#she said the only place i can have things in the common area is my desk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dashielldeveron · 10 months

Text

soulmate trope | dabi

Dabi’s route of soulmate trope.

"post-canon dabi? canon isn't even finished as of when this was posted on 30 july 2023!" to you. i know he's doing just fine. and obviously i will be wrong about some things. warnings: female reader. manga spoilers up to chapter 390: specifically about touya's body but vaguely about ~all of that~. sexual content. food mention/discussion. injury descriptions (burns) that aren't reader's. weeb slander. a note: part of the plot revolves around...analysing anime. i use hunter x hunter here, and if you are not into that, i have, to the best of my knowledge, included neither spoilers (aside from early story arc names) nor information that cannot be understood via context clues. additionally, there is a brief pokemon metaphor that also can hopefully be understood with context clues as well.

~27.7k

You’re being watched.

Or rather, you had the eerily intense inkling that you were being watched, or as if you were some sort of recently awakened sleeper agent—as if you were somehow the key to someone’s spying into U.A., even though the most secretive thing going on right now in 3-A’s common area was that Hagakure’s facial features were somewhat revealed by the drying face mask.

“Jirou,” you said, bookmarking your place, “Would you mind checking for—I don’t know, any kind of outside surveillance devices in here?”

Jirou bit the stem of the carnation she’d been about to weave into Yaoyorozu’s hair and shifted all the strands of the braid into one hand, and she tilted her head to jab the arm of the couch with her earjack. After a few moments, she unsheathed it, the hole in the couch sealing itself, and shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. What’s up?”

Furrowing your brow, you shoved your book between the cushion and arm of your chair. “I’m not sure. It’s—I have this weird feeling that someone’s looking at me. Or through me, really. Both? I don’t know how to describe it, but it feels like someone else is seeing what I’m seeing.”

“Do your eyes hurt, ribbit?” Asui asked from her spot on the floor, where she was sorting her m&ms by colour.

“No. More like I’m hyperaware of them,” you said, “But I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching all of this because of me.”

“What’s there to watch? It’s nothing but a Girls and Todoroki Night. There’s nothing worth seeing and or any big secrets being spilled. Well, spoilers for the New Year’s episode of Kamisama Kiss, but it’s been out for years already,” said Mina, gesturing towards the television, and Uraraka snatched Mina’s hand out of the air and laid it flat on the coffee table again, because she’s not done painting her nails, damn it. Mina sighed dreamily at the sheep whose wool fluffed enough to take up the entire screen. “What I wouldn’t give for my hair to have that much volume.”

“I guess you’re right,” you said, settling down into your chair, pulling Shinsou’s blue-pineappled blanket up to your neck (he was out on his bike, so he wasn’t attending this Girls and Todoroki Night [Shinsou and Todoroki were the only boys allowed, since their presence wasn’t obtrusive or contrary to the vibe. Additionally, Shinsou thought it was funnier if his name weren’t included in the title of these events]). “Y’know, in the manga, the New Year avatar isn’t a sheep. It’s a dragon.”

Mina blew on her hands as Uraraka rebottled the nail polish brush. “Whaaaaat?

“It was changed to a sheep to align with the year the episode was released,” said Todoroki, his thumb and index finger pinching his lower lip with his eyes glued to the screen, “I understand the change on a narrative scale, but I believe the dragon had more of a character arc than the sheep. The dragon didn’t think it was as appealing as other years’ avatars, and it had to learn to accept itself and accept others’ love for it. It was rooted in misunderstanding.”

For some reason, when you looked at Todoroki, you were doused with regret. Sharp and cold, followed by a splash of something more muddled: envy, maybe? Gratitude?

These…these feelings weren’t yours.

***

“I can’t believe I missed a Girls and Todoroki Night,” said Shinsou, grinning, his legs dangling off the dorm’s kitchen counter, “but alas! The night was calling, and I had to go out in it.”

“We will not spoil Kamisama Kiss for you,” said Todoroki. He was crouched in front of the oven, hands clasped as he stared through the tinted window at the browning potato wedges. “You will have to watch that episode on your own.”

“You should really read the manga,” you were saying as you scanned the inside of the refrigerator, looking for anything that might go well with the potatoes—ah, Aoyama’s got some bougie-looking sauce. Savoury, by the looks of it. “It goes farther than the anime covers, and it’s so sweet. The worldbuilding gets better, too.” You took out the bottle and gave it an experimental shake.

“Really?” Shinsou wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know; that villain guy isn’t very fun. Feels like too much time is wasted on him.”

Todoroki’s head snapped towards Shinsou at the same time you slammed the refrigerator shut. “No,” the both of you said at the same time, and you continued. “The anime hasn’t been quite as accurate in tone regarding that character, but he’s really wonderful, eventually. You really feel for what happened to him and for his past relationship to the main characters. Simple but effective job of deconstructing his villainy and granting him humanity.”

“Huh.” Shinsou propped his cheek on his fist, his ankle resting on his opposite knee. “I wonder how much nuance I’m missing because I’m only watching the anime.”

For a second, you felt as groggy as if you’d just woken up, your eyes focusing a bit more precisely, blurring the kitchen tiles for a moment before re-focusing, and it crept in again: the feeling that someone was watching you, that someone else was here.

“Hey, Shinsou, Todoroki,” you said, blinking several times, Aoyama’s brown sauce clutched in both hands, “Do my eyes look any different?”

Both of them looked you over. Shinsou shook his head. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’ve got—” You nodded towards Todoroki. “I have that same feeling from last night. Like someone’s watching. But Jirou said nothing was wrong.” Shrugging, you tossed the sauce to Shinsou and sat in front of the oven with Todoroki. “I guess Kamisama Kiss must bring out the voyeur in me. Or being voyeur-ed. Watched.” You crossed your legs at the same time Todoroki jolted because of a crushed peppercorn popping in the oven. “Maybe we should start reading manga alongside the anime so that we can judge how accurate they are. See how much character nuance is lost or preserved.”

Todoroki’s eyes bulged. “You have no idea how much that appeals to me. I desperately need to discuss the differences between the Hunter x Hunter 1999 anime, the 2011 anime, and the manga. Sero refuses to watch the 1999 version.”

Amusement. Condescension. Bubbling to the top of your consciousness.

Distinctly not yours.

Why would you be feeling these things in the face of something that sounded so wonderfully, uselessly pedantic? A project like Todoroki’s just proposed sounded like an absolutely ideal waste of time that would allow you to be more accurate than the vast majority of people when it came to plot, lore, and characterisation. Why would emotions you’d associate with making fun of someone pop up now? You didn’t want to make fun of Todoroki; you were enthusiastic about joining him in this pointless endeavour.

The timer on Shinsou’s phone blared, and he tapped it off, patting his pockets (?) for the oven mitt, which he spotted on the counter next to him. “Why would Sero refuse to watch the older version?”

Todoroki helped you stand and guided the both of you away from the oven. “To be fair, in the 1999 anime, the animators did take liberties with panel composition and brought in new angles and lines sporadically. Colours are also odd and inaccurate, and those are corrected, for the most part, in the 2011 version. More of the manga is covered, and the animation is smoother in the 2011 version as well.”

Why did you feel the distant sensation of laughing? Nothing about this has been funny, per se, but the…what was going on?

“Okay, I’ll bite,” you said, strangely heavy and hyperaware and surveying the tray of steaming potato wedges as Shinsou shuffled it to the stove, “I’ll do it with you, all this manga accuracy checking.”

“Me, too,” said Shinsou, shaking the over mitt off, “My suggestion is that we keep it to just the three of us, to prevent exhausting arguments, like we’d have in a big group the size of Girls and Todoroki Nights.”

“I can lend you the first few volumes,” said Todoroki, opening a cabinet to search for Aoyama’s sauce bowls, “After that, I have a link to high-quality scans I can send you.”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, reaching for a potato wedge that did not sizzle and screech as much as the others, “Should we watch the first episode tomorrow night?” When you retracted your hand at the burn, you felt your own pain and someone else’s sense of nostalgia.

***

You’d already been on the precipice of falling asleep during Present Mic’s lesson, but when a concentrated shot of fatigue pierced you, you set down your pen and reluctantly resolved to get the subsequent notes from Iida. God, couldn’t this wait until you were out of class? No one needed to see how terrible your own notes were. No one needed to see your drawings in the margins.

Burying your face in your hands, you dug the heels of your palms into your eyes, rubbing them as the lethargy kicked in, and you braced yourself for the uncanny sensation of being your own worst voyeur.

When you opened them, after the lightheaded dots blinked away, you weren’t in the classroom, instead entrenched in darkness. Well, wait—you groped around on your desk: physically, you still were upright in your desk at U.A., able to grasp your pen, set it down, able to faintly hear Present Mic, as if he’s in the next room over.

Blindly, you tapped Mina’s desk behind you, turning your head over your shoulder. “Do my eyes look weird to you?”

“No. Should they?” she whispered back—or maybe she said it at a normal volume, and the classroom had been so far removed the distance silenced her.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you faced the front again. Looks like you have to figure this out yourself, or else you’ll be sitting in pitch black for who knows how long.

A minute passed. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, shapes appearing—you’re inside. In a room with the lights off. Sideways, for some reason. One of the shapes was so rigidly rectangular that it had to be a shoji divider, and you were just trying to estimate its size when all of your mental facilities halted at a loud, rumbling groan.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” a scratchy, masculine voice said, “Must be my turn, huh?”

He flipped over, and barely cracked venetian blinds behind dark curtains just barely illuminated part of the scene: you were seeing this sideways because he was lying in bed, an out-of-place, opulent, Western-style bed in what you assumed was an Eastern-style room, judging what you could make out of traditional wallpaper and tatami flooring.

“Well, you’re not getting anything out of me,” he said, reaching for one of the many strewn pillows and hugging it—you lost half of your sight when his face sank into it (too dark for you to get a good look at his hands or arms), “Sucks for you, but I’m going back to sleep. Don’t care how curious you are. Not sharin’ anything with someone who can’t cook potato wedges right.”

No, get up. Get up. Say more right now. Who was he? It’s—it’s the middle of the day, anyhow; what is he doing asleep?

“Hah. You’re angry with me.” His laugh sounded more like a hiss, somehow. “Get used to it.”

He shut his eyes. After about a minute, the darkness faded, and Present Mic’s voice hit you at full volume, and you winced, clamping a hand down on your notes when the classroom came into view.

***

“You are not dropping out of school the semester you’re supposed to graduate,” said Aizawa, pinching the bridge of his nose, elbow digging into the puffy leather chair by Nezu’s desk.

“From my perspective, it does not appear you are a liability to U.A.’s security.” Nezu steepled his paws together, his pink toe beans preventing him from pressing them completely flat. “Simply seeing through each other’s eyes and feeling some of his emotions are no cause for the drastic security measures you are proposing. I believe that so long as you have some sort of indicator that either situation is happening, faculty can prepare for your temporary debility.”

“Don’t even think about abusing it to get out of class,” said Aizawa, propping his chin on his fist.

“You think I would? Shocked! Shocked and offended,” you said, “I’m gonna be in class; I don’t trust anyone else’s notes. I want my own interpretations of lectures.” You slumped down in your seat, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling. “Principal Nezu, do you have an idea of why this is happening to me?”

“I do.” Nezu opened the top drawer in his desk to retrieve a stack of yellow-green papers, torn from a legal pad and crimped because of whatever was spilled on it. “Recovery Girl and Midnight have been analysing the results of Tainted Love’s quirk for some time now. The female rehabilitation centre with which Midnight works, Sakura Grove, has uncovered evidence of two other incidents that caused a soulmate bond with similar qualities to form.”

“What? No,” you said, letting a whine creep into your voice, “That means my soulmate’s a jerk. He was rude to me. He insulted my potato wedge recipe.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he crossed his arms. “You can’t expect there to be love at first sight, can you? Love is a choice. You work at it every day. You have to keep choosing it.”

“Yaoyorozu and Jirou were already dating when they got assigned soulmates,” you said, listing on your fingers, “Midoriya and Uraraka had been pining after each other for years—”

Aizawa scowled. “Stop that.”

“So, do you want me to report anything? Do you want me to duck out of class when he—checks in?”

“If you feel unsafe, let us know. Otherwise, it is of my opinion that you will be just fine,” said Nezu, and he reached for his paw-sized coffee cup to remove the melting stroopwaffle cookie off the top. “Report what you perceive as dangerous, but you deserve privacy. When you decide on your signal that the bond is active, please send an email to faculty members. Whether or not you inform your peers is at your discretion.”

***

So, of course, you told everyone.

Meaning no one batted an eye the next time the soulmate bond activated, which was in class. Feeling the exhaustion and the slight buzz from your soulmate popping in to watch through you, you made the phone call symbol, grabbed a marker from the whiteboard, and headed out into the hall, no questions asked.

“Hey,” you were saying, shoving your forearm against the concrete-block wall and popping the marker cap off with your mouth, “Good to hear from you. Didn’t know I could see through you, too. Excited to see how we’ll deal with that. This is my phone number.” You scrawled it across your arm, along with your given name above it. “If you can’t memorise it now, that’s fine. I’ll write it down next time, too, so you could prepare to have something nearby to record it with. I look forward to getting to know you.”

No strong emotions on his part. But he was there.

“Okay,” you said, and you turned to sink down against the wall to sit in the deserted hallway. “Some basic stuff: I’m a student at U.A., in my last year. I’m in that—uh, I’m in the class that’s gotten into a bit of trouble over the past few years. Midoriya, Bakugou, and all of them, if you watch the news. I’ve just ducked out of class with everyone.” You kept looking at your arm so that he could memorise it. “I don’t really wanna talk about my quirk, since that seems like such a boring, capital-A adult question, but I can tell you about it later, if you really want to know. Oh! I do not suck at making potato wedges. It was just a recipe that none of us had made before, and they were fine. They were good. I—”

And he’s gone, link severed.

Crossing your arms, you slumped against the wall. Did he choose to end it? Could he? He didn’t seem very receptive, so you wouldn’t put it past him.

***

You woke up from a nap watching through him play a video game, some non-discernible, first-person shooter. Again in the dark, but perhaps not in the same room. The windows weren’t open enough to let in enough light to tell.

Your soulmate never acknowledged you were there by gesture or word. Just played his stupid fucking game. You were trying to send him foul vibes of frustration and indignation, but he ignored you.

After a mere six minutes of the world’s worst Let’s Play, you decided you could be a little bitch as well.

***

“Oh! He’s here. Excuse me,” you said to Shinsou and Jirou, making the phone call gesture as you pushed yourself up from the lunch table, “I’ll be back in a moment. Please guard my gummies from Monoma.”

A flash of curiosity, finally, from your soulmate as he got the image of Shinsou and Jirou smirking to themselves and waving you off.

Once you were alone outside in the courtyard, you pulled out and unfolded the piece of pink construction paper, at this point every inch covered by doodles of flowers and increasingly shitty bulbasaurs. You tapped at the writing in the centre. “This is called a telephone number,” you said, “This one belongs to me. If you dial this number into a phone to call it, you will reach me. Then, we could have a conversation and arrange to meet up, instead of this unreliable, one-sided bond.”

You flattened your hand to smooth out the creases, halting midway when it struck you. “I’ve just realised you may be confused by this situation. Don’t worry; I am as well. But be assured, due to a quirk incident, we’ve been assigned soulmates. Yeah, I know they’re fake, but with this villain Tainted Love’s quirk, soulmates are real.”

He evidently was feeling like he wanted to walk straight into the ocean.

“I’m assuming you’re not a U.A. student, so—do you remember breathing in some sort of pink dust? Within about the past—I don’t know, two and a half years? That’s how long Tainted Love was active. She only got arrested about a month or so ago.” You couldn’t garner anything from him except for exasperation, so you continued. “And not, like, snorting a line of pink dust. It would’ve been in a dust cloud. A bit like fog. You would’ve noticed it.”

Staring at your phone number the whole time, you allowed him silence to think. Whatever he was feeling was very subdued, so you couldn’t really surmise what it was, but ten seconds before the bond broke, a livid, fiery ire consumed your whole body in the heat of recognition.

***

Shinsou, Todoroki, and you were all crowded around a laptop in Shinsou’s dorm to watch the beginning episodes of Hunter x Hunter the next time your soulmate spoke to you. He’d gone a couple of times ignoring you in silence, once outside on a walk during the day on a path uptown you didn’t recognise, and the other on some rooftop while playing on his phone and watching a meteor shower. Completely disregarding your attempts to give him your number or talk to him in real time.

It just figured that he bothered to spare you any information when you were trying to see what the next phase of the Hunter Exam was, so Todoroki and Shinsou paused the show for you and waited. With a stab of affection for your friends, you moved to the corner, waiting for your soulmate to say something.

And he was. Your soulmate knew more combinations of swear words and general filth than you’ve ever cared to consider, and you were almost impressed with the creativity of his vulgarity. Outside under the night sky, he was furiously ripping open some medium-sized, cardboard box as he stomped towards a carefully cultivated, lilypad-covered, manmade pond towards the back of a highly organised, traditional garden.

Eventually, non-profanity was added. “Goddamn fucking shit-ass fish and goddamn fucking shit-ass crusty motherfucking doctor can’t take care of his own goddamn fucking pet project.” Tips of his house slippers stopping at the pond only by way of running into the stone wall, he stumbled, growling in frustration, before regaining his balance and yanking out the plastic bag inside the remnants of the box. “Wants a goddamn gift for fucking Mom but can’t be arsed to do it him-fucking-self. Deserves every fish fucked into his respiratory system, clogging up his arteries to give himself a goddamn heart attack. And then I can’t be blamed for—” The plastic stretched, and he ended up tearing it in half above the water, pieces falling atop waterlilies. “Shit on a cuntbag. What the fuck. I don’t deserve this.”

He stretched to reach the waterlilies, cupping his hands to sweep the fish food off and into the water. And—the moonlight struck the gently rippling water, enough for you to see a flash of an orange koi tail break the surface tension, but not enough to see whatever was going on with his hands—not that he was doing anything strange with them (just picking shreds of plastic out of the water), but they somehow were strange. They moved stiffly and had some sort of bumps on them, but—does this guy live in darkness? You couldn’t tell anything about what his hands looked like aside from the shadowed bumps, which could be anything.

“I deserve a lot, but I sure as hell don’t deserve this.” He rounded the pond and punched a few buttons on a small, hidden, monitor, checking the pH of the pool and water levels. “Not my fucking job. Not my fucking job. Why do they think—why am I the one to do this shit. How come I can get in trouble with my fucking brother for him not taking care of his project.” He swatted at his wet bathrobe sleeve, pissed, and shook out some of the water. “Hey, you. I know you’re there.”

Back in the dorm, you jolted in your seat. In the distance, you could hear Shinsou ask what was wrong. “Nothing,” you said, sounding distant yourself, “He acknowledged me is all. Hasn’t done that for a while, so it felt like a fourth wall break.”

Your soulmate sat down on the edge of the pond, glaring out at the rest of the garden (wisteria heavy, vines swaying in the night wind). “Are you hot?”

You’d never wanted to be able to transfer direct words or actions to him so much, because he needed to be strangled.

“I’m not kidding.” He crossed his arms, covered by a dark bathrobe, sticking his hands in his armpits. “Are you hot? I don’t like the idea of being connected to some hideous fuckwad.”

Never mind. Now you have never wanted to be—

“This quirk shit isn’t gonna last long, but if you’re hot, you need to get on my dick before it goes away. I wanna see how it looks giving me a blowjob from your perspective.”

Kill. Destroy. Maim. Eviscerate, even.

“Ooh, watch out. We’ve got an uptight, prudish bitch over here,” he said, and he laughed—again, sounding more like a hiss than anything else. “Well, then. If you’re not gonna put out, then I’ve got no use for you. Don’t need anyone, especially not some goddamn lunatic who claims to be my soulmate. Too many people are interfering in my life, anyway. And to be honest, it seems like you’re dumb and irritating. I don’t like people like you.”

Maybe you’re soulmates because you’re destined to kill him on sight. Your soul, calling out for his to suffer extreme violence. He’d deserve it.

May all his potato wedges burn.

***

Monoma was at the next Hunter x Hunter anime viewing, because he’d been dying to know why you were wearing an actual and literal clown costume, wig and enormous foam nose included.

“I’m liking the new hero outfit,” Monoma said, flipping his hair back with a flourish, “but why are you wearing it during our off-hours?”

“Shove off,” you said, grinning as Shinsou tossed you a pillow to hold, “Did you bring your peach gummies?”

“I did,” said Monoma, sitting next to you on Todoroki’s tatami mats, and he pulled a massive bag of white peach gummies from inside his jacket, handing it to you to open. “May I ask if it’s seriously part of your new uniform, or—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Monoma,” you said, ripping open the bag at the notch, “I’m making a point.”

“Her soulmate,” Shinsou supplied, pulling up the next episode, “He wants to know what she looks like. So, she’s been dressing up in horrible, gawdy shit so that he can never really tell, even around mirrors.”

“He’s pissed,” you said, beaming, digging into the bag and popping a gummy into your mouth, “He wants me to stop playing around, but he was mean to me. Mean to me, unprovoked, and in a way that wasn’t hot. Tomorrow, I’m wearing a sheet and running around like a ghost. I will say nothing to him but boo.”

“I suppose that explains the influx of regular face masks you’ve taken to wearing during class.” Monoma scoffed, his incredulous, open mouth stretching into a grin. “You are impossible. If your humourless soulmate is worth his salt, then he should at least value the effort you’re putting into it.”

“Sero has sent me a message,” interrupted Todoroki, thumb swiping his phone screen, “He says that he has changed his mind and would like to join us. He’s started rereading the series and likes it more this time around.” Todoroki looked up and around his room, lips pursed. “There is not much space for five people. It is getter harder to see the laptop.”

***

The five of you started the Heaven’s Arena arc of Hunter x Hunter in Aizawa’s dorm apartment, seeing as he had the best television setup: for one, having an actual television instead of simply relying on his computer. His sound system held up, too, though you suspected Present Mic had something to do with that, instead of Aizawa’s own preferences.

You, Shinsou, Todoroki, Monoma, and Sero were scattered across Aizawa’s living room, all cosied under blankets and pillows and pointed towards his wall-mounted television, sitting on his cat-hair covered couch and armchairs, mugs and snacks on his coffee table, socked feet loose, and house slippers at the edge of the shag rug. The cats, Dango and Konpeito, chose to snuggle up towards Todoroki and you (beat that, Shinsou!), so you were careful not to disturb them from their slumber on your lap. No sudden movements, even when the tired dizziness of your bitch soulmate faded in.

“Spoilers for Hunter x Hunter, I suppose, even though it’s been out for decades,” you said under your breath, raising your hand to signal to the others that your soulmate was looking in. At your movement, Dango raised her head from her cocoon in your lap to yawn, her face nearly turning inside out, and she flinched, her pupils dilating, at the creak of the door.

Laden with groceries, Aizawa stepped into his own apartment, his brow furrowing at the sight of his students in his living room. “You have ten seconds to tell me what you’re doing here.”

“The fuck?” Sero whipped his head towards Shinsou and back at Aizawa. “Shinsou told us you were okay with it.”

“I said that he wouldn’t mind, which he can’t if he doesn’t catch us,” said Shinsou, bracing himself when Aizawa tugged at his capture weapon around his neck, “It’s my fault, Aizawa-sensei. Please don’t get angry at anyone else.”

Your soulmate seemed pleased that you were getting in trouble. Bastard.

