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florencemtrash · 3 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fourteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Secrets are revealed, relationships are tested, and the arrival of new guests at the River House make things all the more complicated. Oh and some canon typical violence.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

There was something cold and damp against your forehead, the bitter taste of medicine lingered on your tongue, dry and acrid, and a faint pulsing near the base of your skull.

“She’s waking up.” Gwyn’s voice came to your ears through fifteen feet of water. “You can hold her hand, if you’d like. She can handle it now.”

A hand slid into yours, palms calloused from hundreds of years spent swinging a sword. Warm and heavy. Golden light pricked behind your eyes like sunlight through thin curtains and you woke up to the sun smiling down on you, red-eyed and weary.

“Helion?” His healing touch traveled over you, whisking away any remaining tenderness in your stomach. You whimpered when he wove his fingers through your hair, gently peeling apart any tangles. It felt nice to be touched by him. Safe.

“I’m here.”

“It hurts,” you murmured, even though you couldn’t identify the pain very well. It seemed to exist both within you and outside of you, pressing down on your chest until even breathing felt unnatural. Everything just… hurt. Your head, your heart, your throat. Like you’d swallowed a mouthful of hot ash. “I’m so… I’m so tired.”

Again Helion combed your hair back with his fingers and you felt the sore spot on the back of your head prickle when he touched it. The blood had been cleaned, the wound closed, but you could still feel it there like a stamp sinking into your skin. The same way you could feel the stretch of scar tissue over your stomach. A thick, pale line a few inches below your sternum.

“You’re ok, my dear. Rest. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

“Thanks Dad,” you whispered, but you were already slipping away. You wouldn’t remember what you called him when you woke up again.

Helion gritted his teeth and brushed away the stray tears that dripped down your cheeks, then his own.

“I won’t let anything hurt you,” he said to the empty air.

The next time you awoke was not so pleasant. There was no caressing hand down your face. No slow murmurs from your father. No warm light blinking in the darkness.

There was the banging of doors. Cassian’s alarmed shouts mixing with Rhysand and Mor’s, and Feyre’s commands for Nyx to take Velaria upstairs and lock the door behind them.

“Don’t come down until I get you, ok sweetie?” The boy’s footsteps were light and quick up the stairs as he calmed a startled Velaria with gentle coos.

“Gwyn?” You reached across the bed for the priestess’s hand. Her robes looked like they were glowing to your sleep-dazed eyes.

Her teal eyes were hard. The grip on her knife tight.

“Gwyn, what’s happening?”

“Shhhh. Go back to sleep.”

Helion roared and the River House shook down to its foundations. The silky covers stuck to your weak arms, slippery and cool as you gripped Gwyn’s arm and forced yourself to stand. Your knees immediately buckled and Gwyn’s awaiting arms caught you in a sprawl of heavy limbs.

The House trembled once more. The wooden banisters creaked. The faelights that sat on swooping, wrought iron curls blinked on and off, signaling the House’s alarm as the floor slipped and slid beneath your feet. Help me! The House seemed to shout.

“Gwyn.”

“Hold onto me.”

You leaned heavily against the priestess’s side, her arm wrapped around your waist, and together you stumbled out the door and into the hallway.

You blinked, eyes adjusting to the lamplight just as Cassian flew across the room, crashing into the fireplace mantle in a burst of color that had you turning pale. The glass figurines and picture frames cracked and shattered in a rain of glass. But Cass only grumbled, “This is what I get for helping,” before bouncing onto his feet and charging back into the foyer where Rhysand, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor stood. Rhysand kept his arm out in front of the two sisters and grabbed Mor’s arm before she could step further.

“Let them go.” Rhys said, his voice low and deadly. He knew something they didn’t. “Helion has a right to this.”

“It wasn’t Azriel’s fault,” Mor seethed.

“Doesn’t matter. I’d do the same if anyone hurt Velaria.”

“What the hell does that—”

Helion slammed Azriel’s bloody and bruised body against the wall with a snarl. The shattered vases in the hallway and the blood dripping from Azriel's broken nose clear evidence that you'd stumbled upon this fight a few minutes late.

Helion held a fistful of black leather in one hand and a gleaming sword of pure light angled up just beneath Azriel’s sternum in the other. His skin burned so brightly even Azriel’s shadows had slunk away to seek shelter in the few remaining dark corners of the House.

“You bastard,” Helion spit out the words like venom.

Azriel hung limp and exhausted, wings brushing against the floor. The bruises beneath his eyes and the cut of his cheeks spoke of days spent without sleep. Days spent prowling Velaris for Andrian. Days spent waiting outside your door for you to wake up.

“You think I don’t see what game you’re playing? This pathetic pattern of yours?” Helion’s eyes flashed a dangerous yellow.

“Helion!” Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be. “Let him go!”

“It’s not a game,” Azriel said through gritted teeth. “It’s never been a game. Not with her.” “Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” Helion snarled. He pulled Azriel off the wall only to slam him back into it. Cracks splintered out like spiderwebs. Dust floated down and landed in Azriel’s hair like snow. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were convinced enough about a mating bond with Elain to invoke a fucking Blood Duel with Lucien Vanserra. Now you’re chasing after Y/n’s skirts like a dog? Looking at her with lovesick eyes as if being near you won’t bring anything but death on her head?”

You went still.

He’d… he’d challenged Elain’s mate to a Blood Duel?

He’d believed they were mates?

All at once it made sense why Elain and Lucien had disappeared to the Mortal Lands, chased away by a violence that should have ended with either Lucien or Azriel ritualistically buried in the ground. Nothing but a pint of blood and a name to remember them by. All at once it made sense why it had been so long since their family had lived under one roof.

Your words shriveled up in your throat and died there.

Azriel stiffened, eyes flashing dangerously.

Helion clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not the only one who hears whispers, Shadowsinger,” he hissed. “First it was Mor you pined after for five-hundred years, then Elain, then the priestess. One right after the other like a prize just out of reach.”

Gwyn tensed beside you and your heart tightened in your chest like untempered glass ready to shatter.

“Gwyn?” You whispered.

You had no right to Azriel, no right to know about his past exploits with females, but still it felt like something you should have been told after long nights spent in the priestess’s presence. Months of living under their roof, eating their food, and falling in love without a whisper of warning. The things they must have whispered about when you weren’t in the room.

Her silence was all you needed to hear. Greasy and rotten.

Azriel’s hands shook the more Helion spoke.

“You like your females broken and vulnerable. You like it when they need you. When you get to swoop in feeling like some grand hero. So you felt you had the right to go after my daughter! And then you were too weak to protect her when the time came? You dared to lay a hand on her are you fucking kidding me?!”

The world froze at those two words. The Inner Circle was shocked into complete silence.

You swayed dangerously as the floor tilted beneath your bare feet.

Is that what they thought of you? Is that what Azriel thought of you? Broken. Weak. Pathetic. Someone who couldn’t handle their own. Someone who had needed saving. An easy target to charm and dazzle. A Librarian who’d been left alone for so long she’d throw herself at the first handsome male who smiled in her direction.

Azriel stiffened.

You were Helion’s daughter. And somehow that made everything worse, because Azriel knew how lonely you’d been as a child and how much losing your mother had nearly destroyed you. You’d shoved yourself into the Alcove where everything was familiar and safe, and all this time Helion had just stood by and done the bare minimum.

Azriel had been holding back his rage — his pain — but he felt it erupt with new passion. Lingering jealousy, that acid that had been building up every time you mentioned Helion or touched the necklace he’d gifted you, added fuel to the fire. Shadows burst out from his hands and ate away at Helion’s magic like a plague.

“Don’t you dare,” Azriel growled and spit blood onto the floor by Helion's feet, “You weren’t even here. She could have died on those streets.” His voice was hoarse and on the verge of breaking, “And you wouldn’t have been there.”

And he might not have been there either.

Rhys had held him back, refusing to let go even as Azriel had tried to crawl to you on broken bones. Even as Azriel had screamed for you.

Helion's face twisted into something ugly and foreign to you, because deep down he knew the true reason he was so enraged at the Shadowsinger. It was like looking in a mirror. They’d failed you in similar ways.

“Helion… Helion no!” But your father didn’t listen.

His power shot out in a blaze of light and heat and slammed into Azriel’s chest. His shadows were barely able to soften the blast. Azriel saw you then, shock and horror seeping down the bond along with something that felt a lot like heartbreak. You watched wide-eyed and slack jawed as the wall bowed out and then snapped in two. Azriel was thrown onto the front lawn, a gaping tear left in the House like a knife wound.

Helion stepped outside and stalked up to Azriel like a lion out for blood. There was murder and hatred in his eyes.

Everyone was shouting again as he raised his sword.

You felt a flare of something bright and hot in your chest, like a shot of whiskey or the first bleeding rise of the sun. You stood up on your own, eyes burning with a glassy, gold sheen that had Gwyn stepping away from you with a gasp. You were glowing, pure and clear and strong.

You’d only felt like this twice before. First, when you’d grabbed hold of Henna and stopped hiding who you really were, and then once more at the Palace of Hoof and Leaf mere minutes before Azriel had turned the book to ash. Both moments where your power demanded to be felt. Moments when your emotions turned to magic.

“Helion.” Your voice echoed throughout the room and into the wide open space beyond, eerie and calm. So loud. So quiet. Like an aching whisper in pitch black darkness. “Let. Him. Go.”

Helion blinked in surprise with his arms still raised over his head. Inch by inch that blade of bright light faded away with the dying light of a sunset. His eyes cooled and that magic rage left his body. He staggered away from where Azriel lay on the ground.

Your hands were trembling, but you forced them to be calm as Azriel got back on his feet, hazel eyes boring into yours. He drank in the sight of you. Your wrapped forearm. The white bandages around your middle peering through your thin nightgown. Your clean hair.

The smell of blood was but a distant nightmare, even if he swore he could still feel it on his ruined hands. Slippery and dark.

You turned to leave.

“Y/n, wait!” Azriel shoved a stunned Helion out of his way, racing back into the House in a blur of darkness. “Y/n,” he begged and reached out his hand, “Please let me explain.”

You froze. The weight of his hand wrapping around your wrist and the rough feel of his scars against your fluttering pulse pinned you to the floor. You felt uncentered — off kilter — and without meaning to, you were thrust into his mind.

You felt the way he’d pined after Mor for centuries. Always close by. Waiting. Watching for the moment she might actually look at him and realize what he was willing to become for her. Someone to love and kiss and take to bed. Someone who’d never have cast her off into that wood. Someone who would do whatever she asked until she was smiling and whole again.

You felt the way he looked at Gwyn, like she could be the answer to all his questions. Like she could be the one to hone all his sharp edges with her delicate smile and her creamy skin and dewdrop eyes. Because if she could love him, it might actually mean something. It would mean he was capable of fixing, not just destroying.

You… you knew the ways he’d imagined Elain. Three sisters for three brothers. Mates. Fate. Love. How he’d imagined touching her. How he had touched her. The thrill of hiding away in dark corners and the soft skin of her fragile neck beneath his lips. The arch of her back. Wood grain beneath his fingers as he pressed her up against a wall and kissed her. How he couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else ever again.

You felt the acidic contents of your stomach surge and wrenched your hand out of his grasp.

