing him, he knew you were, but he couldn't even be mad in the same way he’d be mad at someone else, because as you smiled at him, a glint in your eye and a sweet looking taunt that made him weak, all for him, he just shrugged, grinning back at you. You stood up, hands shaking a little as you brush the tip of your nose, rubbing it to bring heat back to your face as you began to chill, and when you brought it to his attention, he realised just how cold it was, sitting in the mounds of snow. You brushed yourself off, wet marks along your legs from where you’d been perched in the ice, and held your hands out to him. “Let’s get you up and inside. C’mon.”

He didn’t hesitate, hands slipping into your own, and he held on tightly, letting you pull him to his feet before he was brushing himself down of the ice and following you into the building, the bell above the door chiming as the two of you entered, warmth encasing him as he did, and a tingling spread along his skin. The smell of freshly ground coffee, and all the different sweet and spiced syrups that had been bought in to match the drinks, as well as the slightly sweet smell of herbal teas in the background.

You led him through to the back, sitting him down on the boxes that had yet to be unpacked, and he popped the buttons on the front of his coat, pushing it down his shoulders as he watched you disappear. When you came back, you had a towel wrapped around a clump of ice, scooped fresh from the ice machine for frozen coffees and teas, and he reached his hand out for it, before you bypassed him. Instead of stopping before him and handing it over, you stepped up between his parted legs, bring a hand around to the back of his head to press it to the sore spot gently, and while it hurt for a split second, it felt like the patch was on fire, and he was relieved at the cooling pressure, letting out a deep sigh.

He fell forwards, he couldn't help it, forehead pressed to the soft flesh of your stomach through your jumper, and you chuckled, his head bobbing a little as you did, before your other hand was coming up to play with his hair. It was slightly damp, he could tell from the way it stuck to your fingers, but he wasn’t all that surprised; actually, he wouldn't be surprised if he got a chill from going out to do the signs in the snow, but someone had to do it today, and he wasn’t going to let it be you.

He shifted, chin resting on your stomach instead, and you moved his hair away from his forehead, offering him a little smile as he stared up at you. “You’re looking at me from the worst possible angle.”

“You look great.”

“Uh-huh.” You rolled your eyes, and he snorted a little at the way your face screwed up.

“Like an angel.” This made you really laugh, deep and full-bodied, and he wrapped his hands around the backs of your legs. Large palms spreading out over the backs of your knees, pulling you a little closer and he didn’t miss the way your breath hitched and your eyes widened a little. He wasn’t blind, nor stupid, he was well-aware of the way things had been developing between the two of you, he knew you had some kind of feelings for him, he just didn’t know if you were ready for them, only a few months out of a relationship that had lasted years, and he was more than happy to wait for you if you weren’t. “A Christmas angel. My angel.”

“How hard did you hit your head again, Twombly?”

He rolled his eyes, it was his turn to laugh, but you didn’t back away from him, bringing your hand down to place the melting ice pack down on the side as he stood, towering over you now, hands sliding up from your thighs to your waist, a respectable place, no matter how much he wished it was a little lower, a grip just a little tighter, a little more intimate. “Not that hard, I swear. But, it doesn’t mean that it’s not how I feel. You really are an angel.”

Your own hands were on him now, too. Sitting lightly on his biceps, nails dragging against his skin lightly through the cotton of his shirt and he shuddered slightly under your grazes. He could smell the perfume you wore, a seasonal one, spices and berries that you swapped out with the seasons and he felt intoxicated by it already.

“A very pretty angel, might I add.”

“Yeah?” You grinned now, and he could taste the gingerbread-flavoured coffee on your breath still, the drink you’d been sipping on all day, a slow crowd and so you’d busied yourself with last-minute Christmas decorations. The snow had been a blessing, the cold weather and icy temperatures had ushered in large crowds who sought out hot drinks and winter aesthetics, and the two of you had barely any time to set up for the Christmas celebrations. Now, though, as the snow came down in thick storms from fluffy clouds, you had a day of quiet and calm.

He watched as you leaned in, the tip of your nose bumping his own, and he swallowed thickly, his nerves taking over, but he was quick to steady them, trying to soothe his racing heart. “The prettiest, sweetheart.”

Just as he’d garnered the bravery to close that gap, the ringing of the bell at the front door shocked through the air, a startling noise that clamoured in his ears and made you jump back with a little squeak. His eyes went wide, body stiffening and heat was crawling up his cheeks. The same look he was sure was reflected on his own face was present on yours; a little embarrassed, a little flustered, and totally caught off guard, before you were shrinking away from him, a sweet smile on your lips as your hands slid to find his, squeezing reassuringly.

“That’s a, uh, customer.”

You grinned, entertained by his awkwardness once again, and you picked the ice pack back up, pressing it into his hand as you nodded your head. “That it is. I got it, you put that pack back on. Hope we didn’t break that smarty-pants brain of yours.”

With that, you were stepping away from him, turning your back on him with a final cheeky smile, and disappearing out front. Your voice rang out a second later, followed by the fake-laughter he knew you offered up to those who made crappy jokes about he fun names of all of the coffees, before you wee switching on machines, the coffee-grinding drowning out your voice, and he sighed, unable to stop the smile taking place on his face as he shook his head to himself.

He waited a while longer, hearing the bell ding a handful more times, hearing your cheery voice greet them and take orders, before machines were whirring into life, dulling moments later to reveal the sound of the cash register dinging and then the bell was signalled again as they left. When the throbbing in his skull eventually gave in, and he was just left with a slightly sensitive patch on the back of his head that was raised up in a firm and angry bump he was sure would come to cause struggle later that night when he got in bed, he finally ventured back into the main shop again.

He searched for you, concern flicking over his features for only a second, before you were popping out from behind the Christmas tree, a box of ornaments under your hands, and he could see the fairy lights already strung within the branches, yet to be turned on at the socket. You caught his eye, a sweet smile pulling at your lips, before he took tentative steps over to you, holding his hands out to retrieve the cardboard box in your hands.

