#i use those terms loosely but hey i am writing it down. and trying to get answers to questions. so im pretty sure technically i am
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The colors of the copper on blackberry dye seem to have shifted from maroon to a very rich milk chocolate brown--which I will hardly complain about, since that's a hard brown to get. I do hope I get something more permanently reddish/purplish with alum--that's what I'll try next. I'm just waiting for the 9 pounds of raw fleece to arrive.
Last night I carded a lot of that blackberry dyed fleece and then put it on the blending board with about half of the white (which was the previous distaff dressing) as a little stripe to one side. Idk, just curious how it'll turn out and seemed more interesting to spin that way. Carding first definitely helps with consistency--both colors were willowed first and put on the blending board, but only the brown was carded as well, and it is much easier to keep smooth and least kind of even.
The one improvement of this phone camera over my old one is that it has a timer setting, so I can actually show where my hands normally are (sometimes anyway). Fairly comfortable although my distaff hand is starting to cramp. Might just be one of those days or might be too heavy for me, but the shape at least is good.
You can probably see that the white is still all over the place, but the brown is pretty even, just with lumps still on occasion. Also, the new height of this spindle means it's perfect for lap spinning rather than impossible to lap spin with, so I'm very happy about that.
#spinning#handspun yarn#distaff#supported spindle#id tag the breed name normally but i dont know what this stuff is (its some of the more aged wool i have in my stash lol)#natural dyeing#blackberry#if you are wondering what is up with the banners its an attempt at anti-radfeming my posts#since they insist on reblogging them and blocking seems to do nothing#hopefully they will be effective bc i love them and my fiance sent them to me ❤️#if not tho we'll phase into tasteful cock drawings#and if that doesnt work just straight up dick pics#its my blog and i love cock so thats not a problem for me and would actually probably improve morale#not jumping straight to it because im gonna assume most of the people who enjoy my fiber arts posts dont necessarily also want dicks#on their blog#but me not having to see radfem trash reblogging my experiments and research obviously takes priority#i use those terms loosely but hey i am writing it down. and trying to get answers to questions. so im pretty sure technically i am#conducting experiments and research at least on occasion#and now i have to go back to work. if anyone wants to mercy kill me on the way out the door id really appreciate it
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Look I wrote this for my friend but i popped the hell off with this one so if you don’t mind reading a name inbetween a few dialogue points pls read
You ran hurriedly through the halls of the school as the third bell finally rang. You had overslept and had barely made it onto the bus. Skidding to a stop, you slow down when you get to the door, catching your breath before entering. Just as you annoyingly expected, eyes dart towards you as soon as you entered, effectively catching the teacher’s attention.
“This is the second time you are late young lady, one more time and I will have no choice but to write you up.” You smile awkwardly, “Sorry Miss, it won’t happen again.” Ms. Bustier clicks her tongue disapprovingly as she watched her student walk to her seat, head hanging low. You sit down in your chair with a soft sigh as Ms. Bustier spoke about today’s lesson.
For the most part, you pay attention to the lesson being taught, that is until your attention is being interrupted by a pencil poking your side. From your peripheral vision, you see fluffy blond hair swaying gently to get your attention. You mutter under your breath, swiping the pencil with your hand, “Quit it Adrien I’m already in trouble.” The boy huffs but the playful aura still hung around making your skin buzz with excitement.
Shifting in your seat, you squint your eyes at the smartboard, writing down notes every so often. Looking down once again, you notice a small piece of paper folded, You look at Adrien who boredly watched your teacher speak. Opening the paper you roll your eyes at the note inside.
A - Late again are you Miss Mia? One more time and I might have to wake you up myself
Nibbling the tip of your pencil you write a note back, crumpling the paper before tossing it at Adrien’s head with a smirk.
You- Well maybe I wouldn’t have been so tired if you hadn’t interrupted my study time with your modeling rants
The paper is tossed back at your head, catching in your curly hair, making Adrien snort.
A- Well I can think of other ways to keep you up at night...
You cough loudly at the message, eyes darting at Adrien’s laid-back figure. You scribble down a quick snarky reply with shaking hands. You go to pass the paper but the sound of a throat clearing interrupts you. You turn to your left and are forced to look up, gulping when you notice your teacher’s signature white blazer. She holds her hand out and you reluctantly place the ball of paper in her hand.
“While I will not embarrass you by reading out your hidden messages, I will embarrass you by writing you up for detention.” Sputtering, you point an accusing finger at the smug boy behind you, “He started it first I was just..” You are hushed by a firm hand on your shoulder, “Well if that’s the case, both you and Adrien can join each other at study hall.” Adrien groans behind you and you throw a glare his way, one that he responds with a teasing wink. The sound of the bell ringing grimly reminds you of the dreadful time awaiting you in study hall after school.
When you get thereAdrien is already there and waves you over to him. You narrow your eyes at him but sit next to him anyway. “Aww don’t look at me like that Mi, it’s not my fault you aren’t stealthy enough to pass a simple note in class.” You roll your eyes, “Well if you weren’t tossing notes like a child, we wouldn’t be here either.” Adrien laughs loudly earning a sharp look from the detention monitor.
He mutters a silent apology as you busy yourself with a notepad and pencil. The study hall is silent and boring and 11 minutes feel like 11 hours as the clock ticks by. Adrien watches your small scribbles turn into different shapes and sizes. Before long, he notices you drawing a rather familiar face. “Whatcha drawing?” You shrug, watching your pencil make the shape of cat-like ears.
You continue drawing, briefly recognizing Adrien’s body heat as he watches over your shoulder. “You like Chat Noir huh?” Your precise pencil strokes outline the lean frame of one of Paris’s heros. While it is undoubtedly Chart Noir in a heroic setting, the way his eyes slant a little more than his mask allows and the way one of his hands rested on his chest did give way to a more seductive undertone.
“Yeah, I think he’s pretty hot not gonna lie.” Adrien hums, the feeling of his short breaths blowing against your shoulder makes you shiver. “Really? Well, he can’t be hotter than I can he?” Adrien fluffs his hair pompously as he stretches his body lazily. “I don’t know maybe a little.” Adrien sticks his tongue out at you.
Your monitor stands up and walks towards the door before turning around, “Listen you two, I am going to get lunch, and I better see you two here when I come back or you’ll get worse than detention.” The teacher fixes you both with a long look before leaving. “They are a little stiff in the ass.” You chuckle resting your head on your palm. Adrien slouches in his chair to play on his phone, giving you the perfect opportunity to observe him. Your friend is attractive, that is something you’ve come to terms with a long time ago, hiding your crush away deep in your mind.
“You like to stare at me when you think?” His tenor voice startles you out of thought and you realize you now have his full attention. Your face is warm and for once you are glad you couldn’t visibly blush.
“Hey, Adrien? What did you mean by that last message you passed me in class?” You tried to pass the question off as casual but you could feel your heart racing as the room filled with daunting silence. “What do you think I meant?”
Suddenly Adrien felt too close and the room felt smaller. When you made eye contact with him, his eyes were slanted just like Chat Noirs on your drawing. “You tell me.” You said boldly. Adrien pondered for a while, green eyes observing your features, going from your eyes, down your nose before finally resting on your plump lips. “Well, I think it meant exactly what it said.” Adrien placed a hand on your thigh, squeezing the flesh in his palm. “So tell me why you like Cat Noir?” You stare at nothing, unable to compute the absurd request that came seemingly out of nowhere.
“What?” Adrian’s hand doesn’t stop moving on your thigh, heating your skin through your jeans. “Come on Mi, humor me for a moment.” You hum softly in an attempt at calming your heart rate. “Well, I like how he seems to enjoy what he does, saving people...” As you speak Adrien takes the time to scoot closer to you paying a sparing glance at the door your teacher left out of a moment ago. “What would you do if you met him?” His hands got closer to your inner thigh fiddling with your belt loops.
The urge to clench your legs together was immediate as the fire within you grew stronger. “I would thank him for his service and-” Adrien shushes you with the sound of your belt clinking a loose. “Let me rephrase, what do you want him to do to you?” Before you had comprehended your predicament, Adrien’s hand had found itself inside your pants.
You were sitting rigidly in your chair, lips parted in a silent exhale. Slender fingers focused themselves on your swelling bud, pressing soft circles on it in an effort to coax it out of its hood. Noting your tensed posture, Adrien tries to distract you. He’ll admit even to himself that this was a bold move on his part and he was surprised you hadn’t pushed him off at this point. “I can stop if you want me to?” You feel his fingers stop their ministrations and you quickly grab his wrist. “No!”
His concerned demeanor is quickly wiped away by a broad smirk as his fingers resumed their task. “Okay then.” He places a kiss on your shoulder through your shirt making you shiver. “You didn’t answer my question.” You nod and try to speak in a stable manner. “I would want him to- oh god!” Adrien’s fingers began to work overtime as they went down to your lips, now wet with your arousal. “I would want him to touch me there! Please.”
Lips latched lazily on your skin, sucking hard enough for you to feel it but not hard enough for marks to be left behind. “Where is’ there’ Mia? Use your words.” Your back arched in your chair when you felt his slick index finger playfully dip inside of you before returning to your clit. “Adrien~” Your soft moans were audible now, and every small whimper made his cock ache at the thought of being the cause of your sweet noises. Adrien mockingly hummed, “Oh I see now.”
“You want him to fuck that pretty pussy of yours don’t you?” You make a strange noise that is a mix of surprise and a moan. You’d never think words like those could leave Adrien’s mouth. “Y-Yes!” Adrien nodded moving to use both hands now, it was an awkward position but it was worth it seeing you fall apart by his hands. “I bet you think of him at night, kissing you slowly, while his hands roam your body.” Adrien sinks his teeth in your shoulder blade making you jerk as a particularly hard burst of pleasure racks your body. “You look so damn sexy like this kitty cat.’
You lean forward, holding yourself up by your desk as Adrien’s fingers move faster on your clit. “I can feel how fast your heart is beating, you gonna cum?” The teasing tone in his voice ignited the smallest ounce of competitiveness within you. You grit your teeth and shake your head, “Don’t get so full of yourself Agreste.” Your eyes clenched shut at the feeling of a finger finally entering you. Adrien looked at you with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t a fan when you got competitive, especially when you were obviously bluffing.
There was a thin layer of sweat forming on your skin as your orgasm got closer. Adrien focused on the way your walls quivered around his finger. Your choked-back moans cut the air as he pumps his finger faster. Your wetness was dripping onto your underwear and around his palm making squelching noises. “Are you sure you aren’t going to cum?” Adrien whispered close to your ear taking glee when a tremor passed down your spine. Your orgasm was too damn close for him to stop so you decide to swallow your pride just this once. “F-faster, Adrien, I’m close.” Those were indeed the wrong words to say. Adrien slowed his finger down to slow pumps while his thumb pressed harshly on your clit. He laughed as he could practically feel it throbbing, “I thought you said you weren’t going to cum?” You try to grind down on his hand, bucking slightly as his rough palm stimulated your sensitive lips. “Don’t be an ass ah-fuck!”
You grip the edge of your desk as you finally cum on his hand. Your eyelids flutter and Adrien marvels that the feeling of your cunt that was squeezing him so tightly he could neither tell if it was pulling him in or pushing him out.
You grunt as he removes his finger, when you look over at him, he is preoccupied with pulling his cock out while licking his fingers clean of your cum. Adrien whimpered around his fingers as his other hand jerked his cock sharply “Ah, you taste better than I thought.” Your eyes travel down his chest to meet his junior. It was thick and surprisingly long. You couldn’t help but feel sorrow for the angry red it was at the tip. But the vein traveling up the side made your mouth water.
His hips bucked to meet his hand desperately. Curses left his soft lips as he tossed his head back in pleasure. A deep warmth flooded your gut from the vibrant imagery of him fucking you with it. “Mia-ah shit.” You raise your head up to meet his eyes, your heart skipping a beat at how the green of his eyes was almost completely drowned by his pupils. “It’s not fair if I helped you get you off, but you won’t help me.” You scootch forward a little bit, swallowing your saliva, “What do you want me to do?” Adrien spread his legs with his hands holding the sides of his chair, “Come on Mi, I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’ve already gone dumb?”
A hand comes on your shoulder and gently coaxes you down to your knees. You feel small as Adrien peers down at you, gaze disrupted as his cock begins twitching in front of you. Nervousness enters your head as you quickly come to the realization of how large his dick actually was. “What, are you afraid Mia? Or do I need to get you into the mood?” Adrien sits up straighter, “Claws out.” Your tilt your head curious as he combs his fingers through his hair, revealing...cat ears? The sight of a green glow slithering around his body was almost as unnerving as the sight of his outfit changing right before you.
In little as no time flat, Paris’s neighborhood hero sat in front of you in all his leather glory. His eyes seemed even greener than before, and his personality seemed to change right before you. “Adrien you’re Chat Noir!?” The blond shrugs nonchalantly, gripping his cock and slapping it against your cheek. “Mi I am all for the formalities, but I am so close to fucking your brains out right now, that I think it would be in your best interest to start sucking.” While still being conscious of your hairstyle, Adrien...Noir, pulls your head closer to his groin.
You resist the urge to scrunch your face at the feeling of precum being smeared on your mouth and chin. This resistance only makes Noir chuckle, “Stick your tongue out for me.” As if it was routine, you do as he says and moan softly from the feeling of his tip tapping your warm muscle. “So fucking perfect for me.” The praise makes you clench and gives you the courage to open your mouth wider. You suck on his member making him release a pleased growl. His hand laid limply on the back of your head as you take the lead.
The salty taste while slightly unpleasant, wholly addictive. Feeling your growing comfort, Adrien begins thrusting to meet your mouth. The tip of his cock goes all the way to the back of your throat making you choke before dragging back but the sounds of you struggling doesn’t dissuade him. The feeling of your tongue grazing over his vein just before your throat constricted around him drove him wild. Your tiny whimpers made his balls vibrate as he moved faster.
You place your hands on his thighs in order to stable yourself as his thrusts got more brutal. Slob collected around your mouth before dripping down your chin and finally collected by his balls every time they hit your jaw. “Fuck I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum!” Adrien’s voice pitched higher as his claws scratched into the wooden chair of his seat. His head tossed back violently as his thrusts became sloppy, legs shaking. Loud sobs left his mouth as you bright him closer to the edge each thrust is accentuated by filthy words. “Your mouth is so. fucking. Tight. Fuck Mia!”
You felt cum shoot down your throat as Adrien holds your head painfully against this crotch. He weakly thrusts into your mouth a few more times before realizing you. Gasping for air, you wipe your mouth of saliva and look up at Adrien as he catches his breath. Rough hands grip your chin making you look up at him. “You looked wrecked Mi.” Adrien laughs as he wipes cum off the corner of your mouth. You stand up wobbly and albeit a bit light-headed, Adrien stands with you and kisses your lips, enjoying the taste of himself in your mouth.
“We are going to finish this later.” Before your brain could even prompt you to ask, the bell rings signaling that detention was over. Adrien deactivates his miraculous before grabbing his backpack and leaving detention hall.
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closest to me
prompt: coming out to natasha as nonbinary
note: totally meant to write this months ago, but whateverrrr. and yes, i am aware that not all nb people use they/them, this was just my own little work :p.
warnings: being scared to come out to ur sexy redhead russian of a gf :[
i’d tag but i also don’t want to somehow trigger someone :[
thank u moli for proofreading i love u to the moon and back.
. . .
you’d come out to two of your close friends, ones you knew wouldn’t judge you. they’d taken it just as expected, but that was no surprise when you’d known them your entire life. your shared opinions and thoughts were what brought you together in the first place.
your friends immediately began using your correct pronouns, and you’d never felt more right in your life. it was refreshing to hear yourself being referred by they/them rather than she/her. their constant support made you feel normal again. after so much struggling, things were finally being put into place.
but there was one person, one very important person whom you hadn’t come out to yet, and that was your girlfriend.
natasha.
the thought of having the conversation alone with her was terrifying. granted, you knew she’d never be anything but supportive, but all the what if’s came flooding through with each attempt you made.
your fingers trembled as you fiddled with the silver chain around your neck, a nervous habit you’d seemed to form over the years of wearing it.
god you wanted to tell her so bad.
but as you stood in the kitchen, natasha’s hands around your waist, you began to panic all over again. the familiar fear of judgment wrapped around your throat.
you didn’t know natasha the majority of your life like you did with friends, so you weren’t really sure what her exact opinions on different pronouns were. sure, she was part of the lgbt community, and of course she was supportive of trans people, but it still made you wonder how she’d feel about pronouns that weren’t he/him or she/her.
“what’s on your mind, baby? i can practically hear the gears turning in your head.”
you sighed. natasha always knew when you were lying, so you couldn’t make something up off the top of your head. she wouldn’t force you to talk either though. she’d give a push, but nothing more until you were certain you were ready — or in some cases, when she knew it was becoming too much to bear on your own.
“just dumb stuff. i’ll get over it soon.”
natasha nodded against your back, containing her concern for now. “you know i’m here.” she whispered, taking one of your hands away from your necklace.
“want to go downtown? we can look at some of the new shops that just opened up”
you smiled, “sure.”
for the next few weeks, you weren’t seeming to find any relief though, and natasha picked up on it. she tried her best to make things easier for you, but none of it seemed to work.
time and time again you reassured her that nothing was wrong, that things would clear up on their own, but another month down the road and natasha could still sense that something was eating away at you.
it’d gotten a little more obvious now. you didn’t go out as much with her when she was with her friends. the constant referral to you as something, or someone, you weren’t was a steady reminder of how outcast you’d originally felt when coming to terms with who you are.
“she/her” felt like a slap in the face every time you heard it. the words were exhausting, damn near agonizing to hear. but day after day you tried to suck it up out of fear of being rejected by one of the very special people you loved most.
it wasn’t until one sunday night when natasha came home to you crying in your shared bed when she’d finally had enough. her worry was through the roof and seeing you struggle so much pained her.
she dropped her keys on the nightstand and crawled into bed behind you, securing her arms tightly around your figure.
“talk to me. whatever it is, i want to hear about it.”
but that only made you cry harder. you couldn’t help but feel more alienated than you already felt. why were you crying over such a stupid little thing? you could already hear the false words slip from natasha’s lips.
“hey, baby. shh, shh, you’re okay.”
you turned your body to face natasha, teary eyes looking into hers. “you might hate me, or think i’m weird, or a freak, or that i’m just confused.”
your girlfriend gently combed through your hair with her nails. “i could never think those things about you. please tell me what this is about because i have no idea and i just want to help.”
her steady hand movement rubbing your arm while the other twirled your hand between her fingertips eventually brought you to a more reasonable state.
“you know how trans people typically go by their opposing pronouns?”
“mhm.”
“well... i don’t- i just- god this is so frustrating!” you frowned, unconsciously grasping at the chain around your neck.
“are you trying to tell me you’re trans?”
“no, no, it’s not that. well, i don’t think so, depends on who you talk to. some people like me consider themselves to be classified under the trans umbrella, but not everyone.”
natasha hummed once more while tracing small shapes against your skin.
“what do you think of nonbinary people? like, you know, those who don’t use she/her or he/him?”
she shrugged, and your heart sank for a brief second before she spoke. “i don’t have a problem with it. why?”
“i don’t like being referred to as she/her. my pronouns are they/them. i’m not a man and i’m not a woman... will that ever bother you?”
a smile broke out across the redhead’s face. “doesn’t bother me one single bit. i love you for you, y/n. not for who you think you’re supposed to be.”
relief was all you could feel. as cliche as it sounded, the weight of the world felt like it had been lifted from your shoulders. you didn’t have to worry anymore, not while natasha was around.
“is this what’s been bothering you for so long?”
you reached over and grabbed a loose red strand, it was your turn to play with her hair. “yeah. i knew you wouldn’t judge, but-”
“what if.” she confirmed and you nodded.
“does anyone else know?”
“just my two friends i grew up with.”
“no one else?” you shook your head, looping a red curl around your finger. “nope.”
“is that why you stopped hanging out with me, tony, clint and the rest of them? because everyone referred to you as she and her?”
“yeah, felt like a punch in the stomach every time i heard it. made me feel weird, not normal i guess.” you mumbled, almost embarrassed by the confession.
natasha placed a long kiss on the top of your head, rubbing your back for extra support. “they would never judge you, i’d cut them off in a heartbeat if they did. if it helps any, i can ask how they feel about it? poke around some and let you know what they say? then when they don’t have a problem with it, which they won’t, you can come out when you’re ready, yeah?”
you nodded again, although it was slightly hesitant. “sounds good.”
“forgive me if i mess up a couple of times. i’ll try not to make a big deal out of it and just correct myself.” another kiss was delivered to your head.
“oh! last question. promise.”
“yes?”
“when im around other people and you’re not with me do you want me to use they/them? i don’t want to out you when you’re not ready.”
“i swear you’re perfect,” you giggled. “but you can use they/them both when im with you and when i’m not. just try to keep it casual? please?”
“anything for you, sweetheart.”
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Come Now, Little Prince
Prompts: Hey uh... *brushed off dust from crashing in through the roof* Could you write something about Roman or Remus having Agoraphobia and them getting trapped somewhere? My brain just wants to relate. If not that’s fine! Love your writing! - anon
Might I suggest,,,, writing trope where the severely hurt person goes to their nemesis and says “sorry, I just didn’t have anywhere else to go” but it’s with Roman and Janus - 1namelessalien1
Ahh, yes, the inevitable. Honestly a lil surprised I haven't done this sooner but here we go! Finally...
Read on Ao3
Pairings: roceit, dukeceit, creativitwins. can be platonic or romantic you choose save for creativitwins. they brothers
Warnings: roman gets stabbed and has to get stitches, agoraphobia
Word Count: 7611
Cities are full of bright lights and shadows alike. Those that live in the light, the heroes, the 'good guys.' Those that live in the shadows, their grisly work only illuminated when the sun deigns to show its face again. Sometimes the shadows are too deep. Sometimes the spotlights are too much.
The Prince, Roman Prince, is the Golden Boy of the city. The newsreels, the cameras, the public adore him. But they don't see the winces when the bulbs go off right in his face, or whispers to be better, do better, perform better from the people that pull him aside after every daring adventure.
No one knows the name Janus, but they know his work. They don't shout, they whisper. They huddle together in the dark, searching for the light so as not to get caught in his coils.
But sometimes, when spotlights are too bright and shadows too flat, a little prince will make its way into the snake's den.
He didn’t mean to.
He didn’t mean to.
It just—his hand slipped and they fell and they—they—
He didn’t mean to drop them. They weren’t—they weren’t supposed to fall but the knife hurt too much and he flinched and he—he—
The choppers roar around the roof, battering his head with their noise, noise, noise. The wind whips up around the concrete railing, whistling, whining, wailing as the body falls down, down, down. The searchlights glint off the knife as they pull it down with them.
And then he is alone, in a crowd, on the top of a roof, king of the clouds.
The lights glare in his face as their body disappears. Then…then…
Then fear.
———————————
One of the best things about being seen as a ‘super villain,’ and how gauche is that term, is that no one wants to ask too many questions when you rent an apartment. There are really far too many landlords that want to get to know you, want to be your friend, while knowing full well that they participate in a system where there is no ethical consumption or behavior. Really, if he ever starts renting his own property, there will be no illusions on his end.
But hey, at least these ones know not to put their noses where they’ll get bitten off if they poke too far.
Janus sighs, opening the cupboard and taking the teacup down. The kettle whistles merrily on the stove as he reaches for the tea boxes.
Black, green, white, herbal…really, there are so many options. What to have for tonight, then? It is awfully late in the evening, there’s no real justification for consuming caffeine. Then again, he’ll do what he likes.
His phone buzzes. His real phone, not the one everyone sees him carry when he’s out and about. He rolls his eyes and takes the kettle off the heat as he spots the name on the text notification.
R. Sanders: 1 new notification
“What’ve you done now, Remus,” he mutters as he slides the message open, “and which one of your messes am I cleaning up now?”
The message opens to a report. Brief, as is the style of all the reports Janus demands, but the thing that gives him pause is just how brief.
Remus, as one can very well imagine, is…not exactly compliant when it comes to following the rules. And while that can be useful in its own special way, it does mean that Janus occasionally has to factor emojis out of Remus’s reports.
Well, more than occasionally.
But this time the report is two sentences. Janus pours the water into the teapot as he glances over the words.
R. Sanders: Slaughter down at 85th and Marilyn. The head of the beast is cut off.
Well, on paper, that should be a fantastic report. The rival infringing on Janus’s turf has been, ah, taken down a few notches.
That’s undermined considerably by the fact that this report lacks any of Remus’s enthusiasm.
Janus sighs as he settles on the loose-leaf blueberry mint tea, placing the cup aside to brew as he wanders toward the window. Perhaps Remus is simply tired from all this work today. It wouldn’t be the first time the man’s manic energy had been tempered by a good amount of strenuous activity. And cutting off the head of the beast was never going to be a simple job to begin with. True, it was always an issue with causing more collateral damage than Janus was personally comfortable with, but what’s done is done.
The city starts to slumber, the last of the pleasant natural light fading from the sky, giving way to the horrid stained brown of the light pollution. The skyscrapers barely flinch in the oncoming night, instead choosing to stand firm as the workers inside slave away. The smaller shops close their doors, the nighttime crowds vanishing into subway tunnels and bus stations. Janus leans against the window, the glass reflecting the elegant lines of his suit alongside the angles of the buildings.
If he were slightly less himself, he’d say it looks like he belongs here.
When the light fades further, he sighs, turning away and fetching his tea. He drops into his favorite chair next to the window and raises the cup to his mouth.
The head of the beast has been cut off. He has no appointments, no reports, no debriefings to attend. He has his cup of tea, Remus will handle anything that blows up on the networks. It is the perfect evening to be alone, secure in his apartment.
So of course, there has to be something that sends a prickle up the back of his neck.
Why is Remus’s report sitting with him like this? This should be fantastic news, he should be willing to open the bottle of champagne that’s sat in preparation for this moment. And yet, as he raises the cup to his mouth again, his teeth hit the rim and he jolts, spilling a little more than he meant to into his mouth. He swallows, thankful that there’s no one else here to see it, and sets the cup and saucer aside.
He folds his gloved hands behind his back and goes to the window again.
If there were something wrong, someone would tell him. He has eyes all over the city, ears everywhere, and those under his employ know better than to try and cross him. Remus is alive and well—clearly, given by the way the evening’s progressed so far—and wouldn’t hesitate to gleefully drag anyone he suspected into his rooms or an abandoned warehouse.
He spares a glance over his shoulder. The phone stays silent.
Fingers tap against his hand as he looks down. Not for the first time, he wonders what it must be like, down there, scurrying about, without the faintest idea of what it looks like from up here. Oh, he’s walked on the sidewalk outside his building, who hasn’t, that’s how he gets into the building in the first place, but…not like that.
The outside world is so…temperamental. So many people, so many things. There is no better place to be alone than a crowded city street, but there is no more dangerous a place to be yourself.
When he’s finished his cup of tea, and the prickle has not left the back of his neck alone, he stifles a curse and turns. Remus will listen to him. Or, more precisely, Remus will ramble and scheme and reassure him that nothing is wrong. He might get a strange look—because while everyone else can underestimate how much Remus sees at their own peril, Janus never has—but he will do it.
Janus opens the door, idly wondering if he needs to bring his coat, and abruptly stops walking.
There is someone on their knees right outside his door.
Well.
That would explain the feeling he’s had of something being wrong, how on earth his security system didn’t alert him to their presence is beyond him. He doesn’t bother to hide his sigh as he pulls his cane from the holder and tilts their chin up.
“I’m certain that you must be…”
Janus trails off as he tilts up a chin to reveal a bloodstained, agonized expression of someone who should not be here.
“I’m sorry,” Roman Prince says in the voice of a lost child, “I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to go.”
Janus’s fingers twitch on the cane as he watches the roll of Roman’s throat.
“Y-you said if I—if I—ever needed help one day to know better than to—to try and go back to th-them.”
Remus’s report is beginning to make more sense.
Janus remembers. Janus remembers this upstart pain in his ass getting in the way of many operations, from transports to exchanges to hostage negotiations. He remembers the crooked smile straight out of a movie as this little shit got in the way of everything, including his resolve to not get involved with any of the so-called heroes that ran around in this city in their spandex and naiveté.
He remembers shaking his head at this shiny new one and saying that when he realized the world was much, much grayer than he wanted to believe, Janus would be there to watch. He remembers a softer offer, after a rescue had resulted in a building—abandoned, but a building—blowing up and the poor thing looking like someone had kicked his puppy.
He remembers watching the rival’s henchmen carted off to jail as the hero of the hour was reprimanded for causing too much collateral damage by the people who supposedly adored him.
“You were right,” Roman continues in that lost, lost voice, “I’m—I’m sorry.”
It takes Roman reaching for him for Janus to remember what is going on and the cane jerks his head up higher, forcing him to stop. Janus narrows his eyes at the hero kneeling on the floor, takes in the blood on his face, his neck, his hands.
“Why are you here,” he asks, wrenching that chin just a little higher, “why did you come to me?”
“You said you would help,” comes the reply, “if I—if I didn’t want to do this anymore.”
Has the perfect prince killed someone for the first time? Is that what’s brought on this little display?
His eyes trail lower, looking for the weapon.
The light from his apartment shines on a tunic stained with blood, cut and torn, and a dark, ugly stain that is not getting any smaller.
Roman’s head lolls forward, almost nuzzling Janus’s thigh as it slips off the cane. His hair sticks to his face, too soaked with blood.
Janus’s eyes go wide.
Roman Prince is here, on his knees, bleeding out because he has nowhere else to go. He came to Janus, the person he should trust the least out of everyone in this city, and he’s here on his knees, pleading.
The hand not on the cane twitches, then slowly reaches forward to find the least bloody spot on Roman’s head. It runs gently through his hair and finds its way to his chin, lifting it up once more. Roman’s eyes, full of tears, stare back at him.
“Come inside, little prince,” Janus says, his voice far softer than he would normally allow, “you’re bleeding all over my carpet.”
There aren’t many places to go that aren’t carpeted inside Janus’s apartment, but they make it over the threshold before Roman’s state begins to truly worry him.
How did he even get here? By how much blood there is, surely he would’ve passed out by now? Roman seems oblivious to his inside questions, simply looks around for wherever Janus is leading him before he notices how much blood he’s leaving behind him.
“It’s alright,” Janus says, surprising the both of them, “I can have the floor cleaned.”
Roman just blinks at him. And oh, if it doesn’t hurt to see that innocence still in the eyes of the little lamb, even as the wolf goes to take his arm.
“The bathroom is through this way,” he says softly, “come now…”
It is an odd experience, surely, to have one’s own nemesis bloody, wounded, completely at his mercy, as he strips off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, and want to do nothing but hunt down the people that made him this way.
Roman sits like a broken doll, he realizes as he watches the man ease himself down and wait as Janus pulls on a pair of plastic gloves. He is not uncooperative when Janus pushes his limbs to the side, snipping away at the fabric, trying to figure out what precisely is going on. He does not protest when Janus finds the stab wound and presses a cloth harshly on top, nor when Janus grabs his hand and bids him to hold it there, hard. He is not unfeeling, just very, very quiet as Janus begins to douse the pads in antiseptic.
He doesn’t flinch when Janus cleans the wound as best he can—he’s no doctor, after all—before muttering that it’s going to need stitches.
“Oh,” he mumbles instead, “okay.”
“Yes, so—hold still,” he barks, forcing Roman to sit back down, “where do you think you’re going?”
Roman blinks. “You said it needs stitches.”
“Yes, which is why you shouldn’t be moving.”
“I was going to go get the stitches.”
Now it’s Janus’s turn to blink. “I will stitch you up, Roman, now stay.”
And there’s that lamb-like innocence again as Roman tilts his head. “You will?”
“I may not be a doctor,” Janus mutters, twisting to grab the first aid kit, “but I do know how to suture a wound.”
He takes a few more wipes and cleans the blood he can, pointedly ignoring Roman’s attentive look.
“You could be a doctor,” comes the mumble, “you seem…good at it.”
Janus huffs. “Less a doctor, more a medic.”
Roman’s brows furrow. “What’s the difference?”
“A doctor fixes you, a medic makes dying more comfortable.”
There’s a moment of silence. Janus half-expects the poor thing to seize up in fear, tremble before him, or—god forbid—try and fight him, but he does none of that. Because that would make sense.
Instead, Roman just closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side against the tiled wall.
“You don’t have to make it comfortable then.”
Janus’s hands falter for a moment. His eyes flick to Roman’s bloodstained face before refocusing on the wound in front of him.
“You’re not going to die here,” he says firmly, and if he starts to work a little more quickly, that’s his business, not yours.
“Oh.”
“I imagine you wouldn’t’ve come here with the intent to die on my doorstep, that’s quite rude, you know.”
“…no.”
Now, see, as the best liar in the city, Janus knows when he hears one.
The absurdity of the situation strikes him once again, fainter this time, but still there. Roman Prince is here, bloody, wounded—fatally so if Janus hadn’t started tending to him right when he did— forced to roll over and show his belly, Janus’s teeth at his throat, and yet Janus reaches up to turn that pretty face to his.
“Tell me what happened, little prince,” he commands softly.
Roman swallows. “I didn’t mean to.”
Janus simply raises an eyebrow and starts to stitch up the wound. Roman doesn’t flinch but accepts the silent chide.
“I-it was the building security guard,” he mumbles, “they called in that someone was firing shots in the upper stories and couldn’t—couldn’t get away in time. They were—they—the call wasn’t completed.”
They died while they were on the line, Roman doesn’t say, but Janus hears it.
“Wh-when I got there, there were—they must’ve thought there was a mole in the—on the inside and they started—they were—“
They were killing their own people, Janus realizes, hiding his disgust behind another tied-off suture. He’s starting to have an awful feeling about where Roman’s been tonight.
“Something went wrong in one of the labs. They made a toxin, and it—it—“ Roman swallows— “it drove them insane.”
It made them homicidal, they killed each other.
“I...I think they were going to flee from the roof.”
As Janus ties off the last suture, he freezes.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no.
“I tried to stop them,” Roman whispers, “I was holding onto them, it was windy, they were going to fall, they ran too fast out of the door, I caught them, I—I had them, they—they were going to be safe but then they—they—“
Janus presses two fingers to the warm chest next to the wound. He can feel Roman’s heart jumping. He rubs in slow circles.
“They stabbed me,” Roman finishes, “and I—I—I—“
A small noise that sounds too much like a sob swallows the rest of his words.
Oh, this poor little prince…
Roman swallows another sob. “I’m sorry.”
Janus tilts his head. “What’re you apologizing to me for, little prince?”
“Well, I can’t imagine that this is how you imagined spending your evening.”
“No,” Janus says, folding his hands in front of him, “but I can’t imagine this is how you imagined spending yours either.”
The little prince bruises as easily as ever, only this time he doesn’t bother to hide behind his bravado.
“Off,” Janus says softly, tugging lightly at the remains of Roman’s costume, “the rest of you needs to be cleaned.”
He watches unashamed as Roman follows his instruction, eyes traveling over the scars littering the body revealed to him piece by piece. Too many scars. When he stands bare, Janus takes his hands and deliberately cleans them of the blood.
Roman doesn’t stop trembling until Janus has cleaned away every last bit.
The costume will need to be disposed of, there’s no saving it. The floor in the bathroom is littered with bits of blood and the carpet near the door will need to be cleaned quickly. Luckily the cleaner that Janus employs is well-accustomed to such a request. Instead, Janus walks back to the bedroom.
There the little prince sits, looking far too much like a lost child. Janus pauses at the door, tugging his normal gloves back on.
The little prince looks far too good wrapped in Janus’s colors.
“Why did you come to me, little prince,” he asks after a moment, “you had no way of knowing that I wouldn’t kill you.”
Roman lowers his head and the lie from the bathroom plays uncomfortably in his head. Janus tilts his head as Roman clears his throat.
“I thought—part of me thought you would.”
A harsh laugh tears out of his throat before he can stop it. “So what, I was to be your confessional? You would fall on your knees, repent, and I would put you out of your misery? Or put you down, like some misbehaved dog?”
Roman hunches his shoulders. Janus’s mirth disappears in a flash.
“…maybe.”
Roman Prince dragged himself from the roof of 85th and Marilyn, all the way across the city to Janus’s real apartment, disarmed his security, and did not once tend to the stab wound in his chest.
Roman Prince witnessed a slaughter, watched people be driven out of their minds, and dropped someone who did their very best to kill him off a roof by accident.
Roman Prince fell to his knees in front of the one man in this city who he knew would be capable of killing him without a second thought.
“…do you want me to kill you?”
There’s a softness in his voice again, one that slipped unbidden into the words to make the blow seem more like a caress.
“I would make it quick,” he murmurs, still leaning against the doorway, watching the little prince, “it wouldn’t hurt.”
Roman looks at him. The child is lost, so lost, and so, so tired. He opens his mouth.
“Don’t you want to?”
…well.
Does he? Certainly, the little prince has caused more than his fair share of mishaps, messes, and mistakes, and putting him out of the equation permanently benefits Janus in more ways than one. And it’s not like it would be difficult. No one knows Roman is here, let alone anyone who would care, and even fewer that wouldn’t expect him to never be seen alive again. Janus could kill him in half a dozen ways in the next minute that Roman couldn’t possibly fight against, a dozen more that would take scarcely any longer.
Unbidden, his mind begins to list off the possibilities. The gun in the cabinet, the knife tucked into his shirt, the poison stored in the bathroom, even snapping the little prince’s neck.
But he takes one more look at the little prince and all of them vanish in an instant.
“Why did you come here?” he murmurs again.
Roman lets out a long breath. His hand on the borrowed shirt tightens and loosens, tightens and loosens.
“You’re the only one I trust,” he tells him quietly, and it’s the saddest thing he could’ve possibly said.
Janus crosses the room and cups the back of the little prince’s neck. Roman just bows his head, the little lamb waiting for another hand to come up and twist. Janus bites back the snarl of rage at how resigned Roman is to dying tonight and brushes his thumb along the curve of his cheek.
Stroke by stroke, he coaxes the tears from the little prince’s eyes and wipes them away.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs, leaning his weight against the edge of the bed, “there’s nothing you could’ve done.”
“I could’ve held on.”
“You’d just been stabbed, flinching is a perfectly understandable reaction.”
“But I’ve been stabbed before.”
“It’s not like you build up an immunity to knives going into you.”
“But I—“ Roman cuts himself off, curling his fist tightly in his lap.
“What is it, little prince?”
He just shakes his head firmly, lips pressed tightly together, red blooming on his cheeks.
Well, at least there’s blood flowing properly again. “We’re well past the point of embarrassment, little prince,” Janus remarks gently, “and if you’re worried about sharing weaknesses with me now…”
“I got scared,” Roman blurts, sounding every bit the reprimanded child. Janus pets his hair absentmindedly, encouraging him to speak again. When he won’t, Janus hums quietly.
“You were stabbed,” he reminds again, “that’s understandable.”
“Not of being stabbed.”
Janus frowns. “What then, little prince?”
“I…”
“I won’t harm you, little prince,” Janus murmurs when he hesitates.
“…I got scared of being outside.”
Janus’s hand pauses in Roman’s hair before gently lifting his chin. “What do you mean, little prince, that you were scared of being outside?”
“There—there was nowhere to go, I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t escape, there were too many people, the choppers were so—so loud and I—I didn’t know what to do—“
Fucking hell, Janus realizes as he shushes the little prince tenderly, he’s agoraphobic.
Flashes of their fights and altercations start to make more sense now. Why Roman prefers fighting in dark, cramped warehouses, why losing the hero on public transportation was so easy, why he almost never confronted Janus in public in broad daylight even though he clearly knows where Janus lives.
The weight of the expectations on Roman…how difficult his chosen occupation must be…how little support he gets for something that makes it infinitely harder for him…
Janus doesn’t realize he’s cradling Roman’s head until he strokes his thumb down his cheek and feels the soft brush of hair against his forearm. He looks down and sees Roman’s eyes all but flutter shut, lulled by the gentle touch against his face.
Trapped under the spotlights of the world, laid bare, stripped by their merciless eyes, unable to look away, escape from what they would only see as a colossal failure…
No wonder Roman sought out a denizen of the shadows where he could be sure no one would look for him.
What should, by all rights, feel like a cage to Roman might just become a den.
The snake tightens its coils protectively around the little prince and leans down to whisper in Roman’s ear.
“You’re safe, now,” he soothes, “there is no one else here but me, and I will look after you. There are no expectations here, you cannot do something wrong. I’m here to help you.”
The snake hisses in contentment as the little prince slumps into the coils, letting it pick him up and deposit him gently in the mass of the den, leaving only for a brief moment before returning to his side.
“Shh, shh,” he soothes as Roman blinks about in confusion, “you need to rest, I’ll be right here.”
“Why—what—“ Roman’s head hits the pillow and Janus almost laughs at how quickly his eyes close— “why’re you…helping?”
“You came to me for help, little prince.”
“But you…care?”
And oh, if that doesn’t make the snake’s cold black heart beat warmly in its chest.
“You may be surprised, little prince,” it hisses, drawing the little prince closer and closer, “but you’re not that difficult to care for.”
No, Janus decides, resigning himself to a night of little sleep as he watches Roman’s breathing begin to even out, stroking a hand through his hair, the little prince isn’t so hard to care for after all.
The snake has never been one to spare those that wander carelessly into its den, but this little prince did not do it carelessly. And it is surprisingly easy for Janus to soothe the remaining prickle on the back of his neck by scratching his fingers lightly along the back of Roman’s, to gentle the furrow in Roman’s sleep with a murmured reassurance into the little prince’s ear. The night passes slowly as the little prince dozes under the snake’s coils.
Only later, when the sun has begun to rise, does he realize he’s left his phone on the counter. He sighs, extricating himself gingerly from the sleeping Roman and going back to the kitchen.
R. Sanders: 1 new notification
He glances toward the bedroom and opens the text.
R. Sanders: if you don’t get your security system back online yourself in the next 30 seconds I’m coming over
Well, considering this message is from two minutes ago, Janus simply sighs and opens the door.
“That,” Remus snarls as he stalks inside, “is not the point.”
“I was about to reboot the system, Remus, do calm yourself.”
“I’m not the one who spent the entire fucking night in an unsecured location!”
Janus raises an eyebrow. “By all means, Remus, do keep shouting about my security system at the top of your lungs while the door is still open.”
Remus mutters angrily to himself but has the decency—or perhaps, the self-preservation—to quiet down while Janus shuts the door and turns the security system back on.
“Now then,” he says easily, setting the kettle to boil again—blueberry mint really was the correct choice to make last night— “what would you like to drink?”
Remus regards his tea boxes like he regards the new bottles of bleach.
“You still don’t keep coffee in your house, do you?” At Janus’s look, he sighs. “Just hot water.”
“Splendid.”
Janus takes his time setting up his teapot. Looseleaf black tea, a new teacup, the honey laid out just so, all while Remus’s tapping gets more and more impatient. But Remus is a good dog, he’ll wait until he’d given leave to speak again.
“I imagine you must have a reason for infringing upon my privacy this morning,” Janus says as he stirs the honey into the tea, “if not just to turn my system back on so that a corpse could not be tampered with.”
“I didn’t know if you were fucking dead, Jan,” Remus snarls, and oh, the poor thing was worried. How touching.
“I’m fine, Remus,” Janus says, softening his voice just the barest amount, “and it certainly speaks to the faith you have in me.”
“Yeah, yeah, faith in your something.”