Azriel faltered, eyes wide and staring. Something inside of him fractured and broke. You hadn’t pulled away from him like that since Summer Solstice back when you were strangers and meant nothing to one another. But even then you hadn’t looked at him with this much feeling. This much betrayal.

His arm was still outstretched and hanging in the empty air.

Tears dotted your eyes, but you forbid them from falling. Not in front of him. Never in front of him.

“I am not broken.”

You went back to your room and slammed the door shut.

“I thought he liked me,” you murmured pathetically, leaning against Helion’s side. He’d slid into your room quietly and approached you like a wounded animal ready to scatter.

Your father hesitated, fingers caught in hair that reminded him so painfully of Leda — of your mother. Things had not ended well between them, but he could think of her with nothing less than fondness and gratitude. After all, Leda had given birth to you. Brilliant, wonderful, beautiful you.

He listened to the House and the way it seemed to be holding its breath. The doors shut a little tighter. The curtains hugged the windows. And across the hall shadows lingered by the door of Azriel’s room, reaching out towards yours but never crossing the threshold. They were held back by their master’s tight leash.

“I know this might come as a surprise after what I did, but I… He did like you. He does like you. They all do. How could they not?”

You shook your head slowly. “But not in the way I want him to. Not in the way I lo—” You shut your mouth and sighed bitterly. Your cheeks flushed with warmth and before you knew it you were crying again, leaking tears onto Helion’s bare shoulder and feeling wretched.

Azriel curled in on himself, collapsed on the floor like a broken doll with knees pulled up to his chest as he ignored the pulling of his shadows.

She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. They repeated over and over again, yanking on his leathers and strands of ebony black hair. Helion had left for one of the guest bedrooms upstairs after you cried yourself to sleep. Now was Azriel’s chance to beg for your forgiveness. To explain himself. To hope.

She needs you.

Azriel shrugged them off, scattering their disembodied voices with a wave of his gloved hand. He was back to wearing them.

I am the last thing she needs.

“Lucien’s found one of Bethsevah’s descendants.”

Gwyn stood by the doorway, pale skin and blue robes outlined by the mountain’s red walls. The priestess kept her hands behind her back, wringing them in a nervous twist of bitten fingernails, and waited for you to finally look up from your notes.

You didn’t like spending time at the House. You hated the way everyone’s attention shifted to you whenever you entered a room; the look of tight, empathetic smiles and knowing glances filling their eyes. It wasn’t that they were trying to be unkind, but you knew they whispered about the power you’d displayed. About your status as Helion’s bastard daughter. About the absolute state that Azriel was in.

This morning, when you’d left your room for Cagniv Library, Azriel had been waiting, filling his bedroom door frame with a hauntingly tortured look in his eyes.

“Y/n, please—”

You’d left without a second glance in his direction, footsteps hurried and head bowed down. His shadows had followed you to the front steps of the house, but no further and you couldn’t help but feel a weight in your chest thinking about how Azriel had looked. He’d started wearing the gloves again.

Bethsevah’s name rang through the air like a jolt of electricity. After thousands of years, her name still held a strength that demanded to be felt. The book was gone. Whatever magic Azriel had been forced to perform had swept it away to the Continent, and Rhys and Feyre had been wracked with worry and preparations ever since. Favors called in. Threats made. Weapons forged. Bodies armed. At any point they might be called away to the Continent, or forced to reckon with a Death God at their door.

You’d helped in your own way by digging through your notes on mating bonds and the manuscript that was becoming more useful each day.

Thanatos and the Bone Carver, one and the same, and mated to Bethsevah Mordeigh. Magic that wasn’t the same, but perfectly complementary. Magic that worked as a lock and a key.

You were made to ruin me.

Your initial theory, the one you’d shared with Azriel in that cramped apartment at the Alcove, had turned out to be true. Bethsevah, and Bethsevah alone as Thanatos’s mate, had possessed the ability to split him from his power and lock him away, and because his magic was cut from the same kind as his siblings, Beth had been able to do the same with Stryga and Koschei. Her blood, her genetic connection to that magic, would be the only thing capable of releasing the power in the lake.

All magic could trace itself back to a biological underpinning.

You were made to ruin me.

The memory was burned behind your sleepless eyes and haunted your dreams, but sometimes when you stopped concentrating so hard on the harsh angles that made up the Bone Carver’s face, you caught him transforming. Black eyes turned to brandy. His reed thin body filled out and grew strong. Wings sprouted from his back. His pale skin turned tan and scarred.

You were made to ruin me, Y/n. Azriel would say, and you’d pretend that the look of utter love and adoration in his eyes was real.

“When will they be arriving?”

Gwyn sighed in relief. You’d been so quiet the last few days. “Tomorrow.”

Mor bit her cherry red lips, glancing at Rhys and Feyre with worry in her eyes as they all stood in a row ready to greet their guests. Rhys was schooling his features into one of careful neutrality, but Mor had known him for centuries. She’d seen him through his awkward teenage years when his skin wasn’t so perfect and his body grew like a weed in Spring. Back when his temper wasn’t so honed and his ego undeserved. She knew when he was agitated. The squaring of his shoulders. The set of his eyes. The faintest twitch of his left ear.

What a fucking mess this all was. If he thought about it too hard it gave him a raging headache.

Azriel and Y/n were mates, although Y/n didn’t know and no one knew how to tell her, especially after Azriel had stabbed her through the chest under Andrian’s influence. Helion had nearly killed Az. Azriel had nearly killed Lucien. And if anyone ever told Lucien about Y/n being his half-sister, he was sure Lucien would try and kill Azriel too… again. And— oh FUCK. Helion didn’t know Lucien was his son. Y/n didn’t Lucien was her half-brother. Fuck fuck FUCK. Cauldron boil me.

Rhysand rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.

Azriel stood motionless, nothing but the minor sway of his wings and the masked look of anguish in his eyes to hint that he was still reeling from that day in the market square. He couldn’t stop glancing over at where you stood between Mor and Cassian, every inch of your skin covered and a forcefully blank look on your face.

Truth Teller was no longer strapped to his thigh. His shadows had returned, but with hesitance, and Rhys couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Azriel eat something. Every family meal that you didn’t attend, Azriel would just stare at your empty seat and flinch at the sound of knives dragging through meat.

Feyre winced at the onslaught of Rhysand’s thoughts. Do we even want to attempt to fix any of that right now?

Feyre darling, where would we even begin?

At least Helion’s moved to the House of Wind. Feyre offered it as a small consolation. Took me a while to convince him of that.

Rhys gritted his teeth. And he will stay on that fucking mountain.

Lucien had gone his entire life not knowing about Helion precisely because when he stood next to his brothers he blended in. There was just enough similarity there in the silhouette of their faces and their overwhelmingly bright red hair, that no one had ever batted an eye at the seventh son of Autumn. But put Lucien and Helion side by side and a keen eye would make out the same strong slope of their noses, the same dimples on their cheeks when they smiled, and the way their brow bones hung over deep set eyes.

You possessed such an eye — an eye for details and specifics. So when Lucien Vanserra walked through the front doors with the setting sun splashing his frame with fire and light, Elain glowing and beautiful beside him, you knew immediately who he was.

Fuuuuccccckkkkkk. Cassian groaned. Nesta, she knows.

Stop it. There’s no way she figured it out that quickly. Nesta said. Then she actually looked at you. Your mouth was open in a round “o” and your face had gone pale. Oh for fuck’s sake. Really?

Your gaze was locked on Lucien as he walked up to Rhysand and shook his hand.

“Lucien, welcome back to the Night Court. It’s been too long.”

His golden eye whirred, moving up and down the line and lingering first on Azriel. His full lips flattened, freckled nose twitching with thinly veiled distaste. “Not long enough.” But his many years spent as emissary wiped the emotion from his face quickly and he moved on, greeting everyone with a detached kindness.

“Luc.” The High Lady grinned, finally tugging a genuine smile from Lucien Vanserra’s lips.

“Hey Feyre.”

She wrapped him in her arms, closing her eyes and giving him a hearty squeeze.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.”

There was a somber familiarity there, and you got the sense that Feyre was the only one Lucien truly felt connected to. Whatever history he had with the other members of the Inner Circle was tolerable at best.

You finally caught his eye — the one strange face he’d never seen before. He easily towered above you, built with Helion’s strong legs and resplendent in a deep green riding cloak and cream-colored trousers that accentuated the tinge of color in his skin and his mismatched eyes.

He tipped his head to the side, his long braid falling over his shoulder, and smiled softly. “You must be the Librarian that got roped into all of this madness.” Yes. Because that’s all you were to him — some unnamed female from the Day Court. An unfortunate victim of circumstance. “Y/n Halwynn.”

You blinked, surprised to hear him speak your name so casually when you were reeling over the fact that standing in front of you was another one of Helion’s children. Another bastard that perhaps should never have been. Your half-brother.

“The one and the same.”

Lucien evaluated the shrewd set of your eyes and the fit of your clothes over straightened shoulders and found that, at first glance, he quite liked you. You were of the bookish variety — that much was evident in the small novels dragging down your pockets and the smudged inkstains on your fingertips — but you held yourself in front of him well. You looked kind, if not skittish.

“Lucien Vanserra.” He held out his hand and you regarded it with hesitance before accepting it.

“I know the name.”

“It is a rather infamous last name.”

“Bit of an infamous first name too.”

Lucien smiled a little wider. Yes. He quite liked you.

Elain hugged her sisters in turn, breathing in their familiar scent and gripping them tightly. Her time in the Human Lands had served her well. Gone were the days of frail bones and heavy eyes always looking out sunny windows. Her skin was flush with color, her hands strong and calloused, and her knees pleasantly bruised after months spent laboring in the fields outside Vassa and Jurian’s manor. She smelled like soil and flowers. She was as lovely as everyone had always described her. The second Archeron sister who’d been born with an unnatural beauty even before turning fae.

Your eyes dropped to the floor so you wouldn’t have to see what Azriel did when she greeted him. But it didn’t matter. They avoided one another carefully, and Azriel kept looking at you, begging you to lift up your eyes so he could offer you a smile.

A word.

A glance.

Anything.

Bethsevah’s descendant appeared next, willful and stunning in her own way as she waited by the door. Her frizzy grey hair was held away from her face with a strap of leather, stormcloud eyes staring out unflinchingly from a time-worn face. Everything about her was grey from her hair to her clothes and the iron jewelry that hung from her neck and wrists. Cassian sometimes forgot how humans wore their age so openly, and how this woman in particular seemed to brandish it like a weapon.

“Ione Morgana.” Her voice was deep and hardy. Her eyes narrowed at everyone now that the familiar introductions had finished. “That’s my name and it’s the name my family has carried as long as we can remember. Although the redhead seems to believe otherwise. I am old, as you creatures can very well see, and I am tired. My parents are long gone. My sons dead. My sisters dead too. Now,” she banged her walking stick on the ground, although she hadn’t used it when walking up the steps, “Which one of you will see me to my room?” Her words came out more as a command than a question.

Rhys tipped his head to the side, his surprise evident on his face. “You’re a very bold woman. Do you not comprehend who you’re standing in front of? My wife in particular?”

“Boldness comes with age.” She stuck her nose in the air like a wolf sniffing for a bunny, “Something you’d do well to learn.”