You let him have it, and he held it steadily for you, following you in circles around the tree until he was dizzy, but you were beginning to be happy with the placements of the colour scheme and the ornaments put up among the branches. It was domestic, far too domestic for his liking, and he couldn't help the way his mind wandered.

He was picturing you setting up a slightly smaller tree in the corner of his apartment, wearing one of his jumpers and a pair of leggings, the fluffy socks he got you as a gift every year, sipping eggnog and singing to Christmas music the way you did when the songs came on over the radio, interspersed with the regular hits that played on loop. He pictured getting to come up behind you, arms around your waist, kissing at your cheek until your face screwed up and you turned to kiss him properly. He was dreaming about Christmas day, not needing an excuse to kiss you, cold days where you’d snuggle up a little closer to him in bed, and on the couch, and getting to hold your hand when you wandered along in the snowy streets with him. He wanted to sip hot chocolate with you, and take you home to meet his parents and all of his siblings as his mom showed you baby photos from the albums, an-

“You remember our first Christmas?”

He snapped back out of his reverie, a blush crawling up his cheeks as you looked at him expectantly, and he wondered idly if you’d been talking this whole time and he’d just missed it all, but he only nodded, a smile taking place in his face as he thought about it. “Yeah, ‘course I do. How could I forget? It was a nightmare.”

He told no lie, it truly had been disastrous. It wasn’t the same kind of icy but dry chill that surrounded you both now, this year was a perfect white Christmas, just enough snow to keep everyone inside, three days of peaceful quiet as the flakes fell down from the sky. That had been a weirdly warm but snowy Christmas. The snow was melting when it hit the ground, muddy ice and slushy trails now that were slippy, the floors were constantly wet and needed to be mopped.

There had been angry customers, frustrated with the weather that snapped when the machines took too long to grind beans, or their order was a little off, or they just didn’t like the prices. The pair of you had been run off of your feet, absolutely exhausted by the end of it all, and more than happy to shut up shop at the end of the 23rd, not to return until the 27th.

“Last year wasn’t so bad.”

“Until I burned the gingerbread biscuits, and we had to call the fire department.” He felt his face screw up again as you laughed, souring as he remembered the burnt spice scent that had lingered around for almost a full week afterwards, and the way he was certain he was going to lose his job when the boss had found out, but he’d just about been spared, on a probationary period. Truly, he wouldn't have been all torn up about it if he’d lost the job, he could easily get another, but he would’ve been begrudging to lose out on all the time he got to spend with you.

“That was very funny. For me, anyway.” He stuck his tongue out childishly at your teasing, dropping the box in his arms down when the final decorations were up on the tree, and letting out a satisfied little sigh as the two of you looked up at your masterpiece. “Holy shit, it looks awesome. I should be a professional Christmas tree decorator. Is that a thing?”

“Probably. For, like, the really rich people who have those fancy trees that always just seem to show up in the living room in movies.” You grinned, shaking your head and gathering up all the boxes and storage, pushing it away towards the counter with your foot. “You’d have to make all your money at Christmas. Think you can fit in that many trees?”

“Nah. I’ll just do, like, three trees a day but charge a grand each time. That’s how good my tree decorating skills are.”

“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms, watching as you found the right plug, flicking on the socket as you scoffed.

“What, you don't think my tree-skills are that good?” He shrugged, and you raised your brows, plugging the device in, lowering the lighting of the room a little bit with the switch on the wall, and admiring the glow of the lights as they all came to life. He had to admit, it was stunning. Warm lights were reflecting from gold and silver decorations, the star at the top seeming like it was haloed by the light below, and it brought every other decoration in the little shop together. “How about now?”

You came back over, standing beside him, lifting his arm for you to tuck yourself under, and he chuckled at the action, fingers running gently along your arm as you settled yourself into his side, trying to steady his racing heart as he did. “Okay, fair enough. This would look epic on your tree portfolio.”

“I knew it.”

He only rolled his eyes, leaving the conversation at that, tipping his head to the side a little to rest his cheek atop the crown of your head. Maybe it wasn’t the way he'd daydreamed it, but he was happy to wait until that time came around. You stood there for a while, just like that, and he was more than happy to, just holding you, and letting your fingers play with the front of his jumper, tangling lightly and brushing hard enough that he could feel it all the way through to his skin.

“Been a good two hours since we had any customers, y’know.” He startled a little, the silence broken, and he looked over to the clock, noting you were right, having become distracted with your tree decorating and reminiscing, and the light outside was beginning to fade away.

“I think, if we closed up a little early, nobody would mind.”

You turned, a little glint in your eyes as you looked at him, raising a hand to pat at his cheek with a smirk, and he slapped your hand away. “I like the way you think, Twombly.”

He followed you as you went, the two of you more than used to the routine you’d got through as you began the closedown of the little coffee shop. He was on trash and machine duty, he’d empty all the filters and change all the bins and shut everything down after setting it off on its cleaning cycles. You went through the fridges, making sure every bottle was closed and counted, writing up the stock sheets, and going upstairs to the storage rooms to get more of anything you’d run out of during the day, before wiping down all of the tables.

Just like that, the two of you were off. Working in a perfect harmony with one another, humming along to Christmas music as you worked. You disappeared for a little while, and he was left alone, beginning to get everything finished, and stacking up the various trash bags in the corner, all but one machine now on their cleaning cycle, sterile tablets put into each to make sure they were thoroughly disinfected, and he couldn't help but notice how good the tree the pair of you had set up actually looked as the light began to fade. Only ten minutes until the actual closing time of the shop, and if there was one huge benefit to the winter, it was that people never came out as late.