“Come now, dear, let’s not be crass.”
“You like me crass.”
Janus hides a smile behind the rim of his cup. There’s the Remus that was missing from the report. Though as he looks at the loyal minion sitting across from him, he sees that something is still bothering him.
“Well, if that’s all then?”
Remus takes the bait. “Wasn’t us.”
“Pardon?”
“The beast,” Remus mutters, still glancing around the apartment, “wasn’t us.”
Then he spots the blood.
In Remus’s defense, Janus did open the door right as he arrived and he was definitely given time to look around before Janus swept him into a conversation. Still, the fact that it took Remus this long to spot the blood is…well.
“Shit—“ Remus springs to his feet— “are you hurt? How many?”
“Keep your voice down,” Janus murmurs, “I’m not hurt.”
“Then explain to me why there’s blood everywhere—“
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why the fuck should I keep my voice down? Someone was here, there’s fucking blood—“
Both of them freeze as a rustle of covers comes from the other room. Remus’s eyes widen and his hand goes to the gun at his side. In two quick steps, he’s almost to the bedroom.
Janus catches him by the arm.
“Don’t.”
The steel in his tone finally gets Remus to settle, the man glancing at the door once before allowing himself to be held in place.
“What the hell is going on here,” he hisses, finally keeping his voice down, “what aren’t you telling me?”
“Stay out of that room,” Janus orders, even though it’s a redundancy at this point, “and tell me what else you know.”
Remus opens his mouth to protest but a look quells him. He glances at the door one more time before sighing.
“By the time we got there, everything was over. There were network choppers crawling over every inch of that place, swarming with civvies. We had to fence to get in. Janus, they—“
If Remus has to take a breath, what the hell happened?
“God, Janus, it’s like someone gave a neurotic thirteen-year-old a hallucinogenic and a sledgehammer and told ‘em the building was a giant whack-a-mole.” Remus shakes his head. “Heads bashed in, eyes gouged out, like they—they—“
“Like they did it to each other,” Janus finishes.
Remus nods, his face pale. He looks up at Janus and it’s the second time in the last twelve hours he’s been caught off guard by someone’s expression.
“Jan, it’s bad,” he says quietly, “if they—we’re lucky it only got into that building.”
“And you’re certain it’s contained?”
“Someone tripped the quarantine field. The building locked down. Only way out was the roof.” Remus shakes his head. “The head of the beast was splayed out on the street, spine snapped in half, bloody knife. Like he was pinned up like a butterfly.”
He quirks his brow.
“Gotta admire the craftsmanship.”
Janus nods. Remus notices his silence and steps a little closer.
“So who the fuck is in that room?”
As if on cue, there’s another muffled hiss.
“Don’t,” Janus says when Remus’s hand goes to his gun again, “you’ll scare him.”
Now Remus looks at him like he'd grown another head. “Who the fuck is in that room?”
Janus bites back a curse when there are more noises.
“The person who cut the head off.”
“If you think that’s gonna stop me from getting in there—“
“Remus.”
Remus subsides, looking at him carefully. Janus sighs. Remus knows better than to directly disobey an order, and if Janus pushes, Remus will leave.
And yes, part of the snake wants to wrap around its den and keep its precious charge safe from anything else.
A larger part of Janus knows that keeping this information completely under wraps will become a liability quickly.
“Watch the door,” Janus says, letting Remus go.
Remus hasn’t worked for him for this long without picking up some of his observational skills, so he goes without complaint. Janus opens the door to the bedroom and has to stop the fond smile on his face as he sees the little prince trying to feign sleep. As if it’s going to work.
He crosses the room and leans down.
“You can stop pretending now, little prince.”
Roman’s eyes open and the snake hisses gently, noticing the pressure the little prince’s position is putting on his stitches.
“By all means, ruin the work it took to suture you up,” he remarks dryly, chuckling as Roman quickly—and carefully—rolls onto his back, “better.”
“D-do—I can go now,” Roman mumbles, “if—if you—if you want. I can leave. You don’t have to see me again, I’ll—I’ll go.”
Janus quirks an eyebrow. “And let you leave without breakfast? How rude of me.”
Roman’s eyes widen. “N-no, I didn’t mean—you don’t—I—“
“Hush, little prince,” Janus murmurs, petting Roman’s hair again, “none of that now.”
Roman’s eyes keep darting around the room, from the closed door to Janus’s hands to his face and away again. Janus frowns.
“Oh, little prince, have you always been so afraid of me?”
“Yes.”
The honesty takes Janus by surprise. Roman Prince has never been afraid of him, at least not like this, like some creature constantly bracing for a blow. He’s responded brilliantly to whatever jibes Janus throws at him during one of their altercations, always ready with a quip on his tongue or a pretty blush to a flirtation. He’s not—he’s never been this.
Perhaps the little prince is a better actor than I gave him credit for.
There are not many people in this city capable of doing that.
Then there’s the sudden realization that the reassurances from the night will no longer work. Roman was safe because he was alone with Janus, there was nothing he could do wrong that would hurt him, there was an easy way to escape if need be. But now Remus is here, there’s another variable to worry about.
And Roman is no match for the both of them.
“Let me have a look, little prince,” he says instead, leaning down to gently tug the shirt up and out of the way. Despite the hero’s movement, there’s no blood, no popped stitches. The wound will still be tender for a while yet, but there’s nothing to worry about. Not at the moment. He says as much, ending with a soft: “sit up, let’s get you something to eat.”
Roman glances at the door again.
“Remus won’t hurt you,” Janus reassures, “not while I’m here.”
Roman’s head whips around so quickly he frets that the little prince will snap his own neck.
“R-Remus?”
Janus blinks. “Yes, Remus, he’s who’s here, he works for me.”
“Remus Sanders?”
He quirks a brow. “And here I thought you didn’t bother to learn my staff.”
“N-no, Remus Sanders, he’s—he’s not dead?”
Not dead?
Judging by the sudden silence in the other room, Janus has about three seconds to brace for it before Remus slams the door open.
Remus’s eyes are giant, his face almost drained of color. Three quick steps and he’s got a fist in Roman’s shirt, wrenching him away from Janus and slamming him up against a wall.
“Remus,” Janus barks, “put him down.”
It says something about Remus’s state of mind that he doesn’t even register Janus’s command. Instead, the man has a knife pressed to Roman’s throat, every muscle in his body bunched up like a clenched fist.
Roman hasn’t flinched. He’s just staring at Remus, his hands sliding and scrabbling uselessly at Remus’s shoulders.
“Y-you’re alive,” he keeps mumbling, “you’re not dead, you’re alive, you’re safe, you’re—you’re—“
Remus abruptly lets Roman go, shoves him further against the wall and yanks the shirt out of the way to see the stitches. The knife goes back in its holster as Roman keeps babbling about how Remus is alive.
“Was it him,” Remus asks in a soft, dangerous voice, cutting through Roman’s babble, “did that bastard stab you?”
Roman jerks his head up and down.
“…well, at least you finally learned how to stand up to your bullies.”
Ah.
Janus must be getting rusty.
“As much as I hate to interrupt the family reunion,” he says, startling the brothers, “I believe there is still business to attend to.”
Remus has the decency to look a little ashamed at directly disobeying several orders now, but the little prince is still staring at Remus like his life depends on it. Janus shakes his head, crossing the room to gently take his chin again.
“You need to eat, little prince,” he murmurs, “come now.”
He doesn’t have to ask Remus to help the little prince to the kitchen. By the time he’s followed them out—and made sure his tea isn’t ruined—Remus has Roman sitting on one of the bar stools, stood next to him, every bit the guard dog as Roman clutches Remus’s tactical vest. As Janus starts to get something together for Roman to eat, Remus doesn’t move once. Instead, he lets Roman cling onto him, mumble to himself, and absentmindedly rub his cheek against Remus’s chest.
Janus sets a plate of food in front of Roman and picks up his tea again, taking a sip and staring at them over the rim of the cup.
This could be a problem.
Remus’s loyalty is not easily won, nor is it easily lost. The man’s been dragged behind a truck by his fingernails and not squealed once. And yet as Remus lifts his head—finally—and looks at Janus, it’s the first time he’s seen that loyalty waver.
Janus stares back. Remus knows better than to try and cross him. Remus himself has been the blunt instrument that disposes of those who did. Remus knows the extent of Janus’s influence better than anyone else, aside from Janus himself.
And still, that loyalty wavers.
The little prince, oblivious to the staring match happening over his head, mumbles a small thanks as he starts to eat. His hands are still shaking. Remus steps closer, pressing Roman further into the counter and the little prince lets him. The message is clear.
This is the one thing of Remus’s that he won’t let Janus take.
Which would be a problem—or wouldn’t be, depending on how quickly Remus cooperates—if Janus weren’t currently dividing his attention between Remus and how his hands are itching to wipe the last speck of blood from the little prince’s hairline.
It takes barely a glance for Remus to understand that Janus would never.
“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, coming around to the other side of the counter once Roman finishes, “I need to have a talk with Remus, do you think you can sleep a little more?”
“I can try.”
“Let’s have you try.” Janus glances at Remus.
“C’mon, Ro-Bro,” Remus says quietly, one arm around Roman’s waist, “back to bed.”
“Re?”
“I gotcha, Roro, I’m right here.”
How adorable.
Remus closes the bedroom door and there’s a long pause.
“Fuck.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Janus takes another sip of his tea. “Does anyone else know what happened?”
“The networks have a hold of the main story, they won’t know what happened inside until the lockdown expires, but Jan—if he was there—“
“The choppers saw him.”
“Shit.”
“They saw him drop the beast’s head but him fleeing the scene won’t look good.”
“I’ve got the team scrambling the data, the location of the beast’s head won’t reach the airwaves.”
“Good.”
Another pause.
“…why’d he come here?”
Janus settles the cup back in its saucer. “…he said I was the only one he could trust.”
Remus snarls. “As if we needed more proof that they treat their people like shit.”
“Believe me, I’ve got quite the list of people I’d like to question.”
Remus bares his teeth. “Don’t do it without me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He watches Remus stare at the door. “So…you have a brother?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t know that from the extensive background check you did.”
Janus accepts it, setting the teacup aside. “The famous Roman Prince…oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
Remus’s head flicks sharply around to stare at him. But Janus says it with none of his usual flare, dragging his gloved fingertips along the counter.
“Has he always been so…” He fumbles for the right word.
There isn’t one.
Thankfully, Remus understands what he’s trying to get at.
“It’s hard not to,” he mumbles, “even when I hated him—and I hated him, he was always…”
Remus trails off into silence too.
“There was never a moment where I didn’t know that he was still my fucking brother.”
This is dangerous.
The closest thing Janus has to a weakness, up until this point, has been Remus. And Remus is a loyal man, but even he knows Janus will watch him die and feel only the slightest bit of remorse that a useful tool will no longer be in use.
But not anymore.
“I think he wanted me to kill him,” Janus murmurs, noting the way that Remus jerks in surprise.
“Do you think that’s why he came?”
“He told me that I was right,” he says, “that I was—that he remembered I’d told him if he ever realized he couldn’t do it anymore, if he ever needed help, that he should know better than to go back to the people that pretend to care about him.”
“You basically told him you’d be his suicide gun?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Remus,” Janus says lowly, looking up.
Remus regards him. “Would you have?”
“Killed him?”
“Yes.”
Could he have killed Roman Prince? Yes, easily.
Can he kill the little prince in the bedroom?
“My God,” Remus breathes, “you can’t do it, can you?”
Janus shakes his head. Like it or not, the snake can’t kill the little prince.
“So what now?”
Janus stands up straight. “The city isn’t just going to let Roman Prince disappear, not like that. They’re going to look for him. He’s going to have to make another public appearance.”
“And we have to clean up the rest of the mess.”
“That we’re used to,” Janus sighs, “that I’m not worried about.”
“You’re worried about Roman’s people trying to look for him.” Janus nods. “We’ve got feelers out, we can keep tabs on that.”
“Good.”
Remus spares another glance at the door. “Are you gonna keep him here until then?”
“Yes.”
He lets out a low whistle.
“Go. Get to work.”
“Aye aye, boss.” Remus fixes him with one last look before he disappears out the door.
Janus walks to the bedroom. This time the fond smile crawls across his face unhindered.
“You don’t have to pretend, little prince,” he says as he crosses the room, “if you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep.”
Roman blinks up at him as Janus sits on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”
“No need for apologies.” He tilts his head to the side. “I never offered you painkillers, are you alright?”
Roman nods.
“Roman,” he asks softly, “why did you come here?”
There’s a pause.
“You said that you remembered me telling you that you could,” he continues, “and that you…trusted me, and yet you seemed surprised that I was—I am willing to help.”
“Still am.”
Remus’s words play in his head again. “You said you remembered what I said—and you be honest with me now,” he says, giving Roman a look, “did you want me to kill you?”
Roman swallows. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”
And oh, Janus has waited so long to hear those words from that pretty mouth but not like this.
He pulls a tissue from the side table and tilts Roman’s head just so to get that last speck of blood, pausing at the way Roman shudders under his touch.
“When was the last time someone touched you,” he asks gently, “before this?”
Roman just shakes his head.
“What is the point,” the snake hisses, “of people pretending to care about you when they don’t give you what you obviously need?”
“You were,” the little prince mumbles, still a beat behind, “I think you were the last person to…to touch me.”
“Before…?”
“Yeah. When we…when you…”
When he had the little prince tied up in the factory downtown, another attempt to persuade him to back off. When he cupped the little prince’s chin in his hand and chuckled as a pretty blush spread across those cheeks. When he let gloved fingers run through his hair and smirked at how easily the little prince lost track of the conversation.
Now, though, Janus cradles the little prince’s face in his hands and lowers himself onto the bed.
“You can have it,” he whispers, running his fingers through the little prince’s hair, “if touch is what you need, you can have it.”
Roman’s eyes flutter, lost on the sensation of Janus’s touch, all but floating on the bed. He starts to curl unconsciously towards him, pliant and still. Janus lets him, moving to wrap his arms around the little prince as he tucks himself under Janus’s chin.
“Why didn’t you tell me,” he asks gently, “that you were hurting so badly?”
He feels the roll of Roman’s throat. “Didn’t want you to think I was any weaker.”
Janus bites back a curse. “Well, I’m afraid you’re about to witness firsthand how weak I am.”
Before Roman can ask what he means, Janus cups the back of his neck and gently, gently kisses his forehead.
“If no one else will do what needs to be done,” he murmurs into Roman’s hair, “then I will.”
If no one else will take care of the little prince that sacrifices so much to protect this city, then the snake is happy to oblige.
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#dragonbabbles#sanders sides#roman sanders#roman angst#janus sanders#deceit sanders#sympathetic deceit#remus sanders#sympathetic remus#agoraphobia#tw agoraphobia#fic
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Retrieval
I just wanted to write some gross shit sorry
Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, death, graphic imagery, gore, blood, degradation, threats of violence
A trio of very intoxicated men stumbled out of the front door of the bar followed by you. You held the door open for a second as you called out to the men to have a good night and to come back soon, but before you could give any of them a chance to respond you had shut the door and locked it, the bell on the door jingling above you. Maybe you weren't being too subtle about wanting them to leave already so you and your coworker could clean up the place, but at the moment you couldn't say you cared too much. It was after midnight and you wanted to go home.
Your coworker, Corey, chuckled at you from the entryway to the kitchen.
“Not very professional of you.”
“Because people like that are coming to a sports bar for professionalism and not to get drunk off of their asses,” you answered, grabbing a bucket and rag to begin with wiping down the tables.
“It's on you if they call back to complain,” he teased.
You laughed.
“Like any of them will be able to remember when they wake up tomorrow.”
“Guess you got a point there.”
You hummed in agreement, wiping down the wooden seats of the chairs before glancing back to him; Corey was still standing in the doorway, checking something on his phone.
“Are you going to clean up back there or are you expecting me to do it for you?” you teased him.
Corey held up his hands in mock surrender before he disappeared back to the kitchen.
The small sports bar you worked at always got pretty messy, both inside the kitchen and out. Food crumbs, wet stains from spilled drinks and small things like loose change, wads of gum and people's small personal items littered the dark carpeted floor. The tables and chairs were usually in a similar state in terms of the food and drink residue. At least you had never needed to clean the bathrooms.
Moving from table to table, you would wipe the surfaces clean, letting the mess on top fall to the floor before you set the chairs upside down on top of the table. Whatever had ended up on the floor you'd get with the vacuum later. It was time consuming and monotonous, but there was a weird part of you that got a certain satisfaction of being able to return the dining area back to a clean state, even if it would be all ruined by the next evening.
Even if it was stupid, at least you actually had the freedom to do what you liked no matter how stupid it was.
Corey was playing something on his phone in the kitchen; knowing him, it was probably some new podcast he had gotten into. The noise you could hear from the back was drowned out when you turned on the vacuum cleaner, trying in vain to clean up everything on the floor. You really wished the owners would take the time and money to replace the carpet with some hardwood; it would make cleaning up easier and would just look nicer.
The bar was always last because it wasn't usually that bad and you could get away with a not so thorough job as you tried to finish up before your shift ended. Corey was almost always done with the kitchen at this point and would be ready to mop the floor after you wiped down the counter.
As expected, Corey was waiting in the kitchen doorway with the mop bucket right next to him when you made it to the bar counter.
“Any plans after you get off?” he asked.
“Sleep,” you answered.
“You sure lead an exciting life,” he said jokingly.
“It's going to be after one in the morning soon; what kind of plans could I have?”
“I don't know. Figured maybe you'd have a boyfriend waiting for you or something.”
Boyfriend.
That word brought back some unpleasant memories. Of things you wanted to forget, and what you had run away from all those months ago.
You tried not to show it, but Corey seemed to pick up on the way you tensed at that.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I'm fine,” you told him hastily, “not in the dating scene currently. I needed a break.”
He nodded slowly.
“Gotcha.”
You couldn't say that the two of you were particularly close, having only known each other a little less than a couple of months, but you did appreciate that he understood boundaries. Too many of the older staff were nosy and wanted to know your business, which frequently got on your nerves.
Wiping down the last bit of the bar, you were about to throw the cleaning rag back into its bucket when you both heard a loud banging sound coming from the kitchen.
“What the hell?” said Corey.
“I'll check it; you start mopping out here,” you told him.
He nodded as you brushed past him, your eyes looking about the kitchen as you entered it, trying to find the source of the noise. Setting down the bucket on one of the counters, you made your way to the back when you didn't see anything.
The culprit ended up being a large pan that had somehow fallen off the shelf. Most likely from being stacked incorrectly. That was annoying, since you now needed to wash it off, with it having touched the floor and all.
“Everything okay?” Corey called back to you.
“Yeah. Something fell,” you answered.
The wash you gave the pan was rather haphazard, but as you set it to the side to dry overnight, you figured that if the crew in the morning had an issue with it, they could clean it again. Right now you were five minutes away from clocking out and you wanted to get out on time.
“We're all good out here,” Corey's voice called again.
You were about to answer him when you noticed the bucket you had brought in, and when you ran over to dump the water out, you noticed the rag was missing.
“Ah shit.”
You'd left it on the bar counter, didn't you?
You had indeed managed to do that, and you slipped past Corey, standing on your toes and propping an arm on the bar counter as you reached for the rag.
“Could you maybe not step on my clean floors?”
“Sorry,” you called back, “need to grab something.”
Pulling the rag off of the counter by its tattered edge, you pushed off the counter a bit as you moved back to get off of the wet floor.
Somehow, you slipped. You felt your feet slipping against the wet tile as you fell backwards, and you had only seconds to try and brace for impact.
You hit something, but it wasn't the floor.
Corey had moved behind and grabbed you just in time. He held you like that for a moment so you could adjust your footing and stand up properly.
It was then you both realized that, in his efforts to save you from a nasty fall, one of his hands had accidentally ended up grabbing ahold of your breast, and he was currently groping you.
“Fuck I am so sorry!” he exclaimed, pulling his hands away the second you righted yourself.
“It's okay,” you answered. It came out a bit shaky, though that was mostly due to you almost falling.
“I swear that was an accident,” Corey continued.
“It's okay,” you insisted, “seriously, it's fine. I prefer that over having my skull break open.”
Corey nodded, but still looked sheepish, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his head while he looked at the floor.
Eager to alleviate this new tension, you wracked your brain for something to say that would get things feeling not so weird again.
“Hey,” you said, “I didn't fall, so at least your floors have been spared from that.”
He chuckled a little bit.
“For the most part. But you still stepped on them in the first place.”
“I forgot I left the rag! Give me a break.”
“I will, if you move so I can re-mop the floor,” he said.
Happy that things seemed to have gone back to normal, you complied, walking back into the kitchen and tossing the rag into a bin. You grabbed the bucket again, hoisting it up to dump the murky contents into the sink.
A loud noise sounded from the dining area, like wood being split apart accompanied by the light tingling of a bell.
It was so unexpected and so noisy even in the kitchen that you jumped, causing you to spill some water onto the floor.
That noise..... Was that the front door? From hearing the bell it sounded like it, but hadn't you locked it?
“Sir,” Corey's voice sounded through the kitchen door, “w-we're closed.”
Corey saying that indicated that someone had come in, but that noise wasn't normal, and you set the bucket back down as you went back to the dining area to investigate.
And how did this person get in? You were certain you had locked that door.
You pushed open the door-
And froze.
Phinks.
He was standing in front of the bar's entrance, the door practically pulled off of it's hinges and hanging open. Bits of the door frame had splintered off from the force he had used to wrench it open and had been scattered on the walkway leading up to it.
But there was no way Phinks gave a shit about that.
The second you opened that door, his eyes were on you.
Rage.
Pure rage radiated from him, a blackened aura you swore you could see that slowly began to fill the empty spaces in the bar, his form stiff and his hands in fists that were clenched so hard that his knuckles had turned white.
Only months ago you had done everything to get away from this man. Now he had found you, and he looked like he was ready to kill.
Corey looked back when you had entered, and immediately noticed your terrified expression.
“You know him?” he asked you.
Words couldn't come out. They just stayed trapped in your throat as you looked between him and Phinks, your breathing becoming short and harsh.
That had told Corey everything, as he stepped in front of you and addressed Phinks firmly.
“Sir, please leave now. We're going to call the police.”
With Corey now in the way, you couldn't see Phinks. But when he spoke for the first time since entering, you could sense just how much angrier he had become at Corey's actions.
“Un-fucking-believable,” he hissed.
Corey turned back, reaching out to you as he said “go call nine-”
Faster than either you or he could even think, Corey was pulled over the bar and brutally thrown across the room, crashing into one of the tables, the wood surface splintering and the chairs on top flying.
“Don't fucking touch her.”
Phinks' attention was on Corey now, and he stepped away from the bar. Corey was groaning and disoriented. There was blood dripping down his face as well as his arm, and he was shaking so violently that he couldn't push himself up off of the floor, instead collapsing over and over again onto the bits of broken table.
Phinks stood before him and reached down to pull him up by the collar of his shirt.
Corey pushed away his arm and stumbled backwards, hitting the edge of another table. You could see his eyes now, and the way he looked at Phinks in terror and confusion.
“Pathetic,” Phinks spat.
The blonde rolled up the sleeve on his right arm, and began to wind that arm in a clockwise motion.
That was familiar, you realized, as a horrible memory was brought back.
A man had tried to cut the strap of your purse as you and Phinks were walking home one night. Phinks had noticed and pulled you out of the way, but not fast enough, and you had ended up with a large gash on your arm.
“You think I'm scared of you?” the man had said when an infuriated Phinks approached him, winding up his arm once, then twice and then three times.
Phinks punched him and the man went flying; across the empty street and into the side of a building. The impact had left a dent in the bricks and the man's blood smeared on the surface as his body slid down onto the pavement.
Your mind had gone hopelessly blank at the sight of that, the wound on your arm you had been nursing forgotten as you stared wide-eyed at your boyfriend, who quickly returned to your side and chided you for taking pressure off of the cut.
“Ph-Ph-Phinks,” you stuttered.
“Yeah?”
“You..... You killed that man.”
Phinks' gaze narrowed.
“What's your point?”
He was going to do it again.
That brought you out of your stupor, and you rushed to the edge of the bar as you yelled out “Phinks! Please! Don't kill him!”
More pleas for Corey's life were about to spill from your lips when he glared back at you, a silent command for you to shut the hell up. That look made you freeze up again, and you stood by helplessly, holding on to the edge of the bar as you watched Corey struggle to stay upright.
That murderous aura that had been around him was now stifling, and it affected Corey to the point that he was having trouble breathing.
You counted at least twenty times that Phinks had rotated his arm, the aura increasing every time he did it.
Phinks glanced back at you again, and rotated once more.
He punched Corey in the face.
And Corey's entire upper half exploded.
His head was completely gone, face caving in on itself where Phinks had punched until it burst out through the back of his skull. His chest and arms were blown to pieces from the impact, the smaller bits of muscle and organs ripping out of him and sticking to the walls while the larger pieces of meat slid down with the copious amounts of blood and collected into the booths below. His lower half that remained mostly intact slumped beneath the table he had been leaning against, the remainder of his insides spilling out onto the floor while one of his legs still twitched. There was a fine red mist in the air over what remained intact, slowly settling down and soaking into the dark carpet.
You couldn't move.
You just stood there, keeping your hold on the edge of the bar, occasionally tensing and untensing your fingers as you looked at the piles of red slush and bone that had been your coworker.
Phinks had already walked away from it, coming towards the bar. But he passed by you, slamming the door to the kitchen open and letting it swing shut as he entered. You could hear movement, the sounds of his shoes scraping on the brick-red tile of the floor, glass clinking, him cursing to himself, a faucet being turned, and a familiar sound of water filling up a small container.
But you still stood there, unable to take your eyes away from the horrific scene. Minutes, no, seconds ago, that had been a person. Corey had friends, family and aspirations. And within a single moment, that person had been reduced to a mangled corpse that would only fill half of a body bag. How would they identify him? Whoever cleaned him up, would they be able to get everything? Or would bits of him be left behind and stay forever buried in the cracks and crevices of the bar?
You had seen Phinks kill before and it had made you sick then, but nothing had ever been anywhere near as terrible as this.
Corey's leg had stopped twitching, but blood that had hit the wall continued to trickle down in small streams.
You heard Phinks let out a loud sigh as a glass slammed against a metal counter top.
“Okay,” he called out, “I think I've calmed down now.”
Those footsteps in the back became louder and the door swung open again. Phinks appeared by your side, and when he gently put a hand on your arm, you finally looked away from Corey.
Phinks opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he glanced over to the mess he had left.
“... Lets go to the back,” he said after a moment.
He pulled you with him into the kitchen, and you didn't fight him on it. He still looked angry, but it was considerably less than when he had first entered.
Phinks leaned against the rim of the sink, one hand staying on you as you were positioned to stand in front of him.
“Been a while,” he said quietly.
You didn't respond.
He tsked.
“Goddammit. I find you again after months, and now you can't speak because of that asshole out there. Look, I know I overdid it, but after seeing the way that guy touched you I couldn't control myself.”
His eyes narrowed and he continued “why the fuck did you let him get away with touching you like that?”
Somehow, you managed to find your voice.
“I-it.... It was an a-accident.”
Phinks' free hand came up to lightly slap the side of your head. It didn't hurt, but you flinched regardless.
He had used that hand to end Corey's life; he could easily do the same to you.
“Stupid. You actually thought a move like that was accidental? That bastard was taking advantage of you and you were laughing it off.”
That wasn't true. It had been an accident. But instead of volunteering those thoughts, you bit down on your lip as it began to quiver, tears starting to form in your eyes.
“Don't cry. Sorry. I shouldn't have hit you,” he said, his hand going back up to where he hit, softly stroking your hair.
“I'm just so fucking pissed at how gullible you are. What do you think would've happened if someone smarter had tried taking advantage of you? Fuck, some guys wouldn't need to be smarter; they'd just need to be strong enough to pin you down. Do you even realize how many ways you could've been fucked over before I found you? Did you even think about that? Or was that just me, because I'm actually capable of having some fucking sense?”
His hands settled on your shoulders and his grip became tighter.
“I've been stressed out of my mind trying to figure out where the hell you went, how the hell you managed to get away, or what condition you'd be in when I found you. I couldn't find you and I swear I was going insane. And after all that, when I finally manage to track you down, I have to see you letting some piece of trash grope you?”
Those hands slid up until they were around your neck, and his grip became tighter still.
“It would be so easy,” he murmured, “to just snap your neck and be done with it. Then the constant headache I get from worrying about you would go away. If you're going to fight and run away from me than what's the point?
“Maybe it'd be better for me if you were dead.”
It was deathly quiet in that kitchen.
Phinks still held that grip on you, and you were certain he could feel how fast your heart was beating through the pulse in your neck. You stood there, stiff and quiet as he looked you over, thinking to himself.
He really was considering it.
Any wrong move from you, and there would be two corpses to be found in the morning.
After a few painfully silent moments, he sighed again.
“But I think that if I killed you, part of me would die, too. Maybe that sounds stupid, but it's the truth.”
Finally taking his hands off your throat, he pulled you against his chest to embrace you.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” Phinks said, “but I'd be even more miserable if I didn't have you. Does that make sense?”
Your face was pressed against the front of his tracksuit and you found yourself focusing on the patterned colors of white, red and green.
“I've heard it said a lot that being in love means that you also have to suffer,” he continued, “do you think that's true?”
“..... I don't know.”
Your voice was barely above a whisper and was muffled by the way he pressed you against his chest, but he still managed to hear your answer as he actually chuckled, rubbing the top of your head.
“'I don't know'. Big surprise there,” he said sarcastically, “you haven't changed a bit.”
When he pulled you away he was smiling, wiping away your tears with his thumb as he told you “don't cry anymore. I'm taking you home.”
Hearing that only made you want to cry more.
“Go get your bag and anything else you brought in,” he continued, “I already went to your apartment and packed up your stuff there. Once we're done here we can head out.
“We'll be back home before you know it.”
#phinks x reader#yandere#yandere hxh#phinks magcub#phinks#yandere hunter x hunter#yandere phinks#yandere x reader#reader insert
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Glimpses: Part 12 (Kathryn Hahn x Fem!Reader)
Part 1 // previous chapter <<< >>> next chapter
Summary: Will you be able to go with Kathryn?
Word Count: 2k
A/N: This is a little shorter, I know, but I hope all of you still enjoy it. Look at this little tag list we have going on now!! - I might actually get a little emotional that so many of you are still reading this little story. With all that being said, here we gooooo. xx
Tag List: @danvers97 @zafirosreverie @srtamercurio @wanatag @pulledbythestars17 @plantowl
Don't forget to check out the new official Playlist! :)
_____________________________________________________________________________
“You can’t take her.” Jennifer is walking up and down in Kathryn’s office. She arrived here right after you had left, ready to plan to thrip to New York, as well as the upcoming project. Kathryn shifts her focus from her hand to her manager and huffs.
“NO. Kathryn, no. You know it yourself. First of all, she is a distraction. Yes, you like her, I KNOW, but this is not you. This is not how you do your job.” Jennifer looks at her boss with pleading eyes.
Running her fingers through her long mane, Kathryn bites the insides of her cheek. “you’re right, I know you are, but at the same time…”
“NO BUTS, Kathryn.” Jennifer interrupts her, prompting Kathryn to shoot her a short glare.
“…but at the same time I haven’t been this happy in years.” Thinking back at the time you spent with her, a small smile creeps onto her face.
Jennifer gets it. She understands Kathryn’s point, but as her manager it’s her job to secure the actress’ job, which is why she needs to make sure there are as few distractions from work as possible included in the trip.
Placing a hand on her arm, Jennifer looks at Kathryn with warm eyes. “Sweetie, I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it either, because I know how good the time with her is for your heart. But we can’t have this. Not now. Not during your shining moment. Yeah?”
Slowly but surely, Kathryn starts to nod as she can feel the sadness rise in her chest.
Meanwhile, you and Alex are having the same conversation back in your room. She tries to talk sense into you and talks animatedly to her phone, as you try to find a way to accompany Kathryn.
“Honey, you simply can’t. There is no way. It’s during the exam phase. You can’t be abroad for that.” She shakes her head.
Considering your options, you try to talk against her. “I could ask for online exams.”
“… there is a multiple hour time difference - you can’t be serious, Y/N.”
“I could postpone exams?” You raise an eyebrow.
Alex shakes her head harder now. “NO GIRL. No. Kathryn wouldn’t want you screwing up your education for this. You have leftover classes, exams to write and then you’ll have to write term papers you have to prepare for,” you take a visible breath. “Yes love, I am aware you could write those on set but we all know you wouldn’t. It’s better for you to stay.”
You want to argue. You really do. But there are a few things holding you back. First of all, you know Alex makes a valid point. Second of all, you don’t even know where you are standing with Kathryn. What are you to her? What is happening with her? The lines are so blurry that it’s hard for you to see, so you think it might be better not to assume and make a fuss about all of it.
Lastly, you don’t even know if she wants to have you by her side in the first place, because, again, it’s not like she is your girlfriend or anything. Not that you wouldn’t want her to be.
So, just like Kathryn does with Jennifer, you agree to what Alex says and make your decision to stay, even though it hurts your heart just as much as it hurts hers.
Given the fact, that she has to leave for New York right the next morning, it’s not possible for you to see her again. You think back at the soft kiss she planted on your lips as you left her house under yesterday’s hot afternoon sun. You feel so good with her and you can’t stop to think back at how beautiful her eyes look up close - even more beautiful than on all her pictures that Alex and you have been sending back and forth whenever Kathryn did a new promo shoot.
It’s late afternoon as you’re lying on your bed and stare at the ceiling, a random Marvel movie running in the background. Alex has been trying to hype you up all day, but, given the fact that Kathryn is gone for an unforeseen time, you still feel sad.
You turn off the movie because you can’t seem to concentrate and connect your phone to the speakers to play some music. You remember that you can sit on your windowsill that’s facing the backyard and and decide to sit down and watch the birds in the tree outside your window as you open Spotify and it starts playing the last song you stopped on. “She” by dodie fills the room and you don’t think you related to a song like that ever before.
It really describes the feelings of uncertainty that you have right now. It doesn’t help that you never really took the chance to talk to her about all of not. Not properly, at least. This mistake leaves you with this endless feeling of emptiness that seems like it’s eating you up from the inside as you don’t even know if she feels the same in any way.
Your phone chimes and you nearly fall off the windowsill as you shoot up to reach for it. It’s the group chat you thought had died a while ago that you joined right after Kathryn appeared on Wandavision.
Apparently, news of Kathryn’s casting already sank through and everyone is screaming about it. Unwilling to share any knowledge, and also way too careful with it, you want to put your phone away as it chimes again and your eyes widen.
You immediately click the message.
“New York is wild! Haven’t had time to get to you yet. Seems like everyone and their mom wants to speak to me today. Just left my second meeting and now I have to leave for a work dinner in a few. How’s the day going back home? xxx K.”
A bright smile creeps onto your face as you realize she uses the “everyone and their mom” phrase that you use so much whenever you describe difficult situations to her. You decide not to reply immediately - you don’t want her to assume you are sitting on your phone just waiting for her.
Instead you opt to create some art and grab your supplies. There is an empty canvas behind your bed and you feel like there are enough feelings trapped in you to create something cool on it.
Your mom works long on Mondays, so you haven't realized just how much time has passed as you perform the last of the night and call it a day. Your picture is colorful. Very much so. The acrylic paint hasn’t even dried yet, but there are already tons of ideas floating around in your head about what to do with the artwork from here on out. Maybe you should get some fine liners and work out the edges, maybe do some highlighting as well, you don't know yet.
Just as you want to put the brush aside your phone lights up on your bed. You can't pick it up just now because the slowly drying paint sticks to your fingers and you anxiously reach for the closest paper towel to white it off as best as you can. Not expecting anything, you finally reach for your phone and pick up the call before reading the name - an automatic reaction to late night calls from Alex.
You are greeted by a very familiar, yet unexpected, face. Kathryn smiles into the camera and adjusts the lights around her. She is clearly in her pjs, with no make up on, her hair open and messy, falling off her shoulder. You can see she is wearing a loose gray shirt and your whole body starts tingling as you realize it's the shirt she gave you to sleep in last weekend. Immediately, your brain runs wild and you try to figure out if she packed this exact shirt on purpose or just grabbed the one that was available easiest as she was probably in a rush.
Luckily, Kathryn interrupts your train of thought. “Hey! Hiya hon! I just wanted to check in. Make sure you’re alright because you haven’t replied to my message.”
For the first time you look at the clock. It’s 8.30pm and you haven’t had dinner yet.
“Shit.”, you mutter and your hand flies to cover your mouth immediately.
Kathryn, who hasn’t heard your muttering, looks confused. “Sweetheart, is everything alright?”
You smile thankfully. “Yes! Yes it is. I guess I was just wrapped up in my art and you pulled me out of it and I always need a minute to adjust. I’m fine. It’s late though and I haven’t eaten yet. Thank you for reminding me.”
“Good. Do you want me to order you pizza or something. Because I totally would.” She reaches for a notepad.
“Alright Mom…” she looks at you for a moment and you can’t tell if she is shocked or amused or anything really because she stopped reacting completely and just stares at you. Right when you are about to start panicking about the situation she bursts into laughter.
“I mean I’M SORRY. How dare I offer pizza.” She continues laughing. You love this. This is easy and light and you realize once again just how much you enjoy her company. Gosh, you miss her already.
You remember her message as you make your way downstairs. “How was dinner, Kathryn? And the rest of your day? Tell me about it!”
For the next 10 minutes, as you prepare your own dinner, she tells you about her day and the plans for the next few weeks. The two of you laugh and make jokes and for a moment it seems like both of you have forgotten that you won’t see each other for a while. After she finishes talking, you fall into a comfortable silence and just look and smile at each other for a moment.
“I like you, you know?” She is the one to interrupt the silence. “Spending time with you makes me really happy and I’m sad you can’t come to Europe with me. I need you to know. I wish I could’ve taken you with me.”
Your heart melts and your hands start to shake as you realize Kathryn might indeed feel the same way. You put the knife, that’s in your hand from making dinner, aside. You’re unable to answer right away and fight for the right words, so she continues on with her short monologue.
“I just wanted to call tonight to check in and see how you are doing since I had to kick you out so abruptly last night and maybe we can do this from time to time, check in on each other? I would love that.”
Check in on each other? Why is she so vague all the time? For a moment you thought she’d confess her feelings for you but here you are again, uncertain of what she really thinks about you. You smile, though, and try to keep it calm because you don’t want her to get annoyed with you already.
You realize it’s getting close to 9pm, which means it should be about midnight at her place. Taking responsibility, you send her off to sleep and have a short dinner followed by some reading yourself.
Before Kathryn hangs up, she promises you to call again before leaving for Europe completely. She also wants to know if you want a souvenir from NYC (why is she so cute?) and tells you to call her anytime you need something or someone. With that, she shoots you the brightest smile and leaves you to it.
The ecstatic feeling you felt when you talked to her fades quickly as you come down from the call. Suddenly, your home feels all quiet and lonely and the silence is killing you. You walk back up to your room to sit on your bed and stare out of your window to enjoy the night sky. The tree right next to your room is slowly moving in the wind as its branches scratch the glasses surface.
You decide to call it a day as the week ahead is full of work and school and the weekend was eventful, so you change into comfy clothes and get ready for bed immediately. You fall onto your bed a few minutes later just as your phone lights up again.
"Good night, Sweetheart. It was great seeing your face. xxx K."
#kathryn hahn#kathryn hahn x reader#Kathryn Hahn x You#Kathryn Hahn fan fiction#Kathryn Hahn Fanfiction#groupie#groupie au
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berry hill.
Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader
a joyful future fic
a/n: i am so excited to share this one with you. the tropes are PACKED in here, and it was a blast to write. i also realized some time ago that i keep forgetting summaries on my works, so i’m gonna do my best to add those from now on. as always, let me know if there are any mistakes in here! thanks to @writefasttalkevenfaster for helping me today <3
intended for the ‘a joyful future universe,’ but does not require context. takes place in 2011, early season six, prior to the valhalla arc.
words: 12k
warnings: language, some vague mention of aaron’s anatomy, alcohol use, when i say slow burn i mean s l o w burn.
summary: "...and there was only one bed." - old fanfiction proverb
waldosia (part 2) | absence (part 3) |��mean it (part 4)
masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!
updated: january 5th, 2021
It’s way too late and you know it, but Jack is still on his annual winter vacation with Aunt Jess and the rest of the Brooks clan, so there’s simply no incentive to leave. You’re with Hotch at his desk, kicked back like you own the place, while he sits back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head.
The Montana case wrapped up neatly, and any remaining or incoming paperwork this week is light. Though it is admittedly weird without JJ, Seaver seems to be settling in alright. You’re glad that the team decided to take a chance on her like they did with you.
“What do you mean he drew on the wall?” You say through a laugh, popping a grape in your mouth. “Are we talking like a crayon mark here and there or a full-on mural.”
“Multi-media mural - glue, paper mache, markers, crayons, you name it and it was there.” He laughs and he takes a grape from your bowl, kicking his feet up on the desk - mirroring you. “I have no idea how he managed it. I was in the house the whole time.”
“Oh my God, he’s a terror!” Before Aaron can agree, your phone starts ringing. You pick it up, smiling as you see the caller ID.
“Hey Dean!” You stand and give Aaron a ‘sorry, just a second’ finger and step out of the office, leaving the door open behind you. You stay where Aaron can see you, leaning on the rail next to the stairs. You don’t really mean to stay within his eyeline, but it’s habit at this point.
“Hey babe, I hope I’m not calling too late.”
“Oh not at all. I’m still in the office with Hotch getting some work done.”
You catch Hotch’s eye and he mouths ‘Work?’ and you shrug as if to say ‘It’s a loose term.’ He rolls his eyes and steals another one of your grapes.
“Ah, I see. Late-night work with the hot boss-man.”
You don’t dignify that with a response. “So what’s up?”
He sighs, and you already know what’s coming before he says it. “Something came up at work and I won’t be able to make it to the wedding next week. We’re closing on this huge property in Georgetown and it’s really big for the firm and -“
“It’s okay. I get work stuff, trust me.” And you do. It just fucking sucks.
“I’m so so sorry to leave you hanging. I know it’s going to be super rough. Maybe one of your work friends can go with you? Maybe boss man? His name’s Aaron, right? Hopscotch or something?” His humor doesn’t make you feel any better, but you promise to keep ‘Hopscotch’ for later.
You tip your head up to stare at the ceiling and will the tears away from your eyes, blinking them back. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. None of them knew to ask off work, so if we have a case I’ll be on my own regardless.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Two tears fall out of the corner of your eyes, and you turn around, wiping them away. “It’s okay.”
“I’ll call you day-of to check in, okay?”
Hotch watches you carefully, doing your best to hide your tears from him. Bad news, certainly, but he wishes you wouldn’t hide from him like you do. Or rather, he wishes you wouldn’t try to hide from him like you do.
He can’t hear the entire conversation, obviously, but he resolves to do what he can to return at least a little of the care you always show him without hesitation,
“Okay.” You heave an uneven sigh. “I’ll talk to you then... Really - don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” You hang up before he can respond and rest your forearms on the railing. You let your head hang for a second, collecting yourself before you have to face Hotch again.
You take a deep breath and turn, sitting across from him again. Attempting to restore your good spirits, you kick your feet back up and have another grape.
Hotch’s voice is quiet. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” but your voice breaks. You clear your throat and blink a few more times.