Aizawa set his cloth bags on his kitchen counter, the insides shifting with the weight of the groceries. “Is this appropriate for Eri to watch?”

“Well, in general—”

A character onscreen chose that moment to seductively moan another character’s name, over and over again.

Aizawa winced, scrunching his eyes shut tightly. “Turn that shit off. Find another place to watch it.” Shaking his head, he unbagged the first of his groceries. “Shinsou, never bring anyone, including yourself, into my personal space again with express permission.”

“Damn it,” you said, reaching for the remote. You pressed the power button, watching the screen fade from the vibrant colours of Heaven’s Arena to black, with Aizawa’s living room reflecting back at you. Forlornly, you scratched the back of Dango’s neck, watching her mirrored reaction, before you realised what you were doing: giving your bitch-ass soulmate a clear view of your bare face. Eyes bulging, you gasped and bent over to hide your face, with Dango scurrying away at being disturbed.

The connection cut at the faint suggestion of intrigue.

***

YOU

hey i know we said we’d keep it small but. i think midoriya would really enjoy the battle analysis that the hxh characters are doing

YOU

bc they be doing some QUICK analytic work based on their opponents’ personalities

TODOROKI 💅🎏

Midoriya has been asking more questions than usual during our sparring sessions.

SERO 🧃🍊

ffs why isn’t he already in the group? should’ve thought of him

SHINSOU 💜🍡

want me to add him?

YOU

would that be okay, todoroki?

TODOROKI 💅🎏

There’s more than enough room at our new venue. We should invite him.

SHINSOU 💜🍡

why don’t you text him then? it’s at your place

MONOMA 🔇🎭

Midoriya CANNOT sit next to me

MONOMA 🔇🎭

I’d like to hear the onscreen dialogue instead of whatever he’s saying under his breath

MONOMA 🔇🎭

He CANNOT shut up

YOU

WHOMST won’t shut up??????

SERO 🧃🍊

don’t worry no one will sit next to you

MONOMA 🔇🎭

Good

MONOMA 🔇🎭

Wait

TODOROKI 💅🎏

Midoriya can attend! He’ll be a little late today, but I think we should wait for him, since it’s his first time joining us.

Startled by the waiter, you put your phone down on your notebook and accepted your coffee graciously. You shifted your laptop and notebook over so that you could cup the mug in front of you, its warmth seeping through the sides, and you took a tentative slurp. Interesting. You’ll finish it, but you won’t order this again.

You were killing time that Saturday by getting ahead on your work for Put Your Hands Up Radio: editing and fact-checking news segments that Yamada would read between songs towards the evening. Electing to get some sunshine on your skin before hunkering down with the group again to analyse some anime, you’d chosen to edit the articles outside at a café you’d discovered recently, one at which you hadn’t decided on a regular order yet and were shopping around the menu each time you came. Plus, if you’d stayed on campus, no doubt Shinsou or Monoma would’ve found you to distract you.

The café’s patio with scorching, cast-iron furniture and haphazard parasol installation led to most of its customers sitting inside, but that meant you had space to think, even with the hot groves of your seat imprinting patterns into your skin.

Your soulmate was probably being rude because he was scared, or perhaps he didn’t believe that Tainted Love’s quirk was legitimate. You’d have to assure him that it was, as you’d run through Nezu’s report with Midnight and Recovery Girl, fact-checking that. Either way. Some frustrated guy—living at home, apparently, and pissed about it—was paired out of the blue with some student at U.A. He might be scared that you were a creep.

Tainted Love’s team’s notes on her quirk that Midnight had confiscated explained that each soulmate bond, somehow, was moulded around the pair’s personalities and would fulfil a lifelong need. A lot of responsibility, it seemed, but if it were true—and other pairs proved it true—you would fulfil it naturally, and so would he.

So, even though your soulmate had been rude, you’d give him a chance. The soulmate bond existed for a reason. Plus, he might be a real-life tsundere, and wouldn’t that be fun to crack? To be the only one a rude, evil person was soft for was the ideal, wasn’t it? Someone so naturally cruel and heartless but learning to be kind for you—

Get a hold of yourself. He’s a real guy who will be in your life forever, not just someone you can throw away, like a celebrity/pro-hero crush. Treat him seriously.

“I’m…being serious,” you said to yourself, pouting into your coffee. You hunched in your seat to drink from the mug without lifting it, and you slorped away the neck of the latte art swan the barista had so carefully poured. “He’s probably not even be a sexy sort of cold-hearted. He’s just a type of bitchiness I haven’t learnt how to handle yet.”

Those boys in the anime analysis group? You could play their types of bitchiness like the world’s smallest fiddle. They were all so easy to handle (especially Monoma because of his predictability; Todoroki gave you the most trouble due to his complete non sequiturs), and it was fun bouncing off the petty parts of their personalities. Your soulmate spun things differently, but you’d learn his inclinations in time. If not, it’s not worth your time trying to “fix” someone who has no redeeming vulnerability.

You sighed. Now that you’ve lost your editing groove, you might as well do some last-minute reading before watching the next few episodes tonight. Closing your laptop, you reached down into your bag to get the next volume of Todoroki’s manga, and your vision blurred over, dizziness incoming. Well, at least you’re sitting down.

You held the manga volume in your lap and waited for your soulmate’s line of sight to appear. If he were in a darkened room yet again, you could buy yourself a little treat. The café’s display case had some sort of new chess square that you’d been eyeing. And—shit, sunlight was coming through. No little treat for you.

Well, maybe you’ll get one, anyway. You slumped farther down in your seat, blinking as dappled, sunlight-covered pavement and an empty terrace outside a business across a busy street came into view—your soulmate jumped back off the road when a car whooshed by, and after that, he jaywalked, horns blaring in his wake.

He did a little hop to get on the opposite sidewalk, hands in his pockets, and peered past the iron fence into the window of the shop—a packed coffee shop; maybe you could at least learn his coffee order, because then you’d have some shred of information about him. But no, he unlatched the iron gate and wove his way through the cast-iron patio chairs and tables, and—

You’re staring right at you: sitting, legs crossed, not taking up space, stuff spread out over your table, and he’s gaining on you. You flinched, watched yourself flinch, and your gaze darted around until you were able to meet his (your) eyes (your head making minor, nervous movements you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t seen them), expression cautious, curling in on yourself on impulse. When you saw how, through an outsider, that made you look small, you made the effort to sit up and roll your shoulders back, elbows on the table. You watched yourself recoil at the heat of the iron, and you had to use his perspective to know where your notebook was so that you could rest your arms on it.

He brushed past your table’s open chair, instead yanking the table by the edge away from your lap so that he could stand closer to you and grabbing your face. He first cupped your jaw with his whole hand, pale skin and leather of a fingerless glove cold to the touch, and then, when he seemed sure you weren’t going to protest (his vision turned slightly to the left—he must have tilted his head), he narrowed his grip in little jerks of his hand, sliding erratically from gripping your jaw to just tilting your chin upwards towards him. He turned your head to the left and to the right before returning to centre to stare you down (you’d been pliant under his control, because the doubling of you watching you do things was throwing off your senses of balance and direction).

“Not as hard as you fucking made it out to be, huh?” His thumb rubbed over your chin. His nail was cracked. “Now, are you gonna stop acting like a little bitch, or are we gonna keep playing your stupid game?”

“First of all,” you said, fascinated by the way your lips curled in under your teeth to shape the consonants, and judging by where your soulmate was looking, he was, too. “It’s not an act. I am a little bitch.”

“No more of that hiding shit.” He tapped your cheek a little harder than he needed to with his middle two fingers. “Don’t know why you’d wanna hide this, anyway.”

You wouldn’t’ve said you winced at his rough touch, but you noticed enough of an aggravated microexpression around your eyes that you could tell you didn’t like it. “You’re doing the same. Hiding what you look like from me.”

“And I’m gonna keep doing it. You get nothing. There is no us. Soulmates don’t exist, and even if some hack fraud’s quirk has paired us off, I don’t need anybody, least of all you.”

“Well, maybe you don’t need anyone,” you said, your eyes dipping to see more of his hand (hot damn, we forgot we can’t see through our own eyes that quickly?) and then raising them to look directly into your soulmate’s—hyperaware of the way your eyelashes fluttered against your skin, of the slight pinch of your eyebrows, of the way the sun struck your cheeks, “but you could want someone.”

A sliver of a cool breeze wove its way through the patio, some of your hair swaying with it.

“I won’t pressure you to do anything you don’t want,” you said, lying, “but at the very least, we could communicate enough for this to be easy for us. Please let me give you my phone number, and please save it this time.”

His thumb inched up to press into your lower lip.

“Please,” you said, eyes dark but slightly glassy, letting your tongue tap the tip of his thumb, so lightly wetting it that it was as if you hadn’t touched it at all.

Your soulmate tilted his head again, lurching to the side as he shifted his weight to lean on the table. He knocked your pen onto the ground, and when you made the slightest movement to grab it, he pressed his thumb harder against you to still you, and he shook his head.

Your throat ran dry. Your (his) eyes honed in on the bead of sweat dripping down it and into your blouse. “Give me your name, then. A name, if you hate me that much.”

“It’s Touya,” he grumbled, and he closed his eyes in the moment before he kissed you, cold lips open before even touching yours (both rough, but his lower lip was much rougher for some reason). Blind, you startled back at the initial touch, but he held your chin firmly near his, sliding his gloved hand to your cheek as his tongue did into your mouth, pressing against the roof of your mouth and along your gums, alternating pressure where he pleased, not seeming to care what you did with your tongue—not that you were doing much at all due to surprise, but you at least had the mind to press your lips back, because while yes, his style was unorthodox, it still felt good. He laughed through his nose, once, when you slid your tongue against his, but when you raised a hand to cup his cheek, he pulled away before you could do more than graze him.

“Touya,” you said, and now that he was looking at you again, you—well, you looked kissed out, leaning towards him to chase that feeling, to encourage him to touch you again, and you looked fucking hot (the hell? It took a lot for you to think of yourself that way, and today hadn’t even been a good day for you, but now, freshly kissed, saying your soulmate’s name, you found yourself thinking you were pretty. Uh. Could this be what he was thinking instead of you? You couldn’t tell; it felt like it was coming from somewhere deep in your gut). “Touya. Let me write—”

You watched yourself grapple for your pen for a while. He huffed, crossed his arms, and bothered to look down where your pen was for you, and when he did, you finally grabbed it.

“Touya,” you said, uncapping the pen and hovering over your notebook, and you paused after the first stroke. “Touya spelled like that Todoroki Touya who released that Endeavor video during the war?”

The ink bled through the sheet of paper from being pressed in one spot for too long.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, voice rasping, “Spelled just like his.”

“Okay,” you said, bending over your paper and writing based on muscle memory, and under his name, you wrote your phone number for him again, with your name written beneath it, just to hammer it in. You ripped the page out of your notebook with some difficulty before passing it to him.

Touya scanned it and rubbed his thumb over your name, the leather of his fingerless glove catching on the uneven tear.

Cute. Nerd. “Do the gloves have something to do with your quirk?”

“What? No,” he said, crumpling the paper and stowing it in his pocket, and he kept his hands there, hiding them, “I don’t have a quirk.”

Okay, so Touya spoke in a rush and concealed evidence. Sounds like a lie. Monoma took that route on occasion, so the obvious thing for you to say was “Oh, so you wear them because of Naruto? Do you run like him, too?”

“Fuck off,” he spat, and you watched yourself grin: you’ve got him. “As if I had time to be a fuckin’ otaku.”

“Good to know,” you said, “So, all the manga re-analysis I’ve been doing with my friends is new to you? I hope you’re not planning on reading or watching any of the works that we’re covering, then. Unless you wanted to read along with us?”

“I don’t need that shit to scorch my brain.” For some reason, he winced, scrunching his eyes shut for a moment, and you waited in the dark for him.

“You have enough going on?”

He pried his eyes open, blinking blearily at you, still grinning, still smug. “Yeah,” he said, and he dug his left hand out to stare at the back of it, leather shining in the sunlight while he wiggled his fingers. He bent across the table to grab your coffee, fingers spidering over the rim to grip it, and he brought it to his mouth. “This is fucking awful; what’s wrong with you?” he asked after an audible swallow.

“It’s not my usual order.” Closing your notebook, you crossed your arms, staring down at you and feeling more and more like you’re in a dream. “You can either tell me what your quirk is, because I know you’re lying, or you could stay? For coffee? I’ll buy you something better.”

(You would have asked what’s up with his appearance that he didn’t want you to see or feel, but considering how early in your first official meeting it was, the question may be too insensitive, especially if he were born with it.)

Touya glanced over his shoulder, saw something you couldn’t, and set your mug on the iron table with a quiet clink. “I’ve got to go,” he said, and he spun around, taking the first step away.

You slammed a hand on the table purely on guesswork based on where he left your mug, and the sound of shaking iron and tinkling porcelain resounded, distant when you heard it through his ears, yet feeling the vibrations travel through your own arms. “Tell me your goddamn quirk, you daft fucker.”

Touya paused, and he turned back to you. “That’s more like it.” He sat on your table, at the place over your lap, and he reached out towards your face. You saw yourself lean back, eyes wide, but he simply dug his fingers into your hair at your hairline, scratching your scalp and digging his nails in enough to hear the movement.

(You saw yourself frown the moment you noticed his skin was colder than the glove.)

“Barking at me like that is how information is usually torn out of me. Makes me feel at home,” he said, a bit too cheerfully for your liking, “You can be trained to be a bitch towards me yet.”

“Touya,” you said, raising your head to embolden more of his touch, “Who’s—who’s been treating you like that? You don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up.” Touya laid his hand flat atop your head, the weight of it pushing down on you. “Sure, I lied. Said I didn’t have a quirk. Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters.” Your tongue swiped over your lower lip, and Touya’s gaze darted to it. “I want any scrap of you I can get. Everything I’ve already learnt I’ve filed away in my heart: your name, the way you speak, your hatred of your brother’s fish and living at home—”

The hand on your hand slipped to slap over your mouth. “Jesus Christ, stop noticing things about me. Freak. Goddamn.” Touya lifted his hand off of you, and based on his perspective, he ran it through his own hair. “So that you don’t go making your own intrusive observations, I’ll tell you about my quirk: I effectively don’t have one anymore. I used it a lot, and it fucked me up. So, for my own self-preservation, which I’ve been told I should value, I can’t use it anymore. Good enough for you?”

“Great enough for me,” you said, “I’ll take care not to talk about my quirk or hero course stuff too much. I don’t want you to feel left out.”

“Holy shit,” said Touya, and he broke eye contact with you to stare at his boots (scuffed, black, but new, so the scuffing must be intentional), blinking rapidly before pressing—probably—his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids.

Something was deeply wrong with this man. You needed him to kiss you again. You opened your mouth to ask him to, but wooziness and your dry throat called; the ripped page of your notebook you’d been staring at dripped back into your own perspective at a glacial pace. You heard the scuffle of his shuffling off the iron table and the grit of his boot against the concrete, and when you grappled for him in the dark, your hand clenched around nothing.

You rubbed your eyes until the vertigo passed, and when you opened them, Touya was gone.

***

Later that afternoon, you were scrolling through your phone on the end cushion of one of Todoroki’s couches in the living room in a poor effort not to gawk at everything. You expected some of it could be excused, since it’s your first time at his house, but good God, rich people were insane. This was the biggest, traditionally-styled building (estate?) you’ve been in since you toured a castle preserved from the Edo period—but it was apt, you supposed, since Endeavor had been acting as a sort of daimyo of his own.

Dormer gables. Hip-and-gable roofs, with golden shachihoko shibi cupping the corners—though instead of the customary sea monsters, if your eyes weren’t deceiving you, they appeared to be made for flame-swimming instead of in water. A recessed entryway, its wooden flooring tiles hand-cut in tiny designs to make you aware of the space, with brand-new guest slippers already provided before you could ask. Todoroki’s house (estate?) screamed business, or at the very least, don’t touch anything.

At least the living room in which you sat stiffly had a touch of clear modernity—and so it seemed that the inner rooms actually revealed that they were living in the modern age, but the barrier of traditional architecture to get to actual living space heaved a hyperawareness of outsider onto your shoulders.

Todoroki himself, bless him, moved around like the elegant austerity didn’t even occur to him. Waiting for Midoriya with the rest of you, he’d helped everyone spread out their notes and manga over the short table and floor, gathering blankets for everyone when it occurred to him that not everyone’s body tolerated temperature like he did (since the house was kept oddly cold), and, instead of offering tea, like he’d said his sister would expect him to do, he provided a peculiar but pleasant combination of snacks: cheap-ass cup noodles, strawberry chardonnay-flavoured cheese on soup crackers, old mooncakes that had been in the fridge for a month but he declared were still good, and gummy worms for Monoma.

The bitch even bought everyone a fancy little drink according to personal preferences—and no one had even requested them or informed him what to get, but he’d gotten everything right, regardless (you suspected he’d asked Shinsou for help).

“Thank you,” you said, turning over in your hands the poshest bottle of pink lemonade you’ve ever seen, “You’re a very gracious host, Todoroki.”

He slurped his own caramel frappe. “I’m very excited to have so many friends over at once.”

“Of course,” you said, your weight jostling on the couch cushion as Todoroki sat next to you, “I can’t believe we didn’t think of going off-campus to watch this shit earlier. There’s way more privacy here.”

“Our doors are always open nowadays,” he said, and when Sero tapped Todoroki on his shoulder to help open another package of cheese, he held up a finger to pause your conversation.

Smiling softly, you twisted off the bottlecap of your lemonade, holding it up to your nose to inhale that pressurised burst of lemon scent, and—oh, hey, you felt a little lightheaded as you did so. Two times in one day? That’s new. At least it was from your perspective this time, so you didn’t have to worry about knocking anyone’s drink over.

“Hey,” you said, snuggling down into the couch, your palm atop the opening of your drink (when Monoma shot you a questioning look with the phone call hand signal, you nodded, and he relaxed and leaned towards you, his teeth cutting into his lower lip as he grinned). “Funny how we keep meeting like this, yeah?” you asked, feeling soft and full of love for this fucker, and you reached towards the coffee table to set down your drink and grab a flower-shaped mooncake. “I guess I can stop hiding from my reflection now, sweet boy.” You made eye contact with yourself in the reflection of the Torodokis’ enormous flatscreen, and you held your mooncake up in a toast before biting into it. “Hope you’re well. You seemed stressed earlier. I’m currently—”

Your phone rang in your lap, and you narrowed your eyes at the unknown number before answering it. “Hello?”

“Where the hell are you right now?”

“Wow,” you said, chewing, “No greeting, even? No mention of how much that you miss my voice or my lips now that you’ve—”

“Just tell me where the fuck you are,” said Touya, at the same time that Monoma’s eyebrows shot to his hairline at the kissing implication, and he thumped Shinsou in the chest for him to look up from his phone.

“Does it matter?”

“I told you my quirk shit when I didn’t want to, so fucking tell me,” said Touya, sounding muffled and, again, like he stood near traffic.

Swallowing mooncake in a rush and choking a bit, you cleared your throat and said, “Fine. I don’t know why it matters that much to you, but I’m at a friend’s house. Our anime analysis group has gotten too big for the dorms, so we’re trying out his place.”

You had to ensure the call hadn’t dropped due to his long response time. “What friend?” he asked.

You raised a brow, though he couldn’t see you. “I doubt you would know—shit!”

Struggling to tear the plastic covering the cheese, Todoroki had accidentally slammed his elbow into your collarbone.

“Geez.” You winced at Todoroki and rubbed the spot. “No, no, I’m fine,” you said when he reached towards your collarbone, his fingertips already icing over, “You may want to go get a knife to open that, though.”

Nodding soberly, Todoroki lowered his thawing hand and rose from the couch, tossing the cheese to himself. “I’ll do that. Anyone need anything from the kitchen while I’m up?”

While the others answered, you spoke into your phone again, hand on your chest. “Sorry about that. I guess if you paid attention to the news last year, you’d know him: one of Endeavor’s kids, Todoroki Shouto.”

The soulmate connection started to trickle away, but Touya stayed on the phone. “Do you not have any other friends who have a place?” Plastic crinkled on his end, along with a car horn in the background. “Hell, the library downtown rents out portable TVs—”

“Why should I be at another friend’s house?” Touya wouldn’t be able to see the reflection of your self-satisfied smirk now, but surely he could hear it in your voice. “Jealous that I’m at the house of another man?”

Touya gagged into the speaker. “Someone’s full of herself. Don’t wait up for me,” he said, and he hung up.

You pulled your phone away from your ear, pouting at the call screen before creating a new contact.

“You didn’t tell us you’d met your soulmate,” said Shinsou.

“It only happened this afternoon,” you said, saving his number under Touya 🐠🚷 (the fish for the koi pond he hated, and the no pedestrians sign for his apparent propensity to jaywalk), “and I’m not sure what to make of him. I was hoping to form my own opinion before telling all of you.”

Todoroki perked up and tilted his ear skyward at the sound of the front door opening. “I’ll get it,” he said, standing, “I bet that’s my brother. He’s back four hours late from physical therapy; I hope everything’s okay.”

Your eye twitched.

(Todoroki had warned everyone before coming over that his family would probably be in and out. Less so Fuyumi and Natsuo, because Fuyumi had recently moved in with her significant other and Natsuo had his own place near campus, but more of his parents and Dabi. Well. Touya, now, but you had your own Touya to worry about.

You’d met Dabi. Twice, during freshman year. When he’d been a villain, instead of whatever was happening with him in recovery. Rather formulative experiences for you, ones you only permitted yourself to think about in the hollowness of lonely nights—but you didn’t need those memories anymore, because you had your Touya now.

Remember? You have your own Touya. You don’t need another.)

“Do you want me to carry that for you?”

Todoroki’s voice trailed behind boot scuffing and a sliding door, and in Dabi/Touya shuffled—hoodie yanked up (layered over a longer coat?), strings pulled firmly around his face, plastic bags from the convenience store down the street on his wrist, very determinedly staring at the floor as he strode past behind the couch instead of at the four of you strewn across his living room, ducking into the kitchen as soon as possible.

You’d barely seen him for five seconds, and your heart was going to beat out of your chest. Or maybe that was just the bruise forming on your collarbone.

Todoroki nodded after his brother, standing behind your place at the couch. “There’s no ceremonial introduction, I assume. That’s my brother, Touya. You’ve all,” said Todoroki, scratching the back of his neck, “met him before. But! If you’re nervous, we will not be seeing much of him. He doesn’t spend much time in the main house; he lives in the old-fashioned teahouse towards the back of the garden. Privacy, you know, even though we’ve got to keep him close.” Todoroki wetted his lips as he looked towards the emptied shrine on the far wall. “He shouldn’t be any trouble, but I may have to zip out on occasion to help him. Not all of his skin grafts are taking.”

The doorbell rang, and Todoroki started towards it. “That must be Midoriya. Sero, would you please pull up the next episode?”

When Todoroki stepped into the entryway to greet him, you couldn’t suppress your curiosity. “I’m gonna go pour this over ice,” you said, gesturing with your pink lemonade bottle, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Shinsou—the only one whom you’ve told about what happened with Dabi back then—shot you a crooked grin, but he distracted Monoma from noticing exactly what you were doing while you sneaked away down the hall.

His back was to you. Water flowed out of the kitchen faucet while he yanked his hoodie over his head and tossed it over the back of a chair, and he did the same with a longer, black coat—similar in shape to the coat he’d worn as a villain but not the same one. Maybe he’d grown accustomed to having the weight of it on his body, so what he wore now was a type of security blanket. While he ran a spoon under the faucet, he fumbled behind himself for his plastic, convenience store bag and fished out a pudding cup.

