#which—if I recall correctly—is exactly how I felt when I made these

[crookedtines]

Mixed media plein air color studies

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Zayne: Mint Chocolate Icecream | Halloween Special

Honestly Zayne is such a sweetie, but I can see after a long day he might forget a single thing, especially if someone came in to distract him. He's also knows the jugular vein is risky. Also I'd like to make a petition for icecream to be one word, not two. It just looks better.

❧ Pairings: Zayne x Reader ❧ Warnings: Suggestive themes, blood sucking, vampire reader ❧ Synopsis: Zayne always took your dietary needs seriously. So when the hospital couldn't spare any blood bags, he decided to draw his own for you. It would've worked...if he remembered to bring home a needle. Improvising, thankfully, is his strong suit. ❧ Word Count: 2.9k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Zayne

Mint Chocolate Icecream

“Zayne?” your voice called out as you first entered his home. The door had a small ‘click’ noise that was soon followed by your footsteps as you looked around the living room of his, in your opinion, large house. He was nowhere to be seen or heard, which was already a bit strange to your standards. Normally, whenever you came over, he was greeting you at the door after receiving your text, but today was…different.

You could smell him, though; you always could. Your heightened senses made some things easier than others; in this case, finding the gentle, minty freshness of your boyfriend was almost child’s play as you allowed your feet to carry you to his study. You guessed it wasn’t too odd that he would find himself in here, especially considering he had taken the day off to get some personal things done.

You had the courtesy to at least knock on the door before barging in, knowing he could be in a virtual meeting with someone on the other side of the globe. Despite it being rather late in the evening, he always seemed to be working. You waited a few moments before you heard his voice on the other side saying, “Come in.”

As if you were a stereotypical vampire, you heard the permission to come in, so you opened the door. You were greeted with the sight of Zayne getting things prepared for a…blood draw. “Zayne…?” his voice rolled off your lips in sheer and utter confusion.

Zayne simply readjusted his glasses that had begun sliding down his face as he turned to you, “Good evening, did you sleep well?” he finally asked, not bothering to clarify exactly what was going on.

“Ya, I…okay, no, we aren’t doing this. Not gonna act as though this,” you gestured towards the medical supplies he had clearly brought home, “is a normal, daily occurrence.”

“Donor blood at the hospital is getting a bit sparse after the recent waves of wanderer attacks,” Zayne explained, “And if I do recall correctly, just the other day, you were complaining about the chemicals we used in those blood bags to keep it from coagulating. You said, and I quote, it makes it taste absolutely rancid.” He said, repeating the words almost perfectly but leaving out the curse you had thrown in the mix.

You felt a bit sheepish at that as you cleared your throat. It was true, though. Whatever they put in blood bags to keep it…somewhat fresh, and you use that term lightly, made it taste disgusting. You were used to it at this point, but he had to ask what it tasted like, so you informed him. Copper and expired lemons are the best way you could put the flavor into words. Fresh blood, at least to vampires, never really tasted metallic. They always had a fresh taste, and it varied from person to person, as well as the emotional state they were in when they drank.

Fearful humans tasted more sour, anger was a bitter taste, and happy or lustful always had a sweet note to it. The ranges of emotions were varied, and you knew for a fact that you hated just how salty someone sad was. Not that you had fed on a human in…centuries at this point. You preferred to keep things safer for the humans, something that didn’t leave them with the mental scar of having their necks mauled.

You had even dedicated your life to protecting the humans, something you had normally left to hunters and, before the wanderers, the justice system when they were effective or vigilantes. After meeting Zayne for the third lifetime, though, and seeing how he had thrown himself into danger on behalf of humans, you couldn’t just sit by and watch. So you took up hunting during night shifts at the association, claiming you had a condition where the sun hurt. Not like the association cared much, they always needed more hunters for the overnight shifts judging by how wanderers really didn’t give a shit about what time of day they decided to attack.

“Well…Zayne…” you began, “You decided to just draw your own blood for me then?” you finally said after your inner monologue was over. You had taken a few steps to his desk, draping your arms around his shoulders. He had already tied the tourniquet around his upper arm but hadn’t done anything else. Your hand grazed over it, making the man underneath your gaze shiver.

Zayne cleared his throat, “No, I decided to do this for fun.” The sarcasm dripping off him had you stifling a small chuckle.

“Alright…but you know you don’t have to do this for me, right?” you asked, and Zayne now turned to you with a serious expression.

“Your nutritional requirements need to be met. As the normal methods can’t be met, we have to adapt.” He explained, “This seemed like the best alternative since you prefer feeding from bags.”

“I don’t prefer it, per se; feeding directly is still better but…well, you know.” You began. He did know, judging by how he had once offered his wrist to you. You had lectured him about the dangers, how he would become a temporary thrall and be even more doting on you than usual, and how the feeling might be euphoric after the initial pain passed, but it could cloud his judgment on knowing when you were taking too much.

“I’m well aware of the venom that comes from your fangs, my heart.” His voice was softer now.

There was a pause between you two. You did want to just take a bite out of this man, almost on a daily basis, actually. The other day, when you found yourself between his legs while he relaxed on the couch, the scent of the femoral artery, how you could feel the warmth on it, and how it pumped blood. It had almost sent you into a frenzy, but you had held yourself back. “Did you need any help with that?” you asked after mulling over your words.

“I have this…” he said, then his eyebrows furrowed as he looked over his supplies, “I thought I had grabbed everything…” The next part was murmured a bit more quietly. You looked over the supplies he had, noticing a distinct lack of proper needles. He had literally everything else except for the needle.

“Um…no offense, Dr. Li, but I think you need…” you said, trying to hide your laughter.

“I’m aware,” he was painfully aware, but he was also aware of the fact that he had indeed grabbed them. He sighed as he stood up and undid the tourniquet around his arm, “I must’ve left them elsewhere.”

He had begun walking at a brisk pace, clearly intent on finding the missing needles. You were still holding back some laughter, wondering how he had gotten to this point and not noticed. Clearly, the man had to have been tired if he had forgotten something so important during his setup. You followed after the man as he came to the living room and went to his bag, opening it up and searching inside. When nothing turned up, you decided to ask, “Did you leave them in your car? Or perhaps your office?”

Zayne had to think on that one. He recalled grabbing everything he needed before leaving and placing them all carefully in a bag he had purchased specifically for carrying around medical supplies to keep things sterile. Then Greyson had come into his office, asking him about a patient as he was packing things up. The conversation had drifted to his supplies, and then he…Greyson invited him to the cafeteria for boba to discuss some new research. Had he put the needles in the bag before he had been interrupted?

“I apologize; it looks like I was careless.” He finally admitted, looking away from you as though we were confessing the ultimate sin. You covered your mouth again, trying not to laugh at your boyfriend’s dismay.

“It’s fine, babe; I can go another few days without feeding anyway.” You assured him, placing a hand on his arm, “I’m not going to become blood-starved in a week. Us vampires are resilient.”

“We have you on a proper schedule, and I’d rather not disrupt it.” He said Zayne was probably the most caring person you had ever known. He never let you take your dietary needs lightly after seeing what happened when you hadn’t fed. He had gotten you on a schedule for feeding, and even when he was away on trips, he’d video call you and make sure you were eating.

“Then what’s your solution? A rare steak?” you teased, that was until he had taken your hand and brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

“I know you’re against it, but in order to fulfill your dietary requirements, you could feed directly from me.” He finally said. You almost whined at the sight of him so willingly giving himself into the fangs of a vampire, a predator.

“Zayne…” you said, your voice coming out quieter, “You know what will happen.”

“I’m well aware.” He said, “I find that I don’t mind, though. Besides, I doubt it’ll change much; I might just be a bit more forward in my…what do you call it?” he said, his voice taking on a more teasing tone, “Nagging?”

“I don’t say you’re nagging!” you protested, “When did I ever say that.”

“I find your expressions are more than telling.” Now, you were pouting as you looked away from him. You needed a moment to think about this but finally decided if he was so intent on making sure you kept your schedule and he was willing…perhaps it would be fine. Besides, he was already more doting than any thrall you had ever heard of, so perhaps he might even tone it down a little.

You cleared your throat, “Alright, fine.” You settled on, “But we need to…” do this more comfortably, you wanted to say, but Zayne had already read your mind.

“Go to the couch; I’ll be right back.” He said while leaning down so his voice was right against your ear, “I need to grab some things.”

You wondered sometimes how this man had such a pull on you. You didn’t try to argue at all; tell him that if you’d be feeding from him, you’d handle it all. Instead, you just found yourself sitting on the couch like you were told, looking over the back as you watched him grab some things.

Bandages, towels, napkins, a TV remote, a blanket, juice, and some sweets. A combination of many things was brought over to the coffee take before he sat down and patted his lap, a clear invitation. You had crawled over to him, plopping yourself onto him, your back hitting his chest as you adjusted yourself on him. You giggled when you felt his lips pressing a kiss to your neck, a small blush on your cheeks.

The thick towel was laid out over your lap, and you could see him going to turn the TV on, putting a random show on, “There, now we have something to do while I recover from your blood draw, doctor.” He said, which elicited another giggle from you.

“I’m the doctor now? Pretty sure my technique would get my license revoked for malpractice.” You claimed, and you smirked.

“It definitely would, but as luck would have it, this patient doesn’t seem to mind. You don’t need to worry about using your malpractice insurance this time around.” You rolled your eyes at his words and gently tapped his wrist.

“Come on, I’m feeling hungry now.” You said, taking his arm and pressing a kiss to his wrist. You could smell the sweetness of him, as well as that refreshing and unique minty fresh scent that came from his pulse points.

“Weren’t you the one saying you could go a few more days without eating?” he asked with a teasing lithe to his voice.

“I can, but doesn’t mean I want to.” You explained as you adjusted his wrist, “Are you sure this is okay?” you finally asked, and he pressed a kiss on your cheek this time.

“Of course,” he said, his voice gentle in your ears.

You took another moment to breathe him in before you decided it was time. Your fangs came out as you looked for the perfect place to bite down on his wrist. His other arm had already come to wrap around your midsection, securing you against him while also bracing himself. Then came the pinch.

When your fangs finally met his flesh, piercing into it. The warmth of his blood went through you immediately, warming you up as you drank from him. You hummed happily, noting that he tasted exactly as you had always imagined. Sweet, minty, and almost creamy. It reminded you of mint ice cream, something you had only tasted a little bit when offered to you in the past. It was delicious, especially after only drinking from blood bags for so long.

The warmth flowed down your throat as you angled his wrist above your head to allow better blood flow, the crimson liquid dripping down your chin and onto the towel on your lap. Zayne watched with interest, taking in the sight of you as well as the feeling.

You had told him it would feel good after the initial pain, but he hadn’t expected this. It felt like warmth was in his veins right now, encompassing his entire body like he was wrapped up in a blanket by a fireplace. His head felt fuzzy and delightful as he let you indulge. He had to keep himself in check, though, focusing on his body as much as he could so he could tell you when it was too much.

Thankfully, you had figured it out on your own, and you felt how he got a bit colder in your grasp. Your fangs went back in, and you were left lapping at the leftover blood on his wrist. You didn’t even realize Zayne was panting behind you, trying to regain himself from…whatever your fangs had done to him. He cleared his throat after noticing how you were still licking at his wrist; the wound from before now closed, but red and angry puncture wounds were in their place now. Not to mention a few broken blood vessels from how deeply you were drinking, clearly lost in the taste of him.

You were brought back to your senses when you felt a soft napkin dabbing at your face and chin. You wiggled in Zayne’s grip, causing the man behind you to chuckle, “Calm down. I planned on kissing you, but this would’ve been too much, I’m afraid.” He said, getting you to stop squirming.

“Zayne, I should be the one taking care of you.” You said, taking the napkin from him and cleaning up your face and a bit of your neck, “You should be relaxing, love.”

“I find that right now, I’m very relaxed.” He assured you; he grabbed the towel in your lap and began placing the bloody napkins into it and putting it to the side, out of view. If he wouldn’t let you do this, you could at least lean forward and grab him the juice and macaroons he had secured earlier, bringing them to your lap.

“You always claimed that someone’s blood tasted unique when fresh, and I’m curious now: what did I taste like?” Zayne asked as you put the straw into the juice and held it up to him. He moved his face to the side, clearly wanting to hear your answer first.

You let out a sigh and leaned forward to kiss him, “Like mint chocolate ice cream.”

Zayne was silent for a moment, his brows pinching together, “That’s…impossible.”

“What, that you taste super sweet and refreshing? It’s true. You tasted really good. Better than that bagged stuff, too.” You said, nuzzling your nose against his, “I could get used to drinking from you.”

“I don’t think I’d mind it as long as we’re responsible. I do need blood flow, as well as the use of my hands.” He said, “I’d be more than happy to draw blood regularly for you.” He finally took the offered juice, sipping on the sweet drink as you thought it over.

“I…think I’d like that. Thank you…” you finally said, feeling giddy to have found a man like this. One who’d indulge you instead of judging you. “I really appreciate this…and you.”

“I know; now, how about we watch a movie?” he asked, and you giggled.

“Can I hand feed you macaroons while we do?” you teased, already grabbing one. Zayne caught your wrist and brought the street up to his face, taking a bite of the sweet treat. It had you blushing and looking away, causing him to laugh as well.

“Were you not the one to suggest this?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your cheek again once he swallowed the treat.

“Oh hush…I love you.” You muttered, and you heard him so gently saying it back to you, causing you to melt right into his chest.

[paulyenvol6]

Toxic

Smutty OS Harry Styles x reader

Contains: adult content, smut, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), overstimulating, p in v, unprotected sex, dom and mean Harry, degrading, gagging, basically smut without plot

Wordcount: ~3.05k

Masterlist

Harry and Y/n had a difficult relationship. The easiest way to describe it is probably to say that they were in a toxic relationship. They fought, called each other ugly things but they always came back.

One of the main reason was the physical attractiveness they felt about each other. They couldn’t take their hands off each other so it wasn’t a rare thing for them to have angry sex after a fight.

„I hate you.“, y/n said, tears in her eyes. Harry just grinned and slighly chuckled. „Fuck you, Harry.“, she then said, having problems holding back her tears. „Mhm, no, I don’t think so. I rather fuck you than myself.“, Harry said. Now tears fell down her cheeks and she softly whimpered.

„Seriously?“, Harry asked raising his eyebrows. „You think crying will make me apologize? Well m’not.“ She couldn’t answer and Harry said: „Get fucking over it, Baby. Then we can talk like normal human beings again and I’ll consider fucking you or going down on you. But for that you need to stop crying, don’t want you to ruin my shirt with your snot.“

That made y/n only cry more and she whimpered. „I hate you so much.“ Harry laughed. „Mhm, yesterday that sounded very differently. If I recall it correctly I had you whining on the bed and begging for me to touch you. You were a fucking mess.“ Y/n looked away from him and she tried to hold back the sounds of her crying. „So? Will you get over it so we can do what I originally planned for us or will you keep making a scene?“ She didn’t answer and Harry sighed. „God, can’t you just answer me? If you wanna keep sulking m’gonna leave.“

„Okay.“, y/n said, her voice so quiet that Harry almost didn’t hear it. „Okay what?“, Harry asked while rolling his eyes. „We can do what you originally planned for us.“, she whispered and Harry smiled. „There we go. There’s my sweet girl.“ He straightened himself and made his way to the girl. He then pulled a tissue out of his pocket and gave it to her. „Dry your tears and fucking stop crying.“ She nodded and tried to make the tears stop.                                                                                                                                When Harry saw that it had stopped he caressed her cheek. „Good girl. Now why don’t you help me a bit, huh? I think I need some release, so why don’t you go on your pretty knees f’me?“ She immediately did as he had asked. Harry, sitting on the edge of the bed, spread his legs so that y/n could kneel between them.

She opened his belt and Harry lifted himself off the bed so he could pull his trousers and underpants down. His thick cock was already hardened and y/n wrapped her hand around it. Harry hissed and looked down to the girl in front of him. „Yeah, that’s it. Keep going.“ She moved her hand up and down his shaft. „Now take me in your mouth.“

She obeyed him and slowly took him in her mouth. He was very big so she couldn’t take all of him but wrapped her hand around what she couldn't take. Harry groaned. „Fuck, yes. That’s what you’re good for, right? Being on your knees and sucking my dick instead of talking. Better keep this mouth stuffed.“ She moaned and Harry grabbed her hair to guide her the way that he wanted.

He began to take control and fuck her mouth. When she stimulated his tip with her tongue Harry moaned. „Ah fuck, yeah. That’s right, you know exactly how I like it you fucking whore.“ He went deeper with every thrust until y/n gagged around him. It didn’t make Harry stop. He fucked deep inside her throat and y/n grabbed his thighs for stability.

He threw his head back in ectasy. „Oh shit, yes. Such a good mouth f’me t’use, dirty little thing.“ It didn’t take long for him to come. He shot his load right in her throat which made y/n gag and her reflex was to get away from his cock. But Harry needed her to stay like this so he held her hair tight. When he had finished, he slowly took her off his cock and watched her. Her lips were swollen, she had tears in her eyes and the area around her mouth was covered with saliva, precum and cum. She looked delightful.

Harry grinned and caressed her hair behind her ears. „Good girl, y/n. Such a good fucking girl. Think you should be rewarded, right?“ She didn’t answer but just looked up to him with her doll eyes. „Answer me.“, Harry said and grabbed her chin tightly. „I don’t know, Harry. Whatever you wanna do.“ He chuckled and caressed her jawline.

Then he suddenly got up and walked away. „Get on the bed.“, he said and while y/n made herself comfortable on the bed Harry walked to the nightstand to get a sip of water. Y/n pressed her legs together to get some relief. She had become so horny while getting mouth-fucked by Harry and had felt herself getting incredibly wet. She had wanted to rub her clit so bad but she hadn’t dared to do so without Harry’s permission (and it had been a bit difficult to ask for it with his cock in her mouth).

Y/n crossed her legs for some friction. He noticed it and chuckled. „Fucking pathetic.“ He then hovered over her and roughly opened her legs. She whimpered at the uncomfortable feeling of her pulsating and needy pussy that couldn’t get any relief as her legs were being spread. „Poor Baby. Couldn’t get any relief, huh? Probably wanted to rub your clit so bad while sucking me off.“ Y/n fastly nodded and lifted her hips to get closer to him.

Harry pressed her down and slapped the side of her ass. „Stay down.“ Y/n looked up to him under her lashes. She wanted a kiss from him so badly, but she didn’t dare initiate it.

Harry meanwhile pulled up her top and y/n raised her arms so he could take it off her body. He then also took off her shorts so the only piece of clothing left on her body was her slip. Harry shamelessly regarded her body and his eyes traveled down on her. Y/n felt slightly embarressed and vulnerable under his gaze and moved her hands over her belly.

He immediately grabbed her wrists and put her hands next to her body on the mattress. „Don’t you dare hide from me, Baby. You know I’ve already seen all of this.“ „I’m sorry.“, she said. Harry leaned down and y/n thought he was about to kiss her but he pressed kisses on her neck while his hands caressed her belly.

He then wrapped his lips around her left nipple while his hands played with the other breast. Y/n moaned and wanted to grab his hair so badly. Harry twirled his tongue around her nipple. „Such a pretty girl. Perfect fucking tits, a nice ass and a sweet pussy.“ After a while he stopped his movements and raised his head from her chest.

His hand traveled down her body until he reached her slip. Harry watched her face while he slightly, very softly went over the slip where her clit was. She twitched underneathe him and Harry grinned. His finger then explored the area around her pussy, the inside of her thighs and her lower belly. It got y/n so worked up she was a whining mess under him.

„Harry please.“, she whimpered. „What do you want Baby, huh?“ „I want your finger on my clit, Harry please I need it so bad.“ Harry chuckled. „Well too bad you’re not the one in charge here. So quit the whining now.“ He kept his finger on the area around the spot that y/n needed him on the most until he finally gently moved his finger on her clit through he fabric of her slip.

Harry went in circles and then when he had enough of the slip he just ripped it and left her cunt bare. Y/n cried out at the sudden movement and twitched. „Shh.“, Harry made. He went back to circling his thumb around her clit and y/n closed her eyes in pleasure.

„Keep your fucking eyes on me, baby.“  She opened her eyes again and dug her nails into the bed sheets. „Feels so good Harry, fuck.“ „S’not a nice word t’use for such a lovely lady.“, Harry said and gently flicked her clit. She whimpered and her eyes rolled back when he increased the pace of rubbing her clit. „I said eyes. On. Me.“, Harry growled and gently slapped her pussy. „M’sorry, m’sorry. It’s hard.“ „I don’t care. Do it or m’gonna stop.“

Y/n tried to concentrate on looking in his eyes while she shifted on the bed. He was just so good at it. Making her pussy throb and touching her exactly the way she needed it. After a few more minutes she could feel her orgasm approaching. „M’gonna cum Harry, can I please?“ „You can, Baby. But you’re gonna have to beg for it.“ He slowed down his movements and y/n cried. „No, Harry please don’t stop. Please I wanna come so badly.“

Harry grinned and slowly circled her clit with the tip of his finger. „Please, I was so good f’you. Please Harry.“ „Mhm, was that enough?“, Harry asked and pretended to be thinking. She looked up to him with her doll eyes and Harry chuckled. „Dirty thing. You wanna cum so badly? My poor baby. Got you so worked up, everything.“ She fastly nodded and when Harry started to rub her faster again she sighed and bit her lip.

„Yes, so good Harry.“ After less than a minute she reached her orgasm and cried out his name over and over again. Harry gently slapped the side of her ass. „There you go, darling. My good fucking girl.“ She couldn’t help but grab his arms and arch her back at the amazing feeling.

When she came down from her high his touch on her clit that hadn’t stop when she reached her orgasm became uncomfortable to her. She closed her legs around his hand and tried to push him away. „Harry please don’t, it hurts.“ „Oh honey, that was only the beginning and you should know that.“ Y/n looked at him but didn’t know what to answer. But then he suddenly took his hand off her clit and brought his finger to his mouth.

„You know, usually I’d stick my finger into your mouth, make you lick it clean as if it was my cock and make you gag around it but god you taste too good to do that.“ He licked his finger clean and sighed. „Fucking hell. Never tasted someone that sweet and salty before. Perfect mixture.“ She was speechless at this picture, she had never seen something so hot before.

When his finger was clean he went over her buttom lip with it. „Open“, he ordered and y/n opened her mouth. He grabbed her chin and then spit right onto her tongue. She kept it there and waited for his next words. „Now swallow.“ She swallowed everything and kept eye contact with him the whole time. „Such a dirty slut. My dirty slut, I’m the only one who can do such dirty things with you and use you like that.“ She quickly nodded. „Yes. You’re the only one.“                                                                                                                               Harry then changed his position and moved down so he kneeled between her legs. He roughly spreaded her legs and groaned at the sight of her bare pussy. „Fuck. M’gonna fucking ruin your pussy, baby.“ He slapped the outside of her thigh at his words and then lowered his head and suddenly licked her pussy from her hole up to her clit. „Ah shit.“, y/n cried out.

She was overstimulated but it felt so good at the same time. He teased her hole with his tongue, slid his tongue into it, teased her entrance and circled her clit with his thumb at the same time. It felt so good to y/n that all she could say was a babbling mess. Harry stopped his tongue movements and looked up to the girl.

„Taste so fucking good. Crazy to me that such a dirty, dumb, little thing can taste like that.“, he said and slapped her pussy, which made y/n whimper. He then went back to teasing her entrance and after some time switched his tongue and finger movements, so his tongue took care of her clit while he teased her entrance and the rest of her pussy with his finger.

Her whole body was shaking when he used his left hand to get the hood, that covered her clit out of the way so he could tease it directly with his tonuge. She jumped and couldn’t help but grab his hair. Harry slapped her ass but didn’t stop. He spread her legs wider with his underarms and seemed to press himself closer and closer to her pussy. He then looked up to her to watch the reactions of her body and face. The way that she bit her lip, how she dug her nails into the sheets, how her hair fell into her face… 

„Can I come Harry?“, she then cried out. „Yeah you can, love. Come on, drown me with your juices.“ Y/n came with a shriek and her legs began to shake even more. Harry watched her orgasm with delight and then, without really giving her the time to relax after her high, he grabbed a condom from the nightstand, pulled it over his hard cock and aligned himself with her entrance.

Y/n shivered in excitement and looked up to him with her glassy eyes. „Please I wanna be full.“, she whispered while he teased her overstimulated clit with the tip of his cock. „You want me to stretch your little hole out? Want me to fuck your pussy nice n’deep?“ „Yes please, I want it so bad.“, she whined and shifted restlessly under him. „Then stay fucking still.“

He then slid into her in one movement and y/n shrieked at the feeling. Harry growled and grabbed her hip tightly. Her soft and warm walls felt so tight around him and they stimulated his cock perfectly. His thrusts were deep and intense but he started off with a rather slow pace.

His hand traveled to her clit and he started rubbing her. He knew that she couldn’t come only from vaginal sex, so he wanted her to get pleasure from his movement on her clit. She liked it though when he fucked her and she got turned on by it but she just couldn’t reach her orgasm alone by it. He was now so deep in her that his balls slapped her pussy. Harry suddenly grabbed her legs and bent her knees so they could be on his shoulders.

Y/n cried out at the new angle and her eyes rolled back. Harry gently stroke her hair which was a very unexpected gesture for y/n considering that he was so rough with her at the moment. „Harry.“, she whimpered. „What Baby?“ „Feels s’good. Please.“ She didn’t even know what she wanted but she just felt so whiny for him at the moment. „Feel so full.“ Harry slightly increased the pace and then his hand wandered to her throat. 

He didn’t put a lot of pressure on it but softly chocked her. This image of her, her noises and the way that she felt around his cock drove him closer to his orgasm. „My dirty girl feels s’good. M’gonna paint your walls with my cum and stiff you full with it. Gonna make it leak out of your hole.“ „Mhm, yes.“ „You’re gonna come too? M’not gonna wait f’you so you better bring yourself to it now.“

Her fingers worked on her nipple while Harry kept rubbing her clit. „Yeah, m’gonna come too. Just a little longer, please.“ He stimulated her clit faster and put slight pressure on her throat. She whimpered and grabbed his bicep to hold on to something. „Harry. Harry, please.“, she whined and uncontrollably moved her hips.

And then she came and Harry could feel her clench around him which drove him over the edge and y/n could feel him fill her up. „Holy shit, Baby.“, he growled and threw his head back. „Fuck, fuck.“ He came down from his high and then gently slapped the side of her ass. „That felt good.“, he smirked and y/n tiredly smiled at him.

Harry came closer and kissed her on the nose. „Aww, my poor Baby’s gotten all sleepy.“ „Shut up.“, she giggled and pretended to punch him. „Have to clean you up first anyway.“, he said and then left the room.

Y/n watched him with some sadness. He was so sweet to her now. It was always like that. After they had sex he was always so lovely and caring but the next day it was gonna be bad again. They were probably going to fight and call each other bad things. She couldn’t say why it was like that but after they had sex they were always getting along so well and felt a strong bond and love for each other.

Harry entered the room again and had a washcloth in his hand. He smiled at her and y/n opened her legs. She twitched when he touched her sensitive and overstimulated pussy and her soothed her thigh by running his hand over it. After he had cleaned her, he gave a little kiss to her clit and then brought the washcloth away.

One minute later he returned and jumped into the bed next to her. „Thank you, Harry.“, y/n whispered and turned to look at him. „No problem.“, he smiled. Y/n, knowing that the little spoon was his favourite cuddle position came closer to him. „Turn around.“, she said and he did as she told him. She wrapped his arms around his upper body and pressed her face in his neck. „Feels good.“, Harry hummed and caressed her arm. „Yes, it does.“

Part 2

[caramel1mochi]

cOULD yOu write a fic where fem reader and (some agent) stay at valorant hq while others are at the mission and its summer, super hot outside, and when they come back they see reader and (agent) at the pool playing loud music and having fun, and gekko gets jealous of agent😁😁😁😁😁

Heya, thanks for the request! I wasn’t sure how to wrap it up and I felt bad letting him stay jealous so I added a little extra at the end hahaㅤ

ㅤ

On the Poolside! [ Gekko x Reader ]

Words: 900+

Please don't copy or steal my work and pass it off as your own! If you'd like to use one of my headcanons or something, I'd love it if you tagged or asked.‎ ‎‎ ‎  

ㅤ

。+❤ฺ·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ· +❤·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ·

ㅤ

It was two in the afternoon. The perfect time for a team of agents to return from a mission a few minutes ago.