You can feel him squint at you. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, you know.” You sniff, and gesture vaguely as you continue. “My best friend from college was supposed to be my date to a friend’s wedding next week, and the friend getting married also happens to be someone I dated in college so I was really hoping Dean could come with me, and now…” You trail off, realizing you’re rambling.
He’s quiet for a little while, and you shove some more grapes in your mouth to make up for the silence. You know each other so well, but it still feels a little weird to explicitly talk about your personal life in the office. Sure, you spend a fair few weekends together with Jack, but the whole thing is a little embarrassing - and you’re not sure if the worst part is admitting you have an ex-boyfriend from college or you now have to go stag to his wedding.
“Do you want someone to go with you?” He watches you chew on your lower lip. A long time ago, he decided there was nothing worse than seeing you upset.
This is the least you can do, Hotchner. First personal weekend in nearly four years, you can at least do what you can to make it suck less. He reasons with himself, but he can’t help the sly thought that sneaks in on the tail end. Being a backup is better than being nothing at all.
That’s enough.
You scoff. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”
He smiles a little, knowing you completely missed his point. “If you wanted…” He clears his throat and looks out the window, and you reply before he can continue.
“Oh, God, Hotch.” You cover your face with your hands. “Please don’t feel like I’m trying to guilt you into anything. I’ll be fine.” You try to laugh it off, but can’t hide the anxiety in your voice.
His laugh warms you. “You’re not guilting me into anything. I’m offering.”
You remove your hands from your face and look at him. There’s an earnest sort of kindness in his eyes, and you find yourself a little short of breath. “Really?”
“Really. I can get the weekend off - things are pretty slow around here. Where is it?” You had trouble reading his tone. Really, he’s just treading carefully. He doesn’t want you to feel pressured, or give away his own selfish motivations.
“It’s, ah,” you stutter for a second, getting your metaphorical feet back under you. “It’s down at Berry Hill Resort, right by the North Carolina border.” Your lip disappears between your teeth again. “It’s about a three and a half hour drive.”
He opens his phone, and you know he’s checking the map. “It’d be easy enough if we left early and switched in Richmond. I’ll start, if you’d like.”
You smile at him, wide and genuine. “Hotch, you’re the best.”
+++
Hotch calls you up to his office, and you swing in, your hand gripping the doorframe. You bite back your greeting as you find him on the phone.
He beckons you in and you step inside, closing the door behind you.
“...Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to pass that along to the rest of the unit...You too, sir.” He hangs up and laces his fingers, addressing you. “Question.”
You sit, resting your elbows on his desk. “Answer.”
“Funny.”
You smirk, and he continues. “I’m not sure if it matters to you, but I have an absurd number of ties. Color preference?”
A huff of laughter leaves you in disbelief. “You called me in here to ask whether or not I want to have a color scheme?”
“Yes,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A united front, or at least a coordinated one, seems like the best strategy, right?”
+++
Aaron walks down from his office, his phone to his ear. You’re helping Ashley with a consult, walking her through your process just like Emily used to do with you.
“Hotch usually likes to approach the profile starting with a demographic consideration, but I usually start from physical evidence and -”
A hand falls onto your shoulder, and you look up. “Yeah?”
He pulls the receiver away from his mouth. “Jack wants to talk to you.”
With a shake of your head and a fond smile for Hotch and an apologetic one for Ashley, you put the phone to your ear. “Hey, bud! How’s Grandpa’s house?”
“So fun,” Jack says, almost yelling into the phone. “Aunt Jess has let me play in the snow every day.”
You laugh. “I am so glad.”
“Dad says you’re busy at work, but I miss you.”
“Aw, bubba, I miss you, too. You’ll be home really soon, and when you get back we’ll go out to ice cream and you can tell me all about your visit.” You, for just a moment, forget where you are, and you lean back in your seat as if you’re leaning into Jack himself. “Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I love you.”
Your breath catches, and you keep our eyes firmly planted on your consult as you reply. “I love you too, bub. Here’s your dad.” Placing the phone in Hotch’s hand, you return your attention to Ashley and do your best not to acknowledge Aaron as he walks back up the stairs. “So, like I said, Hotch prefers to -”
“Hey.” Ashley stops you with a hand on your arm. “You’re really good at your job.”
A confused smile pulls at your lips. There’s a question in your eyes, and she answers it.
“Oh, I just...You’re a good teacher and a good friend, that’s all.”
“Thanks, Seaver.”
+++
On a rare weeknight off, Emily and you gather at Penelope’s apartment. You’re all sitting on the floor, bottles of wine making an occasional rotation, and a pile of snacks on the floor taking up the space in the loose circle you’ve created.
“You’re taking time off this weekend?” Penelope sounds almost insultingly surprised, as if the concept never occurred to her.
You nod. “Yep. First time in four years, so I think I’m about due.”
Emily laughs and asks. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve been inexplicably invited to an ex-boyfriends wedding - he’s a friend from college and we were friends before we dated etc. etc.” You wave your hand as you speak, outlining the tedium of it all. “His mom loves me, and I suspect she was the one who added me to the list.”
“Are you going with anyone? Penelope’s concern is touching.
“Yeah. One of my college friends was supposed to be my date, but he bailed for a work thing.” All the girls roll their eyes and nod. They get it. “So, Ho - someone else - is going with me.”
“Who?” Emily narrows her eyes and searches you.
“Oh come on, profiling is against the rules.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay, sure.”
“Spill it.” Penelope throws a goldfish cracker at you to emphasize her point.
You take a deep, long-suffering breath, suddenly missing JJ and her powers of redirection. “Fine. Hotch is coming with me -” you intercept their eager questions “- only as a favor.”
“That’s very...thoughtful of him.” Emily’s chin tips up suggestively, and you throw Penelope’s goldfish at her. “Who’s idea was that?”
There’s a moment here somewhere, where you realize you’ve just dug yourself a hole you’ll be hard-pressed to get out of. “He overheard Dean bail, and offered. I’m sure he’s just doing it because he feels bad and -”
“Oh, don’t be stupid!” Penelope nearly falls into Emily, giggling. “I can’t believe you two.”
You throw your hands in the air. “What?”
Both women share a look before looking back at you with identical disbelief. Emily speaks first. “You can’t be serious.”
Take a deep breath. You’re not that obvious.
Maybe you are. You’ve only been half-or-completely in love with him for five years.
Shut up.
“Serious about what?”
Emily rolls her eyes and finishes her second glass of wine, reaching to refill it immediately. “Nevermind. You’ll figure it out eventually.”
+++
You’re finishing your last bit of packing, leaving your toothbrush and toothpaste out for the morning, when your phone rings.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, it’s Aaron.”
“Ah, my saving grace,” you say with a laugh. “Calling to cancel on me, after all?”
His laugh just isn’t as good over the phone, but it’ll do. “Not even close. Is 6am still good to come get you?”
“It’s so early.” There’s absolutely no shame in your whine, and you’re rewarded with another laugh. “But yes, that’s fine. That gives us enough time even if we hit some traffic out of the District and into Richmond.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
You look at your suitcase, resting open on your bed. “You’re still okay with this, right? I know I couldn’t grab that extra hotel room for you and I don’t want you to feel pressured or -”
He cuts you off, calling you out by name. “Enough. I offered, remember? I’ll see you at 6. Bring a pillow so you can sleep in the car.”
Your lips pinch, holding back a smile. “Thanks, Aaron.” And he knows you don’t just mean it for the pillow reminder. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Of course. Sleep well.”
You don’t, but are nevertheless ready with bells on, pillow tucked under your arm, and coffee in-hand at 5:55am the following morning. He looks surprised when he pulls into the driveway and sees you standing on your porch, looking only a little worse for wear. At least your teeth are brushed.
“Thought you might want this.” You hold out the travel mug to him as he approaches, and he takes it (and your suitcase) from you.
“Thank you. Jump in.”
You follow instructions and immediately stuff your pillow between your head and the window as he throws your suitcase in the trunk. You’re forever grateful Aaron drives the same SUVs you all have at the bureau. He claims it’s easier to not think about different car specs, but at this moment you only care about the temperature control and familiar, soft leather seats. Your eyes shut on their own accord, still heavy even after your abbreviated morning routine.
He slips into the driver’s seat and, with your eyes closed, you miss the way he looks over at you with a barely-there, fond smile. Your sweatshirt is too big for you and your face is adorably smushed into the pillow.
With a sigh and shake of his head, he places his hand on the back of your seat, backs out of the driveway, and gets on the road.
The silence gives him plenty of time to think about things he’d rather not address. This favor, for one, is something he’s still trying to reconcile.
Would I have offered to Emily? JJ? Hell, Dave?
If any other member of the team had a friend bail out of their role as a wedding date, he’d like to think he’d drop everything and take the weekend to make them feel better, but he knows that probably wouldn’t be the case in reality. He knew you were different, and it frustrated and confused him.
As often as he acknowledges his love for you - he wishes it would just stop.
Only a year and change had passed since Haley’s death, and there were still some mornings where he woke up and couldn’t breathe. Jack still had some nightmares too. Those broke his heart more than anything in the world, but he knew you would always pick up if he called - no matter the hour.
It happened more often than he’d like to admit.
“Hotch? Aaron? What’s up?”
“I’m sorry to wake you.”
“Nightmare?”
“Yeah.”
You’d always talk to him about something or nothing at all, sometimes turning on your bedside lamp and reading from whatever book you were perusing before bed.
He knows you understand. You were the only one there with him, when he found her body. You were there to take his son out of his bloodied hands. You were there when he was afraid of himself.
The nightmares still come for you, too, sometimes. There are nights where Haley’s dark blue eyes stare into you, whether your eyes are open or closed. You told him that, once, and he was grateful - grateful that he wasn’t the only one.
You murmur something in your sleep, about twenty minutes outside of the city. You’re still an hour or more away from Richmond, and Hotch figures he’ll let you sleep if you don’t wake up between now and then. It’s not a hard drive to Berry Hill, and you need the rest.
Might be good to pick up some food on the way...
He turns the music off, letting the sounds of your breathing and the road wash over him.
“Aaron.”
He turns, expecting your watchful eyes, but finds you burrowing further into the pillow, a little smile on your face as you remain blissfully unaware of your surroundings. Something warm starts to radiate in his chest as he looks back out at the road, the Virginia countryside stretching out in front of him, around him, and in every direction he can see. The warmth vibrates into his fingertips. He flexes his hands around the wheel, trying to shake it.
He fails.
You’re not sure how you manage to sleep so soundly in the car. You had tossed and turned all night, thinking only of facing a part of your life you hoped you’d never address head-on ever again. Why you accepted the invitation at all (or why you even received one) was beyond you.
It must be his mother’s doing. She always loved you, and she did her best to keep your friendship alive much longer than its natural death.
Exercising control over her child’s life due to an exceptional lack of control and consistency during her upbringing. Relating to her son’s partners to achieve some semblance of intimacy without facing the root of her insecurity that she’s failed as a parent.
The profiling never stopped, it seemed.
It wasn’t just the wedding keeping you up last night. The thought of spending the weekend with Aaron in an environment where you will inevitably feel (if not look and act) distraught close to the whole time still wears on you. Spending weekends at home, where you sit together with a glass of wine and leftover popcorn after Jack gets tucked in feels different.
That’s comfortable. That’s safe. This? This is scary. Vulnerable. Burdensome.
Even then, there’s nobody you’d rather have at your side while you face friends you haven’t seen in ages. He’s charismatic, almost entirely unapproachable (when he wants to be), and tall. All those factors should be enough to keep anyone from trifling with you for the duration of the weekend.
But now, in the car, all those thoughts are far from your mind. Your mind is blissfully dark and blank, your body soothed by the low hum of the car and the smell that follows Hotch wherever he goes - spicy, earthy, and something that reminds you of the air right before lightning strikes.
The car slows, and the subtle change in ambiance wakes you. You lift your head, finding Hotch turning on an offramp.
“Are we in Richmond already?” You ask, bleary.
He smiles. His sunglasses are resting on his nose to combat the rapidly-rising morning sun. “Not yet, but I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”
You tip your head. He’s right. “I could eat.”
He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “You should eat.”
+++
After food and a top-off for the gas tank, you offer to drive.
Aaron refuses. “If you drive, I don’t get to pick the music.”
“I thought shotgun picks the music.” You frown at him, admittedly still a little tired. You’ve shoved your pillow behind your seat and start to sit like an actual human being for the first time that morning.
“Those are Morgan’s house rules, not mine.”
“Ah,” you say, sagely. “I see. What are your house rules?”
There’s a smile behind his sunglasses. “Driver picks the music and critically considers any suggestions made by shotgun.”
Thus, the Beatles’ White Album starts from the top. You can’t say you’re surprised - it is his favorite. You’ve grown rather fond of it yourself, if you’re honest, Though, you’re not sure if you fondness for the album has anything to do with the man beside you - the one who’s hair is soft and floppy in the morning light, the one wearing an uncharacteristically casual ensemble of jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt, the one singing along under his breath.
“Why is this one your favorite?” You hear yourself ask.
He’s quiet for a minute, as if you are the first to ask that question. Maybe you are. “I’m...not sure. I think it might have something to do with my mom. She bought the record a couple of weeks after I was born in late ‘68, and made sure I had a copy when I got my own record player in my first college apartment.” He shrugs. “It’s been around just as long as I have, and there’s something a little - I don’t know - comforting about that?”
You nod. “I get that.” You’re quiet for a moment, considering all the things that happened in 1982. “Grease 2 came out the year I was born, so I can’t say I share a similar affinity for the pop culture phenomena of my birth year.”
Hotch lets out a low whistle and a grimace. “That film really was awful.” He waits for your laugh and is rewarded before continuing. “I saw The Who on their final tour that year.”
You furrow your brow. “Weren’t you like, barely in high school?”
He nods. “We snuck out, a couple of friends and me. It was really stupid and we got in a lot of trouble, but it was fun.” There’s a nostalgic smile on his face. “I have no idea how we managed to get all the way into the District, let alone find tickets, but everything was a little less complicated back then. Buses ran on time, people read maps, and parents didn’t all have cell phones.” He shrugs and shoots you a smirk. “But of course, that’s before your time.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh c’mon. I’m not that young. I remember the world before the mainstream internet and 9/11 and all that pre-Patriot Act shit. I remember when the Berlin Wall came down, at least.”
That gets a laugh out of him. “Fair enough.”
You lapse into silence for a little while, handing him fries from the drive-thru bag when he puts his open palm over the center console. You notice his left hand shift slightly in time with the music, and you watch a little more carefully.
And I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don’t know why
Nobody told you
How to unfold your love
I don’t know how
Someone controlled you
They bought and sold you…
“Hotch, do you play guitar?” There’s a touch of disbelief in your tone, but you try to hide it for the sake of his pride. It’s not that you think he doesn’t have a musical or creative bone in his body, but you’re rather surprised by the relaxed subtlety of his movement. It was your impression he never did anything without thinking about it, and to see the slight, almost unconscious action sparks a pleasant little flicker of warmth in your chest.
He shrugs. “I played a little when I was younger. I guess you could say I know how to play, but I don’t claim to be decent at it in the slightest.” His head tips, and you could swear you see an eye roll. “Sean’s always been better at those kinds of pursuits.”
As usual, he doesn’t seem thrown or surprised by your question and doesn’t hesitate to answer them. After almost five years, he’s used to your keen observations. He’d never admit it, but he expects them - maybe he’s not able to guess at the content of the questions themselves, but he always knows there will be one eventually.
“Have you and Sean always butted heads?”
Aaron snorts, and gives you a simple, “Yes.”
You’d never met the younger Hotchner, but you’d seen photos and heard tell. From what you understand, he’s a little wilder than his older brother, a little more idealistic and far less practical. Sean seems like someone you would like, but you doubt he would rise to the top of your Favorite Hotchners List - a list with only two names so far, tied for first.
It’s safe to say Jack and Aaron are hard acts to follow.
+++
You talk about everything and nothing, when finally, he asks. “So, who is this guy?”
“Ugh.” You tip your head against the seat. “You really want to know?”
“Of course. Isn’t it protocol to brief the team before arrival?”
You snort, immediately regretting your decision to make fun of Strauss over drinks last week. “Yes, sir.”
He laughs, and you tell him.
You tell him about Austin and how you met in a random general education class and became fast friends and started dating, talked about marriage and kids and the whole nine yards. You told him about your semester abroad, your traveling, and returning home to find he’d been dating someone else while you were away, without your knowledge.
“It’s kind of cliche, I know, but it broke my heart in half.” You laugh a little to cover the truth of it. Hotch keeps his eyes on the road, letting you go at your own pace the same way you let him the entire time he’s known you. “I was really close to his family, and we did our best to remain civil and friendly for everyone else’s sake, but we’ve only kept in touch through other people the last few years.
“I think his mom sent the invitation. I mostly accepted because I’d love to see her and Austin’s little sister - I miss them the most.”
“What are they like?”
There’s a smile on your face as you tell him about them - how Allison likes more cream than actual coffee in her mug, how their mom has the best taste in books and still sends you worn copies of her favorites every once and awhile.
“It’s good of you to keep in touch.”
You shrug. “I guess. I mean, I know it’s different, but you have Jess.”
The difference, he decides, is that you are kinder, more patient than he is. Jess would hardly be in his life at all if Haley was still here. He had a hard enough time keeping up with Haley’s family when they were married. Keeping up with them after the divorce?
There was no way to know, but he can’t remember much affection between them even before Haley’s father decided to hold him personally responsible for her death.
You notice his preoccupation, and reach out. Your thumb traces back and forth over the skin of his bare forearm. “It’s different now, and it would be different then. There’s no right way to do anything.”
He exhales in a huff, and you bring your hand back into your lap. “I spent almost twenty-five years knowing Haley. You know that?”
“I do. I also know you spent longer than twenty-five loving her, and probably won’t ever stop.”
There’s a sigh, and then an elbow on the center console. He leans heavily on it, and you do your best to keep your hands to yourself. “How do you know everything?” He asks.
You rest your head against the seat and adjust so your body is angled toward him. A small smile crosses your face as you take in his profile - relaxed, his wrist hanging loosely on the wheel, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I dunno. I guess I just pay attention.”
+++
You let out an exhausted exhale upon reaching the room you will share with Aaron for the weekend. One king size bed dominates the room, instead of the two doubles you halfway expected. He recovers faster than you do, shrugging and setting his things down on the left side of the bed, closest to the door.
Instinctively and completely without previous confirmation, you kind of figured he sleeps on the left side. The realization of that fact is a little unsettling, but you follow his lead and set your suitcase on the stand opposite his, unzipping it and unfolding your garment bag.
There’s a small part of you that’s pleased by this arrangement. Another part of you shames that part.
He’s going to think you’re taking advantage of him.
Are you kidding? He’s a SWAT-trained senior FBI agent. And a lawyer. It’s impossible to take advantage of him.
Yeah, of course that’s what he wants you to think.
Do you ever shut up?
Your outfits for the cocktail hour and the ceremony day are all set. So are Hotch’s, apparently. You look over to find him hanging a grey pinstripe suit in the closet you’d never seen before. It looks beautifully tailored, and expensive.
“Mind if I take up some real estate?” You ask, holding up your handful of hangers. He shakes his head and makes some space for you.
When you’re all settled, you sit on the bed, still tired. It doesn’t make any sense, seeing as Aaron insisted on driving the entire way.
“What time is our first obligation?”
You huff a laugh at his rhetoric. “5pm. Cocktails at the hotel bar. Rehearsal dinner after that is wedding-party-only, thank God.” Glancing at the clock, you confirm, “We basically have the day to ourselves until then.”
He nods thoughtfully before meeting your eyes over your shoulder. “How do you feel about a nap?”
I love you.
Shut up.
You can’t imagine how tired he is - working off minimal sleep and coming off a drive just shy of four hours long. “I feel great about a nap.”
Aaron’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he picks up a pair of flannel pajama pants from his bag and shuts himself into the bathroom.
Oh my god. Oh my god.
You quickly shuck your sweatshirt, suddenly too warm. Standing, you cross to the window and draw the blinds, covering the room in a kind of gentle shade that isn’t quite darkness. You toe off your shoes and slip under the covers, thankful you never really changed out of your pajamas. Curling up facing the bathroom door, you try to stay awake until Hotch returns, but your eyes close of their own accord.
Hotch leaves the bathroom to find the room darkened and you under the covers, dead to the world. He takes another moment to look at you, the way your brow sits smooth and relaxed above your closed eyes, your hands curled loosely in front of your face, the way your breath evenly comes and goes past the curve of your lips.
Taking the risk, he places his jeans back into his duffle bag and gingerly stretches out on top of the covers beside you. His eyes close eventually, but he can’t remember falling asleep - entirely preoccupied by the phenomenon before him.
+++
When you stir again, your hands are warm. You take a deep breath and your eyes crack open, finding a sight that steals your breath. Hotch is on his side in front of you, ramrod straight, with your hands clasped between his. Your heads are bowed together - not touching, but close.
There’s no memory of him joining you in the massive bed, nor any recollection of contact, so he either held your hands on his own, or you found each other in sleep.
You’re not sure which one makes your heart flutter faster.
Resolving to get a little more sleep, you close your eyes. Only moments later, you feel him stir beside you. You know he’s watching you, and you endeavor to keep your breath even and slow, hoping he can’t hear the racing of your heart.
He releases one of your hands, and you let it drop down to the cover, praying your fingers don’t twitch.
You’re proud of yourself when you don’t flinch as his fingers brush butterfly-soft against your cheek, tracing from your brow bone, down your nose and across your lips. Impossibly gentle touches find their way down your temple to your jaw before disappearing.
His hand closes around yours again and it takes everything you have to keep your breath steady as he presses his lips to your fingers before tucking them back to his chest. When his breath evens out again, you know he’s asleep.
You open your eyes, thinking it's more than high time to study him for a change.
He looks years younger in his sleep, closer to your age than his. Even awake, he hardly looks the picture of a father in his mid-forties. His graceful aging is more obvious when his face isn’t drawn up in stress or that aching kind of sadness that lingers around him.
Curious about what he saw and felt on your face, you follow his path, slipping your hand out from under his, tracing his jaw, his cheek and brow bones, his handsome, straight nose.
Your finger rests lightly on his cupid’s bow for a moment, his breath rushing slow and warm over your hand. The feeling of his breath stalls yours, and you swallow. The next breath you take is almost a sob, and you press your lips into a thin line. Light fingers brush through the hair at his temples, the sparse, soft silver strands seeming to glow in the low light.
What you don’t know, however, is that he has taken a page out of your book. Though his eyes are closed and his breath even, he is very much awake, heart pounding. He’s sure you can hear it, or even feel it, with your remaining hand still trapped between his.
The catch in your breath makes his chest ache. Even then, his eyes remain closed, and he’s mindful of his breath. With the route you take, tracing his features, he realizes with a shock of adrenaline and cold panic that you were probably awake, playing at sleep then as he was now.
If that was the case, you know how he feels about you. He knows how you feel about him.
But you can’t. You don’t want to take up space in his life he doesn’t have, space better used to heal, space reserved for his son.
He can’t. It's too soon. He can’t subject you to the ghosts, the baggage, the long journey to wholeness he’s endeavored to embark upon with only his son at his side.
The new normal, his therapist had told him, is the hardest thing to find.
He was sure, then, that it would be easier to find the new normal on his own, but he wasn’t so sure, now.
You slip your hands away from him entirely and roll over, making play at rising. You check the time on your phone, finding the early afternoon awaiting you.
There’s a deep breath and a stretching noise, and you turn to find Aaron rolled over on his back, his hands laced behind his head.
“Good afternoon,” you say, and you’re proud of yourself for sounding normal.
A smile plays at his lips. He looks like he knows something. “Good afternoon.”
“So, tonight.” You decide it’s best to move on before anyone admits anything they don’t mean to share. “Do you just want to be ‘work friends’ or do we want to lean into the whole ‘let’s ruin Austin’s life’ thing?”
He laughs a little. “I’m comfortable leaning in if you are.”
+++
The cocktail hour isn’t as horrible as you thought it would be. Aaron sticks to your side like glue, your right hand firmly placed in the crook of his arm while your left babysits a small glass of wine, more for show than for anything else.
You hear your name from across the room, and you see a huddle of some old friends and their respective dates. Aaron tips his head down to get the briefing, and you tell him names, relationships, and brief histories as you approach.
As you expected, he’s warm and charming, taking cues from you as you navigate eight years of catch-up with classmates you remember well and alleged classmates you don’t recognize at all.
“How did you two meet?” The woman asks (You’re certain she’s someone’s sister - Hotch caught her name while you missed it. Oops.).
You glance up at Aaron for a second before answering. “We’re in the same department at work.”
The man with her takes a sip of his drink. Him, you kind of recognize. Casey? Carson? Maybe. “Where is that, again? I can’t remember where you landed after your internship.”
“DoJ, in Quantico.”
Leslie, who you met in guided research your senior year, rolls her eyes. “They work for the FBI, Carson, keep up.”
Carson, that’s it.
“No shit!”
A small group has gathered around you, and you shuffle closer to Aaron. He wraps his arm around your waist and steps a little behind you, protective and secure.
“Shit,” you reply, jostling Aaron with your shoulder. “We don’t have our creds on us tonight, so if you get arrested you’ll have to bail yourselves out.”
“We also don’t have jurisdiction even if we did, so keep it high and tight and we’ll all do just fine.” Aaron’s voice rumbles through you with a laugh, and you take an overlarge sip of wine.
He really shouldn’t say things like high and tight with his hand where it is.
And his hand isn’t really in any kind of questionable location, just resting above your hip with his chest to your back, but it's still more contact than you’re used to. He wasn’t joking about leaning in.
“There he is!” Carson crows, and your head whips around. You almost lose your balance, but Hotch keeps his feet. A warm hand presses to your shoulder.
“Thank you,” you whisper. You know he can hear you, and he presses a kiss to your temple.
“Always.”
It’s just an act. He doesn't mean it. He can’t mean it.
Austin approaches with his drop-dead gorgeous fiancee and a smile.
Aaron releases you as Austin gives you a warmer hug than you were expecting, and examines Hotch over your shoulder. He introduces you to his fiancee (Madeline), and you introduce them both to Aaron.
“Austin, this is my…” you pause, realizing you never actually established a cover story, letting the implication speak for itself. “Aaron.” You recover with a light laugh, and Aaron pulls you to him with one hand while he shakes Austin’s with the other.
You try not to smirk at the grimace that flashes across Austin’s face when Aaron’s hand closes around his in a very firm and assertive handshake. “Pleasure. Congratulations.”
Austin laughs, a little uncomfortable, and stretches his hand once it reaches his side again. “Thanks. We’re really glad you both could make it. Mom will be really happy to see you.”
+++
“That could have been so much worse.” You shuck Aaron’s blazer off your shoulders and hang it in the closet as he passes behind you. He’d passed it to you when you shivered slightly at the bar and it wasn’t even a point of conversation. It had been second nature to him, draping it over you and placing a hand on your back. The memory pulls a smile from your lips. “Thank you for enduring the mayhem down there.”
Aaron sits on the bed and slips off his boots. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a social event that didn’t directly affect my career trajectory.” He looks up at you, and his grin makes your heart skip around in your chest.
You shake your head, walking past him to retrieve your pajamas and toothbrush. “Do you ever want to move up the chain at all?”
“Not really. Something big would have to change to get me to leave the BAU.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “We tried that, remember?”
“I do, actually.” At his chuckle, you continue. “I can’t say that’s something I’d like to relive anytime soon.”
You move easily around each other, changing into pajamas and brushing your teeth and getting otherwise ready for bed. He’s cute at night, with his pajamas and floppy hair and big yawns. It’s not like you haven’t seen this side of him before, what with all the late nights watching movies with Jack, but it is significant that it’s just the two of you. He’s not Jack’s Dad right now, or Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner who won’t go to bed until The Case Is Solved, but Aaron.
Sleepy, charming, funny Aaron.
Eventually, you throw back the covers and crawl in without thinking about it too much, while Aaron lingers in the bathroom doorway.
“I really can take the couch.”
You look at him and pointedly turn off the lamp resting on your side table. “We’re adults. I don’t mind it if you don’t. And for that matter, if either one of us is sleeping on the couch it’s me.”
“Oh?” He asks. “Why’s that?”
“Because as you so astutely pointed out earlier, I am significantly younger than you, and I think my back will fare better than yours after a night of lumpy cushions.”
The bathroom light flips off, and you hear a scoff in the dark. “Never once did I say significantly younger.”
“Well, Aaron, ‘before your time’ is rife with implication.”
The mattress dips beside you, and his form takes shape in the darkness, facing you. Before he can speak again, you cut him off.
“You know what? Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to, and I would hate for you to go full-tilt lawyer on me.” You curl up, bringing the covers to your chin. He laughs, and you can almost pretend that this is your life, that you get to fall asleep beside Aaron every night.
Don’t get comfortable.
Why not? He’s here, isn’t he?
He is, but not like that. This is a favor for a friend, nothing more.
You’re both quiet for a little while, listening to each other breathe in the dark. There’s a sigh, and you belatedly realize it came from you.
“Are you okay?” Aaron’s voice floats to you in the dark, and you nod. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”
You think for a moment, trying to articulate your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just - I really can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here with me this weekend.” A hand reaches out, and you find it.
“Of course. I’m glad I can be here for you.” He means it. The trust you’ve placed in him does not go unnoticed or unappreciated. Your willingness to be vulnerable and funny and so yourself is a precious gift to him, and one he’ll never take for granted. “Thank you for letting me come.”
I’d like to let you come -
Ew, dude.
What?
Now is not the time.
“With that in mind,” he continues, his voice gentle in the dark, “I’m really proud of you. And not in a ‘I’m your boss and you’re making significant progress,’ way. As your friend, I’m really proud of you.”
Your friend.
He is your friend.
I know but that…sucks.
It doesn’t have to.
There’s something in his voice that almost makes you stupid, but you hold your tongue. “Goodnight, Hotch.”
He takes a deep breath, missing the way his first name fits in your mouth. It sounds safe there, like you’d never use it against him. “Goodnight.”
+++
You feel warm and feeling somewhat constricted, but not uncomfortable. There’s weight at your back and an arm around your waist, and you lean into it in your state of half-wakefulness. A little noise leaves the body behind you, almost like a sigh with tone.
Remembering where you are, you resist the instinct to jump. Hotch is wrapped around you like a koala, his knee between yours, one arm under your head and the other around your waist, face buried into the crook of your neck and shoulder.
His hair smells divine, and he’s so warm.
Your theory from yesterday morning seems confirmed - you definitely didn’t fall asleep touching each other, so you must have found each other in the night. The thought warms you, and you close your eyes again.
The ceremony isn’t until the early afternoon, so you have all the time in the world to doze and prepare for the hellscape of the day.
That’s not a fair assessment. You think, and correct yourself.
If the prior evening was any indication, things would go smoothly. Aaron was the world’s best wingman. He kept conversation flowing and took your cues without a second’s hesitation. Everyone loved him, and people asked you all night how you met, how long you’d known each other, how long you’d been together. The first questions were easy, but the last one was one you hadn’t prepared for. He, of course, had an answer for all three.
“We work together.”
“We met, what? Five years ago now? Maybe a little more?”
“We’ve been partners for almost four years.”
And...he wasn’t lying. You always paired off with him at work, whether naturally or by assignment. His lack of specifics in defining your relationship both settled and raised your blood pressure, depending on the way you decided to approach it. The words accompanied an affectionate squeeze around your waist or a kiss to the back of your hand.
You know he’s just playing the part for the weekend and everything will go back to normal when you get home.
But God, he’s good at it.
You almost believe him.
He’s still sleeping behind you, his breath fanning slow and even across your shoulder. You’re both fully clothed, but there’s something intimate about it. Sleep, you think, is inherently vulnerable, inherently a trusting state. You two not only managed to fall asleep in the same bed, but woke up tangled together.
You drop your hand to your waist and rest your hand on top of his, falling back into sleep without too much thought.
When Hotch wakes, it’s thankfully late. He’s far too comfortable to be in a hotel bed, but quickly realizes it’s not the mattress. You’re wrapped in his arms, and for a split second he almost panics, concerned that you’ll wake to find him glommed onto you like some kind of ridiculous backpack.
But then he remembers the way your fingers traced his face when you were sure he was asleep, the way you leaned into him the night before - taking shelter in his willing arms.
He feels your fingers pushed between his, your palm warm against the back of his hand, holding him to you.
He’s fucked. He’s totally and completely fucked. He’s even more fucked to even consider the possibility you’re fucked, too.
How could you possibly want him? A man nearly fifteen years older than you, with one failed marriage under his belt, an inability to tear himself away from his work, and more than enough trauma to drown in is hardly the ideal partner for someone as vibrant as you, with so much life yet to live.
And yet, it’s so hard to imagine a life without you. Whenever he looks into his future, he sees you there with him. It’s far too easy to let himself fall into the fantasy as you peacefully sleep in his arms with your fingers laced together.
You shift a little in your sleep, and he arches his back a little, definitely trying to keep you away from...certain parts of his anatomy that are a little more awake than the rest of him.
Quit while you’re ahead, Hotchner.
He very gingerly disentangles himself from you, and he’s pleased when he only gets a few sleepy protests in return. The shower is calling his name, for more than one reason including but not limited to the uncomfortable tightness of his flannel pajama pants.
With one last lingering glance at you, he picks up his toiletries and locks himself in the bathroom for a long (very) hot shower, followed by a much shorter (very) cold shower.
While he’s gone, you stir and stretch your arms over your head. A little disoriented, you find his side of the bed empty but not quite cold before you hear the running water of the shower.
What if you just -
Do not finish that thought.
You are not one iota of fun.
Reaching for your bag, you pull your laptop out and get started on some emails. You have a couple from Seaver and one from Emily.
You sigh and pull out your phone.
“Prentiss.”
“Hey, Em. You wanted me to call?”
“Oh, I just wanted to see how things are going down there.” her voice is the picture of forced nonchalance, and you can almost hear Penelope leaning over her shoulder.
You laugh into the phone and trace patterns on the bedspread. “Things are going well. Hotch was the perfect gentleman last night, and we have the ceremony and reception today. We head home tomorrow morning.”
“Has anything happened? Where is he right now?”
“He’s in the shower. And no, don’t be ridiculous.” You shove your phone under your chin and answer all of Ashley’s questions in confident keystrokes. “You and I both know he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”
Aaron pauses in the bathroom, in the middle of towel-drying his hair. With a smile, he overhears: “...he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”
He can’t hear the response, but he does hear you when you say. “My God, Em. Would you quit?”
Ah. So it is Emily.
“I’m not going to do anything about it because there’s nothing to do anything about...Don’t give me that...You have absolutely no proof...I don’t care if you’re a profiler or not, there is no way you can say with any definitive certainty -” You pause, and your voice drops to a low murmur he can’t hear over the hum of the bathroom fan.
With a frustrated huff, he ties the towel around his waist and ventures out, entirely aware of his state of undress.
You’re so glad you drop your voice to finish your thought (“- that he’s in love with me. Don’t be stupid.”) because the door opens and you are immediately confronted with Aaron Hotchner in a towel and every single coherent thought flies out of your head. He smiles a little at you, and something in you melts.
“Are you good?” Emily’s voice is full of laughter.
The heat rises in your cheeks and you whip your head back to your laptop, typing just for something to do with your hands. “Yeah, for sure.”
“He just walked out wearing a towel, didn’t he?”
“Emily, you know I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” You roll your eyes, and miss the smirk on Hotch’s face as he grabs his hanging clothes from the closet.
“So that’s a yes.”
+++
Austin’s family clearly spared no expense for either the ceremony or the reception. You and Aaron had walked in arm-in-arm to find a spot on the groom’s side near the back. It’s still weird - there was a time where you thought for sure Austin was the be-all-end all for you.
But here you are, sitting next to Aaron. He’s wearing that beautiful suit that looks even better on him than it did on the hanger (and that’s saying something). As promised, his tie matches your outfit, and you’d be lying if you didn’t say it made your heart all warm watching him put it on.
The ceremony itself is a blur. You stand and sit when you’re supposed to, and spend the vows with your head on Aaron’s shoulder - playing the role, of course. You take a few unsteady breaths, caught off guard by how affected you are by the ritual of it all.
You don’t love Austin anymore, not by a long shot. That said, the reminder that you’re not married to anybody but work and rapidly approaching thirty is unpleasant.
“Are you okay?” Hotch’s whisper doesn’t carry far.
You nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About?”
You shake your head, the soft wool of his suit jacket pressing into your temple. “Later.”
His cheek presses to your hair for just a moment. He’s not worried about you, per se, but he’s never seen you in this existentially forlorn state before. It’s a feeling he recognizes in himself, but to see it on you makes him feel a new kind of helpless.
+++
You’re at the open bar, snagging a glass of wine for yourself and two fingers of whiskey for Aaron (the good stuff, of course), when Austin’s mother warmly accosts you.
“Darling!”
Against your will, a genuine smile breaks out across your face. “Hey, Laurie!” You set the drinks down and embrace her, the familiar smell of her perfume engulfing you. Suddenly, you feel nineteen years old again. “Congratulations.”
She pulls back and waves off your good wishes. “Oh, please. I haven’t done anything.”
You laugh and shake your head. “I beg to differ, but alright.”
She takes you under her arm and holds you close to her. “So.” Her tone is conspiratorial, as if a great plot is to unfold before you. “Who is that devastatingly handsome man you’ve brought with you to shame my son?”
“I did not bring him to shame your son, he offered to come when my original date bailed. You remember Dean?”
“Of course. Such a sweet boy. Still married to his work?”
You shake your head. “I would be...hypocritical of me to get upset with him for that. My work at the bureau keeps me plenty busy. If I’m honest, this is the first personal time I’ve used in four years.”
She squeezes you for a half-second. “I’m so glad you’re here with us.” Her lips purse. “But don’t think you can get out of telling me about that fine, fine man over there.”
“His name is Aaron,” you start, fighting a smile. “We work together at the bureau and he’s just a friend, Laurie, so don’t get any ideas.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I always have ideas. Now, introduce me so I can see for myself.”
With a long-suffering sigh, you grab the drinks off the bar and lead her to the table, where Aaron sits with his fingers pressed thoughtfully to his mouth, his elbow on the table and ankle crossed over his knee. Approaching from behind him, you set the whiskey down where he can’t knock it over and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Aaron.”
He turns, and a broad smile breaks out over his face. You’re sure he’s just being polite - you’ve never seen him smile so much. Offering a hand to Laurie, he stands. “SSA Aaron Hotchner. Thank you for having us. I’ve heard so much about you and your family.”
“Oh no, that can’t be good.” She laughs lightly and takes his hand in both of our own. “Laurie Miller. As I’m sure you know, I have a great amount of love for this one here.” She releases Aaron’s hand and tucks you into her arms again, kissing your cheek. You laugh, tickled by her demonstrative affection designed only to embarrass you.
“C’mon, Laur. You don’t have to lie for my benefit.”
You try to ignore the fondness in Aaron’s eyes as he watches the two of you, Laurie cooing over you and your successes. She returns her focus back to Aaron. “Sit, sit and tell me what you crazy kids get up to over there in Quantico.”
Aaron sits and relaxes back into his chair, resting his arm on the back of your seat. You lean forward with your elbows on the table, your hands propping up your head. Aaron’s a great storyteller, of course, and it’s so interesting to watch him talk about work outside of the context itself. He seems to bloom - effusive, charming, and warm - before you.
When you look at him, it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time.
“...Preventing loss of life is always rewarding, and our team is a family.”
Laurie is clearly enamored, completely drawn into his gentle description of your very-stressful and often-gritty line of work. “It’s so lovely you have so much fondness for each other. I imagine it makes everything much easier.”
He nods, and glances at you. “It does.”
Your phone buzzes on the table, and you excuse yourself with a hand on each of their shoulders.
“Dean, you bastard!” You answer. Hotch’s huff of laughter tells you he overheard it, but he picks up right where he left off with Laurie.
As you step out onto the banquet hall balcony, almost feel bad leaving him to his own devices, but then you remember all the times he’s been left alone with serial killers and you feel much better.
“Hey babe! Are you surviving? Are you alone? Tell me everything.”
You laugh into the phone. “I’m doing alright. Hotch actually offered to come with me. I just stepped out, but he’s in there holding his own well enough.”
“Oh my god. When I said that I didn’t actually think you’d do it!”
“What do you mean?” You look up and out over the property, and the views are simply breathtaking. The moonlight falling across the Virginia landscape almost makes the world look like it’s holding its breath.
What it’s waiting for... you’re not sure.
“When I said bring your hot boss to the wedding I was joking. You didn’t ask him, did you?”
You let out a snort and it almost disrupts the peace of the evening. “Of course not. He offered.”
“I have never met a pair of people so fucking stupid in all my life.”
“You’ve never met Hotch, idiot.”
“Don’t have to,” Dean says. “I know you are you’re dumb enough for the both of you.”
+++
When the dancing starts, you’re understandably resistant. The playlist is a playful mix of contemporary and classic music, and you can’t help but laugh when Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) starts to play.
Aaron stands and offers you his hand. You take his hand without thinking, belatedly realizing his intentions.
“Hotch, you can’t be serious.” You stop dead in your tracks, but his grip on your fingers stays firm as he looks back at you with a look of humorous disbelief on his face.
“When have you ever known me to be otherwise?” He tugs you forward, and you fall into his arms with a huff. “Humor me. Just one and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”
You glare at him, dubious. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because I’m lying.”
And at the end of the day, you can’t refuse him anything - especially when he smiles at you like that.
He’s an excellent dancer. Your grip on his shoulder slowly loosens as you grow more comfortable, trusting him to lead you around the dance floor. He holds you tight, his movement playful in a way that’s almost foreign to you.
You’ve seen him dance exactly once, at Haley’s 39th birthday party, the summer before she died.
You catch sight of Austin and Madeline on the other side of the dance floor and avert your gaze when you find Austin looking back at you.
“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is low, almost a laugh.
Your eyes snap to Aaron’s. “What?”
“Relax.”
“You’re one to talk,” you scoff.
He rolls his eyes and throws you out by one arm, spinning you so your back is to his chest. “I’m plenty relaxed. You are tense.”
The feeling of his heartbeat against your back ruins your resolve and you relent. “It just feels weird.”
“What does?” He spins you back out and pulls you close. You try not to be too distracted by the proximity of his face to yours when you land back against his chest, you hand resting over his heart.
“I just -” you push through your reluctance and admit, “I don’t love him in that way anymore, but it’s super weird to even think that I could have ever thought he was it for me. And now he’s with someone he loves and both of our lives just...kept going after we split, you know?” You shake your head, scattering your thoughts.
He nods. “I do.”
You believe him. The very concept of his heartbreak with Haley - the separation, the anger, the divorce, her death, the love - is overwhelming. You know he understands.
The silence that lapses between you is comfortable.
Yeah, I've done a lot of foolish things
That I really didn't mean
I could be a broken man
Here I am, baby...
When he turns you under his arm, you laugh until you can’t breathe. There’s a smile on his face, too, and there’s something warm and inexplicable about it. You turn the tables on him, turning him under your arm and pulling him back to you.
The song changes to something slower and, true to his word, Aaron keeps you out on the dance floor. You’re exhausted all of a sudden, and your eyes close as you rest your head against his shoulder.
“Thank you for being here with me.”
You’re only sure you spoke aloud when Aaron replies, “Of course.”
+++
Your feet ache when you finally call it quits and head upstairs to your room for the night. Aaron’s suit jacket had long since left him, leaving him rolled sleeves and a loose tie with his top two buttons undone. It traveled from the back of his chair to where it now rests, slung over his arm.