Backtracking a little, you purposely made your footsteps audible so that you wouldn’t startle him, and you entered the kitchen, shaking your lemonade for more noise to alert him of your presence.

His white brows pinched when he saw you, and he hastily shut the water off and scooted off to the edge of the counter while he put his stuff away, his movements rigid and close to his chest.

“Hi,” you said (oh, my God, you were talking to Dabi; holy shit), “Where do the cups live?”

Dabi blinked slowly, unable to look at you, and he peeled the lid off of his pudding cup. He glanced towards the door and back towards his stuff on the table, and he pointed towards a cabinet, his finger returning to his fist in a rush to get back what he was doing.

“Thank you,” you said, opening the one he’d pointed to. Oh. Fancy. Lots of choices. “I hope we’re not bothering you. We can—we can always leave, if you need us to. Or you could join us, if you like.” You turned around in time to see the flat of his tongue lick pudding off of the lid, stitches showing at the back of his tongue, and in the moment where he ducked his head, the tiny, unblemished part of his skin near the corners of his eyes blazing pink, your brain short-circuited.

(Dabi had been your first kiss.

During freshman year, in the week of that first round of internships, you’d been planted in Hosu City, around the time Stain closed his fist around the public consciousness. On a night patrol, your mentor had slipped into a restaurant that the yakuza frequented and stationed you in a nearby alley to watch for other yakuza incoming from the employees’ entrance.

An official sidekick had caught up with you—late forties, spandex, unrecognisable. You’d been terse in your replies, since he’d been essentially blowing your cover, but he couldn’t take a hint.

It’d only occurred to you that he’d been hitting on you when he’d propped an arm on the brick wall above your head to dominate your personal space, and an all-consuming dread had erupted in your stomach when he’d said, moving to take your chin in hand, “You know, you remind me a lot of my daughter.”

Before he’d been able to touch you, something rabid and ravenous about the size of a labrador had tackled him to the ground, the force knocking him almost two whole meters away, and the thing ripped into the sidekick’s chest, blood spewing—and somehow having the sense to cover his mouth to stifle the shouts.

In the moment you’d moved to get a better look at what was, in retrospect, a nomu, another figure had stepped between you and the sidekick, his own arm resting on the wall to keep you from getting closer.

“Hey,” Dabi had said, an easy grin stretching across his face, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about anything. Just testing some shit out for someone. So long as you don’t go making any noise, I’ll let you walk away.”

Dabi hadn’t made his villain debut back then, but even so, it hadn’t seemed like it was just testing something out for someone; this guy had seemed his own brand of dangerous. Your gaze had started to creep towards the source of crunching, but he’d tapped your cheek, making you look at him. “Nuh-uh. Keep your eyes on me. If you don’t know anything, I don’t have to kill you, do I?”

“I, I’m—” You’d steeled yourself somewhat, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “I’m not just gonna let you kill a hero while I stand here.”

Again, Dabi had stopped you before you could take a full step, this time by gripping your jaw, letting it rest in his palm while his fingers dug into your cheeks. “Can’t call him a hero. Was comparing you to his daughter—didn’t you hear? And it looked like he was gonna assault you. Some guys aren’t meant to be fathers.” His syrupy gaze had fallen to your neck, and he’d squeezed your face. “Jesus, your heart is beating like crazy.”

“I don’t normally calm myself down to the sounds of someone getting maimed,” you’d said, blood splattering in the air behind him, “Oh! Fuck.” You’d scrunched your eyes shut and curled in on yourself, trying to block out the sound of bones snapping.

“Some hero you are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you’d said, “You’re more of one than I am, tonight. Thanks—?”

“Dabi,” he’d said, and at the time, it had just been a name. When you’d pried open your eyes, he’d been smiling, mouth closed, head tilted at being called a hero. You’d smiled back, but at an enormously strident crack from behind him, you’d had a full-body jolt. “Fucking hell, calm down,” he’d said, his arm sliding from the wall to your upper arm, “For once, you’re safe with me.” Seeing you try to look over his shoulder again, Dabi had dragged you forward by the jaw to kiss you, closed-mouthed but hot, leaning into you, his mouth overwhelming you with hardly any effort on his end, and he’d kept kissing you, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand, until the nomu slinked into silence.

Dabi had broken off when the nomu scuttled farther down the alley. “Right.” He’d taken a deep breath. “You gonna tell anyone about me?”

You’d shaken your head, confused as to why he seemed more concerned about descriptions of him rather than descriptions of the murder. But he’d been nice to you. Had given you a hell of a first kiss. “I can say someone in the yakuza killed him.”

He’d roughly patted your cheek and dropped away from you, stowing his hands in the deep pockets of his coat. “His death isn’t worth reporting, but I’ll take it.” He’d spun on his heel, raising a lazy hand in a wave as he disappeared into the night. “You’d better hope you never see me again.”)

And now, here he was, hunched over shitty gas station snacks in his family kitchen, a spoon hanging out of his mouth while he stowed things away. His naturally white hair showed now, and…he seemed terribly shy. Dabi, shy. Fucking ridiculous. But, you supposed, there’s guilt and shame around, uh, doing what he did. And—and his body was horribly, horribly mangled and mottled. He might not think anyone should look at him.

Todoroki (Shouto, you supposed you should think of him as, since Dabi was a Todoroki, too) had mentioned not all of Dabi’s skin grafts were taking. It was obvious. He’d burnt up during the war, and while you’d heard Recovery Girl and Eri had worked on him, despite outside protests that he wasn’t worth it, he still was very clearly cobbled together.

He still had a lot of staples, though faded stitches filled in new gaps, and those that remained had been replaced with medical-grade staples that wouldn’t get infected. Patches of successful grafts left a waning diamond pattern, particularly around his neck. Very little purple, overall, but going by the scars, you could still tell where it had been. Based on his appearance, he shouldn’t be alive, let alone able to walk around.

But he scooted with such speed out of your way when you got ice out of the freezer. “But really, you could stick around with us, if you wanted to. No pressure, though, if you want to be alone.” Calmly. You were calmly popping ice out of a tray and letting them clatter into your glass. “We’re watching Hunter x Hunter right now, if you’re interested. Have you read or watched it before, either the 1999 or 2011 version? Do you have a favourite character?”

Dabi clutched his snacks and discarded clothes to his chest, almost at the door, with his eyes darting all around the kitchen except on you.

Yeah. Must be shy. You were one of the U.A. students who fought in the war, after all, even though you didn’t personally fight him in the end. Probably feels guilty about the whole thing. Shy could be refreshing, after those bitches in the living room and your cunning soulmate.

Finally, tentatively, Dabi shifted his belongings to his right arm, and he raised his left to pat his throat, swallowing so that his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Oh,” you said, ice melting in your hand, “I’m sorry. Are you on vocal rest? Vocal cords messed up somehow?”

After a moment, Dabi nodded. He edged towards the hallway.

“Okay. I hope you feel better soon,” you said, and you poured your lemonade over the ice. “I’ve kept you long enough. Please go rest; I hope we don’t disturb you further.”

Before you finished, he’d already skibbled off, his house shoes slipping on the wood.

***

(The second time you’d met Dabi hadn’t been as hands-on, but it’d still left an odd impression.

It’d been in an urban jungle-type battle, after knowing his involvement the League but before his backstory reveal, and you and some classmates had been fighting a handful of PLF-aligned villains.

You’d slithered underneath a lean-to created by a partially collapsed building to catch your breath, along with shielding yourself from an explosion Bakugou had been building up. You hadn’t even known Dabi was in the group you were chasing, but he’d slinked underneath the same, protective ruins as you had, barely slipping underneath the cover before Bakugou’s explosion had shaken it.

Dabi had braced himself on the crumbling entrance, scrunching his face away from the explosion, and once it’d stopped, he’d noticed you were barely two paces away from him, sweat dribbling down your face the same as it’d been down his.

You still didn’t know if his startled, constipated expression had been of recognition or simple surprise to see someone else taking cover under something that could collapse and kill them. He’d taken in your U.A. gym uniform—your personal hero costume had been in repairs that week—and there’d been a couple of heavy seconds where neither of you had done anything besides pant and let sweat drip onto the rubble.

He'd slipped out first, since he’d been blocking the entrance, and you’d left soon after. You hadn’t been five steps out of the lean-to before someone on the PLF side had destroyed it, and in the privacy of your heart, you liked to think that Dabi had waited until you were out to raze it.)

***

You made it a habit to call Touya whenever the soulmate bond activated. Though he never initiated a call, he answered most of yours. What else was he going to do, if it were on your side, besides sit there in the dark? He continued to be hold information about himself like a miser clutching coins, but you found it refreshing to have a charismatic grouch of a pseudo-pen pal.

You’d closed the door of a library study room behind you as you called him this time, setting your stack of books on the table.

“You’re finally reading something besides manga? I thought your brain was gonna rot,” he said upon picking up.

You slung the strap of your purse over a chair. “No greeting? No admittance of missing the melodious sound of my voice?”

“Why in the hell would I do that,” he said over the screech of pulling out your chair.

“Because you missed the melodious sound of my voice?” You pulled out your notebook, flipped it to a new page, and fossicked around for a pen. Clicking the one you found, you reached for the first book in your stack, a rudimentary sign language dictionary, and you jotted down a list of common words as they came to you, such as thank you, help, and, of course, the all-important cat.

Touya clicked his tongue. “Are you seriously gonna make me study with you?”

You made the final stroke in the word pudding. “I don’t expect you to absorb the information. If you rather I read manga, I can go to that section for a while. Pick out a shoujo.”

“Get fucked with that otaku shit,” said Touya, and—he must have had his phone on speaker, because a couple of people were speaking to each other nearby about what must be the latest Assassins’ Creed, and the sound changed after some scrapes, with Touya sounding closer. “Why study sign language?”

“There’s someone in my life who recently became unable to talk all of the time,” you said, “and I’d like to help give him some way to communicate.”

“Just text him,” said Touya, “Well—never mind. Who’d wanna text you, anyway?”

“Sometimes, people put away their phones, Touya. Have you heard of it?” You drew a line down the half of your paper to make a new column, one sorting the words in groups—places, family members, requests, and the like.

“What are you getting out of it?” Touya must have scratched somewhere on his face, the sound coming over the phone. “You makin’ fun of him? Making him feel bad? If he wants to talk to you, he can just write shit down.”

“I think he might hate it because of how slow it is. And what if I luck out, and he knows sign already? Then half of my work is done for me,” you said, listing off all of the terms for family members, “Text-to-speech may be okay, but I don’t know. Still slow.”

“He probably doesn’t even want to talk to you,” said Touya, “let alone learn something for you. That’s a lot to ask for someone you ain’t fuckin’.”

You hummed and ignored him. You titled a new column Body, and the first word under it was burns. Followed by healing, surgery, hands, skin, hurt, and rest. For the first time in a while, Touya’s emotions were strong enough for you to feel, but you couldn’t name them. More like some pitiful, fearful soup, if anything, and other stuff you couldn’t put your finger on.

His voice still came in confidently derisive, though. “What kind of fucked up guy are you spreading your legs for, since those are what you’re writing down for his body? Seems like you’d be better off as a cocksleeve for someone else actually capable of fucking you.”

“Oh, rude! Rude!” Scowling, you set down your pen. “That’s rude to both me and him. I’m not talking to you anymore. Enjoy studying, asshole.” You flipped to a random page in the dictionary and started memorising, a bit too pissed to be productive for real, and you kept it up—if Touya were going to be here, then he’s not learning productive sign language, either. Try using marble and mare in everyday conversation, jackass.

Later, you caught yourself zoning out while staring at an entry, only shaking yourself out of it when Touya grumbled under his breath for you to turn the page already.

***

Todoroki paused the episode when the pizza arrived.

Moaning way too sensually, Kaminari stretched his arms above his head and arched his back. “My electricity is cooler than Killua’s, right? I have more swag than him?”

“No.”

“In your dreams.”

“Yikes.”

“Wrong,” said Shinsou, pelting him in the face with a popcorn kernel.

Kaminari picked it up off the floor and ate it mournfully. “I’m getting beaten by a fictional twelve year old.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you announced, pushing yourself up from your seat between Shinsou and Monoma (which was just as well, since they were comparing scans of the current manga chapter over your lap), and you set off with the intention going to the farthest bathroom to increase your chances of bumping into Dabi.

No such luck, even though you deliberately stomped your slippers as loudly as you could to try to draw him out. Sighing, you backtracked to a tiny bathroom you’ve used before, one that wasn’t as intimidatingly wealthy as the rest of the house and therefore actually felt like it was meant to be used, and you opened the creaking door onto an exhausted, shirtless Dabi trying to rub some sort of cream on the back of his neck, a massive jar open on the sink, blood seeping down his biceps at the strain around his staples.

Both of you froze. He took a quick glance to the gobs of cream on his hands and managed to kick the door shut from his seat on the closed toilet, but your foot caught in the door, which struck your nose and cheekbone, with you yelping and clutching the area.

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” you said through the crack in the door, shakily dragging your bruised foot out of it, “I didn’t know anyone was even in this side of the house. Are you okay? No, wait, sorry again—you’re bleeding; of course you’re not okay. I’m sorry.” You checked your nose for bleeding of your own, but nothing leaked out of your nose. “Can I—may I help with whatever you’re doing?”

No answer. But he hadn’t shut the door.

“Fine,” you said, and you spoke into the crack, only able to make out the granite on the near side of the sink. “I don’t know what’s going on with you nowadays, but I hope you’re doing okay. Or that you’ll be okay soon, at least. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, and I’m sorry you had to go through it. But I can grasp, I think, that having a bunch of your brother’s friends over can be intimidating and isolating. If nothing else, I’d like to get to know you better—or you could just get to know me better, if you don’t feel like sharing—so that having all of us over isn’t as terrible. I’m sorry we’re bursting into your life when you’re working out a lot of stuff in recovery—”

Dabi yanked open the door, brow furrowed, and instead of looking at you, he clamped his slimy hands on the sink and stood on his toes to arch towards the mirror, opening his mouth wide to breathe hot air onto it, teeth bared, as if he were roaring. In its fleeting fog, he traced out kanji, streaked with lotion and hidden by his left hand as he wrote, and he blew over it a final time before stepping back and jabbing at the message.

Stop apologising.

“Ah—oh,” you said, while Dabi squatted and rooted through the cabinet under the sink, “Okay. I’ll try. Thank you for saying so.” How do you talk to someone who was formerly 1) an S-tier villain and, more importantly, 2) your longest-running crush?

Dabi plopped a meagre first-aid kit on the counter and pointed to the source of bleeding on one of his arms, the inside bicep where two staples had come loose.

“I don’t know shit about first-aid,” you said, reaching for the kit anyway, “I know you have to keep pressure on it, and stuff, but—”

And so the first time Dabi looked you in the eyes was to shoot you an incredulous, suspicious glare that accompanied his snatching the kit back from you, clutching it out of your reach. Relaxing once it was in his hands, he hesitated a moment, shifting his jaw, before nudging the open jar of lotion with his knuckle, reverting to his fixed gaze on his feet.

“I can do that,” you said, heart racing, “You wanna—why don’t you sit back down?”

Not lotion, you noted, as Dabi pulled out disinfectant wipes and a roll of gauze near its end, burn cream. Aw. You dipped your first three fingers into it (heavy, roll-around slimy, like holding a frog) and hoped to God that your soulmate didn’t tune in during this. Touya didn’t like a lot of things you did, but he’d probably loathe your gawking over the scarred back of someone who wasn’t him.

Yeah, Touya would probably hate how you would hone in, laser-sharp, each time Dabi’s muscles flexed as he wrapped his wound, how the space between his shoulder blades with the tiny dent along his spine (well, his spine indented at the top of his back, where he was broader and still held muscle, and poked out towards his lower back as he bent over) held your focus far too long to be impersonal—and you got to touch it. You kept the contact to your fingertips, because as much as you wanted to flatten your hands to feel every moving tendon, you didn’t want to scare him. He’s probably not used to outside touch, and you shouldn’t come on too strongly, especially when someone else’s soul was fucking bound to yours.

But as your fingers smoothed over the marks around his shoulders where burns used to be, skin cold to the touch, as Dabi turned his head to the side just barely so that he could watch you out of his periphery, you found it hard to remind yourself that you already had a Touya. Can’t have two.

“I know it’s none of my business, but, uh, if you’re on vocal rest this often, I could—I could help you learn some sign language?” You scratched underneath your eye in a nervous gesture and smeared some of the burn cream on your cheek. “Nothing intensive. Only simple, everyday stuff, like—well. I don’t know what frequents your vocabulary. You don’t have to, but I’m offering. Just in case.”

In the mirror, Dabi halted in tying the gauze to glare up at you, his lip curling up in flash of a sneer.

“Okay, that’s cool. That’s fine. I can—I can leave a sign language book with your brother, if you—if you ever change your mind.” You nodded, just to have some sort of reaction he could see, and he tucked away the disinfectant wipes and tossed the empty roll of gauze into the trash bin. “Hey,” you said, noting how he’d only bled at his left arm, which was covered with mottled patches of skin, staples, and stitches, along with the faint diamond-pattern of skin grafts, while his right arm needed no medical attention, pale and unblemished without any sign of damage, “What’s up with—if you’re comfortable with sharing, why doesn’t your right arm have any scars? Was Recovery Girl able to heal that more effectively, or something?”

Holding your gaze in the mirror, Dabi raised his eyebrows, nearly vanishing under the drooping, white spikes of his hair, and he reached over with his left hand to rub his thumb over his right shoulder and curving down into his armpit.

He actually laughed (a laugh through his nose, yes, and one without the humming sort of vocalisation usually accompanying a laugh through a nose, but a laugh nevertheless) at how hard you jumped when he popped off what was apparently a prosthetic.

***

“If you hate gardening this much, why keep doing it?” you asked, once again trapped in Touya’s perspective late at night while he tended to a traditional, Japanese garden. You lay flat on your back in bed, hands and phone resting on your chest (laptop closed to the side. Your essay was due at eight o’clock in the morning. Would Present Mic accept late work due to soulmate interference?).

“Lots of dumb fucking reasons that all fold in together,” said Touya, shovelling gravel out of a wheelbarrow and into the man-made brook he was trying to shape, “One: my stupid fucking family has decided that doing this earthy shit would calm me down. Zen gardening, or whatever.”

“Oh, do you have issues controlling your anger, Touya?”

“Stop that. Two.” Gravel pittered off the shovel blade, falling into the trickling water with a series of tiny plops. “One of my brothers brought up how Mom always liked the garden but was stopped from taking care of it herself, and since I did some shit to—it’s not like I could’ve helped it; they were keeping stuff from her, too. Anyway, Mom’s fucking sad nowadays. Better, but sad.” Touya sank the shovel into the gravel to lean on it, tracking the flow of the water for a moment, twisting through the previous path currently being overtaken by moss and fallen stone. “And my brother thinks the garden being fancy again will make our mom happy, especially if I’m the one to do it. Dick. Saying if we hired people to do it, it wouldn’t be the same. Started with just the damn fish, but now the whole fucking thing’s my job. It’s fucking shit. It’s blackmail and family obligation and rent all at once. It’s a fuckin’ nasty trick.”

Touya dug into the wheelbarrow again. “And my fa—that guy had the nerve to suggest that I needed something to do during the day. As if I’m not busy enough.”

“During the day? Touya, I’ve only seen you garden at night.”

“Because it’s too damn hot outside all the time. And I don’t want anyone watching me. I’m no one’s business. But I bet they’d like staring out of a window at me, while I break my fucking body again moving all of these shitty rocks and shaping Mom’s fucking evergreens.” He shovelled with deep malice. “Did you fucking know that there’s goddamn symbolism in these shitty gardens? That you can’t just put things anywhere without it meaning something? Somehow ponds are supposed to be oceans. Rocks are supposed to be mountains. Forced perspective shit, paired with tenets of Zen and Shinto, and it’s the pettiest, most unnecessary bullshit I’ve ever had to deal with, and I dealt with a friend’s abominable driving for years. Never got any better at it, even though I got fucking motion sick.”

He knelt, and when two, fat glops of Touya’s sweat dripped onto the stone at the impact, you rather enjoyed the gentle wafting about your dorm room at the blades of your ceiling fan.

He must have felt your appreciation. “Stop that. I’m making a point. Look at this shit,” he said, gesturing to the brook and then up at the three-quarter moon, “I’ve gotta change the course of the water, because it’s better to face towards the moon to capture its reflection, and I’ve gotta make it somehow cascade or waterfall at some point over there.” He pointed far across the garden towards a flickering pair of stone lanterns. “How am I supposed to do that? I can’t even make it flow through gravel right. I might have to move some of the stepping stones again. I fucking hate those things. They’re too heavy for one person, and I’ve already had to rearrange them because some of them weren’t fucking weathered or natural-looking enough.”

“Sure. Death to aesthetics,” you said, blindly feeling around for a pack of gum you kept in your bedside table, “I’d come help you if I could, but somebody—”

“You’re not getting a location out of me, princess.”

You paused, hand on the knob of the first drawer, and a wide, smug smile broke across your face (Princess, Touya? You’re gonna call me princess? You sure you don’t care about me?).

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“I could feel it,” said Touya, flexing his fingers on his knees, “so shut up.”

Gloved hands clenched into fists, he glared at the brook, the gravel, up at the moon, and back into the water.

“You know, it looks like if you moved most of the gravel to one side, the water might flow the direction you need it to.”

“Who’s the one busting their ass here, me or you?” But he plunged his hands into the water, grabbed heaping fistfuls of rocks, and patted them onto the far side of the stone bed.

“Touya,” you said, feeling around in your drawer for the pack of gum, “Take your gloves off! You’re gonna ruin the leather.”

“Like I care.” He dragged more gravel underwater. “If I took ’em off, you’d see my hands.”

“Come off of it, Touya. I bet they’re perfectly fine,” you said, successfully grabbing gum and sliding your drawer shut, “Hands are often the most attractive part of a man.”

He paused, water flowing around his arms up to his elbows (he wouldn’t roll up his sleeves, either. Stubborn boy. He must hate whatever’s going on with him). “Not the dick?” He sounded like he was grinning.

“Not always. Some of them look like sad, sea creatures,” you said, unwrapping your gum into your phone’s speaker to annoy him, “It takes talent to have a pretty cock. Hands, however, can easily be lusted over because of what they’re capable of. Or what you know they’ve done.”

(Hee hoo hah, like burn down a city. You’re so normal about it.)

“Not how they look?”

“Appearance can help, but it’s not the whole cow,” you said, chewing while the flavour faded fast.

Touya scoffed, his fingers sinking into gravel. “You makin’ fun of me?”

What? “Of course not. Why?”

“Don’t say shit like that to get on my good side. I’m more than aware I ain’t got anything besides my shitty personality goin’ for me.” He cleared his throat. “That sign language guy got anything I don’t?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You sure seem obsessed with him,” said Touya, leaning more deeply into the water, soaking his hoodie even more, “even though he sounds pathetic. You tryin’ to fix him to make yourself look good?”

“Of course not. I know no one can fix anyone else. He has to choose to do that himself,” you said, “Not that there’s anything about him that merits fixing.”

Laughing (oh? hot), Touya scooped a handful of gravel out of the wheelbarrow to add it to the far side. “Yeah, you’re fucking obsessed with him. Am I not your soulmate?”