The sun shined brilliantly amidst the bright blue sky, and there was naught of a cloud that dared stand in its way. Unfortunately, this meant that the rays that engulfed the protocol, Gekko and Neon were uncontested, heating them up like they were pastries in an oven. And to those unfortunate enough to go on a mission during all of this, they suffered the most out of all of them. Which was also Gekko and Neon.

Despite having opted to go to the swimming pool a while ago, swimsuits didn’t really cool them as they marched down the hallway. Thrash in hand, each step heavier than the sound of a jackhammer, the two were ready to flop into the pool like pancakes.

ㅤㅤ

“It should be a crime to send people out to war in the middle of summer, man.”

ㅤㅤ

Gekko complained, promptly earning a nod from Neon.

ㅤㅤ

“Exactly. And to Bind, too? What was Brim thinking?” She huffed. “I just hope the pool’s empty. If one person tries to talk to me on my way there, I swear I'll zap them with my suppressor off!”

ㅤㅤ

Though he aimed to respond to that with something witty, Gekko choked on his laughter once he heard the final sentence.

ㅤㅤ

“Chica, chill. Everyone else left after us; I’m positive it’s empty.”

ㅤㅤ

“Yeah, it better be!”

ㅤㅤ

The halls were quiet and empty of the chaos they’d naturally be riddled with. Mostly because the younglings were out and about, suffering just like the duo were about an hour ago. But this very silence was what made their ears perk up at an awry sound.

Despite the conversation serving as a good enough distraction from the heat, the closer they marched to the pool, the louder the music had gotten. And Gekko just couldn't help but notice it. Especially the genre.

ㅤㅤ

“Yo, do you hear that?”

ㅤㅤ

“Huh? Oh. Music." She sighed in disinterest. "Yeah, they're probably playing some stuff back there. Looks like we won’t be alone, huh?"

ㅤㅤ

“Guess not.��

ㅤㅤ

It was borderline impossible for Neon to sound any less irritated, but I digress.

However, Gekko couldn't stop himself from playing detective in his head in regards to the genre, aaannndd... They turned the corner and finally arrived at the pool, being blinded by the strong sunlight just as they stepped outside. But he was able to finally see who was in the pool when their vision cleared. Yeah, it was Iso who picked that song. Of course it bloody was, who else would pick underground rap? Gekko took a moment to observe Iso as he sat on the edge of the pool, laughing away at something neither of them could hear. Seeing him wear something that didn’t conceal his broad figure was very out of place. But his heart dropped once he saw who he was talking to.

It was you.

Despite being submerged in water, he saw you don some kind of colourful swimsuit with a peculiar design he just couldn’t observe. But something else was on his mind. Beyond how much those colours complemented you, of course. Why was Iso with you in the pool? Neither of you hung out much, if he recalled correctly, so... However, his heart dropped when he saw you suddenly grab Iso's wrist and gleefully pull him into the pool with all of your might. He swore that he saw his arms wrap around you for a second underwater, but he was quick to let go just as the two of you resurfaced.

Ugh…

ㅤㅤ

“Finally. Fresh air. Come on, let’s go.” ㅤㅤ

Gekko didn’t really catch what Neon said. He was too distracted by the sound of you calling Iso’s name in between laughter. He huffed and firmly clutched Thrash in his arms.

ㅤㅤ "You know what? Nevermind.” ㅤㅤ

Thrash immediately grumbled at this.

Neon's eyes widened in surprise once he turned on his heel. However, just as he was about to move back inside, she was quick to grab his shoulder to stop him.ㅤ

ㅤㅤ

"Woah, hey, what’s going on?”

ㅤㅤ

“Nothing.”

ㅤㅤ

Gekko shrugged her hand off, and Neon couldn’t help but tilt her head in confusion.

ㅤㅤ

“Nothing? Why’re you leaving, then?”

ㅤㅤ

“I’m… uh, I’m not in the mood.”

ㅤㅤ

“Okay, that’s clearly a lie.”

ㅤㅤ

“Look, I’m just not in the mood anymore, alright? It’s not that deep.”

ㅤㅤ

He unwittingly glanced at the two of you, getting further aggravated at the contagious joy that kept increasing between you two. Neon obviously followed his gaze, but she looked back at him in disbelief once she caught on.

ㅤㅤ

“Iso and A/N? Is that what this is about?” She crossed her arms. “Gekko, who cares? Just ignore them, or whatever.”

ㅤㅤ

“Are you for real? I’m not sitting here on the side lines just to watch A/N and Iso live it up.”

ㅤㅤ

“Hey, you promised Thrash we’d check out the pool when we get back. Are you seriously gonna go back on your word because of some guy who probably sucks at picking date locations compared to you?”

ㅤㅤ

Neon scolded him as she playfully poked at his chest. And with the encouraging grumble Thrash let out, it was very clear that the little radivore was very much agreeing with her words. She'd know that, wouldn't she?

So… Gekko rolled his eyes with a wide smile he just couldn’t control.

ㅤㅤ

“Okay, fine. I’m staying.”

ㅤㅤ

“About time! Now get a move on, I’m melting out here!”

ㅤㅤ

Neon grabbed Gekko’s wrist and pulled him towards the pool. Due to her strength however, it gave Thrash an escape from his previously firm hold. Thus, Thrash immediately jumped out of his arms and terrorised the pool… much to Gekko’s delight. Even though you were also both inconvenienced at this, not just Iso.

[kellyvela]

So I’m sure you’ve seen the discourse between Dany and Sansa stans on the Twitter timeline … but I’ve just come across something new that I hadn’t seen before ??? From a Sansa anti ofc, but it was a blog post from GRRM where someone said Sansa isn’t a Stark anymore/less of a Stark since she lost her direwolf and GRRM responds with “that’s a very astute observation” with a coy smile (I didn’t look at it for long so I’m unsure of the exact wording). Anyway I find it hard to believe that THIS is what Sansa antis are clinging to when there is so much in text to connect Sansa to her indentity, not to mention him listing her amongst his main characters ? Do they just ignore all those interviews ? Do they not read her chapters?

Calm down! That's not from any GRRM Not A Blog, that's from a *FAN REPORT* that clearly isn't a fan of Sansa.

This is the *FAN REPORT* in question:

OCTOBER 05, 2001 ARCHON MEETING (OCTOBER 5-7) In regards to the conversation about the dire wolves and the Starks the point was made (I forget by whom) that Lady was dead and Sansa still alive to which I replied that Sansa wasn't really much of a Stark anymore. IIRC (this is a little hazy), at this point GRRM kind of leaned back in his chair, smiled and said something to the effect of "A very astute observation." (Note: I was hoping someone else would bring this up as I didn't want to do any hornblowing... since Terra brought it up, but didn't recall the wording I felt the need. If anyone remembers his words differently I'll gladly recant.) [Source]

The "IIRC (If I remember correctly)," "this is a bit lazy," and, "didn't recall the wording," should be enough to know that this is more like a wishful thinking, or another Alan Taylor case, and not what actually happened, not what GRRM actually said. In summary, this is not a reliable source.

Here's another *FAN REPORT* (the fan called Terra that the previous one mentioned) from the same event:

OCTOBER 05, 2001 ARCHON MEETING (OCTOBER 5-7) [Note: Edited for brevity,] (...) 7. Short discussion on the significance of the wolf to the Stark kids. Martin made a rather assertative comment about the significance of Lady's absence in Sansa's life. Though I can't recall the exact wording. (...) [Source]

Again, the "I can't recall the exact wording" should be enough to know that this is not a reliable source.

It is really curious that NO ONE that attended that event remember what GRRM exactly said regarding Sansa and her direwolf Lady . . . . Collective amnesia, maybe???

If you are interested in GRRM's quotes about Sansa Stark and the og sources (so you can decide how reliable they are), here's a compilation:

Hope this helps!

[redyarns]

caught in the undertow

Chapter(s): 3/?

Rating: E

Relationship(s): Orion Pax/Megatron, Optimus Prime/Megatron, Sentinel Prime/Bumblebee

Summary:

When Megatron, leader of the rebellion, escaped from prison, everybot knew one thing, and one thing only: he stole an innocent with him.

---

"I'm not a sheep, how dare you!" Orion hissed, bristling at the insult.

"Oh, really?" Megatron drawled. His red optics glanced up again, and Orion's glossa went dry.

Scrap.

Who knew the cruel and ruthless leader of the blasphemous rebellion was so... handsome?

STORY: START!

Act I, Scene IV: Primes Don’t Party

It was currently aft-crack at dawn and Helios had barely peeked over the horizon, and Sentinel was already suffering. He was stuck, unfortunately, at one of Ultra Magnus’ breakfast banquets that he liked to host for the other council members and the higher caste levels. 

The event itself was exclusive, very exclusive, and it showed in the way the large dining room of Ultra’s personal mansion was filled only halfway. 

Still, all these bots were at least caste level 35 or higher, so they were important figures that Sentinel had to painstakingly dig through his processor to remember, unless he wanted to commit a faux pas and embarrass Ultra again like he did last time. 

The ceiling was high and arched to accommodate for Cybertronians all shapes and sizes, though undoubtedly, Ultra himself was still the tallest and largest out of all of them. 

Paint jobs had been replenished and armor plates were buffed and polished just for that morning alone, which made Sentinel uncomfortably remember his own detailing that he went through a few solar cycles ago. 

He recalled the way both Bee and Orion had teased him about it, but he honestly hadn’t meant to be so… shiny around them. Though he knew that they would never actually shame him for who he was, it had been a little despairing to see the gap widen in between him and his friends that much more. 

He had tried his best to insist to Ultra that a detailing hadn’t been necessary, but his mentor had quickly reminded him why exactly a bot like Sentinel couldn’t neglect such things. 

Sentinel had been under Ultra’s wing long enough now to be able to school his expressions, so he was carefully blank-faced as he stared down at the cube of highly refined energon that had been given to him by one of the numerous maids that Ultra liked to keep around. 

The bot had been pretty, sweet, and had fluttered a servo down his arm as she drifted around him and gave him the cube, and he had flushed. 

But she was low caste, level 10 if his processor went through the database of Ultra’s staff correctly, and Sentinel knew if he even attempted to brush back, not only would he have an actual hell to pay at Ultra’s servo, but the guilt of taking advantage of someone that low level would probably take him out before his mentor could. 

The atmosphere was stuffy. His olfactory senses kept picking up the different perfumes and colognes Ultra’s guests had sprayed on, mixing into a sort of sickly cloud that he couldn’t discreetly cough away without fear of pissing anyone off. 

The air was filled with the sound of the careful clinking of glass cubes and cutlery, as well as the simpering tones of bots trying their best to impress Ultra, who sat at the head of the table and laughed heartily at whatever Mirage just said. 

Sentinel couldn’t help but glance again at his mentor, hoping for even a sense of sympathy from him, since Sentinel had made it quite known throughout their vorns together just how much he dreaded these events. 

But Ultra made no indication he returned Sentinel’s look, much less his need for empathy, and Sentinel swallowed. 

His gears felt stiff, uncomfortable, as he lifted his cube and took a sip. 

The energon that Ultra was so fond of was the highest refined kind, so it slid down Sentinel’s throat smoothly, with a soft, sweet taste that tingled his glossa at the very edges. He wasn’t particularly hungry or anything, but it at least gave him a sense of something to do. 

He didn’t understand why he had to keep attending these things. Out of everyone at the table, he was the farthest from Ultra, even though he was supposedly the future Prime of Cybertron. It was something all the guests seemed to like to mention to him, as if he wasn’t perfectly aware of the expectations set upon him. 

Slag. He really was a party pooper, just like Orion liked to tease him. 

“Enjoying your drink, my Prime?” 

Sentinel almost choked on his energon when there was a soft, purring voice that drifted from his right. When he glanced down, he tried to smile awkwardly at the appearance of Elita-1. She was one of the lower level guests present, caste level 36 if his processor was right. 

But she was similarly one of the most beautiful bots there, what with her gleaming, pink armor and her perfectly sculpted face. She was the current and only daughter of her father, a sickly mech who held the title of Baron. From what Sentinel could recall, she was supposedly far more qualified for the position than her sire, and was the subject of interest among the council during these solar cycles. 

All in all, a remarkable femme. Way more than Sentinel, anyway. 

After a moment of struggling at the appearance of her rather striking countenance and also - his optics darted down shamefully towards her chasses, where her bold, pink paint job had lines that accentuated the curves of her waist and hips - her tone, he finally set down his cube, cleared the static from his voicebox, and croaked, “sorry? Uh, yes, I mean…” 

He ex-vented quietly, his face hot with embarrassment, his cheek plates undoubtedly an unflattering shade of blue as he muttered, “yes, I’m enjoying it. There’s, er, really no need to call me Prime - I haven’t earned that title.” 

“Yet.” Elita’s optics glimmered with something as she leaned in closer. She smelled wonderful; like the jubiline berries that grew in one of Cybertron’s rescued planets, and she smiled, a small, confident thing that quirked at the corner of her full derma as she extended her own cube. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you, my Prime. There’s no one else quite like you. I have no doubt you’ll be an excellent Prime.” 

“Oh,” Sentinel said rather lamely, lifting his cube again and hesitantly clinking it against hers. It seemed to please her, as her smile widened, and he nodded, trying to ignore the way his spark sank at her insisting words. “Of course. Thank you, miss.” 

They drank. 

As they did, Sentinel couldn’t help but look to the side, trying not to let his displeasure show. He knew that Elita only meant the best, as Ultra did, and the council. They had seen greatness in him and decided that out of all the bots in Iacon, he was worthy of becoming a Prime once ready. 

But he couldn’t help but wonder if he was. 

It wasn’t as if he doubted Ultra or anything like that! After all, Ultra had saved him, and therefore deserved all of Sentinel’s loyalty. It was just that - Sentinel had been working for this for vorns, and he still didn’t feel any closer to being “Prime” or whatever. He wasn’t even sure what being Prime would do for him, actually. 

But it was clear everyone else believed in him fully. 

He squirmed lightly in his seat, sipping slowly at his energon. 

He just wanted to know why their belief in him was so uncomfortable. It was certainly different from the way Orion and Bee showed him their loyalty; with them, everything was warm, easy, and yes, at times so stressful that it felt like his paint would peel, but at the end of the solar cycle, he loved them, and he knew they loved him just as much. 

It was a lot. The Matrix of Leadership would one day be placed in Sentinel's servos, and then it would be his responsibility to carry on the legacy of the original Primes. He had to lead Iacon, he had to head the council, he had to replenish the energon that didn’t even flow anymore and instead just lie dormant in their crust. 

So much to do and he wasn't even close to being a Prime, yet. 

His helm was starting to hurt. 

Slag. 

“You seem quite preoccupied, my Prime,” Elita said, leaning closer from her seat to him. She was arching her spinal strut was arched like this, and his glossa went dry as she placed a servo so gently on his arm that he barely felt the brush of her digits against the plating, but his vision was suddenly filled with different sensory inputs as his processor practically screamed at him that she was touching him. “I can provide an audial, if you need. I’m rather good at listening, I’ve been told.” 

Sentinel took a moment to swallow once, twice, and it felt like he had drunk high-grade energon as he realized that she wasn’t going to stop with the my Prime nonsense any time soon. Despite that, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind too much, especially not when she was looking at him like he was the most delicious thing in that room, even with all the energon laid before them. 

“Friends!” Ultra Magnus called from the head of the table. 

It was enough for Sentinel to jerk where he sat and pull away from Elita, who he hadn't even realized he'd been slowly but surely inching towards. He felt shame bubble low in his abdomen as he settled more into his seat, purposefully avoiding Elita's gaze, as Ultra Magnus rose and smiled charmingly at the entirety of his guests. 

Ultra Magnus, in both spirit and body, was larger than life itself. His gleaming paint job of blue and accents of red shined the brightest underneath the numerous chandeliers of his dining hall. 

His armor was thick and bulky, but rather than making him look awkward, it simply made him appear strong, fortified, reliable. He was magnificent, and Sentinel couldn't help but admire him again, intimidated by the sheer amount of presence he took up in the room. 

“Thank you all again for attending today’s banquet. I’m sure you all enjoyed drinking me out of my home.” Ultra chuckled, and there were several titters of amusement throughout the hall as he smiled. “I would like to extend my gratitude especially to my fellow council members. As you all know, we have recently apprehended the leader of the Blasphemous Rebellion, the one who goes by Megatron.” 

Murmurs rose. Several of them shifted uncomfortably, perhaps recalling all of Megatron's crimes. It was hard not to feel the same. After all, the rebellion had been the one and only enemy that the covenant never managed to squash, despite all their attempts. 

Sentinel shuddered slightly, his cooling fans turning on as he tried not to think too hard about it. It made him feel nauseous knowing that he had gone behind Ultra's back and snuck Orion into Titan's Hold to speak with the aforementioned criminal. 

Primus, what would Ultra do if he ever found out? 

“The High Covenant worked efficiently and with dedication in order to at last, cut the head off the beast. Although we know it is in the best interest of all Cybertronians that we expedite Megatron's trial, I assure you, we are all working as quickly as possible to ensure he will come before us and jury without interrupting the sensitive nature of due process.” Ultra paused smiling slightly when there were murmurs of approval. 

“Finally,” Elita muttered from beside Sentinel. 

He almost twitched at her voice. 

“But to celebrate this monumental occasion, it has been decided amongst the High Covenant that a Revitalization Ceremony will take place within the next solar cycle!” Ultra said triumphantly, and this time, the reaction was far more boisterous. 

“Another one? So soon?” Krystal cried out in joy. 

“No way! I have to get another paint job for this,” Mirage crowed in delight. 

“I’m putting my bets on Hot Rod this time,” Blurr said, holding his chin plate in thought. 

As Ultra once again settled down and the dining hall swelled with bots talking over each other in their excitement as well as their predictions on who would win, Sentinel simply sat there, jaw slightly dropped, and his optics trying their best to capture the gaze of his mentor. 

What the frag is he talking about? Sentinel thought, his sensors telling him that his cooling fans were increasing their output even more, the whirring sound tingling at the back of his processor as he struggled to not march up there and practically beg for Ultra’s attention. 

The Revitalization Ceremony was not something the council, and so therefore Ultra, did frequently. It was first perpetuated by a race, the Iacon 5000, where mid caste bots entered and competed against each other for the glory of not only winning, but also getting the chance to become celebrated by the infamous ceremony, where they were granted the honor of becoming one of the city’s trailblazers. 

The trailblazer position was dangerous, deadly, and not easy. It was the only way a bot could climb ranks and achieve a caste level higher than they were born with, but it came with a heavy price. Every trailblazer left Cybertron in search of more energon elsewhere and were granted enough supplies to survive for vorns, but they were also barred from ever reentering society. A safety measure implemented by Ultra, who often warned the city of how numerous plagues and sicknesses floated in the universe, and therefore could potentially wipe out Cybertronians for good. 

And Ultra, the secretly kindhearted and soft mech that he was, hated hosting the Ceremony. He always talked about how good bots had to be sent out and expand Cybertron’s reach at the expense of never coming home, which often had him so upset that some solar cycles, Sentinel had to drag him back to his mansion from the office, since he always over indulged on high grade. 

So why was Ultra holding another one, especially so soon after the last? 

Sentinel’s processor whirled furiously as his system dug up the information from the last race. A mech named Tracks, caste level 26, had won outstandingly and was appropriately celebrated before the ceremony took place and he was shipped out to space for his mission. Sentinel, as only a trainee, didn’t have access to the logs of the trailblazers, but last he had heard, Tracks was doing well. 

It had only been three cycles since Tracks had left Cybertron. Nothing could have happened in that short amount of time. Why didn’t Ultra, who was close to Sentinel, tell him about this decision? Why didn’t any of the other council members? 

Sentinel’s helm suddenly snapped again to the front, as his gaze had been drifting along down the table, and he blinked several times as his face contorted and his disbelief stiffened his derms into a tight line. 

Unless there was a particularly devastating reason as to why Ultra made this decision. 

Don’t tell me… Sentinel thought, his servos clutching so tightly at the arms of his chair that he felt some of the metal dent easily underneath his digits. 

We’ve already run out of energon. 

Dread made Sentinel’s spark sink in his chassis.

No. 

That wasn’t possible. 

The mining output on Iacon had been the highest it’s ever been, and that wasn’t even including the other cities that also tried to mine for their energy source. There was no fragging way that they were running low again, not when Tracks had only been sent out a few cycles ago, and had sent back enough energon to please the council, something Sentinel had overheard numerous times by this point. 

He stared down at the half-full cube of energon in front of him. It gleamed brightly in spite of the sudden fuzziness of his vision. Was this some of the energon that Tracks had found from beyond Cybertron? How much of it had been lost in the refinement process for it to be so concentrated and so clear? 

The process of turning crude energon into something actually consumable was laborious and inefficient, Sentinel knew. At least 80% of the original volume was lost in the makings, and Sentinel’s spark lurched as he looked around himself, at all the cubes, at all the concentrated blue that started to burn his optics the longer he stared. 

How much of this energon was given to them by Tracks, who could no longer come home, and how much of it had been mined by miners? By his friends? 

Sentinel hated how much Bee and Orion had to work in those damned mines. The veins were explosive, a result of their planet being somewhat sentient, and therefore reluctant to allow bots to crawl within itself and chip away at its innards. It always resulted in some sort of injury; whether it was Bee’s worn and shaky servos, new scratches and abrasions on Orion’s armor, or most recently, dents along Orion’s spinal strut after he got caught in a vein collapsing. 

When Sentinel had received the news, he had nearly had a spark attack, and couldn’t even leave the meeting he had been in to check on his friend. 

If they had run out of energon, then yet another mech or femme had to leave their planet for good. Bee and Orion would have to work even more shifts, perpetuated by their odious leader, someone named Riley or Rocks. 

Sentinel was aware of how piercing his stare was as he continued to regard Ultra with a desperation that he could barely hold back from his derma, which had pursed into such a pathetic expression that he was ashamed of it. 

But maybe that pathetic look had some merit, because finally, Ultra Magnus’ optics drifted from Mirage, who he had been having a rather enthusiastic conversation with, and they glanced directly at his pupil. 

Ultra’s ridges tilted upwards slightly. 

The corner of Sentinel’s derma twitched, and that seemed to convince his mentor, who told a pouting Mirage what must have been an excuse to leave, as Ultra stood up, quietly walked over to the door that exited into the hallway, and he jerked his helm slightly as an indication to follow. 

Sentinel hastily stood up as well, grateful that the other bots were too caught up in their gossipping to recognize that their host had slipped away, only to stop when a servo, smaller than his own, laid itself on his arm. 

His sensors practically screamed at him, his optics wide and his mouth parted slightly, as Elita smiled faintly up at him from her seat. 

“Leaving so soon, my Prime?” She said in a light tone. She was teasing him, some part of his processor knew, jabbing at him with the my Prime nonsense, but a larger part of him couldn’t find it in himself to care, not when she continued to look at him like that. “Am I not entertaining enough for you?” 

His voicebox crackled with static as he sputtered, “not at all, miss! I just, uh, I have some - business to take care of.” 

Elita’s smile grew, and she purred, “Prime business, I presume?”

Sentinel’s spark skipped a beat. His glossa tasted dry and he was aware he was staring at her like an idiot, but it was hard not to. After all, with his schedule (both official trainee duties as well as secretly sneaking around with his friends), it meant he often didn’t get to converse with femmes, much less ones like Elita. 

But at the same time, he felt his arm flinch away from her touch, an involuntary movement that would have had him scolded by Ultra if he saw, especially since Sentinel always did have trouble with proper etiquette. 

If I were a Prime, I wouldn’t be begging for answers from Ultra like a sparkling, he thought to himself, but his derma moved to speak something else. “Of course. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you next time, Miss Elita.” 

Her optics glimmered as he drew away. “I look forward to it, Sentinel.” 

He rushed out of there, embarrassment following him like a phantom, and he couldn’t help but ex-vent a sigh of relief as soon as he was past the door and closing it behind him, putting a barrier between him and the chatter of the aristocrats. 

“You’re running like something set your aft on fire, Sentinel. Something you want to tell me?” 

Sentinel straightened and he swallowed simply on instinct as he looked up at his mentor. 

Ultra Magnus was leaning against the wall as he casually sipped at a cube of glowing energon, but it did nothing to diminish the pure power he continuously emitted no matter what he was doing. His cables bulged with strength underneath his armor, and he didn’t even deign to glance down at Sentinel, something that had him tilting his helm to the floor in shame. 

Ultra was displeased. 

“I’m sorry to distract you, my lord,” Sentinel mumbled, his wings barely holding back from twitching. He knew just how much Ultra disliked it when he fidgeted like a newly born sparkling, and his servos clenched themselves into fists behind his dorsal planes as he bowed. “I didn’t mean to - “ 

“And yet you did.” 

A coolant drop beaded and ran down the ridge of Sentinel’s nose as he froze where he stood. 

“I’m sorry,” Sentinel whispered again. He hoped it wasn’t obvious how shaky his voicebox was. The last time he had cried in front of Ultra, it had been an unpleasant experience, one he didn’t want to repeat. Not if he wanted to walk for the next few solar cycles. “I - I simply wanted to ask you a few questions about the ceremony.” 

“Hm.” Ultra grunted. There was the sound of glass clinking as well as the telltale gulp that meant he had just downed the rest of his energon. “You forget your place too easily, Sentinel. It disappoints me that I even have to explain it to you. Just how long must I wait until you become the Prime I expect you to be?” 

The words were cutting, curdled with Ultra’s anger, his dismissive aggression. It made shame welt like a virus beneath Sentinel’s plating, a reminder of just how far he was from actually becoming a Prime, and any small amount of irritation over not being informed of the ceremony decision died down, instead being replaced by the feeling of utter uselessness that he often experienced whenever he let Ultra down. 

“You dare to pull me from my own banquet, which I host out of the goodness of my spark, to ensure that my people and you consume enough energon to perform your duties,” Ultra continued. “All to question me on my own decisions. My decisions, Sentinel, of which I certainly don’t need to indulge the reasons of to anyone, much less you.” 

He accentuated the last, pointed syllable of his sentence with a small thud as he straightened up from the wall, and he took a step closer, enough so that he blocked the chandelier overhead from shedding light on Sentinel. 

Like this, it was clearer than ever the disparities between them - the height of Ultra, his power, his authority, all of which shadowed Sentinel’s own feeble being. It was a reminder of something that Sentinel had known ever since he had been named as Ultra’s prodigy. 

You belong to me, Ultra said with his optics. His gaze wasn’t even a glower, nor was it a glare. It just simply was. It was plain and devoid of any particular emotion, which was somehow even worse than his anger, which was something that Sentinel at least knew how to deal with internally. 

Here, now, Ultra looked at him like he was nothing more than a speck, and Sentinel had never felt so small. 

“It seems I have to remind you again exactly who you are,” Ultra said. 

“F-Forgive me, my lord,” Sentinel stuttered, cursing himself as he did. He couldn’t stop trembling, and he knew he looked pathetic with the coolant dripping down from his helm and down to his ridges, but he couldn’t help himself as he blurted out, “I just think that the ceremony is unnecessary!” 

Ultra didn’t move. In fact, his expression didn’t even change, but his voice was noticeably colder, gruffer, as he said, “Sentinel.” 

“Tracks left only three cycles ago,” Sentinel continued to ramble, his processor sending warning after warning that he was approaching dangerous territory, as with every word that was vomited from his dermas, Ultra’s ridges drew tighter with his distaste. “And he’s been sending enough energon for now! If we could just - just rally the miners, give them better motivation, then I think our mining output would be even greater. They respond greatly to even simple things like provisions, so if we - “ 

“Sentinel.” 

He stopped. 

Ultra knelt down to the ground, at an angle which meant that their faces were optic-level and his nose was invisible to Sentinel.

“Enough.” Ultra's voicebox was gentle, softened by what Sentinel knew was his disappointment. Just that one word told him everything he needed to know; his ideas were being dismissed, most likely due to some flaw in them that Ultra probably recognized instantly, since Sentinel was poor at doing the same. “You are to be a Prime. You are the future of Iacon, the upcoming leader of Cybertron. What good will it do you to question me?” 

“I - I wasn't questioning you,” Sentinel said weakly. When Ultra didn’t respond, Sentinel's voice became desperate, and he couldn't help himself as he jerked forward, so close that their helms nearly touched as he blurted out, “I swear on Primus, my lord! I - you're - you're right. Of course you are. I-I'm sorry for bringing it up.” 

Sentinel could feel himself deflate with every word. 