Summer brought groups of teens who were too young to drink coming to the coffee shop to meet up, drinking iced teas and thinking they ruled the world, and he hated the backchat he got whenever he had to kick them out at closing time in order to be able to gather up the fold-away chairs that lay outside. In the winter, they didn't even bother putting those chairs out. Placing two of the tallest mugs under the spouts of the final remaining machine, he set it off, a generous dash of gingerbread syrup in the bottom of one. He made a jug of hot milk, foaming at the top, and watching as they began to fill up, hearing the creaks of the floorboards over his head as you moved around the stock room and gathered what you needed.

Only moments later, you were making your way down the stairs, uneven steps, before backing your way into the room and huffing, placing the full crate down onto the counter and blowing a piece of air back and out of your face.

“Can we make a deal?”

“Depends on the deal.” He smirked at the way your face hardened a little, even though both of you already knew that he would say ‘yes’, for you.

“Will you put away the last boxes of unused Christmas things if I take out the trash bags instead?” He sighed, seeming to contemplate it, before giving you a cheeky grin, and nodding his head.

“Well, I suppose so.”

You beamed, leaning up to brush a kiss to his cheek as you passed him by, before you were moving away towards the backdoor to find the trash, and he went back to the task he was doing. He swirled in the milk, artfully making sure there was a layer of foam at the top as the coffee poured in, the perfect mix reaching up to the top of each mug, right to the rim, and he placed them both further away on the counter. Leaving them to cool, he did as you’d asked, carrying the boxes up the stairs two at a time, shivering a little at the backdoor that was popped open, and deep down, he was glad he didn’t have to do the task, the industrial waste bins being all the way at the opposite end of the pathway, and there was at last three trips worth of bags there.

It was still snowing, a few flakes gathering in the doorway and melting as they touched the floor, and Stuart made a mental note to heat up some heating pads and put them into his bed before getting ready to sleep tonight, so his covers would be nice and warm when he got into them later tonight. He still had time, and so he put away the box of stock you’d brought down, returning the box to the stockroom and jogging back down. There were no more bags, he knew you must be on your way back by now, and so the timing was perfect, both of you finishing up your set of tasks in correlation.

Using the shape stencil for the chocolate powders, he placed one over the top of your drink, sprinkling the dust across the top until a layer was made, a brown heart sitting prominently on the top of the foamy surface, and he pushed it over to one side of the counter, dusting his own with cinnamon, and taking a seat on the opposite side of the bar, blowing gently on the surface of the drink.

He heard the drag of the metal, the chill being shut out as you closed the door and the sound of locks bolting, before making your way through to meet him. There was snow in your hair that you were trying to shake loose, and goosebumps raised along your skin, and you let out a little huff as you sat opposite him, hands wrapping around your mug for warmth, and he raised his brows, taking a sip of his drink as he stared at you.

“It’s cold as fuck out there.” You smiled a little at the gesture on top, the shape in the foam, offering him an endearing smile, before running a wooden stirrer through it to mix it all up.

“You didn’t think to wear your coat?”

“Didn’t think it was that cold, and by the time I was halfway through, I just wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.” You shrugged casually, and he studied you for a moment, before feeling the wicked grin that was cracking across his cheeks.

“You didn’t bring one, did you?”

You paused for a second, before shaking your head with a sigh, and he cheered internally at being right. “I hate that you can read me so well, Twombly. But, no. I didn’t bring a jumper, and I didn’t want to put on my coat because then it would be wet and cold for the walk home.”

He disappeared for only a second, bringing his hoodie back through in his hands, and holding the top of it up for you. You pushed your head through the gap, arms following, and he pulled it down your torso as you cozied into it, before he was sitting down once again, and enjoying the appreciative little noise you left out as the warmth of the oversized hoodie embraced you.

“You are a gift from God himself. You make me my favourite hot drinks, and you keep me warm so I don’t get a chill. Whatever would I do without you, huh, Stu?”

He scrunched up his nose at the nickname, hating the word himself, but loving the way it sounded when you said it, and so he settled for tolerating it in silence, a single shoulder raising and falling in a weak attempt to brush off the gestures, in hopes you wouldn't look too far into them. “Speaking of gifts, check the front pocket.”

He nodded his head to the garment now hanging on your frame, and your jaw dropped, excitement flashing across your features and he sipped his drink to hide his grin, watching as you dug both hands into the pockets, pulling out a small and neatly wrapped box that he’d had ready to give to you for two weeks now.

You placed it down on the tabletop before you, eyeing it for a second before giving in to your curiosity and running a nail underneath the seal of the wrapping. It popped open, and you undid it carefully, before pulling out the box from within. Undoing the latch and pushing it open delicately, there was a little gasp on your lips as you took in the design inside, eyes flicking up to him for a second, and there was something considerably softer and warmer evident in your eyes than had been there before.

“Stuart, this is so pretty.” You ran the pad of a single finger across it, admiring the gem within, before pulling it out slowly by its string. A beautiful charm, silver chain that was shining, a new clasp put on, holding a beautiful charm along it; your birthday stone. “Can you put it on for me?”

He was on his feet in an instant, making his way over to you and standing behind you, taking it from your hands and letting you sweep your hair out of the way before he was fastening it around your neck, and letting you admire it on yourself. “I saw it a few weeks ago, in that little vintage charity shop type store down the road, the one you love, and I just knew you’d like it.”

“Correction, I love it.” He beamed, daring to reach a hand out across the table towards you, and you spread your fingers wide for him, enough for him to slip his own digits with yours, holding onto you as your joint hands sat atop the counter. “I got you something too.”

“Well, can I have it?”

“Uh, not quite. Well, not until next summer.” He snorted a laugh, using his free hand to take a sip of his drink. “And, it’s not really something you open, it’s more just something you do.”

“Is it something we can do together?”

“No.” You hummed, squeezing his hand a little at the confusion that flittered across his features. “You know, you’re meant for more than this coffeeshop, Stu. You’re so smart, and so good with all your computers and your tech, and I know you want more.”