An amused smile grew on Rhysand’s face. “I’m over five hundred years old.”

“You certainly don’t act like it, standing all crooked like a tryhard.”

Cassian coughed into his fist and Mor snickered.

“I could kill you.”

Rhys!

Relax, my love, I’m just curious how she will react.

The woman — Ione — hardly reacted at all. In fact, she almost smiled. “Time can kill me. Sickness can kill me. At this point a stiff wind could knock me down and break my back. You’re not special.” She whacked her walking stick again, harder this time. “Now. My room?”

Nesta raised and then dipped her head in silent acknowledgement and together they disappeared into the east wing of the house looking like two grey chess pieces moving over the tiles.

“Wonderful isn’t she?” Elain commented with a fond look in her eyes. She was Ione’s favorite by far.

Jurian came in last, sweat beading his brow as he dragged a huge steel cage up the steps, and Lucien and Elain’s faces turned solemn. Vassa flitted inside her prison — a cage within a cage so that she couldn’t snap at Jurian’s hands when he got too close. His eyes were bloodshot, knuckles bruised and bloody.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You’d imagined the firebird as something majestic. You’d imagined feathers dipped from the richest dyes trailing light from their ends like red, green, and blue sparklers. Instead, her eyes were the only vibrant feature about her, and they were sharp from hunger.

“What’s happened to her?” Cassian breathed. When he stepped forward, Vassa lunged from her perch, screeching when she clashed with the steel grate. Her claws tore at the metal but never broke through the magic Lucien had placed there.

Jurian whispered words of comfort and love through the metal, and in time, Vassa seemed to settle.

“It started last week,” Lucien said through clenched teeth, “The day Koschei got his hands on the book, Vassa started going mad. She can’t sleep, not in her human form or as a firebird, and she keeps… hungering for something she can’t name. The day we found Ione, she…”

“She tried to kill me.” Jurian raised his hands and slid his sleeves down. Claw marks, barely healed, ran jagged down his arms. “Let’s not mince words, Lucien.” He grimaced. “Koschei’s trying to call her back to the lake, but she’s fighting it with everything she has.” He looked back at Vassa, eyes dull and tired. She screeched once again and feathers fell from her body before curling up into blackened husks on the floor. You could just make out the sections of skin where she’d ripped out her own feathers, raw and dotted pink with blood. “I suggest you give us a room far away from everyone else.”

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

^^ Me writing this chapter because Helion finally beat the shit out of Azriel and revealed all the tea about his past relationships with Mor, Elain, and Gwyn and because I got to bring Lucien to the Night Court. And soon! We'll get to see how Lucien reacts when he learns that Y/n is his sister!!!!!!!

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x reader angst #yessssss Helion beat him up!#Daddy Helion to the rescue #we love a character with “don't touch my daughter” energy!

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yutaan · 1 year

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Papercraft Ed! I had the sketch for this one finished a while ago, but for whatever reason didn’t feel quite happy with it. Eventually I tried flipping it to face the opposite way - meaning his automail arm was now facing the viewer and could be shown via rips in his clothes and gloves - and then BAM, I liked how it looked after all! Sometimes it’s the simplest things that make all the difference.

#fullmetal alchemist #edward elric #papercraft #papercutting #paper art #my art #I didn't actually read or watch FMA until 2021 and somehow never had any idea whatsoever what it was actually about #just that it was Good and beloved by many #and like! I was looking forward to it! But buying the whole manga would be pretty expensive #so I kept putting it off #UNTIL!#USED BOOKSTORE TO THE RESCUE ONCE AGAIN!!!#they had the ENTIRE SERIES for a STEAL and I straight-up gasped aloud in the manga aisle #carried everything up to the counter at once like I was weightlifting because WHAT IF I left a volume behind and someone else snagged it #TOO RISKY #and then read the whole series in two days #and. Dear readers you were ALL correct #fma fucking SLAPS

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jasmines-library · 8 months

Text

I'll Make This Up To You

WHUMPTOBER DAY SIX: Prompt: made to watch

Summary: after being kidnapped by the joker, Jason is forced to watch you being tortured when you beg to take his place.

Warning: Blood, beating, gore, cursing, punctured lung.

Word count: 1.3k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Your entire body throbbed. Your wrists hung limply from rusty chains that dangled from the ceiling. Your bare toes struggled to relieve the burning that spread down your arms and into the sockets of your shoulders, but your bare toes only skimmed the floor, not providing you with a fraction of release. The groan, and clanging of the chains on the other side of the room, alerted you to the other presence in the room. He was still wearing his black suit with the red bat insignia printed across his chest.

“Hood?” You murmured from across the room, trying to grab his attention. The boy groaned, bleary eyed before mumbling your name in response.

“Are you okay?” He asked, testing the strength of his chains albeit to find that he was firmly stuck.

“Yeah” You nodded. “What happened? I don’t remember anything besides-”

A blinding light piercing through the darkness. Shattering glass, a scream. Then nothing.

“The crash.” Jason finished for you.

You were about to speak again; to utter another string of words when you were silenced by a catatonic laughter.

The Joker barged his way through the double doors to the room. They slammed loudly against the wall as pushed up his sleeves. Although Jason was still wearing his mask, you could sense the fear rising in his body.

“Isn’t this nice?” He said, walking around the two of you. “My two favourite birdies all in one place.”

He smiled a toothy grin, his face too close to yours for comfort before whipping back around to Jason and wiggling his fingers. “How’s it hanging Little Robin? Did ya miss me?”

Jason tried to recoil from the man before him, but the chains only allowed him to swing feebly back and forth. This elicited another manic laugh from the Joker.

“Now, I would say that I'm sorry to do this to you again, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it?”

He ran his finger along Jason’s hooded jawline, before trailing his fingers down to his neck and to the hem of his mask which he tore from his face.

“Hiya, Jaybird.” He said, giving him a wink. Jason stiffened at the nickname. “Oh how I missed this pretty face.”

“Fuck you.” He spat.

The Joker pulled back, placing a hand to his chest in mock hurt and cackling once more. “Your words wound me, Jason. Like father like son I see.”

The sound of an old, metal cart being pushed with a squeaky wheel by one of his goons filled the room. On top of it lay an assortment of weapons and tools, two of which you identified as yours. Another man tugged in an old camera. “I think it’s time that we send the bat a message.” he trailed his fingers along the edge of the tray, before picking up a small knife and twirling it between his digits. “He needs to stop getting on my last nerve and you, my little birdy, need to learn to keep your mouth shut.”

His last sentence was exaggerated with a swing of his arm, which landed a well placed cut to Jason's cheek.

“Hey!” You yelled, squirming against your restraints. “Get the fuck away from him!”

The suit-clad man spun around slowly, tilting his head and the knife towards you.

“Oh? The little bird has something to say. Tell me, Y/N,” He provoked as his goon removed your mask from your face. “What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do when I drive your very own knife through your beloved Jaybird’s heart? Hmm?”

“I told you to leave him alone.” You spat back in his face.

The Joker's eyes turned dark as he narrowed them coldly at you. His grin dropped as he turned back around and slashed another line against Jason’s face. He groaned, eyes wide as he began to relive his past time with the man. You felt your heart clench, you couldn’t let him go through that. Not again, you couldn’t watch as he tried to fix himself. You couldn’t watch him suffer again.

“Stop it!” You yelled at him, only for the other man to cover your mouth firmly with his hand. You fought hard, shouting until your voice went hoarse. “Please…hurt me instead.”