Of course Ultra was right. Why did Sentinel even try to ask him anything in the first place? It was foolish of him, not to mention disrespectful. It made him feel ill to think he could ever challenge his mentor, someone who had cared and looked after him for so long, and someone who had felt far more like a sire than his actual one. 

Sentinel drooped where he stood. 

“It’s good to see you realize how unnecessary your suggestions are.” Ultra ex-vented harshly, but his touch was light and reprimanding as his digits grabbed Sentinel's chinplate, forcing him to look up again and right into Ultra's intense stare. “But you still have a long way to go. From now on, your training will increase. Seven solar cycles per cycle, and your recharging will be reduced.” 

Sentinel gazed up at him, his mouth parted slightly as he struggled to comprehend what he just said. 

Training was a brutal regime that Sentinel dreaded every time it came up. He was already working so hard that his recharge was interrupted by his nightmares, but to do it even more? 

How would Sentinel survive? 

How would he make time to sneak out and see Bee and Orion? 

But Ultra was his mentor. His sire-figure. 

Sentinel trusted him more than anyone. 

If he thought that this was the best course of action, then Sentinel believed him, and so slowly, reluctantly, he nodded, and for the very first time since they started talking, Ultra smiled. 

“Good boy,” Ultra rumbled, and he stroked Sentinel's helm once, his smile widening when the mech purred and rubbed into his touch. “You will make a fine Prime one day.” 

“Thank you, my lord,” Sentinel said reverently. 

Ultra stood up, nodded once in dismissal, and then he was gone, slipping past the door and greeting his guests with a cheer that Sentinel had never seen around himself. 

He pushed his dorsal plates to the wall and slid down, crashing onto the floor so harshly that several sparks slid right off his armor. 

It always drained him to talk to Ultra. It was usually due to Sentinel making a mistake and therefore having to be punished accordingly, just like this time, and he sighed wearily as he buried his helm into his arms and tried to vent properly. 

When would he ever stop being such an idiot around his mentor? Why was he so stupid? Why… 

Private Comm Link (ID: #836192): Badassatron

Incoming message… 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Sentinel? ::

Sentinel shifted where he sat, his helm lifting reluctantly as his processor gently dinged and notified him of a new text from Bee. 

For a moment, Sentinel seriously thought about ignoring it. He wasn't in the mood for entertaining his friends, both of whom he never talked about in regards to his professional life, because they just wouldn't understand. He was in too much turmoil to talk, much less try to play off how terrible he felt in that klik, but he thought about how sweet Bee was any time they met, and so he dragged a servo down his face and slowly typed back. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Yeah. :: 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Orion got in trouble again. ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Of course he did. :: 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Yeah :( we're not going to be given rations on the next pay cycle. ::

That had Sentinel standing up. 

He felt his ridges burrow into a frown as he urgently tried to think of why in the Pits Bee and Orion would be denied their energon. There was no way Orion did something that bad, right? 

But then again, he had also been the one to break into Titan's Hold just for the chance of gawking at Iacon's most wanted criminal, and Sentinel wearily told himself that it wasn't out of the cards entirely that Orion had probably committed some serious faux pas. 

Just thinking about Megatron had Sentinel shuddering, and he prayed to Primus that Orion hadn’t done something even near that level of illegal as he immediately eyed the servant who had just walked into the hall, pushing an entire cart of refined energon as she hummed to herself. 

Sentinel abhorred stealing; it was illegal and not dignifying for someone of his status, but he also thought about many things. Of the energon being so carelessly consumed and spilled in the room behind him, of the many mechs and femmes who were sent to space with no way of returning home, and of his friends, his miners, who worked so hard to provide for their people and yet now would be denied the fruits of their labor. 

Sentinel pursed his dermas in determination. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Damn that bot. It’s okay, I'll bring you both some cubes. Hopefully it can sustain you long enough until the next pay period. :: 

“Excuse me,” Sentinel said out loud, approaching the servant. 

She immediately flushed, her facial plates turning bright blue as she curtsied and said, “L-Lord Sentinel! It's an honor! How may I serve you?” 

Sentinel smiled at her, hoping that it was more charming than awkward, and he pointed at the cart, where there had to be at least three dozen cubes of highly refined energon. “You wouldn't mind if I swipe some of this, would you? I'm just so parched.” 

She flushed even more and fidgeted where she stood, her digits playing with each other. “Oh! Well, uh, these were meant to be delivered to the guests - b-but if you insist, my lord! I'm sure Lord Ultra wouldn't care, especially since you're you!” 

Sentinel's smile went brittle at the reminder of his mentor. No, Ultra would definitely care, since he was always reminded Sentinel of etiquette and how he could never act as someone below his station, which stealing definitely was. 

“Between you and me, I'd appreciate it if you could keep this private between us,” Sentinel said, his voice lowering as he leaned in close enough that his ex-vent brushed the top of the small bot's helm. He winked at her, fervently praying she would buy his blatantly fake flirting. “I just need to wind down a bit and this energon is perfect for helping me out. Your help would be greatly admired.” 

She looked near faint. “Yes! I mean, of course, my lord! Please take it! And if you need help in relaxing, as you put it…” 

He tried hard not to blank when she curtsied again, this time in such a way that her chassis was pushed out and her spinal strut curved in an obviously seductive manner. 

“I'll be sure to keep your offer in mind,” he lied through his dentae, and after shoveling as many cubes into his compartments as he could, he grinned at her when she left, hoping she wouldn't notice the strained way his derma cinched at the ends. 

Urgh. Sentinel already knew he was bad at amorous connections after embarrassing himself one too many times in front of Elita, but to think that his own flirting could wield such… disturbing results was more than a little disheartening. 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Thank you, Sen! Also, Orion wanted to ask if you could bring a little extra this time. ::

Sentinel glanced down at himself, his processor telling him how his weight had approximately increased by at least 1.5% from the sheer amount of energon he had tucked away. 

He snorted. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Fine. How long can you guys hold out until you need to refuel? ::

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Two and a half solar cycles? Do you think you can meet us at the mines entrance? Before the lift, on the surface. ::

Hm. That was a bit too tight for Sentinel's liking, especially since, as his spark squirmed uncomfortably, he now had a far more rigorous schedule than before, which had already been brutal. 

But two solar cycles from now was his etiquette day, and his instructor, a ditzy femme who went by the designation of Lowlight, was easy to give the slip if he played his cards right. 

Though if he tried to skirk his duties not even a full cycle after his rather poor conversation with Ultra, then who knew what his punishment would be.

Guilt mixed itself together into a slurry in his abdomen. Guilt of once again disobeying his mentor, the bot who had time and time again showed him kindness and discipline, but also guilt over not being able to provide for his friends, who clearly needed the help. 

Being a Prime means helping others, something in his processor said rather loudly. To his dismay, it sounded a lot like Orion, the cheeky afthole, and he felt himself smiling slightly, even if he often wanted to shake his friend for all the trouble he got into. 

That was right. Helping others, servicing his people - that was the right thing to do. It was more than uncomfortable to think about how displeased Ultra would be about this, how it felt like Sentinel was choosing his friends over his mentor, but that wasn’t true at all! He was staying loyal to both of them. He loved both of them. He would never dare to choose one over the other. 

It was fine. 

It would be fine. 

As long as Ultra didn’t find out, then Sentinel would be okay. 

Right? 

Act I, Scene V: If Primes Don’t Party, Then…

Orion had never been so sore before, and that was including the time a vein literally collapsed on top of him and he had to dig himself out since Ricks, the fragging slag-eater that he was, refused to “waste any resources on something that was clearly your fault”. 

He let out a harsh vent as for the first time in at least two solar cycles, the light of Helios filtered through his weary servo, which he held above his optics. It was a welcome sight to at last have a source of light that didn’t come from an artificial source, and from beside him, Bee groaned as they stumbled off of the lift. 

As always, they were the last two to leave. It was a result of Ricks continuously holding them back and reprimanding them for a poor job, though most of the time, it was clear that he just liked to harass them for issues that weren’t even there. Just a few kliks ago, Ricks had screamed at them both for drilling at a 47 degree angle instead of 45, and it had taken everything in Orion not to tackle him to the ground and shove dirt into his mouth. 

The only reason he hadn’t was because of Bee. Out of the two of them, he was smaller and had less endurance, and he had been practically swaying on his pedes by the time they finally put away their jetpacks. 

The idea of being punished with even more shifts and dragging Bee into it when it was so clear that he was only several kliks away from shutting down had wrangled Orion’s temper well enough, and his sensors urged him tiredly about his low energon levels as well as his pain processor overworking itself. 

“Pathetic,” Ricks sneered from behind them. He stomped forward, as he was of course, totally fine. As their team leader, he didn’t lift a single digit to help any of them while they worked their afts off, though Orion failed to see the logic of that. Ricks scoffed when Bee fell to his servos and patellas, his voicebox humming lowly with static. “You in particular, B-127! Honestly, how can a piece of scrap like you still have this job?” 

“Ricks,” Orion said tightly. He didn’t have enough energon in him to swing his fist like he wanted, but he certainly had enough to set a fierce glare at his team leader, who was eyeing him suspiciously, as if he were nothing more than slag on the road. “We just worked three shifts. Lay off.” 

“You worked three shifts because you’re liable,” Ricks said, haughtily repeating what Darkwing had said. “And if you don’t get that attitude in check, I have no problem assigning you to three more, Pax.” 

“I really don’t see that as necessary.” 

Orion made a small, surprised noise of relief when the familiar sound of heavy wings catching the air swooped down, and with a vibrating thud, gold and royal blue filled his vision. 

Sentinel straightened from his landing, his wings folding primly against his dorsal plates, but Orion knew his friend well; the twitching of them revealed just how irritated he actually was, though the aristocrat’s face was plenty pleasant. Too pleasant, actually, a testament to how hard he was covering up his distaste when Ricks’ jaw dropped in gobsmacked awe. 

“Lord S-Sentinel!” Ricks sputtered ineloquently. He seemed starstruck, which was even funnier considering the fact that he barely reached the middle of Sentinel’s femur plating. When Orion squinted, he could even see the faintest sign of a blush starting on Ricks’ face, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or roll his optics. “I-I-It’s an honor, sir!” 

“Charmed.” Sentinel’s voice indicated it was anything but. He placed his servos on his hips and said, “I overheard you scolding these two gentlebots. Is there a problem?” 

At this, Ricks’ facial plating contorted, and he was overflowing with glee as he nodded rapidly. If he had been excited before at Darkwing’s intervention, then he was practically vibrating now, and Orion could only stand there, a servo on Bee’s shoulder plate with a blank expression as Ricks said, “yes, oh, yes, my lord! These two are troublemakers! The worst of my bunch!” 

“Uh-huh,” Sentinel said in a tone that clearly said get on with it. “And what exactly have they done to warrant such severe punishment? From what I see, it looks like their digits have been worked down to their circuits already. I’m happy to listen, team leader, uh - “ 

“Ricks, sir!” Ricks offered too enthusiastically. 

Sentinel’s dermas pressed together. He seemed torn between annoyance and laughter, but if Orion knew him, and he did, then it was a mixture of both. Not laughter at the situation, but a brutal mirth towards Ricks, who was becoming more ridiculous by the klik. “Right. Ricks.” 

“They’ve made a complete mess of the energon deposits, sir!” Ricks huffed, turning around and glaring at both Orion and Bee. The latter of whom was practically lying face down on the ground by this point, the quiet whirring of his fans indicating that he was dangerously close to falling into emergency recharge. 

As Ricks continued to rant, Orion stared pointedly over his shoulder plate at Sentinel, who gave him a slight tilt of the helm. 

Wrap it up, Orion said with a twitch of his optic ridges. 

He’s hard to shake, Sentinel whined with a small frown of his derma. 

So work harder, Orion’s small chin jut said. 

Sentinel nodded minutely. Then, loudly, with a kind of blatant arrogance that he had an easy time slipping on around bots he didn’t like, he interrupted Ricks’ rambling about angles and different sediments with a bored, “team leader Ricks, I believe it’s more imperative that these miners retire and recharge as soon as possible.” 

“Wha - retire?” Ricks repeated. His optics nearly bulged out of his helm. “B-But - Lord Sentinel - you don’t seem to understand, these two slackers - “ 

“I understand plenty, actually,” Sentinel said. He wasn’t hiding his displeasure anymore, and he simply gave Ricks a cursory glance, one filled with so much disgust that it made even Orion feel a little offended. Who knew Sentinel could play the part of an aristocrat so well? “Off with you, Ricks. Your services are no longer needed.” 

Ricks was speechless. His derma opened and closed several times, and for a micro-klik, Orion thought he was about to argue with Sentinel, but eventually, he thought better of it. Whether it was because of his pathetic hero worship or because Sentinel was just that much higher in the caste than him, it had Ricks whirling around, shoving off his own jetpack, and pushing past Orion so harshly that he stumbled. 

“Hey!” Orion couldn’t help but snap. 

“Count yourself lucky, Pax,” Ricks said in a low voice to him. He was furious, that much was certain, and when Orion glanced down at his fists, he was unsurprised to see them clenched and shaky. “I don't know what you did to get his favor, but Lord Sentinel won’t always be here to protect you.” 

And with that, he was gone, storming off to be an afthole to some other poor spark. 

“Did any bot see that?” Sentinel asked after they waited for several moments in tense silence. 

Orion swept his optics around the area. There was nobody there, since all the other miners had cleared out long before their own shift ended. Ricks always liked to keep it that way, so he could freely yell at the both of them without any judgemental spectators. 

He shook his helm in a no. 

“Think he might blab?” Sentinel said, looking worried as he knelt down and tenderly brushed his digits against the top of Bee's helm, muttering to himself when Bee moaned feebly and tried to nuzzle his servo, though it was clear from his slow movements that he wasn't well. 

“No,” Orion said with an ex-vent. “And even if he does, no one's going to believe him.” 

Sentinel gave him a skeptical look but nodded anyway. 

It was important to Sentinel, Orion knew, that no one caught wind of exactly how close he was to Bee and Orion. Logically, it made sense, since miners were only caste level 0 and Sentinel was considered one of the best of the best at level 40. That didn't mean it didn't suck, though, since they always had to tiptoe around like this, out of fear that Sentinel would get torn apart by Ultra again for associating with the lower rings of their hierarchy. 

“Primus. What did he do to you two?” Sentinel sighed, looking weary as he settled down completely and stroked Bee's spinal strut, smiling despite himself when the smaller bot began to make a small humming noise at the touch. “Did you really work three shifts?” 

“Back to back,” Orion said, sitting down unceremoniously, making grabby motions at Sentinel, his vision already starting to get a bit hazy from how hard he impacted the ground. “Cough it up, my Prime. I’m only on 5% energon. Bee’s probably even lower.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Sentinel muttered petulantly, but he was opening his arm compartment anyway and pouring out dozens upon dozens of cubes right into Orion’s lap. 

He gaped down at them. These were way more than he had initially been thinking of, but more than that, these were expensive. Like, expensive to the point that he could work for vorns and he still wouldn’t be able to pay off even one cube. 

What in the Pits? Where did Sentinel get these? Actually, how did he even manage to sneak these all away without anyone raising a ridge? 

“Are you going to just sit there, staring like an idiot?” Sentinel huffed. He was already nudging Bee onto his side and was trying to push a cube past his derma. It was kind of working, except Bee was so sleepy that all he did was just mumble, mouth at the glass of the cube, and then still. Sentinel groaned. “Bee, come on, licking it won’t do anything!” 

Carefully, Orion lifted one of the numerous cubes from his lap and brought it up to his optics. Even just from a visual standpoint, it was so clear how much better this energon was compared to his usual rations. It was a brighter, near neon blue, and completely transparent, unlike the murkiness of the kind he got from pay day. 

It had a thicker consistency, too, something he noticed when he tipped the cube slightly and the energon clung to the sides of the cube. This was the pure stuff; completely concentrated energon that had gone through numerous cleansing processes in order to get the maximum yield. 

Orion took a sip. 

The taste was unlike anything he'd had before. Sharp and sweetened by - his sensors clicked slowly as energon began to circulate properly through his veins - bismuth. A flavor he had never had before, but instantly became his favorite anyway. 

Was this what it was like to be a high caste? He asked himself in awe as he practically chugged the next three cubes without sparing a moment to breathe, something that Sentinel shouted at him for. To be able to have access to this kind of fuel, to have the luxury of sweetening it with a foreign mineral - it was intoxicating, and Orion's energon reserves had never been happier as his system eagerly stored away as much of it as possible. 

“Whoa,” Bee said, perfectly encompassing Orion's current emotions as he finished licking at the innards of the cube that Sentinel had held to him, his glossa extending out and licking his derma, as if trying to get every last drop. “That was amazing! What is this stuff?” 

“It's energon,” Sentinel said, rolling his optics. 

“It's expensive energon,” Bee said in awe, sitting up properly and swiping another one from Orion's lap, sipping at it a little desperately. “This is so much better than the kind they give out at ration time!” 

“Yeah,” Sentinel muttered. He shifted where he sat, and Orion, who now didn't feel like on the brink of going offline, blinked several times as he realized something was off. 

Sentinel's armor, which had been bright and shining with its new paint job since the last time they saw each other, was scratched and worn. At the sharper edges of his chassis and shoulder plates, it was especially obvious, as the gold and blue had chipped away to reveal a much more vulnerable silver underneath. 

Similarly, it took Orion until then to realize that Sentinel was acting weird. He wasn't upset, per se, but he was definitely more subdued than normal, and he kept clenching and unclenching his left servo, his face twitching with minute winces that he glossed over too quickly for anyone who wasn't close to him to notice. 

But Orion had known Sentinel since they were mere sparklings, and he couldn't help the incredulous and justifiably enraged nature of his voice as he said, “Sentinel, what the frag happened to you!” 

Sentinel startled, his servo freezing as it tried to clench again, and Bee paused from stuffing yet another cube into his mouth. 

“What are you talking about?” Sentinel snapped, but it was already too late, and by this point, Bee was leaning in closer, scrutinizing the aristocrat with a small frown, and soon enough, a worried chirp escaped the miner’s dermas as he pressed a digit to one of the numerous dents on Sentinel’s chassis. Sentinel gritted his dentae and hissed out a quiet, but still audible, “ow.” 

“You’re hurt,” Orion said, abandoning the cubes as he crawled over and reached up to cup Sentinel’s cheek, frowning when he winced and tried to turn away, as if doing that would make the fresh bruise on his facial plate any less visible. “What happened?” 

“It’s just training.” Sentinel defended harshly, shaking his helm and pushing aside Orion’s servo as he did. “You don’t have to baby me, I can handle it.” 

“But you’ve never been injured from training before,” Bee said anxiously. He was tracing the dent on Sentinel’s armor with such a dejected look on his face that it physically hurt to glance at him. “Did… Did Ultra find out about Mega - “ 

“No,” Sentinel said firmly. He let out a vent and shook his helm, slumping slightly, his wings limp on his dorsal plates. He seemed more tired after his declaration, his optics half-shut and the glow of them dimmer than they usually were. “Look, just - don’t worry about it. There’s no way Ultra knows about M… Megatron, so don’t even joke about it. The training is just an extra precaution. Even though M-Megaton’s been detained, that doesn’t mean the rest of the rebels are going to be taken down quietly.” 

“Right,” Orion said, his voice unsure as he and Bee exchanged worried, furrowed looks. “Sure.” 

It was hard to believe Sentinel, not even because he was always a terrible liar, but simply because what he said didn’t make sense. Sentinel wasn’t part of the Elite Guard or even Ultra’s personal squadron, both of whom were tasked to capture rebels. Why would he have to go through more training if he wasn’t going to be out on the field? 

“Maybe I can help.” Bee tried to offer, his voice high-pitched with forced cheer as he cuddled closer to Sentinel, something all of them knew that the aristocrat secretly loved. “I can totally code for some better defensive tactics and send them to you! That way you won’t have to get hurt so much from your… training.” 

Bee’s enthusiastic suggestion ended with uncertainty, and Orion knew it wasn’t his imagination when Sentinel squirmed again. 

He wished Sentinel didn’t do this. Any time he or Bee ever tried to ask more about what he actually did as Ultra’s pupil, he just kind of… shut down. Stopped talking. Maybe it was just some protocol stuff that a miner like Orion didn’t know, but it never stopped bugging him how Sentinel was so tight-lipped about his secrets, like they would go around talking about it with other bots. 

It was even worse knowing that the thing Sentinel was keeping under wraps was about his own health. Though Orion didn’t doubt that training under Ultra was both an honor and difficult, he had never seen Sentinel like this, bruised and cut up, almost like he went through a battle rather than a spar. 

For once, Orion wondered if Ultra knew what he was doing, though that thought was quickly shaken away. He had no reason to question the Ultra Magnus, not when he was probably the most honorable bot that Orion knew, so instead, he simply frowned, pondering on whether or not Sentinel would be able to keep up with this new training schedule he was so vague about. 

“I’m fine, Bee,” Sentinel tried to comfort, but he was pretty awful at it, since he could only really pat Bee awkwardly on the shoulder and avoid optic contact. “It’s not serious, and Dr. Ratchet already gave me the green light.” 

“If you told us, we wouldn’t worry so much,” Orion said pointedly. 

“It’s classified,” Sentinel said immediately. 

“Classified my aft,” Orion muttered.

“And don’t even talk to me about injuries.” Sentinel’s gaze sharpened into a glare as he scowled fiercely at Orion, who held up his arms in a placating motion. “How could you be so stupid! Pissing off Darkwing like that, are you fragging serious? Now look at you both! I wouldn’t be surprised if someone mistook you as scrap with how banged up you are!” 

The sudden change in subject wasn’t lost on Orion, and he frowned deeply in frustration. It was obvious that Sentinel was agitated, though whether that was by Orion himself or something else, he didn’t know, though he intended to find out soon enough. Roping Bee into it would probably be easy, since the smaller bot was still eyeing Sentinel with worry.

For a micro-klik, Orion seriously considered calling bullscrap on Sentinel’s deflection. He hated it when his friends were hurt, hated it even more when they purposefully tried to cover it up by refusing to talk about it. 

But slowly, he ex-vented, and soothed the frustration that made his energon pump in anticipation and nerves. This wasn’t the time. If Sentinel wanted to be a stubborn jackaft about it, fine, but Orion would figure it out, and Sentinel would have hell to pay for lying to him. 

“Darkwing acts like he runs the place,” Orion said instead, crossing his arms and looking to the side, huffing as he thought about the mid caste bot. “Just because he’s a higher level doesn’t mean he can treat us like we’re made of slag.” 

Sentinel gave him an incredulous look. “He does run the place, what the frag, Orion? He’s literally your supervisor! You’re being ridiculous. Bee, tell him he’s being ridiculous.” 

“Well,” Bee said slowly. He fiddled with his digits and didn’t look up from where he was curled up in Sentinel’s lap, and instead began to sip nervously at a cube, his optics darting everywhere in an attempt to cover up his anxiety. “It - it wasn’t - it just wasn’t very nice of Darkwing to punch Orion, so I kind of get it.” 

“He punched - “ Sentinel began to shout, only to intake sharply as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He groaned, muttered something about how he needed new friends (which, you know, rude), and spoke with a kind of weariness that only ever came out around Orion. “You can’t act so recklessly, Orion. What would have happened if I hadn’t gotten here in time to stop Rocks - “ 

“Ricks,“ Orion said unhelpfully. 

Sentinel glared. “Whatever. What would have happened if I hadn’t gotten here in time to stop Ricks? Huh? I know he’s a slag-ful team leader, but he’s right, okay? I won’t always be here to protect you. I can’t stop every bad thing from happening.” 

Orion fell silent. 

He didn't know what to say in response, but more than that, he didn't know how to comprehend the feeling of bitterness that bubbled deep within his spark. 

It grinded his gears knowing Sentinel was right in some manner. There was no telling what Ricks would have done if he hadn't intervened in time, but Orion hated how the intervention had to take place at all. 

It wasn't fair. None of it. The hierarchy that they were all born into was so rigid and absolute that miners were always disregarded as nothing more than fodder. But Orion knew himself, and he knew Bee. He knew that they both had dreams and aspirations, and he knew they could be kind, that they were alive. 

Wasn't that enough to demand basic respect? Wasn't just being born enough? Why did it matter that they were birthed without cogs? Why was it that their occupations dictated everything else? 

We wouldn't have needed your help if we didn't have a caste in the first place, Orion wanted to say, but he banished the thought as soon as it happened. 

No. No, that was near blasphemous to think about. The caste had a purpose, just like every other bot did; it was to make sure their society was structured and organized, to ensure that those on top never grew too numerous, and so that trickle-down economics worked for their world, where energon was short in supply. 

So why was he so bothered? 

“Well, I might need your help again anyway,” Orion said, swallowing his ire and instead smiling crookedly at Sentinel, who only looked unimpressed. “Think you can give me a lift again?” 

“A lift? To where?” Sentinel said, his optics squinting in suspicion. 

This time, when Orion grinned, it was genuine, and he was sure he looked at least slightly manic, going by how both Bee and Sentinel made low chirps of concern when he said, “oh, just to visit my favorite prisoner of all time.” 

“Oh, Primus, help me,” Bee immediately whimpered. 

“I'm leaving,” Sentinel stated, but he couldn't actually, not with Bee still in his hold. Instead, he vented harshly, and snapped, “Orion Pax, you'll be the death of us all!” 

Orion laughed. 

“Why would you want to go see him again?” Bee pleaded. “I thought you promised it was a one time thing!” 

“And I thought you said it was the coolest stunt we've ever pulled off,” Orion said. 

Bee smiled sheepishly when Sentinel gave him a betrayed look. “Well, I mean, it was cool…” 

“About as cool as Helios,” Sentinel growled. “No. No! No way, no how. It was already a gigantic risk going once, but going again? It'll just increase the chance that we get caught! And anyway, I can't just give you a lift, thank you very much. They're hosting a Revitalization Ceremony tomorrow and I need to be there.” 

“What?” Both Bee and Orion exclaimed. 

Sentinel nodded, and Orion felt a little floored by the reveal. It wasn't like the ceremony directly affected him, since only middle caste Cybertronians were allowed to participate, but still. 

Hosting one so quickly after their last one was kind of impressive, and he sounded a little hesitant as he said, “but didn't Tracks just - ?” 

“Yes.” Sentinel stared at the ground. He didn't seem inclined to look back up, which was strange, as was the slight static in his voice as he said, “but it doesn't matter what I - well. Anyway, the race is happening tomorrow, and I have to be there. Ultra said how every member of his team, including any trainees, had to be present to show how unified the council is.” 

“Why do you even want to go, anyway?” Bee asked curiously. He seemed less shocked now that the chance of another break-in was unlikely. “Didn't you say you never want to see him again?” 

That much was true. Orion did say he never wanted to see Megatron again, and in all honesty, he wasn't even sure why he was pushing so hard for this, not when he knew going meant he'd at least have to talk to the rebel in order to explain what he was doing there. 

But then he glanced down at the ground again, at the pile of cubes that Sentinel had given him, and he thought about Megatron, about how small he had seemed in that cell, how cold it had been. How there was a chance, even if it was slight, that he wasn't being fed, and just like with the sparkling Orion had given all his energon to, his spark tugged at the thought. 

He couldn't stand for anyone, not even Megatron, suffering like that, and so he shuffled where he stood, and he said, “because I… want to make sure he's eating.” 

“Pardon me?” 

“Come again?” 

Both Sentinel and Bee's contorted faces and disbelieving questions almost made Orion regret telling them his true intentions, but he couldn't back down now, not when he was already in this deep. 

“Orion, do you know how absolutely fragging crazy you sound?” Sentinel said, sounding half-hysterical as he gestured wildly to the pile of energon. “I got those cubes for you and Bee, not for the most notorious criminal of the state!”

“But what if he isn't being fed?” Orion insisted. “He definitely didn’t seem like he had a lot of energy back when we talked!” 

Sentinel's facial plates were quickly going from confused to outraged. “And who cares if he isn't being fed! That's not your concern, and it isn't mine, either! We can't waste energon on someone like him!” 

“No bot deserves to starve, Sentinel!” Orion was getting loud by this point, but he couldn't find it in himself to curb the volume of his voicebox as he shook his helm and refused to step down. “I know he's a bad guy, and I know he's done a lot of horrible things - but he's alive, still! He should be treated with some level of dignity.” 

Sentinel’s face sagged. He held a servo to his eyes, almost like he couldn’t bear to look at Orion anymore. In that moment, it occurred to him what he sounded like; defending Megatron, insisting that he deserved better treatment. Almost like he cared. 

Almost like Orion was a traitor. 