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it (and…you…couldn’t see it). “You haven’t given me anything to obsess over, unless you want me to research gardening tips or how to breed carp.”

“I would love for you to be obsessed with breeding, sweet—”

“Oh, my God, you have to ease into that sort of thing, Touya.”

He pulled his hands out of the brook, drenched sleeves gushing water back into it. “D’you want me to start with how much I wanna suck on your perfect tits?”

“Touya,” you said carefully, shoving the gum to one cheek, “Is everything okay? You’re acting—strange.”

“What do you—”

“Where’s the blind hatred for me? Where’s the disdain?”

Sitting back on his knees, Touya shoved his leather-wet-dripping hands into the damp, double pocket of his hoodie with a muted slosh. “You think I hate you?”

“You’re that rude to people you don’t hate?”

Water seeped through the pocket and through his jeans, visibly darker in the moonlight and soaking his thighs. “Fuck off. I mean—what I mean is that I’m not used to people like you. Who don’t talk like me. Who aren’t mean to me back. Or who don’t seem to want anything from me. Didn’t know you really thought I was rude.”

You screwed up your face. “Who have you been hanging out with? What the hell is wrong with you? Spend time with people who like you, please?”

“No one likes me—”

“Get your head out of your ass, edgelord,” you said, sitting up in bed and holding the phone up to your mouth, “Newsflash, dipshit, it sounds like lots of people like you. Your brother, who wants to help you make your mom happy, in an easy, physical way that you’re more than capable of. Your mom, who sounds like she’s happier now that you’re back in her life. The rest of your goddamn family, who want you close by so that they can help you if you ever fucking accepted it. Your stupid friends who are into Assassins’ Creed.”

“Stop fucking noticing things about—”

“And me. I like you, dipshit. Get over yourself. You’re digging yourself your own lonely, self-deprecating hole, where I guess you’re at your most comfortable. But tonight alone you’ve shown in your garden that you fucking hate digging holes. They mean unnecessary work.”

Inhaling sharply, you threw your phone into the bedspread, but all that came through was a distant deer scare, bamboo hitting rock.

“Since when do you like me?” he asked, pushing on his knees to stand.

The artificial-yellow light from your lamp starting creeping in around the rim of your vision, blotting out parts of Touya’s silhouette in the moonlight. “I talk to you, don’t I? I wouldn’t even acknowledge the bond if I weren’t open to—we’ve been hanging out. You didn’t know?”

“Like I would know what that looks like,” said Touya, the walls of your room coming into view while Touya pulled his own phone out of his inner pocket, tapping the screen to see how long the call has lasted, “Like I would know how someone like you would behave when they like me.”

“Stay on the goddamn phone,” you said in the moment his thumb hovered over the end call button, the last thing you made out before fully sinking back into your dorm room, “If you don’t know what I—well, what does your love look like, Touya? What do you do when you like someone?”

“Sexually? Romantically?”

“Not necessarily,” you said, pissed to have the connection severed and sliding off of the bed to turn off the lights, “Just when you care for someone at all.”

“Gimme a minute,” came Touya’s voice, and after you flipped the lights and the ceiling fan off, you wandered over to your window, switched your phone off speaker, and held it to your ear as you stared up at the same moon Touya was under, and you waited.

“Right, I don’t know for sure,” he said after a while (but it sounded like he’d stopped dealing with the gravel to think about it), “but this is the only thing that’s coming to mind. Before I was living at home again, me and some friends didn’t have consistent sources of food. Don’t interrupt to say you’re sorry. But. So, whenever I’d, uh, buy stuff. From a store. I’d make sure I got some sort of snack for whoever I was with, even though we were all too proud to ask for shit. Didn’t really think about doing it on purpose. But I guess I did.”

“You are deliciously, delightfully, tender as fuck,” you said, clenching a fist over your heart, your boob jostling with the fervent impact (and it pleased you knowing that Touya would’ve laughed if he’d seen), and you kept talking over his sounds of disapproval. “And I am gonna cook for you. I am going to set you a table so vast that you’re gonna be eating off it for a long, long time. You’re never gonna be fucking hungry ever again, Touya.”

When he didn’t answer, you worried you said the wrong thing, but you stayed on the line, listening. Two minutes later, he hung up, and you could have sworn he cut off in the middle of a wet sniffle.

***

What can you cook? What were you good at cooking that actually constituted a filling meal?

Start small, you supposed.

Fuyumi kept the Todoroki kitchen much more well-stocked than the kitchen to which you had access, and so, with welcome permission, you headed over to the estate earlier than the scheduled viewing time to prepare, with Shinsou and Todoroki hanging out in the kitchen with you.

“Jirou says she can attend,” said Todoroki, thumb swiping across his phone screen, “Turns out her tipping point was stating the merits of studying Melody’s music powers. She’s asking if Yaoyorozu may attend as well?”

“It’s your house.” Shinsou was folding his napkin into an origami frog. “If there’s a need for excuses, you can always say Yao might like—I forget his name, but he’s that character in the Phantom Troupe whose hair looks like a mop? She might like analysing how his power lets him copy anything, even though it doesn’t have the same limitations like her quirk.”

“I will mention that,” said Todoroki, nodding sagely.

The plan was simple: with a captive audience of anime nerds, you could get feedback on your cooking until it was good enough for Touya (a small part of you still cringed thinking about how he reacted to your potato wedges). You would lure your friends into a state of complacency with your smaller dishes—baked goods, and the like—until there was no escape when you served them something more filling, like soups.

Today, you were making teeny little lemon ricotta pancakes (the recipe called for them to be regular-sized, but if you made them around the size of a potato chip, it would be more accessible to eat with fingers in the living room) that gave you the air of being fancy but were actually mindless to make, it turned out, and right now, you were stirring the stewing blueberry syrup that you’d decided would be a dipping sauce rather than drizzled over—the Todorokis had an excess of white furniture, and you would like to be invited to use their kitchen again.

“I think,” you said, once the syrup was behaving like syrup when you let it dribble out of the ladle back into the pot, “I’m gonna take some to your brother. I don’t want him feeling left out, if he comes through. He’s home right now, yeah?”

“He’s in his teahouse. It’s towards the back of the garden.” Todoroki got up from the table. “Do you want me to show you?”

“I’m sure I can find it, since it’s the only building not connected to the main one,” you said, but you did accept his help finding a tray and sauce cup for the syrup, and once it was set, you picked up the tray and strode with purpose towards the garden.

Walking through its seemingly-natural landscape while balancing food and liquids proved to be miraculously easy. Their hired gardeners must be doing insane upkeep to ensure its deliberate, natural-but-not cosiness. You made a mental note to ask Touya what some of the structures symbolised, like the recurring patterns of three rocks of different heights close together. He’d know, reluctantly, since he did stuff like this, and you considered his work to be superior to this, anyway.

In the blistering sun, you had to narrow your eyes to slits, regretting that both of your hands were full so that you couldn’t shield them from the light, and you found a gated, stone path to the teahouse. Clearly, it had once been slightly dilapidated but had since been worked on; another room had been latched on to the side to double its size, judging by the change in architecture styles, and the roof reflected sunlight a little too well for its polished, stone tiles to be less than a year old.

Bracing the tray, you took the steep step onto the neatly swept, bamboo engawa running around the edge of the teahouse, and you—was the door around to the side? Around the left side of the original part of the tearoom, two shoji panels had been spread to let in sunlight upon an empty room with an actual fucking sunken hearth, unlit, with one of the same fire-fish as on the estate’s roofs for the crank’s lever. Behind what would have been the seat of honour stood a dishevelled tokonoma, devoid of scrolls or incense burners but instead housing an unzipped backpack atop a long coat, its sleeves trailing onto the floor outside the tokonoma, with sticky notes taped to its inner wall. A red-tinted wood dresser had been pushed into the corner, tissues and hand sanitiser atop it and a single stack of books propped next to it.

A pair of boots was tucked inside the open shoji. Maybe he’s asleep.

At your first step inside, you jolted so hard you had to struggle to hold onto the tray—the floor had chirped at you. Dead ringer for a bird call. Tentatively, you took another step, and it chirped again, this time with a bit of a wheeze, more artificial-sounding.

You jumped and stumbled again at another wall sliding open, giving the impression that a flock of birds had flown inside, and Dabi poked his head through the gap (you could make out the gleaming pause screen of a gaming system in the newer room behind him). His face had relaxed when he’d seen it was you, but it pinched into a strange, unnameable expression when he saw what you were carrying.

“Hi,” you said, holding out the tray, “I’ve made too many snacks for the anime group today, so I thought you might like some? I can take it away, if you don’t want any.”

Since he probably didn’t know the amount of people attending nowadays, he probably didn’t recognise your lie. Dabi held up a finger for you to wait while he exhumed a short table and two floor seats from storage in the walls, and he waited for you to sit before he did, slowly, crossing his legs on the cushion, his joints creaking.

“They’re little lemon ricotta pancakes. Todo—Shouto told me you didn’t have any food allergies, so it should be fine. That’s blueberry syrup,” you said when he pointed at it. “I’m—I guess you could say I’m practising recipes for cooking for someone else. If you don’t like it, please let me know. I’ll make it better next time.”

Dabi fiddled with two of the tiny pancakes before selecting one, inspecting it in the sunlight, and dipping it into the syrup (you went a little crazy when it dripped onto his tongue stitches, but you managed to suppress it). As he chewed and swallowed loudly, Dabi’s eyes bulged, brow furrowed, and he, panicked, fumbled around for probably his phone, patting the pockets on his jeans. Hands pausing after slapping the empty pockets on his ass, he sprung up, grabbed a pen off of the dresser, and snatched a sticky note off of the inner wall of the tokonoma. He returned to the table and knelt half on the seat, scribbling furiously, and when he pushed the sticky note to you, under a crossed-out potting soil, sledgehammer, he’d written fuck you marry me NOW.

There’s a moment in which you forgot, a moment in which you laugh, head tilted back, flooded with endorphins at your long-time, pseudo-celebrity crush liking something you made to even joke about being in a relationship with you. You opened your mouth to make some joke about how you’d like to go on a few dates first, to have some sort of courtship, but you stopped at the first word: “Touya.” You cut yourself off, brow pinched. You can’t have two.

Not that…not that Dabi/Touya could ever genuinely like you, who fought against him and now witnessed his debasement, but in the far-flung chance that he could, you should clarify about your Touya.

“Touya,” you said again, this time sober and grim, hands folded on your lap, “I know you were only joking, but I was in a quirk-related incident a while ago, and it assigned me a soulmate. So, even if you could like me, I’ve got someone waiting. Presumptuous of me to say, I know, but. I want to treat you with kindness and not make you wonder, in the case it arises. Funnily enough, his name is Touya, too—”

Your phone rang loudly in your back pocket (you kept it on loud nowadays so you could easily feel around for Touya’s call, but it’d led you to awkward moments like this, too). Dabi scowled when you brought it out to silence it and dipped another pancake in the syrup, letting it absorb what it could to tinge it purple.

“It’s him, actually. Odd timing.” Lying flat in your palm, your phone flashed an incoming call from Touya. Leaning across the table, Dabi grabbed it out of your hands to answer it, put it on speaker, and lay it in the centre of the table while he ate his soggy pancake, shaking his head when you moved to undo all of that.

“Hey,” came a tinny, raspy voice that was very much not your Touya’s, “You’re the soulmate, right?”

Dabi shouldn’t have to hear this. Before you could tap the speaker button again, Dabi swatted your hand out of the way, gesturing for you to answer.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, shifting in your seat, “Who are you? Where’s—”

“Tell Touya he left his phone at my place the next time you see through him.” A repetitive, techno instrumental played in the background (video game music?). “At Shiiiiiiiimura’s place. Yeah.”

“I can do that, Shimura,” you said, unsure if you should hold out the vowel as long as he did, and perhaps you can take advantage of the situation for a brief moment, because Dabi was staring at your phone with a constipated sort of expression as he listened. “I can’t control when the bond activates, but I’ll let him know. Do you know what sort of food he likes?”

Shimura barked out a laugh, filling the room in a wide, cleansing way you wouldn’t expect from someone with his scratchy voice. “I heard your potato wedges are shit.”

You sputtered, “He didn’t even have any—”

Dabi ended the call, frowning, shaking his head, and tipping your phone off the table to gently bounce twice when it hit the tatami. He held up a tiny pancake and made a show of looking at it, at you, and back at it, and he shot you an aggressive thumbs-up.

***

Uraraka spent an entire patrol gushing about how she would fuck the author of Hunter x Hunter if she could, so she showed up to the next get-together, along with Asui, whom everyone already thought would be friends with the story’s protagonist if he were real. When you Aoyama caught you in the act of stealing one of his posh cookbooks, you explained the situation to him, and so he tagged along to taste what you were cooking, along with supplying some of the fancier ingredients you wouldn’t’ve known how to obtain. Then you’d asked Sato for advice on how to make the swirl in a strawberry swirl loaf not go to shit, and then the group had spent a few hours discussing the good relationships with animals that Hunters are inherently supposed to have, so Kouda was summoned for his opinions.

The long of short of it was that there were many more spectators than necessary to when Dabi strode into the viewing room, drenched in sweat from his walk back home, to pelt the back of your head with a two-pack of Sakeru cheese. As you rubbed the back of your head, pulling the cold plastic from between your shirt collar and skin, he at least had the decency to drop the single-wrapped fish bread into your lap.

“Hey, Touya,” you said, grabbing his hand before he could skitter away as usual (his wide eyes couldn’t decide to look at both of your hands or at your face), “I’ve set aside slices of both strawberry swirl bread and garlic bread for you in the kitchen. I recommend heating the garlic bread up so the cheese gets all melty again, but it’s good at room temperature, too. Thank you, by the way. For these.”

Nodding hastily, Dabi tore his hand away from your in two, spasming jerks, and he slithered into the kitchen.

Though the rest were watching the show, Shinsou was turned towards you, his head tilted with an incredulous sort of smile. You stuck your tongue out at him and crinkled open the cheese.

Dabi returned with both slices on a paper towel and stood behind you at the couch for a minute, watching the episode. Shifting his weight, he pulled out his phone. “This is garbage,” came a droning, text-to-speech voice from behind.

He stood behind the couch for three more episodes.

***

Through another moonlit, soulmate connection, Touya was failing to prod stray ducks out of the koi pond with the skimmer.

“They’re tenacious little bastards,” you said, sitting on the counter of the dorm kitchen and praying to God that the oven timer wouldn’t go off while you couldn’t see.

“Why. Won’t they. Move.” Touya nudged a duck with the flat of the skimmer, its width as long as the entire duck, and the duck kept gabbing to its friends. “I have no idea if ducks upset the chemical balance of the water enough to kill koi; I’ve never seen them in here before ten minutes ago. Goddamn.” He waved the skimmer over the water’s surface, filtering some debris, and he flipped it onto a duck, who remained vexingly apathetic at the new source of wet. “Tonight was gonna be easy; I was only gonna put up windchimes; I was gonna get to go to bed early. Now I—no, no, no, don’t—!”

One duck bit at the skimmer net, and having pierced it, the duck led the rest of them to the centre of the pond, where the skimmer couldn’t reach, no matter how Touya strained.

“I fucking hate birds,” said Touya, slamming the skimmer on the ground, “and I fucking hate fish. They’re not even good when they’re alive.” Seeming to have a change of heart, Touya picked the skimmer up and took care to lean it against the stone wall of the pond. “Tell me something good, won’t you?”

Does that imply you don’t have to work on any fish dishes? “You’ll be thrilled to hear that my little anime analysis group is almost through the Hunter x Hunter anime, probably. We got to the end of the 1999 version last night.”

Touya sat and splayed his legs on the koi pond stone, watching the moon’s reflection ripple as koi tails broke surface tension. “That’ll only make your process more streamlined, since you’re not watching two episodes covering the same chapters in conjunction anymore. The Chimera Ant arc takes forever, though. You’re not almost done.”

Groping around for your oven mitts, you smiled. “How do you know that, Touya? Thought you hated—”

��What are you going to watch next?”

Stupid boy. Shy boy. “Well, Sero is pushing for Pokémon since there’s so much of it.”

“God, no,” said Touya, leaning back on his hands, “Iconic, yeah. Fun, not really, because in the games, you’re the one getting to battle and bond with the things. It’s not fun to watch someone else get to do it.”

“I can rely on you for negative reviews of everything.” Oven mitt? Oven mitt. Now, where’s its pair? “You want a pokémon, Touya? Which ones?”

“You are such a fucking child—”

“You want a pikachu, don’t you?”

“Hell, no,” Touya spat, “None of that cliché shit. Pikachu isn’t even that good. I—” Cutting himself off, he hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his gloved hands together. “You’ll shit on me for it. Forget I said anything.”

“Should I let you make fun of me first?” You slipped on the other mitt. “I’m cliché as hell. My top choice is either a certain starter or an eevolution.”

“No, I—”

“All right. How about you tell me your favourite as a kid and the one you would choose now?”

“You’re pushy as hell. When I was a kid, I wanted a Ninetales. I was—my mom had read enough for me to know about traditional kitsune,” said Touya, and he ducked his head to stare between his legs (crotch unfortunately hidden in shadow), “and Ninetales is immune to fire. It can use it and not burn up, and it’s not affected by outside fire attacks.”

The memory of rubbing burn cream across Dabi’s shoulders and how delicate his skin looked surfaced. You wouldn’t wish that on anyone. “You scared of being burned, Touya?”

Touya kicked the stone beneath his boot, scuffing it. “Just seems like it’d be neat.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” you said, wrapping your muppet-y, mitted hands around the oven handle in preparation for whenever it would go off, “and a perfectly logical pokémon to latch onto. It’s fairly popular. I don’t see how I’m supposed to make fun of you for that.”

“Sure.” Touya bent farther to re-tie his bootlaces. “I like my current choice for a dumb as hell reason, though. Shiiiiiiiimura,” said Touya, yanking the laces tightly (and he dragged out Shimura’s name, too. Was that the proper pronunciation?), “was trying to hype us up for something stupid we had to do that some of our friends were scared of. Shimura’s teacher—’scuse me, abusive fucking manipulative shithead of an adoptive father—wanted him to make a speech to show leadership, or some bullshit. Instead, Shimura pulled out his phone and showed us someone’s video of playing one of the early Pokémon games, for the battle at the end to win the game. And to defeat the last boss’s toughest Dragonite, the player used this…this fuckin’ weak-ass, all-around insignificant pokémon picked up from the beginning of the game, and it fuckin’ won. It won against the toughest opponent, and—and Shimura was saying, oh, the Venomoth is us, and we can win against our big-ass enemy, oh, ho, ho—”

“Excuse me. A Venomoth? You only use them temporarily at the beginning of the game, when you don’t have anything cool yet. They fucking suck.”

“See, you’re making fun of me. I’m not going to say anything else.” Touya leant back on his hands again, this time crossing his legs to prop his ankle on his opposite knee.

“No, I’m—I’m sorry. Sorry. First impressions. But you’re convincing me. Go on. I’m listening.”

Touya flicked water towards the ducks. “Are you gonna keep insulting—”

“I won’t! I won’t,” you said, sliding off the kitchen counter to stand directly in front of the oven, “So, Venomoths. I hear they’re fantastic.”

Touya rolled his eyes, and it was cute, you thought, how you had to follow the motion, seeing the moon at the upwards roll and back at its reflection in the pond. “Yeah. I bet Shimura’s forgotten all about it, but it stuck with me. Not immediately—at the time it was stupid, and to be fair, it’s still stupid. But now that I’m back here, living at home, it’s—it’s stupid. It’s, like, if that stupid fucking bug can defeat a goddamn dragon, then I can tend the garden. I can keep that stupid tsukubai clean. I can hang out with my brother. I can fucking—” He cut himself off again, this time striking the water hard enough to splash one of the ducks (it quacked at him with disdain and simply swam a couple of centimetres away).

“Do what, Touya?” The oven timer started beeping, and you tensed. “Hold on; don’t say anything. Don’t say—I have to concentrate; I’m getting stuff out of an oven.”

Touya stirred the pondwater with his ring and middle fingers while you blindly approximated the logistics of getting the tray out of the oven, and by standing at the oven’s side inside of reaching into it from the front, you were eventually able to remove the tray and rest it on the counter above it—you’re not going to bother feeling around for the pot holders.

When you sighed in relief once you’d closed the oven again, Touya asked, “What are you cooking?”

“Strawberry cheesecake muffins,” you said, frowning in the tray’s general direction, “They’re supposed to have a marbling effect, and I’m supposed to be putting on some sort of streusel-type sugar on top right now, but I’m not gonna risk it. I hope they’re done. You have to trust the recipe’s bake time with cheesecakes exactly, so I’m hoping it’s the same for—”

“I am gonna make you come so hard,” Touya was saying in a strained sort of way as he ran his hands down his face, “I am gonna fuck you so hard that you leave in a permanent dent in my mattress. I am gonna hold you and kiss the back of your neck and make you cry out as you gush around my fingers. You’re—you’re so fucking per—I am gonna take care of you back.”

“Cool.” Right, so bake the muffins again at some point. “Do you have any food allergies?”

“I’m allergic to you not saying anything hot in response to what I just said.”

Sure, Touya. “I’m also gonna make you this really sexy tomato soup with what the recipe calls a grilled cheese top. It’s got cheesy bread cut into chunks that coat the surface so that you can’t even see the red, and it melts into the soup—”

“Stop, I can only get so hard—”

“Show me your cock, then.”

“No,” said Touya, deliberately looking at a trio of fish convening near the pond’s surface, their o-shaped mouths blorbing and blobbing underneath the water towards Touya’s waving fingers, “I meant—well, first, you are gonna make that soup, pl—please—but I meant that—I mean.” He twirled his finger under the water, and the koi were fascinated. One of them kissed his finger. You were feeling a similar impulse—and perhaps that’s what prompted Touya to continue. “I came the first time someone stuck their tongue in my mouth.”

It occurred to you that anyone could be walking by the dorm kitchen to overhear. Now that the muffins were out of the oven, you elected to turn off the speaker setting to hold you phone to your ear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I was sixteen and insane with hormones, and it hadn’t been long since I’d woken up from—well. When someone kissed me with tongue for the first time, I came in my pants. Taken completely by surprise that someone was even kissing me, that someone could even want me when I look like—and then that. We were outside, on a public bridge, during the day. I haven’t seen that fucker since.”

You had been contemplating whether it’d be worth fumbling around for a knife to ease the muffins out of the tray, but all cogs stopped at Touya’s story. “Why are you telling me this?”

“So you’ll tell me something back. I already told you some embarrassing shit about pokémon and shit, so you have to embarrass yourself back. You’re the one who brought up cocks, anyway. So—so you have to share something back,” said Touya, allowing a fish to rub up against his hand in a pseudo-sort of petting it, “Something about when you were young and stupid.”

“And preferably sexual, right? I know what you’re about, you shy, baby boy.”

“Ffffffuck that.I ain’t shy—”

“You won’t show me your face, Touya. You’re scared for me to see it. Shy boy.”

Touya scratched along the side of the koi like it wanted, and another nudged the back of his hand to be scratched, too. “Fuck off.”

“I’ve only told one other person about my first kiss,” you said, moving to sit on the counter again, “Wanna hear that story?”

“Fine,” said Touya, and he pulled his hand out of the pond, flicking water off his fingers and into the open, mournful mouths of the koi he’d been petting. “You had better be about to tell me about seeing through me at that coffee shop.”