“Uh-huh..”

He was confused, he had no idea where you were taking this, and his eyes narrowed apprehensively as he tried to work out where you were going with it all, and what it could possibly have to do with his Christmas present. “You always say you want to go for some amazing opportunities, but don’t think you’re good enough. But, I know you are. So, I may or may not have signed you up to a few things.”

“I feel like this is leading to something weird, like, a tantric sex course, or something.”

You gave him a disbelieving look, a low chuckle emitted from you, before you were shaking your head. “No, not tantric sex. Unless they do that at Google, I’m not sure.”

“Google?”

“Yeah.” You played it off like it was no big deal, but his jaw dropped slightly, and you were staring into your mug with a little smile on your face. “They do this internship thing every year, as you know, since you told me about it, but you didn’t think you had what it takes. I sent in an application form for you, and did some emailing, and there’s a place available for you if you want it. Next summer, six weeks long, I think, but they provide everything. You don’t have to take it, you can turn it down, but I think it could be the beginning of an amazing future for you, Stuart.”

He didn’t know what to say, his eyes were burning slightly as tears formed, and he laughed breathlessly, ducking his head to try and blink them away, before he was taking his hand from your own to wipe at his eyes. His head shook with disbelief, and he felt his entire body deflate with the contented sigh that he let out. “They really accepted me?”

“They did! I’ve been telling you for years how good you are, Stuart, you just have to believe it.”

“You’re the most incredible woman I have ever met.” He looked back up to you now, a look he couldn't quite decipher flashing over your features, before your head was ducking as you nibbled on your lower lip, embarrassment taking place. “Nobody has ever done anything like that for me before.”

“You deserve it.”

“Maybe, but I don’t deserve you.”

Your lips pursed, head shaking vehemently as you wrapped both hands around the one of his that you were holding. “You deserve everything good in the world, Stuart Twombly. I promise you that.”

Stuart was pretty sure that he had never wanted to kiss you more than he wanted to kiss you right now, but before he could work up the nerve, you were standing up, bringing yourself off a little, and taking the box of his gift and placing it back in your pocket. Throwing away the wrapping paper, you made it to his side, arms wrapping around his middle as your hands smoothed over his back, cheek on his shoulder, and he could feel your short puffs of breath against his neck, and he didn’t hesitate for even a single second to wrap you up tightly in the returning of the hug.

You remained that way for a while, letting him trace his fingers up and down your spine, until you had decided that you’d had enough. He would never get tired of it though. The way you felt in his arms and the way you would cling to him in that unique way that you did, the smell of your varying body sprays and perfumes that changed with the seasons, and your heart thudding against his chest through your own, everything that made each hug one of his favourite moments.

“Do you want me to walk you home tonight?”

“I would love that, actually.” You pulled away from him then, and he regretted speaking, but you were giving him that smile that was reserved only to be shared between the two of you when you were alone, and he’d do anything to see it, to keep it on your face, and so he was willing to let the hug go. “Let me go grab about coats.”

He only nodded, draining away what was left of your drinks and leaving the mugs upside down on the counter beside the dishwasher, ready to be cleaned and restored to the shelves before opening time tomorrow. You were already wearing your coat when you returned, holding his out to him, and as soon as he took it, your hands were buried into your pockets. He fished out his keys, a hand on your lower back as he guided you towards the door, letting you turn off all the fairy lights and main lamps, the building closing down into darkness.

As the door was pulled open, cold air swept in, a groan on your lips as you exited into the icy chill, snow crunching under your feet as you went, leaving your marks in the pristine covering, shuddering a little as you did. He locked up, hearing you kicking at piles of snow absentmindedly behind him, before the building was all locked up and the shutters were pulled down, locking the building up tight to be protected for another night. Then, he was pulling up his hood, protecting himself against the cold weather, and falling into step beside you on the way he was accustomed to walking in the direction of your apartment.

You didn’t have a hood, and he patted down his pockets, finding the item he was looking for, and bringing it up to place on your head, hands smoothing over your hair as the garment was adjusted, before deciding he was happy with the way it looked.

“You had your beanie with you the whole time, today?”

“I always have my beanie with me.” He teased, reaching a hand into your pocket boldly, and lacing cold fingers with your warm ones, feeling you squeeze back and hold onto him tightly. His other hand was tucked into his own pocket, and he had to bite at the inside of his cheek just to be able to contain his smile.

“Well, why didn’t you wear it? You needed it, today of all days.” He huffed a little at your teasing, in reference to the fall he had taken hours ago.

“I don’t know, I just wanted to be different today, I guess.”

“Well, you don’t need to be different. I happen to adore you just the way you are.” He didn’t bother to reply, simply twisting his head to press a kiss to your temple, before a simple silence was taking up around you both. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to be in a comfortable kind of quiet, whether you were physically together or on the phone, or a video call, it was just a norm. Sometimes, when he had college work to do, he’d ring you, and let you go about everything you were doing at home, just to have some company. Sometimes, when your anxiety was getting the better of you and you’d feel a little overwhelmed, you’d call him, and he’d talk to you about anything and everything he could think of until you fell asleep, or felt better.

It was just the way the two of you operated, another way in which the pair of you created a perfect balance and harmony together.

It was a short walk, and only a few lights in your building were still lit up, but he knew that most of your neighbours were older couples, but that you’d chosen that purposefully, for a more peaceful place to live. When he reached the bottom of the steps you were cautious to stand in the spots where snow had been cleared and salt laid down, the centres of the steps, as you climbed up onto the first one. You were taller than him by a few inches now, and he was looking up at you, your hands moving to rest on his shoulders.