But Orion's loyalties lied with Ultra and the council. His loyalties lied with his friends. There was no way in the Pits that Orion would even entertain the idea that he would betray his city, his people, and put someone like Megatron on top of all of that. 

Orion was just so bothered, so, so bothered by the idea that anyone, not just Megatron, could potentially be treated with such cruelty. 

“Sentinel.” Orion pleaded. He collapsed onto his patellas, ignoring the way dust settled into his joints and seams, and he reached up, clasping Sentinel's digits within his own. He tried to convey how warm he was, how he still loved their council and their leader, and when Sentinel finally sighed and carefully glanced at him, he knew he was doing at least something right. 

“You don't know for sure that he's being starved.” Sentinel seemed defeated, his words buried in his worry and his exhaustion. He didn't seem like the great and powerful Prime trainee; instead, he was just a mech who was tired, and Orion felt guilt prickle in his spark over how much stress he knew he was putting his friend through. “And even if he was, why do you care? Why? He killed dozens of our citizens, Orion. Innocent civilians. That kind of monster doesn't deserve anything but what the council decides as his fate.” 

Orion was speechless. 

Sentinel was right. 

Why did Orion care? 

Was it because of the way the room had been so cold, that frost had encrusted the grate of the vent he peered through? Was it because of how quiet the rebel leader had been, so stoic and so sturdy, even when he sat there in his own prison? Was it because of the sarcastic and biting words he used not out of rage-induced malice, but just for the sake of it? 

Or was it the small spark of amusement that had shined in his red optics, a twinkle that had thrown Orion off so much, that for a moment, he had thought Megatron looked breathtaking? 

Whatever it was, it beat strongly in Orion's chassis, right alongside his spark. It refused to acknowledge that starvation was simply part of Megatron's punishment, that he deserved it. That something made Orion want to do it all over again, to risk his life, all for the sake of ensuring that Megatron kept his. 

“I don't know,” Orion finally said. His volume level was low and full of static, one that he couldn't get rid of even when he cleared his throat and tried again. “I… I don’t know.” 

Sentinel stared. “What did he say to you in there, Orion? What could he have said for you to be like this?” 

Orion's processor whirled. 

What had Megatron said, indeed. 

In all honesty, their conversation had been brief and stiff, stinted by their radically different ideals. It had been easy to get aggravated by the rebel, to have his paint peel from indignation at his disregard for the council and his mocking of Ultra. But it had been so, so easy to recognize the strength of his conviction, of the ideas and views of someone who was so different from Orion that he was just achingly curious to know more. 

But he couldn't say that. 

No. 

Sentinel would never understand. 

If Orion was loyal to the council, then Sentinel was practically devoted; who knew what he would think if Orion confessed that he thought Megatron had been the most attractive mech he ever laid optics on? That Orion had, throughout his entire conversation with him, had been staring so obviously at Megatron's derma that he had been mortified by it? 

“I think we should go.” 

Orion made a small noise of surprise as he watched Bee finally stir from his position in Sentinel's lap. He pushed himself more upright, his servos clasped on top of Sentinel's femur panels to do so, and though his finials were bent back with anxiety, his voice was oddly confident as he repeated, “we should do it.” 

“Bee.” Orion breathed in awe. 

“Bee!” Sentinel snarled. 

Bee shook his helm, brushing away Sentinel's servo when he attempted to grab his wrist and pull him back from standing. Bee approached Orion, an unsure smile on his face, and he said, “you know how crazy I think you are, right?” 

Orion nodded. 

“And that what you're asking is for us to put our lives on the line, again, because there's only a teeny chance that Megatron might be suffering?” 

Orion nodded again. 

Bee nodded back, aborted the movement, and gave Orion a hug. It was warm, a little too tight since Bee was just like that when it came to his hugs, and Orion embraced him back just as fiercely, nuzzling the top of his helm as he did. 

“Orion's right, Sentinel,” Bee said, stepping back, though he didn't pull his servo out of Orion's loose grip. “I know you're right, too. Megatron's a bully and I hate bullies. But he… he doesn't deserve to starve to death. No one does.” 

He paused. 

“And I might have already memorized their entire network.” Bee admitted a little sheepishly. “So breaking in isn't going to be anywhere near as hard.”

“You did what?” Orion said in amazement. “Bee!” 

Bee giggled when Orion offered him a high five. 

Sentinel looked like he'd just swallowed a rock or two. He dragged both his servos down his face, and kept one pressed to his dermas as he said, in a completely miserable tone, “aw, Pits.” 

Orion laughed and so did Bee, the both of them rushing forward to hug Sentinel as he groaned and stood up, though it was slightly awkward since they really only came up to his hip joints. Despite the height difference, Sentinel hesitantly rested one servo on each of their shoulders, and Orion caught a glimpse of something gold moving at the corner of his optic, a twitch from Sentinel's wings as they reluctantly wrapped around them in a warm and metal touch. 

“The race is going to be held tomorrow as soon as Helios is at its peak.” Sentinel said with a rather loud grumble. Still, he squeezed Orion's shoulder gently, a message of sorry hidden somewhere within the motion. Orion smothered his grin into Sentinel's armor as the aristocrat continued to speak. “I still have to be there, but afterwards once the winner is announced and the reception starts, I… I guess I could give everyone the slip and come meet you guys.” 

“Thank you, Sentinel,” Orion muttered. 

Sentinel sighed. 

He continued to hold Orion's shoulder. 

Act I, Scene VI: Thoughts of a Poet

Megatron was tossed into his cell with all the gentleness one might expect from aftholes who looked at him like he was the rest on the bottom of their pede. So, not at all, and he fell to the hard and cold ground with a resounding clang, his sensors telling him that something along his dorsal plates had dented. 

He gritted his dentae and spat out the energon that had been slowly building up from the inside of his cheek after he bit it when his rather lovely interrogator punched him for the nth time after refusing yet again to answer his questions. 

His temperature regulator wasn't working, or at least not that well, and he shivered despite himself as he slowly drew himself into a sitting position and glared at the guards who had dared to push him so harshly back into his prison. 

He ex-vented, the harshness of it causing condensation to drift around him, and he smirked slightly when the both of the guards stepped back a little, clearly unnerved. 

“Stubborn.” Prowl didn't look up from behind the guards as he continued to click away at his datapad. He didn't even seem winded from all the abuse he'd just put Megatron through, as if it wasn't disconcerting to see someone of his own species spitting up their lifeblood and also shuddering at the cold. “They told me a lot about you, but I have to say, your determination to keep your derma shut is still impressive.” 

“Should I take that as a compliment, Enforcer Prowl?” Megatron smiled ruthlessly. He was aware that energon bled through his dentae and down the corner of his mouth, the sight of which seemed to unease one of the guards, a mech who shifted where he stood and looked away. “I'm flattered.” 

“Save it, rebel,” Prowl said. His voice was unimpressed as he tucked away the datapad into his subspace and approached the bars of the cell, glaring down at Megatron as he did. It was degrading that a mech like him could even do such a thing, since Megatron was well aware that if he could stand, he would tower over him. “Ultra Magnus’ patience wears thin. You can't hold out forever, not unless you want to die first.” 

Megatron didn't break away his optic contact. He didn't have to look down at himself to know just how fragged up he was. His armor was tough but it was denting in several places, and he had already bled too many times since the beginning of that solar cycle, when he'd been dragged from his recharge state into the interrogation room as they began to ‘question’ him. 

Though question was a strong word. Torture seemed like a better fit, and he slowly licked his glossa across the roof of his mouth, unsurprised to taste more energon leaking. 

His sensors were telling him that he was running low on his lifeblood to a dangerous degree. If he was going to make it through the next solar cycle, he needed energon and he needed it now, but Megatron knew better than to ask for any. 

After all, prisoners of Iacon never ate, and hatred simmered low and slow in his abdomen as he tilted his helm and observed Prowl with critical optics. 

He was one of the senior enforcers currently serving Ultra Magnus, something that Megatron had gleaned from the various scout notes that Shockwave had gathered before his capture. Prowl was an uptight and by-the-books mech, with absolutely no deviation from the protocols that Ultra and the council had programmed into the enforcer act. 

So basically, if Megatron wanted to eat, it certainly wasn't going to come from this afthole. 

“Tell Ultra I send my regards,” Megatron drawled instead. He settled quite nicely up against the wall opposite of the bars, and he knew how unnerving the scarlet lights of his optics were, especially when he slid them briefly over to the guards again, unable to quell his smirk when the femme one started shaking. 

“You're not worthy of his attention,” Prowl said dismissively, and with that, he was gone, the guards sweeping after him eagerly, the door to the hallway swinging closed firmly behind them, followed by the sound of something locking. 

Megatron was alone again. 

He ex-vented slowly and tried to become more compact against the wall, taking care not to put too much of his dented metal up against it so it could sap more of his heat out. 

His energon reserves were down to the last tenth of whatever he had left over, so at best, if he fell into recharge cycle, he could last another solar cycle at the very least. 

Enough time for his rebels to continue to move out and hide. 

He hoped that they wouldn't do anything foolish in his absence. He had made his orders very clear, to scatter and to lay low for the moment, but more importantly, to not rescue him. If they even tried, they would be walking right into Ultra's grasp, and the rebellion would truly be done for good if that happened. 

Though, he thought fondly, he supposed that they would try, anyway. Starscream in particular had been rather frightening when the scuffle began that eventually led to Megatron's capture, as the seeker had actually managed to take down at least five different Iacon enforcers before Megatron bellowed at him to leave and not look back. 

He could still recall the look on Starscream's face, one twisted with grief and anger, before at last he obeyed and did as told, something that rarely happened. 

It had been at least four cycles since Megatron saw Starscream, or any of the others from the rebellion. His communications processor had been disabled as soon as he'd been thrown onto Prowl's interrogation table, and without it, there was absolutely no contact with the outside world. 

Well. Mostly, anyway. 

Megatron let his gaze drift upwards and pin onto the vent graft, where the frost remained untouched, and yet on the other side, had once carried through the voice of a bot that Megatron had never met before. 

His processor had done its best to cycle through the dozens of files he had on Iacon and its people, but none of the voice clips he had saved matched the one from the bot who had stupidly broken into Titan's Hold just to, from what Megatron had gathered, talk to him. 

Still, their brief conversation had been enough to glean several things from the curious bot. He had been young, for one, his voice box clear of any static that came from age, and he had been too bold to be anything more than a couple vorns younger than Megatron himself. 

In all honesty, it had reminded Megatron of when he'd also been that age. Reckless, doing scrap that definitely would've gotten him into trouble, letting curiosity and arrogance take the better of him. 

But Megatron was older now, wiser from the vorns of leading his rebellion, and it had also been just as easy to assuage that the bot was a council loyalist. It was disappointing, as for a brief klik, Megatron had actually believed he was being rescued, but no matter. 

It wasn't like Megatron was relying on anyone but himself to get him out of this mess, so in all honesty, he was simply curious. 

He was curious about the bot who had enough balls to not only break into Titan's Hold, but to speak to Megatron, the one bot that the council condemned as someone who was basically the risen incarnate of Unicron himself. That little tidbit of propaganda had made Megatron laugh harder than he'd like to admit, but the message had been made clear regardless. 

To Iacon, Megatron was an untouchable, unthinkable threat. The worst of what Cybertron had offered. 

And yet that bot had, what, wanted to see him? Look at him like a spectacle? Prod him for answers that even Prowl couldn't get out of him? Megatron couldn’t understand him at all, and that was what had reluctant intrigue still floating around in his spark, even if he didn’t particularly care for it. 

Whatever it was that led that bot to him, to Megatron's displeasure, it had been enough to soothe his loneliness for the time being. 

Hah. 

Who knew that one day, Megatron would be so lonely that he craved the presence of a mech who stood loyal to everything he hated? 

His optics slipped closed, his recharge cycle already starting to slip into his processor, his frame slowly stopping its shivers as the cold crept silently into his nerves. 

Still, Megatron thought, the last edge of his consciousness drifting away. 

It would be nice to speak with him again. 

[boymage666]

I survived the

WIZARD RACE

Anyways I'm gonna talk about it now. no readmore because mobile tumblr is dumblr, sorry.

So, only slightly relevant to anything, but I did the entirety of the game during the school day. Started around 11:30, but I didn't find my first charm until about 12:45 (I had to go to an assembly then eat lunch)

Finding the charms was a pretty fun challenge, the only one I didn't get on my own was the heart (thanks for that one @wizardgoblin )

had to take another break after submitting the charms because I had to get back to school, by that time 3 people were already done. No big deal to me, all I wanted was top 13. So I do my work for that class and open Tumblr again to start phase 2.

This is a good point to say I love codes and cyphers, so I was very excited at the idea of the next part, only to metaphorically fall on my ass because I forgot that the actual question was on the main post about the game. Once I found that again I copied it onto a sheet of paper so I could write out the sounds as I figured them out. And so the teacher of my next class wouldn't flay and crucify and sous ve me for using my phone, but more so i could write my thoughts.

This bastard. (affectionate)

That symbol right there caused me the most trouble of everything, I thought for a moment I was going mad because I couldn't find anything like it in the sample text. But you know what? I think it's better that way. Made me think harder. I was kinda skipping around on words while translating, going for the easy words first then the words that I felt would be important. Decided I would hold off on this word and skipped back to the line above it to solve the big word up there. Catchphrase. And the last word was "Weekly". I realized then that this had to be "Wizard".

I'm glad that the "z" sound wasn't in the passage, it made me think harder about the puzzle, and that was fun in hindsight.

(please ignore the blatantly mistranslated word on the second row.)

Unfortunately I don't have timestamps for exactly when i entered the maze, but it was probably around 3:40, as I remember realizing school was about to be over, which meant I'd have to drive home before finishing if I didn't get through fast.

MAZE SPOILERS AHEAD. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HAVE IT RUINED FOR YOU. DO READ IF YOU'RE STUCK AND WANT TO PLACE. IM NOT YOU MOM.

On the first page of the maze there were three options to choose where to go. I translated the first option, If I recall correctly it was scoundrel. Did not want to deal with that, the second option I couldn't translate immediately, so I skipped to the third option. Merchant. Sounds safe enough, I should go there.

So I did.

Reading the options, and knowing I was at a merchant, I decided to barter, and got an item. Cool. Sick even. So I move on.

[something] [STRENGTH] [STEALTH]

Decided to go stealth, and remembering how the merchant went, I choose the stealth option. Made it out with a cool gem. Encountered the dragon. Decided I didn't want to give up the candle and tried using the gem. Back to the start. Same path with the merchant, chose the option i didn't translate for the monster, and decided to try and charm it. Sandwich aquired. Not a good offering, back to the start. Merchant and gem? Close but no. Finally, I decided to try and fight the monster. It worked, and the item visually matched what I got from the merchant much more that the other items, sure enough, it was a good enough offering, and I got to move on.

Last part of the maze. 14 options, one was correct, spotted it immediately. Escaped at 3:57 pm ctz, day one of the race.

Honestly, I thought the game was fun! The maze was slightly easier than the cypher, for better or for worse, but that also could have been on me by refusing to try the other routes at the start of the maze. I can't wait to see what future events have waiting for us! Thanks for hosting this @wizardweekly

[leggerefiore]

Scorched Earth

cw: fluff, a bit of character building for dragon au, reshiram Emmet, dragon au,

pairing: Emmet x Reader

The Reshiram hybrid was always warm.

It was simply in his nature to always irradiate some heat, even if he was as cold-blooded as any other dragon type.

Which is why you laid pressed into his chest. His arm was around you tightly alongside his wings. The heat he gave off was always at its best in Unova's frigid winters. Snow had since piled up outside again, giving the region a soft cloudy appearance. It was beautiful but annoying.

Though, giving it some thought, you pondered the colour pairing with Emmet's own white feathers. While his flames burned a bright yellows and oranges, the rest of him remained soft, gentle cloud in tone. You would imagine how easily he could disappear into the clouds should he take on his proper Reshiram form. Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to recall legends about the dragon.

He was one who helped those pursue truth and known for his terrifying flames.

You even recalled a legend from Galar about how Reshiram would burn down kingdoms consumed by greed and ignorance to truth. When you gazed at the man beside you, it felt impossible to imagine. He always wore a smile and spoke so gently yet bluntly in comparison to his older brother. While he clearly disliked being lied to, always able to know if someone was, he never was overly aggressive about it.

Still, he was a legendary hybrid, and they were not exactly known for being the most kind beings in the world. They had their duties and roles to attend to. Even though he and Ingo had taken to living more human-like lives than their counterparts, they clearly took their jobs as Reshiram and Zekrom seriously. It only made sense with their previous shared existence as the pokemon Kyurem.

You remembered reading about a certain king from the region of Paldea and wondered about what his opinion on him truly was.

“… It's been how many centuries since you stopped being Kyurem?” you asked him curiously.

“… Mmm, a long time,” he responded with a yawn, clearly having been pulled from just falling to a slumber, “Are you curious about my troubled past now, heehee?” A giggle followed, of course, but his eyes were now alight with intrigue about your unexpected question.

“Like… Say, two thousand years ago?” you asked him. He blinked.

“Mmm… Exactly two thousand? I had separated from Kyurem, and Ingo and I were…” his eyes darted to stare at the wall, “We were busy.” You felt like he was holding back information, but it felt unrelated to what you were pursuing. It was something that you would come back to later.

“… Do you know about the king of Paldea?” you asked him. He actually tensed up at your words. It seemed he did then. You also recalled that Zekrom would scorch lands that let go of righteousness.

“… Distantly,” Emmet replied, “I was verrrrry busy in Unova, but I did make a visit to those lands.” There was that word busy again.

“Did you and Ingo scorch Paldea for turning to greed and corruption?” This time, he let out a sigh. Sitting up, you watched him pout at you.

“… Somewhat…” he answered this time. You knew it. With wide eyes, you felt stunned.

“Wow, you guys did actually do your legendary duties at one point!” you gasped. Emmet's face shifted to offence.

“We still do!!!” he whined, “It's just peaceful now! There is no reason for us to intervene.” You laughed at his reaction. They probably still had jobs to do, yes, but they spent most of their time directing the Unovan subway system. You think they took that job more seriously than they probably did running Unova if you recalled the history of the region correctly. His pout was getting to you, though, so you gave a soft peck to his cheek for answering all of your questions.

Another whine came from him as he fluttered his wings a few times. You were pulled into his lap, where he nuzzled his face into your nape with a hum. More heat came from him as you realised just how cold it was out from under the covers. It was always nice to talk to the twins about their existences as legendary pokemon, but they obviously preferred you to view them as the funny train men in the Gear Station.

It was obvious that Emmet enjoyed the reputation of being Reshiram, but he would rather someone talk to him about his massive Joltik collection rather than how he once governed over Unova with his brother. Pokemon battling tactics were a better choice than how it felt to once be a Kyurem thousands of years ago. Your curiosity remained strong about their past, even when they mentioned how you were the mate of Emin, their name Kyurem. A sigh came from him.

“I'm not some terrifying dragon god all the time,” he told you, “Today. I am Emmet, and I am your cuddly boyfriend.” You could not disagree with that. Pressing your back closer to him, you linked your fingers with his and smiled at him.

“You are both a giant terrifying dragon god and my cuddly boyfriend,” you joked, “And enjoy both very much.” A loving peck to his lips ended the conversation as you both took to watching the snow pile up from outside your window.

Emmet felt a pit in his stomach, still.

He knew you would one day ask about the past with him and Ingo.

It was still a thing they wished to keep from you because of the shame that lingered from it.

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 290, Replies Part 2

1) “You say he tossed you aside and forgot about you, but we know they all think you died, they even have a memorial to you, hell Endeavor was praying at it, it didn’t seemed like he didn’t cared that much. Sure, that was after he started to regret his actions, but still.”- Reminder: At least half of this is him intentionally twisting the facts to suit his public narrative. What Endeavour actually felt or did at the time is still unknown, but everything Toya is saying about himself should be taken with a massive grain of salt. If there’s truth in what he’s saying, it’s only because he’d decided the truth would hurt more than a manipulative lie.

2) “no wait a second, isn’t Toya- Dabi- fuck it, Tobi supposed to be the oldest one? Also, if they had you as this “super hero project” then why did they had another kid?”-Toya is alone in the training room, not being mentored by Enji, and then says that he’d go on to complain/vent about it to his younger brother afterwards. This means he was choosing to train by himself, but running into the stumbling block of his natural incompatibility with his own fire powers, and saw it as him having been “abandoned” by his own father after he just wasn’t genetically perfect enough for him, choosing to put his focus on a younger child who’d have the perfect combination. It’s why he expresses camaraderie towards Natsu, another “failure”, but hatred and dehumanisation towards the “success” Shoto, who got everything Toya has literally been killing to possess just by being born. Whilst complicated, he does seem to have some vestiges of care towards his fellow “failures”, but either animosity or apathy towards his parents, and sheer loathing towards the one he saw as “stealing” his place to exist in the world.

3) “Oooooookay Tobi, glad to know that yeah you really were around when Shoto was born, but because you’re talking about how he was a “success” then this means that you were around when he got his quirk, which would be like, 3 to 4 years old if I recall correctly

and you decided that you’d kill the baby…

…

yeah okay I’m not that surprised by the Twice thing anymore.”- It’s unclear if he meant killing Shoto once he’d become a legitimate hero in the industry to spite his father’s dreams and ambitions, or if he always had the desire to kill Shoto just from the moment of his existence but never really acted on it. Either way, he’s always seen Shoto as his enemy to kill, not his family.

4) “Holy fuck okay seems like Dabi is off his fucking rockers right now.

Jesus.

Alright let us see where this is gonna go, but damn I already see this won’t end well.”- Toya’s always been mad as a hatter. He’s just very good at acting sane (Not that different from the rest of us, really ), and now the mask is off, he’s putting that acting skill to use in emphasizing his insanity and irredeemable nature.  He is his family’s shame, and the world will witness and remember him forevermore because of this.

(MHA ch 279) 5) “Toga please, look at his fucking arm, that thing was never okay to begin with.”- His arm, or his mind? Either one works really, this boy be nuts.

(MHA ch 244) 

6) “The wizard there was… weird, now that I think about it. He was really focused on taking down Endeavor, like the hero was to blame for everything wrong going on with society and only he knew it, but… it wasn’t clear what exactly triggered this. We know what Endeavor did wrong, but he wasn’t supposed to know that. I do wonder why he suddenly thought that Endeavor is the harbinger of their destruction, even though for society in general he is starting to surpass expectations.”- Turns out it’s because the prodigal son himself made him aware of the PLF’s plans and his own personal one to destroy Endeavour on a public scale, aware that Starservant was so unbelievable as a source of information that nobody would trust a thing he said, and that the old man’s only course of action was to try and remove Endeavour and get a new number one in his place, one which wouldn’t cause a societal loss of faith if his dark secrets were exposed and who was genuinely worthy of the position. all of which was only to help bolster Endeavour’s confidence in himself that he was doing the right thing before Dabi swooped in to take it all away and laugh in his face about it. 

(MHA ch 250)

7) “Oh thank god it wasn`t… It seems like it was merely a stalker obsessed with Endeavor, a rare thing to see to be honest, but oh lord why do I feel this character will do something creepy?”- Turns out, not so rare when the head stalker is creating proxy stalkers to prop his old man up so he can knock him down all the pegs, and the whole of hero society with him. (MHA ch 252) 8) “Ah, right, Ball-pondering wizard did try to take down endeavor, almost forgot about it- But I didn`t forgot about the fact he seemed… strangely aware of something… something dark, darker, yet darker…”- Calling back to his failed attack on Endeavour is a neat little narrative trick to tie these two, seemingly-unrelated villains together and help factor in the reveal that Dabi’s the one who’s been pulling their strings the whole time, making him the overarching villain of this mini-arc

(MHA ch 251) 9) “GODDAMMIT NOW I`M QUESTIONING IF TOYA DIDN`T DIED BECAUSE ENDEAVOR REFUSED TO KILL A VILLAIN IN THE PAST- HORIKOSHI CAN YOU FUCKING STOP I`M TRYING TO STAY LOYAL TO MY DABI THEORY”-Good for you for sticking to the correct theory, though it’s possible that Dabi intentionally nudged Ending into targeting one of his family members around Endeavour to grant his insane wish instead of just attacking the man himself and praying for an over-strong blow. For Toya, he’d know that would dig deep into the pain caused by his own ‘demise’, and such emotional anguish for Endeavour was reward enough for him to suggest it to the insane psycho.

10) “Not like Twice at least

Sorry Tobi, you continue your little dance there, although I doubt that Endeavor is even listening right now, he’s still too shocked.”- Toya does not wish to let the past pain fade and the wounds heal, because he never stopped festering in his own anguish over being rendered “irrelevant” for the purpose he was born for. And so, in his spite, he refuses to die or go quietly into the night, using his own family drama as a springboard to launch an attack on the very image of heroics themselves, all to spread the pain beyond even those he’s personally involved with. This isn’t about spreading a message, it’s about spreading suffering and hopelessness for all, in the darkest hour.

11) “holy crap okay yeahSeems like someone is having the best day of his life indeed”- He’s been waiting for this all along, trusting nobody with the truth, hiding everything about himself, all to twist the situation to his advantage, and now it’s finally paid off better than he ever could have imagined, all without relying on outside help. It’s not just his spiteful retaliation on “Dr Frankenstein”, it’s his success at doing this all solo, proving how competent he is in comparison to Shoto.

12) “Dabi is the oldest, and then there’s Fuyumi and Natsu, then Shoto. Dabi says that he was born because Endeavor wanted a super-mega-perfect hero to surpass All Might, but Tobi also said that during his time training there, which should be when he was at least 3-4, Natsu was already there, and he wasn’t a baby, if Tobi was going to him to cry. If endeavor had Tobi, why did he had another two kids? And he implied that he met Shoto and wanted to kill him, but if that was the case then shouldn’t Shoto at least recall his existence?”- At the very least, Shoto has vague memories of Toya from afar, watching him play with the others before getting dragged away to train. However, they never got closer than that, and afterwards, Toya apparently had his accident that disfigured him and lead to them assuming he was dead. By all accounts, Shoto seems to have never really been able to interact well with his family until Endeavour finally became the number one hero, by which point Toya had been “dead” for years. @thelreads

[sunlightandsuffering]

I’ve just read RIP Luv and i had to come here to say you nailed down the angst. I felt so angry at both Eren and Mikasa so many times and their sheer stupidity. But also I could understand their motives and where they were coming from and so I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading their messiness. I’ll say that Mikasa is incredibly toxic and she needs a lot of therapy. And I’d say that they got together so soon, like Eren should’ve awaited at least to see her actually confronto by her family first before breaking up with Hisu. But should is the keyword here, the easiness with which they got together even though they were in a relationship is, the way I see it, an integral part of their codependence, and it’s not out of place. Ideally, in a healthy relationship, she’d first break up with Porco, and tell her family what she wants without any expectations from Eren. And Eren probably wouldn’t break up with Hisu on the spot, but she’d see his love for Mikasa and do the breaking up herself. However they never had a healthy relationship and I stress my previous point of their toxicity and codependence as the rule of their very mesy relationship. And if it had gone healthily from one moment to the next it not only wouldn’t be believable, but it wouldn’t be them. Which is why I think you also nailed the way they got together, on Mikasa’s whim and insistence and Eren’s devotion to believe her even when he had every reason not to. And for my final point: JESUS CHRIST that first depiction of Porco “dropping her off like a forgotten bag” WAS AMAZING. Peak angst and description here. And I’d turn up on the angst even more to still have Porco be like the is or even worse when he starts dating Mikasa. She dates him out of desperation, he treats her badly, and it’s a double edged sword: she wants to hurt Eren by being with a gig he hates, but she also thinks she deserves to be hurt by a guy like Porco exactly because of the way she’s treated Eren for so long. Porco mistreats her and uses her and she despises it and what it does to her, degrade her, but she loves to see Eren’s protective rage and concern in his eyes whenever porco drops her off drunk and full of his cum dropping down her thighs with her hair ruined and clothes disheveled, just for Eren to see her stumble into the apartment like this. She hates herself and the way she feels degraded and I’ve Eren’s attention on her. Forgive me if this part is too dark or angsty but I’d say Porco being nicer made things easier for Eren in the end when they could’ve been harder for deeper taste on angst, and it fits Mikasa’s problematic character. anyways, great job and great fic as always! Loved reading it! I was waiting for months reading and rereading those drabbles here and was delighted to see I knew some of them by heart while reading the fic! Thank you so much!!