You look over your shoulder as you slip your shoes off. “You look positively rumpled, Agent Hotchner.”
He lets out a laugh, and it makes your breath catch. His laugh always takes you by surprise; it’s much brighter and higher than his speaking register, and frankly, adorable. “It’s past my bedtime.”
“You don’t have a bedtime.” And it was true - you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d known him to actually sleep, especially on a case. You could neither confirm nor deny that he even needed it to function prior to this weekend.
The thought makes your cheeks a little warm, and you turn away from him, setting aside your pajamas and packing the rest of your items.
There’s a little chuckle behind you before the bathroom door closes and the shower starts up.
When Aaron leaves the bathroom, his hair wet and pajamas on, you’re asleep. Curled up on top of the covers, out like a light.
He flips all the switches, leaving the room in darkness. Creeping to your side of the bed, he reaches over and pulls the covers down, gingerly shuffling your legs underneath, followed by your torso. You stir a little, and catch his hand as he moves to tuck your hands under the covers.
His eyes close, just for a moment, before slipping his hand out of yours. He’s already dreading going back to his empty apartment tomorrow afternoon.
That feeling is only amplified when you curl up against his chest as soon as he’s settled under the covers, your leg hooked over his.
+++
You wake up warm again, and snuggle into the body beside you. Arms tighten around you, and you remember where you are and who you’re with. Unlike yesterday, you can’t pretend to be asleep - when you look up, Hotch is awake, brown eyes looking down at you.
“Good morning,” he says.
You tuck your face back into his chest. “I’m sorry - I’m clingy when I sleep.”
His laugh sings over the crown of your head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”
Don't read into that.
I’m going to.
Don’t.
Fuck.
“What time is it?” You crane your neck and look at the clock on his bedside table, but you can’t quite see with his arm in the way.
“Just before nine. We have an hour before checkout. Want to get packed, grab some breakfast, and head out? I’ll drive.”
“You drove here.” You shove at him and sit up.
He shrugs and you take a moment to admire the tousled, floppy state of his hair. “I like driving.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
You sigh, stretch, stand and start rolling. You brush your teeth (twice) and put your clothes back into your suitcase, zipping it up without much trouble. He, of course, takes it off your hands right away and brings the bags to the car while you take care of checkout.
He meets you outside, sunglasses on, and the sun hits his hair. You can see all the nuances in the black - the touch of silver, the dark browns and reds. They all seem to make a halo around him in the sunshine. “Ready?”
You snap back to attention and give him a wide smile. “Yes, sir!”
Breakfast is an eventful affair. As soon as you sit down, you get a call from Penelope.
“Hey, Pen, what’s up?” You look across the table at Hotch with amusement in your eyes, and he smiles, still digging into his eggs benedict like a starving man.
“Tell me everything.”
“Oh, well we’re just at breakfast, almost on our way back. My laptop is in the car, can I take a look at that for you when I get home?”
Not now, Penelope, I’ll call you when I’m home.
She hums, following right away. “You better give me every single detail as soon as you step through the door or I swear I’ll riot.”
With a laugh, you reply, “Of course. You know, it might be easier if you just stop by - I’ll text you when I get home and we can do dinner or something.” You push your food around your plate, trying to ignore the fact that the only person you actually want to have dinner with is right across from you.
“Perfect. Yeah, just text me when you get home babycakes. Can’t wait!” She hangs up promptly, and your eyebrows raise for a half second.
You put your phone away and shake your head. “She’s very predictable.”
He nods, looking at you from under his brows. “Indeed.”
You both continue to dig into your food, not realizing how hungry you are from all your antics the night before. His phone rings next, and it’s Jack.
“Hey bud!”
There’s nothing better than the way his voice transforms when he speaks to his son. You hear your name and return your attention to his conversation.
“...we’re at a wedding this weekend, remember? We got to go to a big party last night, and we’re driving home today… Yeah,” he looks at you, “we did have a lot of fun… I’m so glad you had a good time with Aunt Jess and the Brooks cousins this weekend… You got to go ice fishing? That’s so exciting! Did Grandpa take you?... Awesome, bud… Sounds good, I’ll call you when I get home, okay?... I love you too.”
When he puts his phone away, you ask, “How’s he doing?”
“It’ll be a fight to get him home, that’s for sure.”
You take another bite of your food. “How are things with Haley’s family? Any better?”
“Not at all. I’m not sure there’s much I can do, at this point. Jess does what she can, but her dad is… not a fan of mine.” There’s a kind of sadness in his eyes, and you almost regret asking.
“I know you know this, but none of this is your fault.” You look into him and hope he can see the sincerity in your eyes, hear it in your voice.
He thinks for a moment, and you’re almost nervous he’s going to disagree (it’s happened before), but he just meets your eyes and says, “Thank you.”
+++
Hotch lets you pick the music on the way home, and doesn’t say a word when you sing along (sometimes good, sometimes bad). He does occasionally smile a little secret smile to himself, which makes your heart skip around in your chest.
At a certain point, you turn the music off and sit back in your seat.
As usual, Aaron knows you’re going to say something long before you say it. “Yes?”
“I know I keep saying this, but thank you for coming with me this weekend.” Your body shifts toward him, and you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his profile.
“You’re welcome.” He glances at you before looking back at the road. “Thank you for trusting me not to embarrass you in front of people you haven’t seen in almost ten years.”
You smile a kind of lopsided sort of smile. “You could never embarrass me.”
He frowns playfully. “That’s not true.”
“You are exceedingly upstanding, and you just got your hair cut, so the odds are in my favor.”
“Hey!” He self-consciously runs a hand over the back of his hair. You reach over to shove at his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a laugh.
“I’m kidding! I like it long.” You look over fondly at him. “It was longer when I first met you, remember?” You’re not sure why you continue, but you do nevertheless. “You started keeping it shorter after the div - well, after.”
He quirks his brow, the corners of his lips upturned just the smallest amount. “Nobody ever accused you of being unobservant.”
You grin widely at him and turn the radio back on.
+++
You’ve never been more disappointed to see your own driveway in your whole life. Hotch pulls in and turns the ignition off, and you sit in silence for a minute.
There’s so much to think about, and most of it is at least a little uncomfortable. Of course you’re in love with him and he’s your favorite person (and that’s bad enough), but that is even harder to stomach now that you have to go back into the real world.
It’s easy to pretend that it was real, that it wasn’t just for show to make you feel less awful about the direction of your love life. If anything, now that you’re home, you feel even worse.
The only person you want is seemingly the only person you can’t have. There’s something so unattainable about Hotch. You’re not sure if it’s his stern exterior or his age or his role, or if it has more to do with how devastatingly handsome he is, but it’s something.
Aaron wishes he could do anything else, than leave you here at home. Nevertheless, he sighs and gets out of the car. You follow him around back, though you’re not really sure why - he takes your suitcase and insists on carrying it all the way to the door.
You stand there, fumbling with your keys, feeling more and more like a character in a romantic comedy with every passing second. Aaron sets your suitcase on the ground and covers your hands with his. You look up at him, and he leans toward you, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to your cheek.
“Thank you for inviting me.”
All you can do is nod, with a tight, closed-mouth smile.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says
“Bye, Hotch,” you call to him as he trots back to the car. “Thanks again.”
He turns toward you, puts his sunglasses on, opens the door, and says, “Anytime.”
You wave with the tips of your fingers and slide into your house. Your back to do the door, you slide down to the floor and cover your face with your hands.
Fuck.
tagged: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @newtslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @sebbybaby0 @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @emmice9 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss @songbird400 @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @a-dorky-book-keeper @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt
#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfiction#aaron hotchner#criminal minds#hotch#tali writes fanfiction#tali talks cm#a joyful future#a joyful future fanfic
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Unexpected Encounters (Eren Yeager x Reader)
Part 1: Long Time, No See
An unexpected encounter one night reunites you with someone you haven't seen in a long time, but have also never quite forgotten about. (College/Modern AU).
Rating: Mature for now, but will probably change to explicit. (18+ only)
Warnings: Some cursing in this part, but otherwise no warnings. Let me know if you find anything else I should tag, though!
A/N: This is kinda something I’ve been writing for fun, haha, so I hope you enjoy!
...
It was the summer before your first year of college.
A summer that was a whirlwind of planning, buying everything you could think of that you might need, and saying goodbye to old friends.
You were equal parts nervous and excited. You were looking forward to getting away from the people at your high school, four years having been quite enough time with all of them, but you were also sad to be leaving the friends you had made. Anxiety about leaving home for the first time was also beginning to creep up as you got closer to move-in day. Needless to say, it was a stressful time.
You took a deep breath as you looked around your room. There was still so much that needed to be done, but it was such a nice day outside. You couldn’t bring yourself to focus on getting your shit together for school when you were missing out on your last summer before your first stage of adulthood.
Instead of packing, you walked over to the desk in your room where your phone was sitting and called your best friend Sasha. It was unfortunate, but you and Sasha had completely different interests when it came to academics, so when it was time to choose a college, you both ended up choosing rather different schools. Coming to terms with the fact that Sasha was not going to be there for you in-person everyday was perhaps one of the most difficult things about preparing to go off to college.
The line rang three times before Sasha picked up, her muffled greeting indicating that she was snacking on something, as per usual.
“What’s up?” she asked after swallowing her food. “Finished packing?”
You sighed and looked around your room which was a mess of boxes and clothes strewn around the floor that you were trying to decide whether or not to take with you.
“Nope. I’m procrastinating,” you said almost proudly. “This summer has gone by way too fast. I really thought I’d have more time to do everything.”
“Ugh, same,” Sasha groaned as she took another bite of whatever it was she was snacking on. “I take back what I said about wanting to further my education.”
You laughed and said, “I think it’s too late for that. Besides, don’t all freshmen get the unlimited meal plan at your school?”
Sasha squealed and you could feel her joy through the phone.
“YES!” she exclaimed. “And there are four dining halls to choose from. FOUR!”
“I’m happy for you and your culinary college journey,” you replied, feeling like you were really going to miss having your best friend around.
You heard a noise in the background that sounded like Sasha’s father, and sure enough, a second later Sasha said, “I’m happy for me, too, but hey, I gotta go. Fam requires my assistance.”
You nodded even though she couldn’t see you through the phone. “Go assist. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Alrighty, love you,” Sasha said and then hung up.
As you put your phone back down on the desk, you couldn’t help but feel a little sad. You only had a week before it was time to drive for four hours to your new home, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You still didn’t want to pack, and Sasha was busy so hanging out with her was also not an option.
Eventually, you sighed and stood up to face the inevitable: you had to pack, or at least organize your things. Before getting started, you walked over to the window next to your bed and looked outside. The sun was beginning to set, and it was still such a nice day. You pulled the window open to let in the warm summer breeze, and you heard the pleasant rustling of the leaves on the tree outside of your room.
After a few hours of packing, dinner, and watching Netflix, the sun had set completely, and you felt exhausted. You went to your dresser to put on an old, oversized t-shirt before going to the bathroom to complete your nighttime routine.
Once you were finished, you got into bed, pulled the covers over you, and soon enough you were fast asleep.
___
A loud noise.
You stirred in your sleep, not quite waking.
But then you heard another noise, and you sat up and opened your eyes, blinking them a few times to try and process your surroundings better. You looked around your room and didn’t see anything.
You felt a breeze and then realized that you had forgotten to close the window before going to bed. Deciding that the noise had been something from outside, you pushed your bed covers off of yourself to get up and close the window.
Only, as soon as your feet hit the ground and you took a step forward, you tripped over something on the floor and landed right on top of it. You groaned in pain, but before you could look to see what it was you had tripped on, an unfamiliar voice resonated throughout your bedroom.
“Ow, Jean. What the fuck?!”
You immediately froze. That was a person who just spoke. There was a person in your bedroom. A person you didn’t know, at least not by their voice.
After a few seconds, you got yourself together and quickly scrambled away from whoever it was lying on your bedroom floor. You stood up so you were looking down at them.
“Who are you?” you demanded, trying to keep the terrified edge out of your voice. Your eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dark room so you couldn’t get a good look at their face.
The person moved, presumably to sit up, and then there was a pause.
“What do you mean ‘who am I?’ Who are you?” the stranger demanded back.
You scoffed. “This is my room dumbass. Get out. Now.”
Whoever it was in your room made a noise of confusion, and you walked around your bed to turn on the lamp. It filled your room with a soft light.
When you walked back around to the other side of your bed, the stranger had stood up, but their back was turned to you. All you could see was brown hair tied into a loose, messy bun.
“This isn’t Jean’s room,” they remarked and then whipped around to face you.
“Hey, where the fuck am I?”
You stood still as you finally got a look at the stranger’s face. Although it had been a long time, you’d recognize those bright green eyes anywhere.
“Eren?” you asked in astonishment.
Eren’s eyes widened slightly, and you were more than a little surprised when he said your name in return. You were sure after six years he would’ve forgotten it— forgotten you. You had been nothing more than classmates, after all.
Eren stood for a few seconds, but then his face broke out into a grin.
“Damn. It’s been a long time,” he said your name again, and as he continued to look at you, you were suddenly reminded of how you must have looked. You had only worn an oversized shirt to bed. Thankfully, it covered the upper half of your thighs, but you still felt yourself wishing you had more clothes on, as Eren was completely dressed in black sweats, a grey t-shirt, and sneakers.
As you looked at his face, you couldn’t help but recognize how much he had changed over the last few years. You met him when you were just twelve years old and in junior high. His child-like features had disappeared completely, and he was nothing like the boy you remembered.
For starters, Eren had grown— a lot. His voice was deeper, which was why you weren’t able to recognize it earlier. His facial features were also much more defined, his cheekbones and jawline now standing out. And perhaps the most remarkable thing about Eren’s appearance was the fact that he had chosen to grow his hair out. Your memories of Eren were of a boy with short brown hair and green eyes, though those were still the same, running around as he played with his friends at school.
You only let yourself look at him for a few more seconds before addressing the issue that had woken you in the first place.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, still so very confused about how he managed to make it into your bedroom of all places.
Eren rubbed a hand on the back of his neck looking slightly embarrassed.
“Oh, right,” Eren said and laughed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I think I must’ve gotten the address confused.”
You almost wanted to roll your eyes in exasperation. What did that even mean? And what was he doing climbing into people’s rooms?
Eren must’ve seen your confusion so he continued his explanation.
“You know Jean, right?” he asked.
Oh yeah, you remembered. He had mentioned his name earlier. It just so happened that after Eren moved away during your second year of junior high—something to do with his dad’s job as a doctor, if you remembered correctly—Jean’s family also moved just across town to your street. You weren’t great friends with him, but you two had gone to the same high school. You also remembered that Eren and Jean used to be close friends before Eren moved away.
“This is my first time back here in a while,” Eren said. “Jean texted me his new address, but I’ve only been here like a day, and clearly haven’t figured everything out.”
Things were starting to make more sense to you, and Eren must have seen you relax slightly because he smiled.
“I don’t normally climb into people’s rooms, by the way,” Eren said, and took his phone out of his pocket to look again at the last text Jean had sent him. “Jean said I’d wake his parents if I went in the front door, so I should use the window since his room is close to the ground.”
Eren frowned and looked behind him at your own window which was still open. “Probably should’ve realized something was wrong when I had to climb a whole ass tree. That was exhausting.”
Despite everything, you found yourself laughing. You couldn’t believe that Eren had climbed all the way up a tree only to end up in your room. You bet he was just as confused as you were when he heard your voice instead of Jean’s.
You walked over to your dresser to take out a pair of shorts to cover yourself, and Eren turned away as you carefully put them on under your shirt.
“Why are you going to Jean’s at…” you started to ask, walking over to your desk to pick up your phone to check the time, “1:30 in the morning?”
Eren, still standing in the middle of your room, raised his eyebrows and grinned.
“Curious, are we?” he joked, and you felt heat rush to your face.
“Not really,” you managed to say, moving away from your desk to sit on your bed. “Just thought I should know why I was woken up by you at such an hour.”
“Fair enough,” Eren replied.
Since you were sitting on your bed, he moved to lean against your desk which was across from you.
“I’m staying with Armin,” Eren continued, “but Jean and I were planning to see some people tonight before everyone leaves for school in the next few days.”
After junior high, Armin transferred to a private high school, but he still lived in the area. You guessed he and Eren had managed to stay best friends even after Eren moved.
“I see. That sounds fun,” you said, but then added, “Although, I’m not sure why your friends like to hang out so late.”
Eren laughed, showing his perfect teeth. “I take it you’re not a night person, then?”
You looked down, feeling suddenly embarrassed.
“Just not tonight,” you replied.
Eren nodded in understanding. He looked at you for a few moments, and you suddenly felt awkward. He was still standing, and you thought you should invite him to sit or something. Was that weird?
You quickly decided that it wasn’t really weird, and you gestured to the desk chair and said, “You can sit if you want.”
Eren looked at the chair, seeming like he hadn’t even realized it was there.
“Oh, sure,” he said, but seemed conflicted. “Only if you want, though,” he continued. “I know I kind of barged in here, and I don’t want to invade your space or keep you up or anything.”
His politeness made you smile, and you found that you didn’t mind his presence in the least.
“No, it’s fine,” you replied.
Eren smiled too and moved to sit on the chair, his front pressed against the back of it so you could still see his face. Eren rested his arms on the top of the back of the chair and leaned forward.
“So how have you been?” he asked, your name leaving his mouth at the end of the question.
Six years was a long time to recap, so you just said, “Pretty good, although I have been stressed lately, as you can see.” You gestured to the many boxes sitting around the floor of your room.
Eren laughed and nodded.
“Yeah, my room looks similar. I needed to get away, and this seemed like a good escape, but I still have so much shit to do when I get back home,” he sighed.
“How long are you here for?” you asked, trying to keep your tone disinterested.
“Just until tomorrow,” he replied.
You were about to say something, but then Eren’s phone began to ring. He muttered “Sorry,” as he took the phone out of his pocket.
Eren turned his head to face the ground as he answered the phone, trying his best to keep his voice down.
“What do you want, horseface?” you heard him say as a greeting. You almost snorted as you realized horseface had to be Jean.
While Eren was talking, you took out your own phone and began to scroll through it mindlessly, not wanting to seem like you were eavesdropping on his conversation. You almost texted Sasha about what was happening, but then decided to wait.
After about a minute or so, Eren hung up the phone. You turned off your phone and looked up to see an apologetic expression on his face.
“Sorry, but I think I have to go,” Eren said, and he almost looked disappointed.
You also felt slightly disappointed but didn’t want to keep Eren from seeing his friends.
“Okay,” you said, and then looked over to your window. Was he planning to climb back out of it?
Eren followed your gaze and seemed to read your thoughts.
“Uh, would it be alright if I used your front door this time?” he asked, laughing shyly.
“Yeah, of course,” you said, feeling stupid. Of course he didn’t want to climb down a tree.
“Thanks,” Eren replied, obviously grateful, and he stood up from the chair.
You got off of your bed and walked towards your bedroom door. Before you opened it, you turned to Eren and said, “We have to be quiet, though. I don’t want to wake anyone.”
He smiled and nodded in understanding.
“Got it,” he whispered.
You turned the handle of your door slowly and pushed it open. With Eren close behind, you led him through the dark hallway to the stairs.
Unfortunately, your stairs were old and fairly steep, so navigating them in the dark would prove to be fairly difficult. You both made it about half-way down without a sound, but then you put your foot in front of you and accidentally missed the next step.
You felt yourself slipping, but then an arm from behind you wrapped around your waist before you could fall.
“Careful,” Eren warned.
“Thanks,” you said, and found yourself laughing at your clumsiness. In response, Eren laughed too. He still had his arm around you, and he was so close that you could hear the sound right next to your ear.
You breathed in deep as you were also able to take in his scent. He smelled like the outside, like smoke and the tree he had climbed, but there was also something sweet, like vanilla.
You heard Eren whisper your name from behind you and snapped out of your trance.
“Sorry,” you said, and then Eren moved his arm back to his side as you continued to walk down the stairs, paying extra attention to where you placed your feet.
After you successfully made it down without another incident, you walked to your front door and pulled it open. You felt the warm summer air rush over your body as you walked outside with Eren. You shut the door behind you so you could say goodbye without anyone in your house hearing.
You and Eren stood awkwardly for a moment, neither of you knowing how to say goodbye. What were you supposed to say? Everything you came up with in your head sounded embarrassing.
But then Eren smiled and laughed nervously, and you felt the tension disappear as it became clear that you and Eren both felt awkward.
You smiled back at him and asked, “Do you know where you’re going?”
Eren put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and nodded. “Yep. Looks like I had gotten the last number of the address wrong.”
You made a sound of understanding and were about to say something like goodbye, but then Eren’s voice cut you off before you could say anything.
“Hey,” he said, “it was really nice to see you.”
You couldn’t really believe the situation you were in. You had thought for sure that you would never see Eren again after he moved, yet here he was, standing outside of your house.
“Yeah, you too,” you said, and watched as the wind moved loose pieces of Eren’s hair around his face.
He smiled at you one last time before turning to walk down the pathway leading from your house to the sidewalk.
Before he got too far, he turned around and yelled, “Lock your window from now on!”
You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you.
“I will!” you yelled back and waved at him.
Eren waved too, and then you watched him walk down the street for a few moments before going back inside your house.
After shutting your front dooor as quietly as you could, you walked back up to your room and took a deep breath. What were you supposed to do now?
You couldn’t get Eren out of your mind, still in disbelief that he had just been in your room. You had way too much energy to get back into bed. You looked around at the clothes on your floor and decided that it would be the perfect time to organize your things.
There was a sweater by your door with the name of your college on it. You picked it up and pulled it over your head before getting started.
Little did you know that in a few weeks, your life was going to become more intertwined with Eren’s than you could have ever imagined.
Read part 2 here
#eren yeager#attack on titan#eren x reader#aot anime#jean kirschtien#armin arlert#fanfic#annie leonhardt#historia reiss#ymir#reiner#snk anime#anime#unexpected encounters
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stardust in our bones {constellations on our skin} || i.m.
SUMMARY: Izuku Midoriya is a mausoleum of pain, his masterpieces hung in the form of scars and freckled skin. Sometimes he is overwhelmed by the very public display of his failures, unable to be dismissed even from far away. But you are always there to remind him that even if he is a little damaged, he will always be beautiful in your eyes. And maybe he can come to learn that his scars are but reminders that even if you break, you are not broken.
This is essentially a few different scenes/scenarios all rolled into one fic about Izuku’s freckles and scars. I hope you love it!
PAIRING: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader
RATINGS: M/E+
WARNINGS: mentions of blood, language, smut, dom/sub scenes, scars, mild violence mention, breeding kink, daddy kink, etc.
WORD COUNT: 28.4k+
LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is in the replies of this post! message me to be added/removed!
AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the labor of love that i have produced for my other half @freckledoriya ♡ i hope that this meets your expectations, as it is probably one of the only midoriya fics i will ever write lol. katsuki baby i am so sorry also big shoutout to @k-atsukidayo for making this beautiful header image for me and always reminding me that i’m not as garbage as i think i am ♡
if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!
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Some call him disfigured or discolored.
They focus much too heavily on the outer turmoil taking its toll on his skin instead of the implications of what is happening within his body – the struggle in seeing himself this way and coming to terms with all that he has lost, marked on his body forever in the form of scars.
Marred flesh, crooked knuckles, gnarled bones.
He relives his trauma every time he looks in a mirror, another cut turned to pinkened scar, another use of his quirk marking his body permanently with a plethora of the color red. He wonders for a moment if he will ever feel whole again, or if he will always see himself as this patchwork thing that the universe toys with by ripping apart just to sew it back together again.
Izuku Midoriya is a mausoleum of pain.
And yet, despite all his physical fallacies, you still find him beautiful.
You watched on in horror as his body took on the tolls of being a hero throughout his time at Yuuei. You were but a young, quirkless teenager, begging for a hero who reminded you of what hope used to taste like. Now, after All Might’s demise, your tongue turns sour and anything that might have resembled hope burns to ash in your mouth.
Then Izuku Midoriya became a Pro Hero at the very agency you’ve been working at and you felt that familiar warmth of hope starting to take root in your chest, driving out that darkness that settled once the world lost All Might.
Deku is kind, much kinder than the average man. Or hero, for that matter.
He stops by your desk at least once a week, with either coffee or something sweet, in addition to his paperwork. He’ll chat with you, leaning over your counter with those sparkling emerald eyes, and you start to realize you can get lost in him. He is a gentle reprieve from your otherwise mundane day.
And in the beginning, you saw sun-kissed skin littered with a dark sprinkling of freckles, like little constellations burned into him by the sun. His cheeks are like the expanse of the night sky and you wonder to yourself when he leans in close if you might could find some stars you recognize.
As you grow closer, minutes turned into hours turned into lunch outings, you realize that you truly misjudged how deep his scars run.
They are not just on the surface, but rather cutting deep into his soul until he is marked at the very essence, clouded eyes ever present when he recounts a tale that brought forth yet another scar. You want to reach out and brush his cheeks, but you must restrain yourself because he is a Pro Hero and you are but an office manager, quirkless and insignificant to him.
You busy yourself with memorizing the patterns on his face and neck. You allow your mind to wander from time to time, trailing your gaze down to his exposed collarbones or torso, depending on how rough a mission might leave his suit. When it’s torn at the thighs, you can’t help but to see the smattering of pale freckles against his otherwise tanned skin.
Izuku is kind, you remind yourself as he approaches you with paperwork tucked into his side. There is no other explanation for his long, drawn out talks at your desk, or the flowers currently adorning your countertop.
“Hey, sorry,” he unfurls the bundled package of papers and lays them flat on your desk, “this week has been insane, lots’a villains on the loose. Which I guess just means more paperwork for everyone, huh?”
You chuckle at him, thumbing through the first few sheets to make sure he’s got it all in order. There really is no doubt in your mind that it’s all laid out exactly how it should, that’s just how Deku is, but you want him stationary at your desk for a little while longer, so you check it anyway.
“And more bruises for you heroes,” you smile, tilting your head upward so you can catch the glint in his eyes. “How are you today?”
Midoriya begins to rattle off a long string of muttered words while you check the paperwork. You don’t mind that you can’t necessarily understand everything he’s saying, just to hear the sound of his voice is enough to satiate you for the rest of the day. You smile and nod when you think you should, the smell of the flowers on your desk more intoxicating now that he’s here.
“-I, well, you see, I guess that since I saved their shop, they said I could have unlimited meals, and I, uh, I was wondering if you’d like to go?”
You bite your lip, reigning yourself in because of course he just wants to go out for lunch. There’s nothing more to it. You have been to lunch with him several times, extended breaks thanks to both his hero status and your extra hours you work here and there.
“Sure,” you answer, “we can go over the new manual, I have a few-”
“No.”
You cock your head, brow furrowing, “B-But -I”
Deku shakes his head, green curls bobbing against his forehead, his undercut even more obvious now, “N-No, I mean, I want to go, but like, I want you to go with me.”
“I would be-”
“Without the paperwork.”
“Oh.”
The two of you share a look for longer than necessary and now the flowers’ perfume grows stronger, almost sickeningly sweet as your stomach flips. You rack your brain for the words to say, but each syllable dies on your tongue, sparking against a taste bud. You want to pinch yourself to ground your mind into this version of reality where Deku wants to go on a date with you is the current situation, but you can’t move, frozen in place by his expectant stare.
It must take you too long to respond because Izuku launches into another muttering rant, apologizing profusely as he blushes from head to toe. Your lips tug into a smile at the sight of his freckles against his reddened skin, and that little break from your psychotic prison allows you to reach forward and grasp him by the hand.
Deku’s jaw snaps shut, eyes widened as he looks down at you, gaze piercing through you as if he had slung a spear through your soul. He’s got a hold on you, he has since the day you first met, but now you know that he’s had you hook, line, and sinker and there was no way you could ever come up for air.
Not that you’d want to.
“I’d love to,” you tell him, voice soft.
His smile matches your own and he squeezes your fingers, the scars on his hands rigid against his otherwise smooth skin, “It’s a date.”
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As time passed, the bruised ribs and shattered bones multiple. The Pro Hero, Deku, is well-known for his gnarled hand, knuckles swollen, and scars carved into his body like veins in a slab of marble. He finds you after each mission, wrapped in gauze and taped back together, and you are the one left to mend the untouchable pieces of him once the surgeons have done all that they can for the surface wounds.
“You should be more careful,” you warn him, hands reaching for his face to palm over his cheeks in worry.
Midoriya laughs, but it is cut short by a wince as he grabs for his rib cage. You lurch forward to steady his frame, but it is of no use, his palm already outstretched to keep you at bay. The frown on your face only deepens at his motions, your brow furrowing together to wrinkle the skin of your forehead.
“I’m fine,” he reassures you once he can stand up right to his full height again, “thank you, for coming and picking me up.”
The pads of your hands find his face again, thumbs pressed into his cheeks, fingerprints grazing over the speckled skin. It’s as if you’re counting them to make sure that none of them have been wiped away from the last time you saw him; like you could keep track of them like inventory if you tried hard enough. The furrow in your brow tells him that he hasn’t done a good enough job at reassuring you, so he steps closer, a knee between your thighs, “I promise I’m okay. They patched me up! All better now.”
All better now.
The words seem shallow, like they can’t possibly touch all of the broken pieces between the two of you. Every time he bares his soul on the battlefield, he comes away changed, a different person than you last saw. He won’t show the world, but at least he will show you.
“Yeah?” Your voice is cutting, patience wearing thin, jaw quivering under the sheer force of the bite of your teeth, “And what about the next time, when they can’t fix you?”
Deku does not have an answer for you then, the question weighing between the two of you like the world caught between your shoulders. At least the answer he can think up is not one that he wants you to hear, let alone one you might take in stride.
Instead of trying to babble on about the efficiencies of agency surgeons and statistics and whatnot, he takes you by the wrists, circling his fingers around your pounding pulse. A gentle laugh bubbles in his chest and it makes you forget about the pain he has to be in for but a mere moment as he looks you in the eyes.
“I’m a hero,” Izuku answers, voice grating against his throat as his eyes bore into you like he’s telling you some enormous secret you must keep to yourself, “and the hero always wins. No matter what.”
As much as your bleeding, apologetic heart wants to believe him, to lap up every word that he’s spewing to you like syrup, your mind can’t quite agree. You’ve spent too many late nights lying awake, wondering when you’ll get the call that he has fallen prey to a villain’s decaying touch, or when he will have been captured and tortured to the brink of insanity, a shell of the man he used to be all that’s left when they find him. Every horror story has played out on the back of your eyelids when you fall asleep, and yet you know there will never be anything you can do to put him back in the little box you first found him in, to protect him and keep him safe.
You push all of those thoughts away, knowing that they will only dampen your spirit for now, and you’d much rather focus on his darling freckled face while you take your afternoon walk. He insists, despite his injuries, that he won’t miss an afternoon walk with you. And it appears that he’s healing even as more time passes, the lingering effects of Recovery Girl’s quirk in combination with quirk-laced drugs mending his body after he’s left the operating room.
Taking in the sight before you – this beautiful, Adonis-like man, with golden cheeks and an innocent sheen in his glittering green irises – you’re overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him, so you charge forward and do just that. Your hands find his neck, searching for the hairline lightning strike scars that litter his body from past injuries and fights.
Unbeknownst to him, you keep your eyes open so you can watch as his translucent lids flutter, orbs moving beneath the skin as he’s unsure of what part of you in his imagination to settle on. This way you’re able to see as the apples of his cheeks slowly start to burn deeper shades of red to match his ears and neck.
As you pull away, falling back onto your heels, you drink him in as the light glimmers down on his skin, making him look almost golden in the afternoon sunshine. There is a string connected to your heart that tugs whenever you see the man standing before you, and now is no exception.
“C’mon,” you slot your knuckles between his, tenderly brushing your thumb over the large expanse of scar tissue on the back of his palm, “let’s go.”
Izuku pulls you closer and it’s like another piece of him has fallen into place, your body slotting just right against his side, like you were made for each other. One to match the other, a balance to end all imbalances.
A complete set.
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The knock on your door makes you jump, shuddering beneath your fleece blanket.
You rub your eyes and stand to your feet, leaving the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It’s late, so you imagine it’s most likely just a package delivery.
You’re beyond surprised to see a bleeding Izuku Midoriya slumped forward, using his forearm to hold himself steady in your doorway. You gasp, your blanket dropping away from your shoulders to pool at your feet, launching yourself forward to catch him before he can topple to the ground.
“Izuku,” you gasp, tucking yourself beneath him so he can use you for support.
He laughs, but it turns into a wheezing string of coughs. You help him hobble through the threshold towards the kitchen, sitting him down close to the sink so you can clean him up. Tilting his head back, you look into his eyes and pray that they dilate. When his pupils shrink, you let loose a breath held captive in your lungs.
It’s hard not to think about the reality that this will add another scar to his tally. His whole body seems like a counter, really, with strikes and slashes marring his skin, turning it pink and keeping track of every battle.
Midoriya reaches up to cradle your face in his palm, fingertips brushing over the smooth skin of your cheeks, directly contrasted with his own rough complexion, “I needed to see you.”
“No,” you shake your head and squat down in front of him, tears stinging the backs of your eyes as you try to take in every part of him that’s bleeding, “you need to see a doctor!”
Before you can protest him any further, Izuku leans forward to crush your mouth beneath his own. He whimpers in pain as he kisses you, but it doesn’t stop him. In fact, it almost stirs him forward, spurring him to cup your face with his hands as tears track down to cut through the crimson lines on his cheeks.
Izuku Midoriya is nothing short of an enigma. Here he is, bruised and bleeding, but he wrought his way to find you despite all of the pain. You wish you could burden some of it on his behalf, taking up the mantle of his own personal Atlas, meant to shoulder the weight of his existence so he can catch a quick breath.
His forehead touches yours as he pulls away, a sobbing gasp parting his mouth, “I’ll be fine. I just need you.”
You brush his hair away from his eyes, forcing him to look at you with the tender turn of your wrist. His right eye is bruised and swelling itself shut, blood caked from his brow to his jaw, pouring steadily from the wound he’s got split open on his head.
The only thought running through your mind, creating a path of worn ground against your cerebrum, is that this will be but another one to add to the collection; another piece of art to hang in his mausoleum. Judging by the amount of blood caked in his hair and brow, and the depth of the wound, it will surely leave a tattered scar of flesh behind.
An errant thought crosses your mind then – will he have such painful memories of this specific wound? Or will he recall this one to be the scar that brought him back to you?
You can’t help it when your lower lip trembles. You can never be surprised at the story of this scar’s origin – it will be engrained in your mind forever. Despite your adoration for the hero, you share in his pain, your own body wincing as a new trickle of crimson stains his temple. You tense your jaw, the muscles in your neck quivering under the strain of your ministrations. Even if he remembers this night fondly, you know that every time you glance at the healed section of his body, you’ll remember his tears, his debilitating pain.
“I’m calling Toshinori,” you grit your teeth, steeling your will, “you shouldn’t be here.”
“I let him know I was coming.” Izuku inhales in short bursts; it’s all his chest can handle before splintering pain streaks through his lungs like lightning. He winces as he shifts, one hand drifting to your hip. He dips his thumb beneath the fabric of your top, a shirt he recognizes as his own based on the size of it as it fully engulfs your figure. His logo is on the center, bright green text in stark contrast to the dark grey fabric.
A wave of pride swells within him, starting at the base of his back and building upward like effervescent champagne bubbles floating to the surface. He opens his mouth to set them free in the form of smothering kisses, his lips traveling to every available expanse of your skin he can find.
Deku is a force of nature, a whirlwind you cannot reckon with, so instead you succumb to him.
You allow him to swallow you whole for the first time, diving deeper into the eye of his storm until he is swirling around you and suffocating you. But you do not care. If this is how you have to go, with his tongue holding you hostage, hands like anchors on your hips, dragging you deeper until all you know is the darkness, then you are fine with that.
You’d gladly drown as long as he was the one holding you down.
But Izuku Midoriya is not the dark. He is anything but.
So, instead of burning your breath with his own oxygen, he fills you to the brim with light. He is a sunbeam incarnate, pushing through every crack in your bones to cement them with his kindness. His fingers, while biting into your hips, send a singing sensation up into your skin until you can’t help but smile into his kiss. They are rough with tattered flesh, scars of the past and present plaguing his body like a parasite, eating away at his skin until no longer has anything left to give.
Deku doesn’t wince when you sink down on top of him, settling your body against his thighs. Instead he wraps his arms around you to give you some kind of solace, palms searching your shoulders for the perfect place to rest. His fingers are warm beneath your shirt as his fingers seek out the curve of your spine.
The pure thickness of his body is not lost on you, not now. Your hands travel over his shoulders, his muscles rippling beneath the pads of your fingers. You shiver when he holds you closer, your chest flush with his, the tactile pleasure from his rough skin making your toes curl.
His shoulders are riddled with tiny, slicing scars, a light pink color in contrast to his standard tanned skin. You look for scar after scar, appreciating the damaged parts of him just as much as the smooth ones. You moan when both of his hands squeeze your waist, the pure size of him a gentle reminder as his palms engulf your ribs, his knuckles counting the bones as he runs his hands up and down.
“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs as he disconnects his mouth from yours, tears settled in his irises, making them glassy, “the villain I-I fought, th-they had a canceling quirk, and they almost got me.”
You know that got me is the safer, calmer equivalent of killed me. His kindness oozes like honey into every facet of him, filling the cracks like veins of marble. Your heart squeezes within your chest at the reality that he could have been lost to you, and suddenly the wounds on his body matter a little less.
No, now it is all about having him here, dense and hot beneath your body. Your fingertips tremble at the thought of him being a ghost of the past, something you once had a hold of, but now is nothing but a memory. You feel hot tears drip over your lashes, clumping up at the base of your eyelids as they flow freely. You sniffle, your hands finding the back of his head to cradle tenderly.
Izuku’s voice is soft, his cheeks gleaming red as he admits his next words, “You were all I could think about.”
Your voice breaks with a sob and you hold him tight around the neck, surging forward to kiss him soundly on the mouth. Izuku wraps his arms around your whole body, holding you snugly as he tilts his head for a better angle. You relish in the warmth he provides, his solid presence giving you comfort as you try to drink him in, pushing aside all the thoughts of potentially never having him like this again.
It’s not even about the way your stomach turns as his tongue licks at the seam of your lips, or how hot your body grows as he engulfs you like a flame. No, it is something beautiful and pristine, something that curls around your spine and bolsters it, holding you upright with confidence. Izuku has given you something you haven’t had in so long that you almost can’t put a name to it.
Peace.
There is an undeniable calm that washes over you whenever he is around, whether it be by distance or severe closeness. He suffocates you in his light no matter how far away he is; purely by knowing that he is alive, your heart quiets in your chest. You feel safer as you walk down the streets, the very notion that he will always be there, watching from wherever he may be, builds your bones stronger so you can walk with confidence.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” you gasp, coming up for air. You don’t go far, your nose nudging over his cheek as you pant quickly, your chest heaving. “I-I can’t do this without you.”
“Hey,” Deku’s voice is calm, his palms reaching up the back of your shoulders to cover you entirely in his heat. All you want is to coat yourself in him from top to bottom, let him claim you however he needs to, so you never have to let this go. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
You open your eyes as he nudges his nose over the bow of your lips, kissing your chin tenderly. Your pupils dilate as you take in the smattering of dark freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks, painting his skin erratically so that you know he must be a work of art, a gift from the gods down to mankind. He is too perfect to be anything else.
Your forehead drops as you let out a shaky breath, steadying yourself with your grip on his shoulders. “I-I know, I just…”
Izuku repositions his hands so they’re beneath your top, the warm pads of his fingertips leaving a blazing trail of fire behind as he maps out the curves of your body. You watch as his ripped costume falls in tattered shreds on his shoulders, giving way to the pretty expanse of skin usually hidden beneath it.
The sight of his flayed skin, coated in scars and painted with beauty marks, makes your spine rattle within your frame. Your fingers drift to the bared parts of his body on instinct, a primal need settling in the pit of your stomach, and you trace over the white, lightning-like scars. Your thumb brushes over his collarbone, as if you could sweep away his freckles to leave behind unmarked skin.
Your mind wanders, thoughts branching out to wonder if there even is a patch of his skin that is pure, unmarred by any form of markings.
Izuku must follow your train of thought, because he peels his hands away from your body to tug his costume at the waist, unbuckling his belt and letting it fall to the floor before he pulls his shirt over his head, or what remains of it. The tattered fabric is in a bloody, dirty heap on the floor, but you barely have the wherewithal to notice when he is bared in front of you.
A gasp parts your mouth when you take in his nude torso. He is a plethora of contours and shadows, sinew holding his muscles together in a taut fashion. Your hands are hovering in front of his chest, darkened nipples piqued under the cool air blowing from the vent above. You have to force yourself to swallow, pent-up tension making your throat bob.
“See?” Izuku’s voice is hoarse, as if he’s holding himself back from tears, “I’m right here.”
Your eyes try to find a part of him that isn’t doused in speckles, the darkened patches of skin making him look even tanner. He has them sprinkled all over his body, clumps of them gathering together like tiny nebulas. Your gaze slowly drags down from his collarbones to his abdomen, the freckled dots like destinations on a treasure map, leading you to one central location.
When you make eye contact with the trail of dark hair that starts at his navel, thin and then growing thicker, you feel your stomach turn over. You lick your drying lips, a heat beginning to build up in your core. You would clench your thighs together, but the way you’re straddling him currently makes that impossible. Instead, you roll your hips forward so you can scoot further up his lap.
It’s like you don’t believe what you see in front of you – that he’s truly here, open and bare in front of you, vulnerable in every sense of the word. The wound on his head has stopped bleeding, but that doesn’t mean that he’s okay.
“Touch me.”
You tilt your head, confused by his forward command. Your cheeks burn bright with a blush and he chuckles at the sight of you so flustered. Midoriya takes you by the hands, guiding your touch to his chest first.
The tips of your fingers blaze when they find a ragged scar that stretches across the entirety of his pectoral, “I have so many of these ugly things.”
“How many?” you find yourself asking, the filter hard to find when he has you about ready to come undone like this. You feel yourself go lightheaded, hazy at the feel of his rough skin, his heart beating irregularly beneath your touch.
His voice is heavy when he answers, “I lost count.”
Your eyes snap upward to find the usual playful green color of his irises has faded to a pale jade shade, “Izu, hey-”
Deku swallows an emotional lump in his throat, eyelids fluttering at the pain of it before he inhales a full breath. His chest brushes up against yours and you have to withhold the whine that desperately wants to slip from your lips.
“I don’t understand why people are so fascinated with them,” his tone is teetering on the wrong side of angry, lips curled in a downward snarl. He glances south at the rest of his body, pale scars in stark contrast to the rest of his tanned body. “They’re just reminders of my failure.”
You are forceful when you pull his jaw upward, yanking him to face you before you kiss him harshly. Your intense kiss makes him gasp, his hips rolling up into you despite the pain he’s in. Your palms are bruising on his cheeks, but you don’t care because at least he’s kissing you. Deku’s fingertips finally make their way to your hips where he seeks purchase against your ribcage. His digits are tantalizing as he roams the expanse of your midsection.
“You’re my hero,” your voice is breathless and broken when you release him for oxygen. “Don’t you ever call yourself a failure again.”