The man stopped, a shit eating grin exaggerated across his features. “Smile for the camera.”

~~~

Your head hung limply, chin resting on your chest. Blood trickled down your temple, oozed from your nose and clung to almost every inch of your skin. Inch deep cuts lay littered across your skin, along with a multitude of The sound that left your mouth was barely a scream as he drove the knife into the flesh of your thigh.

Jason had tried to keep from crying out; each yell or vulgar comment leaving you with another scar to add to your collection, or another fingernail ripped out from its bed, but he couldn’t bear to watch you suffer in place of him. It made his stomach twist into knots. He prayed that Tim would be able to hack the livestream that Joker was feeding to the cave and reach you before something fatal happened.

Jason squirmed in the chains. They clanked together loudly. “Leave her alone!”

The man tutted before you, turning away and leaving the knife lodged within the muscle.The vigilante was about to let out a sigh of relief when he watched the Joker's fingers dance over the various bloodied tools and towards the wooden bat.

Before the dark-haired boy could make another sound, the bat was slammed into your ribs. You gasped, eyes flying open as you swung on the chains. You heaved a ragged gasp as he swung hard again, crying out as you felt your ribs shatter. You let out a haggard cough, tasting the copper on your tongue as blood coated your tongue and dribbled from your mouth. The rib had punctured a lung.

The villain's laughter morphed with your and Jason’s shouting. The wooden bat clattered on the floor, but was soon replaced by Jason’s pistol. He cried out loudly. “I hope you’re watching, Batsy.” Joker, picked up the camera, zooming in on your face. “I want you to see the light leave her eyes.”

“I’ll do you one better.” A voice sounded behind him.

Looking over his shoulder, the villain was greeted with the dark cowl of Batman’s suit. The taller man grabbed the villain, swinging him into the wall. The three other boys jumped into action, tackling the goons. Fueled with anger and determination, it didn’t take long before they were releasing you from the shackles that tugged agonisingly on your body.

You landed in a heap on the floor, wheezing loudly as Jason collapsed to his knees beside you, fingers pressing harshly against your thigh. You whimpered.

“I’m sorry. Stay with us, I'm sorry.”

“I’m fine- ” You tried to dismiss Jay’s worry. You didn’t want him to feel any guiltier than you knew he already did. Your head dizzied as you were hoisted into the air by a strong pair of arms.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated it like a mantra. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

You shook your head. “Jay…this is not your fault.”

“But-”

You cut him off with another ragged cough, spilling more blood from your lips. He forced his legs to move further.

“Not your fault.”

Instead of fighting back, he decided to pull you closer. “I’m gonna get you fixed up Y/N. I promise. I will make this up to you.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY FIVE ⛤ DAY SEVEN ->

🏷️ taglist

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

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lord-squiggletits · 3 months

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I think the key component to my personal reading of post-Delphi Pharma is that he's trying to be a horrible person on purpose. Not "on purpose" in the way that people have free will to exercise their own choices, but in that Pharma's "mad doctor" persona is a performance he puts on to deliberately embrace how much everyone else hates him. Basically, if people already think you're a "bad Autobot" and a horrible doctor who just kills his patients for fun, why try to prove otherwise to people who have already made up their minds about you? Just fully embrace the fact that people see you as an asshole. Don't try to change their minds. Don't plead for their forgiveness or understanding. Just stop caring. If you're going to be remembered as a monster, you might as well be a memorable monster, and eke as much pleasure and hedonism as you can out of it before karma catches up to you and you inevitably crash and burn.

I mean, I guess you could just go the route of "Oh, Pharma was always a fucked up creepy guy and Delphi was just him taking the mask off," but I really don't like that interpretation because, for one, it feels really wrong to take a character like Pharma becoming evil under duress and going, "Oh well clearly he did the things he did because he was evil all along," as if somehow Pharma breaking under blackmail/torture/threat of horrible death was a sign of him having poor moral character. As opposed to, you know, suffering under the very real threat of horrible death for himself and everyone he cares about while being manipulated by a guy who specializes in psychological torture.

The second reason is that it just doesn't make sense to write Pharma as having been evil all along. I mean...

Occam's Razor says that the best argument is the one with the simplest explanation. Doesn't it make way more sense to take Pharma's appearances in flashbacks, his friendship with Ratchet, his stunning medical accomplishments, and the few we see of him speaking kindly/sympathetically (or in the least charitable interpretation, at least professionally) towards his patients and conclude "This guy was just a normal person, if exceptionally talented." Taking all of these flashback appearances at face value and assuming Pharma was being genuine/honest is a way simpler and more logical explanation than trying to argue that Pharma for the past 4 million years was just faking being a good doctor/person. I mean, it's possible within the realm of headcanon, but the fact is Pharma's appearances in the story are so brief that there simply wasn't room in the story for there to be some sort of secret conspiracy/hidden manipulation behind why Pharma acted the way he did in the past.

I just can't help but look at things like Pharma's friendship with Ratchet (himself a good person and usually a fine judge of character) and the fact that even post-Delphi, pretty much every single mention of Pharma comes with some mention of "He was a good doctor for most of his life" or "He was making major headways in research [before he started killing patients]" which implies that even the Autobots themselves see Pharma's villainy as a recent turn in his life compared to how for "most of his life" he "used to be" a good doctor.

And although Pharma doesn't know this, we as the readers (and even other characters like Rung) know about Aequitas technology and the fact that it actually works, so... if Pharma really was an unrepentant murderer, why couldn't he get through the forcefield too? The Aequitas forcefield doesn't require that a person be completely morally pure and free of wrongdoing or else how could Tyrest get through, just that they feel a sense of inner peace and lack feelings of guilt. Pharma has murdered and tortured people by this point, and put on quite a campy and theatrical show of how much he sees it as a fun game, so why then can he not get through?

It circles back to my headcanon at the start of this post that the "mad doctor" persona is just that-- a persona. Delphi/post-Delphi Pharma's laughing madman personality is just so far removed from every flashback we saw of him and everything we can infer based on how other people see/saw him before that, to me, the mad doctor act is (at least in large part, if not fully) a persona that Pharma puts on to put his villainy in the forefront.

To avoid an overly simplistic/ableist take, I don't think Tarn tortured Pharma into turning crazy. To me, it's more like the constant pressure of death by horrific torture, the feeling of martyrdom as Pharma kept secret that he was the only one standing between Delphi and annihilation, the physical isolation of Messatine as well as the emotional separation from Ratchet, being forced to violate his medical oaths (pretty much the only thing Pharma's entire life has been about), etc. All of that combined traumatized Pharma to the point that the only way he could avoid cracking was to just stop caring about all of it. Because at least then, even if he's still murdering patients to save Delphi from a group of sadistic freaks, Pharma doesn't have to feel guilty and sick about doing it. As opposed to the alternatives, which were probably either going off the deep end and killing himself to escape, or confessing to what he did and getting jailed for it.

In that light, Pharma becoming a mad doctor makes sense. It avoids the bad writing tropes of "oh this character who was good his entire life was actually just evil and really good at hiding it" as well as "oh he got tortured and went crazy that's why he's so random and silly and killing people, he's crazy" and instead frames Pharma's evil as something he was forced into, to the point where in order to avoid a full psychological breakdown and keep defending Delphi, he just had to stop caring about the sanctity of life or about what other people might think of him.

Then, of course, the actual Delphi episode happens, and Pharma's own lifelong best friend Ratchet basically spits in his face and sees him as nothing more than a crazy murderer who went rogue from being a good Autobot. Then Pharma gets his hands cut off and left to die on Messatine. At that point, Pharma has not only been mentally/emotionally broken into losing his feelings of compassion, he's received the message loud and clear: He is alone. Everyone hates him. Not even his own best friend likes him any more. No one even cared enough about him to check if he actually died or not. He will only ever be remembered as a doctor who went insane and killed his patients.

So in the light of 1. Having all of your redeeming qualities be squeezed out of you one by one for the sake of survival and 2. Having your reputation and all of your positive relationships be destroyed and 3. People only know/care about you as "that doctor who became evil and killed his patients" rather than the millions of years of good service that came before.

What else is there to do but internalize the fact that you'll forever be seen as a monster and a freak, and embrace it? People already see you as a murderer for that blackmail deal you did, so why not become an actual murderer and just start killing people on a whim? People already see you as an irredeemable monster who puts a stain on the Autobot name, so why beg for their forgiveness when you could just shun them back? You've already become a murderer, a traitor, and a horrible doctor, so what's a few more evil acts added to the pile? It's not like anyone will ever forgive you or love you ever again.

Why care? Why try to hold on to your principles of compassion, kindness, medical ethics, when an entire lifetime of being a good person did nothing to save you from blackmail and then abandonment? Why put yourself through the emotional agony of feeling lonely, guilty, miserable, when you could just... stop caring, and not hurt any more?

#squiggposting #pharma apologism #i'm sure the doylist reason for the writing is just that pharma was a designated villain #so since he's a villain and 'crazy' it's fine for everyone even the good guys to treat him like complete trash #i just think from a watsonian perspective taking a sympathetic approach is way more interesting and logically consistent #what i mean is like. from a meta perspective one of the best ways to show that a character is super evil and not worth saving #is when even the good guy heroes. the ones who are supposed to be kind and compassionate and wise. see him as dirt #and this is also kind of a necessity in most plots bc TF is the kind of series that just needs action villains and long-term antagonists #so not every villain is written or has a plot to be made redeemable. and pharma is one of these bc he's not important or a legacy character #so from a doylist (meta) perspective you could read the autobots' disregard of pharma as a sign of #'this guy is not meant to have your sympathy as a reader. pay no attention to him'#but from a watsonian (in universe) perspective it paints a miserable picture of pharma being utterly forsaken by the ppl he served alongsid #and like yeah i'm super autistic about pharma so of course i view him with sympathy but like #the idea of being a loyal and good person for years only to be subjected to a Torment Nexus of #being blackmailed into breaking all of the oaths you held sacred. under threat of you and all your comrades dying horrible torturous deaths #then when your comrades find out about it they focus solely on the 'harvesting organs' and not on the 'blackmail' part #and then you get literally left for dead by your comrades and best friend hating your guts #and then you get rescued by a guy who uses you as a test subject for his evil machine #this is a fucking nightmare scenario like pharma could hardly be suffering more if the author TRIED to make him suffer #and for me it's like. the evil pharma did can't be decontextualized to what drove him to that. as well as the question of like #how easily ppl can write someone off as evil and turn a blind eye to (or even find satisfaction in) their suffering bc theyre evil #and either brought it on themselves or it's just karma paying a visit #like. i feel like if pharma WERE a shitty doctor and a terrible person his whole life then the delphi situation would feel like karma #but the way it's written and the lore retroactively put in makes it feel more pharma getting thrown in a torture carousel #and THEN becoming evil. but then being treated as if he was always evil or was some sort of bad apple #bc like i'm not opposed to LOLing when a villain gets a karmic torture/death related to the wrongs they committed #but in pharma's case it feels less like karma and more like endless torture + being abandoned by ppl who should have been more loyal

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syoddeye · 3 months

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spoils

poly 141....sort of x reader 1.2k words lightly edited cw: kidnapping, non-consensual touching not my most creative title, apologies 2024/04/01 Update: This series is now Poly141! x transmasc!Reader.

"You'll be joining us tonight."

A decree, not an invitation. Not something to be refused or challenged, like the man who proclaimed it.

When you emerge from the forced bath, freshly washed and groomed by the hands of insistent strangers, your clothes are gone. The ones they left are ridiculous. Nothing you would ever wear. The material, the fastenings, the embellishments - impractical, flimsy, made to be torn away. You note the many warnings that comprise the ensemble.