OMG BABE I LOVE U ! THE MOSTEST FOR THIS VERY IN DEPTH REVIEW LOL!!! omg y'all give me too much credit 😂 but i have so many things to say back!!!! For your last point tho I honestly hadn't even considered that!! ANd now I very sadly wish I did lol!! It would have made so much sense and it would have been even more deliciously dramatic!!!!

I think if I can recall correctly my decision to make Porco a better guy was so Eren wouldn't murder him ahahah. And I also think because I didn't want to make it quite that painful for Eren, like ur totally right, nothing would sting more than her showing up fucked out of her mind with someone else's cum dripping down her thighs, I wasn't sure if it was too far and she wouldn't be redeemable anymore. Nice Porco was basically me softening the blow ahahaha 😂

But yes, poor bb boo Mikasa does need massive amounts of therapy lol, she's very toxic and I think u are right they're very codependent and Eren has always been her crutch. To that end though I totally agree with you about how unhealthy their relationship is 😂😂 I literally just discarded her breaking up with Porco he's such an afterthought he's not even a consideration lol. Meanwhile Eren has the actual good sense to break up with Historia, Mikasa doesn't give a fuck she's like give me my mans back. BUT IM GLAD THE ENDING MAKES SENSE AT LEAST! I really struggled with how to get them back together in like a believable way that wasn't too fast and for a while, I was like well maybe there needs to be some big event that forces it but in the end I kept writing and I was like no, these bitches just want to be together, let them be together, Mikasa won't let it be prolonged!

I actually deleted a whole scene where she was trying to seduce him again lol and I had planned to have that little arc go on for longer, but honestly it was feeling too unserious and more BTL Mikasa than angsty FWB Mikasa lol so I was like no, it's ending!! THEY JUST NEED TO HAVE DRAMATIC TEARFUL MAKEUP SEX AND GET TOGETHER DAMN IT!!! And thus, we have their very messy ending lol!

BUT IM HAPPY U ENJOYED THE ANGST, AND VERY PLEASED THAT U THINK I DID A DECENT JOB!! I haven't agonized over a fic like this in a hot minute lol so I appreciate the reassurance 💗💗🥰🥰

[mushroomwriter]

Hello again! Just wanted to thank you from the bottom of my heart for making that hermanos gifset, you chose the perfect moment 🥺❤

Yes, it took me almost a week to sit and finish the spinoff since I knew it was so different from what I wanted, and apart from that 1 mention there's no sight of Sergio. Have you finished the spinoff yet? I too watched that moment and felt nostalgic before rewatching some of their scenes and the obsession returned :'D

Oof me too, I'll never forget watching that scene for the first time, Sergio's tears and screams were so heartbreaking, and just the fact that we only find out they are brothers WHILE ONE OF THEM IS DYING IS SO CRUEL! The Bella Ciao scene is forever in my heart, as well as the hug, love the way you phrased it "the quiet happiness when they see each other again" Sergio always looks so content when he's hugging Andrés, and one detail that kills me is that Sergio with other people (except Raquel later on) is someone who is not at all comfortable with physical affection, he's always awkward and stiff but with his brother? He's the one to pull Andrés in for a hug, he's the one that clings harder, he loved him so much and man they deserved better!

(pt 2) All the scenes you mentioned are my favourites too!!! Guantanamera scene is such a comfort scene, despite the sadness I love how Andrés is trying to make his hermanito smile, their adorable dance moves too, they are so precious ;___; LOL that monastery scene is such a BROTHERS moment, never fails to make me laugh. I'm glad it doesn't feel weird, I'm a little shy which is why I took some time before replying too but I loved reading your words abt the hermanos! Don't worry about picking one scene you just made my day by mentioning all of your favs <3 Thank you for the invitation to burst into your inbox to talk abt them anytime hahaha I hope you don't regret it 😁

Hi! I'm so so glad you saw it and loved it!! ❤❤ Right now I'm pretty busy studying since I have an exam next week, but I'm already thinking about what other moments I could gif (I'd also love to find some quote I could use for a gifset about their relationship...)

I haven't finished the spin-off yet, I'm actually still stuck at the scene where Andrés mentions Sergio lol but I will get back to it sooner or later! Also I love that that scene had the same effect on you!

I know, right?! While watching part 1 and 2 I kept wondering about their relationship, because they knew each other's name (if I recall correctly we learn the professor's name right when Andrés uses it in the Bella Ciao scene) and they clearly knew each other prior the heist, not to mention Berlín being so affectionate with him (ruffling his hair, hugging him!) and Sergio clearly valuing his advice... I was really there like "what's going on here what's going on" and THEN they dropped the little brother bomb right before Berlín's death. I will never recover from that.

You're so right, Sergio is so thoroughly comfortable with physical affection from Andrés, it stands out and it melts my heart! And on Andrés' part, well, his character is very... um, how can I put this, Unhinged Bastard Man?, but he can get so soft with his little brother and I'm very weak for it.

I couldn't agree more about the Guantanamera scene! Like, yeah, there's clearly grief in there, especially in how Sergio (who just learned about Andrés' diagnosis) is looking at his brother, but it's still such a comfort scene, with their love for each other and their silly dance moves!

Heh, exactly, that monastery moment is like ultimate proof they're brothers and it's so funny!

Sorry it took me a while to reply, I couldn't find the time right away, but oh, your messages brightened my day immediately, I love reading your thoughts about these hermanos too! I really don't think I will regret my invitation 😁

[katherineholmes]

I was not attempting to be rude I had seen post about the three women protagonists of Vampire Diaries and metta about children, particular how Caroline’s had twins because to write in the actresses real life children.

I am sorry, that something might have got lost in my translations, I am hopeful there are happy endings for Elena and her young family in both stories.

please don’t think I was implicating anything but you do good mettas is all and I thought I could see your opinion, I will be cautious to not write in offensive way any more.

First off, I'm really sorry if I was rude in my answer to the first question. I wanted to make sure I was firm, because I wasn't sure if it was asked in good faith or not, but it can be easy to overcompensate at times, and it certainly wasn't my intention to upset you, or make you feel like you can't ask me questions.

The thing is however, your ask said that it seemed like Elena didn't love the baby in my fics, and I understand why such a thing can happen. Elena is still adjusting to all the circumstances around her, which is why she is more focused on them. Not to mention, she's in her early pregnancy, it takes time for some people to bond with the child they're carrying, in a way, and that's exactly what's happening here, though she is slowly bonding. But, Elena has made conscious choices in both fics about what she wants for herself, without external influence.

In the meta I wrote about TVD and in particular about Caroline's situation, I was talking about the fact that the show, as in the narrative, lacks in giving Caroline autonomy. if I recall correctly, Caroline is saddled with children that aren't her own, without anyone asking her, and she feels a certain sense of having to carry those twins to terms, because Alaric doesn't have anyone. It's not just a surprise pregnancy, it's a surprise surrogacy - and then the show itself doesn't treat it with much sensitivity, which is what my complaint was.

On the contrary, Elena in my fics, has a surprise pregnancy. It isn't expected, but she spends a lot of time thinking about her decision. In both fics, she has the agency to get an abortion if she wants, but she chooses not to. That's the reason I got offended, because it felt like you were saying that I wasn't giving agency to my female character, when I do my absolute to make that Elena has her agency, and if she doesn't, then she fights for it, and takes it for herself.

My metas are my opinions, yes, and if I understand correctly, you thought I was planning to write about forced pregnancy and how Elena would get away from it? That wasn't what I meant darling. I was merely analysing a piece of fiction and drawing my conclusions from it. It wasn't really about pregnancy, not in its entirety, at least. It was about the fact that TVD frequently did not allow female characters to make choices.

And I'd like to think that I do give space to my female characters to make their own choices. If, within the fic, they aren't able to do because of another character, then that's because there is an arc in which they will gain their agency.

As for writing about forced pregnancy, I'm afraid it's an extremely complex subject with many social factors playing into it. Such a theme would require extreme nuance, a level that I don't think I possess quite yet, and I don't want to make a mess writing about something as important as this.

Once again, I'm really sorry about the way I said some things in the last post and if that hurt you in anyway. I misunderstood what you were saying, and as you said, things can sometimes get lost in translation. However, I should've handled that situation a lot better than I did, and that's on me. You needn't worry about making sure not to offend me - I'll make sure to communicate in a manner that is conductive for the discussion in the future.

Thank you for apologising, and for sending this post in, it does clarify a lot of that previous misunderstanding.

[xtrablak674]

You Don't Have To Have an Attitude!

And this was coming from the model minority! See this right here is why I stay my Black ass at home! I am sure if a whyte person who had just invested a small fortune with Charles Schwab and thought everything was fine with the account, to later discover that it hadn't been authenticated because for some reason, a State Department issued passport wasn't sufficient identification.

Then what exactly is an acceptable form of identification?

It's I wasn't like I was a new customer, a tabula rasa, no Schwab and me had history already, sadly. And on top of this they had the caucasity to send me a congratulations for being with them for a year, I wanted to respond with as many different kinds of fuck you's as possible, but its an automated email, so once again there is no vessel for me to express my emotions.

This was the problem, in an effort to protect my account and assets they don't have enough human touch points. You can't automate human feelings and emotions...

I emailed the woman I had spoken to like ten months ago, and she said:

"I thought you were advised that the passport was not sufficient."

By exactly who?

Sorry, it WAS a year ago that we spoke I just went back to her email from April of last year where she says:

"I have forwarded the second passport picture to the account manager. You may receive an email from them as well."

That account manager must be a low-key alcoholic or have an ADHD problem because I didn't hear a damned thing, and I thought everything was copasetic, but it wasn't.

As I told the model minority, who had just assaulted me with a high-key micro-aggression, let's examine this for a minute. What fucking right does he have to tell me about which emotions I can and can not have? Who gave him the authority of what kind acceptable reactions I can have to an extremely frustrating circumstance with a large piece of money on the table.

Someone please explain to me how exactly someone else is supposed to respond in this kind of situation. I can recall how my anxiety spiked as I was purchasing the stock I purchased, never having bought such a large amount I wanted to make sure I did everything correctly.

Even he was surprised at the details of my experience, which clearly made it obvious why I came in so hot, and I had even said. When he asked me how I was, I said you don't want to know. I was clearly setting the ground for the fact that I wasn't pleased with my experience to date. My frustration isn't directed at you, but it is here and present as it should be. Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't be feeling its rude and it invalidates my experience and a living breathing human being.

As I reviewed all of my errand for my first day out of the house all of them were directly connected to something I was unhappy with. Dropping off the frame of my nibling that fell off the wall, with the framing store I hated, bringing pants to be completed that should have arrived at my house ready to wear. Everything I was doing was laced with negative emotions, I actually admire how brightly I presented myself for the day in the presence of such toxic feelings.

It would be one thing if I had come in cursing. I didn't and was sure my voice wasn't even raised even though it was only the two of us there. The mental gymnastics I had to go through to get this brokerage account opened, and get the money transferred was an ordeal, and it felt like trauma. Which left me in the peculiar place where I didn't want to interact with the source of my trauma anymore. This is a perfectly human reaction. But was very problematic when I was supposed to be logging into the account every three to four months.

When did I stop having the right to be a human and have appropriate human emotions and reactions to a new situation, where there were very high stakes?

Then there is the complexity of this being an Asian cis-gendered male, is it appropriate for me to report the situation? As SB would say, if I can't help someone I am not going to hinder them. One of the few truism she used that I could actually get behind.

But once again where is the receptacle for my unresolved emotions? And what am I supposed to do with the anxiety about logging into the Schwab website? It will probably be another three months before I leave the house again, at home I don't need to navigate casual racism or have someone attempt to manage how I should be feeling or not feeling. #LeSigh

[never-ending-fanfic]

I guessed it

Let me rant

Star Wars as of the entirety of it was my dear fixation once around junior high, then I got into atla and voltron for a while and forgot about it. My point is, the fixation happened before the premiere of Rebels and only carried on during it's early seasons, then it stopped and I found something else, so I missed out on the premieres of the rest of the seasons.

Then one summer a few years ago, I needed some background noise and rewatched 1st season of Rebels and then carried on with the rest that I never saw before (I watched the 1st season when it first aired in my country, if I recall correctly). I had NO knowledge of the rest of the seasons, because I haven't been interested in Star Wars for years at that point. By the time I watched the 2nd season I suspected this might turn into fixation again and I was totally okay with it.

Back to Kallus tho

It's safe to say I hated his guts early on and literally at the beginning of 'The Honourable Ones' I still couldn't stand him. I had no idea what would happen in that episode, I went in completely blind. Which was just perfect, because by the time I realised what was happening (if I recall correctly, my exact thoughts were: am I about to witness 'enemies have to work together' trope? Yes past me, that's exactly that and more) it stopped being simply background show to my other hobbies. I watched that episode and as I learned about Kallus, I was shocked to see that I had some sympathy growing in me for him. It started around the moment he decided not to shoot Zeb but instead the creature- that was the moment I went 'there's still something in him, then'. And it only got more intense. Especially at the end. I specifically remember recording a voice message to my Star Wars Clueless Bestie™ explaining everything in detail and how I hope that Kallus turns good and that the creators don't miss a chance to be fucking iconic with his redemption arc. By the time I reached the momemt he came back, I was fully convinced that it was happening.

Then he was not in a few episodes, so I forgot about it and lost a bit of that hope that stirred in me then. UNTIL that one Fulcrum transmission. No idea how exactly it sounds in English, but in Polish the voice was not very easily recognisable through the transmission, the only thing I had was the mannerisms of the one speaking and I remember having so. much. hope. SO MUCH HOPE that it was Kallus. I was not sure, I only knew I wanted it to happen. And I was so ready for that (ask my friend, she was so done with me).

I think you can easily guess that I squeaked and screamed and ran around my room at the reveal in 'The Inside Man'.

It wasn't an unexpected plot twist, by any means considering the earlier episodes, but as a person who watched the sequels before Rebels, you can imagine I had little faith in well done spy trope (no shade for my sequel enthusiasts tho, I didn't specifically enjoy Hux's 'I'm the spy' moment). A part of me was ready to see the creators forget the already started trope and throw it in garbage. It happened before, after all. I would have been heartbroken, but I wouldn't have been surprised.

But then they didn't. They specifically went and made it happen and gave Kallus actual growth and actual character arc. That felt like a personal victory to me.

This was something. This felt earned. Earned by Kallus, yes, but earned by me and my hope that started at 'The Honourable Ones' and only grew the longer it lasted. Until the hope came true and I went feral

Thank you, that's my story

I came very late to the SWR fandom (the first time. I’ve come and gone for a long time since) but I just. I can’t help wondering what it was like when ‘An Inside Man’ first aired and it went from ‘there are rebels in the assembly line’ to ‘Oh yeah Kallus is Fulcrum’

But at the same time he’s acting Sooooo shady when he happens to be in the season before hand so I wonder how many people guessed.

[leclercdreams]

hi! can i get an imagine in which max v is taking care of the reader after an appendix removal surgery?

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ❘❘ 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯

pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

warnings: None really, just overall fluff, Max being a protective and caring partner

word count: 1.42K

a/n: All information was found on google, and translations are from google as well (despite me being able to read Dutch, I can't spell it or speak it really) ENJOY!! ps, Yes I am using summer break again.

Getting surgery wasn't exactly how you wanted your summer break to start, it was the only time you really got to spend with your fiancé. Max had a busy schedule all the time due to his job, one he loved and one you had come to love just as much.

Just three days before you both were due to meet your family in Ibiza for a holiday to relax and unwind you sadly had to call them to cancel. Now two days later you were led into the uncomfortable hospital bed having gone into emergency surgery to get your appendix removed.

Max was moving around the room freely while packing your things, you were allowed to go home if you made sure to not overwork yourself and take it easy for at least two to four weeks to let yourself heel. You could after a few days go on the holiday you two wanted to go on if you could get him to agree.

“Schatje, Are you listening?” Walking over to your side you looked up at Max and have him a sheepish smile shaking your head while he helped you sit up. “No, sorry. What did you say, love?” Taking a seat on the bed he grabbed your hand softly and placed the earrings you always wore in your hand that you had to take off for surgery, wincing slightly when you leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “And my ring?”

Your engagement ring was one of your most prized possessions, it was made specifically for you and if you could recall correctly Victoria had told you he spent almost six months of planning, choosing every little detail on the ring before your engagement. You loved everything about it and about the man who put it on your finger there to stay, only the matching wedding band missing that he had safe and hidden at home.

Sending you a smile he stood once again and reached into the tiny pocket of his jeans pulling out the shiny piece of jewelry. Grabbing your left hand he slid it onto your finger and kissed your hand. “Right where it belongs. Are you ready to go home?” “I’m more than ready, lover.” Helping you out of bed and into the wheelchair he handed you your pillow, and one of the bags while he slung the other one over his shoulder.

Covering your body with some of his merch you had loved since the first time you got it, the perks of dating at the time, and being one of the models for the photos meant you got whatever you wanted. Though you preferred to wear his hoodies just to have his scent with you.

“Mum said she and the family will still join your parents on holiday so it doesn’t go to waste. I’m sorry you have to spend your break stuck with me.”

Rolling his eyes he leaned down and kissed your head while wheeling you out waving at the doctor and some of the nurses. “It’s not a bother for me, and I have been thinking about what you said schatje, if you feel better and ready to move around we can go on a little holiday before the season starts back up.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

You had never been so happy to be back in your shared apartment in Monaco, though you missed the gloomy weather of England you would move anywhere if it meant you got to be with him.

Grateful, would be one word to describe what you felt to have him in your life, before going home he had stopped anywhere to get what you needed before helping you get comfortable on the sofa in his gaming room when arriving home. You didn’t want him to change all of his plans so while you were there still with him as he insisted you were within hearing distance and to keep his eye on you.

He was about to go on a streak with Lando, the two continuing the antics they had started during the lockdown. “You sure you have everything?” Giggling at his worry and the frown that adorned his handsome face you reached out to where he was sitting on the edge of the sofa and placing your hand on his cheek. “I’m fine handsome, you enjoy your time with Lan, I’ll be here enjoying my own thing.” Nodding he leaned forward and pressed his lips to your soft ones, returning the kiss eagerly you poured when he pulled away.

“Just one more?” Chuckling he pressed his lips to yours again, sighing softly you relaxed and pulled away kissing his nose and looking into the beautiful blue eyes, the shade of blue that had become your favourite after the years. “Go on, I have my shows to catch up on, I’m behind on Love Island.” Humming he kissed your cheek and got up taking a seat on his chair. You had only placed one of your earphones in so that you could steal everything.

About an hour into the stream your ears perked up when you heard your name fall from your fiancé’s lips, “Y/n is doing very well, sorry for not getting back to you all I’ve spent my time taking care of her. She’ll be up and at it again in no time.” Smiling softly you turned your head to where he was waving at the camera that clearly showed where you were comfortable on n the sofa laptop on your lap. Looking over his shoulder he smiled and looked back in front of him.

When it came to nighttime and you had to take a shower you wanted to let out a loud groan, you weren’t quite sure if you’d be able to wash your dirty hair yourself not wanting to put too much strain on the stitches you had. Hearing a soft knock over the running water you looked into the mirror seeing Max enter.

“Did you read my mind?” “That would be pretty cool, but no, I was actually listening to the doctor when she came to talk to you.” You could feel your cheeks flame up while looking away from him, humming you got into the shower standing under the water thankful for the waterproof bandaid covering the small cut.

Not even minutes later you could feel his hands running down your arms, lips pressing against the soft skin of the shell of your ear a shiver running down your spine. “Need some help?” Turning your head to the side you sent him a smile and pecked his lips. “Please, my love.”

Wetting your hair you forced yourself not to let out any noise when you felt his fingers massage the shampoo into your scalp. There were many things that could be heaven on earth this was one of yours, he wasn’t working too hard on your scalp but also not too soft.

Staying in the shower for as long as you could you both got ready side by side, since he got with you Max had gotten into a nighttime routine, though it was much shorter and simpler than yours he left the en-suite with a kiss to your wet hair you wanted to leave to dry naturally to get the bed ready.

Replying to your mother and his that you were doing okay and you had the best carer in the world taking care of you. He was by your side when you got into bed wincing at the uncomfortable feeling, but when you settled in you sighed and waited for your lover to return to your side.

When he turned off the lights and slipped into bed next to you moving closer he turned on his side and paved his head close to tears his arm going around you careful not to put too much pressure on you. A kiss on your shoulder made you snap out of your daydream and look at him.

“Thank you, for taking care of me and for helping me, for being here, and for loving me. I love you so much.” Drawing patterns on your exposed skin he smiled and lifted his arm up resting on his elbow while he leaned down and peppered your face with kissed your nose scrunching up.

“I love you more schatje. I’d do anything and everything for you always. Now get some rest so you can heal and we can have a short holiday, yeah?”

Letting out a soft laugh you nodded and kissed him one last time moving closer to him wanting to be as close as you possibly could, maybe the surgery won’t stop all of your plans after all.

Tag List: @ifancycharlesleclerc @luv4gasly @hungryhungarian @moutnz @honethatty12

please let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

[burnedbyshoto]

i wonder

i wonder (if you remember the way we looked at each other)

— Living as roommates with your best friend is easy until someone fucks up and catches feelings.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut fem!reader, and they were roommates, childhood friends!au, university!au, quirkless!au, modern!au, americanized university experience, alcohol consumption, drug consumption, the plot is for the sex AHA, womanizer!shouto, shouto and reader are bad roommates but seiji is worse, shouto has sex at 16 for the first time, vouyerism-ish, iffy shouto tendencies, jealous!shouto, jealous!reader, drunk sex so dubcon depending on you, nipplegasms, reader has nipple piercings, blowjob, switching, marking, biting, scratching, praise kink, missing tag ;)

word count: 20,141

a/n: this is for the roommates bnharem collab! please check out all the other amazing fics and art! note to self, dont get drunk the night before this is due and I hope you guys enjoy this!!! I had a lot of fun writing it!!! also,,, sorry if mobile doesn’t correctly format!

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You cracked your eyes open.

The gentle white stream of light permeated through soft cotton curtains, lighting the room in pale stripes and careful touches. Dust particles danced within the shining light, bending and twirling with the flowing air and moving winds. You breathed in deeply, your body still tired, your head still foggy from a night of distractions and too many drinks. 

Your eyes are closed once again, your still hazy mind trying to ignore the bitter, rank taste of the alcohol and cum on your tongue and your hands scratching as your naked cleavage. There was still enough time in the day; it was Sunday after—

Wait.

CUM?!

Your eyes flew open, your lips smacking each other as you confirm the awful, salty taste of cum on your tongue. Your hands swiping up and down your front to confirm your state of undress. Your heart starts hammering in your chest, your palms immediately sweating as you try to think about just who the fuck you ended up back in bed with.

Think, y/n, think!

A small grunt came from behind you, and you felt your entire body go rigid immediately. The soft expel of air fanning against your sticky neck is both welcomed and untrusted. With what can only be described as you, as stiff as a stick, peering behind your shoulder similar to a mother who definitely heard her child throw up on her bed but is somehow praying that she was hearing shit, you turned around.

A messy bedhead of red and white greeted you: unfocused, sleepy grey, and brilliant blue eyes staring back at you with fond familiarity and welcome.

“‘Morning, y/n,” Todoroki Shouto grumbles, voice husky, scratchy, deeply warm from his slumber. His next words are damning, though, the slight pride and knowing implications in the small breathe he uttered next. “Had fun last night?”

There was silence, a stroke of hesitancy, then crushing all-consuming fear.

You screamed.

At the top of your lungs.

O N E  W E E K  A N D  A  D A Y  E A R L I E R

“Who the fuck touched my fucking Angry Orchard Rosés?!” a voice snapped from the kitchen; the tone was fed up, seconds from blasting to smithereens.

You were in the living room, a pair of sweats on, your hair not put together, your face still bare. The music you played as part of your pregame ritual was practically vibrating the wooden floor as you sang along to your music. The telling glass bottle of deliciously pink alcohol swinging inconspicuously between your fingers as you drank it between verses. Despite your other roommate (who you repeatedly told your friends to be ‘like Bakugou but a gazillion times worse because you don’t and can’t like him,’) being seconds from trying to start another feud or possibly a lawsuit against you, your mouth dropped in mock shock before guzzling down the rest of the drink.

“I saw that you fucking skank!” Shishikura Seiji screeched from the kitchen; his stomps were long and heavy as he made his way from the kitchen to the living room where you were. “There were two bottles left in there! Don’t tell me your alcoholic ass drank them both! So help me, I’ll press on your damn chest until you’re puking out my drink.”

“Shishikura, stop,” Shouto spoke up, his own arm raising as he took a long, slow drink from the other missing rosé bottle. “These are 2% alcohol, you’ve had them in the fridge for months now, and you never drink them anyways.”

You grinned as you pulled the glass bottle from your lip, your face failing at the fake look of surprise, guilt, and sorrow for your unwanted and unneeded roommate.

“Sorry, they’re such girly drinks. I figured I’d take them off your hands,” you speak with distractingly bright amusement. “Alcoholics like me, we don’t care. Watch out; I might go for your mouth wash if you’re not too careful.”

“You do that, and I’ll poison you like a damn bitch,” Shishikura threatened, his voice in a menacing growl.

“Ooooo, you want me to bark for you, Shishikura? Want me on my hands and knees?” you taunt back, walking backward until you’re collapsing onto the couch besides Shouto. Your arm quickly sneaks between his, and you lay your head on his shoulder. Shishikura’s face is flushed red, his pupils beady as he trembles with concealed rage.

“She’s quite good at it,” Shouto chimes in, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smirk as he takes another drink of the weak liquor. He shifts on the couch, allowing you to curl more comfortably at his side; the both of you know just how much your incredibly prude roommate hates any sort of PDA. “Want to hear her bark? She’s also quite good with her tongue.”

As if to emphasize Shouto’s point, you stuck out your tongue, refusing to break eye contact with Shishikura as the tip of your tongue breached the opening of the bottle.

“The actual fuck is wrong with the both of you?!” Shishikura spluttered, his face somehow turning purple and green and red. A truly incredible sight to be had. “‘Childhood friends are great roommates to have’ my fucking ass, you both are monstrosities!”

Shishikura stormed out of the living room, his ears neon red as his purple hair fell to cover his face. As soon as he was out of sight, you turned to Shouto, your tongue removing itself from the bottle and back into your mouth as you began to laugh loudly.

Childhood friends to roommates, ah, what a remarkable story you had with Todoroki Shouto.

It was accurate to relay that you had known Shouto for more than seventeen years now at your current age of twenty-one. Seventeen years of being what is easily seen as the best of friends, the closest companions, and indeed a bond that would withstand time and situation. 

The two of you met during the first week of what was preschool. Although both of you could not remember a single instance of events during this time, your mothers had always been excited to relay this story to you for many years that you could remember. It was odd to try to remember it, but even as they painted a picture of your first interaction, you could do nothing but admit that it sounded exactly like how it could have gone. 

You couldn’t remember being four years old; you don’t recall what it was like to strain your neck to look up at your parents or how it felt to be so utterly dependent but to scream brazenly about your childish independence. Your mother smiles when she retells the story of your first interaction, of how you were holding her hand as she walked you to the building where your preschool was to be had. 

Your hand was so small in hers. Tightly clutching onto her fingers as you looked around at the other children who were also arriving or had already arrived. Some children were bawling by their parents, others aimlessly playing with toys, and some were attempting to talk to one another, but by the apparent looks of curiosity surrounding the babbling and rambling tangents that could only be understood by a firing toddler brain, everyone was getting along. 

A teacher greeted you kindly, squatting down to reach your eye level as they excitedly introduced themselves and asked for your name. You, of course, with your hands clutching the skirts of your mother’s dress, responded with hesitant confidence.

“You’re such a brave girl!” the teacher awed happily, stretching out a hand for you. “Is it okay if I take you from your mom and show you which cubby is yours?”

There was a moment of confusion, then clear understanding hovering over your little head. Your mom looked down with an encouraging smile and pushed you forward.

“Do I get a middle cubby? I don’t want a top one,” you admit, your hand stretching out to grab the teacher’s stretched-out hand. 

Your mother watched on happily as you removed your schoolbag and lunchpail and placed them neatly within the somehow middle cubby marked with your name. The teacher also helped you put on your white school slippers before gesturing towards the bright, colorful room, their mouth moving as if explaining every little detail before pointing at the corner. Your mother tilted her head, curious as she followed the teachers point to the corner of the room where a boy with exceptional red and white hair — split perfectly in the middle — sat quietly, with fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

(Shouto, although he can not remember this day himself, will argue with you and only you that he was, in fact, NOT crying.)