Izuku’s throat bobs as he basks in your ferocity – eyes ablaze and fingertips harsh as you hold him in place. He finds himself nodding without really knowing what you’ve said, but he supposes that’s just the effect you have on him. You have taken root in his soul, the galaxy in your eyes blacking out everything else in his mind, allowing him not even a moment to let self-doubt creep in and steal away his faith.
After all, in his eyes, you are his whole world, shattered stars and all.
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“You picked dinner, so I get to pick the movie,” you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, your palms splayed against his chest as you press kisses into his shoulder blades.
You’re obsessed with his back, like some little secret you don’t get to see very often. Tonight the two of you were doing yoga before you ate dinner, so he’s currently clad in only a pair of compression pants that reach his mid-calf, leaving his entire upper body for you to appreciate with your gaze and explorative touches.
You nose over the curve of his spine, kisses open-mouthed as he washes the dishes in the sink. You hear his breath hitch and you wonder if now is a good time to start experimenting with how far you can go. Your eyes roam to the base of his spine, the two small dimples at the start of the swell of his ass making your mouth salivate. You relinquish one hand from his chest to dip your thumb into the cavity his muscles have created, brushing against a cluster of freckles.
It has been some time since you’ve seen him with his shirt off, and many times since then, but you’ve never been able to discover what’s below his belt. Your mind wanders as you suppress the itch in the base of your fingerprints, like the very code of you is designed to strip him down to nothing. You want to know how far his freckles truly go.
In your mind, you believe that he is sprinkled with stardust, paler patches of freckles sporadically placed along his body. He is a canvas, fresh and ready for the constellations to burn into his flesh. You want to swirl your hands over the galaxies imprinted upon him by the gods themselves; as if he were made of marble, ready to carve and curate however they may please.
You take a leap of faith when you dip your fingertips beneath the tight waistband of his joggers. The aborted stutter of his hips combined with the sharp intake of breath from his throat tells you all you need to know.
From here you can see clusters of freckles on the globes of his ass, concentrated mostly near the top, where sunlight can penetrate when he’s not in his hero suit. You have to catch yourself before you drip drool onto his curved backside.
The hand on his chest roams until you find his pebbled nipple, the crevices of your palm washing over the flesh until you hear a muted moan shake his throat. You lean forward, forehead tucked between the cartilage of his shoulder blades so you can feel the heat radiating from him even closer now.
“Can I-”
“Please.”
You’ve never heard him beg before, at least not like this.
It has been some time since your first date, since the first kiss, since the first confession. Your hands start to sweat at the thought of touching his salacious side, pricking with anticipation as you slowly make your way around his hip towards the bulge in his pants. Your tongue stills within your throat as you brush your thumb against the thick tufts of dark green hair at the base of his stomach beneath his navel.
His body is like a roadmap leading you to one desolate place, his skin singing with heat as you grow closer. You can almost make out a whine that he’s clamped his teeth down on to suppress, but that does nothing to deter you from finding a dozen other ways to elicit an infinite number of those same prurient sounds from his lungs.
When the outside of your palm brushes against the throbbing thickness held tight within his spandex, you feel your whole-body tense. Izuku gulps audibly and you have to hold in something that is a mix of a gasp and a giggle.
You reach your free hand down from his chest to pull at the band of his pants, freeing his cock from the confines of the fabric. You can hear the bob of it against his stomach and you let out a heated breath that spills down over his spine. He shivers and you think that maybe you have him just as captivated as he usually has you.
The thought is thrilling. It bolsters your confidence and allows you the audacity to lean forward and slowly trail your fingers along the base of his cock, tickling him in the most tentative way possible. He grits his teeth and you can feel his buttocks clench in front of you as he tries his hardest not to buck forward and ruin your moment.
You kiss the smattering of freckles near the top of his right shoulder, lavishing the area with your tongue as you trail your thumb up the base of his cock until you reach the tip. You can feel the bead of pre-come beneath the print of your finger and you collect it with the ridges of your digit before dragging it downward to coat him before you begin to pump your hand.
He is thick in your hand, unforgivingly hard as his cock pulses within your grasp. You can tell that it’s taking all of his restraint not to throw his head back and release obscene sounds from his throat, like his desire is caged within his chest, begging to be let out with each erratic heartbeat.
Your tongue licks over his shoulders and you know that he must be imagining what your mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock based on the mewling whimpers that leave his tongue. You can hear him panting, but you want to see him, desperate and whining, so you tug on his waistline with your free palm.
It takes him a moment, his eyes glistening with bliss and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, but you manage to get him turned so he’s facing you. Your eyes drag slowly down the entire expanse of his torso, catching on his pert nipples, bright and pink as they shrink beneath the stinging touch of your fingertips. You catch onto the constellations of freckles drifting along his torso – if you look hard enough, you swear that they move. Your eyes cross when you look too closely, so instead you allow your attention to drop lower.
Izuku’s mouth is wide open as your eyes fall to the vee of his hips, the paler freckles placed there making you smile. You lower yourself to your knees, semi-uncomfortable thanks to the tile of the kitchen, but you don’t care. Right now, your focus is singled in on one thing and one thing alone.
You lick your lips and the closeness of your tongue to his cock makes Izuku blush in expectancy. There is a little line of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth if you blink your eyes free of lust. You pump him another time in your hand, collecting the new wash of pre from his tip to lubricate his cock. As you do so, your eyes drift to the base of him where his green pubic hair collects in a dark tuft. You can’t decide which part of him to focus on because it’s all too much.
Somehow, he has a scar that runs from the innermost part of his thigh upward, just beneath his balls. You wince at the thought of what had to have caused that, and how much it hurt. You allow one hand to drift over the scar as your eyes come into contact with the patch of freckles hidden beneath the trail of dark, coarse hair that is usually hidden by his clothing.
As you pump your hand down to the base of him, you use your thumb to brush some of the hair away, curious as to how dark the freckles are there. Izuku is completely maddened by your touch, fallen under the enchantment of your hands. He doesn’t even mind that you’ve taken a break from dragging your soft hand around his dick, his mind already blitzed from the short burst of ministrations you have already administered.
You hum as you kiss along the taut skin of his lower abdomen, dragging your lips and tongue towards the thick trail of hair that leads you to his cock. It’s almost like the freckled areas taste different, although you’ve probably made all of that up in your mind. And yet, you don’t mind that it’s more of a fantasy instead of a reality, relishing in the sweetness, nonetheless.
“Fuck,” you hear from above you, one of his hands hung in midair, unsure of whether to grab you or the counter. The other palm grips into his hair and the scalp, tugging to keep himself grounded so he does not float away at the gentle caress of your tongue against his skin.
The bow of your lips purses as you kiss upward to the head of his cock, bright red and teeming with pre-come. The silvery, pearlescent bud of arousal makes your mouth water and you find that you can’t help yourself as you encircle your lips around the tip of him.
Izuku is immediately broken from whatever resilience he was able to gather, his hips bucking forward as he slams both hands into the counter. Little broken bits of marble fall into your hair but you don’t care, instead indulging yourself in watching his reaction to your movements. Midoriya’s pupils are blown wide, completely taken over his usually wide irises. The green bleeds black, lust like a cloud misting in his line of sight.
As his upper body tenses, you’re able to see every contour of muscle, every cord of sinew, and you can’t help it when drool dribbles down your chin onto the tile floor. You moan against the head of his cock, taking another inch of him in as you slide forward to get more comfortable. The sound of his nails creaking against the countertop makes your cunt flutter from within the cotton of your panties, clenching around nothing as you imagine the thickness of him in your mouth against your glutinous walls, squeezing him for all the come he can produce.
You trail one hand around the curling scars on his thigh, thumbprint finding the ridges of the expansive scar, the raised skin making your heart ache for a moment before you refocus on his dick. Your eyes almost cross as you try to focus on the freckles now hidden once more by the thick green hair at the bottom of his belly.
As you retreat backward, your line of sight continues down the length of his cock to realize that he has a littering of freckles of varying shapes, sizes, and colors, scattered all along the entire shaft of his dick, and even a few on the tip. You can’t help it when you smile, licking at them as if they could be removed if you lapped at the skin harshly enough.
It is the small things such as this that make your time with Izuku Midoriya so enjoyable. You are learning something about him every day, something even more interesting and exciting than the last.
Before you can slip your lips further down his length, his hand reaches up to clean the debris from your hair, a broken apology parting his lips momentarily. You look up at him, the tenderness in his touch making your heart go soft.
“H-Holy,” his hips buck forward when you blink up at him, the base of his throat bobbing as he curses, “shit.”
As you pull away from his cock, Izuku’s chest shudders as he tries to regulate his breathing. He shifts his feet on the tile beneath you trying to keep himself from pushing up onto the balls of his toes so he can keep some semblance of control as you pleasure him.
Izuku turns away from you and you whine, your tongue licking the underside of his cockhead before you ask, “Why won’t you look at me?”
He can barely force the words out of his throat as he gazes down at you briefly, the sounds coming forth berated and bedraggled, as if he’d dragged barbed wire across the syllables, “I can’t, damn it. I-I’m gonna-”
You take advantage of the line of sight he has on you, opening your mouth wide and taking him in one fell sucking motion.
Midoriya chokes on his own drool, a little silvery string of it falling in midair until it creates a droplet on the crown of your head. He can’t even find the focus to apologize, his knuckles white as he grips the countertop to keep himself sane.
The word he squeaks out next makes you smile, your teeth grazing his dick: “-come.”
You take it as a challenge, gripping his thighs with your nails, digging crescent moons into his pretty tan skin, adding the shapes to his star-like freckled skin, creating a whole galaxy with a simple bruising touch. Izuku can’t help it as his hips stutter forward, the tip of his cock bucking into the back of your mouth to make you gag.
He’s not sure how you do it, with his cock jammed all the way into the back of your throat, but somehow you have the wherewithal to cup his balls in one hand as the other uses his leg like an anchor to stay hovering on your toes. You never cease to amaze him, even now as you’re on your knees and worshipping his cock like your life might depend on it.
“Touch me,” you whimper as you come up for air, “if you won’t look at me, touch me, please.”
Izuku licks his lips and barely has it in him to pull his hand from the counter, but somehow, he manages it. His hand threads through your locks, fingertips buzzing with a mixture of adrenaline and desire. The lust has his whole being singing with anticipation as you bring him to the precipice of arousal. He knows that he won’t last much longer, especially not with you drooling around his cock and bobbing your head in perfect rhythm. And now that he can feel you beneath his fingers, he’s not sure if he’ll even be able to speak coherently when this is all over with.
His hands are exploratory in your hair, dipping in and out of your tresses like waves, finding your scalp to scratch lightly, eliciting a husky moan from your throat. The vibrations of your sounds make his cock pulse, twitching against your tongue as you suck him deeper. Izuku isn’t sure how there is anymore of your throat for him to fuck, but when you hollow out your cheeks, he slides further in, and the pleasure starts to coil around the base of his spine as he’s worked towards his high.
“Baby, I-I’m close,” Izuku manages to blurt when he’s coherent enough, your tongue sweeping down the vein on the underside of his dick. He gasps for breath, his head hanging forward, so his dark curls sweep over his lashes to hide his pretty orbs from you. He grunts, as he ruts up into you, “Real close, hell.”
You take it as a challenge, stiffening your posture so you can force your head up and down, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto your pants, but you don’t care. The way his hands grip into your scalp and the quivering of his thighs as he holds off his own release are but a war cry for you, begging your body to go further, to force that release from within his body.
“Come for me, Izu,” you whimper against his cock, the words muffled by the thick skin of him. You try your best to pout, looking innocent with eyes blown wide, “Please, I wanna taste you. So bad.”
His jaw falls slack, and you know that he’s close, his tip is practically rock hard against your teeth. You hollow out your cheeks and moan as you slowly suck him as hard as you can manage with your jaw starting to ache from the stretch of him. Your pussy clamps around nothing, begging for his girth within your walls.
A few heaving breaths stretch his chest, the muscles of his pectorals rippling in strain as he tries to hold himself back, to respectfully come undone instead of sputtering out like a teenager. You nod with his cock still in your mouth, your tongue padding over the sensitive underside. A wuthering whimper breaks within his throat and you feel his thighs clench one final time before he’s coming apart between your cheeks.
You try to breathe through your nose, his cock buried all the way in your mouth so his come hits in spurts against the back of your throat. You use your hands dug into the plush flesh of his ass to steady yourself, his body uncaring to the pain as long as he’s bucking up into your mouth. His hand in your hair goes tight before falling slack, gentle fingertips wafting through your tresses aimlessly.
You tilt your head back as he begins to soften within your lips, trying to keep his come from dribbling out the corners of your mouth. You catch most of it, the slightly sweet taste of it helping it to go down smoother. You suck him one more time, trying to pull the rest of the arousal from his slit, and a high-pitched whine breaks through the calm of the air like shattering glass.
“S-Sorry,” he moans as his eyes screw shut, one of his palms latching onto the countertop again.
A content laugh turns your lips upward and you kiss the head of his cock before he helps you rise back to your feet. Before you’re upright again, he bolsters forward to kiss you square on the lips. His tongue delves between your teeth, mapping out the curves of your gums as he tastes his spend in each crevice of your mouth.
The moan that reverberates from his chest makes your toes curl, your hands curling to fists against his chest as he presses further into you, trying to be flush with your entire body. You can barely breath as he suffocates you lovingly, bringing stars into your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your hands spread out over the plane of his chest, the tips of your fingers searching for his scars, the placement of them burnt into your mind like a map.
Deku pulls away with a panting string of apologies mixed with appreciation, his irises overtaking his pupils now that he’s come down from his high. His hands search your face and then your arms, taking in every inch of you as he kisses all over your face.
You giggle, wrapping your fingers around his neck to play with the sharp hair at the nape of his neck, the undercut style making his locks dense and coarse up to his ears where the straight line runs.
“What movie do you want to watch?” you ask breathlessly, scrunching your nose as he kisses the tip of it.
Izuku is winded when he nudges his nose against yours, a laugh on the tip of his tongue, “I don’t fucking care.”
You roll your lips together, pushing yourself up on your toes to kiss his mouth chastely, “We might have to do that more often if I’m going to get whatever I want each time.”
The thought of you going down on him makes his heart stutter within the cage of his ribs, stars spread out and blinding against the backs of his lids. He can already imagine the sight of you on your knees, your lips around him as you moan and writhe while he holds your hair tight within his fist…
“Earth to Izuku?” you pat his cheek playfully. “You with us?”
His voice is stuttered as he answers you, a blissful glassiness still coating his irises, “Y-Yeah, I’m right here. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
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“C’mon, Princess, you can take it, I know you can,” he murmurs into midair, voice stern but breathy, sending a shiver down your spine.
You lick at the head of his cock, engorged and bright red, beads of pre-come bubbling out of his slit, awaiting you to catch them with your tongue. You lap over the taut, pinkened skin, eyes fluttering closed at the taste of him – a fine combination of salty and sweet. You can’t help the draw of your attention to the tanned splotches covering him like stardust, mapping out what would seem to be a different set of constellations every time you look too long.
Izuku’s hand is woven into your hair carefully, so he does not pinch your scalp, but he can still hold onto the makeshift ponytail he’s created with his fingers bunched around your tresses. You whimper, eyes torn from his freckled skin, as he guides your mouth closer to his cock, the head of him brushing against your closed lips.
His voice is thick with restraint, his throat bobbing at the sight of your pretty, jeweled irises looking between him and his cock, wondering how you’re going to take the thick of him between your plush little lips. Your eyes are almost crossed as you try to count his freckles, as if you could pay that close of attention when he’s got you on your knees.
“Gonna be a good girl for me, Angel?” Deku is patronizingly kind as he brushes his knuckles over the curve of your jaw. Your eyes zero in on the scarred stripes along his palm and forearm, your fingertips reaching up to slowly drag across the pale lines that tell a story you’ve heard a dozen times. Izuku makes an audible noise of consideration at your marveling, “You were just beggin’ me for my cock, and now you won’t even open your mouth for me?”
He sounds like he’s pouting, lower lip jutted out just enough for it to look convincing. You swallow your inhibitions, throat bobbing when he brushes his cock along the hollows of your cheeks, the head of him smearing what remains of his pre onto your skin. He chuckles as you gasp, your jaw hung open just enough for him to rut up into your mouth.
You gag around him, lurching forward as tears coat your lashes. You whimper, looking up to him like he might save you from what’s to come. But no, you asked for this. You begged him to let you taste his cock, to have him spill his fullest load onto your tongue and force you to swallow.
“Such a pretty girl,” his words turn to a moan as you take him to the base, forcing yourself to breathe evenly so you won’t gag around him again. His hand in your hair tightens and you take a deep breath, the short, stubbled pubic hairs surrounding his cock doing little to hide the freckles on his smooth skin.
You’re not sure why you love them so much – the freckles.
They are such a distraction that you don’t notice Izuku yanking you by the ponytail until you come off his cock with a loud pop. You whine, keening forward to try and lick at his tip, “I-Izu-please.”
“Uh uh,” he cinches his hand around your hair even tighter, tugging your skin backward until it burns. A smirk lilts his lips, “What’s my name, baby girl?”
Your eyes go wide, pupils swallowing your irises whole. Deku almost misses the color, if it not for the fucked out look that takes their place, telling him exactly what he’s done to you. He bites down on his lower lip, half-hooded lids considering you, “You’re already a mess for me, aren’t you baby? I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“Your cock,” you whine, squinting your eyes so you don’t have to feel his authoritative penetrating your very being. Your thighs tense, pussy clamping down around nothing but thin air, wet with arousal and begging to be full of him. Before Izuku can tell you to correct yourself with a simple syllable, you repeat yourself, “Your cock, Daddy.”
A satisfied expression smooths his features, the red of his cheeks doing little to hide the smattering of freckles to match those littered across his cock and thighs. You brush your nose against his navel, kissing the gentle swell of muscle beneath it. Izuku licks his lips, hips rolling forward so his cock brushes over the length of your throat.
“That’s’a good girl.” Deku purses his lips as you kiss down his shaft, your tongue lapping over every inch of him. Your eyes are level with his pubic bone, searching for the tanned droplets of sunshine incarnate on his skin, hidden beneath dark tufts of jade hair curled around the base of his cock.
Before you take him between your lips, you lick a stripe from the underside of his shaft up to his navel. You can’t help yourself as the dark smattering of freckles call out to you, a reminder that even though he is tainted by the war of the world, you still have these small victories to come back to. You worship his taut skin with your lips and tongue, the muscle parting your mouth to lick at his body.
Izuku’s fingers weave into the hair at the base of your head, eyes watching you closely as you pay special attention to the various patches of densely packed freckles. You nose over his hipbone, breathing slowly, the wash of warmth prickling his skin and forcing him up on his toes as he reacts to it.
There is a large part of him that wants you to stop. Not because he’s selfish enough to force you to pay attention to the throbbing heat between his legs, but rather because your praise is something that makes him feel even more unworthy. He is self-conscious of his body, both the discolored spots that he’s never able to be rid of in tandem with the ragged rips in his flesh that you seem to love so much. He has never understood your fascination with his body, but you are relentless with your affections.
It comes in many forms. At times it is the way you run your fingertips over his shoulders when you’re laying together, and other times it is your mouth finding his knuckles when you think he’s asleep. You are unashamed to lavish his body with unending passion, and even the smallest of deformities that he believes are his secret, you manage to find.
You loll your tongue out to let the collected spit pool over his length, sucking at the head when you get to it. Deku rubs his thumb against your neck, fingertips searching your hair for purchase. He’s taken aback when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him deep into the heat of your mouth. His eyes go wide, but he’s thankful you can’t see with the way his head is thrown back.
“Fuck, baby,” his hand twitches against your scalp, “fuck, this mouth.”
He starts rolling his hips forward, pumping himself in and out of your mouth like he might your pussy. You feel drool seeping out of the corners of your lips but you don’t dare break away, because that would bring forth a punishment, and your cunt is already sopping wet with the anticipation of his cock buried deep within you. Deku grunts, his chest vibrating with the sound, and he holds you still with the hand against your head.
You reach up to find his free palm, lacing your fingers together at the knuckle, using him as some sort of an anchor to reality as the subservient headspace begins to take over. It washes through you like a balm, a warm sensation that feels like home. Your eyelids fall over your irises, hiding your expression from him, but he can tell the way you feel by your ministrations against his hand and on his cock. You are desperate for him, one hand clutching his thigh until your nails dig in and leave tiny crescent moon prints behind.
You like to think of his freckles as stars, your marks making him more like the night sky with each grip. You moan as you hold yourself at the base of him, tongue lapping around his length from within your mouth. Your thumb finds a familiar scar on the back of his hand, knuckles marred from battle and bravery.
It’s times like these that you want to cry for him, for what his body has endured. It’s the reason you want to worship every inch of him, to give him what he deserves because god knows the world will never give him back what he’s due. So here you sit, perched in front of him like a little dove, eyes blown to hell and your metaphorical wings spread wide as you take him for all he’s worth.
Izuku can’t take it any longer – the tenderness of your touch mixed with the obedient look in your eyes. It’s all too much, making his head spin at your sincerity.
“C’mere,” he whispers, tugging you by the throat, gently but firmly.
And you follow him, like you would follow him anywhere.
You step forward dumbly, blindly going wherever he tells you. He guides you to the bed, turning you over so your face is pressed into the coolness of the sheets, your bright red cheeks thankful for the change in temperature. You angle your ass upward perfect, round globes ripe for his hands to lay into.
“Such a sloppy little pussy, baby,” he murmurs against the skin of your lower back as he kisses down your spine. His middle finger runs up and down the length of your slit, collecting the silvery strands against his digit, “All this just for me?”
“All for you, Daddy, all for you, promise,” you’re whimpering out, cunt desperately clenched as you try to trap his finger in your heat. “Please, I want you so bad, need your cock, Daddy.”
Izuku pushes his finger into your core, curling it up towards that special spot that it seems only he can find. His finger is thick, knuckle curved in just the right way that it drags along your walls salaciously, eliciting a loud, careening moan from your mouth. You muffle your sounds into the mattress, but Midoriya is having none of that.
He yanks you by the throat, fingers digging deep into your skin until you’re sure that you’ll have bruises, “Nah uh, little one. I want to hear you scream for me.”
Midoriya pumps his finger into you mercilessly, your arousal coating him down to the palm, making your thighs slick. You whimper, your lewd sounds echoing off the walls. You can feel the tip of his cock against your ass, throbbing with heat, and there’s nothing you can do to stop yourself from imagining it in place of his fingers.
“I know you can be louder, slut,” Deku pinches your neck tighter in his grip, “I want the neighbors to know my name when we’re through.”
You try to protest but it’s cut short when his finger rams into you, two knuckles deep, a sharp cry splitting your throat wide open. The sound morphs into a whimper, tears stinging in the corners of your eyes.
Deku leans forward to kiss between your shoulder blades, his voice hoarse with want when he speaks, “That’s my girl. Do it again.”
He relinquishes your throat to start slapping your ass, his eyes unable to fall away from your pretty skin marked red from his ministrations. You grit your teeth together so you can better withstand the pain, giving yourself something else to focus on besides his unrelenting spankings.
“Daddy, harder,” you whine, your ass stinging but not so much that you can’t follow through on your plea.
A dark chuckle reverberates throughout the room, Midoriya’s smirk from earlier returning. If you could see his eyes, you’d notice the way his pupils have completely overtaken his emerald orbs, giving way to the parts of him that want to make you hurt only so he can be the one to soothe you all better.
He indulges you, palm stretched wider so he can land harder smacks to your cheeks. Now he’s got two fingers in you, filling your cunt with his knuckles, the scars against them giving you friction that makes you see stars. He pumps you in time with his spankings, slow but merciless. Deku is careful not to go too far, no matter how difficult that might be with the lust that clouds his vision, painting his sight bright red.
“Good girl,” he rewards you by stopping, grabbing your plush ass in his fingertips, digging blunt nails into your skin so it stings even harsher.
You rut your hips back against his hand at the sudden jolt of pain, tears dripping from your eyelids to the mattress, staining the sheets a darker shade. You whimper, your mind unable to focus on any one stimulation – your ass, your cunt, or your throat.
“You think you’re ready for my cock?” he asks, although you know it to be rhetorical.
You’re nodding your head anyway, desperately begging inaudibly for him to stuff you full, your cunt suffocating around his cock as he pounds into you. Deku slowly drags his hand from your pussy, words dripping just like your core, “What was that, Princess? I couldn’t hear you.”
Now you’re foaming at the mouth to force syllables from between your teeth, blubbering around tears. You sniffle, frustrated with your own headspace and timid with the thought of punishment for not answering quick enough, “Y-Yes, Daddy. I-I’m ready.”
“Hey,” he runs his hand, searing from the spankings, up the length of your spine, fingertips mapping out each vertebra, “you still with me, baby?”
You turn to look over your shoulder when he brushes his thumb over the little blooming bruises on your neck, evidence of his fingers claiming you for his own, “Yeah, I-I’m right here.”
A smile tugs on his lips, his fingers finally pulled from your sopping heat to coat his cock in your slick. You whimper at the loss of contact, cunt fluttering around nothing as you beg for him to fill you up again, any way he chooses.
And he obliges you, bottoming out within the first stroke.
You can’t help it when a fresh set of saltine droplets track down your cheeks, your head thrown back in pleasure as he holds himself steady, his pelvis flush with your ass. It still burns, the stinging of skin-on-skin doing little to quell the ache from his spankings. You lick your lips to try and soothe yourself in some way, your throat already crackling from use.
Licking your lips, you gently move back against him, encouraging him, “Daddy, I want you to fuck me. Please, won’t you fuck me?”
Deku sounds like he’s trying to hold back some sort of salacious sound, a strangled noise caught in his throat like barbed wire. You look back at him, chin pressed against your collarbone. It’s the sight of you that does him in, that wants to claim you for every ounce of what you’ve got to give. He wants to mark your body until there is no color remaining but bright purple and blue and red, bruises and scrapes alike adorning your pretty body, letting the whole world know exactly who you belong to.
The thought of sinking his teeth into every available spot of skin that he can find makes his fingers curl tighter around the supple skin of your thighs until you’re crying out for him. You writhe beneath him as opens his eyes, baring even your soul with his stare. His body squirms as he withstands the desire to launch himself at you, feral and promising with his teeth finding your pristine body and marring it for his own selfish cause.
At least then your bodies would match in their markings.
You’d be his own little galaxy; he muses as his hands massage into your thighs to keep himself busy, so he doesn’t follow through on the yearnings rolling around in his mind. He can see you stood next to him, your body littered in affections – hickeys that are blown out all around your body, little nebulas and planets with their swirling colors of purple and blue; long lines of bright pink scratch marks that streak forward like shooting stars curling around your muscles; pierced tooth marks that scatter across your body like stars.
Even though he’s the Number One Pro Hero, Izuku has never felt so whole until he’s balls deep in your pussy, the tip of him tucked up against your cervix so much so that you swear you feel him in your spine. He takes one palm to gently brush over your stomach, the bulge of his cock making his pride swell almost as much as your belly. You are his whole world, whether or not you are just as bruised and battered as he is. He will bear the burden of the scars if it means he can have you like this forever.
“Take me so well, Princess,” he murmurs into the skin of your shoulders, leaning forward so his chest is pressed flush with your back.
He is hot, but not unbearably so. Almost in a way that reminds you he is still there, an anchor for your soul to latch onto in the darkness of the room, holding you firmly to tether you to this version of reality. You grasp the sheets in your hands, desperate to feel him but unable to from this position, so you settle for the thread count instead.
“Please, Daddy, I want to feel you,” you beg him again, whimpers bubbling up into your chest like champagne bubbles. The effervescent feeling is almost too much, too overwhelming, as it rushes to your head quickly. You have to close your eyes, so you do not get dizzy. You see stars as your lids come down over your pupils and the sight of them reminds you of Izuku’s body. So much so that you want to look up at him again, begging him with your words, “Want to touch you.”
Deku obliges you, slowly pumping his tremoring cock in and out of your heat, coating himself in your slick before twisting your body around so you can peer up at him through half-lidded eyes, “Look at this slutty, sloppy pussy. Such a pathetic little mess for me, aren’t’cha?”
“Yes, Daddy, all for you.” You nod, blinking repeatedly to try and keep your eyesight clear so you can make out his beautiful travesty of a body. Despite the absolute adoration held in your pretty orbs, Deku notices that it is not his face you seek out when you first are turned to look at him, instead your eyes drift to the bared parts of his body that he hates most.
It would seem that each time you find him this way, with your hands mapping out his torso underneath your touch, you find a new part of him, a new marking that you don’t remember being there before. Your breath shudders from your lungs and it feels like thunder erupts in your chest when you breathe, “Please, Daddy.”
You are pouting as you start to run your touch up his arms, starting at his wrists where his palms are pinning your hips into the bed. You swirl your thumbnail around the familiar scars of his hands, those old marks from his time at Yuuei, pushing himself to be the best young hero-in-training there ever was. You recall watching the Sports Festival in his first year, the fight with Todoroki Shouto like a burnt ember settled in the back of your mind. You see the fire and the ice, the shuddering arena shaking with the imminent power of the teenager prodigies.
A hum buzzes in your throat as your fingerprints map out the way to his elbows, finding lengthy scars that make you shudder. Your tongue lolls out against your lips as you wish you could patch his body up with your kiss. You know that he does not marvel at the sight of himself in the same way that you might; you put him up on this pedestal, scars and all, and yet he only sees them as a weakness.
The rough patch of tarnished skin on his right bicep has begun to lose its rigidity as time passes. It was one of his first scars and has been worn down with time. Your hand still finds it, though, even as your eyes are screwed shut and he is angled away from you. It’s like you have a map of his body burned into the back of your eyelids, memorized from all of the times that you’ve fallen apart beneath him or comforted him with your touch.
He is patronizing when he speaks next, eyes blown to hell at the sight of you so far gone for him when he hasn’t even brought you to your first orgasm. He can feel you spasming around him, cunt flexing to try and coax him closer to the edge. He is nowhere near the precipice, holding himself off for your sake, wanton to see you come undone around his cock.
Your pupils try their hardest to focus, begging to be drawn to his bedraggled skin, the stark contrast between tan skin and pale scars heightened even further in your blissed-out state. Your palm flattens against the marking on his bicep, the flayed spot even more expansive than your hand in its entirety. You gasp as he ruts up into you painfully quick, your fingers digging into the rugged flesh, nails biting against the ridges.
When he stills within you, it gives you a moment to slacken your hold and trace the corners of the scar, pretending that he is a patchwork quilt, an antique that you’ll never be able to get enough of. You take a breath and use your free hand to find his chest, a lightning-bolt shaped scar that runs from his collarbone down until it fizzles out into a small scratch near where his taut pectorals meet.
Midoriya trails his thumb downward to your clit, brushing the rough pad of his finger against your sensitive bud. You mewl into the mattress, face turning sideways into the pillow as you no longer are able to hold yourself upright. You beg him to fuck you harder, faster, with something more that you know he has not given you yet.
“What do you want, baby girl? Tell Daddy exactly what you want me to do to this pathetic, slutty little pussy.”
You gasp out words, but he cannot make sense of them as they’re lost in the fabric of the sheets. He slams into you once before dragging his cock outward, slowly skimming the tip between your folds, “Louder. Or else I’m spanking you again.”
He thinks for a moment, tilting his head to consider you as he looks down his nose at you, “And I’m flipping you back over.”
“N-No, please, wanna-” You are begging for breath, your inflamed lungs burning with the lack of oxygen, and you can’t make syllables coherent enough for him to understand. You whimper, squeezing your eyes closed as the brunt of his hand comes down hard over your ass repeatedly until you’re screaming.
Izuku is holding you by the ass, both hands dug deep into the plush skin, “Did I fucking stutter?”
You are able to behold one last gaze of his ethereal body, skin marked like the night sky, before he has you with your face dug into the pillow, his cock and hips jackhammering into you from behind. He does not give you but a moment to breath, the fabric of the pillow stuffing your throat as you try to inhale through your mouth. You cough and it causes your cunt to squeeze around his dick. Deku stutters forward, a choking sound echoing in the back of his throat.
“Holy hell,” he mutters, leaning forward to drape himself across your back, reaching around with his hands to pinch at your nipples. “So fuckin’ tight, little one. Such a good girl for me, yeah?”
You whimper out something that sounds like a response, so he takes the lead and starts rutting into you again, the obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing off of the walls. You can’t help the drool that spills from your tongue, wetting the sheets and sticking to your chin. You’re practically in tears as he abuses your pussy with his cock, it only growing as you feel the buildup of his power starting to swell from within him.
The air turns electric, but not nearly hot enough for you to know that he’s turned his quirk on. You force a glance over your shoulder, mewling out something that sounds like a pleading cry for him to turn you back so you can gaze up at him again.
“But I like taking you like this, Princess,” Izuku runs his thumbs over your ass, using the cusp of his power to strike small lightning bolts of seafoam color against the skin of your backside. You jolt at the pain, bucking your hips back into him and he moans, “There you go, baby.”
You whine, curling your toes against his hips from your position. He chuckles at the sign of desperation, sweat glistening down your back from exertion. His hips slam forward again, and you’re sure he’s bruised your cervix this time with how deep he has buried himself into you. There are ridges of scar tissue around his hip bones that you can feel even as he fucks into you from behind, the raised skin making your ass burn from where he has slapped you with the strength of his quirk.
“Daddy, I wanna,” you are panting like a puppy into the sheets, your pussy dripping onto the mattress beneath you. You huff out a breath and squeal when he splits your pussy open again with a particularly rough thrust forward, “Daddy!”
Deku pinches your backside with both hands, the biting touch of pain making your eyes water until tears are coating your lashes and staining the pillowcase, “What, huh? What more do you want, Princess?”
You know that Izuku is a sucker for your needs. If you whine hard enough, he’ll give you anything you want. So, with that in mind, you pout to give your demeanor an even more innocent aspect, “I-I wanna kiss you, p-please.”
As expected, he stills his hips from where he is bruising your ass with his scars and bones alike. You wonder for a moment if the imprint of his marred skin will leave an impression on you if you could carry around a little piece of him always.
However, this time when he yanks himself from you, a squelching sound echoes throughout the room in tandem with your mewling whine at the loss of heat, and he does not reenter you immediately. You are about to stutter out something akin to a protest, but you feel his fingertips dip into your sides and instead you let loose a yelp.
Deku takes you by the hips, easily yanking you upward and flipping you around so your back is flush with the mattress, the sweat on your spine making the sheets stick to you. Your eyes are wide, hands gripping into his marred biceps like claws sinking into his skin.
“What?” he is smirking as he nudges his nose against yours, the heat of his cock pressed into your folds but not penetrating just yet. “I like this angle better.”
He nips at your skin before pulling himself back, his hand groping your breast with purpose. He is tweaking your nipple under his touch while his other hand runs his cock against your slick heat, teasing you mercilessly. He watches the lips of your pussy tense when he gets close, wavering at the anticipation of his cock dredging into you with force.
“Plus,” Deku tilts his head, palm reaching up from your chest to grab your face between his fingers, “you never answered me.”
His thumb finds your clit again, dick teasing you by resting between your thighs, throbbing and dripping with a mixture of your arousal and his pre. His fingers are intense as they squeeze your cheeks together, lips ballooned out pertly. Deku chuckles at the sight of you, red in the face and begging him for more with the subtlety of your eyes.
Something twinges within him as he can’t keep your focus on his eyes, but rather on his body. He should feel pride swell in his chest at your adoration of his finely tuned body from years of hard work, but he knows that you are focused on the scars of his body and it gives him a sour taste in his mouth.
The thoughts in his mind flee from your pert chest and smooth stomach and instead he wonders what it is about his skin that you find so enticing. You run your fingertips over each ridged scar, finding the different colors of worn skin beneath the pads of your hands, showing them immense affection with just a gentle touch. His whole body shudders at the feel of you appreciating him with massaging motions and tracing, but he wants to ask you the questions he’s been begging silently for months, years even.
You are trying to form words, but the only thing coming from your mouth is spittle, drool seeping through the cracks of your lips until it coats your chin, cool beneath the air conditioning. Slowly your eyes roll forward so you can look into his darkened pupils, the middle of his irises resembling the darkest beauty marks that he has littered throughout his body. You smile at the sight of his intense irises seeking you out.
Midoriya laughs as the heel of his hand sops it up, smearing it back against your lips before cleaning his palm on the bed sheets. He leans forward, his cock sheathed fully within you as he grows closer to your face. Your palm reaches out to cup his jaw, the tips of your fingers finding the familiar pale lines of his skin to trace like it were a nervous tick.
“C’mon, now,” he kisses your nose, an innocent gesture in stark contrast to the intense motions he’s administering to your clit. “Tell Daddy.”
Your mouth splits wide open with the three words, a confession you know that he’s heard you utter before, but it does not come any less lascivious from your lips the more you beg, “One for All.”
He does not respond immediately, pupils dilated as he glances down at you. Your body squirms beneath his lack of movement, begging for some sort of friction on any part of you. The skin of your ass tingles as he presses you down firmer into the mattress, and you want to cry out but all you can blubber is those three words, again and again, as you plead for him to use his quirk on you.
“I’ll be good, I promise,” you swear to him, nodding your head enthusiastically, “I want it so bad, Daddy, please, I want you to-”
Your begging is cut short by a sizzling in the air, the familiar popping of his quirk activating making your skin pebble with goosebumps. Your mouth runs dry at the sight of his skin lighting up with those familiar red lines, power coursing through his veins and making his hair stand on end.
Reaching up, you run your fingers through it, nails scraping at his scalp so you can feel the heat of his energy sparking against your fingertips. You arch your back upward to try and catch some of the wayward sparks, the salacious stinging of your skin only furthering the copious amount of slick between your thighs.
Deku tilts his head up to look you in the eyes, pupils shrunken down so his sea green irises can shine bright, glowing in the darkness of your bedroom. The entire room is aglow with his power, the very strength and resilience that has allowed him to build up so much intensity a conduit for your pleasure. His cock pulses against your thighs and you find yourself clenching around him, your body begging for him to stay close, too frightened at what might happen if he were to pull away.
“This what you wanted?”
His voice is deeper now, a rumbling timbre in his chest that makes your toes curl. You are panting at the expectancy of it all, sweat trickling down your temples and spine from the sudden change in temperature. The heat rises the longer he uses his quirk, so much so that you wonder if you could burn from it. The thought excites you, lights up your eyes until you cannot hold it in anymore.
You lean forward to kiss him on the mouth, slotting your lips between his. Pops of electricity stem from his entire body, sparking in midair before fizzling out with a gentle wash of ash. Deku licks at the seam of your lips, pressing his tongue between your teeth to map out every bump of your gums.
“Please,” you whimper against his tongue, “fuck me, hero.”
You have no more than spoken the words when his cock slips into your heat, coated with your arousal as quickly as he can rut forward. He grits his teeth to keep his composure, body trying to crumble between the use of his quirk and the feel of your tight cunt. You can’t help but notice the way he stretches you out even more so now than before, and you know that it’s in part to the fact that his girth has widened even further after he’s summoned his dormant power.
Deku reaches forward to press his glowing palm to your chest, rolling the bud of your breast between his fingertips as he starts to fuck into you. Your body is racked with effort, practically a ragdoll beneath him, all weak joints and jellied bones. And yet he is as powerful as ever between his mouth and his hands and his dick, every part of him built for your utmost undoing.
Lines of electricity fly from his body, bright green lightning strikes making the air pop all around you. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth when the first one stings your skin, lighting up the room in a flash of intense voltage. Izuku pauses, his hips stilling, “Baby?”
“Again,” you are panting, eyes half-closed as you revel in the pleasure from the shockwave. “Please.”
Deku has to focus on the electric side-effect of his quirk, closing his eyes so he can control the power radiating from his body. He starts to roll his hips into you slowly, once he feels settled with the coursing energy brought on by One for All.
You peel your lids back so you can watch as energy rushes through his frame, lighting up his body in such a way that reminds you of the pure power that he keeps hidden from the world most of the day. The light coursing just beneath his skin only serves to further draw out the beauty of his marred skin. His freckles are stars painted against the bright red and green patterns of electricity surging around his body like lightning bolts. You reach up to brush your thumbs against the apples of his cheeks, sucking in a breath at the sheer heat he’s radiating.
The reality that you have the very universe under your touch does not go unnoticed by you. You marvel at the constellations splayed out before you on his skin, giving you a small drop of the milky way right here in your home. It is overwhelming, the thought of it all dizzying as the heat thuds against the back of your eyes. And despite the boulder that sits on your shoulders at the burden of having to hold up his universe, you feel a jolt of exhilaration with the responsibility settling in your belly. You will be the one who he can crumble into when he’s tired of shining out for everyone else.
After all, a star can only be born after a nebula collapses.
Deku’s arms are strong around you as he holds you in place, cock sliding deep into your heated core, collecting your slick and his pre for easier lubrication, the thick vein on the underside of his shaft making you shiver as it drags against your walls. His biceps flex with the use of his quirk and the effort of holding you in midair to keep you snapped up into him and your hands are drawn to his bulging muscles all over again.
There is no doubt that he could keep you safe from any harm – one flick of his fingers, and a villain is rendered to a helpless annoyance.
The notion makes you shiver, reaching your hands up towards his shoulders, caressing his arms to feel the protruding cords of muscle rippling under the stress of his quirk. Your fingerprints find scars, puckered pink and marring his pretty tan skin. Other people might think that these markings make him weak, proving that he is fallible, mortal. But you think that every line on his body is a visible reminder that he has given so much to those who might not ever give it back. He has been beaten, bruised, and broken, and yet here he still stands, tall and proud in the face of danger.
Izuku knows that look in your eyes – wonder, awe, respect.
It swells his pride even further, his chest taut as he puffs himself up at the sight of you with adoration like stars in your irises. His thrusts are more intense now, guiding you closer to the cusp of pleasure, begging your body with the pulse of his cock to come undone.
“I-Izu, please.” You’re pushing your face into the pillow now, the burning hot pool building up steam in your belly becoming too much. He doesn’t even care that you’ve slipped up, not when he’s got you wrapped around him like a coil, working you from the inside out to drag the licentious sounds from your throat.
“Please what, Princess?” His hand sparks electricity around your chest, your nipple now pert with the fizzle of electricity as it creeps beneath your skin and into your veins. “Look at me, c’mon.”
He smacks the side of your breast, watching as the round flesh ripples under his ministrations. He breathes heavy, his chest inflating rapidly as his hips drill mercilessly into you. You clamp around him, quietly pleading with him to stay buried to the hilt so you.
When you don’t respond by turning your head, Midoriya grabs you by the cheeks, dominantly forcing your vision back to him. He’s almost regretful when you whimper, a shining trail of drool spilling from your mouth to pool into the pillowcase. The damp spot draws his attention and his cock twitches within your pussy, brushing up into your cervix and making you cry out, throat so hoarse that your voice cracks.
Izuku blinks hard, pulling his eyes away from the dark circle on the pillow to focus on your face, slipping his thumb into your mouth to press down on the center of your tongue. He smirks, his free hand holding you by the ass now, digging blunt nails into your flesh to create a conduit for his electricity to flow straight to your backside.
You whimper around his digit, the sound muffled by his finger, “G-Gonna come, Daddy.”
“Are you now?” he asks proudly, tilting his head to consider you. “Did I say you could come?”
You’re shaking your head as he grabs your ass harder, bringing tears to your eyes at the immense pressure combined with the raw feeling from his spankings earlier. As if to challenge you, Deku starts jutting forward, driving your hips deeper into the mattress until you feel like you might fall through.