“Thanks for walking me, Stuart.” He could only nod, swallowing thickly, and trying to gain some confidence. Today had been the best day yet that the two of you had spent together, it had all been one, long, ‘moment’ between you both. Uninterrupted and without anything to shatter it, he’d loved every moment, and he didn’t want to let his chance slip away as a new day threatened to wipe the slate clean. “Out with it, Twombly. What’s going through that brilliant head of yours?”

“Just, that today was amazing. With you, it was incredible.”

“I had a great day too, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You squeezed his shoulders reassuringly, and he laughed lightly, watching as your eyes twinkled with your own amusement.

“I know, it’s just that I had such a good day I don’t want it to end. But, I never want days with you to end.” He could feel fear taking over, logic about knowing you must feel the same way flying out of the window, and he felt like a teenager again, trying to ask the popular girl to be his date to the latest school dance. “I felt like there was something special today, though. When you were looking after me after I bumped my head, before a customer came in.”

He took a deep breath, watching the way your lips flicked up at the sides, and he scowled a little, now knowing that you knew exactly what he was talking about, and forcing him to say it anyway.

“You know what I’m trying to say.”

“Maybe I do.” You teased, and he grumbled a little under his breath, but he could never really be angry with you for your teases, not when you looked so cute while doing so.

“I just think that me and you have something special, and I’d hate myself if I didn’t say anything when I had the chance, if some other schmuck came in and swept you up before I had the chance to tell you how I really f-” He was shocked, a gasp on his lips as he felt you push into him. Your hands had moved from his shoulders to rest lightly on his neck, heart racing under your palms and as he realised that you were kissing him, a soft moan bubbled up from within him.

When he finally managed to wrap his head around what was going on, he lifted one hand up to place over your cheek, pressing back into you enthusiastically, and the other settled on your waist. Underneath your coat, his fingers flexed against your waist, pulling you closer and letting you step back down to his height as your chest came flush up with his. It was slow, the drag of your lips over his, soft and short kisses that were pressed in between soft sighs and smiles, gasps for breath before you were diving into each other once again.

He let his tongue poke out, needing more from you as he found himself beginning to drown in the taste of your mouth, and the way it felt to finally indulge in what he’d been wanting for so long, and he needed more. He traced the seam of your lips, and you parted them for him almost instantly, dipping your own tongue out to play with his own, and it felt like an entirely new high. Dragging together, tangling, playing as you learned one another’s mouths, got to know each other in a whole new and more intimate way than ever before, and he was sure his head was spinning.

He needed breath, desperately, but he wasn’t ready to pull back just yet, and then you did, a whine sliding form him as he puckered his lips and chased after you in a way that he really should have been embarrassed about, but couldn't find it to do so. You had swollen and shining lips, hair slightly messy from the hand of his own that had slid into the locks, and you were flushed, panting a little for breath as you stared up at him through darkened but widened eyes.

“That might be the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

He grinned, dragging the tip of his nose against your own, and stealing a few more quick kisses from your lips, looking down at you once again as you found yourself standing on the ground alongside him. You were tugged into him close enough that he could feel your heart beating against his own, just as fast and unsteady, showing him that you felt the same way he did, and that he affected you just as you affected him.

“You taste like gingerbread.”

He smirked a little, something like a giggle and sigh leaving you as you nodded your head, shrugging slightly before running your hands back down his arms to take his hands in your own. With foreheads pressed together, you pecked his lips once more, and Stuart swore this was what heaven felt like. “Well, you did make me a gingerbread spiced coffee before we left the shop.”

“They are your favourite, you have a ton of them every winter, I knew you’d like one.”

“I didn’t know you noticed that.” You smiled, and he brushed a thumb over your cheek, tipping your head back to catch his eye.

“I’ve had a thing for you for quite a while, I just never knew what to do about it, and you were in a relationship, so I was left learning stupid little endearing facts about you.” He grinned, and you gasped, shoving him a little while never letting go of his hand.

“Stuart, I’ve been flirting with you constantly for like eight months. You never made a move!”

“I just made a move!”

You only laughed more, pursed lips as you stared at him. “Nope! Pretty sure I’m the one who kissed you, actually.”

He could only roll his eyes and smile, nodding his head and leaning back in. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He closed the gap, another sweet and tender kiss being shared between you both. Sensual and soft, he decided that if he could live in this exact moment forever, he’d be more than happy with that, kissing the Christmassy reminiscent taste from your lips as you held onto him so tightly.

When you finally pulled away, you were walking backwards up the steps, tugging him with you a little, and offering him a coy smirk. “Wanna’ come up for a Christmas spiced nightcap?”

He let out a loud laugh at that, louder than he should have when all the downstairs lights were turned off, but he couldn't help it, following you up the steps and weaving your fingers together properly. “Can’t imagine anything better.”

“I’ll tell you all about your internship when we get up there.” You were patting down your pockets, finding your keys and making sure to lock the main door building carefully behind yourself, and he trailed after you, as quietly as possible.

“I can’t wait.”

[beeexx]

Season 1 snippets from Ivan and Fedyor’s point of view. - Loving in a time of war.

Read here After the Fjerdans’ attack, for a moment the world lay completely still around them.

The peaceful moment is interrupted by Ivan’s own harsh breathing, the painful beating of his heart inside his ribcage bringing with it a sense of panic threatening to expand with each breath he takes. The fear comes unbidden, visceral and overpowering to his senses. He can only feel that for a moment, gripping his heart, worry seeping into his bones making him stumble.

But as soon as it’s come he forces himself to shake it off, training and experience taking over as he slows down his own heart to get his bearings back. The world clears around him and silence fills his ears as he calms. 

The silence around him doesn’t offer him any comfort though.

But with the stillness Ivan finds what he’s looking for easily enough, picks out his heartbeat among the other ones as soon as he’s calmed down enough to think. Fedyor’s standing by himself, a little away from everyone else, dusting off his kefta, trying to hide his shaking hands. Ivan doesn’t waste time frowning, he hurries towards him and Fedyor looks up before he’s made it all the way across. His mouth opens but Ivan cuts him off with an ice cold glare. 