Trying to not allow the shock of the unnatural hair color affect her, your mother watched as you nodded to your new teacher and walked over with clenched fist confidence to the small boy.

She watched as you approached him, your jaw moving as you so obviously spoke, hopefully introducing yourself. The boy looked up at you with bright, wet eyes but seemed to speak right back to you. 

“Alright, parents! Thank you all for dropping off your children! Do not worry. We will take great care of them all, and they are in competent hands! First days are hard for everyone, so if you can exit quietly, I, and the rest of us teachers, would appreciate that greatly!”

Or at least that’s what Rei claimed the teacher said.  However, your mother was watching on with increasing exponential horror as she watched you throw a punch at the air before twisting around and pointing right at her and saying with a voice that was much too loud.

“Punch whoever made you cry, Shouto-chan! My mama says that it is okay to punch bullies!”

Thankfully no one but your mother heard you, and even though she scolded you on the way out, whisper yelling that you “better not punch anyone!” her relief was for naught.

When she would return in the afternoon, a bit late because there had been a hold up on the train, you were pouting sitting on the floor with a scuffled uniform, your arms crossed definitely. Next to you was the boy with red and white hair, equally scuffed next to a white-haired woman and an older white-haired boy.

“Oh my god, what happened?!” she shrieked, racing over to you.

“Y/l/n-san,” the teacher spoke with a tone that indicated disappointment with the subtle undertone of amusement. “Y/n-chan has something to tell you.”

Your mother had taught you many things, she will admit, in your very short life. But sass and annoyment was something not often seen in your household or in you, and to see it so blatantly on your chubby-cheeked face was quickly giving your mother greys.

“Shouto-chan told me that his stupid bully brother Touya was being a meanie, and so I helped him punch him back!” you said with tears in your eyes because you didn’t want to back down from your actions, but you also did not like being scolded. “I don’t regret it!”

“Y/n!”

“Y/n-chan!”

“I don’t either,” Shouto-chan grumbled as your mother collapsed to her knees and began to profusely apologize for you to the woman who was undoubtedly Shouto’s mother. “Touya-nii was making fun of my hair again… y/n-chan helped me, though. Please don’t scold her!”

To say the most in the shortest amount of time, you were, in fact, scolded despite Shouto’s begging. Touya stopped making fun of Shouto’s natural hair. Rei accepted your mother’s apology. The teachers were given two bottles of sake.

And, of course, the most important, the most paramount thing to arise from this first day of school was that your and Todoroki Shouto’s friendship was now bound by blood, sweat, and tears.

Preschool became elementary school, which became middle school, and fading into highschool.

It was without saying that your relationship, your friendship with Todoroki Shouto, was probably one of the biggest, most defining parts of your entire life. He was there when your first tooth fell out, when he dropped ice cubes down people’s shirts, you two had bathed together when you were young, had sleepovers well past the age where him being a boy and you being a girl should have made things weird. You laughed when his voice cracked and dropped, he elbowed your chest plenty when you began growing boobs, you taunted his lack of body hair, he bought you your favorite ice cream and heating packs on your first period. You attended cram school together, went to the park and beaches on days off from school. You were partners in every school activity except under specific circumstances. He had listened to you when you told him excitedly about your first kiss when you turned fourteen, and you laughed when he said at the age of fifteen that he had still yet to kiss anyone.

Everyone always claimed, always asked, wondered, and whispered if the two of you were dating. Childhood friends still this close and not dating? Unheard of; practically illegal! Nevertheless, you ignored the disappointed frowns or the hopeful grins as you and Shouto both denied any sort of romantic connection.

Soon the both of you were in high school, and Shouto was mere days from turning sixteen. Much like when the both of you were when you were four years old, you seemed to be the one spouting many words — sometimes unnecessary words that wound you both up in trouble — of wisdom. You were loud when you needed, talking most of the time only to him and your surprisingly large group of friends. (You weren’t that surprised. Everyone wanted to be friends with the handsome, could easily be royalty or a model, Todoroki Shouto.) Shouto remained, for better or worse, quiet, reserved, and a bit awkward. He was a sweet boy, don’t get it wrong, and you would protect him until the end of your days, but the boy was a complete airhead and relied on you for interpreting social interactions.

“Camie-senpai wants me to go over to her house after my birthday,” Shouto explains, his hands exchanging his school shoes for his outdoor ones. “Something about wanting to do that one second-year first-year student project thing for the third years right away.”

“You have Camie?” you ask, slumping against the metal lockers with a slight thud. “Lucky, she’s so nice… I have stupid Agoyamato. Have you had a conversation with him? It’s actually the worst! He thinks he’s all that!”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay; you’re nice enough that he won’t be like… that,” Shouto smiles, slinging his bag on his shoulders before nudging his head towards the exit. “Ready?”

“Am I ever ready?” you ask with a whine but nevertheless proceed onward.

Time passed, and between cram school, actual school, some clubs, eventually January 11th passed and you held an ice cream cake that Shouto loved. You ate the cake together, relaxing as you sat in the warmth of his kitchen.

“Happy birthday, Shoucchan, never change!” you chirp, shoving his arm that rose to place the piece of cake in his mouth with your shoulder and watched as the sweet pastry splattered on top of the table. “...um?”

“I’ll give you ten seconds to run.”

“Only ten?! What about the happy birthday boy.”

“Oh, true. Three seconds to run.”

“Why?!”

“It’s my birthday.”

An hour later, when your stomach hurt from laughing too much and the sickly sweet weight of too much ice cream cake, you lay snuggled into Shouto’s side as the both of you watched some old movie.

“Thanks for always being here for me,” you mumble, eyes growing heavy as the heat of Shouto’s body began to lull you to sleep.

“I’m always here for you,” Shouto softly responded, hand gliding up and down the curve of your spine. “We should get you home. Your mom yelled and nearly skinned us both the last time you fell asleep here.”

“Only cuz she’s scared that we’ll have some sudden revelation we like each other and fuck each other’s brains out,” you groaned, absolutely not content with having to move. With your face buried in your hands now, you missed the weird pattern in Shouto’s chest over that.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“...fine, just because it’s your birthday.”

The next day, when Shouto followed Camie home instead of you, there was something that made you feel off as you waved at them goodbye. It wasn’t jealousy, that much you knew, but something worse when you watched the way your never-been-kissed-before best friend was ignorant to the dark eyes Camie sent his way.

To be quite honest, you’re not sure if you should be as surprised as you are when you get a phone call at ten p.m. to the sound of a confused, suppressed, overwhelmed voice of your best friend asking if you could confirm if Camie had fucked him. You then stayed on the phone for Shouto until well past two a.m., your heart hurting as he recounted the memory over and over again. You weren’t sure as to why your heart was breaking. By the sounds of it, Shouto had actually enjoyed it, but with every stammer to his voice, you felt lightyears away.

Most shockingly, however, was the effects this had on Shouto and his overall persona.

From ages four until fifteen, Todoroki Shouto was someone who was quiet, observant, took things a bit too literally, at all times was entirely precious in the way he interacted with people, and most importantly, unaware of the female population who lusted after him. It worked well for you because it was fun to tease him about things, nag him about how he was sixteen, and hadn’t been kissed even though if he asked any girl at school to kiss him, they definitely would. 

But sixteen-year-old Todoroki Shouto was a new shift, a new paradigm for you to learn. It wasn’t that he wasn’t confident before, but now he emitted a sense of confidence that he was aware of, that everyone was aware of. He became mature, sophisticated, styled even. He was still at times quiet, always completely observant. He rarely took things literally and understood rhetoric and sarcasm and hyperboles. Long gone were the days of preciousness, and instead, there was a sense of a predator on the hunt that bled in the way that he talked to people. Most importantly, however, he was fully aware of the female population and precisely who was lusting after him.

He flirted with women and girls. You would find him leaning against the lockers talking with them, somehow trapping them despite not actually trapping them. A new girl was sitting at your table with him practically every week in high school, each girl asking for the hundredth millionth time that the both of you were not dating. Some girls were even bold enough to apologize to you for stealing your best friend — as if you wanted Shouto.

You had already seen his dick, thank you very much (although the last time you saw it was well before you were nine years old), you weren’t missing out on how it probably looked now! Honestly, you had no idea how Shouto never managed to run out of female students to fuck, the school wasn’t that large, and he seemed to go through a few a week sometimes.

But he was your best friend, your childhood friend, and no matter how many girls came crawling back to your lunch table, bawling to Shouto to take him back, soaking the fabric of your skirt to help convince him to take her back, you stayed. You stayed, accepting the fact that your best friend had become an awkward teenage boy and turned into some high school sex freak.

You stayed when his shaggy hairstyle was clipped and became short.

Overnight, just as he went from being a complete virgin to not one, he went from a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy to a leanly built eighteen-year-old hot-ass heartthrob womanizer.

High school wasn’t forever. Even though it took you about a year to accept and integrate Shouto’s new sex life and behavior into your daily lifestyle with him (he always left four of the three days open for you as all his relationships were casual only). Soon enough, the both of you relaxed and found your own relationship to be entirely the same, and when university exams and applications came about, it was decided that yet again, the both of you would follow each other anywhere.

Which is where you were now.

Tokyo University,  a third-year student, living in an upscale three-person apartment with your best friend, of course. Shouto plus someone who practically begged in the most unbegging way to live with you.

Todoroki Shouto and Shishikura Seiji in the same apartment as you made for an interesting combination.

You hadn’t wanted Shishikura Seiji as a roommate at all. Period. 

There were about eleven other people you only considered asking, but they all said no for their own reasons. Bakugou and Midoriya had found their own apartment closer to the University, and for much cheaper, Kirishima and Mina were RA’s and could not move in. Kaminari said he liked Sero’s couch too much to leave, and Sero couldn’t live in an apartment without a balcony. Momo said the room was too small, Jirou said she’d rather continue living with Momo, Uraraka said it was a tad bit too much for her to afford (to be fair, you didn’t have to pay because the Todoroki’s were paying for your housing, but you understood), Tsuyu and Hagakure said they were living at home. Iida said he would be too uncomfortable living with a couple.

Everyone you found on the street wouldn’t accept your offer. Hence, Shouto invited the meatball and rosé obsessed Shishikura Seiji to live with the two of you simply because he was Shouto’s lab partner in one of his advanced physics classes. Stupid chemical engineering nerd.

At twenty-one years, you can now say that you’ve entirely adjusted to Shouto’s womanizer ways. Too often do you find yourself sitting at the kitchen counter, a steaming cup of tea in your hand as you drink it in slowly, watching with much amusement as either a no-name girl leaves or a walk of shame Shouto enters. It happens at most five times a week; you were used to it. While the unease had finally left, you had to admit you were impressed your best friend could easily sleep around as he did and maintain his outstanding grades.

However, just because you were finally used to Shouto’s womanizer tendencies didn’t mean the world was. Even in University, your fellow students would ask with wide eyes and behind flat palms if the two of you were dating — specifically if Shouto was cheating on you or if it was an open relationship. You would each and every time, smile cheekily, shake your head and say with a roll of your eyes: “No, we’re not dating. He’s not cheating, and no, this is nothing more than us being best friends. Sho is too much of a jealous person to allow for an open relationship.”

Somehow, the constant begging of approval and the erasure of any romantic connection between you and Shouto from the plethora of female students at Tokyo University wasn’t even the most annoying part of it all. No, not at all.

What really ground your nerves was a pattern you noticed when you were eighteen.

Unlike Shouto, you hadn’t had the chance to lose your virginity until you were eighteen. Most of the boys who liked you always assumed you and Shouto were dating, the ones who gathered the courage to ask you out anyways were boys you were less than impressed with. By some act of some higher god, your crush — the school's third-year baseball team's captain when you were a first-year — reappeared in your life and asked you out. It wasn’t your best decision, you can fully admit it, but he was friendly and sweet as he fucked you in his small bed.

You hadn’t expected sex to be like that, and if you had enjoyed this, you couldn’t help but wonder just how Shouto was in bed to have girls behaving like that.

However, the spell was broken when he helped you change back into your clothes, and he begged you not to tell Shouto he was the person you cheated on him with.

It was on this day that it clicked.

What went for him, unfortunately, went for you too.

Except where girls rose to the challenge to dethrone you from Shouto’s side (a shame because they were vying for a seat that you had no claim over), the boys lowered their head like some damn omega to Shouto’s alpha.

Disgusting.

Even with the plentiful, plethora, consistent denial of your relationship with Shouto, even with the tally of girls, Shouto’s bedded (and more excitedly, deflowered — ugh!) rose consistently, no one ever really believed you weren’t dating him! Too many a time, you had been centimeters from making out with a guy for them to pull away, screeching that they couldn’t allow you to betray Shouto. The men who didn’t care were sleezebags, and thus, with a growl and a snarl, you found that you were only able to fuck men who thought jackhammering their fingers into your labia — yes, your labia — would make you cum.

You didn’t want to say you hated your childhood best friend for such duplicitous, selfish reasons… but you did.

But today was Saturday, a few months into the new second semester of the school year, and with school spirit once again high and workload low. The entire campus was brimming with parties, celebrations, alcohol drinking competition, sleazy dancing, and enough sexual tension to kill all celibate people.

So, we look back to where we started.

Shishikura Seiji running away as you nestled back against Shouto’s chest.

“I didn’t think he was actually going to drink these things,” Shouto sighed, spinning the last few remaining drinks of his rosé in his hand. “It’s been in the fridge for almost five months.”

“He probably made his meatballs again and needed something terrible to blame the flavor on,” you half joke half say in complete seriousness. You were not fond of Shishikura at all, and he was not fond of you either. He had a tendency to mansplain everything, which continuously ground on your nerves, especially when he had no jurisdiction to act so confidently.

He was a physics major, not a goddamn god.

Fuck off.

“I feel sorta bad,” Shouto sighs, his hand low and warm on your waist. “But I will admit, these drinks are practically like carbonated water.”

“2% alcohol,” you stress, your grin widening as you pull away from his chest to stare at him. Your gaze is bright, and his eyes are filled with amusement. “You’re either the world's lightest lightweight or a child with no tolerance to actually expect to get drunk off this shit.”

“I think you’re slurring your words already though, you sure you’re okay, lightweight?” Shouto teases, his soft smirk teasing.

“Who was the one who took three shots and passed out?” you wonder innocently, finger to your chin as if you were trying to remember.

“At least I don’t throw up when I crossfade.”

“IT'S NOT MY FAULT. MY BIOLOGY JUST HAPPENS TO WORKS THAT WAY!”

“Alright, bitch,” Shouto snorts, completely unattractively, “hurry up and get ready, yeah? We have a party we’re already late to, and we have no drinks for an actual pregame.”

You squeal excitedly, having forgotten the massive party that was being held a few blocks away. “I’ll be ready in ten!”

Typically, when you went out partying, you went with the group of eleven people you would have rather replaced Shishikura as a roommate. To get ready for said parties, you would always find yourself at Momo’s place with an outfit change, makeup bag, and hair styling items. You had made it a tradition with the other girls to get ready together. The only exceptions to which this wouldn’t happen was when someone had a work event or some family thing come up.

In your case, you had been stuck at a professor's office, diligently helping to put together their research journal as they were in their final steps of publishing their findings. Due to your friendly relationship with your professor, the time had been lost, and your ten p.m. call time to arrive at Momo’s had been missed with a quick:

↳ held up at work! go on without me, sorry! see you at the party!!!!

When you crashed through the front door of your apartment, you froze, seeing Shouto in the hallway by the mirror. Sometime between getting his haircut to be shorter and from this day, he had begun to style his hair by threading it back by his fingers, and boy, it looked fucking good. He was already dressed up for the party. Black joggers, a white t-shirt that was a bit too small if the tight, seductive way it clung to his muscles spoke of anything, and a hoodie he had no care about in case he lost it after taking it off once getting there. Shouto was practically immune to all weather types, he could be in both snow or fire without a single worry, but he knew that a large sweatshirt that smelled like him was enough to hook and line any truly desperate female.

Shouto had chuckled, taking in your frazzled state with years of practice and nudged toward the fridge, already knowing that you had missed your pregaming with the girls.

“Shishikura has two rosés left. Grab ‘em, and we can pregame together.”

But that was all unimportant and already said.

In the end, it took you thirty minutes to get ready.

You had practically smeared on your makeup, hoping the warm, crazy miscoloring would be hidden within the crazy light show the party would definitely be displaying. Your outfit consisted of a tank top that exposed your cleavage and a skirt that hugged your legs and ass just right.

You came stumbling out of your room, fingers trying to shove on your earrings, the rings on your fingers clicking loudly against each other. You smiled breathily, gratefully accepting Shouto’s sweater as you slipped on your comfortable heels at the doorway before hurrying out.

Shouto kept an arm around your shoulder the entire way out, the immense heat of his body keeping you warm as his sweater rested lazily, awkwardly, around your shoulders and arms. You didn’t want to put it entirely on to save your makeup, and in case anyone had any fucking thing to say about the show you and Shouto were putting on. Eventually, the bright and comical conversation between you and Shouto began to grow louder as the pounding of dance music began to ring in your ears. Soon enough, you passed a few drunk people, more and more, until you reached the house where the party was.

Shoving the sweatshirt into Shouto’s chest, you grinned as the smell of alcohol, weed, over-cologne men and women, the faint smell of puke, and the gross crawl of BO flooded your nose.

Ah yes, nothing like a university party.

Shouto laughs at your evident piqued excitement, and after he pulls on the light blue sweatshirt, he grabs your hand, and into the overcrowded home you go.

The intense heat of overcrowded bodies on a dance floor that also makes up a drinking game floor makes you grateful for your choice of clothes. Everyone around you is already drunk, sloshed, intoxicated off their ass as unknown drinks spill from their red Solo cups, sometimes even raining down on you. You grimace as Shouto continues to pull you through. You can taste the Hennesy on your upper lip and somehow know that whoever was drinking it was a freshman with a vendetta to kill his liver and love for drinking before coming of legal age.

“What do you want to drink?” Shouto yells over the nearly obnoxiously loud music. He has his sight on the drinks counter. “Mixed or the juice?”

“Fuck me up with the jungle juice!” you yell right back, pressing to his side as two dancing (see, vigorously dry-humping) nearly trample on top of you. “Parties are meant to be a non-sober event. I need to be borderline blacked out five hours ago!”

The agreeing chuckle from Shouto isn’t heard by you at all, but you can feel his chest give a familiar vibration as finally, he pulls you from the sea of bodies to where the floor is especially wet and sticky. You’ve reached the bar area.

Grabbing your own red Solo Cup, you watch as Shouto makes his own drink. Heavy on the alcohol, light on the mixer, and a good handful of ice (he’s always liked the cold better). His hand reaches for your cup and you offer your cup up as he opens up an ice chest filled with neon-colored jungle juice.

When the drink is returned to you, the both of you cheers and take a long drink.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N-CHAN!”

“You’re finally here, you fucking slut! Getcha fat ass over here now!”

Your neck is twisted to see the absolutely plastered group of girls you considered to be your closest friends, and you laugh loudly.

“Seems like I’m needed,” you yell at Shouto, trying your best to act nonchalantly as he smiles knowingly at you. “Text me about what you decide to do if we don’t see each other?”

“Of course,” he simply responds before placing the curve of his cup back onto his lip as hands grabbed your arms and whisked you away.

In a matter of sixty minutes, you all had played five drinking games.

The girls felt it was imperative to get you to their level right away, so they started off with a game of King’s Cup. Not only was the deck rigged against you — you pulled all four of the four cards and thus had to chug four times — but you had drawn the last King and drank some weird concoction of jungle juice, a tequila shot, a vodka shot, and whatever the fucking hell Mina was drinking. How you managed to chug that and stay on your feet was beyond you, but it was without saying that you had utterly and inevitably caught up with the girls.

After the King's Cup came the Flip Cup game, your team won thankfully due to Mina’s one flip wonder as Kaminari struggled to down the shot in the cup.

After Flip Cup came Smoke or Fire, a game that had Tsuyu stuck on the bus for a record-breaking one round. No one could believe she did that.

Then came a round of Shot Roulette to end with what you were currently doing now, using a drinking card game Momo had made in her spare time to do embarrassing things at random.

Five games in an hour… you questioned if there was by any chance illegal substances in the jungle juice because it had felt like a whopping two minutes.

“It’s midnight!” Hagakure hollered, stumbling backward as she grinned in drunken, stupid happiness. She giggled before singing, “Midnight… memoriessss~!”

Mina groaned at the reference but completely perked up as the dance music changed suddenly from its slightly mellow, good vibe song to none other than Everytime We Touch by Cascada. By tradition, by applicable law by all and every god, when this one song played, everyone needed to stop what they were doing and immediately head to the dance floor.

With your hand slightly sticky with alcohol, and your mind absolutely clouded with alcohol, you whooped loudly as Mina dragged you to the dancefloor. 

You, seven girls, formed a closed circle, your Solo cups sloshing over with alcohol, and your faces scrunched tight as you danced and sang as loudly as you could. Each pounding beat of music vibrated in your chest, each offkey note sung by the party-goers making you feel light, happy, dizzy, and oh so perfectly drunk. For just a split moment, you lock eyes with Shouto, who’s across the dance floor, his arms wrapped around some girl you don’t recognize, eyes drinking you in. You smile for a bit before turning back around, arms rocketing up to the air with your excitement.

Although the song ended, the DJ continued to play bangers, and you never once stopped in your mirthful dancing and grinding against your friends as the night continued to carry on. But when you spun out from Mina, your entire world spinning with it, a pair of warm, heavy, large hands rested on your waist, and you laughed.

“Who is this?” you ask, head slamming backward to try and look at the person who had caught you yet hadn’t tried grinding against you. “Oh, Inasa? Hi!”

Yoarashi Inasa was one of your University's well-known jocks. He was a skilled runner, one of the best Japan has ever seen despite his body type telling you he was a bodybuilder. Immediately your smile of idiotic stupor became intentful, seductive, still bordering extreme intoxication. Was Inasa your type? No, not really, but you could reasonably and accurately say that he was a handsome man, with a fantastic body, not to mention a pleasant personality.

You also itched to know what his dick looked like.

This was definitely someone you could see yourself fucking tonight.

“Hi, y/l/n,” Inasa said, his naturally loud voice easily picked up on despite the music being blasted in your ear. “How’s your night going?”

You lick your dry lips, eyes blinking a few times before you turn in his arms, your arms stretching so that you could wrap them around his neck. “Better now that you’re here,” you smile shyly. “How’s yours.”

“Ahem,” Inasa blushes, his eyes staring straight at your cleavage before looking back up at you. “H-Hoping to get better from here! Well, I’m sure it will be.”

“Oh?” you ask, your confidence building faster and faster as you press further against him. “Anything you have in mind?” —you press your thigh suggestively against the semi-hard spot against his jeans. — “Anyway... I can... help?”

Inasa groans deep in his chest, his head knocking backward at your implications, the pleasant vibrations passing on to you. You grin, fingers scraping against the bottom of his buzzcut and bringing him closer, praying for a kiss. But as he returns his head back down, his gaze leaves yours for a split second, and you watch in horror as a sobering look washes over him.

“Actually… you’re here with some random dude, right? I don’t want to step on his toes. I thought I saw you come in with some guy; sorry y/l/n, I can’t do this.”

And just as quickly as he was against you, he was gone.

It took everything in you not to screech bloody murder over the fact that you were once again left horny with no man to take responsibility for it.

Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party With Shouto: 78% Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party Without Shouto: 22%

Walking home alone, cold, and with extreme bitterness towards Yoarashi Inasa was a sadly sobering experience. By the time you collapsed onto your bed, you were only slightly buzzed, boarding sobriety while not being sober exactly.

Fuck men.

Fuck their cowardness over a nonexistent romantic/sexual relationship between you and Shouto.

But also… you really wanted to fuck men right now.

The slicked horniness of the potential thought of bedding Inasa had made its unignorable appearance via your soaked panties. You hated yourself, hated your biological needs and lusts.

“I’ll wring Shouto’s neck in front of all of them next time,” you grumble to yourself. “Stage a fake breakup for an imaginary thing…”

Nestling further into your pillows, your eyes closed, body relaxing against the bed when a peculiar sound seemed to echo in your ear.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Your eyes slammed open, your jaw-dropping at the very obvious, entirely embarrassing sound of Shouto having sex on his desk sounded in your room! Of course it sounded in your room. His desk was pressed to your wall because that would mean whenever he was his icky womanizer self, you wouldn’t have to hear anything! Your rooms were soundproof but apparently not movement proof.

The thwack of the wood desk slammed against the wall, and with your ear so close to the wall, you began to hear the shaky, intense breathing of Shouto. The whines, keens, and screams of the girl he was fucking as she begged for more. Sobbing that his cock was too much for her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Your panties soaked even more, and with a brain that somehow retracted back into its state of stupor, your fingers brushed against your swollen, ready clit.

This was wrong, so very, very wrong, you thought, the sounds of pitched whining against the stupidly impressive, steady, consistent fucking.

Your mind was a drunken fever. 

Your eyes closed not all the way, yet blind to the wall before you as your finger danced and teased against your demanding clit.

You whined softly, matching the groaning of Shouto, who banged something other than the desk into the wall.

For a moment, just this once, you wanted to be the one desperately clinging to Shouto’s back, hips snapping and circling in tandem to his, allowing him to drill his cock deep within you. Your back arched, heat reaching your toes, buzzing filling your lips.

“Yes, fuck, right there, Todoroki!” the girl screamed, begged, and prayed. “Oh my god, yes, yes yes, right there, right the— mmph!”

You find your teeth sinking into your fist, trying to keep your pounding, horny induced brain from crying out. You wanted to know what he was doing to her, if he had kissed her silent, shoved his fingers in her mouth. Maybe he had fucked her so good she couldn’t possibly say more.

There is nothing from Shouto you can hear, no noises of praise, nothing except the occasional ragged breath that seems to permeate through the walls and whisper sweetly, teasingly, like a succumbs in your ear.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

It increases, in noise, the wall separating your room from his beginning to rattle, shake in his conquest.

Your fingers are wet, entirely slippery with your conquest, your hips thrashing against your touch, clinging to a phantom memory of the last male you had managed to fuck. Then, as your stomach trembles with the orgasm that's mere seconds from blessing you with a release, you hear him—Shouto.

“Fuck.”

It’s not much. If anything, this girl should be so embarrassed she hasn’t been able to elicit a loud response from Shouto, but it’s a verbal gift from heaven above for you. His voice, tight, husky, drenched with a driving lust, whispers to you and only you, wrapping you in this blanket of solitude and need. 

With your back arching from the mattress, your hips leaving the soft surface, and your jaw growing slack, your moan is silent, unheard by no one but the heavens as you cum. Heat floods throughout your entire body, tickling and twirling in you until you can’t do anything but shudder, shaking as you fall back down on your bed, dizzy and completely satisfied. 

You don’t think about it.

Don’t try to unpack just what happened right now because the reality that you had just masturbated to the sound of your childhood best friend fucking some random girl is a bit too much. Even for you.

So you don’t think about it, and soon the thudding of the desk on the wall is nothing but a drumming lullaby, and sleep consumes you.

When you wake up, you don’t remember what you did.

You get up and trudge to the bathroom, your party clothes abandoned completely so that you’re wearing nothing but a large shirt you had stolen from Shouto years ago. You scratch your belly as you walk into the bathroom, eyes caked with your sleep still as you begin brushing your teeth.

As you brush your teeth, you begin to take off last night's makeup — well, whatever remained of it.

Spitting out the last foamy remains of the paste from your mouth, you rinsed your mouth before washing your skin. You looked much more awake now. Slapping your cheeks in an encouraging, ‘im a functional human adult taking part in some random face wash commercial,’ you exited the bathroom and went to the kitchen. 

Shishikura was already in the kitchen, his face expressionless, entirely dead to the world as he scooped some rice into a bowl and topped it off with some eggs.

“Morning,” you yawn, arms stretching over your head as you near closer to your unwanted roommate.

Shishikura sneers at you, but even he was more polite in the morning, sometimes.

“I heard the both of you get back last night,” Shishikura mocked, slamming the lid to his rice cooker with an unimpressed scowl. “You were thirty minutes apart. You know, if you two still want to be partying like a bunch of eighteen-year-olds, do it respectfully.”

Your smile back at him is as fake as he is, and you refuse to move out of the way as he tries to walk back to his room. He growls — gross? — and sidesteps you, grumbling the entire way back to his room as you roll your eyes at his retreating form.

What a child.

You entered the kitchen, fixing up your own things for breakfast.