“Come off of it, Touya; isn’t it better for me to have outside experience and still choose you regardless? My first kiss was way before that,” you said, hoping how pleased you were at his mild possessiveness was being transferred to his side of the bond, “and I didn’t even know the guy’s name at the time. And it was—it could’ve turned really bad, really quickly. Because my first kiss was with Dabi, before he made his villain debut.”

“Do—huh?” Touya shook his head, causing you to wince and steady yourself at the dizziness. “Beg pardon? Beg your fucking pardon? I didn’t—know that that Dabi guy went around kissing people.”

“He did at least once. It was back in freshman year, and I was out at night during my hero internship.” Getting comfortable on the kitchen counter, you crossed your legs and leant against the cabinets to support your back, exhaustion kicking in. “Some older sidekick hit on me in what was an exceedingly creepy way—he made it pseudo-incestuous by saying I reminded him of his daughter. In retrospect, the interaction could have gone much, much worse, if Dabi hadn’t inadvertently rescued me—scratch that, it may have been intentional, looking back, because he’d said stuff about the sidekick being a shitty father, and now he’s, uh, let us know about his own dad.”

It took Touya a moment. At least he wasn’t shaking his head anymore. “Are you saying Dabi burnt some guy to death in front of you, and you still kissed him?”

You sucked in through your teeth. “Not exactly. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was testing out a nomu, and that ripped the other guy to pieces. And—this is gonna sound wild—I think Dabi may have kissed me to comfort me? I know it was a distraction from the gore and from getting a good look at the nomu, but I think he may have also done it to calm me down. It was—oddly sweet.”

Touya gripped the edge of the stone wall, his fingers dipping into water (but not deep enough to remoisten his leather gloves) and koi swarming. “What did the nomu look like?”

Even though you couldn’t see it, you held your phone away from your ear for a second to shoot it an incredulous look. “Wha—Touya, weren’t you going to ask if he were a good kisser, or something?”

His knuckles popped when he clenched his fingers and asked flatly, “Was he a good—”

“You’re better.”

“Thanks,” he said, not sounding like he cared about that at all, letting a koi drag his hand into the water by biting his finger, “What did the nomu look like?”

“God, I don’t fucking know. That wasn’t important to me. I, uh—it was around the size of a good-sized dog, like a golden retriever or a lab. I don’t—I guess it walked on all fours,” you said, wondering why the fuck—oh, the dizziness must not have come only from Touya shaking his head, because it’s sweeping over you again, waves emanating from the bond. “Now that I’ve seen other nomu, I can recognise that its head looked whacky because its brain was exposed, and I think its skin was more green-tinged than the others who had that navy-black colour going on. Honestly, Touya, I wasn’t—”

Through the phone came such a strident, alarming crack that you halted mid-sentence to listen for it again. It’d come from Touya’s side, clearly, but nothing in his line of vision betrayed its source, although—and you would not have noticed this if you hadn’t been scanning his environment for any hint—something that looked like split glass frosted the inside of Touya’s fist before he unclenched his hand a second later, any illusion of something there melting into the water.

But something was wrong. “Touya?”

“You still see that Dabi guy when you watch anime at Shouto’s house, yeah? Stay on the line,” he said, darkness of the bond fading drabbling at the edges of his vision from your perspective.

“I am,” you said, uncrossing your legs, “I do.”

“What do you think of him? Ugly fucker, isn’t he?” Touya fell still as a duck approached him as it navigated through the water lilies, and Touya’s outstretching his hand to its head was the last thing you saw before the bond gave out. “Still as pathetic as he was in the war? Think he should be in prison?”

“Negative reviews of people, negative reviews of television, negative reviews of potato wedges—so cool, bro. Now say something true and beautiful.”

“Answer me, damn it.” A disgruntled quack.

“You’d better not be strangling that duck.”

“You think so little of me? Do you want me to put the duck on the phone?”

“I don’t think it could sit comfortably,” you said, pushing yourself off the counter and walking to the knife drawer now that you could see, “I see Dabi every once in a while when I’m at Todoroki’s house. He’s shy. I don’t mind. It’s not my place to assume anything, but. I don’t think he’s doing okay, since it seems like he’s spent a good part of his life wanting someone to look at him, to pay attention, and now he’s getting that in a way he probably didn’t anticipate, and I want him to be okay. I think I’d like to help him get there, if he’d let me. But I know I’m nobody important to him, and that’s fine.”

“Sounds a lot like pity,” said Touya, and when you made a noise of protest, he kept going. “Or maybe you’re fucked up enough that you like him? From when he kissed you?”

You couldn’t exactly tell your soulmate that you’ve been suppressing naïve, celebrity-crush-type feelings for someone else. “Well,” you said, grimacing as you slid knife edge between a muffin and the tray and started to remove it, “He’s very babygirl-coded.”

***

TOUYA 🐠🚷

looked it up. definition of babygirl does NOT help

TOUYA 🐠🚷

incidentally

TOUYA 🐠🚷

what should a guy wear to impress someone

YOU

a guy? or you specifically?

YOU

because i am, of course about to suggest the golden standard of rolling up thy sleeves to thy elbows, but you won’t even showing your fucken hands asldkjfa;

TOUYA 🐠🚷

gloves necessary.

TOUYA 🐠🚷

but think formal. formal setting.

YOU

why are YOU going to a formal event?

TOUYA 🐠🚷

have to. blackmail/family obligation/rent.

TOUYA 🐠🚷

open to suggestions. about style more than brand, because if I go too expensive, my dad will think I’m making him pay a lot as sabotage.

YOU

and here i was about to recommend that you go skinny-dipping in a vat of liquid gold

TOUYA 🐠🚷

you just wanna see my cock, don’t cha

YOU

what makes you think I’D be invited to some shitty formal event

TOUYA 🐠🚷

I’m betting you’d hear about it on the news

YOU

i think i’d be more interested in what food is provided

TOUYA 🐠🚷

…

TOUYA 🐠🚷

no, I shan’t say

YOU

is this a cum joke

TOUYA 🐠🚷

but seriously. what should I wear. assume I will do something awful and evil and that you will see the outfit on the news when I get arrested.

YOU

touya, how would i recognise you. idk what YOU even look like. not that it matters, i guess. all that matters is that you wear something that fits you well. you don’t need to impress me; you’ve already won me over

TOUYA 🐠🚷

i what

TOUYA 🐠🚷

wait what do you MEAN it doesn’t matter

YOU

does it help get it through your thick head if i tell you that you are also babygirl-coded? perhaps not even coded but genuinely babygirl??

TOUYA 🐠🚷

it does not.

***

Adjusting your lace shawl, you gripped Shouto’s arm as the both of you furtively sneaked away from the hordes of pro-heroes, industry workers, and flashing press to slink back to the enormous table of hors d'oeuvres to see how many of them you could pack into your purse and his strategically planned inner coat pocket, sewn into the inside of his lapel for the occasion.

When Shouto had invited you to this ghastly awards ceremony for Endeavor, he’d claimed his motivation was that so he could talk to you about how the 2011 Hunter x Hunter anime was wrapping up, since he (flatterer!) said you had the best interpretations of certain characters, unlike some of your classmates, and Shouto tempted you with how you could stake out whatever posh food they had for you to try to recreate later. So, you’d dug out the dress you’d only worn to All Might’s official retirement party and agreed to attend.

Those present were a strange conglomeration of people, since the public opinion of Endeavor has been odd and tenuous lately. Essentially, the handful of attendees you knew were busy ingratiating themselves to people you’ve never seen before but they evidently were acquainted with, so those with whom you could hold an actual conversation with were scattered and few.

However, you didn’t even need to bring a book, because once you and Shouto had settled at a back table with both of your plates stacked with the most variety you could fit on them, he deadass pulled out his anime analysis notebook, which was starting to resemble Midoriya’s quirk analysis notebooks in terms of extensiveness and insanity, with lines crossing several pages to connect ideas. As you discussed where the two of you thought the characters were going, you had your own notebook—a new one, this one for recipes, and whenever either of you thought one of the appetizers was interesting, you wrote it down.

You were chewing on what Shouto had informed you was a water chestnut when the chair on your other side was pulled out with a screech against the tile, and Todoroki Touya plopped into it, his legs hardly having the time to spread before swiping a piece of candied salmon from your plate. The instant he bit down into it, his nose scrunched up.

“It’s fish, Touya,” said Shouto, dipping his own crudité in a tiny bowl of raspberry vinaigrette, and he passed his napkin to him. Touya spat the salmon into it, bunched it up, and edged it underneath the edge of your plate.

On your list, you wrote no fish! at the top, but before you even lifted your pen from the paper, you froze. The list wasn’t for this Touya; it was for your Touya. You crosshatched it out, trying to remember if your Touya had ever said anything about liking fish. He’d said he hadn’t, right? He didn’t like them alive, at the very least.

Shouto chomped down harshly, the crunch of raw celery distinct even through his closed mouth. “What brings you over here, Touya?”

He already had the text-to-speech function pulled up on his phone, and he held a parmesan palmier between his teeth as he typed. “People were asking Natsuo and Fuyumi about what they’re doing with their lives. It was only a matter of time before they got to me. Don’t wanna hear anyone else describe the nothing I’m doing. At least I know you guys are too busy talking about nerd crap to shit on me.”

“Oh, sweet boy,” you said, pursing your lips, “You’re in recovery. That’s enough. You don’t have to do anything to be worthwhile.” Wait. Fuck. You don’t talk to this Touya this way. Reel it back.

Crumbs fell from his mouth to the tablecloth. “The hell is wrong with you?” he typed.

Yeah, reel it way back. You elected not to respond, instead biting with difficulty into a brie/fig/prosciutto crostini and not being able to taste any of it.

“Would you like to discuss some so-called nerd crap with us?” Shouto arranged his notebook father across the table to be more in the middle of the three of you. “I know it’s been a while since you read Hunter x Hunter, but it’s been on hiatus so long that there’s not much new information that you need to know.”

“Hey,” you said, rushing to swallow, “You’ve read this before? How come you haven’t been sitting in to watch stuff with us?”

Touya shot Shouto a dark look, tongued a chunk of palmier into his cheek, and furiously typed on his phone. “I’m not interested in that shit anymore. It’s for kids.”

Shouto looked taken aback. “This is news to me. Do I have permission to take your manga volumes out of the house, then?”

“Fuck you,” Touya had already typed while Shouto was talking.

You bit back a smile. You’ve been borrowing a former, major villain’s manga? Cute. “But if you read it a while back, that means you’ve had more time to think about the characters,” you said, resting your elbow on the back of your chair as you shifted to face him, “Most of us are absorbing the story for the first time. It’d be cool to hear what you think.”

That parmesan palmier had looked good. Trusting this Touya on his taste, you wrote it on your list to investigate later, while he typed his response.

His expression fell flat enough to match the robotic tone. “Do you just want to hear me project my daddy and mommy issues onto the characters in the Zoldyck family?”

“No, Touya,” you said, laughing, “You have valuable things to say across the board, and I want to listen.” You almost nudged his knee with yours, but you had to stop yourself, something dark swirling in your chest. This wasn’t your Touya. You’re not allowed to.

His eyes flicked down towards the movement, but he didn’t comment. Shifting his jaw, he slipped off his white tuxedo jacket to drape it over the back of his chair, and for some reason, his gaze kept darting to you while he rolled the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows, but he tried to give the appearance of being very focused on whatever skewered meat and pineapple was on the rim of your plate.

You were frowning. Fuck this. Fuck him. Touya was probably one of those guys who knew their effect on women, so he would know about the rolling-sleeves-to-elbows move. And fucking hell, was it effective for him, because the way he’s lost a lot of weight but was currently gaining it back made the tendons in his forearms much more noticeable when they tensed and strained, and the asymmetry of the burns and scars up his left arm in comparison to the smoothness of his prosthetic right only made him even more horribly, horribly attractive, and you were pissed about it, only getting more furious as he wrapped his tongue around the base of the first pineapple chunk and used his teeth to maneuver it off of the stolen skewer, hooded eyes staring you down. This Touya can act like a fucking slut, sure, but your Touya won’t even show you his goddamn hands.

“Hey, watch out.” You scratched your forehead in an attempt to conceal how enraged you were. “I’ve already had one of those. That lump at the end is an overly-breaded coconut shrimp. So—fish—be careful,” you finished lamely.

Touya’s hands and mouth were full with the skewer. Unable to type on his phone, he shifted the skewer to his left hand, flattened his right, and tapped his left wrist with it—the JSL sign for thank you.

You nodded and didn’t think anything of it for a moment, but when it hit you, you seized up and stared at him, chest swelling, proud and confused and frozen. Getting a little lightheaded, actually, but oh, God, who wouldn’t at the sight of Todoroki Touya, quiet and subdued but still suave as fuck, sitting so close to you in a freshly dishevelled white tuxedo that fit like it was custom-made for him, smelling so, so good and smiling with his perfect teeth (how are they that good when he was with the League for so long?), leaning towards you to steal your food and showing that he’d been paying attention to you, that he’d taken the JSL book you’d left with Shouto, that he’d thought about you when you’ve been apart and cared enough to try to learn something new with you, and you were going to kiss him; he deserved it; you were going to grab that stupidly adorable face and—no, that lightheadedness was also stemming from the soulmate bond activating.

Nausea swept through you for more than one reason. If your Touya discovered you were fighting the urge to kiss someone else, let alone the other Touya, then—you didn’t know. You didn’t know how you’d ever recover. Please let this be from your perspective, so he can’t feel your feelings, please.

“I have to go,” you said, pushing up on the table to stand, not even bothering to flash Shouto the soulmate hand signal. You had to get away. No matter if it were from your perspective or his, distance would help you suppress your fucking shameful crush on your friend’s older brother.

Good God, you were crossing the streams, you noted and fumed as you escaped onto a vacant alcove. Because they have the same goddamn name, your brain has been conflating the two of them. Shut up. You’re only allowed to have one Touya. Two would be greedy and dismissive of the soulmate bond in the first place.

Vertigo struck you so severely that you had to brace yourself against the nearest column, but you swopped to the balcony railing because you could grasp it and put most of your weight on it, and because your brain was swimming, you hand to get on your knees to wait for it to pass. “No, you can’t,” you said, trying your hardest to push thought of that Touya out of your head in case your Touya could feel them, “You can’t—that one doesn’t need to be in a romantic relationship right now. He’s working on himself. It’d fuck him up.” And ohhhh, you left your phone at the table, so you couldn’t call your Touya, and fuck, you didn’t want him to feel confused or betrayed because you weren’t calling him—

“Whose future are you deciding, here?”

Your Touya. He was here?

You opened your eyes to the sight of the balcony and the garden below, thank fuck. Okay, you could work with this. You could work with this; he’s not supposed to be able to feel—

His voice came from close behind you, as if he were leaning on another side of the column. “What’s got you feeling this guilty?”

Holy shit holy shit, has the bond evolved? Can feelings be felt from both sides regardless of perspective? “Hey, Touya.”

“Don’t turn around,” he said, even though you’d made no movement to.

“Can you see?”

“Only through you, angel. Otherwise, I’m in the dark.” With the sounds of clothes shifting, Touya must have crouched behind you, joints cracking. A fingerless-gloved hand brushed down your arm, and he moved your lace shawl out of the way to stroke your bare skin. Your mind was already going haywire at your betrayal, and his cold, gentle touch was not helping. “What’s wrong, hm?” He adjusted himself again behind you so that he could wrap his other arm around your waist, pulling you back into him, and his cool, rough lips pressed against the curve of your neck as he rested his head there.

You were going to cry. You’ll do it. For real, this time.

“Did that Todoroki Touya guy bother you? I saw him sitting at your table.”

God, no, he brought up whom you were trying to avoid, and you cringed, hating yourself as Touya’s hand sank down your arms to entwine his fingers with yours, rumpled shirtsleeves grazing your bare skin and leather gloves curbing the maximal skin-to-skin contact.

“He’s so fucked up that I wouldn’t be surprised if you hated him,” Touya was saying into your ear, “I could grind him into a pulp for you. He’d deserve it, wouldn’t he, for what he did to everyone? And I was burning up with jealousy from across the room; someone as pretty as you shouldn’t have such a hideous thing by your side.”

You made a noise from the back of your throat. You didn’t know, and you especially didn’t need the one person you were trying to hide your internal conflict from while you were actively trying to work out the internal conflict. First things first, you supposed. “Touya’s not fucking ugly.”

Your Touya snorted against your neck, hot air washing down the hollow of your throat. “I forgot how twisted you are. But there’s no way you could actually like him, right?”

“I can’t,” you said, releasing the balcony to clench your fists on your knees, “I can’t like him. He needs to discover who he is as an individual before he finds out how he functions in a relationship. He doesn’t need romance—or me, at this point in his life.”

“Interesting,” he said, more clearly now that his mouth wasn’t muffled against your skin, “Sounds like you think something’s wrong with him. Like he’s not whole. And isn’t he broken? You’d have to be, if you pulled the shit he did, burning cities to the ground and murdering—”

“Shut up,” you said, hunching in on yourself, “You’re don’t know. You’re believing what other people have told you about him. You’re just—you’re just like people who talk about that nerd shit you hate without checking the source material. They’ll talk about certain characters in terms of false narratives they’ve crafted, and they’ll talk about them for so long that the false information becomes conflated with the characters, with everyone thinking the wrong stuff is real. I—fuck.” You winced, but he was listening, his free hand winding around your neck to adjust the migrant clasp on your necklace to the back of your throat. “I know my ideas of Touya stem from propaganda, but I want to learn about him from him. Just based on what I’ve seen, there’s so much out there that’s wrong—it’s even subconsciously perpetuated in his own home, since the shrine where his family mourned him is still there. And I hate it. I hate it, because he seems so lovable, but so are you, and I hate myself because I want to love only you, because you’re my soulmate, and I’m so, so, so goddamn terrified that you’re gonna reject me and leave me alone forever now that I’ve betrayed you. By feeling stuff for someone else.”

You were crying. You were crying, nose stopping up, and Touya kissed your throat, over the clasp of your necklace. “Rejection’s a bitch. I know that,” he said under his breath, “So, I’m not gonna do that to you, even if…” He trailed off, instead latching his mouth to your neck again, letting his tongue flick over your skin once, as if it were an afterthought. “You really like him?”

“I’m scared that I do,” you said, taking a corner of your shawl to daub at your tears.

“The only thing to do is feel it out, I guess.” Touya settled at last, shifting weight and moving his legs so that they’d be on either side of you, and his left arm joined the other around your waist to hold you close. “Or let it die, if you want. The soulmate bond doesn’t matter in the end. You don’t have to love him or me.”

“But Touya,” you said, sniffing, dying to look back at him but restraining yourself, “I do.”

***

Later that night, you were researching how to make little cheese balls that were shaped like pumpkins like they’d had at the awards ceremony when you felt the familiar wooziness. Funny. It’s not often that the bond activates twice in one day. You closed your laptop and set your notebook aside, waiting for the slow, drowsy fade into Touya’s eyes.

Tonight, it’s a jarring, instantaneous slam into his perspective, and you felt like you’d been knocked about in the baggage rack of a train. You threw out your hands to balance yourself, even though you hadn’t been physically moved, and the queasiness made it hard to concentrate, blackness blotting at the edges of your periphery.

But the darkness of Touya’s bedroom wasn’t helping, with only partially drawn curtains letting in moonlight, and—and oh, my God, he’s flat on his back in bed, tousled bedsheets, cock out, and it’s so pretty, unfairly pretty, thick as hell but thicker at the head than the base, blushing deep pink, leaking onto the faint lines of re-developing abs and a vaguely red trail of hair, and—

The hand touching it has skin grafts.

“—ugh, darlin’, fuck, you know what I’m gonna—gonna do to you, angel?” Touya was muttering to himself, too caught up to realise you were there. “You don’t—you don’t know what you do to me.”

You’d registered his pubic hair as vaguely red because, now that you were staring, only the very tips of the untouched hair trailing down his stomach were red, with what he’d probably shaved at some point lower on his body snowy against whatever unburnt skin could still grow hair. He’s gripping himself at an angle that doesn’t make him rub against a strand of load-bearing staples on his upper thigh (did someone say load?), connecting a stretch of familiarly burned skin to a healing graft, diamond-speckled and twitching with his cock the closer he drew to orgasm (from the back of your mind surfaced a questioning thought of if he’d advocated for healing his hands first, since staples would hinder smooth masturbation). His prosthetic arm lay unattached at his side.

“Hahh, I wanna,” said Touya, drawing in a ragged breath, “wanna make a mess outta you, y’always too put together, too fuckin’ pretty for y’own damn good, fuck.” He rubbed his thumb over his tip, the skin there giving everso slightly at the pressure, with another bead of precum swelling before it dripped onto his stomach. “Gonna find wha—whatever I can do to make you fuckin’ whine, and I’m gonna, hah, follow that sound for the rest of my goddamn life, and, oh—fuck, fuck, how, how sweet you’d feel wrapped around me, how much I don’t fuckin’ deserve—”

He cut himself off to take a deep, stuttering breath, and you saw the gates of heaven in the way his chest surged forward when he arched his back, lines of burns and scars carved into his skin like a roadmap. And Touya moaned for you, and you didn’t know how much you’d needed to hear both Touyas do that until now, but before he could finish the first syllable of your name, you were lurched out of the bond and back into your room, just as abruptly as it had begun.

Your hands were shaking as you tied your shoelaces, aware of the leak into your underwear when you bent over, and you dashed to the nearest train depot, navigating in fervent, distant buzz all the way to the Todoroki estate. You must have appeared sufficiently crazy, because the only vacant seats on the train were next to you.

(In your heart of hearts, you had known.

If you’d put it into words, consciously, where both Touyas overlapped, it would’ve been too hard to bear if they’d been different people, which was, regardless, the most logical situation. Getting excited for your soulmate to be your former crush and then being disappointed when it wasn’t him felt like a betrayal to your soulmate. You hadn’t wanted to set yourself up for disappointment or betrayal, because you shouldn’t feel guilt when you look at your soulmate. Someone who holds your heart in his hand should never be second best to you. Touya’s had enough of not being enough in his life.

Surely the random chance of a stranger’s quirk wouldn’t be so kind to give you whom you’ve been wanting. You haven’t allowed yourself to hope.)

You didn’t even go in the front door. You clambered over the garden wall and berated yourself for not recognising Touya’s garden earlier, even though you’ve usually been around the kitchen and living room when you’re here. It took you longer than it could’ve to get to his teahouse, because you were deliberately staying on the garden path instead of walking on his hard work, but you didn’t even take off your shoes at the entrance, the nightingale floors chirping out in the night as you surged towards his bedroom door.

Touya lay facing the window in his very Western bed that took up most of the room—and much of his bedroom was like that, with his modern belongings scattered across other outdated furnishings, clean but cluttered, thought it startled you to open the door onto a Naruto poster taped in the space designated for a hanging scroll.

You only had time to absorb poster and lived-in before you saw the face of God in how Touya stretched and groaned in bed, arching his back and holding it until his back popped (a little too fixated on his moonlit nipples, like seeing them would fix you, flip you back to your factory settings). “Natsuo,” he said, coming out of his groan, eyes scrunched shut, “Don’t say you’re here to make me re-hang the windchimes. I spent all day tracking how air flows through the garden.”

You sat at the foot of his bed, mattress dipping slightly, still in your coat and shoes and hesitant to spread dirt, but the need to be near Touya, even if it were through blankets, consumed you. Hands folded behind his head, Touya cracked open an eye at the weight, and he froze.