Unwieldy, draping fabric. It skims the floor, requiring you to hitch it up to walk steady.

No footwear. Difficult to run on gravel and dirt on bare feet, should you make it that far.

Layers of noisy, dangling necklaces and bracelets. Might as well wear a bell with a collar.

Mute, placid faces escort you to the dining hall. A silence falls over the crowded table, stretching from one end of the grand space to the other. Your reception is mixed. Uncertainty, hatred, disinterest - unbridled want, being the most disturbing.

A man near the head of the table, hair cut into a mohawk, menaces you with a grin you feel scraping against your ribs. Across from him, another man, the one who found you, is more surreptitious with his interest, smirking, hiding teeth no doubt as sharp as his companion's.

A hand at your back nudges. You take measured steps toward him, helming the table with a pleased, smug smile. Your skin still sings from earlier, your first escape attempt, radiating with each inch you cross.

As you draw nearer, you falter. There is no chair left for you. Your eyes flick up, finally meeting his, and your stomach churns with realization. His eyes crease in amusement, and he leans back to pat a thigh.

The expectation is unmistakable, and it is nearly enough to send you screaming and shrieking from the room despite the futility.

A silent order, degrading and humiliating.

Swallowing hard, you lift your chin to continue your slow march, but the sudden movement of the mohawked man makes you jerk to the side, giving an even wider berth to the row of men. He turns in his seat to rake his eyes up your figure, licking his lip when he makes it to your face. The masked man beside him reaches over, grabs the lech by the neck, and corrects him, muttering some scolding.

You hesitate in front of your intended seat. The blue eyes of your captor are too blithesome for the circumstances. Though, he has reason to celebrate. You turn and reluctantly sit, barely putting weight on his limb, only for a broad hand to pull you further onto the meat of his thigh, settling you by snaking an arm to belt you in place.

Dozens of witnesses watch you wince and hiss as he adjusts you again, closer to the table. The hand of the arm bracing you slips into an open slit of the clothes you wear, one you hadn't known existed, and digs into your plush thigh. His hand is cold and makes you shiver.

You know he feels your trembling and twitching with your back to his chest as you register every one of his subtle movements. His excitement.

With a gesture, dinner and conversation resume. For most of the table, it was as if you weren't even there.

"Pour for us," John purrs into your ear, nosing your temple as he grabbed a short glass, indicating a decanter within reach.

It takes effort to calm your shaking hand. Leaning forward slightly, unable to avoid pushing your bottom against John's leg firmly, you lift the decanter and ignore the quiet groan behind you. The man who scruffed his associate watches like a hawk.

The meal proceeds. John's focus returns to some discussion with the man who found you – Kyle, you learn – regarding some operation or directive. When you shift, seeking comfort for your abused skin, John's grip pulses meanly.

"Eat," He whispers when you don't touch the food. There's only one plate in front of you, and you assumed it was for John. But at his command, you take a fork and eat. Each bite is a mechanical function, each swallow from fear instead of hunger.

Eventually, John plucks a piece of food off the shared plate and offers it directly to your lips. He tests you with a bit of bread first, pushing it firmly to your closed mouth when it refuses to open, then presses it to your tongue. It's awkward and uncomfortable, his fingers lingering, hooking over your bottom lip. You set the fork down after he feeds you three times. It sickens you, the relief you feel when you squeeze his arm when you hit your limit, full and finished, and he stops.

"So well behaved now," John muses aloud. "Just needed a little care and a meal." Quiet laughter rumbles in crude agreement among the men closest to him. "To think we almost ransomed you. Too pretty a thing to give back, I think."

You lift your face, chest tightening, and find three sets of eyes staring back. One at a time, they slip past you to John. His head ducks, mouth pressing to your cheek. "S'pose I ought to share the spoils…What about Kyle? He usually keeps his hands to himself."

Kyle's eyes narrow and his fingers curl tight around his glass.

"Could give MacTavish a turn. He leaves teeth marks though."

The man with the mohawk simpers, nose flaring. He sets a thick arm on the table and leans toward you, fork in hand.

A frightened whimper crawls up your throat, and without thinking, you press back into John, whose hand squeezes your thigh. You feel his chuckle before you hear it.

"No? Too scary? Simon's not much better…"

The last man, a beast in black, sits as still as a statue. However, his eyes, two black pits, bore into you, and the fabric of his mask shifts when you don't immediately look away.

John's hand slides out of your clothes to your waist, seemingly preparing you to transfer to Simon, and you scramble, grabbing at his arm, protest caught in your mouth.

"No?" John rumbles with feigned surprise, the return of his rapacious grip underscoring it. His hand glides down to the curve of your ass. "Want to stay with me, pet?"

You are not about to give him the satisfaction of an answer, even if it's obvious. You fix your eyes to the plate of scraps, afraid to look at the rest of the table that, like you, has gone silent.

John kisses the crown of your head. "Quiet thing. We'll go upstairs soon, and I'll make up for earlier." He taps the side of your thigh hard enough to agitate the sore flesh.

You bite back your dissent. No point.

The meal resumes with dessert, and you lick the cream from his finger, suffering his whispered praises. His subordinates openly stare. You can't say for certain if any of them are more palatable than another, but you can't bring yourself to regret your 'choice'.

After all, the devil you know is better than the ones you don't.

#poly 141 #kind of #if you squint #x reader #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 x you #x gn reader #john price x reader #john price x you #price x you #price x reader #how was reader kidnapped? found? taken? rescued?#where are they??#how well does reader know price??#i simply want to write unsettling things

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restinsodaroni · 6 months

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Here it is! My new fic! Surprise Rescue Party! I have Been working on this for days lol. I would have been done sooner but I wanted to write chapter 2 before posting it. Which means I had to draw more art 😅 Anyway in this fic you team up with Eclipse to find Cassie in the ruined Pizzaplex, you quickly find out how dangerous that will be! If you would like to read it, you can do so here!

#restinsodaroni art #surprise rescue party fic #daycare attendant #five nights at freddy’s security breach #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #fnaf ruin dlc #ruin eclipse #fnaf eclipse #eclipse x y/n #eclipse x reader

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localrobotfragger555 · 3 months

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Oh laWTEEE PLS HEAR ME AAOUTTT🛐🛐🛐🛐

#transformers #rescue bots #rescue bots academy #rbboulder #rb heatwave #rb chase #rb blades #hear me out #hehelpsbabysitontheweekend #ifhehastimeofcourse😭💀#boulderxreader #transformers headcanon #transformers x reader #hesdefinitelyamelaniestanjustsayin🤷🏽‍♀️#SoundCloud

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samandcolbyownme · 2 months

Note

sam and/or colby ideaaaa !!

y/n gets stood up on a date and sam or colby meets her at a bar she goes to and cheers ber up

can be fluff or smut idc !

Warnings: swearing, mention of alcohol consumption, friends to lovers

Enjoy!

══════════════════

You sat at the table set for two, alone.

Two hours in, you let out a sigh, realizing that you’ve been stood up.

Your phone vibrates on the table and you hoped that it was a test from Nate, but it wasn’t. It was just Sam, So how’s the date going?

You leg put a laugh, looking up as the waiter comes by, “Would you like another glass, Miss?” You shake your head, “No, I’ll just take my bill for the ones I already had. “

He nods and you look back down at your phone, Oh yeah. So much fun. It’s been just me the last two hours?

Sam instantly starts replying and not long after his message pops up, Are you fucking serious? What a dick. I’m sorry, y/n. Is there anything I can do to help?

You bite down on your lip, Actually. Would you want to meet me at the bar down the street from your house?

The waiter brings your check and you pay before gathering your things and walk out to your car. You get in, starting it up and you look down to see if Sam answered.

He did, I’ll be there in ten.

Once you arrive to the bar, you walk in and you smile as you see Sam sitting at the bar. You walk up to him and sigh, “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

Sam look over at you, a smile growing wide on his face, “Hey, y/n.”

You sit down and Sam pushes a drink over to you, “You sounded like you needed this.” You smile and nod, taking the glass, “I did.”

You take a sip and sigh, starting in on how done you are with dating apps and anything to do with dating in general.

Two hours, and few very strong drinks later, you find yourself walking back to Sam’s house, “Thank you.” You giggle as you walk beside him.

His hand stands steady on the small of your back as he smiles, “For what?”

You look over at him, “because you came, when i needed someone to rescue me.” You smile and he shrugs, “You called.”

Your eyes move from his eyes to his lips and you sigh, “Remember how I said I was done with dating?” Sam nods, “I sure do.” He chuckles and tucks hair behind your ear, “Still got another shot left in ya?”

You smile and nod, “I’m thinkin’ I do.”

══════════════════

Thanks for reading! Ilysm, and as always, let me know how you liked it! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

#samandcolby-ownme #snippets #sam Golbach #Sam Golbach one shot #fluff #sam golbach x reader #sam golbach one shots #sam golbach fluff #sam golbach fanfic #sam golbach x you #sam Golbach x y/n #rescue me #rescue me fanfic #sam Golbach rescue me

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oscarisaacsspit · 1 year

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it’s not healthy.

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earthtooz · 1 year

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x : KISS ME ! :*+ﾟ whisper what your heart shows, all i want is you

in which: a stealth mission gone awry leads to a chain of events (or kisses) where you question your relationship with bakugou.

warnings: 8K WORDS, FLUFF WITH ANGST, so much kissing lmfao, slowburn, sfw steamy scenes + suggestive ending- starts intense and ends intense, pining idiots, lovesick idiots, soooo much swearing because it's bakugou, platonic friendships with todoroki and midoriya, all characters aged 22+, gn!pro-hero!reader, bad writing pls excuse me.

a/n: SEVENTH ATTEMPT AT POSTING THIS!!!! GOD this took six days to write, i am exhausted. if you don't like it i will cry bc this drained me, goodness, so reblogs appreciated! i'm so insecure abt this fic so pls tell me i did well, anyways. missed writing for my skrunkly boi!

# ONE ! - the first kiss.

this was not ideal.

you listen with widened eyes and a racing heart as you’re pressed against the brick wall of a dingey alleyway, bakugou’s warm palms holding your hips tightly as his chest is pushed up against yours.

he is not looking at you, but instead, looking off to the side so he can hear a little clearer. on the other hand, all you could see was bakugou’s killer jawline, his perfectly smooth skin, and one half of his violent scowl.

the silence is disturbing, all you can hear is your heartbeat and bakugou’s heavy breaths, anticipation weighing down the air as you both try to suppress your breathing.

then it comes. heavy footsteps. multiple of them. they’re running your way and at this rate, you’ll be caught by the enemy. what, with bakugou’s hulking figure and the hoodie that just barely covered his spikey blond hair, one glance to their left and you would be caught.

this was no good. there’s no way to get out of this alleyway in time either without attracting attention and being caught.

having a stealth mission gone awry was really embarrassing, especially when you’re pretty sure that bakugou can feel your heartbeat reverberating against him. you hope that he chalks it up to the nervousness you were currently feeling rather than the effect his proximity had on you. or, just the general effect he had on you.

“they’re coming,” you whisper so that only bakugou can hear. he finally looks you in the eye, sneering with fury in his crimson eyes. you almost flinch from the intensity of his gaze.

“i fucking know,” he retorts. “our only options are fight or flight, i’m thinking we take them.”

with a drawled out exhale, an idea pops into your head. he’s definitely not going to approve, however.

“i’m gonna kiss you and you’re gonna need to like it.”

the footsteps are getting closer, you can now hear mumbling of the enemies chasing after you and bakugou. their leader is shouting commands and the subordinates are obeying, responding in kind with an ‘sir!’.

“excuse me?”

he’s so beautiful up close.

“just, trust me.”

more shouts, more thundering footsteps, all silenced when you lean in to catch bakugou’s lips with yours. his exclamation of surprise is muffled before he promptly melts into you, hands now travelling up your waist as your arms wound around his neck. there’s an element of stiffness still as his mouth moves against yours, but you doubt you’re any better.

this wasn’t your first mission together, and most likely won’t be your last. however, the missions he normally accompanied you on were ambush, patrol, and dealing with general threats. stealth missions were a completely different story because bakugou was the loudest hero to ever exist.

so what was he thinking when he insisted on going along with you? for safety? he was the threat-

“jump,” his words cut through your thoughts like a warm knife through butter and with the way his hands sneak down to the back of your thighs, you can’t help but give in to his demands like a programmed machine.