The use of his quirk makes him so much stronger, his corded body trying to restrain from using its full power on you, despite calling all of it forward. He grits his teeth down so hard that you think you hear his jaw creaking, but you hardly have time to notice before you’re having to ward off your own pleasure. Using every ounce of One for All, Izuku bruises your cervix with the engorged head of his cock, the quirk enlarging every part of him.
You beg him with blurred words and hazy vision, whining and keening, until he’s leaning down close to your face, his hand now moved from your mouth to your throat, wet fingers wrapped around your neck.
“Good girl,” he murmurs with his nose against your cheek, lips dancing along your jawline to place feather light kisses, much in contrast to the otherwise bludgeoning intensity of the rest of his ministrations. “Such a pretty little thing.”
Your eyes find his face as he leans back to look down at you, the freckles dusted over his cheeks stark beneath his bright red streaks symbolizing the use of his quirk. You reach upward to tuck your palm against his cheek, cupping the skin burning hot with the coursing energy of his power. Your thumb brushes over the roundest part of his face and his eyes shudder closed at the feeling.
He kisses your wrist, bottoming out into your cunt with a harsh thrust forward. Deku turns his gaze to you, electric irises finding your soul through way of your pupils, “You gonna come when I tell you?”
“Yes, yes,” you’re practically foaming at the mouth, little spit bubbles at the corners of your lips at the thought of coming around his cock, your arousal mixed with his seed as he fills your core with his come. “Please, Daddy, I wanna come for you.”
Izuku nods, kissing your wrist again before falling back on his thick legs to grab you by the thighs, lifting you up off the mattress. It is just a display of his strength, his biceps bulging with effort, but it does what he intends for it to do when he feels your dripping arousal slipping from your slit down to drip onto the mattress.
“Fuck, look at your sloppy little pussy, Princess,” Deku moans at the sight of your silvery slick pouring out of you. He runs his thumb against the curve of your backside to catch what he can, running it over your clit before sucking his digit between his teeth.
Using his damp fingertip, Izuku begins to work at your clit, his other hand still pinning your thighs up in midair. He licks his lips at the sight of you on the cusp of pleasure, your body begging to come undone with the way your pussy clamps around his cock.
“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes you with a kind voice, electric pops crackling in the air like fireworks. “Come for me.”
You quit holding back, letting your body rush with a mix of adrenaline and pleasure. Every part of you is on fire, from his touch mixed with the searing heat of his body and the green lightning that strikes your body to leave tiny pink pucker marks. The sight of you marked up by his teeth and tongue and quirk bring him to his own heightened arousal, unable to hold back when he feels you gush with come from within the confine of your walls.
The glowing iridescent light making the room fluorescent fades into the dark with every spurt of his come into your cunt until he is no longer using One for All.
“Good girl,” he kisses your cheek, “now let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”
:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:
You’re not sure what flips the switch within you – whether it’s the tight look of his uniform showing off the peaked buds of his nipples and the engorged head of his cock, or if it’s the blush on his freckled cheeks, making him look so much younger than the twenty plus years old he is now.
Whatever it is, it makes your mouth water and your fingertips buzz.
“Bedroom. Now.”
“B-But, the pad tha-”
“Did I fucking stutter?”
Izuku’s thighs spasm at the authoritative tone of your voice and suddenly he feels about two inches tall despite towering over you no matter the situation. He tucks his head downward as he walks past you, down the hall towards the bedroom the two of you now share. Usually he is the one speaking those words as he stands over the top of you, his hand stinging red from spanking your ass as he orders you around, but the way they sound from your tone of voice makes his entire body quake.
The soft click of the door as it slips shut makes goosebumps rise on his skin, the stubbled hair on the back of his neck standing as upright as possible. There is a grunt from your mouth and a shuffling of your feet on the carpet as you kick off your shoes.
“B-Baby, I-”
Somehow you have shoved your foot into the crook of his knee, toppling him over onto the bed so he’s face first into the mattress, his ass perked upward as he tries to balance himself so he does not fall over. The globes of his backside are stretched tight within the spandex of his uniform, and you know the beautiful expanses of freckled skin that lay beneath the material.
Izuku looks over his shoulder, attempting to protest or ask you what is wrong, but you don’t want to hear it, so you lean forward and press your palm against his cheek, “You don’t speak unless spoken to, do you understand?”
He’s whimpering under your harsh touch, but the way his pupils dilate tells you that he’s enjoying it at least enough to test it out. You shove yourself backward, centered between his ass cheeks as your knees dig into the edge of the mattress. The tips of your fingernails run over the plush flesh of his backside, digging in to make him gasp and writhe beneath you.
Your heart hammers in your chest at seeing the up and coming Pro Hero wriggling like a frightened animal under your ministrations, and you’ve barely laid a hand on him yet. You run your knuckle up his spine, “Take your top off.”
The way he balances his head on the mattress and grapples with his shirt in an attempt to take it off is almost comical, so you crack a smile, thankful that he can’t see you. You lick your lips and drag your hand back down his back to rest at the base of his spine as he scrambles to take the shirt off, but he’s too flustered and it ends up bunched up around his neck and shoulders.
Finally, he gets so frustrated that he rips the fabric in half, shreds of thread falling against his skin and the sheets. You feel heat flood to your core, your spine white hot within your body, the tingles of heat spreading from the center of you outward until your fingertips and toes are blazing with fire.
You hum in appreciation at the sight of his rippling shoulders and trap muscles, his body shifting to dip back into the mattress, balancing all of his weight on his forearms as he leans forward. Your touch drifts from his shoulders to his obliques, the bumps of muscle corded beneath your digits. You watch as his body ripples with a shiver, every one of his muscles tensing as your fingers pad over his freckles, finding patches of darker skin to administer affection to.
It must be the pure anticipation that has his frame tense and quivering, the smallest of muscles twitching as you work your hands around his body. You settle your palms at his hips, flattening your hand against the expanse of skin at the center of his torso, “Baby, relax.”
You lean forward and kiss the dense smattering of freckles between his shoulder blades, “Now be a good little hero and take off your pants.”
The way you say it sends another wave of pleasure straight to his cock, the already throbbing organ about ready to bust from arousal and you haven’t even disrobed him yet.
Your feet pad against the carpet as you find your way to the edge of the bed, stripping out of your outerwear until you’re left in only a dark lace set, the filigree bringing out the beauty of your skin. Izuku goes dumb at the sight, turning his head just enough to get an eyeful of your chest area. His eyes about bug out of his head, wide and blown with lust as his tongue lolls over his lips, dripping a silvery string of drool onto the bed sheets.
“C’mon, Deku,” you force the word to come out in a patronizing tone, “strip for me.”
He swallows, his throat bobbing, but somehow manages to push through the aroused haze clouding his judgment to wriggle himself out of his tight-fitting hero suit. The bright green fabric is left in a pool on the floor, tattered clothes just the start of your destruction.
The head of his cock is bright red and there is a part of you that falters, wanting to beg him to take control and absolutely demolish your pussy with his harsh, controlling movements and his filthy mouth. It lasts but a moment, and yet he can still see it. There is a shift in his eyes, the way he considers you, and he leans forward to say something, but you’re grabbing him by the face, cheeks between your fingers, before he can speak.
“Roll over.”
Izuku does as told with little hesitation, flopping his shoulders around so his ass is once again in the air, primes and ready for your palm to lavish with spankings. Your breath shudders from your lungs and you lock your thighs in place by tensing them, centering yourself between his knees. The balls of his heels come into contact with your hips as he sways slightly, his mind dizzy from the promise of pleasure.
“How many?” you ask, your voice low and sultry, surprising even you with the depth of it.
A choking noise can be heard, but it’s muffled by the pillow. You chuckle, patting his ass prospectively, feeling the flesh ripple beneath your complacent prodding. Dipping forward, your chest falls flush with his back as you press feathery kisses over his midsection, finding the freckles like little gold pieces, adding each one to your treasure chest as you kiss it.
Izuku manages to spit out a number, something reasonable, and so you add a few more on top of it in your mind, smirking even though he cannot see you. You run the pads of your fingers down from the tops of his shoulders to the globes of his ass, the perky, round muscles making your stomach flip. You can’t wait to see the way his bruised ass mixed with the dark brown freckles of his skin – how beautiful the colors will be, how it might actually look more like a galaxy with shades of purple and blue as an accent to the brunette freckles dotting his skin like the night sky currently.
You reach your hands back and start to lay into him, counting the spankings in your head without keeping track of them aloud. You stop after you’re satisfied with his whimpering cries, his face buried deeper into the pillow with each endearing smack.
An errant thought crosses your mind and you can’t help but to dwell on it. If Izuku is already blubbering, how much farther can you take this before he’s crying into the pillow? The idea that you can bring one of the strongest men in the world to tears sets off a string of dynamite in your heart, the fuse triggering something akin to pride in your chest. You feel your whole body swell at the thought and you know that you must make it a reality tonight.
“How many was that?” you ask patronizingly, digging your nails into his ass to hear him squeak.
Your hands are already raw, burning at the feel of slapping his muscled backside repeatedly. Still, you knead your hands into him to elicit a pained whine. He writhes under you, his hands curling around the sheets until they’re beginning to rip under his tight grip.
“I-I dunno,” he blurts, a curt sob breaking his words. “I’m sorry!”
You chuckle and it comes out much darker than you originally intended. You release his ass, the thick of it jiggling as you let go. The pads of your fingers are gentle as you wash your touch over him, appreciating the way the redness of his freshly spanked cheeks brings out the deep color of his freckles, the splotches even more prevalent now that his body has been momentarily abused.
“Oh, you’re gonna be sorry, baby,” you kiss each of his ass cheeks, flicking your tongue out to tease the heated skin, “you better start counting.”
Just as you punctuate your sentence with a sigh, your hands begin to strike him repeatedly. You struggle to keep count, desperately wanting to listen to his moans and whimpers as he gasps, mewling with both pain and pleasure as you lay into his backside. Midoriya is already misty-eyed, the feel of your domineering touch just enough to bring him to a subservient headspace, his spirit wallowing in the pain that your hands are doling out.
You barely have time to stop before he’s blurting out the number that matches the one you’ve counted. You smirk, leaning forward so your nipples scrape against his skin, “Good job, baby.”
The heels of your palms are what is stinging the most, so you can only imagine how his ass feels. You have a momentary relapse in thought, wondering if maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, if maybe you’re going to push him to an edge he can’t come back from.
Although, when too much silence has passed and he is turning to gaze up at you over his shoulder, every inhibition you have flies directly out of the room through the crack in the door. His eyes are blitzed, lust making his pupils swallow the color of his irises, forehead crinkled in desperation as he attempts to form words to beg you back to him.
You rub at the pert skin, brushing your thumbs over the smattering of freckles on the roundest parts of his ass. Deku is whimpering beneath you, calf muscles fully flexed as he rocks back and forth in anticipation of your next slap.
“Such a good little hero,” you murmur, massaging your hands into his glute muscles. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”
Izuku whines, toes curling up beside your hips. He huffs but you can’t see his face to notice how fucked-out his eyes have become. You dig your fingernails into the flesh of his ass, and he preens, eyes bulging out of their sockets at the sudden stinging sensation.
You answer him with a resounding smack on his backside, making sure that your fingertips are curved just right, along with your palm, to make it sound much worse than it truly is, praying that you can manipulate his mind into believing that you’ve marked him for longer than a few moments.
The way the freckles on his skin trail from the top of his body to the bottom is nothing short of enticing. It brings about a certain innocence to him, something hidden that only you are allowed to know of. Your eyes can’t stop trying to put together a map of his body, begging to know just where the freckles begin and end. He is littered with them, his body darkening from time spent in the sun.
“P-Please,” his whole body is convulsing in pleasure. You can see his cock throbbing between his thighs and the mattress, his balls weighty with the impending excitement of his release. The bedsheet have a damp spot near the tip of his cock, most likely from his pre dripping at the sudden shakes of his body from your spankings, “I-I want more, Princess. Please!”
You smirk, hand hot from repeated spankings, “What’s your number?”
Deku pants, digging his nose into the mattress as if that might save him from having to answer. His hands are clamped around the sheets, nails threatening to rip into the thread count mercilessly, “I-I dunno, I don’t know!”
Your hand comes down over his ass repeatedly, unrelenting in your ministrations as you mark his backside bright red. You know that there will be little busted blood vessels to mix along with his freckled skin, purple lightning strikes that serve as a reminder to the way you broke down his resolve and conquered his body.
“P-Princess,” he whines, voice cracking in the midst of his sentence as he tries to beg for repentance, “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
You curve your fingernails into his skin, uncaring to the way his body fully tenses, dips and curves of muscle and sinew on full display as he lays completely bare against the mattress. You want to strew yourself across him to feel the ripples of his muscles as he tenses under your touch, to know the reactions of his body as they are happening firsthand. A chill tremors down your spine at the thought of him, all dense and thick beneath you, and how you have complete and utter control over him. You hold his pleasure in your hands, he’s entrusted himself to you in this very vulnerable situation, and the reality of it almost brings tears to your eyes.
Instead you focus your energy into snarling around your teeth, sneering his name like slander, “C’mon, Deku, be a good little bitch and tell me what you think you can handle.”
He is verbally silent, the only thing you can make out from his face smushed into the sheets is mewling whimpers to match the way his body quivers. You teasingly stroke your thumbnail over the blushed skin of his backside, bouncing your touch from freckle-to-freckle as you scrape your nails into him.
Another couple of seconds pass by before you snatch your hand from his ass so you can slap him again when he spurts out an answer, “Th-Thirty!”
“Fifty it is,” you chuff, digging your fingertips into his buttocks in a massaging motion, preparing him for the next round of spankings. He pants, rutting his hips forward into the mattress for some sort of friction against his throbbing erection, balls weighty with his release as they slap between his legs.
You tap his hip, letting him know that you want him to readjust himself. Izuku bends at the waist, seething as the bruised skin of his bottom stretches with the motion. You resituate yourself between his knees, ass directly in front of your face. A gentle kiss is pressed to either of his cheeks, eyelashes daintily brushing over his throbbing flesh, and he jolts his hips back into you until your teeth graze his skin.
“Eager little thing,” you tut your tongue, grabbing him harshly by the hips.
You selfishly want to mark him up, to remind the world that he belongs to you no matter how much of himself he gives away every other moment of his life. When the sun goes down, when the bright sky bleeds into the night, he comes home to you and the both of you fall asleep under the stars, wrapped in one another’s arms.
Izuku’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, sweat dripping down his spine as you press up into him, “Such a slut for me, huh, honey?”
The next time he backs into you, you pinch his ass between your fingers on one side and on the other cheek you bite down hard into his skin. Midoriya bucks forward at the sudden jolt of pain, only worsening the scratches left behind by your canines. He grinds his face into the mattress, pressing the mix of his tears and sweat into the sheets, begging for a cool release from the heat of his body as he searches for it in the mattress. You swear that he sobs into the pillow, begging you for something, but you can’t quite make out all of the syllables.
You line up behind him, your lower abdomen flush with his round, freckled bottom, “You ready, baby?”
“Princess, please,” his voice is hoarse now, all jagged around the edges as he begs you for more, “I-I want you to be rough with me, please? I wan’ you to mark me up.”
On command, your fingernails dig into the flesh at the curves of his shoulders, raking down the length of his back in one elongated swoop. He cries out, throwing his head back so his green curls brush the piques of his shoulders, and he grinds his hips back into you. You can’t help the low growl that claws at your throat as you trail your index finger down over the ghostly sight that your nails have left behind. He seethes through his teeth at the burning sensation lighting his back on fire, but he still does not complain.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you handled, okay?” Your hands find purchase on the curves of his obliques, fingernails burrowing into the taut skin of his abdomen, crescent moon patterns left in the wake of you. “I’m gonna make sure all the other heroes know who you belong to.”
Your name bubbles from his lips, a prayer he’s pushing to the heavens, blessing the stars with his babbling. In the midst of one of his mutterings, you begin your next round of pert spanks to his ass. You give him little reprieve, counting in your head as you go along.
He’s a blubbering mess, all mismatched syllables and grunts and moans tearing his throat apart until he’s crying for you to mark him as yours, to claim him in a way that leaves no question as to who he belongs to. The echoes of please, please, please bounce off every wall, a cacophony of sound making the hair on your neck stand erect.
When you finish, your hands are stinging profusely, but you make sure to soothe your palms over his bottom, the flesh bright red and angry. His freckles look even darker now that his skin has been accented with the beginnings of purple bruises and crimson handprints left behind. You coo, leaning forward to kiss the center of his back, pressing your body into him so you’re flush with every inch of him that you can find, “What do you say, pretty boy?”
When Midoriya turns to look at you over his shoulder, his eyes blissed-out so his pupils swallow his viridescent irises whole, he gargles the words, “thank you,” in a cracked whisper. You nod, trailing a row over kisses down the dip of his spine, nudging your nose over his muscled body, silently telling him to relax.
“You want more?” you ask him quietly, your hands digging into any surface of him that you can find to try and release some of the tension built up from the time spent together. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
“Please, Princess, please,” he’s blubbering out the words, thick and heavy with the emotion pent-up in his throat, “I just wan’ be good for you, whatever you want.”
You tilt your head, brows furrowing in playful contemplation, “Whatever I want, huh?”
He’s nodding ferociously, his chin knocking into his chest with his enthusiastic actions. You know part of it is to make up for the lack of words that he can’t force through his teeth, so you merely chuckle and give him one final spank to his backside, “Roll over then.”
The speed with which he fumbles into rolling over onto his back is comical. You watch as a flurry of limbs wind together only to come apart again when he’s on his back. Izuku is wincing, the glassiness in his eyes reminiscent of tears and he’s trying his hardest to come across like he’s not in pain, although you see the way that he favors putting more of his weight on his shoulders instead of his ass so he’s bent at an odd angle.
“Whatever you want,” he is gasping the words out, puffs of exaggerated but necessary breath forcing his cheeks to inflate. “I’m yours.”
The words make your whole body puff up, heat starting in your core and creating steam that rises from your esophagus to your brain. It becomes muddled and you’re hazy now, drunk off of the power that he has given you with those five words. You reach forward and slide your thumb against his piqued nipple, licking your lips as you think of what you’re going to do to him not that you have him to use however you please.
“All mine?” you ask, your voice grating against the front of your throat harshly. You hum, “What do you want me to do to you then, baby?”
He’s breathing heavily through his nose now, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath, “I w-want you to use me, please, Princess, want you to use my pathetic cock to make yourself feel good.”
You reach forward and guide his scarred hand towards your cunt, “Touch me.”
Izuku is eager to please, so he’s fumbling forward until his thumb finds your clit, ministrations errant and disastrous. It’s adorable, really, the enthusiasm with which he seeks you out only doing further service to your ego. You feel your head grow dizzier as your core turns with tumultuous heat. You know that you do not want to drag this out too far as you already can feel the twitch of an impending crest of pleasure building from within you.
His thick finger slides up into your heated core and it takes all of your self-restraint to keep your moans between your teeth, holding the sounds captive like they might tell all of your secrets if you let them loose. You bite your lip, sucking the skin into the bite of your teeth, tilting your head back so you can close your eyes and enjoy the pleasure as it comes.
“Maybe if you touch me just right, I’ll let you feel my pussy on your cock, huh?” You have to face him, have to see his reaction, “How does that sound?”
Midoriya is bobbing his head, agreeing to whatever words you’re speaking, he can’t quite make out any one syllable with the way his brain is drowning with the sight of you straddling him. He’s not sure what it is about you, but he absolutely adores the idea of you holding your own against him, wrapping your body around him and denying him of whatever control he normally possesses.
And maybe that is what gets you wet too, because you know that he could fling you off of him with a simple flick of his wrist, and yet here he is, letting you demolish every last shred of his self-respect.
You can’t help it, with the way he’s already beginning to drool and the sight of his eyes drinking in your semi-naked body, you have to feel the soft heat of his mouth around your fingers. It is too quick, the way you jolt forward and press the pads of your digits against his soft mouth. He moans, realizing just what you’re trying to do because he’s done it countless times himself, and opens his mouth wide.
Your fingers slip inside the seeping heat of his tongue and cheeks, the muscle lapping at your digits until they’re soaked and knuckle deep. You lean down so you are but inches from his face, the squelching sounds that your pussy and his mouth make together doing little to still the erection pressed against your ass from behind and the absolute waterfall between your thighs.
Every muscle in your body is screaming at you to sink down on top of his twitching cock and let him have his way with you, to rock yourself along his length until you’re both finding that beautiful high together. But you know that if you wait, if you drag this out and force him to bend to your will, then it will bring you both to your knees.
“So pretty with my fingers in your mouth, Izu,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth.
He attempts feebly to kiss you, turning his head, but your fingers catch on the corners of his lips and stretch the pink skin until it is pale. Your eyes flicker toward the bow of his mouth where a thin, white scar resides. You remember seeing this one when you first kissed him, and the memory of it makes you nostalgic, the years you’ve spent together built up much like his scars.
You lick a warm stripe up the column of his neck, feeling the muscles and veins throb underneath your ministrations. The heat of your breath combined with the slick of your spit makes Deku’s hips jut upward, his balls slapping loudly against your ass as he ruts into you painfully.
“Did I say you could move?” You are leant back now, your fingers still in his mouth but otherwise you are parted from him. Deku’s face pales, eyes widening in fear as he shakes his head, apologies tumbling in tandem with his spit from his lips, drool seeping down his chin until it is shiny.
The heel of your palm comes underneath his chin, so you have your hand wrapped around the lower part of his mouth, controlling his head with the simple turn of your wrist. You tilt his head upward so he can no longer see you, and pick up your hips to reposition yourself so you are hovering above him, just enough so you can start to tease the head of his cock against your slick slit.
He’s whimpering, “Please, Princess. I wanna touch you so bad, please, I wanna make you feel good.”
You let him beg for you, pumping your hand up and down his cock while you brush the angry red head over the gathering silver slick at your entrance. You chuckle as his hips shuffle in the slightest, his discomfort obvious as he is practically vibrating with the desire to take over.
“What is it, baby? Eager?” You sink yourself down far enough to take the head of his cock within your walls, clamping down hard enough to make him whine. “I can’t wait to fuck myself on this pathetic little cock, Izu. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll have to call in sick tomorrow.”
Another round of blathering drivel is boasted into the air, his words muffled by your fingers, but he still forces them out, nonetheless. His tongue continues to curl around your knuckles and lavish the pads of your digits, sucking on them in between heaving breaths. You let a small moan shake your throat, rolling your hips forward to take another bit of his dick but not all of it, not yet. The enjoyment you’re getting from his stuttering whimpers and moans only heightening your senses and arousal.
“Princess, please, I-I think I’m gonna-” An aborted rut of his hips dies when you rake your nails down the entirety of his chest. Your fingers catch on the rigid edges of some of his scars, but otherwise you turn lines of his tanned flesh red from your scratching.
Izuku whimpers, his body arching upward as he tries to take it all in stride. In doing so, he sheathes his cock completely within you, the base of his shaft now flush with your lips. You cry out at the sudden stretch, throwing your head back in pleasure as a wave of white-hot arousal makes your thighs glossy with a new wash of slick.
When you come to, you lean forward to place a palm on either side of his head, holding yourself up so you are loitering over him like a shadow, praying that you are as every bit as menacing as you’re attempting to be. You grit your teeth and roll your hips several times, unbending to even his hands on your body, relentlessly fucking his cock until he’s screaming for you to stop.
“C’mon, little hero, I thought you’d be better than this,” you take his earlobe between your teeth and tug, “I thought you’d have more will power. You’ll never be number one if you can’t even last this long beneath me.”
Izuku shakes his head, “I-I can, I can do it, I-I promise. Please, just let-”
“I don’t think you understand,” your voice is low, menacing as you nudge your nose against the bridge of his face, nuzzling the freckled skin. The intimate act is far more tender than your tone, and it gives Izuku chills that you can display such dual sides of yourself simultaneously. “I’m not letting you do anything.”
His eyes go wide as he realizes that there is nothing that he can do to change your mind, at least not in this setting. Deku’s hands still on your hips, his thumbs rubbing circular motions into your skin in a way that seems to be grounding him as much as it is stimulating you. You press a chaste kiss to his mouth before beginning to snap your hips upward and then back down onto his cock, clamping your walls around him when you feel the head of him press into that spongy spot hidden all the way in the back of your core.
You kiss all over his neck, finding clumps of freckles and stranded singular ones, lavishing the same amount of affection over each of them. Your mouth finds scars, both tiny, hairline fractures in the marble of his skin, as well as large, patchy ones that mar large splotches of his skin.
Even in these moments when you are the one doling out commands, you still find ways to appreciate his body. Your touch roams along the dips and contours of his torso, the rough ridges of your fingerprints searching for the matching ragged lines on his skin. You sigh into his throat and he slips a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, begging for you to come undone around his cock, praying that you’ll let him please you.
One of your hands wraps around his throat until you hear him choke, and then you speed up the pace of your hips until he’s begging through wheezes for you to relent. You lean back and he hikes up his legs so you can rest against his thighs, your body on full display in front of him. His eyes do not know where to land and neither do yours as you map out the various textures and colors of his skin – from the pale lightning strikes of his scars to the darker scattered splotches of freckles.
Izuku Midoriya is a vessel for the travesties of the world.
But you will spend the rest of your life trying to make up for its mistakes.
:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:
One day it slips.
You don’t think much of it, because in the heat of the moment, with him buried at the hilt and you crying for release, the words don’t stick out very starkly against the other filth spewing from either of your mouths.
“Gonna stuff that pretty pussy full of my come, baby,” he bites your earlobe as he ruts into you mercilessly, “You’re gonna be so round and full of me.”
At the time, you thought he meant that you would be full of his cock and come, but after he starts to show particular attention to your stomach during sex, you wonder if there’s something else going on.
When he has you beneath him the next time, you drag his palm to your belly and look him in the eyes, “I want you.”
His freckles burn beneath his blush, much starker against his tanned skin thanks to the flush of warmth. Izuku tilts his head, the dark curls framing his forehead bobbing with the motion, “You have me, baby.”
You shake your head and whine at the lack of contact once he’s stilled. You bite your lip and push the heel of his palm into the gentle swell of your belly beneath your navel. He swallows, gulping so hard that his throat bobs. You lick your lips and take a short breath as he shifts above you, his knees digging into the mattress on either side of your body.
“I want you to come in me,” you murmur, tugging him downward with the gentle grip of your hand on his neck. You kiss him square on the mouth and his fingers reach to find your folds, middle and index finger parting you so they can slip inside to curl against your heat. You whine, the sound amplified as his tongue searches your teeth, “P-Please, Izu.”
Midoriya’s fingers thrust forward in you so intensely that he can feel his fingertips bulging your belly with the palm that’s pressed against your navel. His eyes widen at the sensation and it only spurs him into kissing you more fervently, teeth and tongue clashing as he tries to overwhelm every sense you possess.
You protest as he pulls his fingers from you, your eyes screwed shut as you whine. He tuts his tongue against his teeth, nudging his nose along the curve of your jaw as he places biting kisses along the bone, “Hush. Do you really think I won’t give you what you need?”
The authoritative tone in his voice brings you to silence, eyelids fluttering open so you can look him in the eyes as he leans back to balance himself on his thick thighs. Your touch is pulled from him as he goes further away, your fingers aching in midair for something to ground yourself with. Otherwise you just feel like you’re going to float away, your mind hazy with the effervescent bubbles of euphoria that travel up from your throat.
Before you have another moment to keen at the loss of his heat, he’s piercing your pussy with the head of his cock, butterflying your lips wide open so he can rut up into you with ease. The combination of his bubbling pre-come and your already slick arousal dripping from your cunt make the slam of his hips easier to take, easier to beg for.
“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” Izuku coos in your ear, dropping his head to your shoulder to suck on the skin of your collarbone.
The jut of his cockhead into your core makes it difficult to think, let alone form fully coherent sentences. Izuku seems to relish in this, though, because he does not slow the drag of his cock or the flow of his words. He continues to goad you into begging for his release, for what you truly want, and it’s maddening. Your eyes cross beneath your lids at the overstimulation of it all until you’re blurting out the first thing on your mind.
“I wan’ you to breed me, Daddy!”
Izuku falters for a moment at the brashness of your words, but you barely have time to feel bashful before he’s rolling his hips again, growling near your ear with a ferocity you’ve never felt from him before.
“That’s my good girl,” he mutters while trailing his lips down to your breast. He lavishes your nipple with the rough pad of his tongue, lapping over the skin carefully so you’re begging him for more. “How am I supposed to breed you, honey? Tell me.”
The patronizing tone of his voice tells you that he knows exactly what you want, but he would rather hear the request coming in the form of panting words and wanton moans from your lips. You sniffle, your eyes watering at the bruising pace he’s setting. His hands drift down the tops of your thighs, thumbs brushing against the innermost part where your skin is the most sensitive. Your cunt clamps down around him, fluttering at the ghostly feel of his tantalizing touch.
“P-Please,” you whimper, unable to think of something to say to fill the void. You bite your lip as his mouth works at your chest, tonguing your nipple before biting at the mound of skin to drive a yelp from your lips. “I want you to c-come in me, Daddy! I want you to stuff me full o-of your come, please!”
He pouts around your nipple, leaving the small space he’s just sucked a hickey into in favor of your pert bud, “I already come in you, baby girl, what do you really want me to do?”
You bite your lip and fist the sheets at your sides when you feel frustration and embarrassment wash over you. Izuku nudges his nose along the swell of your chest before leaning up to kiss your chin, hovering like a menacing shadow. His smile does little to quell the bubbling intensity in your belly.
“You can do it, sweetheart,” he’s gentler now, breaking his more dominating side so he can reassure you, “I know you can. Just tell me what you want.”
The shining in his irises makes your knees weak but bolsters your spine to force you into uttering the next words, no matter how uncomfortable they might sit in your belly. You take a breath and look up into his eyes, “I want you to put a baby in me, Izu.”
“Good girl,” he manages to muster out the words with restraining the growl that aches at the back of his throat.
His hips cant forward, fingertips now just under your knees. Your breath comes in shaking pants, your chest shuddering under your confession. Izuku kisses your cheek and then your nose, positioning his hands while he has you distracted. His mouth ascends down upon your own as his fingers dip into the supple skin and muscle of your thighs, bruising the underside with the ghost of his fingerprints as he pushes your knees back until they’re almost touching your chest or the mattress.
You gulp in pain as his cock stretches you out in a whole new way with your body flayed out like this. You look like a butterfly, your wings spread so he can smother you with his movements. Deku licks at the seam of your lips and you gasp, your mouth parting so he can delve his tongue inside. Your whole body shakes at the intensity of his thrusts, your irises swallowed whole by your pupils as they dilate at the feel of your cunt trying and failing to clamp around his cock to keep him still so you can adjust.
“Say it again,” Deku encourages you, his voice breathless as he ruts you into the mattress.
Your shoulders and the curve of your ass are pressed so deep into the cushion that you swear you might fall through to the floor. You curl your toes and try to angle your hips forward to no avail. He has you fully enraptured in the way he wants, his body practically controlling the movements you’re allowed to make with how he’s pressed and holding onto every part of you.
“I-I want you to put a baby in me, Izuku,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.
A pert slap lands on the outside of your thigh and you whimper at the thought you’ve done something wrong. Your eyes water and you look up at him, emerald irises glowering down at you with a mix of primal need and control.
His voice is nothing short of a growl when he commands, “Who am I?”
Your eyes go wide, forehead creasing at the realization of your slip up. You can’t form the words fast enough, scrambling within your subservient brain to find the right phrase. You bite your lip as his hips still upon your silence, practically begging him with your body to keep going.
The echo of another smacking of his palm against your leg resounds in the room, sending a shudder down your spine. A new wave of arousal coats his cock from where he’s buried within you. He smirks, “Such a sloppy pussy, baby girl. You’re so filthy, getting off on me smacking you around.”
He leans close into you, removing one hand from your thigh to frame your face, his thumb dug into the soft flesh beneath your chin so he can force you to look into his eyes. “Now, I’ll say it again, who am I?”
You gulp, your lower lip trembling at the sight of him, and your voice cracks when you speak, “D-Daddy, I-I’m sorry.”
Izuku kisses your bottom lip before showing the same affection to the top. His gentle ministrations are rather contrasting to the way your hips sting with the memory of his spankings. You blink slowly, taking him in from this close angle.
He’s so pretty, you know this even though your mind is hazy with subservient want. His freckles and scars stand out so pertly against his skin, showing you a roadmap to someplace you know you’ll get to someday. You reach up to frame his face with one hand, thumb brushing over the speckled spots along the bridge of his nose and cheek, marveling at the sight of his beauty.
Deku turns his face to kiss your wrist, “What’re you thinking?”
“You’re pretty,” you blurt, voice almost childish in the way you say it with such wonder.
The phrase stills his nose against your palm, his breath hot as it rolls down your wrist and forearm. You feel your pulse beat harshly within your veins at the change in temperature, emotion swelling in your throat until your neck bobs as you try to swallow it.
It’s not the stereotypical compliment that he might receive, however that does not change its weight. Izuku takes a short breath before he begins to kiss down the length of your arm, nuzzling your elbow once he’s pressed there. He looks up into your eyes and the absolute adoration that is settled into your irises, bejeweling them until he is wondering if they might actually be gems, gives him the effervescent sensation all over again.
Pretty.
The word plays on loop in his mind, until he has dissected all six letters of it down to their very essence. The combination of your tone and expression as you admit what’s truly on your mind causes his heart to tear into his rib cage with the speed at which it beats. He breathes in short, heaving gasps, the warmth of his breath spilling over your chest, nipples pebbling beneath him.
If you were to try and pin down his appearance, you might say it were bashful. You have seen several sides to Izuku, but the bright red tinge on his cheeks, creeping up his neck until his ears are burnt with the color, makes him seem much younger, much more innocent. It’s hardly innocent, the way that he’s bludgeoning your cunt with his cock, but you take this moment to remove yourself from that fact entirely, instead focusing on the wobble of his chin and the mist in his eyes.
In addition to the shyness, you also see doubt, conflict.
You push your fingers into the hair behind his ear, beckoning him closer so you can appreciate him closer. Your opposite hand presses against his cheek, the scar that runs along his jaw ragged under your touch. Midoriya’s lips part, the tip of his tongue hidden just behind his teeth.
“Pretty,” he echoes the word, unintentionally, you believe, by the way his face screws up once he realizes he’s said it aloud. Midoriya reels back from you, sitting back on his thighs, the tip of his cock twitching from within your core.
Your face goes bright red at the admission, your hand falling away from his face in shame. You gulp, readying yourself for another smack to your leg in admonishment at your confession. You wince, hiding yourself as best you can with him looking down at you in such an intimidating way by turning your face into the pillow, closing your eyes.
The wait feels like forever, as if he’s going to edge you with anticipation until you’ve gone blue in the face from holding your own breath. He surprises you with a gentle laugh parting his lips, screwing his eyes shut.
You take a chance and open your eyes, blinking slowly so you aren’t shocked at the expression on his face if it contrasts the giggle that sets off another round of arousal between your thighs. You lick your lips and bare your soul when you ask, “Y-You’re laughing?”
“You’re so cute, baby,” Izuku kisses your nose, his grip resetting to your thigh.
The bruising hold he has on you reminds you that even though he might come across as twinkling eyes and a mop of curls, he is the strongest hero alive, and he could crush you like a bug if he truly desired.
He tilts his head, “I think you’re pretty too.”
“Y-You’re not mad?”
Izuku furrows his brow and leans back so he can study your face in its entirety, “No, Princess, I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”
“I-I just ruined the mood by calling you pretty,” you have the urge to ask him to put his fingers in your mouth just to get you to be quiet. Anything to staunch the flow of these superfluous words that won’t stop tumbling from your lips.
His thumb brushes along the curve of your jaw until his fingertip is pressuring your lip to stay open so he can study your teeth and gums, “Nah, you didn’t ruin the mood. Answer me this – who do you belong to?”
Instantly your thighs try to clamp together, knees wobbling at the statement and the firmness in his tone when he says it. You swallow, eyes blown wide, your tongue suddenly becoming very heavy in your own mouth. You want to whine, to cant forward and take as much of him as you can but he has you held still with a palm in the center of your chest, pinning you to the mattress as he waits for his answer.
Your hand covers his own, fingers slipping between his palm and knuckles so you can anchor yourself to him, even in this moment. Your middle and index fingers swipe back and forth over the back of his hand, finding the familiar triangular scars and tracing over them with purpose. They ground you, somehow, when your mind starts to flutter off into this subservient space and you can’t feel anything from your knees down.
“Y-You,” you manage to stutter, thighs wobbling with the stress of pinning him between your knees. Your eyelids prick with tears from the embarrassment you felt earlier, and Izuku tuts his tongue against his teeth, “Why’re you crying, pretty girl?”
You shake your head and he kneels forward to kiss you on the lips, chastely, “Or should I give you something to cry about?”
Before you can answer, he simultaneously lands a harsh slap to the inside of your thigh with one hand while pinning your neck to the pillow with the other, applying enough pressure that you wheeze. Izuku smirks down at you, watching as tears well up in your eyes and cause them to look like glassy marbles. He trails his fingertip along the inside of your thigh, your entire body quivering with the anticipation of when he will strike next.
His cock twitches within you and the movement makes your muscles jolt. Your hand smacks against his thigh as you dig your fingertips into the dense sinew. You breathe in heavily, your chest expanding, “Daddy, please.”
Izuku begins to rock back and forth slowly, dragging his cock salaciously along your inner walls, the veins and curves of his cock making your cunt flutter around his girth. You whine at the slow pace, your palms studying his skin as a distraction to keep your dirty mouth satiated. You want to beg him to go faster, to give you more friction, something, but you know better than to ask him for anything in this moment.
“If I’m Daddy,” he muses in your ear, his breath a hot wave of desire as it rolls down your neck to splay out at your shoulder, “then it’s only fair that we give you a name too, right, Princess?”
The suggestion he’s making sends a shiver down your spine and you clamp down on his cock as he slips all the way into you, the base of him flush with your lips. You grapple onto him for fear that he might pull out of you again, but you want him to be fully sheathed in you when he snarls out his next words.
In digging your nails into his skin, you find a new scar on his shoulder that you hadn’t noticed before. It is thin, just slight enough that it slipped from your radar. It is a single ridge of skin running from the back of his shoulder to his collarbone, streaking his skin with a pink color in contrast to his normally tan color. Your middle and index fingers focus on it, mapping out each bump like your life depends on it.
As his body tilts forward, your eyes catch along a patch of intense freckles at the tops of his shoulders, where the sun shines most concentrated. Your exhale, eyelids fluttering as you feel his weight press down into you the closer he comes. The palm of your hand travels to this smattering of freckles, digging into his muscles in a massaging way as you force your touch downward. Izuku’s breath hitches as you circle the pad of your middle finger tenderly over the flesh, eyelids snapping open so he can look down at you in something akin to shock.
He melts into your touch when your ankle digs into the dimples at the base of his back, yet another scar providing friction against your skin. You whimper as his hips buck forward on instinct alone, the pressure of your body pulling him forward.
Midoriya nudges his nose sweetly along the column of your throat, open-mouthed kisses placed against your main vein that leads him to your heart. He breathes slowly over your chest, nipping at the skin closest to your nipple, but far enough away that he won’t hurt you if he bites down too hard.
“Mm,” he hums as he dips his head further, curling his spine so he can kiss the top of your belly, above your navel. His palm pushes into the supple skin, thumb drifting over where your uterus sits beneath your skin, “I can’t wait to fuck you ‘till you’re full of me, Princess. Isn’t that what you want?”
You’re begging him silently with ferocious nods, dipping the pads of your fingers into his shoulder blades to pull him closer once more so he can rut into you with his strong hips. You feel the head of his cock brush against you from the inside, and that along with the added pressure of his palm pushing into you, makes you keen loudly, a whine rippling through your lungs.
At that sound, Izuku loses any and all control he might have had on his body before, one of his hands now holding your thigh up so he can dominate you from above, your ass not even flat against the mattress anymore. It’s a good reprieve from the suffocating heat beneath your back, but the only thing you can truly focus on is the way that his hips drive into you in midair, his knees bolstering him forward to fuck into you relentlessly.
“You’ll be so fuckin’ pretty with my come dripping out of this sloppy pussy,” Izuku’s voice is slurred with pleasure, his eyes closed as he ruts into you from above. You whine, your chin ducked into your chest at this angle, but it doesn’t matter that it’s slightly uncomfortable; the only thing you can pay attention to is the way he fills you up, stretching your pussy with his thick cock.
Pulling almost all the way out only to slam into you again makes your cunt clench when he’s fully sheathed to try and keep him captive. He’s too strong, though, and he pulls away easily, the added tension only providing the both of you with further pleasure. You both whine, Izuku’s head dropping so you can no longer see his eyes, forehead covered completely by dark curls caked with sweat and sticking to his skin.
Deku licks his lips and you watch as he tilts his head to gaze down at you, the primal need to see you full giving his eyes a deeper color, a green so dark it’s almost black. The sight of him so overcome with arousal makes your stomach turn, a fresh wave of heat coating your inner walls and slipping down his cock in the form of silvery slick.
He pants, his jaw hung open, “You want me to fill you up? Come in you over and over until you can’t take it anymore, until your pretty belly is bulging with my come?”
You don’t have the chance to respond when he bottoms out within you, stretching you out even further as his cock spasms with desire. It’s like he’s growing within you even more so now that he’s imagining your tummy swollen from his come. Your jaw hangs open even as you throw your head back, your hands flying to the comforter to snag what you can beneath your fingernails.
Izuku does not waste the sight of your neck, bare and open, practically begging for him to claim as his canvas. With his next stroke he is careening forward to latch his tongue and teeth onto the sensitive skin, your jugular pulsing beneath his mouth. Your hand flies upward to tug at the wild curls near the back of his scalp, your thighs held in place by his hips as he continues into you at a steady pace.
“I can’t wait to put a baby in you, Princess,” Izuku is panting in your ear now, the lewd sounds of his hips bucking into yours the only other sound you can make out. Your shoulders shudder underneath his weight but he is holding you like an anchor, so you know that you are safe in his embrace. You turn your head, so your cheek is pressing into his, leeching the heat from his skin until your own flesh is burning.
“Fuck,” Deku laps at your throat aimlessly, as if he can’t quite get where he wants, but he doesn’t know what else to do, “Gonna fill you up every time I get the chance, breed you until you’re begging for me to stop. Pump that pretty pussy full of my come until you can’t walk straight.”
Your cunt spasms around his cock and he knows that means you’re close to coming. He’s pushed off his own release in favor of coming in tandem with you, so he starts to pump into you faster, drifting a hand down to your clit to try and stimulate you closer to the precipice of pleasure. You’re whining, nails dragging against his biceps unforgivingly, “Daddy, c’mon, I want you to come in me. Please, won’t you come in me? Fuck me full of your come, please!”
The entirety of your mouth is sandpaper dry with your insistent begging. You lick your lips at the feel of his cock spasming within your core, the tip of him brushing against your cervix in a bruising manner. “I-I wanna make you a Daddy for real, please, won’t you put a baby in me?”
A feral growl parts his lips at your request, and your body clenches from head to toe at the sound. You can’t breathe, your entire being is suffocated by the essence of him – body, mind, soul. He is everything and it covers you like a hot blanket, searing into your skin until you’re branded for him.
“You want this load?” he asks breathlessly. “Want me to breed you up good?”