You hadn’t prepared any confession on the train. You’d been too focused on the memory of his thighs. So, what garbled nonsense that came out of your mouth was “I figured your dick would be pierced.”

Touya appeared to snap back into reality, and he sat up in bed, pulling the blankets up to cover more of his bare chest (mourning for his nipples. Inconsolable about it, even) and quite obviously tried so hard to be chill (the way his leg started jiggling underneath the covers and how he wouldn’t look you in the eyes for more than a couple of seconds gave him away, though). “Is that what they say about me?”

You folded your hands in your lap, bent over for a swift escape in case he wanted you to leave “Jirou conjectures that you have a Jacob’s ladder.”

“Just what I need. More holes in my body.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip—much more scarred than the upper one, clarifying some things about kissing him. “Don’t know how to take that a bunch of kids who resent me talk about the state of my dick. You a part of that crowd?”

“I was shown a picture of what was advertised to be a very realistic dildo,” you said, scooting your ass farther back onto the bed now that he wasn’t going to send you away, “It had many, many piercings. It wasn’t as thick, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does not,” said Touya, brow pinched. He brought his legs up to hug them to his chest, but he must have changed his mind, instead just letting them block your view of him, hiding behind the cover of the lumpy comforter.

You waited for him to elaborate. His tuxedo was thrown over a wicker trunk, bowtie tossed onto a kotatsu, even though it wasn’t cold enough outside, with his gaming controller next to it and an open can of black tea. Two floor seats were haphazardly tucked underneath the kotatsu’s blanket, the one facing the TV flatter and duller than the one nearer the door. His only bookshelf had the illusion that it was constantly being added to, with the first shelf arranged neatly and the rest completely shoved together, the lowest one still mostly empty—your sign language book lay horizontally on it.

He should’ve said something by now, right? Antsy, you shifted your weight, staring down at your shoes. To have something to do, you slowly took them off, lining them up with Touya’s house slippers (with seahorses on them?) next to the bed, and you swallowed your pride to break the ice. “I’m glad it’s you, by the way. Very glad.”

Touya grunted and draped an arm over his knees. “Did you know?”

“I will be generous and say not really,” you said, shuffling off your coat to hang on the bedpost, “I didn’t permit myself to make the connections.”

“Eh.” He shrugged with one shoulder—the left one, the natural one. He’d reattached his prosthetic in the meantime. “There are around one hundred Touyas in Japan, according to the last census.”

“Sounds like a prepared statistic,” you said, holding back that the name frequency has probably plummeted in the last few years, “I’m serious, though. I wanted my Touya—soulmate, you, Touya—to be Todoroki Touya. So badly.”

He covered his mouth, thumbing at his lower lip and simply staring at you. In the moonlight, his eyes were as fucking bright blue as—well. As his flames. More things were clicking into place.

“Really, Touya,” you said, desperate for him to believe you, “I liked you as the stranger in the alley, and I liked you as Dabi, and when my soulmate seemed to share some traits with the other Touya in my life, I didn’t give myself permission to think about it. Because I was growing fond of the you that spoke to me, that I was getting to know, and while my feelings for the other you were being rekindled, too, I wanted to love the soulmate you more, because it's become fucking evident to me that I was made to love you, even without this soulmate stuff. You’ve been scattered throughout my life, anyway. It just happened to speed things up, since it forced you to talk to me. Otherwise, you’d probably still be at the point where you’re the brooding-older-brother figure who isolates himself in his room when his brother’s friends are over.”

Touya was frowning, but you waited it out entirely this time. “You saw…all that,” he eventually said, gesturing down himself, “and you still want me?”

Biting back a smile, you lifted your knees to the bed, moving slowly to gauge his reaction before getting closer to him. “I saw you decapitate someone, and I still want you.”

“You’re insane,” said Touya, tensing up as you neared him but twitching into a nervous grin, eyes falling to your boobs, away to the window, and back to your face.

“Correct,” you said, and you knelt next to him, taking all of your restraint to keep from reaching out the final few centimetres to run your hands down his chest. “Don’t you need someone a little insane, though?”

The comforter fell a few inches down his chest, and you throat ran dry at the long line of fading stitches and staples.

You raised a quivering hand to his face, and it’s strange: both of you flinched in the moment your fingertips felt the tiniest bit of body heat emanating from his cheek, and it’s strange: it’s the first time you’ve felt any heat come from Touya at all, and it’s strange: you could see yourself so clearly waking up next to him every day, putting your chin on his shoulder while he picked out fruits at the grocery store, feeding the koi late at night together while you lured the ducks away, watching his eyes soften in the same way both when he sinks his teeth into something you’ve baked and his cock deep into you while he cradled you closely to his chest, but at the moment, it might be too much for you—and perhaps Touya as well, judging by the nearly incomprehensible, jumbled sort of expression—if you even touched his face.

Perhaps the prospect of romance was too much for him at this point in his life. The last thing Touya should be feeling about that was guilt.

“I don’t mind being on the backburner while you figure things out,” you said, returning your hand to your lap and trying very hard not to look at his nipples, “I’ll wait for whatever you need to do. I’ll—”

“No,” said Touya, shaking himself out of whatever spiralling dive he’d been leaning into, “Hell, no. No fucking—” He snatched the hand you’d almost touched him with and clenched it hard, smushing your fingers together (startled by the physical contact, even though he’d initiated it), and after a flash of frustration at his prosthetic arm, he passed your hand to his left. “You’re fucking sticking around. You—you don’t just look at me; you see me, in such a different fucking way than anyone else, and you did it immedia—it took my family so long to look, and you—you’ve been watching. Been paying attention. It’s all I’ve ever—” He frowned, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “It’s good to have you around while I dig myself out of this hole,” he said, squeezing your hand harder but glaring outside through the window, “I wish I had known you sooner.”

“I’m here now, and I want to get to know you better. I want to hear more about you, things that are true,” you said, “and don’t start with anything self-deprecating, Touya. The next time the bond lets you see through me, I’m gonna show you what you look like through my eyes. And I’m not lying to you when I say you are so very, very pretty.”

Grunting, Touya fidgeted in bed, the covers slipping down to his stomach, drawing your hand closer to him, with your body leaning in to follow his pull. “Shit,” he said, “Don’t say shit like that right now.”

“Touya, I am gonna tell you how gorgeous you are until you believe it, and that starts now.”

“Not tha—well, yes, that, but I—” He sucked in through his teeth (also sucking in through a tiny hollow in his cheek caused by a loose staple, with a faint, wheezing whistle) and threaded his fingers through yours, pulling your hands towards his shoulder so that you loomed over his chest, “I have a hell of a refractory period now. It’s fuckin’ hard for me to get hard a lot, and you saw me; I just—” Inhaling sharply, he jerked his hand away from yours and frantically started wiping it on the blankets. The new skin around the tips of his ears bloomed pink. “I haven’t washed my hands.”

“Touya,” you said, “Like I care.” You took the hand he was trying to hide in the folds of the blanket and licked up his palm, holding eye contact and relishing the way the blush spread to the untouched skin around the corners of his eyes. “I want all of you. Both sides you’ve shown me, and more. So long as it’s real. So long as it’s you.”

“All right. First step is getting on top of me,” said Touya, and, palm wet, he took your hand again, and he tugged on it, guiding you into his lap, other hand sliding down the thigh you swung over him. “Makes it easier to talk, y’know. To look at you.”

“Oh? Are we starting with your tragic backstory? If you’re taking requests,” you said, sliding your hand up and over his shoulder to run your fingers over his collarbone (jutting out from under both burnt and new skin), “then I’d like to hear your perspective of when you first kissed me.”

Touya lift his prosthetic hand to your cheek, just as cold and strong as his real one, and he placed his thumb at the corner of your lower lip, tip breaking the seal of your lips to press in just barely. “Actually, I think we’ll start with this pretty mouth of yours.”

***

Iida was shouting and gesturing from the living room that you only had fifteen minutes before the episode viewing was scheduled to start, and Shinsou shut him up by reminding him that Tokoyami had to pick up Ojiro and Hagakure from the floristry across town and that they’d start watching whenever they started watching, so chill out, Iida. Go help Mina pick the bugles out of her hair, or something.

You and Touya crouched together in front of the oven, staring through the glass at the rows of potato wedges—the recipe he claims his mother made when he was five, but surely a woman as sensible as Todoroki Rei wouldn’t put that much fucking cayenne pepper or paprika or chili sauce or—listen, it was a lot.

“C’mon, pretty boy, tell me something else true about you,” you said, nudging his shoulder with yours while you made eye contact with him in the oven’s reflection.

“Hm,” he said, scratching the underside of his chin with a bare hand (the gloves lay folded back on the teahouse dresser), “I hate fish.”

(Here you sighed dramatically, because you obviously already knew this. His loathing was intensified at the moment, though, because he’d had to get up and leave you in the middle of the night last night because the koi pond monitor was blaring at a stupid clog in the filter.)

“Tastes fuckin’ gross dead. Bitch to take care of livin’.”

You pushed on your knees to stand, and you held out a hand to help him up. “Enough with the negativity, dickhead. Tell me more about what you like.”

“Besides you?” He took your hand and grinned, putting all his weight into it as you strained to lift him, and when the oven timer beeped and you’d shot a few choice words his way, he had mercy and stood up by himself. He grabbed the oven mitts and tossed them to you, and while you removed the tray from the oven, he ran his hand through the sharp, white spikes of his hair, inadvertently wiping specks of paprika into it.

You set the tray on a cooling rack. “C’mon, Touya. No need to be so cheesy.”

“I can be worse,” he said, winding his arms around your waist before you could even take off the oven mitts, cradling you close to him, no room in between, and he propped his chin on your shoulder. “I can even incorporate—you call me cheesy; you’re the one who called me pretty boy not a minute ago.”

Blindly, you raised a hand to run it back through Touya’s soft, soft hair, and you gently bumped your cheek against his. “I am not being cheesy by simply stating the truth. You’re gorgeous, Touya.”

“Bet I’d look even better throbbing inside you.”

“Please follow a logical flow in conversation like the rest of us,” you said, and when you couldn’t grasp the spatula you were reaching for, Touya grabbed it for you, scraping up some of the first row, having to release you during the process.

Leaning on the counter to face him, you flinched at the heat before pinching a potato wedge between the tips of your fingers, but Touya held one like it was completely cool. It had almost touched his tongue before he paused and waited for your reaction to his recipe.

His potato wedges were bad. Too crunchy on top because of the odd broil time and not-fully-ground peppercorns and too soggy and soft underneath, especially in the part where it’d stuck to the tin foil and peeled off, and the combination of spices didn’t quite mesh together well. With a sliver of quiet triumph, you swallowed a bite of potato wedge decidedly worse than the ones you made.

But Touya was looking at you, eyes brimming with hope despite his otherwise carefully cultivated cool exterior, watching, waiting for you—and it was Touya, after all; Touya was the one who cooked these—made them for you, deliberately, on purpose—and so that made what words were about to come out of your mouth true and beautiful.

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair, @tiredkittykat, @cheshireshiya, @90s-belladonna, @infjsnightmare

#bnha #dabi #dabi x reader #dabi/reader #dabi imagine #dabi fic #mha #dabi headcanons #dabi fanfiction #dabi fanfic #soulmates #soulmate au #soulmate #dash it all

545 notes · View notes

dannyboy-writes · 5 months

Text

Running away

After fleeing the Fire Nation's land you found yourself in a small fishing village. Filled with flowers in spring and sunlight in the summer, with piles of leaves in autumn and a tad of snow in winter. Just a hint of whiteness.

The last thing you would've expected from your travels was to end up here, having somewhat of a normal life, filled with joy. The only thing you would've changed was your last conversation with a certain someone.

“You used to have long hair,” a familiar but distant voice said, as you turned around.

"You used to be shorter," you said, face as serious as you could.

With a still straight face she said, "I could have you executed for that."

"Only if you can catch me," you finally broke a smile.

"True," Azula said, smiling as well.

"What brings you to this lovely and remote area of the world," you asked, pulling some things off the table.

"I was searching for someone. They owe me a goodbye," she said playfully.

You put some water in a kettle, "I believe they said goodbye already."

"Did they?"

"I gave you a letter, it's more than I did to most," you defended.

"You didn't give me a letter."

"Well, I hid it in your room. You found it, you can't lie to me Azula," you laughed.

She tried to maintain a serious face but dropped it soon as well, "I did find it."

"I couldn't exactly leave it laying around, not with everything that was happening."

"I understand," she nodded. "I just wish you had given it to me."

"I thought of it, but it was late. I had to ninja my way for it, I'm very proud of that," you said.

"Because of the guards?"

"Yeah, that and the fact that everyone had my face in a reward poster…"

She clasped her hands together and nodded.

"Why are you still standing, Zula?" You said bringing a kettle of tea to the table and sitting down. "Get comfortable, do you want anything else?"

"No, it's fine," she said, shifting in her spot.

"Is everything okay?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be," she asked in a paranoid tone.

"No reason," you said as she sat down. "Did you really come all this way just to get a goodbye?"

"Don't be silly, y/n. It's on the way in my travels," she lied.

It had been too long since she last saw you, and the way your voice strained in your throat took her off balance. Perhaps this was how you'd always spoken, but she didn't think so. Maybe she had just grown too paranoid.

"Where are you going?" You asked.

"Oh, let's not speak of that. How are you?"

The question rocked you off your place, but you managed not to show it.

"Well, I'm doing well. There's not much to do around here but fishing, so I do that, and sell that as well. I'm growing this tree in the back, it used to have a torn branch and it was falling off, but now it's looking good," you explained. "Sorry, you're probably bored by this." You said, knowing Azula wasn't one to be interested in the common occurrences of life.

"No, continue," she dismissed. And as you raised your eyebrow asked, "Please."

"Well, there is also a small dragon-moose that comes around every now and then, searching for food. I tend to leave a pot of fresh water and some leftovers for him." You paused to sip on your tea, "Other than that it's all pretty calm. There's mostly old people here, so no one asks many questions. They usually tell stories to me, not the other way around, which is good."

It was good, Azula thought. If you were still in hiding, even if you weren't in Fire Nation soil, it was good for people not to ask many questions.

"How do you know it's the same dragon-moose?" She found herself asking, much to her own surprise.

You were taken a bit aback by the question but answered anyways. "Oh, he has a little white spot in between the eyes. Plus he always waits for me to sit down before he eats the food. I don't know why, really."

She smiled, again to her surprise. How simple your life was, and how content with it you sounded. All you did was fish, feed animals and listen to old people's stories, and yet you looked like the happiest person in the world.

“It sounds wonderful,” she simply replied.

“Yeah… You sure you're fine?" You asked, concerned. It had been some time since you last saw her, but she didn't use to ask this many questions.

“You have nothing to worry about, y/n. I promise," she nodded.

"Okay… Do you plan on staying?"

"Would you like me to stay?"

"I'm asking so I know how much food I should make, you don't have to stay."

"If you want me to stay I'll stay," she stated.

You blinked in surprise, not expecting that. "Uh, yeah, I would love that," you smiled. "That would be great."

She nodded once again, this time with a smile plastered on her face. She thought about staying there, in your little house by the sea.

Things would be so easy if she just had one more chance with you.

But she had Zuko and his friends on her heels, and it was better to leave you out of Fire Nation problems. One last dinner with you, that was all she needed.

When you woke up next morning with the house silent you knew she was gone, and when you walked into the kitchen and saw the note you hoped she was safe.

A little ‘thank you’ was all you had, and it was all you’d need.

#azula x reader #azula imagine #avatar the last airbender #atla imagine

364 notes · View notes

steppin-on-the-last-train · 5 months

Text

Happy Xmas (War Is Over)

Natasha Romanoff x Taskmaster!Reader

Summary: Settling down within S.H.I.E.L.D hasn't been easy, but Christmastime is here, and Clint Barton extends an invitation that seems too good to be true. You follow him to his farmhouse where you're met with a few surprises. With Natalia by your side, you try to accept your new life in America, and maybe find some holiday spirit along the way.

Foreword: Happy Holidays everyone! This is a beast of a fic (14.5k words) so strap in. It's also very much an original character just written in second person, but I hope you enjoy.

You sat slouched on a sofa in the common room of SHIELD headquarter’s residential wing. You weren’t sure why the designers had felt the need to include this room. Spies weren’t well known for their extroverted nature. But the holidays had left the area quiet, rather the entire building seemed to have wound down with the slowing nature of the cold and snow outside. You found the space to be useful when you became sick of staring at the same four blank walls of your standard issue apartment. Having recently defected from Russian ranks you and Natalia weren’t allowed to leave campus without an escort, which left you exactly three places to spend downtime. Your room, Natalia’s room–which looked exactly like yours save for a book Barton had given her–or the common area.

The two of you were working on the latest mission report. Well, you were supposed to be working on the write-up, but the end of year evaluations had been released and yours begged to be raked over. So Natalia worked on hers, fingers diligently tapping away at the keys. She was sitting sideways along the couch, legs lounged over your lap and back to the armrest. You didn’t know how she found the position comfortable. You narrowed your eyes at your computer screen and the unkind words it harbored. “Do you think I am uncooperative and have a tendency to disobey the orders of superiors?” You asked the redhead.

She looked up from her laptop, eyes searching your profile. “Where is this coming from?”

“The end of year assessments,” you frowned. “They are out.”

“I thought we were working on the reports for the Minsk mission.” She raised a reprimanding eyebrow.

“I was,” you said, dragging out the second word ever so slightly. “But they are just so tedious now. Why do they need to know the amount of bullets I used? I miss when all we had to do was take a photo of the dead guy for proof of accomplishment.” Natalia nudged your ribs with her foot. “Ow,” you complained.

“We do this because it’s the normal thing to do. Because what we do in the field is necessary, but the violence has to be justified so we can continue doing our jobs.” She tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid behind her ear. “We’re with the good guys now,” she reminded gently. “The world may still be brutal, but we don’t have to be anymore.”

“So we count the bullets,” you concluded.

“So we count the bullets,” she stated. A moment of silence passed, only the sound of Natalia resuming her typing filling the air. That was something you were still getting used to. Silence always preceded something terrible, the inhale before you faced hell on earth. “You are uncooperative.”

“What?” You asked, turning to face her indifferent expression.

“Your question from earlier. I’m answering it.”

“You too?” You shook your head. “You are supposed to take my side, not Fury’s.”

“You are the person who let themselves get captured by the enemy after you heard they’d gotten to me. And,” she paused, “if you finished that report you’d get to the part where you chose not to listen to Agent Riley.”

“I had it handled,” you said, reaching for your coffee cup on the side table.”That man thinks he knows what is better just because he has fifteen years on me. I think he is too cautious. That is why the Americans are leagues behind us in intelligence. They do not have the guts to do what needs to be done.”

“We are Americans now,” she reminded. You wrinkled your nose. “I mean for all intents and purposes, you get that.” She put her laptop on the coffee table and sidled next to you. You could feel her warmth bleed into you where your bodies met. Her knees pressed into your legs, her shoulders turned into your chest. “You can do it, I know you can,” she whispered, taking your hand.

“Do what?” You asked dubiously.

“Beat them. Unlearn what they taught us. You just have to make an effort.” She put a hand on your cheek, fingertips caressing the side of your face. You almost swore she wanted you to kiss her. You swallowed down nothing but a bubble of air and desire. Not today.

You looked at her, gaze narrowing. “I am here, am I not?” Two large windows allowed the morning light to stream in behind Natasha and wash her in a fresh aura. The blue sky shined bright as fat snowflakes whirled down to meet the pavement of the U.S. capital. Far below, pedestrians hustled from building to building, jackets pulled tight against the cold. Your heart began to pound when you thought about calling this place home. Everything was just so wrong. “I think fighting the urge to run is about all I can manage right now. I believed in the cause, at least I think I did. Turning my back on the Red Room, on him any faster and I think I might break.”

“I know, and I see you. But you have to show them that,” she said, tapping the now black computer screen.

“Like you do? Do not tell me you actually trust anyone here.”

“I don’t,” she said carefully, as if there might exist an exception. “But you have to cooperate, to let someone else take the reins for now.”

“I do not know if I can.” You bit your lip and traced the room with your eyes. The clean, modern furniture and the off-white walls. You knew you shouldn’t but you missed the familiarity of the old wooden mansion. “I am not like you Talia. I cannot see the good in people.”

“And I’m not asking you to. Do you trust me?” She asked, eyes that reminded you of the dawn of spring boring into yours.

“Always,” you breathed, not missing a beat. “You are the only thing in this world that makes sense to me.”

“Then follow my lead. I’m worried about you. I don’t want you digging a hole you can’t climb out of.”

“Okay, I will try.” You were not sure you meant it. Humanity given too much freedom would eat itself alive. A familiar mantra marched across the back of your mind like the incessant buzz of an insect. Correct and control. Correct and control. Correct and control. Correct–

A noise from down the hall caught your attention. Quick footsteps heading your way echoed into the room. You looked at Natalia. The two of you had thought everyone else had left the building for the holidays.

A frazzled Clint Barton walked into the room, looking about to take off in a full sprint. He wore faded blue jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. A duffel bag hung over his shoulder, storing a fair amount of his belongings if you had to guess. He glanced in your direction, but refused to slow his stride. You watched him go, when suddenly he dug his heel into the ground and spun around.

“What are you guys doing here?” He asked as if just now processing your presence.

“Working,” Natalia answered. You liked Barton well enough and there was no question that you owed him an unpayable debt for sparing Natalia’s life. He looked unassuming, quick to smile and kept a short crop of hair as blonde as a field of wheat. You weren’t quite on casual speaking terms though, not because he bothered you, no. It’s just you weren’t keen to talk to anyone except the girl still halfway sprawled across you.

He furrowed his brow and adjusted the strap across his shoulder. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he stated plainly, as if that in itself was explanation enough.

“It is,” Natalia agreed.

“Well you can’t sit in here all day.” He made a sweeping gesture about the room and all of its bareness and almost surgical detachment. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, silent surprise weaving its way across his face. Feeling off put, you fixed your posture, spine straightening and causing Natasha to slide away. You had yet to encounter him outside of a professional setting, but here you sat wedged into the couch and rather at ease. You wore sweats, albeit SHIELD issue, but still something you’d normally not be caught around in.

“And why is that?” Natalia asked, tone laced with faux confusion. She blinked at Barton, eyes doe-wide.

He shifted his stance and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re really going to make me say it?” He waited, looking at Natalia indignantly. “It’s sad. You can’t stay at work during Christmas.”

“What would you suggest we do?” She asked, still playing her one-sided game. Bemusing to you, but not so much to the Hawkeye.

“I don’t know. Go home? That’s what I’m doing.” Home, you thought. If you ran back to the place you still called home, SHIELD would call for your head. Even still, the house beckoned out to you in your dreams; not warm, never safe, but structured and oh so familiar. Come home my child, a gruff voice compelled. Come and take your rightful place as my sword and shield.

Something behind Natasha’s eyes flickered for a moment before disappearing behind a wall of apathy. “There’s not exactly a home for me to go back to.”

“Oh. That’s right. Erm,” Barton stammered. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget.”

“Forget that I’m an outsider?”

“That’s one way to put it I suppose. I mean, you’re one of us now, right? We all come from different places so in a way we’re all outsiders. Most of us have pasts we’d rather forget. You don’t do the kind of thing we do because you grew up with two loving parents,” he said.

Natalia tilted her head, hair brushing against your neck. “And where did you come from?”

He smiled, one side of his mouth pulled slightly higher than the other. “Nice try Romanoff. Put a couple of beers in me first and you might have better luck.”