you wrap your legs around his waist, deepening the kiss whilst doing so.

bakugou presses you harder against the wall, ignoring the way his mouth smirks against yours as one of your hands go to cradle his jaw. you’re careful to not remove the hood covering his very obvious blond mop of hair.

you’re letting him lead you through the kiss and it’s intense to say the least. you’re getting increasingly light-headed, but no part of you wants this to stop, screaming with bliss as he avidly seeks your lips, even when you lean back for a short moment to catch your breath.

for an interaction purposefully orchestrated, he’s really getting into it. would he kiss all his coworkers like this when they asked?

several heavy footsteps pass by and you’re just in your right mind to hear someone say ‘get a room’ before fading away. you were safe, you could run and make your escape now- a message bakugou hasn’t yet comprehended despite how honed his senses are. with the last bit of conscious you have, you physically drag his face away from yours (otherwise you don’t think you’ll ever be able to stop him).

there’s a moment of silence where you both just stare into the other’s eyes, lips swollen and eyes wide with the realisation of what just happened.

“they’re gone,” you whisper, tearing apart the post-kiss euphoria. “put me down.”

with a grunt, he obliges, allowing you to slip away from him and into the main road again.

“let’s go whilst we have the chance. get ready to fly, blasty.”

bakugou is surprisingly silent for the remainder of the mission.

# TWO ! - the fleeting kiss.

surprisingly, there hasn’t been much mention of the incident you had with bakugou ever since you returned from your stealth mission. intel was acquired, shared with the people who needed it, and nothing was discussed again. to be frank, you don’t know how to feel about it.

on one hand, you’re relieved to not be able to relive the experience again but on the other, you’re disappointed to not be able to relive the experience again.

it’s been back to normal with bakugou. the occasional middle finger in the hallways, sticking your tongue at him during meetings, going into his office to bug him and him being very irritated despite not having the heart to remove you. everything fell right back into place, with an obvious piece now awkwardly attaching itself to the puzzle.

when you simply think about what happened, your heart begins to race uncontrollably and you’re rendered stupid for a minute as you have to collect yourself.

which is why you were throwing your head back in frustration as the cursor of your laptop blinks back at you, a sentence half-written in mocking.

“fuck off,” you whisper to yourself, punching your head even though you knew it would do nothing to stop the replay of the memory. your eyes were beginning to feel sore, mind slowly entering a state of numbness as the idea of taking a quick nap on your desk seemed more tempting than ever.

oh well, it wouldn’t hurt.

pushing aside your laptop, keyboard, and papers, your submission to sleep is quick and effortless, not even complaining about the roughness of your desk jabbing into your chest as you doze off.

the door to the office opens, revealing bakugou standing in the doorway holding some files and a cup of tea- your favourite, to be precise. he furrows his eyebrows in confusion, swearing that you were in your office, except the sight of a totally barren room greeted him made him stop in his tracks. where could you have gone?

then, he hears breathing coming from behind your desk and as the blond approaches your space, he can’t help the sigh escaping him at the sight of your figure hunched over your work, head rested on your hands. you were just hidden behind your office desk and the massive company monitors.

if being a hero doesn’t kill him first, then how adorable you were just might.

“you have a couch in your office for a reason, dumbass,” bakugou breathes to no one in particular.

placing the items in his hand on your desk, the pro-hero takes his time analysing the best way to smoothly pick you up without waking you. assessing the situation in record time, he slowly wounds his arms behind your legs and shoulders, effortlessly picking you up to walk the short distance to the couch.

it’s with an unmatched gentleness that he places you down on the piece of furniture, briefly observing how peaceful you seem. bakugou didn’t have it in him to be mad at you for slacking off. with how you dedicate so much of yourself to your duties, he knows first hand just how hard you work.

he’s seen it since knowing you at u.a and he sees it now as you work at his agency.

he hopes you take care of yourself properly as well.

it hits bakugou that he still has work to be done and that he really should get back to his office to minimise some of the load. so, with a grunt, he stands up.

as a bid of farewell, bakugou places a hand on the arm of the couch before leaning in to press a kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a second before pulling away, retreating back into the hallways where his agency’s top-heroes worked.

the domesticity of this encounter leaves him wanting more. an innate desire to care for you when times get rough settling stubbornly in his gut; and as a pro hero, times always get rough. however, bakugou knows he’s capable of holding up your load simultaneously to his, he just hopes you can understand that as well despite being relentlessly independent.

# THREE ! - the kiss to silence you.

you meet your gaze in the full-length mirror of your office with a huff, adjusting the neckline of your attire as you turn around to check your backside in the reflection too.

this outfit was mediocre at best and you didn’t feel stunning in it at all. there was no way it would match up to the extravagant outfits you’ve shown up to hero galas and balls in the past, but since the gala was literally tomorrow, and you’ve delayed getting a dress to this point, it was impossible to go for another fitting.

“y/n, have you got the signed files- whoa.”

you meet bakugou’s fiery gaze in the mirror, turning around to greet him with a shy smile, somewhat embarrassed that he showed up at the exact moment you were all dressed up. immediately, you try to play it cool but scolded yourself internally for ignoring the gut feeling that someone would walk in whilst you were trying on your outfit- you just did not preempt for it to be the most attractive man in the building.

“uh yeah, i actually do have them. what do you need them for?” you ask, shyly using your hands to cover some parts of yourself despite bakugou already having seen a lot of your skin because of accidents and injuries on missions.

“i gotta send them off to deku’s agency,” he mutters, keeping his gaze low as he treks over to your desk. if you weren’t too caught up in your own feelings of humiliation, you would’ve seen the way his ears flared red, the tint spreading to his cheeks.

then you suddenly blurt out a question for him. “do you think i look good?”

you meet his gaze in the mirror again, subtly feeling a part of you swell in pride at the way his eyes rake over your figure.

“you look amazing. is the dress for tomorrow?” he begins to approach you, stopping when he’s right behind you.

“yeah. i don’t really like it that much.”

“don’t be ridiculous. you’re a sight to behold.”

“thank you,” you mutter half-heartedly, lips twisting with uncertainty. giving bakugou the necklace in your hands that complimented the bracelets you adorned, he immediately understands the message. you try not to react when his warm hands come in contact with your neck. “i just don’t think this outfit is flattering though.”

with nimble fingers, he clasps the chain successfully. “why?”

“the colour, the shape, it doesn’t feel right, and i really hate it. i would go out and try to buy another dress but there’s so little time, every appointment is booked because i was stupid enough to avoid getting-”

a kiss behind your ear silences you effortlessly and you feel your breath being stolen when notice bakugou craning his neck down to meet your height.

“calm down, you’re beginning to ramble,” he whispers and you just stare at him with an agape mouth, something that causes him to smirk. then, his hands find their purchase on your waist and it takes a lot of your resolve to not melt into his warmth.

ever since the daring kiss you shared on the mission, bakugou’s been less and less conservative about the affection he shows you. from openly admiring you when having lunch in the agency cafeteria, to manhandling you freely, to leaving kisses, you don’t know if your heart can keep up with his sudden change in behaviour.

worst part is, you can’t tell if it means anything to him like it does to you.

bakugou is japan’s most desired bachelor. maybe apart from his attitude, there is no public figure adored more than the blond who is standing right behind you. he’s always been known to do things his own way. no rules or preconceived notions can hold him back from doing what he wants. perhaps his shamelessness is a new symbol of how comfortable he is around you,

you just wish it could be something more; something more… intimate.

but you could never reach bakugou, could you?

“i think you look beautiful but my opinion doesn’t matter. you want a new dress?” asks the blond and you nod wordlessly. “i know a place. let me give them a call, owner won’t ever say no to me after i saved her from her. got so many last minute pieces from her store. i’ll cover the bill too, just make sure you like what you wear.”

he walks away with new swagger in his stride and you can only stare after him, dumbfounded.

well, at least your problems were solved.

bakugou might become a new problem.

# FOUR ! - the kiss of adoration.

the nerves in the limousine were uncontainable. as your sidekicks chattered amongst themselves, trying to rid any anxieties for the long night ahead, you couldn’t help but recall your first gala a few years ago. a celebration to commemorate the heroes of japan and everything they do for the peace and safety was always a big deal.

however, having done this several times ever since graduating from U.A few years ago, there’s little for you to be nervous about.

funny that you were only a few years older than your youngest sidekick (who was 18 years old), yet you were already exhausted by all the extravaganza and decorum.

as the limousine approaches the drop off area where all the paparazzi were waiting, it didn’t take long for a tremendous tattle of inaudible words and shouts to erupt from them given that the windows were not totally tinted, meaning they could identify who was inside. being one of the biggest hero agencies would have this effect, especially when you were representing the name of #2 himself. but, even if it wasn’t bakugou stepping out of the car himself, your rank still placed you remarkably in the greedy eyes of the public.

as your sidekicks file out one by one, with camera flashes practically every millisecond, the hype only worsens when you emerge.

the paparazzi are respectful enough to avoid the path where heroes were walking by and as you wave, smile, and bow to all of them, compliments of how stunning you looked and shouts of ‘look here!’ all faded into the crowd. then, you made it out.

“well, if it isn’t y/n,” a familiar, baritone calls out from behind you.

at the sight of a kind, smiling face, you can’t help your grin from breaking out. “shouto. to what do i owe the honour?”

“no need to be so formal with me,” your dual-quirked friend says with open arms, ones that you rush into quite eagerly. shouto always gave such welcoming hugs, you’ve been weak to them since second year of u.a. you ignore the camera flashes in your direction. “i’m just happy to see you here tonight.”

“i’m happy to see you too.”

“knowing you, you probably want to escape from here as soon as possible through any means possible.”

“you are correct.”

“i hope you have room for another escapee.”

his questions causes you to recall fondly to the many galas and events both you and todoroki slipped out of- a feat easier said than done, especially when people are constantly on the look out for their top heroes.

“i don’t know, i like to go solo,” you say with faux contemplation, “but you’re the only exception.”

“well, i’m honoured, especially since you look gorgeous tonight. your outfit is beautiful,” compliments todoroki before grabbing your hand to spin you around, an action you comply with readily and has you both chuckling to yourselves.

“thank you, shouto. you look irresistible as always.”

before he can reply, a familiar mop of green hair joins both yours and todoroki’s side and when you turn to see the face of the newcomer, midoriya’s smiling and bright expression greets you. he immediately forgoes all greetings.

“y/n! you look like you came from a runway,” midoriya marvels before embracing you in a side hug, repeating the same action to the half-and-half hero in front of you. “stunning as always. you too, todoroki!”

you wave his compliment off, flattered at his honesty. “thank you, midoriya. i only managed to pull this look together yesterday if i’m being completely real,” you say with a small chuckle, “but you look very handsome tonight. love this suit, the colour fits you well!”

todoroki nods, “i agree with y/n, and, congratulations on your agency’s latest partnership.”

“thank you! i’m excited to see what will come from it, hopefully a lot of good things because-”

“oi, cut it with the rambling, nerd!”

ah, there he is. you never could really miss bakugou’s presence.

“you’re already beginning to soil my night,” the blond continues when he emerges from behind midoriya. they’ve grown to about the same height now, with midoriya still two centimetres or so shorter than bakugou, but it’s always funny to see how the latter acts as if he’s all big and intimidating (as if todoroki isn’t taller than him).

“ah, kacchan!” midoriya greets, making room for the blond to fit in the circle as kirishima trails behind him.

as soon as the red-haired notices you, he gawks, mouth and eyes wide. “y/n!” exclaims the hardening hero. “looking gorgeous, man!.”

“that’s what we all said,” todoroki deadpans and you feel a little flustered from all the eyes on you- especially with the addition of a certain crimson pair. “should we all head in now? the paparazzi is getting on my nerves.”

“sure,” agrees deku, who turns to you with an extended arm. “need any help?”

you’re about to take his offer and hold on before he’s unceremoniously pushed to the side by bakugou, who offers you his arm instead with a mean look directed to midoriya. a glance of knowing is shared amongst the rest of your former classmates as they all make their way up the stairs.