He is barely able to look at you when you whimper out your response. Goosebumps cover the expanse of his body as he thinks about what you’d look like, swollen with the imminent promise of his baby growing in you. Something digs into him at the base of his spine, something that makes him ache with the need to see you waddling around, unable to see your ankles as you rest your palm on the top of your tummy. Izuku squeezes his eyes shut so he can listen to your wanton desperation, sweat making the two of you stick together at every juncture.
Deku grunts one last time before all his resolve floods from his body, “Here you go, Princess, don’t waste it.”
The angle he has your body in, folded up like a pretzel, would usually make it hard for you to waste any of it, but the sheer amount of come being pumped into you makes you nervous. You feel the familiar seeping of his seed from your cunt and you reach down to try and sop it up, but Izuku beats you to it. He uses his thumb to collect the milky fluid, rubbing it over your clit to use as lubricant as his dick continues to pump the rest of his load into your abused hole.
“Good girl,” he whispers absentmindedly as he fucks you through his aftershocks, the pad of his thumb driving you crazy as you squirm beneath him. Izuku can tell by the sheer force with which you’re clamped down on him that you’re chasing your own high, your eyes squinted closed so you can focus on orgasming until you’ve coated his cock with your arousal.
Izuku fights through the bliss that’s clouding his mind to lean down and kiss over your face, “C’mon, Princess, come for me.”
When your eyes split open, the first thing you notice is the scar that cuts from his hairline down over his eyebrow, separating the tail of his brow from the base. You reach up to brush your fingertip over it, your heels dug into the curve of his ass to bring yourself closer to him, if that were at all possible. Your mouth hangs open as your thumb maps out the scar, ragged flesh the very opposite of the remaining smooth plane of his body.
“I love you,” you whisper, silent silver tears leaking from your eyes as the combination of all of your senses being stimulated pushes you over the crest, drowning you in the waves of pleasure he creates by rocking into you.
It has taken years for Izuku to understand that you paying attention to the jagged parts of his body does not mean that you would not love him if he were any less broken.
Your vision passes over each inch of his body, taking inventory of the markings on his body – freckles, blemishes, scars – as if they might have changed since the last time you looked. Your hands roam over his shoulders, finding the pale scars and dipping your fingertips against them to feel the ridges against the rough pad of your digits.
Midoriya melds his mouth against yours, lost in the taste of you as his cock spasms within your tight heat. Your entire bodies are coated in a mixture of tears and sweat and slick, but you don’t care as he lowers himself down on top of you until you’re flush with one another from shoulder to ankle.
His tongue is mapping the curvatures of your teeth when he responds in kind, “I love you, too.”
He slows once he realizes you’ve both been milked of whatever else you might have left to give. Your body is gently placed back down on the bed, hot sweat sticking to the cooled sheets. Izuku kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, lavishing each inch with the utmost affection, it could make you cry.
Your hands work through his hair, curls falling silkily between your knuckles. You lean forward and kiss the spot on his forehead where his brows are furrowed. At the feel of your affections, his expression softens and the creases on his skin soften into nothing but fine lines. Izuku smiles up at you, nuzzling your cheek, “You did so good, baby, you’re always such a good girl for me.”
“Mhm, you make it easy,” you croon into the shell of his ear as he tilts himself forward, still buried in you even as his cock goes soft. You tilt your head, curling a finger around a lock of his hair, “W-Were you serious?”
Izuku catches a glint of the diamond on your left hand, a proud grin bringing out his dimples, “You’ll know in, what, four weeks?”
The whole thing is too exciting, and you know that even though you’re still on contraceptives, it could happen. He doesn’t move to correct himself, instead waiting on your answer.
“F-Four weeks,” you nod, your tongue sitting heavy and dry in between your teeth.
Midoriya catches your hesitation, “We won’t change anything, except how many times a day I bury my cock into that pretty little pussy of yours. We’ll see if I can beat out the statistics on your medication.”
You know he’s talking about the one-in-whatever chance that your birth control doesn’t work, but the way he says it drags shivers up your spine. You curl both hands into his hair and swallow the thick emotion pent up in your throat, “You meant what you said?”
“Four weeks,” he echoes as if it should be an answer. Izuku knows better than to have a permanent conversation with you when your eyes are still glassy like this, your mind still submerged in that headspace he puts you in when the two of you fuck this way, rough and merciless. All he can do now is remember to talk to you about this once you’re both calm and rational.
Your eyes fill with a fresh set of tears and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to the base of your throat, “I’m gonna fill you up with so much come, baby. We might have to get you a plug.”
You tighten every orifice of your body, fingers dug deeper into the muscle of his shoulders. Your thumb catches on the curve of one of his particularly deep scars, slicing into him like veins on a marble slab. In your heightened state, it’s easy to feel like you’re floating in midair and might never come down, but the tactile reminder of his body beneath your fingertips gives you that anchor that you need to keep yourself from drifting too far.
Methodically, you drift the pads of your digits back and forth, a melody playing in your head that you play out against his body. The rigidity of his form, strong and barring as he loiters over you, only adds to the calm that you feel wash over your frame, settling into your bones like stardust. You feel lightheaded, but in a giddy way, the warmth of Midoriya’s body just as soothing as the patterns you’re marking into his body.
Two tears drip over the edges of your eyes and you look up at him, bringing a thumb up to brush his hair out of his eyes, “I-I wanna make you a Daddy. For real.”
You think back to the day you first met – how he stole your heart with one simple look. He has always been it for you, that you now realize. From the first syllable to now, he has reigned you in, held you beneath his thumb in such a captivating way that you don’t ever want to escape.
You want to give back to him what the world never could – a little hero of his own.
It’s a blank slate, a place to start anew. Something that the burdens of Izuku’s past can never bury under layers of scar tissue and regret. The giddiness that makes your heartbeat in a frenzy only gives you more confidence to reach forward and wrap yourself around him like an animal begging for comfort. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, “You deserve this, Izu, you deserve to be happy.”
“Hey,” he calls down to you, upturning your face with the gentle pressure of his thumb underneath your chin, “I am happy, here with you.”
Your face grows hot at his confession, and you wonder if you misconstrued your words. You swallow, rolling your hips upward to reconnect your bodies at the waist, trying to convey that you can give him so much more, that you’re offering up your body to be a martyr. Your eyes water as you link your hands around his neck, thumbing at the crest of his undercut.
“Please,” you whisper, voice broken but beautiful as your single syllable speaks volumes even in the quiet of your shared bedroom.
There is a growl that erupts in his throat and he lunges forward, sucking and licking at your neck. You whimper, falling slack in his touch as you try to keep yourself anchored to him with biting, blunt fingernails. Your jaw hangs open just enough that he can see the pink of your tongue if he leans far enough back.
As Deku reclaims your mouth in his own, the primal thing burning deep in his belly spurring his cock to go for round two, he can’t help but think to himself that he’s going to make you a momma, no matter how hard he has to try, or how long it takes.
:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:
“Why are you so enamored by them?”
You still your hand over his bare chest, your index finger tracing the ridge of one of his biggest scars – a rippling cut straight through his pectoral, the tip of it disappearing in the curve of his muscles as they meet in the middle.
When you don’t answer, Izuku swallows the lump in his throat and sits up a little straighter, leaning his shoulders back against the headboard. He looks down his nose at you, shallow breaths making his chest inflate quickly, “I guess I just don’t understand what could be so fascinating about them. Why do you like to touch them all the time?”
You turn so you are strewn across his abdomen, your chin rested in the seam of his pectorals as you look up at him, “I guess they make me feel things.”
“F-Feel things?” Izuku’s face scrunches up in confusion, the wrinkles of his nose making you smile.
Tenderly, you brush your thumb over the creases of his forehead until he relaxes, and then you start mapping out the scarred lines on his face and taking inventory of his freckled cheeks. You sigh, chewing on your lower lip, “It depends on what’s going on, but when I look at you, I feel any plethora of things – sadness, joy, horniness…”
“My scars make you horny?”
You let out a laugh and drop your forehead down and bury it in his chest to hide the blush on your cheeks. Your palm falls from his face to his collarbone, gripping his shoulder as best you can. Midoriya joins you in laughter, tucking his nose into the crown of your head so he can plant kisses into your hair. He is always so soft and kind with you, especially in these moments after you’ve been conjoined by the hips for hours on end, your heart beating in time with his as you lay pressed flush against one another. There are moments when you are a cage of limbs and you do not know where he ends and you begin, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Seeing you all roughed up just does something to me, I dunno!” You tilt your head back so you can look him in the eye, “I like knowing that you can handle yourself, and each scar has a story and we’ve been together for years and I still don’t think I’ve heard them all.”
It looks like there is something on his mind, with the way his face tenses up as soon as you stop laughing together. You rub your ankle against his calf and force him to look you in the eyes with a gentle nudging of your knuckle against his jawline, “Hey, what’re you thinking?”
Izuku is not normally speechless or lacking in things to say. In fact, more often than not, you have to gently place your hand on his shoulder to remind him that everyone can hear his loud mutterings, or that sometimes there are more appropriate times to speak your mind. This time, his tongue lolls around within his cheeks as he tries to come up with the right thing to say. The pattering of your heart grows faster the longer he is silenced, your pulse thudding like thunder in your ears as you anticipate what could possibly be plaguing his mind at a time like this.
Your thumb brushes against a scar near his ear and he circles his fingers around your wrist, “Would you still love me if I didn’t have them? If my skin was perfect, like Kacchan or Todoroki?”
“First of all, Todoroki has a big ass scar on his face, so jot that down,” you tease, pushing yourself up to kiss him square on the lips. You pull away from him but not entirely, still brushing your nose along the bridge of his cheeks, “And Bakugou has a stupid quirk that gives him great skin, so he’s an awful example.”
Midoriya rolls his eyes and shoves your hand away from his face, sitting up even further so you fall away from him, curling yourself into the sheets. His countenance looks overly contemplative, and it’s beginning to worry you. You sit up in the bed, grabbing his shirt off the nightstand to cover yourself with, tossing it over your head with ease. The fabric pools at your waist but it smells intoxicating, just like him, his warmth from earlier in the night somehow still sticking to the fabric to provide you comfort.
“You know what I mean,” he grits his teeth, unable to look at you as he poses the question, “I-I just…I wonder if you love them more than you love me, sometimes, is all.”
It does not take long for you to redirect his attention back to you, turning his face with a rough yank of your wrist. You look him in the eyes, and he is but a broken little boy in this moment, begging for you to piece him back together.
The thought that he is nothing more than patchwork put back together by the scars on his body makes you feel hollow inside. How can a man who has given up so much feel like so small in a moment of pure reflection? Does he not see all the good he brings to the world, and yet how little it ever dares to give back to him?
“Izuku Midoriya,” your voice is stern, and you watch as he bolsters his spine as if he were talking to a Pro Hero, “I would love you if your whole body was covered in scars or if you had perfect skin. Why would you say something like that?”
Before he can give you some long-winded answer, you throw a leg across his lap so you’re straddling him and he has nowhere to run to, nowhere to divert his attention. Your palms are on his face, cupping his cheeks and making sure to look him dead in the eyes as you give him a dose of the truth. Still, you fear your words may not be enough to satiate his wounded pride, his blistered ego.
“When I look at you, I see how much the universe has stolen from you, how much of your body the world has taken, and how everyone else just takes you for granted.” Your voice grows heavier with each word, the threat of tears sitting in your eyelids, making your face warm. “I see a man who, time and time again, gives everything up to save the world, and all it does in return is take.”
You intake a short breath, trying to calm yourself because this is his moment to ache until his heart feels like it might burst out of his chest. Now it is your job to soothe his burning soul with the salve of your reassurance, mending his inner turmoil with a metaphoric touch that you pray can seep into the cracks of his resolve until he’s full once more.
Brushing his hair away from his face, you lean in closer so you can speak softly, “You once called them ugly. I think that every single scar is a reminder of something that happened in the past. I love to hear your stories of how you got them, each heroic act displayed on your body like a little lightning bolt of truth.”
A sigh parts your lips and you drop your gaze to his chest, finding the familiar ridges of flayed skin easily. You lick your lip and trace your thumb over a few of them, relishing in the quiet moments before you have to speak again.
“I don’t love your scars, I love you.” You press your palms flat to his chest so you can cover the expanse of his pectorals beneath your hands, the heel of your palm against the swell of his chest, “I would ask you for all of your stories even if I never touched a single scar, even if I never saw one. I’d ask you because I want to know you.”
Your hands travel north towards his neck, delicately roaming over the thin skin of his throat before winding into the hair at the back of his head, “I’m so fascinated by them because I want you to know that I don’t think any less of you for them, that I don’t believe you to be weak just because you’re marked by your experiences. If anything, I think it’s beautiful, that you’ve been given this burden like Atlas, to carry around the weight of each on one your shoulders.
“But even though it’s beautiful, that does not mean that it’s right,” your voice turns cold, hard and jagged as you speak through your teeth, “How much more can you be expected to give? Does the universe not see what it’s done to you? What it’s asking of you to continue doing? I just can’t imag-oh.”
His mouth is on yours in an instant, his hands traveling up your spine beneath your shirt, palming at the skin of your shoulders. Izuku nips your lower lip and you are melting in his touch like always, “I love you.”
You tilt your head, gasping as he starts down the column of your neck, biting kisses in a warm, wet line as he descends. You echo out the sentiment in return, barely able to make out syllables with the salacious way his lips and tongue are working at your skin. Your hands twist in his hair and he pulls you flush with him so he can nudge the collar of the shirt aside to show your collarbones the same attention as your neck.
“Oh!” you pipe up, your voice hardly more than a squeak, “And I love your freckles too. They’re so cute and I love how they’re literally everywhere, even your dic-”
“Less talking,” Izuku takes you by surprise, tackling you back into the mattress, “more kissing.”
And you happily oblige.
Besides, you have the rest of your life to tell him how much you love his freckles.
:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:
a/n: all right. that’s it. never writing deku fic EVER again. phew. kacchan, please don’t be mad, honey, it was for a friend, i swear!!!!!
also it’s almost 4 am when i’m posting this so if the last section doesn’t make sense i’m sORRY!!!
taglist:
@tui-lah @viviankennedy @bnha-homeroom @frogsmarch @anxietys-a-bitch @succulent-momma @albuquerquemalu @ali-on-reverie @iamthe-leaf @kamehamethot @hoe-biscus @ux-l3ee @lovelustdollsworld @bigbootyconnections @alexandria-selina @eianthedumbass @sanguinekeigo @desia2 @loveydoveythot @shoutosplaything @thatloserweeb @kittysocks20 @jayetheanimefreek101 @toastedpopsicles @riotfuckery @spidrskarma @panbaigel @unsafetypin @peltho @mes-bisous @ee-blue @mildlyman @moondust-and-starlight @ihaileysenpai @hijackedreese @vampiregirl70 @gwizzpanda @powderedjellidoughnut @salemthewitch @unknown-girlie @mea-100 @crystal-is-in-the-digiworld @phantomjeans @lozmarton @bananayogurtbitch @wwhndsome @violeteyedkeith @pumapurman @stfucanunot
#izuku midoriya x reader#izuku x reader#midoriya x reader#izuku smut#deku smut#deku x reader#midoriya smut#midoriya izuku x reader#bnha x reader#izuku x you#midoriya x you#bnha x you#mha x reader#mha x you#morgan writes bnha#my writing
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Hey! I'm writing a bestfriends to lovers but I have no idea how to layout the plot? Like how they go from being friends to lover while still being an interesting plot including side characters and side plots ect :)
Thanks!!
Disclaimer: I am not a romance writer/reader, so please don’t treat this answer as the beginning and end of your search. This also felt really vague and I didn’t know how to answer it.
This got kind of long and loose so I’m putting part of it under a cut.
Depending on your setting (and the character dynamics of your couple), you can arrange for a variety of different plots.
Why are they best friends?
Are these reasons that they eventually fall in love?
What sets them apart from their other friends in terms of romantic compatibility?
What could lead them to fall in love besides just being around each other?
How would this change their relationship?
Are the characters ready for that change?
The “he was a boy, she was a girl/can I make it any more obvious?” approach does not work in the modern day. People are complex, and characters need to reflect that so readers can sympathize with those characters.
Plots also require conflict. If your main plot is just these two characters falling in love, then you require little things along the way to prevent them from getting together (in an organic way) to result in a satisfying conclusion. Depending on whether you’re writing for yourself or an audience, you may need to watch out for conflicts that readers don’t particularly like (such as gratuitous miscommunication).
The also need to exist outside of each other.
If their reliance on each other borders on codependent, it goes from being a romance to being a tale of an unhealthy mutual fixation. It’s perfectly fine to write about relationships like that (it’s partially why fiction exists!), but if you are specifically trying to write romance, that means you spent too much time on keeping them together than making sure anything else existed.
As for outlining the plot, you can try a variety of methods. If you have sticky notes (or a word processor), you can make a list of different conflicts (+ their resolutions) and arrange them in whatever order makes the most sense. There’s also outline organizers you can find online.
Personally, I brainstorm right before I go to bed and if something hits me like a bolt of inspiration lightning, I grab my phone and write it down. I rewrite stories to make more sense as I go through drafts and the story itself evolves.
The best thing to do is to try things and see what works for you.
So basically:
Figure out what makes these best friends compatible as lovers (the difference between them and their other friends)
Make sure they exist outside of each other/give them a world to exist in
Use the setting to your advantage to work out character archetypes to refine and complicate into what would be considered more “human”
Try lots of ways to put your plot together
Good luck on your story!
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[4:15p.m.] kiss in the water + a bet | han jisung
warnings: very light making out
requested: yes!
a/n: for anyone who doesn’t know what the percabeth kiss is, basically it was when two characters percy and annabeth shared an iconic “underwater” kiss at the end of the book series. i just thought it was really fitting here! also isortathinkjisungremindsofpercy :)
You never thought you’d meet the love of your life through a dare to recreate the iconic “underwater Percabeth kiss,” but life has a way of surprising you sometimes.
“Come on, Y/N! You’re not actually going to chicken out, are you?” Hyunjin asked, his sweet smile hiding the evil glint in his eyes. You both knew the consequences to backing out of dares, and you definitely weren’t ready to walk into the lecture hall and confess your “closeted” feelings to your science professor. Your science teacher, a ninety year-old man who really should’ve retired at least two decades ago.
God, no. You’d rather die.
“I’m not backing out!” you snapped irritably, sitting on the edge of one of the pool chairs and wanting nothing more than to shove your best friend’s butt off for such a stupid dare, “I’m just--I’m just observing the crowd and seeing who I could use as my sacrifice.”
“You’re totally gonna back out,” Hyunjin chuckled, sipping at his kombucha and making your blood boil. You were not going to back out. No way in hell. Still, as you looked at the people standing around the pool, you realized with a sinking feeling in your gut that you didn’t actually know anyone in this pool party except Hyunjin, and you couldn’t do the dare with him.
“This isn’t fair,” you hissed, your eyes still darting around for someone--anyone--who looked at least remotely familiar, “How am I supposed to just walk up to a random stranger and ask them not just to kiss me, but to kiss me in the pool?!”
“That’s your problem, not mine, sweetheart,” Hyunjin answered with a smug smile, and you were one push away from dumping your delicious vanilla milkshake onto his head.
You let out a spew of curses under your breath. There wasn’t anyone who looked like they would even spare you anything more than a disgusted glance. Nope, nope, nope, definitely nope…At this rate, it looked like you were really gonna have to be the laughingstock of the campus.
Right before you were about to turn around, raise the white flag and begin trying to negotiate your terms of surrender, your eyes fell on a cute boy wearing a pair of shorts and a loose black tank top sitting across the pool with his friends. Did he go to the same college as you? If he did, you’ve never crossed paths with him.
“What are you looking at?” You ignored Hyunjin’s prattling, continuing to observe the boy. From what you could see, he clearly had a sense of humor, more often than not being the jokester in his group of friends, constantly making them laugh. Great, he’s probably more lax about this stuff.
“Don’t stall, I want to do a dare, too,” Hyunjin pouted, looking at you with those large doe eyes of his before you stood up abruptly.
“Wait your turn!” you snapped irritably before you left the comfort of your pool chair, smoothing the skirt of your swimsuit and stalking over to the boy.
You felt strangely relieved that your target was turned facing the other way, so he couldn’t anticipate you walking towards him and therefore couldn’t make a quick escape. That would’ve made things much more difficult, and Hyunjin would’ve never let you live it down.
Making your way behind him and trying not to stare at his toned back (his sleeveless tee did nothing to hide his upsettingly attractive body), you tapped his shoulder lightly, “Hello, could you help me get out of confessing to my science professor?” you asked with a sweet smile.
To your utter relief, the boy turned around, looking more amused than disgusted, “That’s pretty scary. How may I be of use to you, miss?” he asked, giving you a mocking bow as his friends snickered.
“I want you to kiss me underwater,” you answered, pointing to the pool.
“Ah, like the Percabeth kiss?”
Your heart skipped a beat, “You read Percy Jackson?” you asked incredulously, a smile quirking up on the side of your lips.
The boy returned your gesture with a lazy smirk, “Wasn’t that everyone’s middle school obsession?”
You tried to hide the blush coloring your cheeks as he turned to face you directly, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his swim trunks, “So, is that a yes or a no?” you mumbled, looking down at your hands.
A hand snaked around your waist, pulling you close to him as the boy smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief and excitement, “You tell me,” he said before he lifting you up easily and waddling to the edge of the pool as you shrieked.
“H-hey, what the fu--” It was too late. You only had time to take a breath before he pulled both of you into the water. You squeezed your eyes shut instinctively, having always hated the feeling of chlorine in your eyes, but you didn’t have to worry much. Shifting towards you, the boy took the lead without question, pulling you by the waist and making sure he was snug against you before he closed the distance between your lips.
Anyone who says the Percabeth kiss is a feat only possible in fiction writing was lying, because there was no kiss more special than the one you shared with him underwater. His hand moved to cup your face and yours were pressed to his toned torso, having slipped under his shirt. Every sensation felt heightened as the two of you almost moved in slow motion, having to feel each other’s presence as the kiss deepened, and you tilted your head to the side to be even closer against his body.
When the two of you finally resurfaced, your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist tightly, holding you up so your legs didn’t even touch the bottom of the pool, you flipped your now sopping hair back so it didn’t stick to your face and he did the same.
For the first time, you got to look at him, really look at him, admiring every feature of his complexion from his kind brown eyes to his very kissable lips to his soft cheeks. Smiles adorned both of your faces as you breathed heavily, and you weren’t sure whether your face was flushed because of the kiss or because of him. Maybe both.
It was as if the world didn’t exist in the moment as your hands rested on his shoulders and he held you in his arms. Then, everything seemed to come back to life as he gave you that dazzling yet sheepish smile that had captivated you from the moment you introduced yourself.
“Hey, I’m Jisung. Can I take you on a date?”
Were there any doubts about your reply? Of course it was a yes.
#inkidz#stray kids imagines#stray kids drabbles#stray kids scenarios#stray kids reactions#skz imagines#skz scenarios#skz oneshots#skz blurbs#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#my fics#han jisung scenarios#han jisung imagines
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@pwfishing said something about Ted’s contract and then this happened (read on ao3)
meet me in the middle
“Knock knock.”
Rebecca looks up to see Ted standing at the entrance of her office, hand raised against the doorframe.
“Is now still good?”
“Of course,” She gestures to the chair across from her. “Take a seat.”
While Ted gets situated, she pulls out a folder with small brightly colored flags sticking out along one side.
“Now, Coach Lasso,” she starts, opening the front flap. “You signed a two-year contract with the club, with you and Beard coming in mid-season.”
“Yes, ma’am. I remember.”
“And now that you and the team have finished your second season together, it’s time to begin talks for contract renewal,” she flips through the papers looking for the terms section.
“Great. Where do I sign.”
She pauses mid-flip. “You can’t just sign the same contract.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not how it’s done,” she says pointedly, as if he hasn’t already done this a million times in his career.
“Well, I trust my original contract was perfectly fair, Boss. So if it’s all the same to you,” Ted reaches for her pen cup.
She sighs. This is not how she planned for this conversation to go, but perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised.
“Can you at least try to work with me here? Let’s start with base salary. Give me a number.” She gives him her best, serious-business stare, but he's distracted, picking through the cup for his favorite pen. The one with a small greyhound floating through the liquid-filled chamber.
“Four.”
“Something a bit higher, please.”
“Look, I’m happy with the contract I signed,” he gives a little ‘a-ha’ when he finds the pen, twisting it open. “If it’s not broken, don’t fix it. That’s my motto”
“Coach Lasso. The team’s been promoted. It would be irresponsible of me to not reward that with some sort of raise.”
He smiles a little at that and she thinks about what she just said. Her cheeks are suddenly quite warm, but she will not be distracted.
“Let me show you something.” She turns the folder toward him and points to a line halfway down the page. “This is your current salary.”
Ted leans over, reads the paper and nods his head. So far so good.
“And this,” she pulls out a piece of paper from a second folder. “This is where the rest of the premier league managers sit.”
She waits for his eyes to bug out. Some of the numbers are admittedly exorbitant, but she’s trying to make a point.
However Ted just nods again and sits back in his chair, smiling.
“And is that what you were planning to give me?”
“Well yes, I was trying to,” she considers him for a moment. “I must say, this is an effective strategy for getting me to show my cards. Now can we move on to the rest of the terms?”
But Ted isn’t finished.
“Boss, do you know how much a mid-level, college American football coach makes?” he asks, shaking his head and smiling. “Trust me, being here is a promotion and a raise all in one. I’m very happy with my current salary.”
Rebecca can’t believe she’s having this conversation. It’s one of the more surreal moments in her career.
“Ted. Why are you trying to talk me out of paying you more? Paying what you deserve?” The words come out harsher than she means them. “This is standard business and, frankly, you are leaving money on the table.”
“How about this,” he puts one elbow on her desk and leans forward to tap the contract with the tip of his pen. “Why don’t you add a line item for one new pair of sneakers a season and a post-game beer with the boss after every home match.”
She sighs. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
“The club brought in more money this season than the last two combined.” She believed in Ted and the team, but even she was blown away by the end-of-season windfall. Ted attributed it to the addition of hot dogs to the stadium menu.
“Well people do love a Cinderella story.”
“Yes, but at the end Cinderella gets to be very, very wealthy. At least take the car service?”
“Hm, that’s not really my style. But the glass slipper. . .” He taps the paper until Rebecca begrudgingly writes, one new pair of sneakers per a season.
They go back and forth another ten minutes before Rebecca decides she’s entertained Ted long enough.
“I’m exhausted,” she sighs, picking up her pen. “I’m giving you the £5 million.” She goes to write in the number when Ted’s hand stops hers. It’s embarrassing how hard it is to focus with the warmth and weight of his palm against her skin.
“Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. And I get it, really. But I have an idea.”
Rebecca considers the man sitting across from her, eyes earnest, asking her to trust him. He hasn’t led her astray yet.
“I’m listening . . .”
In the end, he agrees to a 1% raise, a fraction of what she originally proposed. Which is how the team and staff ends up with a surprise end of season bonus and 0.01% shares in the club. The shares are more symbolic than anything.
What’s left will go back into operations, new weights in the locker room, and extra sessions with the PT. They’ll get a new TV for the bus and a slush fund for team birthdays.
She has to admit it’s a good compromise. Even if it leaves Ted woefully undervalued.
”Are we done here?” Rebecca asks, considering the page of handwritten terms.
“Yeah, Boss. I think so.”
Rebecca sinks into her chair, blows a piece of loose hair away from her face. She raises her brows at Ted who is looking very pleased with himself.
“Dear, you could have warned me you weren’t planning on negotiating.”
“Sorry Sweetheart, I think it’s important we maintain personal and professional boundaries.”
She hums, acknowledging her own words being used against her.
“Besides, that was kind of fun, wasn’t it?” His voice is low and gravely, a little dangerous.
She swivels in her chair, fighting a smile.
“I’m not sure you fully understand the point of those boundaries.”
He laughs and Rebecca's heart clenches with fondness.
He stands up, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Well I guess I’ll see you at home. I gotta last-minute strategy meeting with Beard and Nate.”
“Sounds good.”
He looks at her like the cat who caught the canary.
“You gonna watch me walk away?”
She sighs, but nods her head.
“Yes, Ted. Yes I am.”
He grins and taps her desk before turning to leave with a wink. “I’ll add a little jaunt to it for ya.”
He was incorrigible, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
A few moments later her phone rings. It’s Ted.
“Hey, Sweetheart, guess what?
“What?”
“I got a raise today. Boss was a real tough cookie, but I think I held my own.”
She rolls her eyes, chuckling softly.
“Congratulations. We should celebrate.”
“Order in?”
She can already see them sitting on the couch with a shared blanket, surrounded by takeaway containers as he recounts their conversation play-by-play until she finds an effective way of keeping him quiet.
“Sounds like a deal.”
#ted lasso#ted lasso fic#ted lasso fanfic#ted x rebecca#pwfishing#it’s just a load of fluff on a tuesday lol
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If you're still taking prompts you should do some rebuke and hurt/comfort!!
Sorry this took so long, but luckily there's a lot of it!! Hope you enjoy!
This is part of my All Too Well Splinterverse series, so a direct sequel to something about it felt like home somehow, cause there we are again in the middle of the night, and so casually cruel in the name of being honest. It won't make much sense if you haven't read all three of those.
read on ao3 here!
--
Bobby gives it three days. Three days where he catches up on missing homework and takes his antibiotics and a lot of naps and feels like a terrible person. And then he calls Luke.
“I fucked up,” he says the second Mrs. Patterson passes over the phone, without so much as bothering to say hello.
“Whoa, uh, okay,” Luke says, and coughs a little awkwardly. “Did you cheat on me or something? Are we breaking up? Cause if we’re breaking up, you gotta at least give me twenty minutes to get over there; no way in hell am I letting you dump me over the phone.”
“No! What? No.” Bobby’s out in the studio for some privacy; he sits up on the couch and runs a hand through his hair, grips the cordless phone a little tighter. “This has nothing to do with you! I fucked up with Reggie.”
“Reggie?” Luke repeats. “Dude, what’d you do? Kick a puppy or something?”
Bobby lets out a sigh that’s really more of a groan. To be fair, he probably could’ve started this conversation with just a tiny bit of context. “ No. I just… I think I hurt his feelings.”
Luke’s quiet for a really long time, in that thoughtful, pensive way he usually only gets when he’s writing a song. It’s usually accompanied by a lot of bouncing and fidgeting, because Luke gets restless easily, and if he can’t expel energy through his mouth, he’s gotta let it out some other way or he’ll implode. It almost brings a smile to Bobby’s lips, just thinking about it. Finally, Luke says, “Can I come over?”
Despite himself, Bobby’s stomach flips at the question. He and Luke have talked almost every day in the last week or so, but they haven’t actually seen each other in person since Luke got out of the hospital. They’ve both been too sick, and then Luke’s been trying to stay home as much as he can, build some trust back up with his mom.
“I might be contagious still,” Bobby warns him, rubbing absently at his chest. “No fever since the day before yesterday, but I’ve still got this cough I can’t shake.”
Luke scoffs, like he knows just as well as Bobby how lame an excuse that is. “Bro, I’m pretty sure I can’t catch the cold I gave you. If you’re not ready, I get it, but… whatever happened with Reggie, I think it’d be easier if we talk face to face.”
Luke pauses, then adds, “Plus, you know… I really do want to see you.”
Bobby has to swallow past a piercing ray of sunshine shooting through his stomach. “I want to see you, too. Okay, come on over, just know my mom’s probably gonna fuss over you.”
“Yeah, well, the last time she saw me, I was unconscious and dying, so I can’t exactly blame her.”
A smile tugs at Bobby’s lips. He and Luke may have gotten together under the strangest circumstances— and “together” is still sort of a loose term; mostly, they’ve just made out a couple times and Luke gave Bobby bronchitis— but at least they have each other now. More than that, even— they both have their families back.
“Think your mom will be cool?” Bobby checks. “With you coming over, I mean? I know she’s been keeping you on kind of a tight leash. And I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“She’s barely met you,” Luke points out.
“Yeah, and the one time she did, she called me a kidnapper. And something in French that you refuse to translate.”
“Purely for your own good.” Luke’s teasing grin is audible, even over the phone. “Listen, Bobbers, that was an emotional day for us all, and Emily Patterson is hardly well-known for being calm and rational under stressful circumstances. But once I sat her down and explained everything to her, I think the ‘saved me from dying’ thing made up for the ‘hid me in your garage for two months’ thing. She likes you just fine.”
Bobby’s not entirely sure he believes him, but there’s no point in pushing it. “Well, if you need me to come over there instead, just let me know.” He starts to swing his legs off the couch, bending over to search for his shoes, but has to pause to cough into his elbow a few times, his chest twinging.
“Half an hour,” Luke insists. “And drink some tea while you wait for me, I don’t like that you’re still coughing.”
Bobby grumbles noncommittally, lays back down on the couch. “Just get over here, Patterson. I can’t deal with your mother henning over the phone.”
Luke breathes out a laugh, and it might just be the most beautiful sound Bobby’s ever heard. “Love you, too, baby.”
***
Luke hangs up the phone and immediately takes stock of himself.
The last week, living back at home with his mom and dad again, has not been nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Maybe he’s gotten more patient since running away from home. Maybe his parents have gotten a little more perspective. Maybe all three of them just needed a few months apart and a serious wake-up call to start seeing things through each other’s eyes.
Whatever the reason, Luke and his mom haven’t fought once since he moved back home, and his dad even told Luke he’d like to come to one of his shows once Sunset Curve starts playing again. They’ve had to establish a lot of new boundaries, the three of them, and quite a few ground rules— if Luke weren’t sick, he’d be in trouble, his mom said, but she thought his hospital stay and cracked ribs were punishment enough— but so far things have been good. And Luke would very much like to keep them that way.
So, he stands in front of the bathroom mirror and takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. The breath is free of congestion, doesn’t make him cough or hurt his ribs anymore. His face is a little red— purely just because talking to Bobby these days makes him blush like crazy— so he splashes some cool water on his face and waits until the flush fades from his cheeks before he heads out to the living room.
Emily’s sitting on the couch with her knitting, an old episode of The Brady Bunch playing low on the TV. She looks up and smiles when he enters, and Luke’s skin crawls a little. She gets this look on her face sometimes, when she looks at him now. Like she can’t believe how lucky she is. Like she still sort of expects to wake up and find she’s lost him. Again.
It makes Luke feel all sorts of guilty.
“Off the phone?” she asks him, a little redundantly, as he hands over the cordless. “How’s Robert?”
“Bobby’s feeling better,” Luke says honestly. He sticks his thumbs through his belt loops and rocks back and forth on his heels, standing awkwardly in front of the couch. “Can I go to his tonight? Something happened between him and Reggie, I was gonna help him out.”
Emily frowns, but doesn’t outright refuse, or accuse him of lying so that he can go out and play a club or something, like she might have three months ago. Maybe she really does trust him more now, or maybe she just likes Reggie enough to put aside her suspicions, but all she says is, “How are you feeling?”
Luke takes another slow breath, letting her hear how it doesn’t so much as catch in his throat. “No cough, no fever. Ribs only hurt when I get out of breath, but I’ll bike slowly, and we won’t be playing or anything. I’ll leave my guitars here, even.”
He sees it in his mom’s expression— the trust in him, the complete and utter belief she has that he’s telling her the truth. It’s something he might’ve taken advantage of, before. But for the first time in his life, he has absolutely no desire to lie to her.
Emily gently lays her knitting down on the coffee table in front of her and gestures Luke forward, stretching out a hand. He obediently leans down to let her brush his fringe aside and feel his forehead.
She hums approvingly a moment later and lets him go. “Ask your father to drive you. Will you be home for dinner, or are you spending the night?”
“I’m not sure,” Luke says, “but I’ll call around five either way?”
“Perfect.” She gives him that smile again— that look — and Luke turns away before he can think too hard about how much he doesn’t deserve it.
His dad is quiet on the drive over, but he lets Luke fiddle with the radio and kick his feet up on the dashboard, and doesn’t protest when Luke rolls the window up and down every five minutes. He parks the car in Bobby’s driveway, right outside the studio, but doesn’t shut the engine off. Something tells Luke to linger an extra moment or two before getting out.
“You need any money?” Mitch asks, finally.
No, but I’ll take some, Luke would’ve said, before, and then probably blown it on junk food or guitar picks or something. Instead, he shakes his head, leg bouncing, says, “Nah, dad, we’re just gonna be talking.”
Mitch nods and leans forward to peer through the windshield up at the studio. Luke follows his gaze. He can only imagine what his dad must be thinking: So this is where my son was living for two months because he didn’t feel safe at home.
“I’ll call home to let you know when to pick me up,” Luke says, desperate to fill the silence, and reaches for the door handle. “See you later, Dad.”
He catches half a glimpse of his father’s face as he heads up the drive: Mitch looks pensive and sad, and at least twenty years older than he really is.
Luke drags in a breath, and tries not to feel too guilty.
He’s barely rapped his knuckles against the studio door when it’s yanked open from the inside and Luke gets a faceful of t-shirt as Bobby tugs him into a strong-armed hug.
“Hey!” Luke laughs breathlessly. “I missed you, too.”
Bobby presses his face into Luke’s neck, tightening his hold. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, baby.” Luke rubs his back, trying to follow his instincts without getting too self-conscious. He hasn’t seen Bobby in a while, and somehow using pet names and terms of endearment was easier over the phone. Holding him and letting himself be held was easier when he was sick and hurting and had an easy excuse. But he doesn’t want Bobby to think Luke loves him any less, or that Luke’s ashamed of him or something, just because they’re both healthy.
Still. “We should get inside,” he murmurs, lips pressed into Bobby’s hair. “My dad’s kinda sitting in his car watching us, and I can feel him getting uncomfortable.”
Bobby snorts, his shoulders shaking under Luke’s touch. But then he nods and pulls away, swiping the back of his hand across his face; Luke thinks he catches the glisten of tears.
Inside the studio, with the doors shut tight and the sound of Luke’s dad’s car disappearing down the street, Luke sits Bobby down on the couch and says, “So. Reggie.”
Bobby’s quiet as he tells the story, his head ducked low and his hands clasped tightly between his legs. Luke keeps a hand on Bobby’s back, rubbing gentle circles as he listens to Bobby talk.
When he goes quiet, Luke takes a minute to breathe and think, before he carefully summarizes, “So… Reggie’s mad at you cause you didn’t wanna tell Alex about your headaches?”
“Reggie’s mad at me,” Bobby corrects, his voice breathy with exhaustion, “because I didn’t wanna tell him either. If he hadn’t caught me in the middle of one, I probably wouldn’t have said anything at all.”
“How come?” Luke tries for gentle, but he’s not sure he quite makes the mark. “You had no trouble telling me.”
“You’re easy,” Bobby grumbles. “I didn’t exactly have to try hard to make a good first impression. Doesn’t matter so much if you think I’m weak.”
“And it does with Reggie?” He doesn’t bother asking about Alex. Luke loves the guy, but he knows better than anyone how bitey and judgmental Alex can get. How slow to trust. Luke doesn’t much love showing weakness in front of Alex either. But Reggie… “Bro, Reggie just wants to be helpful. He’d care that you’re hurting, not that you weren’t totally together all the time. He wouldn’t think you’re weak.” He adds as an afterthought, “...and Alex would get over it.”
Bobby huffs out a laugh. He chokes on it, then turns away from Luke to cough into his fist. Luke rubs his back, feeling the tremors that the coughing fit causes, and winces in sympathy as Bobby takes a slow breath and rubs his chest like it hurts. Luke knows the feeling.
Acting on instinct, Luke reaches over and brushes Bobby’s hair back, pressing a palm to his forehead. He doesn’t feel warm, thank god, but he still leans into the touch, his eyes closing in relief, even as he mumbles, “Told you, I don’t have a fever.”
“I know,” Luke says softly, and really means, I’m sorry. “You want my advice, about Reggie?”
Bobby gives a tiny nod, makes a soft whining sound in the back of his throat that Luke is pretty sure is supposed to be a yes.
“You don’t have to try so hard. Reggie and Alex both, they… they want to be your friends. You just gotta let them.” He runs his hand through Bobby’s hair in slow, gentle strokes. “And with Reggie, a sincere apology goes a long way.”
Bobby nods again and slumps over to lay his head on Luke’s shoulder. “I’ll call him in the morning. For tonight…” Luke feels him tense, but when Bobby lifts his eyes to Luke’s, they’re open and vulnerable and honest, as he says, “Will you stay?”
Luke’s heart does a happy little flip-flop inside his chest. “Of course I will.” He presses a kiss to Bobby’s head and reluctantly pushes himself up off the couch. “Lemme just go call my folks and let them know I’m sleeping over. If I’m not back in ten, assume your mom’s kidnapped me to test out that aromatherapy treatment she kept going on about. And I’m bringing you tea.”
Bobby protests out of principle, calls him a nuisance, and a worrywart and a nag, but Luke feels Bobby’s smile on his back all the way out the door.
***
Reggie drops his bike along the wall beneath the Pattersons’ front window and skips up to the door, swallowing back the nerves drying his throat before quickly jabbing his finger against the doorbell.
Its chime echoes long and loud, enough that it makes Reggie flinch, makes him pick at his fingers and start to think that maybe coming here wasn't the best idea after all.
Because Luke’s still recovering. Luke’s got a boyfriend now. Luke shouldn’t have to spend time and energy worrying about Reggie and all his problems.
But before Reggie can turn around and leave, the door opens, and Luke’s mom smiles at him.
“Reginald! How are you, dear?”
“Very well, thank you!” Reggie smiles politely, bouncing on his heels a little. “How are you, Mrs. P?”
“I’m just fine, Reginald.” She leans against the doorway, her expression turning a little amused. “Did you need something, dear? Luke’s not home.”
“Oh, he’s not?” Reggie’s heart sinks. He clears his throat a little. “Um, is he… do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Probably not until morning. He’s staying at Robert’s tonight.”
“He’s sleeping over?” he repeats, surprised. Mitch and Emily Patterson don’t seem like the kind of parents who’d be particularly chill about their son spending the night at his boyfriend’s house.
It only then occurs to Reggie that maybe they don’t know Bobby is Luke’s boyfriend…
“I have the phone number,” Mrs. Patterson says, oblivious to Reggie’s conundrum, “if you needed to get in touch with Luke.”
“Oh. Oh, no, it’s okay.” Reggie fixes his smile back into place, swallows thick disappointment. “I’ll head over to Bobby’s, or… or I’ll catch Luke another time. Thanks, Mrs. P!”
He thinks she might start to say something else, but Reggie doesn’t hang around to listen. He scoops up his bike and disappears down the drive, pedaling as hard as he can so the adrenaline will overtake his complex jumble of emotions.
He shouldn’t bother Luke. He doesn’t really need him. He’d just been lonely, and his parents were fighting, and getting out of the house seemed like a really good idea at the time. Plus, he’s been sulking for days now since he yelled at Bobby, and Luke somehow always knows how to cheer Reggie up, even if Reggie wasn’t exactly planning on telling him what’s wrong.
But Luke’s with Bobby. Reggie can’t interrupt them. Luke will almost undoubtedly be mad at Reggie if he finds out Reggie shouted at his boyfriend. Bobby’s probably mad at him already.
As far as Reggie knows, Bobby might just turn him away on sight. Before Reggie even has half a chance to apologize.
Despite this thought process, Reggie’s bike skids to a stop on familiar concrete, bringing him to the realization that he rode to the studio without even thinking about it.
One of the doors has been left open. He can smell popcorn and spices carried out on the wind. He can hear Luke’s laughter, Bobby coughing, a Rolling Stones album playing softly in the background.