“Oh that’s right, I forgot. Fury found you wandering around the sewers,” she teased. You didn’t know who she did it. How she joked and spoke so freely. How she saw a friend and ally where you saw a threat and a future enemy.

“Ha ha,” he said dryly, lips still curled in a smile. “You’re actually not too far off.” He waited before saying more, eyes flicking to you as they often did when the three of you gathered together. Patiently offering a chance for you to join the conversation, but never calling you out. You were running out of excuses to mistrust the man. “Even still, you guys ought to get out of here. Drive to New York or something. They put up a giant tree in Times Square. I’ve never seen it in person, but,” he raised an arm for emphasis. “Huge.”

This time Natalia’s expression fell for long enough even Barton picked up on it. She turned away from him and stared down at her hands. “I’d love to see that,” she murmured. “We can’t leave though. Not yet. Not without an escort from an authorized superior.” Technically there was nothing stopping you from leaving the building. You’d picked up the nasty habit of prowling the streets in the dead hours of the morning after a nightmare left your hands shaky and your heart clawing its panicked way up your throat. Natalia however had not made one move even remotely close to toeing SHIELD’s strict line. A fact made clear when she’d caught you sneaking back in as the sun rose one morning. You’d promised not to do it again with an overwrought frown on your face. You went out again the very next night and left a mugger to bleed out in an alleyway.

“Oh, that’s right.” It was Barton’s turn to look away. “You know what?” He asked, lifting his chin and pulling out a cell phone. He let the duffle bag down from his shoulder and onto the ground, putting the phone to his ear. Natalia looked at you and you shrugged. She knew him better than you anyway.

“Hey honey,” he said, not bothering to turn away or lower his voice. You didn’t know he had a girlfriend. Between the way you had only ever seen him consume pizza and his obsession with trying to make the most difficult shots possible on missions you had assumed he was single. “I’ve got a pair of stragglers here at the office.” He paused, sucking on his teeth for a moment. “I know, I know I was just about to get on the road I promise. I’ll still be home by five. No, I’ll be careful, I won’t get a speeding ticket this time.” He adjusted the phone and flicked his gaze in your direction. “Yeah, Laura, it’s them. You know me. They don’t have anywhere to go and I thought.” He paused. Slowly, a dopey grin curled onto his face. “Yeah, I do. You know I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t.” A final pause. “Okay. I’ll see you later. Love you.” He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and looked up with new excitement sparkling in his eyes. “Have you guys ever been to Iowa?”

Natalia shook her head. “No. I’ve got a soft spot for the Midwest though.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go pack for a few days. Laura’s going to kill me if I’m another minute late,” he said, hoisting the bag over his shoulder.

Natalia’s eyes went wide and she opened her mouth, speechless. Even you were taken aback. Was Barton really inviting you to his home? Certainly he didn’t trust you yet. You hadn’t even been at SHIELD for a year, the first six months of which you spent firmly locked in a cell. Yet there he stood, hands in his pockets and waiting for you to move your ass and follow him out. “I didn’t,” Natalia started. “When I said we couldn’t leave I wasn’t asking for you–”

“Nope. Don’t do that. I want to. You guys are never going to be comfortable here if you’re not extended some freedom. Trust me, I know.” You watched the other man with suspicion, waiting for the trap to spring. The SHIELD agent who had spared Natalia’s life when he had explicit orders to put an arrow through her heart. The American who believed in the good in people and making the world a less gruesome place in the small way he could. The person who extended a hand to others in a time of crisis. “I used to spend Christmas alone and cold without a home. Then I got Laura and I couldn’t be happier. But it can get lonely just the two of us out there. If you really would rather stay here I won’t force you to come,” he said matter-of-factly. “But I would really appreciate the company, and I know Laura would love to meet the two of you.”

Natalia shifted, putting one foot on the floor. She looked at you and you knew she wanted to go, but wouldn’t if you said no. But oh, you would do anything for her. Subtly you nodded. You didn’t care how much you were struggling, you’d pull yourself together for the weekend. “We’re in.”

You pushed yourself off the couch and went back to your room to pack what little you had. All of your clothes were plain which you didn’t mind, but something about knowing they were SHIELD issue left you feeling claustrophobic. You gripped a black dress shirt in your hand a little tighter than you needed to. To you it screamed, you are not free. We own you now. You threw your toothbrush and toothpaste in alongside the clothes before stopping at the bedside table. Carefully you pulled open the drawer and snagged a little necklace from inside. Tucking it into a side pocket you jogged out to find Natalia and Barton waiting in the lobby.

Barton’s truck was nowhere near extravagant, but it held a sort of coziness that only came from years of ownership. Natasha sat in the passenger seat while you took the back, wincing when you found the lack of legroom. The interior smelled of old air freshener, dirt, and worn leather. “Strap in,” he said. “We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

Barton tuned the radio to play Christmas music and introduced you to his atrocious singing as he belted along to ‘Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town’. As you left the thick jungle of Washington D.C. and moved west across Virginia the city whipped away as the sun traveled across the sky. When you reached the interstate proper and were well away from the prying eyes of the urban center you finally allowed yourself to relax a little. Natalia began to hum along to a new song, a small smile on her face. Barton turned the volume up a notch and you leaned your head against the cool window pane, eyes tracking the snow covered countryside.

At a gas station in Ohio Natalia asked to switch seats with you. She curled up in the back using a sweatshirt as a pillow and closed her eyes, pretending to sleep. You checked the rearview every few minutes and eventually she had fallen asleep for real, lips parted slightly and breathing slowing down.

Barton had given up on his singing endeavor and had reduced himself to whistling and tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. As you passed a sign welcoming you to Indiana he spoke up. “Okay, truth time,” he said, stealing a concerned glance at you before staring back at the two lane road before him. The truck's wheels ate up yards of the sun bleached asphalt. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Yes,” you said.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but you’re not gonna kill me in my sleep tonight, right?” He asked, trying his best to clear the nerves from his voice.

“No. I like you, Barton. And even if I did not I owe you a great debt,” you said.

A crease formed on his brow. “A debt?”

You looked back at the woman sleeping soundly in the back of the truck. Her feet were tucked up on the seat, head laying on a sweatshirt stuffed in between the window and the headrest. You thought it might have been the most at peace you’ve ever seen her. “Yeah,” you breathed. “For giving her a better life.” One that I never could, you thought.

“I didn’t do it looking for any favors. Not from her, and certainly not from you or Fury,” he insisted. “Fury was pissed of course. He knew who I was when he hired me, but I still think he underestimated my loyalty to my gut. And you,” he said, nodding in your direction. “You were a wildcard no one saw coming.”

“Good or bad?” You asked, already sure of the answer.

“To be honest, I’m not sure yet. I think that’s still up to you,” he said.

You held a groan back. Moral dilemmas made your head ache. You’d wanted a straight answer. Tell me how to be good. “What do you mean?”

He ran a hand through his hair, spiking it up in three different ways. “Well, you’re good out in the field. Like scary good, and I know you’ll watch my back. That’s the most important thing,” he said. “But then we get back and I see you pacing around the compound like you’re stuck in a cage. I guess I’m just not sure what’s going through your head.”

You clenched and unclenched your fist, overcome with the urge to tell the other man more than you’d told any of the SHIELD shrinks in a year. He felt safe and genuine, but you knew that was an impossibility; you knew people to be horrid pretenders. You opened your mouth anyway, Natalia’s urges for you to try ringing in your ears. “I can follow orders on a mission no problem. Shut off my brain and listen to authority. Protect your team, take the shot, retrieve the files. That is what I was built for,” you sighed, eyeing Barton warily. Waiting for him to snap at you. “But when the job is done, and I have time to sit and think on it…I feel like I have just ripped myself in half.”

“That’s, well, that’s some intense shit,” he said, tipping his head. “What I can tell you though, with absolute certainty, is that General Dreykov is a bad man. For me, for SHIELD, for her…” Clint said. You knew very well who he was referring to. “There’s no gray area there, man. We’re going to shut him down.”

“I know," you said, short and quick. You knew that's what they all said, but Dreykov had protected you for a long time. He had raised you. He had loved you as his own. You didn't want to see him in a cell, or worse, in a grave. “I cannot get it straight in my head. Everyone has been telling me that working for SHIELD is a step toward being better, to making something of myself. If that is true, then how come the longer I am here the more I feel like I am betraying everything that makes me me?” You knew why. Something inside you was broken and twisted beyond repair. It made you see the world backward. Everyone around you could smell the festering rot of the mangled heart inside your chest. They just needed an excuse to put you down for good.

“Well, you are just about the most Russian person I’ve ever met,” he said. You tried your very best not to glare at him when he looked over. “Before about five minutes ago the only sentences I’d ever heard you speak were two word acknowledgements in the field. And the accent. You’re playing it up, right?”

“Maybe a little.” You were more than capable of fixing it and putting on an American one, but you felt entitled to keep this little part of yourself. To remind yourself and everyone else where you came from. The pressure to conform was a constant torrent but you refused to let them win, for better or for worse.

“As for actual advice…I would say don’t look at it from a good versus bad perspective. In this field, none of us are really good. Not even at SHIELD. I don’t care what some of those righteous assholes think. Forget what anyone told you before and what anyone tells you now,” he said, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel. “Take a step back and compare the before and the now. How did it make you feel?” He asked, stressing the you. “What cause do you believe in? Tough thing is there’s not a right and a wrong answer. Took me a hell of a long time to figure out what I thought about it all. I used to operate strictly outside of the law and now I’m a fed,” he said, shrugging. “Just know I’m rooting for you.”

“And if I come to a conclusion you do not agree with?”

“I’ll make sure to give you a headstart,” he said, winking and throwing you a playful smirk.

“Ah, I am grateful Barton,” you said, cracking a smile. It felt good, like feeling the sun on your face after being inside for a long time. You reveled in the feeling while it lasted.

“No. No more of that Barton stuff. It’s Clint.” He said, shaking his head. “Unless we’re on a mission. Then it’s Hawkeye.”

“The infamous Hawkeye. Tell me, Clint. Where do you get a name like that?” You could tell he was fond of the alias.

“Would you believe me if I told you it’s from the circus?”

A million questions crowded your mind. You looked over, mouth hanging open. You didn’t know much about circuses. They had shown you all a cartoon once about an elephant that had giant ears and could fly. It led the other circus animals in a rebellion against the human handlers. In the end the ringmaster cut its ears off and strung them up as a lesson against exceptionalism. “You were in the circus?” You asked.

“Even better,” he answered. “I was raised up in one.”

“Did you have elephants?”

“No,” he scoffed, chuckling. “We were classier than that. All acrobats and good old fashioned theatrics. I used to sharpshoot. Struck apples off of people’s heads. That sort of thing. Although when I wasn’t on stage I was running through the audience, taking wallets out of pockets.”

You squinted your eyes at him. “Baby Barton raising hell. I can see it. And it would explain the mess in here.” You scuffed your shoe on the floor, stirring up bits of dirt and dried mud. Items crowded the backseat next to Natalia. A winter coat, a pair of sneakers, a hunting knife, handle worn from use. The cupholders were stuffed with old receipts and loose change, and something rattled in the glove box everytime the truck took a left turn.

“It’s messy in here?” He asked, glancing about the cabin. “I don’t think it’s too bad.”

“You are funny.”

“No, I'm being completely serious. Doesn’t everyone’s car kinda look like this?” His bewilderment would be slightly endearing if you weren’t such a neat freak.

“No, not really. I will help you clean over the holiday,” you said, leaving no room for protest. “I cannot stand the ride back like this.”

“If you insist. Just don’t throw anything out without running it by me. I promise everything in here is important.”

“Whatever you say,” you said, eyeing a stack of coffee cups wedged in the door.

“Can I ask something? I mean, I don’t want to overstep.” You were learning Clint did not do well with silence.

“Go ahead.”

“What’s the deal with you and Natasha? Are you dating? It’s been killing me trying to figure the two of you out.”

“No, uh, we are not,” you stuttered. “We are friends.” Even that label seemed to hold too much weight. You weren’t supposed to have friends. And to befriend one of the Widows no less. You were above them, primed to not only serve the Red Room, but to be the embodiment of its crusade. Dreykov’s right hand. The Taskmaster.

Clint had the nerve to scoff. “I’ve seen you just about butcher an entire compound of enemy combatants without batting an eye. And you can never ever tell Fury this but you intimidate the other agents more than he does.” He took one hand off the wheel and stretched it out, flexing his fingers. “And as far as I can tell the only person who can get you to listen to anyone but yourself…” He pointedly stared at the rearview mirror. “I didn’t even recognize you earlier back at SHIELD. You looked so, unagitated. Like you finally managed to dislodge that stick up your ass.”

“Ha, ha,” you laughed dryly. “You know, I am going to find something to shove up your ass.”

“You were letting her lay on you like a cat. You can’t tell me you guys haven’t slept together.”

You glared at his profile until he got the hint and faced you. “That is none of your business.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry I crossed a line,” he said. Your chest twisted with an unfamiliar sensation. One that made its way to your face in not quite a smile, but certainly an expression of gratitude. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek. Apologies were new for you.

“It is alright,” you said, vehemence leaving your voice. “It is just complicated. We had,” you hesitated and took a deep breath. “We had more than we should have in, um…before. They tried to keep us apart, make me think she was as heartless as the rest of the world.” You stared out the windshield, not willing to risk eye contact with Barton. A bug came flying at the truck and splattered green guts right in your eyeline. “And for a while I believed them. I hated her. But I was wrong. It is actually the opposite. Natalia is just, she is good. She stupidly stuck by me and dragged my head up from the sand when I was intent on suffocating myself.”

“I’m no expert, just a guy with a wife and a couple of kids, but that sounds a damn lot like love to me,” he said.

A choir of sardonic voices roused to action in the forefront of your mind. What do you know of love? You bite the hand that needs you, do you understand? You bite it clean off. A bitter laugh lunged from your throat before you could stop it. “You are wrong. Love is a fantasy to hold over the heads of the masses.”

“Wow.” Clint blinked dramatically, twice. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you just got even more Russian.”

“Fuck off, Hawkeye,” you said, grinning freely.

“Seriously though, I’ll never understand what you guys went through. Not in any way that counts, but the fact you made it out together tells me how fucking strong the both of you are.” He flicked his gaze to you. “There’s something there for you to think about too, but you gotta find it on your own.”

But you would rather take a knife to the chest than admit to harboring any sort of four letter words for Natalia. “Wait, you have a kid?” You asked, turning the conversation back on Barton.

“Yeah,” he said, smile reaching up to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “I have two now, if you can believe it. My oldest is Cooper. He’s a little over three. Lila is the baby. They’re why I was a little nervous about bringing you out. My number one priority, before SHIELD, before the mission, before myself are those kids.”

“And you were driving me all this way worried that I would turn on you? That I might hurt your kids?”

“Well, you know. Don’t trust anyone, especially other spies. Especially Russian spies if you’re American. I was fairly sure, but there was a voice in the back of my head asking ‘what if,’ and I had to ask,” he admitted.

You wanted to tell him you’d never hurt a little kid. That he shouldn’t have worried. Except you had, so so many times before. “How do you feel now?” You asked instead.

“A lot better. Glad to know you’re not a robot.” Silence grew as the radio paused in between songs. You laid back against the seat and watched the plains rush by outside. The speakers came back to life and a new sickeningly cheery jingle began to play. “I love this one,” Clint said, turning the volume back up. He hummed with contentment and drummed his fingers on the wheel, looking over at you. “I am going to teach you all about the joy of Christmas music, just you wait.”

“Oh, great,” you remarked wryly. The small grin on your face however betrayed your stark tone. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.

—

The old Chevy fought its way up the snow covered path toward the farmhouse in the middle of the field. White and red lights hung from the roof and wrapped the pillars of the porch in heartwarming hues. A little plastic snowman stood ambassador to the front door, waving a mittened hand and welcoming the incoming entourage. Clint parked a couple dozen yards from the house, grumbling about how he’d have to dig the truck out before he left again. Natalia hopped out, eyes wide as she took in the home. Your breath puffed out in visible clouds, but you hardly felt the cold. You were raised in the deathly Russian winters.

The front door cracked open, a woman standing silhouetted in the warm light behind her. “Clinton Francis Barton! You better get inside right now,” she said, a wide smile brightening her voice.

“Clinton?” Natalia asked, walking close behind Barton up to the porch.

“Yeah, yeah. Now you know my biggest secret.” He trudged up the stairs, snowflakes dusting his shoulders and hair. Laura met him in the doorway with a kiss. “Sorry we’re a little late,” he said.

“You’re excused this time, but only because you brought guests,” she said. Up close you could see she had big brown eyes and brown hair that fell to her shoulders. The inside of the house beckoned, the haze of meat and pine wafting outside. You dragged your feet along the stairs. You didn’t belong here. “Get inside now, you’re letting all the heat escape.” She patted Barton on the butt as he trod inside, fondness lacing her eyes as she looked after him. Natalia stood at the entryway, not yet stepping up into the house. “I mean you two as well,” Laura insisted, ushering you through the door.

“Daddy!” A little boy came barrelling around a corner, wrapping his arms around Clint’s leg and staring up at him with a toothy grin. The house immediately opened up into the living room, a worn brown couch facing a fireplace and an evergreen tree adorned with ornaments and twinkling lights. To your left a staircase spiraled upward and disappeared to a second floor. You stomped your shoes off on a welcome mat, watching the slush melt away.

A drumbeat of footsteps pattered your way and suddenly the child was wrapped around your leg, his fingers digging into your calf. Your muscles tensed and you began to lift your leg to shake him off, heart in your throat.

“Coop!” Laura scolded. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s usually pretty shy around strangers.”

But Cooper didn’t listen and you didn’t kick him away. This kid was not a threat. He ogled up at you with wide eyes the same shade as his mother’s and hair somehow blonder than his father’s. “Hi. I’m Cooper,” he said with the grace of someone just learning to speak.

“Hi,” you said, heat rushing to your cheeks at being startled by a three year old.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“I am a friend of your father’s,” you said, also telling him your name.

“Looks like you’ve been replaced, Clint,” Laura teased. “Come on, buddy, let’s get up. Daddy’s got to show them upstairs.”

But he only sank down further, sitting firmly on your shoe and jutting his lip in a pout. “Walk with me.”

You looked at Natalia, a tender smile on her face. “It’s alright,” you told Laura. “I can take him upstairs.”

“Are you sure?” She asked. “I can make him get down.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t explain the tight feeling in your chest whenever the boy smiled up at you. “Are you ready?” He nodded eagerly and you took a step, following Clint up the stairs. Cooper giggled the entire time, clinging on with little hands.

“I hope you guys are okay with sharing a room. We’ve got Coop and Lila in their own rooms right now. Lila keeps you up at night, doesn’t she buddy?”

He nodded against your knee. “Lila cries a lot.”

“This is great,” Natalia said. “Thank you.” You and her still slept in separate rooms, but at this point you would have been willing to sleep out in the barn if he told you to. You hadn’t realized how crazy you’d been in that SHIELD compound. The wind whipping against your face outside had been like finally breathing deeply after having your head held underwater.

“The door on the end is the master bedroom,” Clint said, pointing left down the hall. “That’s Coop’s room, then there’s the nursery, the bathroom, and finally,” he stopped, opening a door to the right. “Here’s the guest room. I’ll let you guys get settled. Take your time. I’m going to help Laura get the table set.” He knelt down, scooping Cooper up under his arms and lifting him high in the air. The toddler shrieked as Clint settled him on his shoulders and stomped downstairs.

You set your bag down as Natalia moved around the room, running her hand over the nicely made bed. You cleared your throat, nerves and a foreign feeling clashing in your mind. “I can sleep on the floor.”

She turned to you sharply. “You know I would never ask you to do that.”

“I know. But I am offering.” You walked over to the window, pushing the curtain open and peering outside. You couldn’t see much of anything, even with your enhanced eyesight. Even still, the countryside was a refreshing landscape after being firmly locked in the city. But the wilderness sheltered different threats. The red dot of a laser sight burned your retinas, and glowing yellow eyes stared blankly back at you.

Natalia pulled your hand into hers, lacing your fingers together. “We’re okay here,” she mumbled into your shoulder as if reading your mind.

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do,” she said, coming to stand in front of you. You wrapped your arms around her and rested your chin on top of her head, imagining you could shield her from all harm this way. “Listen.”

You strained your ears, searching for alarming sounds. The wind outside stirred quietly, enough to flurry the falling snow, but not so aggressive as to rap the window pane. Beyond that there was only quiet. No footsteps prowling around the back of the house. No click of a rifle’s safety being switched off. “I do not hear anything,” you said.

“You’re listening for the wrong things,” she said.

You frowned, glancing around the quiet room. Through the closed door the lazy tune of an American Christmas song made its way to your ears. You recognized the singer. Elvis Presley. The King of Rock and Roll. Laughter charged the music with a warm undercurrent. The infectious snicker that belonged to Barton mixed with the high-pitched giggle of his son to create a different kind of melody. You dropped your shoulders and let all of the air out of your lungs. Natalia pulled you closer until her spine pressed flush into your front. Her hands felt like ice, but you didn’t mind. You had always run hot.

“Barton asked me if we were a couple on the ride up,” you said.

“Oh yeah? And what did you say?” She asked, watching the snow swirl in arcs outside. The wind rushed down, only for the next gust to excite the flakes into the navy sky again.

“I told him it was complicated. And that we are friends.”

“And what if we made it less complicated?”

You pulled away to tug off your sweatshirt, feeling feverishly warm. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if we gave it a shot? We can call it what we want, we don’t have to call it anything at all. You could stay in my room some nights, or I could stay in yours. Maybe I’d let you kiss me,” she said, scrunching her nose and lifting one eyebrow.

You laid the shirt on the bed, folding it into a tight little rectangle. The offer dangled in the vanilla scented air, taunting you. There must be a candle burning downstairs. You wanted so badly to say yes. To give yourself over to Natalia completely. Somewhere in between your heart and your throat the words got caught. A dark entity snagged what you wanted to say in its rows of jagged teeth and ripped it to shreds. “I think our friendship works,” you said.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she sighed. “I was being selfish.”

“No, you were not. You could never be selfish. I am sorry,” you said, kneeling beside your bag and placing the sweatshirt inside. You would slit your own throat if Natalia Romonava asked you to. How cruel was it that you couldn’t tell her you cared?

She crossed the softly lit bedroom, coming to rest by the door where you hung your head in defeat. “There’s nothing you need to be sorry for,” she said. Her voice washed over you and carried away some of the pain in your chest like the sea’s cool tide. Her fingers combed through the short hairs at the base of your neck. You leaned into her, resting your forehead on her leg. She smelled of the air after a storm and the beginnings of a fresh wound. “Come on. Let’s get downstairs before they put out a search warrant.”

You pushed yourself from the ground, an all too familiar action, and followed her into the greater expanse of the house.

“There you are,” Clint greeted, pulling cups out of a cabinet. “Just in time.”

“Hi,” Laura smiled, crossing the kitchen and offering a hand. “I didn’t properly introduce myself before. I’m Laura.”

“Natasha,” Natalia said, shaking the woman’s hand.

“Cooper, come wash your hands!” Clint called. The boy ran in from the living room, making a beeline for the sink.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Barton,” you said, clasping her hand. Her palm held faded callouses.

“Oh, please. It’s Laura. You come to my house, you call me Laura. Gosh, Mrs. Barton makes me feel old,” she said, smiling good-naturedly. “You two make me feel old. How old are you?”