“i thought midoriya was perfectly capable of helping me himself,” you chuckle before latching on to his forearm.

bakugou scoffs. “not as capable as me.”

“sure, because only the great, pro-hero dynamight can help me up the stairs.”

“damn straight.” his pride is undeniably endearing, even if it’s a little pointless at times.

as he guides you up the stairs, your heart flutters a little at the way he holds you so delicately, all of his attention directed upon you and your safety. when you reach the top, you’re about to enter the ball room and let go of bakugou to talk to more people, but it seems like the blond has other plans.

with a small tug, you’re directed back to him, about to collide with his chest until a hand on your hips stops your momentum.

“the stylist i gave you worked, huh?” he whispers lowly.

“yes she did. you really saved me,” you respond, feeling your heart skip a beat at the way his eyes rake over your body for a moment before he’s meeting your gaze again. “you think i look good?”

“i think you look fuckin’ breathtaking.”

you keen at his authentic compliment, trying not to let him see how it effected you. “well, this is all thanks to you so i owe you- money wise and everything else.”

“you can repay me by bein’ my date for the night,” he suggests, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb before bringing it up to his lips, placing a delicate kiss there as he maintains eye contact.

you gulp, agreeing before you can even think about the magnitude of his question.

“you with me? you seem a little far away,” asks bakugou. far away was just the beginning of it.

shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you nod wordlessly before grabbing his arm to pull him towards the bustling crowd of heroes. every group if briefly silenced when you and the explosive hero pass by, eyes lingering a little too long at the arm that bakugou has around your waist.

this feels surreal.

he stands behind you like an intimidating shadow as you both speak to a range of people from support tech ambassadors, business consultants, aspiring heroes and sponsors- a crowd that only grows with the years you’ve been working in the industry.

surprisingly, no one is brave enough to question what is happening between you and bakugou upfront.

eventually, everyone moves into a separate hall where dinner would be served. since you and bakugou were representing the same agency, your names were already on the same table. when realising that you were seated across from him, he scowls and shamelessly swaps the tags around, not at all remorseful when he sits down on his assigned seat and pats the vacant spot next to him. with an eye roll, you oblige dutifully.

“hold still,” you command the blond before reaching over to fix his tie, tightening it and aligning it properly before sitting back in satisfaction at your efforts. “there. handsome and proper.”

“handsome, huh?” bakugou teases with a shit-eating grin and you scoff, pushing his face away jokingly. you mutter an unimpressed ‘whatever’, ignoring the laughter that rips from the blond.

moving the conversation along, you sit up in your seat a little bit. “did you see who was sitting at our table when you moved everything around?”

“just a bunch of old geezers. there’s that one marketing manager of some support gear business who kept bugging me last year to consider partnering with him,” he scoffs.

“your luck, huh?”

“fuck off, i’m just gonna ignore him for the whole night.”

“sure, do whatever you want, big guy.”

“i will. these extras don’t matter when i’ve already hired all the best in their industries. you’re my first example of that.”

your heart flutters at his recognition, about to respond with a quip when all of a sudden, your table guests materialise in front of you. all of them take their respective seats, settling down with formal greetings as you adjust yourself as well. only bakugou was unmoving, leaning against the back of his chair whilst merely staring every down as they appeared; an attitude very in character for him.

the night goes along rather smoothly. you do majority of the talking, forcing bakugou to respond and answer questions here and there, which he begrudgingly does. at least the people that were on your table were talkative themselves and could converse amongst themselves, leaving you with enough mental space to not solely concentrate on the way the explosion hero was holding your hand under the table.

the occasional caresses he placed along the back of it was enough to slowly drive you insane. he was being really shameless about the whole physical affection ordeal.

he acts similar to that a boyfriend should and the canniness has made you woozy. so much so that it strains your throat to breathe, hurts your heart to think about and makes your whole being itch with want.

what cemented your doom was the way he was willing to swap your plate with his if yours was a dish you didn’t like. he would offer to take the ingredients you weren’t fond of and give you the ones on his plate that you were. as if that wasn’t the most endearing thing he could do this evening, he would tell you that there’s food around your mouth before wiping it away. you owe a ‘thank you’ to mitsuki and masaru for raising him to be like this.

when the final dish of dinner was served, many jumped from their seats with the opportunity to mingle around; something that occurred at your table too to your relief. as the representatives all place their business cards in front of you, you farewell them with a friendly smile before slipping the small slips into bakugou’s shirt pocket, something he allows you to do.

“dynamight,” an authoritative voice comes from behind and when you both turn around to see who the instigator is, you’re a little surprised to see a well-dressed man in proper business man attire. he resembled tony stark- even down to his goatee and moustache. “pleasure to meet you. my name is yuu noguchi and i am a specialist in support gear. may i have a second of your time?”

your eyes widen in recognition at the name. the man standing in front of you was currently one of the most desired support gear directors in the industry and apparently, had the skills to benefit almost every hero, no matter how difficult their requests were. it was thanks to his quirk, something about limitless intelligence.

so it wasn’t only because of the tony stark resemblance that you recognised him.

bakugou glances at you, inquiring for your approval which you give by ushering him out of his seat. as you watch him strut away with the yuu beside him, you can’t help but feel relieved because now your heart could have a chance to calm down and give your lungs a moment to breathe.

“am i right to assume that you and mr bakugou are an item?” comes a voice from your left.

it’s the old geezer your date was complaining about earlier. somehow he sneaked his way from across the table to right next to you, leaning over now-empty plates of food as he gives you a look that shakes you to your core. not in the good way that bakugou can do.

“only for the night,” comes your curt reply. “i am his date to this gala.”

“fascinating.”

“what you find so interesting about that?”

“perhaps you’d rather i not say, but, to be truthful, my theory has been plaguing my mind all night.”

raising an eyebrow at him was his only indication that you wish for him to expand on his point.

he obliges. “well, you of course know about dynamite’s competitive spirit, and how he has been constantly battling deku in all realms of hero work? rankings, the amount of employees, even popularity.”

was mentioning midoriya necessary? their past history has never been the cleanest, and although you knew bakugou wished he could have a clean slate with the one for all user, sometimes their relationship brought a little awkwardness to conversations.

“i cannot help but assume that, in order to pass deku once again, he is using you to his advantage?”

you can’t help exposing your emotions through your microexpressions; something he catches onto.

bakugou? using you?

“right now deku is the hottest talk of the hero world with his latest partnership because of all the humanitarian advocacy he is partaking in. he’s gaining a lot of fans too. perhaps bakugou’s only way of upstaging midoriya is by using his well-liked status to the public a juicy scoop on his potential, new relationship, especially with one of japan’s favourite heroes. no doubt it will boost his name in the media, and give him a momentary push over the edge.”

you narrow your eyes at what his suggestion and although it pained you to admit, it had some credibility behind it. it even justified why bakugou has been acting weirdly attentive with you, and if you recalled properly, his sudden change in behaviour began around the news of midoriya’s initiative.

but he’s not like that, right? your relationship can’t be reduced to simply article headlines and traction… right?

“that’s just my take as a specialist in the hero industry, specifically when it comes to brand and image,” the man ends, placing his hands on the table before standing up. “i hope the rest of the night treats you splendidly.”

when he waddles away, you’re left sitting at the same, empty tables. whilst the exterior may seem relaxed and collected, a whirlpool of thoughts erupt within, your thoughts jumbling and fumbling over one another.

without thinking, you end up at a table marked by todoroki’s agency logo, desperately searching for your dual-haired friend. in your haste, you didn’t preempt knocking into a body with hardened muscles and when you look up to see who was the glorified wall, you breathe a sigh of relief when it’s todoroki’s concerned face you see.

maybe fate was kind to you tonight.

“something wrong, y/n?” he asks in that caring tone of his.

“yes,” comes your quick and frantic reply. todoroki sees right through that frazzled expression of yours.

“is it bakugou?”

“yes- can we get out of here? i don’t care about propriety right now.”

“hold on, don’t get too ahead of yourself. the media will have a storm if they see us together after you’ve been accompanying dynamight the whole night.”

“you’re right.” you’re could get a headache from simply imagining the repercussions you’re going to go through with your pr team if todoroki didn’t have his head on his shoulders. “do you have any solutions?”

“i could cause a fire and start an evacuation?”

“you’re ridiculous.”

“i was kidding. there is an authorised only back door escape near the bathrooms. i think it leads to the back of the building. does that sound better?”

“much. thank you, todoroki, i really appreciate it.”

“no problem. i’m looking forward to having a gossip ‘sesh’ about bakugou.”

you snort unceremoniously, amused by him and his deliberate choice of trendy language. if he was trying to cheer you up, it was working.

following his instructions, you are more than relieved to see that the back door did indeed, lead to the back gardens of the site where gala was held. if you were correct, the parking lot for chauffeurs would be on the right side.

minutes later, you find yourself ranting to todoroki, taking it from the whole beginning and recounting every, minute detail of the journey.

“-and then we kissed during our stealth mission which only made it worse because then i realised i was flipping in love with him!”

“only just then?” asks todoroki with a questioning look.

“look, i had the hots for him in third year because of his growth spurt, i didn’t like him so don’t give me that look,” you justify, silencing him with a finger in his face. “anyways-”

“-is bakugou a good kisser?”

you press your lips together, unsure of how to answer without sounding ridiculous but really, your silence was the answer todoroki needed. he tilts his head to the side slightly, entertained by your sudden flustered behaviour before redirecting one hundred percent of his attention back your direction.

“find out yourself,” you finally quip. despite how delayed your comeback was, the half-and-half pro-hero still laughs. “so after that mission, bakugou’s been acting weird with me ever since. everything he’s been doing is just so unlike him. i find him staring at me from time to time and when i catch him, he doesn’t look away, just does that stupid, smug smirk of his! he’s been more handsy, and, this is the most confusing part.”

“yesterday, i didn’t have an adequate outfit for tonight’s gala. i had something planned but it just wasn’t right and i was really down about it. well, bakugou walked in my office when i was trying it on-”

“-couldn’t you have done that at home?”

“shouto. come on. i was planning to go straight from work to the gala because the grind never stops, you know this. so i was trying it on and i was telling him that i didn’t like my outfit at all and then he kissed me on the back of my ear,” you explain, vividly using your hands to help your story.

the way todoroki’s eyes widen a little makes you feel better that you have someone else also astounded by bakugou’s boldness. “he… kissed… your ear?”

“yes!”

“why your ear?”

“i don’t know, shouto!”

“but why did he kiss you?”

“i don’t know, shouto! that’s not something friends or coworkers do to one another.”

“right. i would never kiss your ear. or you.”

“i would never kiss you either, which confuses me so much as to why bakugou did that! and then he referred me to a personal stylist- who was amazing, i will absolutely be returning to her again- and when i showed up at the gala, he was just acting so… off!”

“like how he pulled you away from midoriya.”

“precisely! it got worse because when we arrived at the entrance, i was about to enter but then he stopped me by pulling my hand, which he then proceeded to kiss!” you exclaim animatedly, gesturing to the same hand. “then he asked me to be his date!”

“that’s odd. why not ask you in advance?”

“right?”

todoroki hums in contemplation for a second, furrowing his eyebrows as he thinks- a habit he has not rid of since u.a. “if i was going to be honest y/n, i was about to say my theory is that bakugou has a crush on you, but asking you to be his date tonight? it feels a little off to me.”

“why?”

“if he truly wanted you to accompany him to the gala, he would’ve asked beforehand. doing it tonight just feels a little… orchestrated, asking whilst you were all dressed up,” todoroki’s articulate words pierce you through the heart and you feel your chest deflate, understanding what he was saying. “i don’t want to assume anything of this because that is not in bakugou’s character, he’s never superficial about anything he does.”