It makes Reggie’s throat feel tight, makes it hurt to breathe. He’s so… lonely. He wants what they have, and knows he can’t get it.
He should just go home.
He starts to turn away, but Luke’s voice stops him, calling, “Reg, hey! What are you doing here, man?”
Reggie swallows and awkwardly turns back to face the studio, where Luke’s lounging in the doorway grinning at him, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Reggie manages a tiny smile of his own that he can only hope is convincing. “Hey, Luke. You, uh… your mom told me you’d be here.”
Reggie starts to add, But I should probably just go, but the words die on his tongue when Bobby appears over Luke’s shoulder, looking pale and tired, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders up at his ears.
“Hey, Reg,” Bobby says, low and gruff.
Reggie swallows, his hands tightening their grip around the handlebars of his bike. “I just… I wanted to talk to Luke?” he says simply, which isn’t totally a lie. “But I can go… if I’m not welcome.”
“What?” Bobby’s expression crumples, and he pushes past Luke to step forward, toward Reggie. “Reg, no, I— of course you’re welcome here. You’re always—” He breaks off, glancing over his shoulder at Luke, who gestures encouragingly. Bobby sighs and turns back, squaring his shoulders. “Reggie, I need to apologize to you. Again.”
Reggie gapes, baffled. “Wha— I— Bobby, no, I should be apologizing to you!”
“Me? Why?”
“Cause I yelled at you.”
“Yeah, but you were right!” Bobby takes another step forward, close enough that he can reach out a hand to hover over Reggie’s, still gripping tight to his handlebars. “Reggie, I’m not good at asking for help. I’m not used to being seen as weak and not having that be a bad thing. But I’m done lying, and I’m done hiding things. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, Reg. And I do want to be your friend.” He takes a deep breath, shoots Luke another quick look, and then says softly, “I’m gonna start being better, Reggie. I promise. I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like I didn’t trust you. Like I didn’t like you. I do. I really do.”
Reggie’s left speechless, and a little choked. He stands there for a few moments, his mouth working but no sound coming out, and stares at Luke and Bobby both, searching their faces for any hint of a sign from either of them that Bobby’s kidding or making fun of him.
Reggie knows Bobby doesn’t mean it— liking him — the way Reggie wants him to, the way Reggie likes him back. But it still puts a lump in his throat, to hear Bobby say it at all — Bobby who never admits to liking anyone!
Reggie doesn’t realize he’s started crying until he tastes salt on his lips and Luke bounds forward to pull Reggie into his arms. That seems to break the floodgates open, then; Reggie lets his bike fall to the concrete with a clatter, buries his face in Luke’s shirt, and sobs.
Luke doesn’t ask why he’s crying, or tell him to stop. He just holds Reggie tight, and when Reggie chokes out, “I was just so lonely, ” whispers, Shh, it’s okay, I know.
Somehow, they end up inside the studio on the folded-out couch. Luke gently pushes Reggie to lie down in the middle, and then immediately climbs in next to him, pulling a mountain of blankets over them both.
After a few moments of awkward hesitation, Bobby joins them on Reggie’s other side, lowering himself gently onto the mattress and curling up so that Reggie feels his warmth without them actually touching.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Reggie gasps out, his tears starting to slow.
“I wish you’d do it more often.” Bobby gives him a tiny smile and slowly slides his hand into Reggie’s. “You can’t get rid of me, man. I got you.”
--
Taglist: @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @teenagedirtbag-dot-jpeg @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @molinapattersons @julieandthequeers @joyandthephantoms @it-tastes-like-lizard @jatpfs
#jatp#julie and the phantoms#jatp fanfiction#fanfiction#my fics#prompt fill#500 followers aaaah!!!#reggie peters#bobby shaw#bobby wilson#luke patterson#rebuke#peterpatter#lukebobby#boggie#angst#sickfic#hurt/comfort
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Banjou no Geass Gekijou
Before I post a list with all the games Rolo’s been featured in, here's more about my favorite one: the Nintendo DS board game, Banjou no Geass Gekijou. These are some of the lines you get when you land on Rolo’s squares.
へぇ、すごいですね、ライさんって。 何人もの人の声を、同時に聞き分けられるなんて…僕が必ず分かるのは兄さんの声くらいですよ…
Wow, you are amazing, Rai-san. To be able to recognize the voices of multiple people simultaneously... The only one that I recognize without fail is Brother's...
すごいですね、ライさん。人を簡単に笑わせるなんて…僕にはできそうにありません。
You are amazing, Rai-san. Being able to make people laugh so easily... I don’t think I could do it.
ライさんはどうして、そんなに簡単に人を笑わせることができるんですか？ あ、いえ… 別にうらやましいとかそういうことではないですけど… ただ、すごいなって…
Rai-san, why are you able to make people laugh so easily? Ah, no... It's not that I am jealous or anything like that... It's just, that it’s so amazing...
I think lines like this show how strong Rolo’s true self is despite being trained as an “emotionless” assassin. The sight of someone making another person happy makes him feel admiration. He had the potential to be a really good kid...
やった！僕の勝ちですね！あ、ごめんなさい… 僕ばかりが楽しんでしまったみたいで… あ、あの… また遊んでください！
Yes! I won! Ah, I'm sorry... It seems I ended up being the only one who had fun... U-um... Let's play again next time, please!
And he isn’t just in touch with his own feelings, but also those of the individual he’s interacting with. I wish these pretty scenes with Rai could lead to a Good End where, having gained another person he can trust, Rolo actually started believing in his right to be loved simply by being Rolo, instead of assuming his value is tied to his usefulness as an assassin. But yeah, the Good Ends have him killing Rai, so I guess deep-rooted beliefs take long to change...
えっ！事故に遭ったんですか！…兄さんはッ！にィ~さ~んッ！！
Eh! You had an accident?! ...Brother is...! Bro~ther!!
There’s a driving minigame where you play as Rivalz and Lelouch, and this is Rolo’s reaction if you crash Rivalz’s motorbike. Before playing the minigame, Rolo had asked you to please accompany Rivalz-san and Niisan because he(Rolo) doesn’t trust Rivalz-san’s driving skills. I find it amusing that Rolo actually went through the process of learning how to drive a bike and that he probably understands about vehicles (and mechas), while Lelouch likely has no interest or knowledge whatsoever. His fakememory!self was probably initially totally confused by his little sibling’s ability to drive, and it’s things like these that make the time he spent with Rolo be memories with Rolo rather than “with a Nunnally replacement”.
Anyway, if you play the driving minigame when Rolo has come to like Rai as well, he will be calmer and say something like “I’m glad Niisan and you are safe”. Rivalz doesn’t even exist for Rolo.
あれ、失敗ですか。もしかしてオモチャのハンマーじゃ本気になれないですか？僕のナイフ… 貸しましょうか？フフフ…
Oh, you lost? Maybe it's that you couldn't take it seriously using a toy hammer? Should I lend you... my knife? Fufufu...
This is what you get when you lose on the whac-a-character minigame. Sadly for Rolo, one of the rules in that minigame is not to hit Nunnally.
あ、ライさん。ほら、見てください！兄さんからもらったんです、この回転パズル！ねえ、ライさん。一緒に組み立ててみませんか？
Ah, Rai-san. Look, look at this! I received it from Brother, this rotation puzzle! Hey, Rai-san, why don't we assemble it together?
思ったより簡単にできましたね、ライさん。でも、せっかく兄さんがくれたものなんですから今度はひとりでやってみます。じゃあ…
You were able to do it more easily than I thought, Rai-san. But since it's something that Brother gave me, next time I'll try to do it on my own. Well then...
Rolo allowing others to play with something given to him by Niisan? And poor Victor from the OSI had to get killed after touching his locket...
The next part needs some context first. This is from when you overhear his conversation with Villetta and Lelouch at the basement. Once he notices you there, he'll normally just kill you instantly, but if you visit them after he's already grown to like you, he hesitates and, seeing how neither Villetta nor Lelouch noticed you, offers to spare your life with the condition that you don't tell anyone what you heard. You can answer "yes" or "no". As one can guess, saying that you won't keep the secret leads to a game over.
First, "yes":
じゃあ、これは… 僕らだけの秘密です… そう… 兄さんにも内緒の…
Then, this is... a secret that is only ours... That's right... a secret even to Brother...
And "no":
なるほど… 僕がバカでした… やっぱり信じられるのは… 兄さんだけ… 他のヤツなんて…
…ライさん。 あなたならわかってくれると思ったのに… 残念です…
I see... I was stupid... Indeed, the one that can be trusted... is only Brother... Of course there would be no one else...
...Rai-san. I thought that you would understand, and yet... It's a shame...
It might be because it’s a game and he’s merely letting the player know what’s going to happen, but still, I like that Rolo doesn’t kill Rai right away and instead expresses his emotions to him/her first. Like Rolo barely talks to people he doesn’t feel a connection with, but once he does feel it, the love he has for that person is really important to him. Enough that he’d die mainly to honor those feelings that made him feel human.
Lastly, there’s a conversation between Rolo and Lelouch that you get right before Rolo’s route is completed.
(Lulu)やあ、ライ。
Hi there, Rai.
(Rolo)あ、ライさん。
Ah, Rai-san.
ほらな、ロロ。やっぱりライはここに来ただろ？
See, Rolo, Rai did come here after all, didn’t (s)he?
う、うん…
Y-yeah...
今、ロロと賭けをしてたんだ。ライが15分以内にここに来るかどうかをね。 結果は、俺の勝ち。 ロロ、今日の洗濯当番は代わってもらうぞ。
I just made a bet with Rolo on whether you'd arrive here within 15 minutes. The result is I won. Rolo, today you do the laundry instead.
う、うん… あ、で、でも！夕食当番は兄さんだからね！
Y-yes... Ah, b-but! Don’t forget that Brother is in charge of dinner!
む、そうだったか… じゃあ、こうしよう。俺が今からライと何かのミニゲームで対戦する。俺が勝ったら、ロロ。オマエが夕食当番だ。
Hm, was it so?... Well then, let's do this. I'm going to compete with Rai in some minigame now. If I win, Rolo, you take care of dinner.
え、また賭け事？
Eh, betting again?
そうさ、わかりやすいだろ？ライ、何て対戦する？オセロか？パズルか？何でもいいぞ。
That's right, isn't it simple? Rai, what will we compete in? Othello? Puzzle? Anything will do.
兄さん、水泳はどう？
Brother, what about swimming?
なに！？なぜ体力勝負を…！
What!? Why a trial of strength...!
何でもいいって言ったじゃない？
Didn't you say that anything would do?
クッ！いいだろう！速く泳ぐ理論はわかっている！負けるわけがない！ライ！水泳で勝負だ！ロロ！オマエは夕食の献立でも考えておくんだな！
Tch! Fine! I know the theory for swimming fast! There's no way I'll lose! Rai! It's a swimming match! Rolo! Start thinking about what to cook for dinner!
It’s adorable how Rolo is so comfortable with Lelouch that he isn’t afraid to show him that he wants him to lose. Lelouch is hilariously slow at the swimming minigame despite “knowing the theory” (lol), so usually you’ll win without trying:
やった！これで兄さんの手料理が食べられるよ! ありがとう、ライさん！
Yes! Now I can eat Brother's home cooking! Thank you, Rai-san!
チッ… しかたないな… 晩御飯はビーフストロガノフだ！いいな！
Tch... There's no helping it... Dinner will be beef stroganoff, okay?!
うん！
Yes!
I’m laughing at how in-character it is for Lelouch to loose his cool when he doesn’t win. And notice how Rolo didn’t actually mind cooking dinner himself, he just wanted Lelouch to do it so he could eat his home cooking ♥
You can also just do nothing at all during the minigame so Lelouch can beat you, in which case the conversation goes like:
水泳で兄さんに負けるなんて…ライさん、遅い…
To lose against Brother at swimming... Rai-san, you're slow...
ロロ、夕食は何か凝ったものが食べたいな…そうだな…流しそうめんなんてどうだ？
Rolo, for dinner I want to eat something elaborate... Let me see... What about flowing noodles?
兄さん…たしかに凝ってるけど…それじゃ昼食みたいだよ…大丈夫、もっと栄養のあるものを作ってあげるから。
Brother... That's certainly elaborate but... then it would be like lunch... It's alright, I'll make you something more nutritious.
頼むぞ、ロロ。
I leave it in your hands, Rolo.
A Japanese person will probably find this funnier and be able to explain it better, but I think the joke is that flowing noodles are really plain in terms of what the food itself is, and that what is elaborate is the process to prepare them (you have to make noodles slide down a structure of bamboo pipes). So Lelouch seems to be deliberately choosing something Rolo can’t possibly prepare just to feel a bit evil? On the other hand, it’s really cute that he will eat Rolo’s cooking. He isn’t disgusted by it or anything, as much as he’d want to convince himself that he hates Rolo…
And that’s it. Afterwards you get the endings, in which he kills you. Yeah, he spared your life at the basement, but now he stabs you out of respect, because he wants your ghost to protect Niisan. And he smiles and laughs when saying so too!? Well, to be precise, that’s the ending if you are playing as male!Rai. As female!Rai he seems more pained and doesn’t want you to leave, and it’s not so clear whether he kills you or not. Maybe he kidnaps you, since you simply disappear after Rolo took you to the airport. Creepy stuff...
Someone uploaded a video of Rolo’s route, where you can see everything we’ve been talking about.
----
By the way, the official blog for this game was run by staff members who seemed to like Rolo a lot. The blog isn’t available anymore, but you can find the original texts in Japanese through Wayback Machine: part 1, part 2, part 3.
For example:
“I’m now playing through the previous game LOST COLORS and I was chased and killed by Rolo!”
“By the way, I wear Rolo on my employee badge.
It’s cute how Rolo’s charm is shaped like a heart!”
“So, since the anime’s last episode aired, there’s a new DS ‘Banjou no Geass Gekijou’ advertisement.
We tried changing Lelouch and Rolo’s lines!
Rolo 'Niisan... is cute'
You are the one who’s cute-!”
“Good... mor ning. It’s No... zawa... First, um, yeah, I haven’t posted updates. U.... Usui san is the only one who... was... writing... If you’re... wondering... why, on 17th August’s broadcast... Rolo
Rolo
d... died”
“You can see Rolo in the advertisement... (tear)”
“Lelouch’s emperor outfit... I wanted Rolo to see it”
-----
It’s nice to know the staff was allowed to openly fangirl about their favorite characters. Although we already knew that from Sakou-san...
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AO3 Ask Game
I was tagged by @themarshalstale which, thank you so much! I feel like I always get missed on these (I know why, it’s been 84 years since I published anything but still).
1. How many works do you have on ao3?
46 it seems. Which...look I’m slow man so that’s not surprising. lol Also crippling depression does not make for much production, at least for me.
2. What’s your current AO3 wordcount?
309662 according to the stats.
3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?
So do I could only AO3 or in like life? lol I suppose it should only be on AO3 since this is an AO3 ask game. Hrm.
Basically AO3 can be summed up as:
Marvel (in several iterations - all Avengers related)
Torchwood
Highlander
But isn’t it more fun to consider my entire fandom life, which, I’m sorry, I’m old so...yeah. Not all of this is was published and beyond that a lot is not available anymore...which is likely for the best.
Highlander
Star Wars
Babylon 5
Ronin Warriors/Samurai Troopers
Marvel (again, several iterations also of note Avengers and X-Men both count)
Torchwood
Star Trek
LOTR
Stargate (SG-1, SGA)
Mortal Kombat
I dabbled with the idea of Potter fic but never got past the ideas stage.
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
1: You rearrange me till I’m sane
Clint finds himself spiraling into a deep depression after the Battle of New York...until the Winter Soldier ends up saving him and inadvertently giving him a new purpose – to save the man that the Soldier had once been – Bucky Barnes.
Not one to be outdone, the Soldier decides that his new mission is to ensure that Clint remains alive himself. Protecting a blonde man with a self-destructive streak is somehow very familiar to him.
Through the back and forth of who is saving whom they cross the country and learn more about themselves and each other – and perhaps find a reason for living.
2: Five Dates Bucky Didn’t Realize He Was on And the One He Planned Himself
To say that Bucky was surprised when Clint kissed him was an understatement. But it was nothing compared to the shock he felt when he learned they'd been dating for months without him realizing it.Clint gets whisked away for a mission before they have time to talk and Bucky is left to figure things out on his own - hindsight being 20/20 he can't help but wonder how he missed things the first go around.
3: Puck Luck
Bucky Barnes is used to the ups and downs of an NHL season. He's used to the unpredictability of the game, knows that bounces don't always go your way, but that doesn't make a broken hand in the final third of the season any easier to deal with. Especially not when he ends up with an impromptu roommate/personal assistant in the form of one Clint Barton - his agent, Natalia Romanova's (rather attractive) friend he hadn't known existed before his injury.
It's just for six to eight weeks - what could possibly happen in that span of time?
4: Loose Lips Launch Ships
Based on the following prompt:
“We go to school together and I think you’re cute and apparently you’re also the pizza delivery guy and my little sibling opened the door screaming hey sibling! you know that kid you’re in love with? you really weren’t kidding when you said his jawline could cut steel holy shit-”
Bucky is the pizza delivery guy. Clint's younger (foster) brother has a big mouth.
5: Indelible
Bucky Barnes has a pretty decent life – a good job, good friends, a cat that adores him - but something is missing. He’s always found body art to be beautiful and inspiring, and on a whim (and with the hope that maybe he can find what he’s missing) he decides to take the plunge and get a tattoo. That's how he meets Clint Barton. Clint's talented and compassionate and there is an instant spark between the two of them. It's not long before Bucky finds himself wondering and wanting more from the relationship despite the ghosts of the past that crop back up. Because Clint makes him feel normal in a way he truly hasn't for years...
(this was pre-Alpine so I was totally chuffed when canon confirmed Bucky’s status as a crazy cat lady (affectionate).
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not.
I really really really want to do it but I often times don’t end up doing it. There are a few reasons. First, I am akwward AF and bad at interaction adn I feel like just saying thank you would be...not enough? Second - I often times tend to like...turtle (aka retreat into myself) when life gets Too Hard/Busy which happens a lot to me (sigh) and then I miss the vague window in my mind in which it would be okay to respond and then it’s even more weird. I do love and cherish all of them. Like there was one months ago that made me go “hmm...I didn’t think I was going to do a sequel to that fic (You rearrange me till I’m sane), timestamp glimpses sure but a sequel hadn’t come to mind” but then the comment made me think! So...who knows? lol Anyway, I literally have been rereading some in an effort to try and get myself going again. Know that if you have commented, I love you.
6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?
At the moment? Probably:
Look at you look at me
Bucky's in love with Clint - problem is he's really not supposed to be.
For Winterhawk Week 2019 - Forbidden Love
(I really don’t want to give away the spin in the fic but...if you’re familiar with the Secret Avengers Vol 2 run circa 2013ish (aka when SHIELD initially ‘took control of the team’) that’s a bit of a hint as to the spin).
Were it done, Torch Song would be up there. ;)
Torch Song
Clint is sent back in time, via an alien device, to 1938. While he tries to figure out how to get back home, he takes up singing and entertaining to make ends meet and does his best to not disrupt the timeline.Then he meets a 21 year old Bucky Barnes.
---
A torch song is a sentimental love song, typically one in which the singer laments an unrequited or lost love, either where one party is oblivious to the existence of the other, where one party has moved on, or where a romantic affair has affected the relationship.
7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?
Does *wanting* to write crossovers count? lol I want, so badly, to do more crossovers and fusions (which...are kinda deeper versions of crossovers in a way).
The only one I do have posted is a crossover between Highlander and Torchwood -
The Immortal Mr. Jones
A series of vignettes (some long, some short) in the life of the newly immortal Ianto Jones.
My most ambitions project that I have been working on since late 2011/early 2012 is a fusion of the Avengers with Stephen King’s the Stand. I will get that done at some point *shakes fist*
The Stand, for those who don’t know it, is an epic 1000+ page novel about a flu epidemic (I know) that wipes out over 99% of the population and then two figures representing Good and Evil pull the survivors in two directions for a showdown. So basically it’s a non-powered modern AU set in that universe. It’s a passion and comfort project. lol
8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?
Yes. Well, minor bitching back when I was in a prior fandom because I tagged a pairing in a fic but it was pre-slash and not labeled as pre-slash. I got hate on...I think it was Torch Song? And I’ve gotten hate on tumblr re me and my fic in general as well. Fandom! *jazz hands*
Oh! And I’ve also been hit by those reviewers within Winterhawk (among general Clint pairings actually) who like rate you on either number scales or the “meh” scale. Which isn’t hate exactly but...it’s passive aggressive bullshit because I can’t believe none of them realize at this point that the authors can see their bookmarks - you know?
9. Do you write smut?
Yes. Do I write it well? I have no idea. lol
10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not that I am aware of. Well...there was, I think, one of those reposting sites that had a few fics on it but I don’t think it was being passed off as someone else’s? I can’t quite recall. It’s why I have a note on AO3 about reposting my work anyway.
11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
Not entirely, but sort of. Let me explain - I am part of a PBEM game; which for those unfamiliar since it’s a term that was most heavily in use 15-20 years ago, in which you basically do a round robin type writing thing but rather than everyone writing the same characters you write your own characters and you play off what other people have done. Another way of looking at it is it’s basically DnD without dice and written down rather than done out loud. You also don’t have to all be around at the same time. It’s a lot of fun and yes I have been in it for 20 years even though there aren’t many of us left but they are some of my dearest friends and fabulous writers. Wins all around.
One of the other writers and I have actually toyed with the idea of doing a co-written fic actually, mostly because we work super well together and keep getting ideas for things but can’t really do them as rpgs since the pbem style isn’t used much anymore.
12. What’s your all time favorite ship?
Winterhawk probably. Though, let’s be real - Han & Leia are epic and amazing as are John & Delenn (from Babylon 5).
13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?
Does wanting to expand The Black Stallion books as a wee child count? lol Not much of that was written save for world building ideas but there was a great oral tradition of telling stories to my friends. Otherwise...maybe a tie between Star Wars and Highlander. Star Wars was a love since I was super young but the writing bug didn’t hit me until around the same time Highlander was a thing as well.
14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?
You rearrange me till I’m sane for sure. Though Torch Song, if it were finished, would be tied I imagine (I suck at picking favorites). Honorable mention to Puck Luck and Indelible.
Tagging: I have seen this like a million times (okay 5) so I feel like everyone has been tagged already that I know. But...I guess... @vexbatch @crazycatt71 @heartonfirewrites and @disruptedvice sorry if anyone has been tagged before.
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I’m not Your Indian Princess
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Native American Reader, Sam x Fem!Native American Reader(platonic)
WHAT DID I JUST WRITE???
Warnings: Triggers of racism, Strong Political Themes(most of you Natives will understand what I’m talking about), A bit of sexism, crack story..., Cas is not in this one. Sorry!
WARNING! IF YOU STRONGLY DISLIKE NATIVE AMERICAN PEOPLE, PLEASE LEAVE AND DON’T LEAVE ANY MEAN COMMENTS. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! IF i DO FIND ANY OFFENSIVE COMMENTS, I WILL BLOCK YOU AND DELETE YOUR COMMENT(OR FIND A WAY). ALSO YOU MIGHT HAVE JUST GOT A WHOLE TRIBE OR FEW AFTER YOU. YOU WERE WARNED!!!!!!!
A/N: This one is for @tinymoony! hope you like! It’s sort of weird, so please forgive me.
The night was dark and the moon was out. It was almost a full moon, which meant that werewolves could be out right now, well metaphorically speaking. Tonight, there would be no werewolves and there most certainly would not be any werewolf hunting either. Tonight was Halloween and we would get a break from the storm that we called our life. Tonight we would rest and then start again tomorrow because tomorrow is when all the real monsters came out to play.
I scanned the page that was pulled up on my computer. Not a hunt in sight so far. I just finished my last hunt with a Wendigo and now I needed to find another one. It’s not that that I wanted to, but I needed to. I needed to keep my brain occupied or else it would drift back to that dark memory of the night I lost my cousin. Dark memories of that night flashed through my mind. I did not want to talk about it, nor did I want to speak about it. All I wanted to remember was that it happened that night and I needed to find the monster that killed my cousin. Along the way, I found a few more things to hunt and learned a few new things. I also found two tremendously good hunters as well. Their names were Sam and Dean Winchester and they wanted to hunt with me. Something about me being Native and helping them with the cultures and lores. I told them that I was only one tribe though and that there were many tribes that represented themselves as Native American or a better term would be Indigenous. They didn’t mind anyways and said that I could help with getting in with the tribes anyways. Apparently from what Sam has told me, it has been hard for them to even get some of the Indigenous people to help them. I told them that it was probably because of what happened back when America was being colonized and not to be offended by it- just learn and move forward. Ever since I joined them though, more Indigenous people have been more open to telling us things and opening up a little more.
“Hey (Y/N).” I looked up at the person calling my name, meeting beautiful, forest green eyes. The man with the beautiful, forest green eyes was named Sam Winchester. He had beautiful short brown hair that he spent hours on and a tall, towering frame that made him bigger than most. Even though he was tall, he still had the personality of a playful puppy. I smiled at him. “Yeah Sam?” I asked, looking back at my computer. “All you do is work, you need to just relax tonight.” I sighed and ran my hands over my face. He was right after all. I had to get away from the computer and start having a little more fun. If not for Sam, then for Dean. Dean... Dean Winchester was the oldest out of the two and he had me whipped. I loved how his eyes sparkled in the sun and how they complimented his face shape. I also loved how he styled his hair and how he looked so put together with the various hairstyles that he did. Oh and his voice. It was like warm, dark chocolate melting in my mouth. He did things to me, but it was not not just the physical things, it was also the things unseen as well. His personality was was a mix between a cute, little, feisty kitten and a ferocious tiger. Some of the girls that I have talked to have even compared him to a sex god. I wouldn’t go that far to describe him though, even he might and probably was good in bed.
I sighed and turned my head just in time to see him sitting at the bar, talking to a girl dressed in an offensive Native American Costume. The costume consisted of cheap brown fabric that tried imitating buckskin, but failed miserably. the skirt came up above her knees, showing all of her leg area. Her feet was cladded with brown boots that failed to be moccasins, while her chest area was on display as she leaned over and talked to Dean. She also had her blonde hair in two loose braids, while she had a beaded head band on and fake colored feathers in the back. With a revealing outfit like hers, there was literally nothing to the imagination. To make it worse, almost all the guys in the bar were gawking at her.
I shook my head and turned back to where Sam was sitting. Sam looked at me and then where I was looking a few minute ago. He just smiled at me knowingly. “(Y/N), that girl will never be as beautiful as you in such clothing.” I sighed and looked at him. “I don’t care if the girl holds a candle to me in that clothing, Sam. It’s outright disrespectful that she would even wear such a costume.” I said concernedly. The smile that he had on before was quickly replaced with a smile. “what do you mean?” he asked. This answer alone just made me frustrated. I sighed and got up. “You know what? Watch and learn.” I said and made my way out the barn. I would show him.
A few minutes after I left, I heard a voice calling out to me. It was Sam again. “(Y/N)! Wait up! Where are you going?” I huffed a little, turned around and looked back at him. “Do you want to know what a real Native American looks like? Because that is sure as heck isn’t it!” I started yelling. He looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry if I offended you.” I looked around and took a deep breath. “It’s not your fault Sam. It’s just...” “Just what?” He asked, trying to look for some explanation from me. I sighed again. I’ve noticed I have been doing that a bunch lately. I looked at him again. “ It’s just that I can’t believe after all that I have taught Dean about Native American culture, he still has the mordacity to look at that girl who doesn’t even know what any of that stuff that she’s wearing even means. It’s literally a slap in my face and a joke to all Indigenous women out there.” I said, in a frustrated tone.
Before I even knew what was happening, I felt big arms make their way around my body, engulfing me in a hug. “I am so sorry.” he said. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him back. “It’s ok.” I said in a whisper. He pulled away immediately and looked at me. “No it’s not! You’re right! With all that has happened with the Native American nation, Dean and I should be more respectful!” He pulled my hand and started pulling me back into the bar. This gesture made me confused. “Wait Sam, what are we doing.” I asked. He looked back at me and smiled. “I have an idea.” He said, mischievously.
After that, we went back in and got Dean. Dean was really disappointed, but Sam said that it was very important. The girl, who was with him looked very upset and gave me a mean look. Then she walked off and started talking to some other guy. Afterwards, Sam pulled us both back to Baby and we were off.
In what seemed like thirty minutes, we were back at the Bunker. Sam got out of his seat and with in minutes was opening my door. I was so very confused, but did not question that big genius in front of me. If he had a plan, he had a plan and I trusted that he had a plan.
As soon as we got into the bunker, he told me to get my stuff that I usually used for pow wows(for the sake of this fanfic, reader is a pow wow dancer. If you don’t know what that is, look it up. There’s too much to explain.). I stopped cold in my tracks. “Why?” I asked, looking at him. “Remember how you said that there was a cultural dance or pow wow near us that was happening to celebrate Halloween?” I just nodded. “But then I said that it was ok if we didn’t go because Dean wanted to do other things anyways?” I added in a question. Sam nodded and smiled. “Well, I was thinking that we could go to it and we would learn what real beauty an actual Native American girl has, instead of the crazy getups that those girls that Dean hangs out with wears. “ This answer made my lips form an O shape, while nodding. I just smiled and started to my room to get my stuff again.
As soon as I got into my room, I started packing my stuff. Dean, nor Sam have ever seen me in my regalia. I only just told them about this hobby of mine and how much it meant to me, but to see me in action? This would be weird and crazy, but I was going to trust Sam on this.
I continued to pack my stuff and then got my makeup that I usually wore for pow wows. Did I mention that Sam and Dean have not really seen me in a face full of make-up either? I mean, I touch up my brows a bit, wear a few swipes of mascara, and occasionally, maybe a neutral lip color, but that’s about it. I zipped up my suitcase and started for the front door of the bunker, while meeting Sam on the way. “Ready to show Dean what a real Native American looks like?” He asked. I nervously smiled and nodded. Let’s do this.
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It was a long drive to the gym where the pow wow was being held. Occasionally Dean would ask where we were going and Sam would just respond with a “You’ll See”. As soon as we came into the parking lot of the gym area, Sam stopped at the front and dropped me off. “Good Luck (Y/N).” He said, and then they were off, with Dean in question. I waved and then I started for the door. When I opened the door, the pow wow music filled my ears, making me want to cry. It had been a while since I have been to one, nevertheless competed in one. This would be my first time in a while, since dancing in a pow wow again.
I started towards the bathroom, where al the girls were going to get dressed. Flashbacks and memories of my family filled my mind. During another time, I would go with them to these things and dance with my siblings. We went to as many as we could when I was a child. Though, when my cousin got killed, I stopped going to them and started hunting, leaving my family behind. They thought that I was going to college, but I wasn’t and only I knew that. I couldn’t tell them because if I did, I risked getting them hurt or even killed, like my cousin.
As soon as I reached the bathroom, I went into the first stall that was occupied and started getting dressed. I put on my dress, belt, leggings, and moccasins and then started braiding my hair. The thought of Dean came into my mind. I didn’t know what his reaction would be, but let’s hope good? A part of myself told myself to stop thinking about him and to think about the things that I should be thinking about which were good things for myself and my family.
In no time, I was dressed and out of the stall, now focusing my head accessories, which included my head band, hair wraps, and a feather. Not the fake one, like the girl at the bar had, but a real one. Then I started on my makeup, fixing it to perfection.
The outfit and hair.
The full makeup look, besides the lips.
The lips.
As soon as I was done with everything, I took one last look in the mirror. Everything looked as good as I could get it, so I made my way out of the bathroom and to the gym area, where the music could be heard. Time to make a statement.
When I walked into the gym, all I could spot were native people just like me and the occasional Caucasian going few that wanted to immerse themselves in the culture. My eyes roamed every area of the gym, until they landed on a guy with naturally, short, wind blown hair shaped to the said and another guy with long hair, tucked behind his ears. They were looking at what was happening at the dance floor. I started walking over to them, when all of a sudden my category was called, which was women fancy shawl. I turned around and started making my way to the dance floor. As soon as I stepped into the floor, I made myself comfortable with all the other girls in my category. The thought of Dean and Sam and what Dean would think pushed all the way back into my mind. It was time to get in the zone.
I held my shawl close to my body, as the Mc started talking. He was just giving updates for a little while and he asked one of the drum groups to take it away. The music started and I closed my eyes. The beat filling my ears as I started dancing. Everything being pulled away from me as a I had the time of my life.
-----------------------------------------
Dean’s P.O.V
I watched as (Y/N) started dancing. Wow, I did not know that she could move like that. She looked so graceful and just breath taking. Everything about her was breath taking. She looked so much better than the girl in the bar. If I could compare her and the girl, that girl does not stand a chance against her. She was like what you saw in the picture when you ordered from Amazon and the girl was like what you get instead. (Y/N) was authentic and beautiful every way, in her culture or not. I turned to Sam, my jaw dropped. “She looks awesome.” was all I could manage Sam just smiled and nodded. “She’s beautiful.” He stated.
-------------------------------------
The music ended and made my final pose. I took a few deep breaths to catch my breath and then I stood straighter and started walking to the entrance of the dance floor, while the other girls stood in line to be judged.
As I made my way outside of the of the dance floor, I immediately spotted Sam and Dean standing by the bleachers. At first, I was surprised that they even came in, but then I remembered why they were here. immediately, I turned around and started walking the other way. Thoughts of Dean not wanting to be here in the first place and him probably getting frustrated with me came into my mind. He probably was dragged in here by Sam. What would he think of me? He probably was going to think that I was just trying to impress him and that I like him because of it. That was not it at all though! I just wanted to make a point that, that girl in the bar was just a “clown” as everyone would say today and that Indigenous Women were more than what she was portraying.
As I was walking away, I heard my name being called through the loud music. I started walking faster, until I was almost running now. I pushed through a crowd of people lined up to get food and quickly said sorry. Then I was running again. The person kept calling my name and now that we were away from the loud music, I knew who it was.
Dean Winchester was calling my name, while I ran away from him. He was running after me trying to catch up to me. In any other setting this would be a dream come true, but this was just not the setting. I wanted him to effortlessly fall for me. I didn’t want to force him, just because I showed him a part of me that was different. A part that he didn’t get to see every day and that showed a part of my inner beauty(Sam’s words, not mine).
I finally made my way, running outside and stopped until I was at the end of the parking lot and stopped. I bent over, while my hands went to my knees. My breaths came out in deep spurts every now and then. Dancing and running afterwards was not a good combination. I put my hands behind my head and tried to control my breathing.
As I turned around to start walking back, I stopped in my tracks. There in my peripheral vison stood the very man that I didn’t want to see right now. He was looking me up and down with a look of awe. “Hi.” he finally said, after a little bit of silence. I looked down at the floor and didn’t say anything. “(Y/N).” he said again. I signed and looked back him, meeting his beautiful, green eyes. “What?” I said a little harshly. This shocked him and made him step back a little. “You want me now, after you just saw me? You didn’t want me back at the bar, while you were hanging with that skimpy girl, who was making a fool out of herself, while she was trying to imitate me!” I yelled. I wasn’t even trying to hold it in anymore. It was too much and I needed to let it out. “(Y/N), I-” I cut him off. “No, you listen Dean Freaking Winchester! You are a disrespectful jerk.! You know that!” His eyebrows were scrunched, while a look of confusion washed over his face. “Why am I a jerk?” he asked. I sighed, trying not to lose my composer. “You don’t have any respect for my culture at all!” “Why do you say that? I have the utmost respect for your culture! I just stood in there and watched you dance! I was entranced by you! Why would you say that?” He was now yelling and pointing at the door to the gym.
Tears started making their way down my face, probably ruining my makeup. “BECAUSE!” I screamed. This made him shut up and look at me. There was a moment of silence between us. He looked shocked and I am pretty sure that I looked terrified. “Because.” I said, more softly. “You were staring at her in that stupid outfit and that outfit shows so much disrespect to me and the people that I represented tonight. I expected more from you Dean.” My head turned away, while I closed my eyes. Tears kept coming out, probably washing all my blush, concealer, and foundation off. “(Y/N), I would never-” I cut him off again. “Save it.” I said, making my way past him and back into the gym.
From what I could remember, he didn’t even call my name after that. He didn’t even run after me. Part of me wanted him to, but the other half was just frustrated and heartbroken with him that I didn’t have the motivation to care.
I went inside and found Sam waiting for me. I think he knew what happened because his arms were in the form of wanting to give me a hug. I let him engulf me in a big bearlike hug and then I pulled away. He smiled sadly and wiped my tears away with the pad of his thumb. “You looked amazing out there tonight.”he softly spoke. I sadly smiled and pulled him in for another hug. “Thank you.” I said into his chest and then pulled away again. “Can we go now Sam?” He just nodded and let me go get changed.
I quickly got changed and put everything back into my suitcase. I took my accessories out of my hair and slowly undid my hair, while looking at myself in the same mirror that I got ready in before this all happened. I looked at myself and smiled. “Everything is going to be ok.” I whispered to myself.
From the corner of my eye, I saw an elderly women all girded up in buckskin walking towards me. “Shiyazhi, you are going to be okay.” she said, touching my shoulder. From the word that she used, I could tell that she was Navajo. The only reason that I knew that was because I had a friend(or if you’re Navajo, just disregard this sentence.) who was Navajo. The word meant baby or my baby- she was just trying to be nice.
I smiled at her and then took the top of my suitcase and made my way out. Before I went though, I turned around to her and said thank you. She smiled and nodded.
I opened the door to the bathroom and made my way outside, seeing Sam waiting for me while watching the dancers still. I came up to him and set my suit case down. “Are you ready?” I asked, seemingly knocking him out of his thoughts. He turned away from the dance floor and nodded. Together, we walked out of the gym and started walking towards Baby. This was going to be one awkward ride.
---------------------------------------------
As soon as we got to the bunker, I quickly got my things and made my way to my bedroom as fast as I could. As soon as I was in my bedroom, I closed my door, set my stuff down and tiredly made my way to my bed. I fell down and as soon as my head hit the pillow I was out.
---------------------------------------------(The Next Morning)
I heard someone knocking on my door, telling me to get up. Lazily, I turned the other way and pulled my blanket over my head. The knocking still continued. I groaned. “Not Now.” I grumbled, while I turned the other way and did the same thing. The knocking still continued and this time someone was yelling on the other side of the door to get me up.
I sighed and shoved off my blanket, making my way to the door. I opened the door and came face to face with Dean. He was already dressed and cleanly shaved. “Get up Pocahontas, we’re going somewhere today and you can’t say no. Oh and by the way, could you put your hair in two braids?” he asked. This made my nose scrunch up and open my bedridden eyes at him. “What?=I said sassily. He smiled at me. “You just looked so cute last night and I have a cowboy fantasy that I want to fulfill with my Indian Princess.” I sighed and shut the door. “I’m not your Indian Princess.” I said as I made my way into the bathroom to get ready.
I took a shower, taking my time because I didn’t want to even see Dean today. I got out and put on some underwear. After that, I pulled on a cute white shirt that read “best friends” with a cute puppy and kitty on the front, a shirt skater skirt, and white shoes to match. I wasn’t going to indulge Dean in his stupid cowboy fantasy, so I put my hair up into a loose bun, with strands hanging out from the sides. I grabbed my black, silky backpack with everything that I needed and then I went outside to meet Dean by Baby.
He was leaning against the shimmery impala, with his hands in his pocket. “Dean.” I called out to him. He looked up at me and smiled, showing no disappointment to my hair in a bun. He came around the passenger side, following me. Opening the door for me, but before I could get any further, he pulled me close to him. He shut the door and pressed his body closer to mine, until there was no space in-between us. His arms wrapped around my waist, locking me in. Green eyes met (e/c)(I once saw a Native with blue eyes, so you never know.) eyes. “Dean?” I questioned looking away from him and down at where his arms wrapped around my waist. “(Y/N), I wanted to say that I’m sorry for disrespecting you and your culture. I was only talking to the girl because I imagined you dressed up in her costume. To be honest, I think I have a thing for Native American girls(I feel like Dean so would!).” He said. I looked down, trying to ignore him. I really didn’t want to hear this right now. “I didn’t think that me staring at that girls outfit and imagining you in it would be disrespectful to you or your culture.” Tears starting coming down my face as he said this. He unwrapped his arms from my waist, and brought his big, rough hands up to my face and started wiping my tears away with the pad of his thumb. “What’s the matter baby?” He asked. I looked up at him with tears in my eyes. “You don’t get it. do you?” I said, pushing him off with as much force as I could muster. Once I finally did, I started towards the garage door that led outside. I needed to walk this off.
I heard hard boots clonking behind me. This time, Dean caught up to me and walked in front of me to keep me from escaping. I huffed and put my hands on my chest. “Tell me! “ He practically yelled. “Teach me what I don’t understand! I’ll never know if you won’t teach me!” I laughed sarcastically in his face. “You’re one to talk!” I said. He growled and put his hands up in the air. “You are so stubborn! Just tell me! Please!” he shouted at me. I sighed, looked down at the ground and then back at him. “You want to know why it’s disrespectful to me? It’s disrespectful to me because Native girls, like me don’t ever dress like that! I each culture, we have a standard of dressing modestly and keeping ourselves well groomed! Also, not all tribes wear buckskin! Not all Native Americans are the same! We all don’t dress like that!” I shook my head at him and turned away. “I’m not a whore like the movies make us out to be. “ I said softly. “I’m a girl too. A human being just like the rest of you, with feelings. I’m not here for any mans pleasure and to be objectified.” I turned around and looked back at him. “ Native Women are held with the highest regard and respect in Indigenous culture. Not what has been shown on tv.”
When he heard me say this, a look of guilt washed over his face. He came over to me and engulfed me in a hug. I let the tears flow as I was pulled closer into his chest. “Wow, (Y/N). I didn’t know. I’m so sorry for ever doing that. Because I didn’t mean to.” I pulled my head out of his chest and looked ot the side. “That’s why Sam decided to go to the pow wow. So that he could show that he respected me and show you that I was more than just what that outfit interpreted.” He sighed and rested his chin on the top of my head. “Well thank you because baby, you were so beautiful and showed me how beautiful Native American people are.” He pulled away and smiled at me. “I will never ever think about disrespecting you or your culture ever again because that’s part of what makes you you and since that is a part of you, it also makes you beautiful.” I smiled at him. “Thank you Deano.” He smiled at the nickname I gave him and started to lean in.
I closed my eyes and tilted my head, allowing him access. I felt warmth bubbling in my chest and excitement go through my body. Dean Winchester was about to kiss me.
After a moment of anticipation, I didn’t feel his lips on mine. I opened my eyes just enough to see him contemplating. “What is it?” I asked him. He laughed a little nervously and looked down, blushing a little. “Can I uh... Can I kiss you?” He asked in a shy voice. I smiled and nodded, bringing him back in for our kiss.
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A/N; So this didn’t really go as planned, but for my Indigenous girls, I hope you liked it! I just kind of chose a pow wow setting because pow wows are universal for all tribes, so don’t hate me. Um, if you want to request you can or you can just pass by, either or... Haters stay off my page and do not comment if you don’t respect the Indigenous people. I don’t condone racism or any bad themes talked about in the story. We are all children of God and he loves us. Thanks for reading!
#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x native american reader#dean winchester x fem!native american reader#supernatural#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester#sam winchester x fem!native american reader#sam winchester x native american reader#dean winchester#castiel
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