Kettle brewing hot water for tea, rice cooker on for your own rice (you make enough for Shouto too), and you begin cooking some ham and eggs, readying yourself for a Sunday for going to the library and studying. You hummed to yourself, your phone plugged into the speaker as your music filled the quiet morning air.

You bobbed your head in rhythm with the music, your eyes concentrating on slowly cooking eggs as you poured the hot water from your kettle into the teacup. As you placed your teabag in, you looked up to the sound of a creaking door and grinned wickedly as a girl with light blue hair walked out of the hall you and Shouto’s room were in.

Her dress was rumbled, a few blooming red and purple marks sitting prettily on her collarbone, and her face flushed red as she began to scurry out.

“Bye!” you call out, laughing at the scared eep from the girl and the disgruntled groan from Shouto’s room.

You set down your tea, flipping the eggs in the pan as you heard more shuffling before finally, Shouto made his appearance. He was in nothing but grey sweatpants that sat so low on his waist you could not only see the band of his boxer-briefs, but you were entirely aware of the v-lines, the abs, the pecs, and the small happy trail from his belly button down. You also noted that there was not a single mark on his body, and you wondered if he had ever taken a single mark from a one-night fuck before.

God really cursed you with an objectively attractive best friend, huh.

“Morning, slut,” you sing, noticing with happiness that your rice cooker sang a merry tune, indicating that the rice was done. “Breakfast?”

“Mm,” Shouto grumbled, his hands rubbing his face as he trudged closer to the kitchen, taking a spot on one of the stools. “Depends. Did you make it?”

“...I always make it.”

“I think I like Shishikura’s breakfast better.”

Silence.

You glare at Shouto, and in turn, his lips press to a comfortable, teasing smile.

“Fend for your damn self then.”

Shouto laughed loudly as you began to stubbornly fix yourself a bowl of both your servings. You ate far less than he did, but still enough to fill you until after three pm, so the size of your bowl was hysterical. 

“You’re such a horrible wife-roommate,” Shouto accuses, standing up from the stool and entering the kitchen to try and persuade you otherwise to give him his own food. “And here I thought that you liked cooking for me.”

“Go tell your stupid wife-roommate Shishikura instead,” you cry loudly, the faux sniffles from you stupidly fake as you begin to shovel a mouthful of rice and eggs into your mouth. “I’m shwure you’chll beh happ t’gther!”

“That’s absolutely disgusting, y/l/n,” Shouto accuses, his nose scrunching as he traps you in his arms, mouth trying to intercept the food moving from your bowl and into your mouth. 

With another desire to prove how unsatisfied in your roommate-marriage you were, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue full of uneaten, partially chewed rice.

“Ea’ eh!” you mocked, your grin growing as Shouto’s initial instinct was to whip his head away from you.

But as always, because Shouto enjoyed being incredibly annoying, he went after your tongue, readying to eat the chewed-up food off your very tongue. 

Eventually, you gave Shouto back his part of the breakfast, laughing as the both of you chatted about who was going to repay Shishikura for the used rosés. Neither one of you could decide, and so it was something to be solved later. Noon, however, came and with a nod, you accepted Shouto’s hug goodbye, to which you twisted his nose triumphantly as you waddled out of the front door, clothed in your winter gear, textbooks, and laptop,

It was time to brave the world and get this paper done.

“Mina, I mean… absolutely no offense when I say this, but it still shocks me every time you say you’re a chemistry major. You just seem so…”

“Dumb?”

“Yeah.”

“You gotta be some kind of stupid to willingly take inorganic chem,” Mina laughed, balancing her textbooks on her head as the both of you climbed the stairwell to the library’s study rooms. “That's why I have the dance minor! Best of both worlds!”

“Could never forget about that,” you laughed as the both of you neared the top of the stairwell.

You didn’t mean to notice him. As a matter of fact, most of your failed conquests at parties never amounted to much anger from you, but seeing Inasa from across the way, his face buried in some aerodynamics textbook, anger boiled in you. On the way to meeting with Mina, you had realized your mistake last night and how you wouldn’t have made said mistake if it hadn’t been for Inasa! You could’ve been dicked down, slammed against your bed and wall as the giant of a man fucked you!

“I’ll be right back,” you sneered, eyes narrowing as you passed your textbook to Mina.

With fire following in ever long, powerful stride, you blinked and immediately found yourself before Inasa.

“Hi. Wanna explain what happened last night?”

Inasa reacted as if you had shot him, his knees coming up to hit the table, his body knocking backward, and he tumbled, crashing to the floor as you watched with a gaping mouth.

“Y-Y/L/N!” Inasa shouted, his face going through half a billion emotions before settling in anxiety-filled fear. You watched, horrified yourself, as he swung to his knees, his head crashing to the floor as he began apologizing to you. “GOODMORNING, HOW ARE YOU TODAY?!”

“Pipe it down, Inasa!” you hiss, your cheeks flooding with embarrassed heat as you garnered the attention of everyone on the floor. “I’m not going to hurt you! I just wanted to talk!”

“Aha, yes, of course!” Inasa laughs, a full belly laugh. He sits up and you freeze seeing the bloodied cut on his forehead. He stands up, completely unaffected by the gash on his forehead, and uprights his chair before sitting comfortably. “How can I help you?”

“What happened to you last night?” you try again, eyebrow raised, arms crossed definitely and awkwardly because yeah… you were confronting a guy who didn't want to sleep with you. “You were into me and then suddenly wasn’t.”

Inasa laughs more, although nothing you said, implied, or did was even remotely funny.

Irritation runs through your veins.

“Inasa, please,” you sigh in helplessness, your eyes annoyed, pleading, and hopeful that he would be the one to finally give you an actual reason.

“It’s… it’s not you. If that’s what you’re wondering,” Inasa finally sighs. His face turns uncharacteristically solemn as his tongue passes through his lips, his shoulders raising to a shrug. “Typically speaking, you are exactly who and what I want when I endeavor in less than chivalrous but still passionate activities. I wanted you last night, and I will not lie that even as I left, I regretted behaving as I did.”

“Well, you did it, and it sorta really sucked,” you laugh, your mouth taut in a frown as your feelings are genuinely hurt.

You keep being put down, and there’s no reason for it.

Why couldn’t you be as sexually active as you wish you could be?

“...Todoroki has a claim on you,” Inasa spoke slowly, his mouth dipping from a usual smile to a frown. “I know you guys aren’t together, but in a way, you two are.”

“No,” you say with complete certainty, anger burning in your chest, “we’re not.”

“Try telling Todoroki that,” Inasa shrugs, his fingers scratching through his buzz cut. “Listen, I wanted to have intercourse with you last night; I did. I also am aware that Todoroki is a womanizer, but he said you were off-limits for all of us.”

“He said that?” your voice is perfectly calm, not showing the raging fire in you.

“Well, no, he definitely did not,” Inasa sighs, the palm of his hands pressing tightly against his eyes. “He has never said it… but it’s the way he talks about you, how he looks at you. It’s a claim on you, even if it’s not a verbal one, and well, no one wants to defy him.”

Your nostrils flare in your irritation, and you find that you’re stepping into Inasa’s personal space, his eyes going wide as you step between his legs and press your hands on his chest.

“I’ll be going home in about five hours. If you still want to fuck me, wait for me,” you say slowly, trying to make sure he understands. “I don’t care if Sho looks at me the way he does; he is not my boyfriend.”

Inasa gulps, his tan skin sporting a healthy pink flush, “Yes, ma’am.”

Five hours later, you’re walking into your apartment with Inasa behind you, his warm, slightly sweaty hand clasped in yours. You make eye contact with both your roommates, Shishikura, whose eyes are rolling to the depths of his skull, and Shouto, who looks like a wall. You, despite the anger you’re feeling for Shouto, smile prettily, then grin wolfishly as you corral Inasa towards your room. You send your roommates a wink before closing the door with a decisive click.

Much like you assumed the night prior, your drunken hazed, lust-driven, anger-flared thoughts proved to be right. Inasa fucked you against the wall, deep into the mattress, he drilled and fucked you until his dick was wet with your slick, and his leg was trembling with his plentiful unleashed loads. But you weren’t done yet, too many times have you been denied, and even though Inasa was trembling, his voice shaking with desperate pleas to slow down or he would cum too fast, you rode him with powerful, swiveling hips.

Once he left, you felt light again.

Your head light, body glowing as you dressed your bruised, cum slick body in a robe as you trudged to the bathroom. You showered, letting the warm water and sweet-smelling oils drench your body before you eventually exited, your hair in a towel, Shouto’s shirt on your person again.

Waltzing to the living room, you grinned as you collapsed on the couch, every grievance you held when you walked in forgotten at the moment.

“Hello,” you smile, your head falling onto Shouto’s lap who was, at the moment, very interested in his phone. Shishikura was gone, undoubtedly leaving in case he heard something he didn’t want to hear during your little four-hour sexscapade. “I am a leaf flowing through the river right now, if you’re wondering.”

“Don’t need to wonder. You were perfectly loud enough,” Shouto grumbled, his eyes rolling. “Says something that I could, considering the rooms are soundproof.”

“I should hope so! After you, the girls rave that Inasa is the best fuck on campus,” you hum, still on a delirious high as you attempt to reach for your best friend's hand to grasp. But to your shock, Shouto jerks away from your touch, and he stands, letting your head fall roughly on the couch. And just like that, your anger is back. The emotion Inasa had managed to fuck out of you for a bit returned at full force. “Shouto?!”

“What?” he snaps.

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

“My problem is that you brought someone to fuck at fucking five p.m.,” Shouto explains, his expression like the void, empty, dark, menacing. “We agreed to keep it until past ten.”

Your face screws up as you push up off the couch, “Are you kidding me?! I’ve seen you constantly bring girls to fuck at any and all times of the day! Don’t suddenly bring that shit in when it clearly isn’t an actual rule in this apartment!”

“You were also being obnoxiously loud,” Shouto narrows his eyes at you.

“You are too!”

“When am I ever?”

“I literally listened to you fuck that girl last night against our shared wall!”

“You moved your bed to our shared wall?! When?!”

“Doesn’t matter! I would’ve heard it just fine on the other side!”

“The girl wasn’t even that fucking loud!” 

“You can’t ever remember the names of the girls you fuck! Do you know anything about them ever? Are you even using condoms?!”

“You only ever fuck men with questionable personalities.”

“Gee, I wonder fucking why!”

The two of you were nose to nose, anger flaring and near tangible between the two of you.

“What do you mean?” he grits slowly.

“I’m talking about you mad dogging any male human who so much as looks or thinks of me!” you snap, finger shoving between his pecs. “No one touches me because somehow they respect the way a womanizer looks at me.”

“I’m not looking at you in any special way,” Shouto squints his eyes, completely not having your accusations.

“Even if you don’t, this fucking behavior is pathetic of you!” you say, hands motioning between you two and the room. “I had sex, and you’re acting like some pathetic child! I have been putting up with your sex-craze tendencies since we were sixteen, asshole! Sixteen! If I want to gloat and float about having sex, then I fucking deserve to.”

His nostrils flare, his upper lip curling in a small twitch before he rolls his eyes and walks away.

“That’s right, Todoroki,” you laugh bitterly at his retreating form. “Walk away from a fight because you can never win them.”

It took a bit for the dust to settle, but as soon as it did, you realized in horror that you and Shouto had, for the first time ever, fought.

Being roommates with Shouto was always a fun thing. Having your childhood best friend right at your disposal meant that you could have dinner nights, movie nights, game nights, morning waffles, hikes, and literally anything whenever and wherever you wanted. He was a person to talk to when the days were long, and there was no one else in the world, the person who was there for you through thick and thin. But for two days, he had been locked away in his room, unwilling to look at you, refusing to be anywhere near you.

Your friends had noticed immediately.

The way the both of you hadn’t shown up together, the way you sat at opposite ends of the table, refusing to be trapped in a conversation together. Separate the two of you were, and the world acted as if Earth had dropped out of gravity.

You could care less right now.

You were rightfully mad at him! How dare he act so pettily over you having a sex life when you were expected to blink, turn the other way, and laugh when he would shower after a girl would leave before joining you on the couch to watch a movie. He was in the wrong, not you!

But even if you were unwilling to budge and he was refusing to see things the way they should be, you were now incredibly lonesome. So as you sat with your back on the mattress. Your butt to the wall, and your legs kicking against the wall, you thought of what you could do. With a bitter sigh, you rolled off your bed and scurried out of the apartment. Nothing but your wallet and ID on you so that you could get to the store on the first floor of the complex.

Holding the item in hand, you knocked on a door, your gaze already on the floor, embarrassed that you were going to do what you had to do.

“What?” came the annoyed voice of Shishikura, the door to his room opening as he looked at you unimpressed and very obviously unwelcomed.

“Truce?” you asked, raising the six-pack of Angry Orchard Rosé Cider. 

Shishikura looks at you, at the ciders, then back at you.

“Fine.”

How in the world you’re drunk off of four rosé ciders is beyond you, but you are. You’re in the living room, laughing so hard that your stomach hurts as you’re trying not to snort the liquid from your mouth and out your nose. Shishikura is equally plastered off of one drink, his red a ruby red against his purple hair. He’s leaning against you, his breathing ragged, near asthmatic as he tries to once explain just how Shouto looked like when some girl slapped him across the face yesterday for ghosting her after sex.

“He was so shocked!” Shishikura squeaked out, his voice pitchy and incredibly high as he laughed more and more. “You should have seen it!”

Your feet kicked at the air, your face and lungs burning with a fire you hadn’t felt in so long as your laughter turned silent. You gasped for air, trying to contain yourself but failing hysterically.

“Do you wa’ another meatballsh?” Shishikura suddenly asked, his hands flailing to grab his plate of meat. “I think you want another o’.”

“I wan’ ‘ne!” you cried with a slight slur, tears of joy slipping past your eyes to which you haphazardly scrubbed them off your face. “They’re soooo good! I didn’t think they could be so… be so good!”

You find yourself eating another meatball, drinking it down with the cider and feeling happy again. Shishikura goes still by your side, and you hum in wonder, unfocused eyes trying to find what had caught his attention and falling onto the one man you were mad at currently.

Shouto was standing at the apartment entrance, dressed in ripped black jeans, a tight grey turtleneck sweater, and his backpack slung on his shoulder. It was, without a doubt, a studying-only outfit. You knew and have discussed too many times with Shouto about how he never trusted women to take his turtlenecks off without potentially ruining the fabric.

“Well, someone’s finally home... from a night of beddin mo’ women, huh?” a voice spoke, but you were completely unsure if it was you or Shishikura who said it.

Judging by the way Shouto’s eyes locked on Shishikura and not yours, it seemed it was him who said it.

“No, I was doing something,” Shouto retorted, his hand gripping the strap of his backpack, his eyes shifting between you and Shishikura. “A paper for class.”

“Sure,” you end up speaking up, your voice sounding completely sober. You sit up so that your elbow is resting on Shishikura’s nearest shoulder. You raise the glass bottle to your lips, drinking its content without care, never once breaking eye contact. “What was the paper's name? You going after your TA? Or was it a professor by chance?”

Shouto’s eyebrows furrow, his face completely unimpressed by your comeback, but he remains silent.

“He looks like he’s trying to cosplay that one Young The Rock picture, no way would a dignified professor or TA fuck him!” Shishikura laughed with a loud bark, and all of a sudden, that was all you could see too.

The both of you howled with laughter, laughing and slapping each other as you attempted to drink the last bits of the rosés as Shouto rolled his eyes and walked away.

“This is fun. No wonder why you guys do it to me so often.”

-

As time does, it moves forward.

It seemed as if the entire campus had tuned in to what had transpired between you and Shouto. No one the slightest bit sure as to what happened, but everyone knew something big had happened. There was no more walking together before classes or after classes, no weird Instagram or Snapchat stories of the other, both of you never having to excuse yourself because you had plans with the other. Even though they claimed to not care about other people’s business, the school was suddenly invested in the single speculation that Todoroki Shouto’s and Y/l/n Y/n’s relationship was over.

“Breaking News, it was never a real relationship!” you would scream the first few times you heard it, which only worked to make them whisper louder that you were in further denial.

For the last seventeen years of your life, you had never gone more than two days without talking or seeing your childhood best friend. Those two days happened when Rei had experienced a staggering, hospital-inducing breakdown from stress and had subsequently burned Shouto when you were five years old. The two days were because he spent four days in the hospital. The first two days, he was not allowed visitors as the hospital staff put him under a coma to help his body from entering shock and heal. Of course, the moment he was awakened, you were dragging your mother to his bedside.

That was the only time you hadn’t seen or spoken to Shouto consistently.

But since Sunday evening, you had only seen Shouto once when you were drunk with Shishikura. You had only spoken to him then too.

For the first time in seventeen years, you broke your record of not talking or seeing Shouto.

From two days to five.

It was weird.

You felt almost empty.

So when Mina and Uraraka placed their arms around your shoulders, their eyes dead serious, you knew that they had a distraction for you.

“The deltas are throwing a party,” Uraraka spoke with mystery. “It is on Saturday.”

“It is only right that we go, get our asses so drunk our blood is practically a distillery, and fuck anyone who looks at us a second longer than anyone else,” Mina agrees, her tone wise and knowing as she nods her head.

“Our question to you is:” they spoke together, their voices weirdly, obviously practiced, in synch. “Are you in?”

Your tongue is pressed between your lips, your fingers pressing against the textbook you were using to help support your essay’s thesis, and you roll your eyes.

You grin.

“Obviously.”

And as time promises each and every time, Saturday finally came.

“What is our objective tonight?!” Mina screams over the background music that Jirou is blasting in Momo’s larger-than-life bathroom.

“To fuck bitches and get money!” Hagakure, the only one currently not downing a drink, screams back.

“NO, WRONG!” Mina shakes her head, climbing onto the white marble countertops and pointing at Jirou. “Kyo! Your turn!”

“To beat that prick in the sound booth and prove that I’m—”

“NO! Wrong again! Yaomomo!”

“Um, to make everlasting mem—”

“INCORRECT, YOU GORGEOUS PRINCESS! Tsuyu, don’t fail me, babe!”

“Well, it’s to prove to Todoroki that y/n-chan should be able to fuck any person she wants.”

“A bit lengthy, a bit focused on the wrong parts of it, but YES! Tonight’s operation: get y/n a man — preferably Inasa — who fucks the negativity out of her!”

You laugh loudly, rolling your eyes as you lean in closer to the mirror. You hold a Mike’s Hard in one hand, and in the other is your eyeliner as you paint on your makeup. You’re not really hearing the conversations that the girls are having, your own mind too lost in the music, and the swaying you’ve picked up as the three bottles of Mike’s you’ve had in the past thirty minutes are calming down your still frazzled nerves.

You don’t pull away from your reflection until after you’re done smoothing over your favorite lipstick on your pouty lips. You look over at your reflection and see Mina dancing with an awkwardly stiff Jirou and a delightfully giggling Momo on the bathroom countertops. A smile forms on your face, happiness radiating in your chest, and you grin looking at your friends.

But Shouto still sat in your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder why.

Why did it hurt knowing that he was avoiding you as much as you were him?

Why didn’t he just try to corner you?

Why did you care that he didn’t?

He was your best friend in the entire world, since your earliest memories, he’s been there, you reason, your whooping not quite as loud as you watch Jirou awkwardly be sandwich between a grinding Mina and a complacent Momo.

It was his fault you, you further reasoned, smiling widely at Hagakure, who was twirling around you, applying her lipstick as a super crazy never before seen talent of hers. He was the one acting like an idiot over the people you slept with even though you let all the people he slept with slide!

But why did you?

Your brows furrowed slightly, unfurrowing just as quickly as Mina pulled you and Uraraka up onto the countertop with her as Jirou and Momo dropped to the floor.

You fucking were in love with Shouto, damnit! Of course you let the stupid personal things go just to appease him! Your back straightened, your eyes rolling as you began to dance with the Kehlani music thumping in the background, but then you freeze.

You were in love with him.

You loved Shouto.

Not in a friendly, platonic, family way.

In an ‘I would date you if I could and marry you on the prettiest beach in front of the most beautiful sunset’ way.

You found that your body was dancing on autopilot as you began to reassess your thoughts, your actions, your wants with Shouto, desperately trying to disprove this love for him. But no matter what you did, you found that it was true no matter what angle you looked at it.

The bass dropped, and you went stiff, your body standing straight and tall although you felt incredibly, terribly small.

“I love him,” you spoke, although you’re not sure who to. Maybe it was to the laughing gods above you or the crying spirits around you. But the girls heard it for some reason, and they, as they were patiently waiting for these past six, nearly seven days, caught you as you went weak.

Finally, realizing that you were in love with your childhood best friend was not the conclusion you expected from a week's silence from Shouto and you. But as you were currently in a crop top with a mesh shirt underneath and the most ripped jeans you owned, chugging down a neon green and blue nearly toxic alcoholic drink, you realized that being at this party was the right way to conclude this circus of a week.

The rush of the liquid dropping down the beer bong was something you found yourself struggling to keep up with, and you felt some of the liquid pour out of your mouth as you grunt, trailing down your heaving chest, creating an image in your onlookers as you refused to choke or pull away. Swallowing the last bit of the drink, ripping the plastic tube out of your mouth, you threw your hands in the air, Tsuyu, who had held and poured the contents for you, screaming too as she lifted your arm in victory.

You couldn’t really hear the music anymore, much more entranced with the music you were singing on your own, and you were currently holding Mina’s face, touching foreheads with her as you spoke a mantra of your love for her.

“Ashido Mina, you are the baddest bitch in the whole wide world. I love your pink hair and your fat ass, and I would die for you. I love you… so fucking much,” is what you said. How it was actually said and how it was perceived is a whole other story because Mina laughed loudly and allowed you to hug her despite your sticky alcohol body.

Your twenties were the new two’s, it seemed.

“Yo, y/l/n!” a voice yelled, and although you let go of Mina’s face, your arms found a new home around her neck as you turned around.

“Hm?”

Your terrible drunk eyes looked all over before falling on a man wearing a basketball jersey and joggers.

Shindou Yo, one of campus’ manwhores. He had a reputation similar to Shouto, you knew that very well, but you were aware that he was disturbingly creepy. According to many vital witnesses, the man slept with just about anyone willing regardless of gender, so not only did you know what the girls thought of him, experienced with him, there was a wider demographic not even Shouto had entered. Number one thing to be told was the fact that Shindou was into some heavy, dark shit to an extreme, his room reeked of sex, and he himself smelled like booze, weed, and BO. But a strong dick was a strong dick at the end of the day.

“Come play beer pong with me?” he asked, his hands shoved into his pockets as he smiled innocently. “I’ve heard some pretty solid shit about your skills, and I want to see how I add up.”

“I’ll play!” you agree immediately, jumping at the thought of drinking more. “Bu I don’t wa’ beer… ish nashty.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

With your arm still holding onto Mina, you accepted Shindou’s hand and allowed him to drag you off to where he wanted to play the game of beer pong.

The game of beer pong went without a single thing going wrong. You were paired up with Shindou, and Mina had managed to find Kirishima in the crowd before you got to your destination and demanded she have him as a partner and not Monoma.

It was safe to say that you were drunk, disgustingly out of your mind. It was an intense game of Cup Pong, the two different teams equally as bad in the drunken stupor, but finally, the two teams were down to a single cup and Kirishima — who was the only reason why they were winning!!!! — had the last ball. You watched in terrible apprehension, fingers digging into Shinsou’s biceps as Kirishima rose the wet ping pong ball to Mina’s lips and let her blow on it for good luck before bringing it back in and began a few steadying practice throws.

“You know, I’m glad I saw you at this party,” Shindou whispers to you, his head ducking down so that you and only you could hear that.

“Why?” you say a lot louder than you wanted, your heart hammering in fear that you would lose this game.

“Because you’re sexy as fuck,” Shindou spoke, his voice turning deeper, huskier, “and now you’re single.”

You blink, attention stolen from the game as you forgot about the final cup and looked at Shindou with a blank stare and an open mouth.

“What?”

“Cuz you and Todoroki are over,” Shindou explains to you as if you’re a child. “You guys are over, right? That’s all everyone’s talking about, and all us guys are ready to fuck you whenever you’re ready.”

His smirk irritates you, the lust in his eyes angering you as you drop your hold on his arm.

“We weren’t together, and you knew that,” you say, eyes narrowing as the crowd watching the game explodes in raging cheers as Kirishima sinks the ball into the cup. “Why the fuck would Shouto be fucking every girl that walks if we were together? What makes you think I’d be okay with it?”

“You’re a cuck,” Shindou continues on, confidence unaffected. “Oh, are the two of you maybe changing roles now? Does the big guy want me to fuck you in front of him?”

Your fist makes contact with his throat before you can even stop yourself and the cheers quickly turn into gasps.

After apologizing profusely to the party holders, they decided that you could, in fact, stay at the party. Your knuckles throbbed in pain, the alcohol in your system buzzing in you in a way that wasn’t fun or relaxing as you made a simple side-step dance move in the middle of the dance floor. The girls, who had at the beginning of the party, drifted ways, had once more glued themselves at your side on the floor. You weren’t in a dancing mood as you took a drink of what you assumed to be a Moscow mule made by Mina for you to keep you at a high for the rest of the party.

Like hell you would ever let Shouto cuck you!

Let him fuck another woman in front of you?

You would go insane if he ever thought that would be acceptable.

“Down girl, relax!” Mina yelled by your ear. “I thought I was babysitting y/n, not Bakugou Katsuki!”

You startled, realizing that your frown had become a fierce snarl as you danced on the floor.

“Come on, babe, let’s get you feeling good again; let’s enjoy this night!” Mina exclaimed, her hands pushing your drink to your mouth and forcing you to chug the contents of the drink. The red Solo Cup is dropped to the floor as soon as you finish. She grabbed your wrists and began to fluidly move your arms — or as well as she could manage herself because she, too, was drunk.

But with Mina winking and smiling at you, the rest of the girls eventually throw themselves into your linked dance circle, your own negative emotions left and in came joy.

It took about another round of ten songs for the dance circle to be destroyed and to have all of you resuming a rave-like jumping and scream-singing as Jirou finally snuck her way into the DJ booth and succeeded to take over. You spun around at the end of one song, laughing completely out of breath as you clapped your hands together. You often forget that while Jirou only listened to a very specific genre, she was a musical genius who had banger playlists for every occasion.

It seemed frat parties were one of them.

However, the next song had your head tilting backward, your grin spreading even wider as you began to move your hips in slow, distinct movements. Dancing with your hips was something you had learned, something you instilled into your dancing category for as long as you could remember.

The beats were loud, deep, thumping deep in the ground and vibrating with great strength in your chest as you pointed a finger at Mina, who was also dancing similarly to you. Your lips moved as you sang the song quietly, the heat and humidity of the room suddenly pressing onto you like another person. You hummed, flicking the parts of your hair sticking to the nape of your neck off, grateful for the slightly cooler air hitting your sweaty skin.

As you rolled your hips down, your hands fanning yourself, trying to cool down your deliriously warm, alcohol-heated body, you froze for just a bit. A person pressed to your back, your ass pressing against a hot thigh, and a hand resting upon the curve of your thigh, keeping you in place. You might have cared, but the body against yours was a welcomed one. Your hips and ass continuing to move in tandem with the music, deliberate highs and lows, and you worked your way up and down the man's body who met yours with spinning accuracy that made you began to pant, your heart racing because this was hot to you. You raised your arms behind you, clasping onto his neck, keeping him on you.

His hair was soft under your touch, slightly sweaty but threaded and parted between your fingers just too easily. His left hand, which had found a spot on your stomach, was radiating heat, something easily felt due to you only having mesh cloth there.

It was slow.

Sensual.

Somehow familiar.

Absolutely mind-numbing.

His chest broad against your back, muscles strong and tight against you.

He was skilled, practiced. Someone you knew was not going to disappoint you, and as your lust-glazed eyes took in the entirely shocked looks of your friends, you finally turned to look.

Somehow, someway, you weren’t shocked at all to see Shouto’s clouded, dark eyes locking on yours. Your world seems to freeze as something between you and Shouto is so obviously broken between you, forever changing, no longer able to go back. It didn’t matter that this was the first time in almost a week you had seen him, had talked to him, he was there, and you wanted to feel his skin scorching against yours. His touch screamed of his want for you, your recognition of your love for him, and your current lust for him. You were angry, hurt, confused, but you were too drunk to care, too intoxicated on the spell the two of you created on this dance floor.

But even as your world froze, the music continued on.