“Do not say you are fine.” His words are harsh but his touch is gentle as he reaches for his husband and cups his face so he can take a better look. Fedyor doesn’t say anything, he lets himself be looked over without a word. Ivan gently traces patterns into his skin that’s covered in a thin sheet of sweat and dirt, his hair tousled from the fight. There is a smudge of mud across his cheek and a bruise is already forming underneath one of his eyes from the fall but his heart is beating steadily and Ivan exhales, finally feeling like himself again.

“I am alright.” Fedyor promises. His voice does not shake and if it were anyone else, well Ivan would barely spare them a second look, but he would have believed them. Fedyor is almost as good as Ivan is to mask his pain when he wants to, but only almost. They’ve been together long enough for Ivan to know he’s shaken up. Ivan doesn’t say anything, just moves one hand away from his face to gently wrap around his hand that’s still trembling slightly and angles his body so that no one can see. Something flickers across Fedyor’s face, fear, pain, before he closes his eyes and leans forward, resting his head on Ivan’s.

“You’re alright.” Ivan whispers back and Fedyor exhales. Their breathing syncs up like it does when they are close, his blood singing from the close contact to the other, and Ivan allows himself a moment of standing here, holding his husband in his arms.

He is a private guy by nature, but still deeply proud of his relationship with Fedyor, it’s the stares and looks they have always gotten that makes his skin crawl in discomfort which has contributed to why his walls are always up around others. So he tends to keep his more open and private side to when he is alone with Fedyor. But Fedyor needs this, hell Ivan needs this, to be close to him again, because while he is unfazed by little these days, a symptom of serving in the army for so long, he is fazed by Fedyor getting shot. They are both soldiers and it comes with risks and pain they have both accepted somewhat, and they might be wearing bulletproof keftas but seeing Fedyor hurt is not something he will ever get used to. 

Fedyor’s fingers have wrapped around Ivan’s wrist, feeling out the pulse just underneath. His hands have stopped shaking so Ivan dares to step away. Before he does he places a delicate kiss on Fedyor’s forehead. It makes Fedyor smile, it’s small but it’s genuine and some of the shadows hovering over his face grow smaller. 

“There you are.” But Ivan smiles, a little relieved too.

“Yes you are not getting rid of me this easily beloved.” 

“Good.” Ivan breaths harshly through his nose, can’t fully tamper down the relief and worry mixing together like a bad cocktail. Fedyor intertwines their hands placing a kiss on his palm as they join the others.

It makes Ivan smile.

…..

The ride back is long, the day spent in the war room of the Little Palace is longer. He had reluctantly parted with Fedyor hours ago, they were soldiers above all else and had different duties to attend to, as much as it sometimes weighed on Ivan he was here to serve. The meeting had dragged on and Ivan had concealed his wariness behind a scowl but even he couldn’t keep it up forever. 

It was well past midnight when he made it back to his and Fedyor’s quarters. The lights had been dimmed low, the corridor deserted. Ivan expects their room to be dark but is surprised to find the lights have been left on, casting the room in a dimly lit golden hue as he enters, making sure to close the door quietly behind him. He leaves his boots by the door, putting them down by Fedyor’s. He adjusts the left boot of Fedyor’s so it stands exactly right before he walks inside. He is dirty from the altercation in the woods and the riding but he’s itching a little desperately now to get into bed with Fedyor’s, almost willing to leave everything else for tomorrow. But he compromises by washing his hands and face, before he disposes of the kefta and undershirt he’s been wearing all day. Ivan fondly rolls his eyes when he spots Fedyor’s one laying across the back of a chair instead of on the hanger where they tend to keep them. He huffs but ignores it in favour of washing his arms and body hastily in the wash basin. He towels himself dry and then makes his way over to their four poster bed with fluffy pillows and mattress so soft even Ivan struggles to leave it in the morning. Being higher ups in the second army had its perks and weeks away sleeping in tents and on the road made him long for this bed more than he ever wanted to admit. It smells faintly of lavender, just like he’s remembered. Fedyor is asleep on his side, a pale shoulder dotted with freckles peeking out from underneath the duvet, one hand wrapped around Ivan’s pillow so tightly Ivan has to ply his fingers open to be able to get in beside him. Fedyor blinks his eyes open, confusing evident before they clear almost immediately and he smiles.

“Ivan.” 

“Yes, sorry the meeting dragged on.” He pushes the pillow against the bedpost before he slides in beside Fedyor who scoots closer immediately, hand landing on Ivan's heart to rest there.

“Yes I assumed. I was trying to stay awake but you were very late.” His mouth twitches and Ivan huffs. 

“How are you?” Ivan asks, gently cups his face and angles it a little towards the light.

“Why didn’t you go to a healer?” He frowns and spikes of anger push through to the surface as he spots the angry bruise still under his eyes. Fedyor’s eyes widen and he touches his face gingerly before he shrugs helplessly.

“I forgot.” 

It is very much a Fedyor thing to do, he cares too much about other people than what he does about himself sometimes and it gives Ivan headaches for days when it happens, but right now he’s too tired to argue about it so he huffs instead before he puts his fingertips against Fedyor’s warm skin and heals it himself. Fedyor smiles through it, his eyes twitching a little at the sensation before the skin is smooth and pale once again. 

“Much better.”

Fedyor rolls his eyes.

“It was just a bruise.”

“It was a reminder of something ugly.” Ivan says through gritted teeth and Fedyor’s eyes soften before he nods.

“I am okay.” He says again, like if he says it enough he will convince them both it’s true. Ivan can’t just quite figure out who he is trying to convince more.

“Fedyor-“

“How was the meeting?” 

Ivan moves onto his back, heaves out a sigh and shrugs. Fedyor watches intently on his side, fingers tracing gentle patterns across Ivan’s chest, probably trying to distract him from answering. 