you sigh, quietly muttering the next statement. “believe it or not you’re not the first person tonight telling me that bakugou has some ulterior motive with me.”

your friend’s is taken aback, his hair jumping with his sudden movement. “who else?”

“some old, marketing guy from a support gear company that kept bothering bakugou at last year’s gala,” you huff, placing your chin on your hand as you fiddle with the bracelets adorning your wrist. “said something that really messed with my brain.”

“hm?”

now finding your nails a lot more interesting than your dual-quirk friend, you don’t think you can meet his eyes whilst repeating the embarrassing statement.

“he said that since bakugou and midoriya have been rivals and competing against each other since they were young, bakugou was using me as a chance to one-up deku. especially because deku’s the hottest talk in the hero world right now because of that partnership. he thought that if i could stand and look pretty by bakugou’s side, it would boost his image and get him into the headlines,” you spit, sounding more aggressive with each word that leaves your mouth.

you want to punch a wall.

todoroki places a gentle hand on your shoulder, one that felt grounding and reassuring. kind.

“you’re more than just someone who can sit and look pretty,” he begins, “anyone who says otherwise is clearly stupid. you’re one of the top heroes in japan, simplifying your reputation to only benefit someone by being their date is offensive and incredibly ignorant.”

his assured words lifts your spirit a little, but there’s still that little bit of weight clasping at your ankles. “but what if bakugou doesn’t see it that way?”

“then he’s an idiot.”

the laugh that escapes you makes your chest feel lighter; a remedy for the horrible emotions swirling in your gut. “you’re right. this is all just so frustrating,” you mutter into your palms. “i need to stop thinking about bakugou or i will obliterate him the next time i see him.”

todoroki huffs, entertained. “i don’t think you should hold any malice towards him. let the truth reveal itself, we’re both getting ahead of ourselves.”

“yeah,” you sigh before fishing for your phone. “please take photos of me, i look too good tonight to not post myself on instagram. i need a distraction from my wallowing.”

“as you wish.”

# FIVE ! - the kiss of confession.

you did not take todoroki’s advice at all and instead, got ahead of yourself. the first day back to work since the gala, you began deliberately avoiding bakugou- as immature as that was.

it’s a task easier said than done because avoiding bakugou was really hard. like, really really hard. given that his office was literally right beside yours, it was hard to walk by his glass doors and pretend to not notice him in there, especially since he liked to weight lifts and walk around as he worked. you could probably draw bakugou’s build from heart with how many times you gawked at him as you passed by.

plus he’s the face of the wholeass agency, so. there’s that.

the only solution you fathomed was to pick up more patrols during work hours, leaving more often during the day to return exhausted and irritated at night whilst you dealt with office work. seeing your sour mood apparently was enough to turn bakugou- and everyone else, away.

your assistant has booked you spa schedules for almost every weekend. multiple of them.

avoiding bakugou evolved from the root of two problems. the first one being the whole gala fiasco, the second one being that you genuinely don’t believe it’s good for your health if he kept acting as intimate as he had with you. however, the more you thought about it, you’re not even sure if he’d treat you the same way he did before the gala and you’re also not risking any chance of finding that out.

“you got another commission at downtown honei! join the cops in chasing down the assailant who claims to be ‘lava man’. police recommend to bring another hero,” a voice from your operator calls and you quickly reply with a ‘on it’. your first thought was ridiculing the villain name: ‘lava man’. wonder what his quirk was.

adjusting your hero gear as you walk out of your office, you run into the exact gorgeous face you’ve been avoiding.

“y/n i need to- where are you going in such a hurry?” asks bakugou, scrunching his eyebrows upon noticing your haste. you continue walking past him and without thinking, he trails behind.

“commission. i’m going to get backup.”

“i can join-”

“-no, stay here. i’m calling kirishima on this one,” you say, sparing him a momentary glance to see a look of frustration appearing in his eyes.

he looks like he’s bursting at the seams to say something, but the blond shoves all protests down and shouts out a ‘stay safe’ before you’re turning around the corner.

the commission is easy enough and you solved it before the clock could progress another hour. the hard part was that you kept receiving mission after mission, unable to catch a break to have some lunch or retreat to the agency when you had to keep reprimanding villains. seriously, why did they all unanimously pick today to be menaces to society?

your muscles were getting increasingly sore, your body was starting to feel the after effects of your quirk, and you were grumpy for how little time you got to rest.

after reporting back your last commission for the day, you finally find some time to buy some food from your favourite ramen place. pathetically carrying the plastic bag all the way up to your office, you open the glass door with a grunt because of how much your body ached from one simple movement. you were going to be in even more pain tomorrow; maybe you should request a day off to see your physiotherapist.

as you leant against the front of your desk to search for the contact of your trusted physiotherapist, you jump about 2 feet when the door to your office slams open, revealing a fuming bakugou.

blinking once, then twice in fear, you feel cornered.

“uh… can i help you?” comes your meek greeting.

“yeah you can fuckin’ help me!” he booms, crossing the floor to stand directly in front of you, face only a few inches away from yours. “mind telling me why you’ve been avoiding me ever since the gala? and why you didn’t respond to any of my texts since?”

you cringe at the mention of the texts. whilst you were complaining your heart out to todoroki, bakugou was asking where you went and why you didn’t tell him you were leaving. messed up move on your part, but it genuinely pained to even read his contact name, let alone send him a text to pretend like everything was okay.

now that he’s this close again, you realise just how much you’ve missed him.

your heart is doing laps again, and your arms suddenly itch with a desire to pull him close.

“don’t try to say something stupid like you haven’t been avoiding me, because you clearly have,” he scolds but the hurt in his eyes are very visible. it was time to just give him the truth, even if it still hurts you to think about.

with a sigh, you decide to surrender to your downfall through the form of a simple confession.

“i like you.”

the tension in the room increases by tenfold. your lungs tighten from how suffocating his presence is, especially as he looms over you, allowing you no space to breathe.

then he does something incredibly unexpected: he kisses you.

you feel your mind spinning and your heart picking up even more than you thought humanly possible. the way he curves himself around you is too much, the fire he ignites within your stomach, burning you from the inside out with his passion was too much, and the feeling of how desperately he was holding you against him was too much. he’s bleeding with love and need.

bakugou’s lips move against yours with a hint of urgency behind his actions, and you don’t have it in you to deny him. so, you fully give in to the unstoppable force of bakugou katsuki, allowing him to pick you up and seat you on your office desk.

somehow your hands end up tangled in his hair and his are roaming all over your body, unable to find purchase for even a millisecond as he commits learning you to memory.

you snap back to reality when a grunt of satisfaction slips past his mouth and into yours, causing you to abruptly jump back whilst simultaneously pushing him away. you miss his warmth already, grip steady on his shoulders to keep him away.

the look of hunger and yearning in bakugou’s eyes tells you that he’s not yet satisfied.

“hold on- stop- we need to discuss this-” you stammer before being cut off by the blond.

“-i have been waitin’ forever for this fucking moment. discussion over-”

“-no, bakugou-” you push his face away, even as he keeps inching forward, hands tugging your closer towards his toned body, “-katsuki.”

bakugou perks up at the mention of his given name, stopping his struggle completely. you only ever use it to capture his attention but he wishes that you would use it for more casual means rather than purposeful ones. it sounds so nice when you say it after all.

“i need a second to think,” you explain, rubbing your temples.

“talk to me, pretty. i can only answer if you verbalise your thoughts.”

“so you genuinely like me? you’re not using me for, y’know, media rep and shit?”

the most flabbergasted, appalled, and astounded expression appears on bakugou’s face. he looks absolutely livid and you begin wondering why you ever assumed the things you did.

“the fuck?” comes his reply. “why the fuck would you think that? who the fuck made you think that?”

you feel small under his fiery gaze, unable to properly look him in the eye as you recount the conversation shared between you and the old, marketing representative of the support gear company. with each sentence bakugou’s scowl grows deeper.

one the story is over, you knew that you were in for a mouthful. in more ways than one.

“that stinky, old geezer was why you were ignoring me? i thought i messed up or something, but this was because you actually listened to that extra? are you fuckin’ kidding me? i’ve been dyin’ because of you refused to even look at me and some asshole is the cause of that?” he asks. “i’m about to blow a bitch up-”

“-no, katsuki!”

would you look at that. he’s calm again.

“don’t do that. it’s my fault, i let him get to my head and suddenly some insecurities i didn’t even know i had started emerging. if it’s anyone that needs to apologise it’s me, i’m sorry for how i’ve been treating you after the gala, and for doubting you.”

“yeah you better be. don’t do this shit again,” the blond commands. “you really think that low of me that i’d use you to help my reputation?”

“i think it was moreso i thought really lowly of myself. to me, it didn’t make sense that you would ever be interested in me.”

a beat passes. he flops himself against you again, letting you hold up majority of his weight.

“you’re kiddin’, right? you’re a fuckin’ gem and i’ll kill anyone who won’t treat you like one because i just had the worst few days of my life from this bullshit,” he complains, burying himself into the juncture of your shoulder and your neck.

the giggle of flattery escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you rub your hands soothingly along his spine before admitting a question that has plagued your mind ever since. “why’d you ask me to be your date at the gala and not beforehand?”

“i was nervous and chickened out every time i tried,” he confesses quietly, grumbling lowly into your skin. “when i saw you at the gala i swore i got a heart attack, and when that nerd almost swept you off your feet, i had to do something. i knew i’d lose you otherwise.”

“what, don’t want to lose to deku again?” you ask with a teasing tone. bakugou bites your skin. you yelp.

“watch your mouth.”

“you’ll be relieved to know that i don’t want anyone but you, katsuki.”

“ya sure?”

“i’ve been sure for a while.”

the blond laughs, murmuring a ‘you’re perfect. too good for me’ before connecting your lips again. you hum into him before muttering a ‘yeah i am’ against his mouth. it makes him smirk.

when you part, you pat his shoulder as a sign of surrender. “i need to get to working on some files so if you don’t mind-”

as you try to shuffle off your table, bakugou stops you before your feet can even touch the ground. “are you kidding?” he challenges in an accusatory tone. “you’re not doing shit, you’ve been on commissions all day. have you even had a meal?”

“i just bought some ramen for myself,” you say whilst gesturing to the bag on your desk.

he grumbles. “want me to warm it up?”

“no, it’s okay,” reaching around you to open the laptop sitting on your desk, bakugou’s quick to shut it close again.

“what part of ‘you’re not doing shit’ do you not understand? fuckin’ rest!”

life is a little surreal right now, especially with bakugou’s aggressively ambiguous way of nurturing people. then he grabs the noodles and rips opens the packaging, fishing for the chopsticks also provided before ripping that apart too. so shameless in everything he does, that’s a habit he’ll never lose, you suppose.

you unknowingly smile when considering the prospect that bakugou’s shamelessness is something you have to deal with even more now.

a small cat fight erupts when you realise that the blond had full intentions of feeding you the ramen himself and your dignity refused to let him. he eventually coaxed you by saying he’ll take your commissions for the next three days and the soreness of your muscles found the deal a little too tempting. with a huff, you give in.

“ramen smells good,” he comments absentmindedly.

“it’s my favourite place. not too far away. we should go someday,” you say in between mouthfuls.

he scoffs in dismissal but the pink tint of his ears contrast his reluctant attitude. “it better not let me down.”

you stop for a second, grabbing your phone and searching through your contacts again. “i need to book a session with my physiotherapist.”

“why?”

“she gives the best massages and my body is so sore right now.”

“i think i can help with that.”

“really?”

“don’t underestimate me,” bakugou says, paired with a wink. you can’t help but assume there’s a not-so-innocent undertone to his intentions, especially with the way he smirks. “i could help you relax in more ways than one.”

goodness, were you in for a ride.

#pls work pls work pls work #REBLOGS APPRECIATED SM #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff #bakugo fluff #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #yeah excuse me if this is the worst fic you've ever read i didn't mean for it to turn out that way #i need some saving if only a blond hero could... rescue me... from my writing misery...

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