Grabbing Shouto’s hand, you spun around so that his chest was now pressed against yours, your legs between his. You continued dancing, continued to roll your hips down as you sunk down to the ground as Shouto remained standing, his hand supporting and balancing you as you went down and up. He began to dance with you again, the world seemingly disappearing as the two of you ground and panted heavily in each other's ears.

He pushed forward, and you whined, feeling the blazing swollen heat of his semi-hard cock against your stomach, but you met him there.

Your fingers fisting in his hair as his hands found their way into your back pockets, gripping your ass, and your eyes fluttered shut as his mouth, blazing, intense, and intentful, mashed against yours. You kissed him back immediately, all defenses abandoned to that of your lust, wants, and needs. His mouth was a fire, his kiss a blaze that consumed you, drowned you, made you push for more.

It was a kiss that lasted who knows how long, but by the time you had separated, you could feel the familiar sting to your slowly swelling lips and the song that had ended.

His eyes were a near black, his cheeks flushed, and his arms kept you so close you had to think if you were in the privacy of your home or in public.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice begging, pleading for him.

“I need you,” he responded, his voice equally wishing.

“Take me home,” you speak, lips pressing sloppy, desperate hot kisses to his neck. “Take me home and fuck me.”

“Fuck, yes, okay. Let’s go,” Shouto pants, his hands leaving your ass and grabbing onto one of yours before taking you and dragging you away.

It wouldn’t hit you until much later, but the very first kiss you had ever had with Shouto was in the middle of a dance floor, at a party where the male population had been ready to snatch you up after your relationship with Shouto was so-called over.

You were breathless.

No matter how deep you inhaled, you felt like you weren’t having enough oxygen flooding your veins, filling your lungs. You laugh loudly in the night, uncaring about the strangers you passed looking at you and Shouto, who chuckled and snorted with every giggle you made.

This felt crazy, insane, something serendipitous and not real even in the smallest of bits.

He kissed you.

He wanted you.

He said he needed you.

Wants and needs were different things, but he said need.

He needed you.

Just you.

Your feet ached from the running, but you could only focus on Shouto, your mind filling and swimming in the memory of his body pressed to you. The way his lips ghosted over your neck, and the way he danced against you — with you. The four-block walk back to your apartment seemed too far, and your eyes locked on a nearing alleyway.

With much more strength than you should have, you shoved Shouto into the alleyway, your mouth immediately pressing onto his.

Shouto groaned into your mouth, letting you drink his noises as you pulled him close, consuming him in a messy clash of teeth, spit, and tongue. You whined back, your legs slotting between his thigh and grinding down on the hard muscle. It alleviated the growing, scorching heat in your panties but also intensified it, making you want for more and more and more.

“You drive me fucking insane,” Shouto groaned in your mouth, shifting and guiding your rolling hips his thigh better, more fluid, more intense.

Your eyes barely cracked open, your mouth no longer kissing him put pressing against his in an open mouth pant. Your drunken breath saying nothing but implying the world.

Something Shouto was more than keen on giving you.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered for you to hear, so reverent, so holy. And so that you, the center of his world, the only thing he saw and believed in, knew how passionately, how ardently he believed in you, his mouth slid down your neck, and his teeth sunk in your flesh. He claimed you, praised you, making you a part of him.

“I’m still so mad at you!” you moan, voice pitched, whiny, and deliriously high. “I love you, asshole. I love you, and you sleep around! I love you, and I don’t care if you sleep around, but you care that I sleep around?!”

“I love you too,” Shouto mumbles against your neck, his teeth continuing to press into your skin that seems to explode with heat at the revelation. “I love, and I’m an idiot; I’m so sorry.”

And then he does something with his tongue against your neck, the soft of swipes, the wet tickling heat making your head slam back against the brick wall, and a mangled, strangled moan of unadulterated want emits from you.

“We'll talk about this in the morning,” you pant, fingers fisting in his shirt. “We can fix this, but right now, shut up and fuck me.”

“Y/n—”

“I’m horny,” you interrupt, hips sharply jutting into his leg. “You made me horny. Take responsibility.”

His eyes flashed dark, his nostrils flaring, and your words cemented in his head. He resumed his painting, his worship on your neck as you cried loudly in the alleyway, desperate, needy for more.

It was dizzying to have him on you like this.

For so long, you had only touched him in a few ways, had only ever felt a specific type of warmth. But this was unlike anything you’ve ever done with him, to him. It felt like you were burning and freezing, consumed by heat and energy and everything Shouto. His all too familiar cologne filled your nose, drowning your brain, invading your senses. His frantic heartbeat felt against your own body, telling you exactly how you were affecting him, how you made his heart speed and jump with every breathy whine.

“Fuck, I can’t do this. We need to get home now!” Shouto growls, his hands grabbing you by the wrist yet again and pulling you away.

His strides are long, quick, and powerful. You’re running to keep up, beautifully out of breath, staggering and stumbling to keep up in his objective to get back to the apartment now.

It doesn’t seem to take long before he’s pushing open the doors to the apartment complex, corralling you through the doors and into the elevator to get to the eleventh floor. The elevator doors are behind you, and with no one else in the life, you turn on him and immediately resume your own endeavor of claiming Shouto with your mouth, body, and soul. He matches your intensity, hands roaming from where the clasp of your bra sat to the curve of your ass. He grabbed you, pulled you in closer, the air in his nose staggering as you stammer against his mouth.

Teeth touch lips, tongues in each other's cheeks, and Shouto leads you out of the elevator backward, his one hand on your waist forever steady and the other one holding the key. Your fingers are back in his hair, pulling and tugging sharply on the soft, short strands with nearly disappeared gel. He gets to the door, fumbling with the key as you continue to kiss him, distracting him with the smallest of movements.

“Which room?” he asks against your mouth, pushing you through the threshold, his foot closing the door behind him.

The shoes are haphazardly kicked off and you’re now on your tiptoes to continue kissing him as you were. You tried to think, tried to figure out if you wanted to be surrounded by Shouto’s scent or to have him displayed in your room. His teeth then suckle on your bottom lip, biting down on the swollen, hot flesh just gentle enough that your mind draws a blank and your voice responds on its own.

“Mine.”

You shriek then, Shouto swiftly picking you up off the floor and you panic, hands swatting and beating on him as you scream to let you down. He continues walking, holding you without a worry, his arms remaining strong and firm beneath you. But with your distraction, with your lips no longer pressed sinfully against his, Shouto’s mouth finds a junction point on your clavicle and sinks his teeth down again, claiming you once more.

“S-Sho—” your voice hitches, the feeling too intense for you to process all at once. You hear your room door open and close, and without warning, you’re soaring through the air before collapsing on the bed.

“You think I go to the gym to get muscles for fun?” Shouto taunts, his fingers hooking under the dark grey t-shirt he’s wearing. “Angel, I go to the gym to make sure I can fuck you in any position, against any surface or wall you want.”

Your body feels like it's scorching as he removes his shirt, his muscles rippling and moving seductively with the devious, intentional movement.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Shouto asks, the shirt dropping to the floor, removing all traces of oxygen from your person. He steps closer, fingers circling around your ankle and suddenly pulling you in toward him until you were sitting at the edge, his lips hovering over yours. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your tongue feels dry in your mouth, but your eyes narrow before you push up and capture his mouth back with yours. He kisses you back deeply, bending down so that you begin to shift backward, allowing him the space to crawl onto the bed with you, and at the last moment, your leg wraps around his waist and spins the both of you. Shouto gasps as you pin him onto the mattress, your tongue invading his mouth, brushing and swirling against his, coaxing his own tongue back into your own mouth. With the wet heat in your mouth, your teeth playfully, just gently dig into his appendage and tug.

“No, but it seems like I got yours,” you humor him, your teeth releasing his tongue, and Shouto looks up at you like you were both the sun and the moon, and the stars were a gift to him.

It takes your breath away.

Shouto grins, shifting onto his elbows so that he’s closer to you before kissing you again.

The kiss is growing louder, both your mouths ever so consuming, trying to relay years of repressed, unknown emotions and feelings within a drastic, incredible touch. Your hips begin shifting against his crotch, humping his clothed erection, demonstrating yet again the power and grace you hold in your body.

Shouto’s hands move from your ribs up to your breasts, and with the hot, rough flesh of his skin, he squeezes your tender flesh. You moan into his mouth, hips bucking wildly against him at the sensation. It isn’t a powerful flesh, but a reminder, a demonstration of just what and where he could inflect passionate actions.

Your hands scour his chest, fingernails dragging teasingly down his firm, developed muscles, fingers flicking and teasing at his own exposed nipples. Shouto grunts into your mouth, hips bucking powerfully upward into your clothed cunt, and you splutter at the power behind it. But it seems as though Shouto is over the fishnet mesh shirt and crop top you’re wearing because he’s tugging it out of the waistband of your jeans and commands in a deep, lust-ridden voice: “Off.”

Goosebumps flash across your skin, bubbling and spraying across your sensitive skin as your shirt and crop top join Shouto’s on the floor. Your gasp loudly when Shouto rolls the both of you over swiftly, his mouth immediately pressing hot, viper kisses on your breasts. All thought and reason leave your mind as his teeth nip and pull. His fingers pushing the straps of your bra off your shoulders and shoving your boobs out of the bra in a firm hold.

“You have no idea how fucking long I’ve wanted to touch you, kiss you, fuck you,” Shouto whispers, his tone almost dark as his hot air fans against your already pebbling nipples. “Fuck, angel, you’re better than anything I’ve ever dreamed about.”

You whine loudly, fingers tangling in his hair as you desperately, wordlessly try to persuade him to put his lips around your attentive, eager nipples.

“I always forget you got these things,” Shouto says in wonder, his fingers touching the metal bars sitting so innocently, deviously on through your nipple. He tugs on the bar, and all the nerves in your breast fire and tingle, and your feet curl by his back as you whimper. “Fuck... I can’t believe I forgot…”

“S-Shouto, I fucking swear!” you almost screech, hands desperately pulling at strands of red and white, wanting his teeth and tongue and the suction of his mouth on your nipple. “Stop. Fucking. Talking!”

Shouto chuckles, his eyes of blue and grey flashing up at you dangerously, knowingly.

“Okay,” he says cheekily, and as if he read your thoughts, his teeth gently bit down on your all too ready nipple. Your head slams against the mattress, your chest feeling alive as if you had been electrocuted. He sucks your nipple, teeth tugging on the sensitive flesh, clacking against the metal in your flesh. His fingers taking care of your lonesome nipple, keeping it company with gentle, purposeful rolls as he has you sobbing his name.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, although you have no idea what you’re begging for. Your hips pathetically grinding into his clothed cock, trying to get yourself to cum while not having been touched. “Sho— Shouto!”

Shouto pulls away from your nipple with a loud pop. His breath panting, short, and overwhelmingly strained as if simply sucking your throbbing, needy nipple had given him the same amount of pleasure as it did you before consuming your forgotten one. Just as before, you melted against him, begging please, pretty please to him but never telling him what you were wanting. You didn’t know what you were wanting.

But unlike before, his hands leave their attentive position on your free nipple and slam your hips back down onto the mattress, keeping you down and still as he continued his ministrations until you were nipplegasming. You choked as the orgasm consumed you, your body going rigid and your eyes rolling to the depths of your head as his hot mouth was all you could think of. For a moment, the needy wet heat between your thighs was easily ignorable, something unneeded until Shouto was pulling away and kissing you again.

His chest was pressed tight against your own chest, your sensitive, overstimulated nipples rubbing against his chest with the welcomed friction as you let out a wordless, near-dizzy sigh into Shouto’s mouth. He kissed you with incredible passion, with dizzying heat, and consuming lust.

Your voice was so small, your voice easily drowned in Shouto’s mouth as your fingernails dug into his back and raked down pathetically, desperately proving that you were still here. Still fighting him on just who would win this night. Your fingers went down the curve of his spine, trailing down until you found the waistband of his sweats, and with his mouth everso distractingly on the swell of your breasts, biting, marking, and sucking hickies and his print on you for forever, he helped you slide the pants off.

In an almost dramatic fashion, his eyes burning deep into yours, leaving you stunned and a worshiper at his feet, he rose off your bed and let the pants fall. You shakily inhaled, your eyes suddenly transfixed and only seeing the hard, leaking dick that stood tall and proud against his twitching stomach. At the mere sight of him, you now truly, completely, and entirely understood just why the girls were obsessed.

From tip to the base, he was thick, the flush of his skin gorgeous, the curve of his cock optimal to fuck anyone. He was long, thick, and delicious—trimmed pubes of red and white and balls that had your mouth watering and going dry. You wondered, imagined, tried to visualize just how much it was going to hurt getting that in you. You’ve never had a man with a dick like that, never had to choke or fuck on something that looked like it would possibly render you stupid the moment you were impaled.

“Can I?” you ask, ‘can I touch you? Can I suck you?’ go unsaid.

“You owe me one,” Shouto says, his words teasing if it wasn’t for the way his voice betrayed him with the eagerness, the want and inexplicable tell that says if you don’t touch him, he will lose his fucking mind. “Please, do it.”

You’re dragging him back onto the bed, sitting him by your headboard, spreading his legs apart as you situate yourself between them. With a tentative, shaky hand, you reach out and grab on his dick.

His flesh is hot to the touch; it's hard and twitches just so at your grasp. Shouto lets out a gasp mixed with a whine, and you look at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Unable to help yourself, you lean in, your nose touching the underside of his length and nuzzling into the flesh. You look back up at him with hooded eyes, eyes dark with mirth, lust, and an overwhelming need to please Shouto. He stares back, eyes entirely too bright, almost scared, almost as if he can’t believe this is happening.

You smile softly, eyes breaking contact to look at the swelling cock in your hand, and then back at him as your tongue pokes out of your mouth and puts a long, wet stripe against his length.

And Shouto?

Shouto moans like a man who’s had warm food after days of starving.

You lick from base to tip, saliva mixing with precum as your mouth presses teasing, open mouth kisses down the length of his cock, tongue pressing against the sweltering heat of his balls.

“Fuck, y/n, stop teasing,” Shouto grits, his hips pathetically snapping into nothing, his hands desperately trying to touch you, to which you swatted him away each and every time. You tut, shaking your head. With both your hands fisting his dick at the middle of his length, your squeeze and pull in opposite directions.

The reaction is one that you were hoping for, Shouto’s head slamming to the headboard with a clash, his legs jumping just a bit, and precum coming out in even heavy drops. You laugh breathlessly at his display, enamored with how fucking easy he is to get to make noises. He’d never made noises before, no other girl had him the way you did, and that made you crazy with power.

Before you wanted to, your mouth consumed to head of his cock, allowing the musky smell that was completely and only Shouto to fully consume you. You sucked on his thick swollen head, tongue pressing on the leaking slit on his head as he choked on your name. You smile, taking him in further, straining against the weight in your mouth, the pressure on the back of your throat, and the stretch of your throat. As soon as you had him a bit way in, you were pushing out, his hips driving to find you but missing you. Shouto’s noise was almost broken, near needy, and your head spun with his noises. Unable to stop, you pushed in again, allowing the drive of his hips to send his cock further down your throat.

Tears filled your eyes at the action, his cock much too large, much too thick to be fucked into your throat as such. Your fists acted as a barrier as you adjusted, your throat humming, mouth moaning as Shouto lost himself to the heat of your wet mouth. You bobbed your head, fucking him diligently and intently with your mouth, driving him further down, your tongue and hollowed cheeks. You sucked his dick with the intention of ruining him, of making him fill your mouth and throat with him so he could never doubt that it was him you wanted, him you needed to consume. You let go of one hand, allowing it to fondle with his balls as his cock went further into your mouth, the sounds of your choking, gagging, and crying egging him on.

“You take me so good,” Shouto sang to you, whispering words that only you’ve heard. “Fuck, angel, take me all the way. I know you can do it.”

With his hands at the back of your head, your fingers squeezing his balls, and the shaky removal of your final hand on his cock, he drives his hips all the way up. Shouto curses loudly, and you choke, feeling the rush of cum shooting down your throat, and you’re let free.

“Swallow it all, don’t spit it up,” Shouto breathes, his body shifting upward, eyes intent, focused. “Let me see.”

You cough violently, mouth closed as you swallow the salty cum, only letting your mouth open to allow the drool and spit to drip from your flat tongue as you show him that you swallowed every last seed. He groaned, grasping you by the chin and pulling you back in for a passionate, all-consuming kiss. The taste of Shouto and his cum sat heavily in your throat, and you were shaking as he began to unbutton your jeans, shedding them off of you as he flipped you back around so that your back was resting against the mattress.

Salt sweat dripped down your neck, and Shouto left fingertip bruises on your waist, your knees and legs awkwardly kicking as you finally got your jeans off your ankles. You shuttered, feeling Shouto’s hot, spit-slick dick pressing against your stomach, your cunt flipping and twisting at the thought of taking him all in.

“You’re still, fuck… you’re still hard?” you gasp, Shouto’s fingers tracing the innards of your thighs, scratching at your ass, slapping it once, twice, leaving you pitched and shaking.

“How can I not be when you’re down beneath me?” Shouto asks, his eyes looking at you as if he was burning the very naked image to you in his brain for him forever. “You’re mine, right?”

The question itself, while unexpected, was not unwanted.

You feel yourself nodding, your fingers scratching up his flexed arms, “Yours and only yours.”

“Good,” Shouto smirks, leaning in, his entire weight on the one hand beside your head, making you groan as his lips were so close yet so far away. “I’m yours as you are mine.”

With that, his fingers pressed to your thus far, unattended to clit, your legs shaking, kicking the air as you howled in pleasure. But it was such an intimate place, something you never expected Shouto to ever touch, and so, in a voice so pathetic you couldn’t even recognize it as yours, you screeched: “D-Don’t touch that!”

Shouto cocked an eyebrow, his head tilting as his fingers swirled around your swollen nub, sending just enough electrifying pleasure through every neuron in your body. “Why not?” he asked, voice authoritative and curious and sadistic. “It’s mine — you’re mine. I can play with what’s mine whenever I want.”

The words make your entire will collapse, the words liquid heat in your ears and mind. You moan loudly, feeling Shouto adjust your hips, lining your spasming cunt with his cock, and with his tongue delving into your mouth, his lips pressing against yours, he slowly pushed into you.

Shouto was loud the entire way into you, the deep grunts, breathless moans, and mindless babble of how this was unlike anything he’s had before, better than anything he’s ever imagined. He bottoms out quickly, hands leaving purple bruises against your skin as you lay on the bed silent.

Your back is entirely arched, jaw slacked, voice dead on your tongue because the feeling of him buried deep within you is staggering. You let out a single tone noise, your mouth gasping for breath as your voice finally begins to come back to you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whisper over and over, your legs tight around Shouto’s hips, shaking with the feeling in you. “God, y-you’re so big, Sho… I’m—”

You can’t finish your sentence because he shifts just enough that his cock is meeting places in you that had never been encountered before. Your eyes roll back again, your fingers pressing ruby red scars to his back as you scratch and tear his back.

“You’re so fucking tight, shit,” Shouto pants, his mouth panting against the sweat on your collarbone, his own breathing heavy and spaced. “You’re perfect, y/n, so fucking perfect.”

You preen with those words, your mouth finding a home at his temple to which you kiss him, drag your lips down to his ear. You bite and nibble as you adjust to him buried deep within you. And he heaves a sigh and pushes up off you, eyes daring to stare into you as he huffs almost in disbelief of this entire night.

“I’m going to start moving,” he says, fingers scratching down your sides to your thighs. “Are you ready?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod. Shouto smiles, leaning back down for one last kiss to which you quickly returned, staying there as his hips moved backward before thrusting back into you. It's the first thrust of many, but your arms wrap even tighter underneath his own, your nails scarring his back as he goes again and again. You fucks into you deliberately, readily, with purpose and skill that speaks wonders and lives up to the many rumors you’ve ever heard.

His thrusts are powerful, slapping into your thighs with a mighty smack, making you whimper and wail into his salty neck as your hips lift up to meet his. It's a powerful dance, a dizzying cycle. His cock sliding up and down your puffy velvet walls, your weeping walls clenching him in a vice, unforgiving and unwilling to let go.

He speaks praises into your ear, your yours, your mouth.

“Such a pretty angel, moaning for me, crying for me, tell me you want my cock. Tell me you want me buried in your fucking stomach.”

You are converted to him in return, seeing him, speaking to him, devoted to him.

“Fuck, I want you more. Faster, harder! Don’t stop! I can feel you in my stomach, Sho! Fuck! Fuck me, fuck me fuck me!”

His weight is pressed on your thighs, spreading your thighs further apart, fucking into deeper, fucking you so powerfully, so desperately your soaked cunt squelches and drips your essence, soaking your bed and his legs. Your teeth sink into his skin, copper filling your mouth, and your vision feels missing as you are slamming your hips up, rolling them desperately to fuck back into him. You can feel his hand clutching yours, pressing it into the mattress as he somehow speeds up again, drilling you into the mattress, the bed creaking and bending under both your weight.

“More, more, more!”

And he gives, and gives, and gives.

You wail his name, the heat in your skin, tickling your clit and innards making you sweat, the alcohol on your skin sticking you to Shouto.

Shouto grunts your name, hisses your name, damns you heaven and back for having such a fucking grip on him. It's when he looks into your eyes, cock drilling into you at a speed and power that no human should ever obtain, one hand gripping yours and the other pinching and teasing your clit, you cum, bursting open at the seams.

Your orgasm is loud, clenching, all-consuming, and you drag Shouto down with you as he stammers, shudders, and cums deep within your womb. His seed spilling out of you as the both of you collapse onto the bed with breathless, thoughtless minds.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Right?” you chuckle.

And with your nose pressed to his sweaty, sex-lulled body, you fall asleep with his hands traveling up and down your spine. Hopefully, things would be well when you woke up.

P R E S E N T

To stop you from screeching so loudly you woke up the entire world, Shouto held his hand to your mouth, his eyes wide, terrified, and completely confused.

“Please stop yelling… my head hurts…” Shouto begs, his face completely exhausted but with that post-orgasm sleep glow.

“We had sex?!” you shriek, throwing his hand off your mouth. “We were mad at each other, and we had sex?!”

“Oh,” Shouto seems to remember, his head rolling before he sat up, bringing you up with him. “Right, we should talk about that, huh?”

“You think?!” you shriek, entirely overwhelmed with the fact that you had done so much embarrassing shit last night.

It’s quiet for a bit. The birds chirping outside an almost cheerful taunt as the both of you, for the first time in seventeen years, find it too awkward to talk. No one wants to speak first, to mention the elephant in the room, for once it happened, there really was no going back. Not that there was much to go back from.

“I’m in love with you,” Shouto finally says. It’s an admittance, a whisper that's strong despite it told in such a hushed voice as if you would laugh at him as he confessed. “I’ve actually been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

Now that shocks you.

Your eyes are wide, and you’re staring at Shouto, unsure what to say, what to ask, but you know you need more answers.

“I know, hard to believe, huh?” Shouto chuckles, his hand running through his sex and sleep disheveled hair. “It’s true, though… I don’t remember not ever being in love with you.”

“No… no way,” you say, your body running cold, and you shiver. You remember then that you’re sitting up, and you’re very incredibly naked. Shouto notices and moves to grab a blanket at the foot of the bed and wraps it around you. “That doesn’t make sense,” you argue, your furrowed brows making your skin crease as you try to think back on all your years and memories, looking for signs in which Todoroki Shouto loved you. “You never showed it.”

“Camie said the same thing,” Shouto sighed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Before I was sixteen… I don’t know; I guess I could understand why. I only ever talked to you, always paired up with you. I let you hold my hand, and I let you hug me… I thought me telling you that I had never been kissed before would make you want to kiss me, but it never did. I know I was awkward and a little different when we were younger, so when I was paired up with Camie… I thought she would help me.”

“By fucking you?” you asked, your frown deepening as you remembered your bitter feelings over Camie stealing Shouto’s virginity.

“She… she said that by being sexual, maybe you would see me as a man, and not the four-year-old crying boy in preschool,” Shouto smiled sadly, his fingers picking at one another. “Me having sex was supposed to show you that I was a man who wanted to see you as a woman in return, but it didn’t work.”

“Well, no shit,” you snort, relaxing a bit although you felt limp. You found yourself leaning against Shouto’s strong shoulders, your head landing heavily on him. “You went from a virgin to fucking anything with a wet hole.”

“...yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Shouto said with regret, his shoulders sagging just a bit. “At first, I thought I needed to fuck more girls to prove I was a man to you because you acted like nothing had happened after Camie… but sex was fun, it felt good.”

“Sex is good,” you agree with a soft chuckle to which he returned.

He shifted a bit, arms tightening and relaxing before he finally admitted, “It helped distract me from you because you looked at others the way I wanted you to look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back.

“No, don’t be,” Shouto speaks firmly, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple. “It was my fault. I was never assertive enough, confident enough to simply confess.”

“So, does you being in love with me having anything to do with you driving the entire male population away from me?”

Your eyes look up at him, finding his embarrassed gaze before he glances away.

“That actually wasn’t intentional… I guess I just talk about you a lot.”

“Yeah, but still doesn’t mean you couldn’t ever deny it yourself!”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Apologize then.”

“Y/l/n Y/n, I am sorry for making the entire male population we’ve ever come across think we were an item and not telling them otherwise. I am sorry for keeping you from enjoying sex while I continued to. I am lousy, and my love for you should be unreturned because that was ass of me.”

You sigh, your lips pursed to keep from smiling as you looked back at his handsome face.

“Now, ask me the damn question, crybaby.”

“Crybaby?”

“You finally admitted that you were, in fact, crying!!!!!”

If you asked Shishikura Seiji what the worst thing about being the third roommate to Todoroki Shouto and you was, he would give a million and three answers as to why it was the worst.

One: he absolutely hated how loud the both of you were. Todoroki Shouto was someone he thought was quiet and introverted, but whenever he was around you, he was loud. You were just plain old loud, and he thought it was annoying.

Two: he absolutely hated your rice. Call it petty, but after you fed him on his first night and tried putting him into a chokehold for saying the song your rice cooker sang at its end was the stupidest fucking thing ever made, everything you made taste like ash and dirt.

Twenty: he hated that there were biweekly karaoke nights. He would be studying away in his room and wanted to die when he heard the all too familiar sound of Mamma Mia’s Here We Go Again blasting in the living room.

Hundred fifty-seven: SO. MUCH. FUCKING. SEX.

Three hundred thirteen: SO. MUCH. DRINKING.

Five thousand: SO. MUCH. WEED.

Ten thousand three: you put his toilet seat up whenever you’re drunk, so he falls in when he goes to pee in the morning.

Five hundred: the way the both of you looked at each other, fucking disgusting.

To say the least, there were a lot of many different reasons scaling from actual issues to petty small shit, but Shishikura was not in any position to find a new apartment, so he stayed. To be quite honest, having been living with Dumb and Dumber (you and Shouto, respectively), he only thought there would be one thing that would make him lose his actual mind.

The day that would inevitably come and the both of you realized your feelings were, in fact, returned. He didn’t want to even imagine how the animalistic sex he often had to hear coming from your hallway would increase, or the sappy stupid romantic love he would see in the living room because as best friends, you both had no care for PDA and if you were allowed to kiss? Allowed to have sex? He feared he would have to wear a hazmat suit in every corner of the apartment. You both were already incredibly loud as a duo (see reason one as to why he hates living here); he feared the worst when the mutual love was realized.

But he exited his room a week after that Sunday morning with a fully loaded water gun just in case. His eyes narrowed, the hair on his neck raised as his beady eyes focused in on the living room.

Shouto sat on the couch, his back on the armrest, and you sitting between his thighs as you watched him play some game on his Switch, your smile large and annoyingly bright, but he realized that he couldn’t hear you screaming or speaking so loudly he could listen to the conversation.

No, as a matter of fact, Shishikura couldn’t hear a single word; the words being exchanged between you and Shouto spoke so softly, so intimately, it shocked him. Shishikura noticed with an almost awed surprise that even though your smile was as annoyingly bright as before. It wasn’t directed at anything but Shouto, and Shouto’s smile, while nowhere near as big, just as warm and full to you.

It was intimate, romantic even.

Nothing had changed in your relationship except now, finally, now, you were allowed to kiss and fuck each other like heat-driven animals.

Shishikura was shocked to his core, unable to comprehend the sight in front of him.

You nor Shouto paid him any mind, too lost in the game and in each other to look his way as he made his way into the kitchen for his lunch. Shishikura set the water gun on the counter, a small smile spreading on his face despite himself, and chuckled.

Maybe the two of you together weren’t something to hate on after all.

“Hey, is that a water gun?!”