“Long.” 

“Too long?”

Ivan nods. 

“The Fjerdans are growing bolder, it doesn’t bode well for the future.”

“But we have the sun summoner now.” 

There are many things Ivan could say to that, but he is so tired and there is a part of him that can’t bring himself to quench the light in Fedyor’s eyes. His husband is in now way naive or foolish, he’s seen enough bad things to last a lifetime, and yet he still smiles so effortlessly, still laughs like he will continue doing it for years to come, makes friends so easily it is ridiculous and loves freely and openly. He is hopeful in a world that is tarnished by wars and Ivan is not going to chide him for his optimism. He thought it was a weakness a long time ago, but he’s learnt it’s a strength, a strength so unwavering Ivan could never begin to compete with it. He gave up a long time ago.

So he smiles instead and nods, wanting to believe so easily like Fedyor does that Alina Starkov is the key to the future.

“We do.”

Fedyor huffs and rolls his eyes, gently swats Ivan, seeing through him immediately.

“Have a little faith love.”

“I have faith.” Ivan defends.

“You cannot lie to me you know.” Fedyor smirks and Ivan huffs, turns on his side so their noses are brushing against one another.

“I have faith in the things I can see, that I know to be real.” He begins and Fedyor’s smirk grows softer. “I have a lot of faith in you.” He says softly, bumping his nose against Fedyor’s who scrunches it up adorably. “I have faith that I am your husband, the way your heart beats like a beacon in a stormy sea and that tomorrow will come and you will complain that there is no honey to put in your porridge for breakfast like you do every other morning.” He teases and Fedyor laughs.

“You are a romantic beneath all that scowling.”

“Only for you my love.” Ivan kisses the promise of that onto Fedyor’s lips and he exhales against them, Fedyor’s hand coming to rest on the back of Ivan’s neck, to angle his head a little better. It grows heated too quickly and Fedyor chases after his lips when Ivan draws back. 

“I have faith that you are also predictable.” He teases and Fedyor rolls his eyes and flops down, cheeks red and heart thumping away, music to Ivan’s ears. 

“That is very rude of you.” Fedyor jokes and Ivan takes pity on him. He places a gentle kiss on his mouth and lingers a little longer than what he had planned.

“Tomorrow.” He promises. 

“Are you saying you’re getting too old for some late night fooling around?”

Ivan scoffs and Fedyor bursts out laughing at his affronted expression. 

“I was not saying any of that.”

“That was what I heard.”

“Then maybe I should take you to a healer to get your hearing checked out.” Ivan lifts an eyebrow and Fedyor chuckles. 

“My hearing is fine. Come on.” Fedyor shuffles and Ivan huffs at his impatientness before he moves the pillow more comfortably behind his head and lifts his arm up so Fedyor can get closer. His husband is predictable but Ivan will never tire of having him sleep on top of him, military tents often aren’t big enough for spooning, not even when you are the second to the General. Fedyor settles after a while, his hand coming back to rest on Ivan’s chest, tracing patterns and chuckling delightfully when goosebumps erupts across his skin. Ivan places a kiss on top of his brown mop of hair that smells like citrus and mint, like the bottle that stands near their bathtub, it smells like home to him. 

“Goodnight my love.” Fedyor whispers.

“Goodnight.” 

Ivan feels it when Fedyor dozes off, his fingers still their task slowly and that’s an indicator, but he feels it with how his heart slows down and how his body goes slack on top of his before puffs of air is softly breathed out on his skin in a steady rhythm. It takes Ivan some time to fall asleep, but he feels more sated than he has in weeks on the road. Their shared room has a special meaning to him, the place where he found love, so he breathes easier here than he does anywhere else because he feels safe. 

And he feels like he’s home.

[lurking96]

Chapter 320 or why it is better than thought but not great

As last time I talked about my opinion with chapter 319 this time I will talk about chapter 320. This is my opinion. I do not claim it to be the absolute undeniable truth. This piece might be seen as Anti Bakugou so again it is under the cut and the tags are added so they can be filtered out.

So how we ended the last chapter we start out in the rain again. We see Iidas more serious face and of course we see Bakugou who calls Izuku “drawn differently” that might even be some form of Meta joke on how Izuku looks well more “edgy” now than before. Also still calls him a nerd. We then have Izuku attempting to flee by using his new Smokescreen technique. Bakugou in turn uses a new technique of his to just blow it away. An explosion. Here now is my question How? How does Bakugou make an explosion that just doesnt add more smoke. I hope that gets explained or thats just another asspull on his account. A more important thing in that scene is that Bakugou calls him some OFA bigshot and that Izuku must see everyone just as NPCS. This is Bakugou projecting on Izuku. This is how Bakugou acts towards people. Thinking he is some big shot and claiming everyone an extra. It shows that while Bakugou claims he understands Izuku he does not understand him. He projects his own personality on Izuku now that he thinks him to be “strong”. Bakugou thinks that kindness doesnt exist. That you cant do stuff for others without a reward attached. That people look down on others. Because he does those things. And to validate his worlview of course others must act like this too. He still sees him as weakling but also strong. Strong like Bakugou sees himself. Also for once Izuku is doing his own thing without Bakugou inserting himself into the narrative at first. That must probably be a shock to Bakugou who doesn’t want to be an extra or side character. It feels a bit like the whole “He reached his hand out to me because he looked down on me.” bit he had going on with Izuku and still does not seem to be over with. A thing after this we see is how Koda says that Nedzu said that he can come back. There seems to be miscommunication there. Izuku did not leave because Nedzu threw him out. He left to protect them as he is AFOs main target and AFO nuked an island before to deal with a holder of OFA. UA had compromised security before so there really is no reason for Izuku to trust them now with their security. It also doesnt make sense for AFO to attack UA now. It would just show that Izuku didnt need to isolate and should have been there. But AFO wants to isolate him. So it would be better to attack when Izuku would be back at UA. To show that he brought the main target to the promised safe house. So it would kinda play into AFOs hands to get him back. We have this followed by Sero holding down Blackwhip. (Dont get me wrong would love to give Sero a quirk awakening and more screen time but it felt a bit weird). We then have Jiro and Ojiro (finally screentime for him) talk about what Izuku did for them. How he helped them. Izuku says that he should leave that he paints a target on their back. That he doesnt want AFO to kill them. Dark Shadow tries to grab Midoriya while Sato brings up Eri. The girl Midoriya saved. Also one could say a bit of subtle emotional manipulation though not malicious. Bringing up the little girl that surely misses him. Yaoyarozu then ends up putting him in a chair. A chair with sedatives. A chair reminiscent of  a special chair in the high security prison Tartarus. The type of Asylum chair All for One has been bound to too and probably be sedated. Yaoyarozu also says that they are allowed to aid the other heroes with their quirks. Meaning they actually do not need to drag him back to UA. They could help him rest and make him eat in other ways. Support from a safe distance. A compromise really. That so far they maybe havent thought about. However Izuku breaks out of the chair. We then have Shoji, Kaminari and Tokoyami bind him with Shojis insulated tentacles and dark shadow. Probably trying to use Kaminari as human taser to take him out. Izuku escapes this. shoji asks if he sees them as victims that need protection. This feels more sincere then what bakugou said. Not the baggage attached. Not the projection. And yes. They are not defenseless. They are not weak. However they still are first years that never should have been involved in any kind of war. And against AFO well they would probably easily get dusted. A more supportive role would be fitting. Take out the villains around AFO.  Now comes an important part. Danger sense has not been going off. Izuku claims that it would have gone off if he felt danger or malice emit from them. He understands that they are worried about him. But again he also understands that he is a big target. He was out the whole time and saw that AFO won’t just give them a break. That he will kill people. Danger sense not going off is a no brainer. Of course there is no malicious intent. Class 1A were/are his allies. They want what they think is best for him. However that doesnt make their opinion absolute. You can have good intentions but how you do it and how it ends up can still be a huge fiasco. Izuku needs rest. A bath. Food. A doctor. But UA just doesnt have the security. The past shows it. UA is a safe house filled with civilians. Izuku knows that AFO wont stop at the barricade. That while yes there are pro heroes and trained students. AFO is a natural disaster. He wouldn’t just give in. There is no sunk cost fallacy. AFO will try to get his claws onto him no matter how many assasins, nomu or otherwise he needs to send out. The chapter ends with Izuku being caught in Shotos ice wall. Shoto telling him that he should share his burden with them. Showing his character developement. Froppy tells him that she won’t weep anymore and that he matters to her and that they won’t let him do this alone. Overall this chapter was different than I expected. We didnt get an all out fight. We didnt get the “Snap” so far. Class 1A tried to get hold of him. They told him that he is important to them and how he helped them. How they do about things might not be all that helpful. He will not go back to UA willingly. He should not go back to UA. They still seem to lack so much context about his reasoning for things. They do not understand him. Them telling him how he helped them. How much he means to them is an interesting thing. A bit ago Hori said where the name “Deku” originates from. A well known poem Ame ni mo Makezu  by Kenji Miyazawa. The verse “minna ni deku-no-bō to yobare” or in english “Called useless by all”

Here we have the poem. A person that helps others without ever getting or wanting recognition. A person that is not special except to reach out to help. A person that is just doing the right thing. Endeavor got credit for Stain, Overhaul vs Izuku is not well known, Gentle criminal got defeated without recognition for Izuku. Hardly anyone knows it was him at the sludge villain incident and most pro heroes there scolded him for being the one to do the right thing. Dagobah beach. It´s not widely known he cleaned it. Izukus desire is to rescue and help people. He is not into it for money, fame, recognition, legacy. While he does have a legacy to All Might he is also his own person. He tried to show himself to the world at the sports festival but that was also on All Mights wish. He didnt succeed with that. He is known as the bone breaker and not the second coming of All Might. He is not self serving. He wants to be useful and not a bother. Someone seen as useless that still does his best. It shows. They do give him recognition in this chapter. Do praise him. But this is not what he wants. This is not what he does it for. He isn’t coerced in coming back thanks to that. While he of course needs positive reinforcement it doesnt seem to be such an active desire to him. It´s more important for him that he sees them safe. The first line of the poem “Unbeaten by the rain” might also have some importance. Maybe it is foreshadowing that he won’t be brought back by the class. Maybe he escapes or he shows and makes them understand why he he does things. Maybe they find a compromise. As we go back to look at the chapter once more. Four people are kinda lacking. Hagakure and Aoyama. Both theorised in the fandom to be the traitor. Maybe danger sense would have activated and that would have called them out. Maybe it will next chapter. Iida we only saw in one panel. And Uraraka is not there either except for one beginning panel. Those two are his first friends. People like to compare this to the kamino arc when the squad rescued Bakugou. People saying that Bakugou will reach out to Midoriya like back at the kidnapping. However. That was not the thing. Kirishima reached out his hand as Midoriya knew that even in a life and death situation Bakugou would never take his willingly. So yes it would make more sense that either Iida, Uraraka or even Todoroki hold their hand out or even all three together.Maybe thats why Uraraka and IIda were not really there. Maybe they have their big moment next chapter. I personally dont hope it´s Urarakas love confession. That really would feel a bit shallow to me and out of left field. Overall I did not dislike this chapter. There was not the big beatdown like some expected. However how they as a class go about it might not have the best result. I am interested in how it continues in the next chapter. I would prefer Class 1A supporting him by not dragging him back to UA. By helping him rest and take down villains that don’t need the person to have OFA to survive the encounter. Again this is an opinion. Not claimed to be the absolute truth but also not without some proof.