“Twenty one,” Natalia answered.

“Oh, wow,” she blinked widely. “Clint, you’ve got a run for your money. You might have to retire soon.”

“Tell me about it,” he said. “You should try sparring with Nat, hon. I’ve never been more sore in my life.” Clint scooped Cooper up and set him at the table. “Alright buddy hang tight, I’m gonna go grab your sister.”

“How are you guys doing at SHIELD? Fury not giving you too much grief I hope,” Laura said, grabbing a couple of plates and handing them over.

“You know Fury?” Natalia asked, recalculating the other woman.

“Oh, yeah. I knew Fury before he was such a hotshot. I knew him when he was still an ambitious agent gunning for the reins.” She scooped a bunch of mac and cheese into a bowl and carried it around to Cooper. “Feels like yesterday I was in the field though.”

“You were a SHIELD agent?” You asked, interest peaked.

“Yep. Had a fancy codename too. People used to call me the Mockingbird.” The three of you settled at the table, plates filled with turkey and potatoes and sauteed green beans. “Don’t tell Clint I told you this but when he joined he chased after me for months before I’d even look in his direction. Don’t let him ever fool you, he’s always been a big dork.”

“Don’t tell Clint what now?” He asked, walking in with a baby in his arms. She couldn’t have been more than six months old. Natalia’s eyes went wide, her mouth parted open. She looked as if she were about to spring from her chair. You knew she had a soft spot for kids, but didn’t know it ran this deep. You looked from her to the baby and back again, head tilting. She’d never looked that excited to see you.

“Just sharing your most embarrassing moments,” Laura said.

“Great.” He took a seat, cradling the baby in one hand and picking a fork up in the other. He pointed the utensil across the table at you and Natalia. “Just remember I’m still your superior,” he said.

“The food is great, Laura,” you said in between bites. You forced yourself to slow down. You guessed you hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you sat down. SHIELD cafeteria food was certainly less than subpar.

“Thank you. Clint, you better take notes from this one. The kid has better manners than you.”

“I’ll have you know that you chose to marry me,” he retorted.

“That I did,” she conceded, dipping her head. “And I’ve never had cause to regret it…so far.”

“So far? Clint asked. “How could you ever say no to this face?” He jutted his bottom lip out and pouted.

Laura shook her head and grinned, almond eyes sparkling. “You are a child. I’m raising three children.” She turned away from her husband. “Anyway, I was asking you two about SHIELD. Clint told me you’ve taken the place by storm.”

“It’s been good,” Natalia answered carefully. In the face of two senior agents, you had to choose your words carefully, even if one of them was retired from the organization. She donned a coy smile you recognized as one reserved for when she was chasing an objective and dipped her chin, peering up at the couple. “Everyone’s just been so great. We’ve been getting along perfectly, haven’t we?”

You took the signal and nodded in agreement. “I have found SHIELD to be an exceptional establishment.”

“I honestly think Fury would take that as an insult,” Clint said. “There’s no penalty for criticism. There’s a reason we’re spies and not soldiers.”

Natalia tilted her head, listening. You knew she gave the archer’s words considerable weight. “I think the director would agree that it’s considerably better than where we came from,” she said. “Which makes it near perfect in my eyes.”

Your leg bounced underneath the table, on the verge of taking off. To hear Natalia sing the song of American praise grated on your nerves. The worst thing was that she sounded genuine. She liked working under Fury. To you SHIELD was a pit stop on the way to a new life. For the woman who everyone underestimated and no one but you could decipher however, there was no escape plan, no next step. She’d convinced herself this was home.

“I’ll drink to that,” Clint said. “I’m where I am now because of SHIELD. And I wouldn’t trade this for the world.”

Laura practically beamed. “You sweet talker. I love you.” The feeling like you didn’t belong here roiled over you like a nauseating fever. You snapped to attention when you heard your name. “How are you adjusting?” Laura asked, eyes far too sympathetic.

“Fine,” you grimaced. You couldn’t help but think back on the lengths SHIELD had gone to glean information from you and remold you to a proper agent. In the end, they had been weaker than you. You were cast iron forged in the backwoods of Russia. You did not adjust. You did not yield.

“What does Fury have you working on?” She asked. “I know I can’t have the details anymore. I don’t think I’d want them anyhow, but...He’s getting you guys back out there all right?”

“Yeah. They call us Strike Team Alpha. We have been working with Agents Coulson and Hill to–,” you cut yourself off. You had been working to track down the Red Room and formulate a strategy to take out Dreykov. You complied enough to be deemed cooperative, but kept vital intelligence to yourself. Even still, time trickled away like sand in an hourglass. They’d have him before long, and you weren’t certain you could stick around to see it through. “We have been busy,” you pivoted. “We work with Clint a lot. Your husband is a good man.”

“That he is,” she agreed. “But don’t discount yourself either.”

“Do not worry,” you said. “I know exactly what kind of person I am.”

“We all think we know who we are,” Laura said. “But most of the time it’s not as simple as we think. Lives are multi-faceted and it’s impossible to understand every part of ourselves as we should.”

“She’s right, you know,” Clint added. “I never thought I’d work for the government, much less ever be a father. But here I am.” He looked down on the sleeping baby tucked in his arm, running a thumb over her chubby cheek.

Under the table Natalia tugged on your pinky finger, intertwining her finger with yours. She squeezed softly and the action sent a current all the way to your heart. She had a smile on her face when you looked over, cat-green eyes glimmering with hope. “See?” She asked. “We can be whoever we want to be now.”

You nodded, even if it was just to reassure the woman beside you. Without order, without someone’s heels to follow you didn’t know who you were. And the prospect of discovering you weren’t worthy of all you’d been given...well that scared you more than the thought of a bullet carving a neat hole through your brain.

Clint cleared his throat and stood, walking to the counter and grabbing more food. You stared at your now empty plate, stealing a glance back at the countertop with the dishes of food. You stamped down on the flare of desire in your stomach, sitting silently and stacking your hands in your lap. “You can have more,” Laura said gently.

You shook your head quickly. “I am alright.” You were to never take more than what was allotted.

“I’m serious, we’ll never eat all of this food. Please, take more,” she insisted.

You nodded, slowly getting up and slinking away from the wooden dining table. Natalia picked up the conversation. “So, you don’t work for SHIELD anymore then?”

“No,” Laura said. “I opted out of field work when I got pregnant with Cooper and when we decided to have Lila I took myself out of the game completely. Even being a deskbound spy has a way of taking over your life.” She picked up a napkin and wiped Cooper’s cheesy face off. “At that point I knew I had greater priorities than to SHIELD. Being a parent wouldn’t be everyone’s first choice but it was the right decision for me. We moved out here from the city a little over a year ago.”

“What do you do now?” Natalia asked.

“I’m a counselor for military personnel and veterans,” she said as you sat down again. Your foot caught on one of the legs and the table jumped a few inches.

“Sorry,” you cringed, gingerly pushing it back into place.

Cooper’s eyes went wide and he clapped his hands together with little coordination. “Again.”

“The table is pretty dense,” Laura explained. “We had trouble moving it in here and now Cooper’s made a game out of trying to push it around. Clint won’t touch it though, he’s worried he’ll hurt his back.”

“Ah,” you said, staring down at your lap. You didn’t like people knowing how strong you were. Nothing good had ever come from it. The serum was a fear tactic, a killer’s tool. The doctor’s at SHIELD had been practically drooling with questions when they found out, needles armed and ready behind their backs. “Must be lighter than you remember.”

“I’m done,” Cooper announced, slamming his spoon down.

“Cooper Barton!” Laura chastised. “What do we say when we’re done?”

The toddler grumbled, pushing his empty bowl away. “May I be excused?”

“Yes you may,” his mother answered.

He jumped from his chair and ran around the table back to the living room. Clint ruffled his thick brown hair as he sped past. “Attaboy,” he saluted.

Laura carried the dishes over to the sink, running the water and filling the basin. You stood abruptly, snapping to attention. “I can take care of it.” You’d been sitting around for too long and letting people work for you. You needed to do something with your hands. She waved you off, not sparing a glance. “Please,” you said, ants crawling beneath your skin.

She turned to you and something on your face must have given you away. “Okay. You’re not going to hear any argument from me.”

You gathered up the rest of the plates from the table and scraped the food scraps into the trash. Chore rotations had been part of the routine growing up and the repetitive nature of scrubbing plate after plate calmed you some.

“Let me help,” Clint offered, handing the baby off to Laura and joining you in the kitchen.

“Why don’t we go out to the den?” Laura offered to Natalia. “Let the boys clean up in here.” She whispered into the redhead’s ear as they left the room. You couldn’t make out the words.

You handed a clean plate to Clint for him to dry. “Thank you,” you said. The kitchen was cozy, all wooden floors and off-white countertops. The fridge stood across from the sink, decorated in crayon drawings and various magnets in the shape of dinosaurs.

“You’re welcome. Laura gets on me all the time for forgetting to clean up anyway. Figured I could earn some points while I’m home.”

“I meant for bringing us here,” you clarified. “It has been, nice.” Nice was a safe word. “You have a nice home. You were right. I think I was–hm, what is the term? Something crazy. Like when you are stuck inside for too long.”

“Stir crazy?”

“Ah yes. I was being stir crazy,” you said. “I am glad to be far away from the compound, from the job, all of it.”

“You were going stir crazy, not being stir crazy,” he said.

“Ah. I do not struggle with languages too much, but the figures of speech are always difficult to follow.”

“I’m glad you’re comfortable here. It’s nice to be able to share this with someone,” he admitted. “Fury is literally the only other person who knows about this part of my life. It’s kind of exhausting walking around pretending it doesn’t exist.”

LIttle footsteps came pounding around the corner and into the kitchen. Cooper crashed into Clint’s leg, tugging on his shirt to get his attention. “Mama said I have to help. Lila is sleeping,” he panted.

“Why don’t you dry this off for me, bud?” Clint handed him a rag and a plastic cup.

You watched the boy as he cleaned the cup, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. “I will protect your secret, Clint. I know Nata-” You caught yourself before finishing the second half of her name. “Natasha will too.” The sound still felt awkward on your tongue.

“Thank you,” he said, laying a warm hand on your shoulder. The muscles in your back tensed, pinching your shoulder blades together. You inhaled and counted to five. You didn’t pull away. “I’ve made a lot of dumb decisions in my life, and I mean a lot. Taking a chance on the two of you though…that I don’t think I’ll ever regret.”

Part of you preened at the praise, no matter who’s lips it fell from. The other part reared at the fact you responded to someone other than your designated handlers. “You are welcome,” you said.

“Done!” Cooper announced, handing the dry cup back to his father. “Can I go play now?”

“Yeah, sure bud. We’ll be right out.”

You put the last plate away and drained the sink before joining Natalia and Laura in the living room. You froze when you rounded the corner and saw Natalia. She held Lila in her arms, the most tender smile on her face as she watched over the baby. Laura knelt by the fireplace, stoking the logs before shutting the grate. The mantle held little framed photographs of the Barton family and red and green stockings hung over the fire. A Christmas tree stood in the corner, yellow lights shining like halos. A star topped the tree, inches away from scraping the ceiling. Natalia sat on the couch cradling the baby as she played with one of her fingers.

Cooper slid onto the bench at an upright piano, mashing away at the keys. “Not right now, Coop,” Clint said. “You ought to be winding down for bed. We all have to be asleep for when Santa comes, remember?” You blinked at the instrument, starstruck. Longing filled your chest like air in a balloon.

“Fine,” he whined, but listened and scooted from the bench.

Natalia swiveled her head, careful not to shift and disturb Lila. “Does one of you play?”

“I used to when I was little,” Laura said. “The piano belonged to my grandparents originally. I don’t think I could play much of anything anymore.”

“I can play.” Clint piped up.

“Twinkle Twinkle Little Star does not count, babe.”

“You know who can play?” Natalia spoke up. You imagined the expression on her face, one eyebrow raised and mouth poised in a smirk.

“Who?” Cooper asked, rounding the couch and sitting on the coffee table.

“I’ll give you a hint,” she said. “They’re in the room with us right now.”

“Is it me?” He pointed to himself, little eyebrows furrowed as deep as he could make them go.

“Nope,” Natalia answered, voice sing-song sweet.

“Is it you?” He twisted his head to the side and pointed at Natalia. She shook her head and Cooper looked around the room, eyes catching on his mother and father before landing on you. “Your friend,” he said.

“Yep,” she said. You could hear the smile in her voice.

“I knew it. I knew it,” he insisted.

You tore your gaze away from the piano as attention fell onto you. “Oh.” You waved them off. “I would not say I could play. I posed as a pianist in a hotel lobby for a mission once a long time ago. Memorized some music that is all. I am not classically trained.” You crossed your arms to ward off the unease that accompanied so many eyes on you.

“Do you still know it?” Laura asked.

“Yeah, I do.” Your peculiar memory would never allow you to forget. And you’d never tell a soul, but sitting there at a piano all night long had made you feel alive in a way nothing had before. But that couldn’t be. Musicians were jesters, and you were no fool.

“We’d love to hear it,” Laura said, picking Cooper up and settling down with him on her lap. “If you’re comfortable. I hate the thought of the piano just turning into decor.”

“Okay,” you said. You were never one to shy away from a task. “I am afraid I do not know any Christmas songs.”

“That’s all right. I’m sure whatever you know will be beautiful,” Laura encouraged.

Clint stood in the corner, eyes upturned to the ceiling. He perked up, springing into action. “I’ll be right back,” he said, jogging upstairs.

You took a seat on the polished wooden bench, stroking the keys and marveling at the instrument. You warmed up, playing a couple scales and conjuring the music in your mind’s eye. The patterns were as fresh as the day you had played them. The notes from the aged piano were by no means comparable to that of the expensive grand you’d used before, but somehow the music sounded sweeter here. As you struck the opening bars of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata you craned your neck to find Natalia’s gaze. She smiled at you and you couldn’t help but mirror the expression. Your heart picked up its beating and your head buzzed with a strange feeling. You felt as if you might explode with it.

You took to the music like you took to fighting, or dancing. You didn’t struggle with movement like other people did. Ever since you could remember you could watch and replicate. Eventually you learned to mimic a fighter’s strategy so that you could predict their next moves. Flay their neck into a gushing fountain before they could touch you.

Your foot pumped the pedal in time with your left hand and when you closed your eyes you could see the notes weaving into the dark. You liked how the music elicited harmony instead of chaos. Music didn’t scrape the skin from your knuckles or leave you lying on the floor with the world spinning around you. You changed the song, easing into Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat.

Clint came marching down the stairs, CD player in one hand and a disk in the other. He stayed quiet for a moment, busying himself with finding an outlet to plug the player into. Finding a natural way to end the song prematurely, you slowed your hands and lightened the force with which you struck the keys. Clint stood near the other end of the couch, doing his best to look patient.

“Barton?” You asked.

“I told you earlier that I was going to teach you the joy of Christmas music,” he said. “Well, here you go. Now you can play along and really appreciate the music.” He knelt down and pressed the play button.

An easy tune filled the living room, bathing all in attendance in a sense of peace. Time seemed to slow, and for a moment, you forgot about the world outside of the farmhouse. All that mattered was the family reaching out in embrace, two parents and a little boy. Their smiles shone brighter than the blazing fire in the hearth. You watched the woman settled on the couch, absorbed by the baby in her arms. She looked up at you as you traced the curve of her jaw with your eyes. Natalia’s pupils were wide when she met your gaze, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. You looked away first to stare at the piano instead, focusing on the music instead of the way your cheeks warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.

You caught onto the song as it began to repeat, taking a shallow breath before following along. Just like with anything else music obeyed a pattern. Once you unlocked the way the parts fit together, the rest of the song revealed itself to you. All you had to do was continue the line of code. The next track played, prompting Cooper to sing along. Imperfection had never sounded so flawless.

The CD turned out song after song and you let yourself get lost in the game. You didn’t recognize any of the pieces, but Christmas music had a distinctive charm to it. Some might call it magical. You sat back for the first thirty seconds of each song, picking out the tempo and key. The notes charged your hands with energy which you poured out into the latter half of the song. Each one was unique, a victorious smile forming on your face when you pulled together the entire arrangement in your head.

When the tracklist ended you took a breath, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. Laura took Lila from Natalia, holding her tight against her shoulder. Her hand, a mother’s hand, rested on the sleeping baby’s back. “I’m going to put her down,” she said, just loud enough to be heard.

“Hey bud.” Clint gently shook Cooper awake from where he’d fallen asleep on the couch against his leg. “It’s time to brush our teeth and go to bed.”

The boy only turned further into Clint’s body, refusing to be stirred.

Clint stood and picked him up. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

Only after his footsteps had receded upstairs did either one of you move. Natalia pushed herself from the couch and stretched. Her arms extended toward the ceiling with a dancer’s grace. She took a seat next to you on the bench and laid her head on your shoulder. “That was amazing,” she said. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“That is all you,” you said. “I did not know you were so good with babies.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “When Laura asked me to hold her I was so nervous at first. I thought I might drop her or pinch her or that I’d make her cry.” She lifted her head, her gaze soft as a lamb’s. You wanted to preserve it so that no one may ever taint it, including from yourself. “But she was okay.”

“That is because you are a good person. They say babies have a sixth sense for that sort of thing. Like dogs.”

“But, I’ve hurt so many people,” she said, voice fragile like a twig in a storm. “I’m afraid…I'm afraid I’ll never be able to redeem myself.”

“No. Do not say that, Natalia. You are the best person I know. The fact you care so much means you are already there.” You huffed a quick exhale. “I think you are the only person who cannot see how big your heart is.”

“They say the holidays are for spending time with the people you love the most,” she whispered, tracing the lines on your palm with her finger.

You stayed quiet.

“I’m glad that I’m here with you,” she said.

Another window, another chance to dive off the deep end. I think I’m in love with you, you thought. The laws of society had been drilled into your head by the Madames and reinforced by what little exposure of the world you’d received. Natalia stood in defiance to all of them. She was a sapling in a field of ash, and refused to be uprooted. She turned to grace like you turned to anger. She was infecting you, and you couldn’t push her away.

Footsteps sounded down the stairs and you shut your previously parted mouth. The words scattered into the recesses of your throat. “Hey guys,” Clint said. “The kids are down and Laura and I still have a lot of Santa’s work to do. You’re more than welcome to stay down here and watch TV or whatever. We’ll be around. Just holler if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Natalia said. “Thank you.” He turned to go. “And Clint. Merry Christmas.” She smiled.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, giving a sharp nod.

You yawned. Between the food and the warmth and the music, tiredness had snuck up on you. “Let’s go upstairs,” Natalia said.

“Okay.” You left the piano behind and made your way upstairs. You brushed your teeth and splashed water on your face in the hall bathroom. The shower curtain was adorned with colorful flaming monster trucks and a little blue step stool gave height before the sink. Cooper must have primary use of this one.

Natalia sat on the edge of the mattress in the bedroom, untangling her braid with deft fingers. You stole a pillow and dropped it on the floor on the other side near the door. “What are you doing?” She asked.

“I am going to sleep.” You didn’t meet her eyes.

“Why are you being weird? We’ve slept in the same bed before,” she said.

“That was different,” you insisted.

“How so?” She asked, infuriatingly patient.

You crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your shoulders back, shadows of old handlers and teachers flickering behind your eyes. “Because…because there were lines before. Ones we did not cross.” Emotional ones. “It was survival. You were a warm body.”

A smudge of hurt clouded over Natalia’s bright eyes. She blinked and it disappeared. “You don’t mean that.”

You paced the length of the room, wishing you could run farther. You meant it and you also didn’t. “Of course not. I am sorry,” you breathed.

“Then come here. All we’re doing is sleeping. I’m not letting you stay on the floor like a dog.” She combed through her hair, waves of red cascading down past her shoulders.

Except it wasn’t just sleeping. If you indulged in this vice once you’d never want to quit it. You’d paw desperately at her door every night. You shook your head and backed away like a spooked horse. “I have slept in worse places.”

“Is it me?” She asked, shoulders slumping with the words. “Do you not trust me?”

“No. No, it is not you.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

You shook your head as if to fling the question away. The problem was that you weren’t cut out for relationships of any kind. Didn’t she know how dangerous you were? Shouldn’t she know that you bit? “There is no problem.”

“I know you well enough to know when you’re not telling me something.” You started to get the feeling this wasn’t really about where you slept anymore.

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” You tried, rubbing furiously at the back of your head.

“No. I hate feeling like you’re not comfortable around me,” she said. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“No. I trust you with my life. You know that.” Your voice cracked at the end. It was never her fault, and you hated yourself for not being able to be what she needed. To reassure and support her. To be normal.

“Then please, tell me what’s going on.”

“I–”

“What are you so afraid of?” She asked the question at barely more than a whisper, but the words lit a spark in you like a gunshot.

“Leave it Natalia,” you commanded in Russian, spinning on your heel. You fixed her with a cold stare, no longer seeing her as you should be. Perched on the bed sat the Black Widow, and she had broken rank.

“No,” she scolded, rising to meet the challenge. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. We are not in the Red Room. Do you understand?” Anyone else and you would have seized them and smacked them clean across the cheek. Anyone else and they’d have a dozen fresh bruises to remind them of their place. But this was Natalia. And you’d never hurt Natalia. You clenched your jaw and drew your lips back, fighting the urge to pound the wall in.

“I hate you.” You felt as if you’d just barely outran an onslaught of attackers, and they were still watching.

“No you don’t,” she said, face still as marble and expressive as a wall of stone.

“Why are you here? Why will you not leave? You are the reason I am like this,” you said, voice cracking as a growing child's did. If it wasn’t for her you’d be perfect, you knew it. Instead she tempted you down a path of distraction, convinced you to embrace weakness.

“I’m here because I will always stand beside you. Always,” she said as if it was all too simple.

“But you left. You were going to die and leave me alone.” Defecting to SHIELD had not been her original plan. Letting them kill her was. Lucky it had been Clint Barton behind the trigger that night. “And now I am stuck here because of you and I hate it.”

“You feel stuck?” For a second the wall slipped and a flash of hurt escaped Natalia’s gaze.

“Yes,” you said. “I do. You ruined my life.” Red hot anger ignited itself within you. And it was all aimed at the woman before you.

“I didn’t make you do anything. I never have,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re here because you know deep down that the Red Room is an awful place. A place that takes little children and beats them into weapons.”

“It made us strong.”

“It broke us.”

You grimaced and kicked aimlessly at the ground. “I still cannot stand it here.” The wrath began to dissipate. Shame swelled to take its place.

“We are safer now than we ever have been.”

“I cannot trust you. You are a Widow. You–You are lying to me. You always have been.” Paranoia twisted smiles into smirks, kind words into carefully crafted scalpels. She’d learn all of your weaknesses and leave you gutted on top of her rotting pile of victims.

“I am not a Widow. Not anymore. Do you understand?”

You grunted an acknowledgement.

“Markov.” She called your surname. “Yes or no.”

“Yes,” you ground out. “I understand.” Regret pooled in your belly like bile. She had asked what you were so afraid of and you’d gone and shown her. The closer Natalia became the less control you felt you had. Emotions twisted together in a whirlwind inside your head, mutating into a throbbing mass of anger. Natalia handled her emotions, always choosing the correct words and wearing the face she wanted people to see. Dreykov had taught you that pretty words were for the Widows and the women. Unchecked, the rage festered until your hands shook with it. “I do not want to hurt you,” you said, switching back to English with an accent hanging heavy over the words.

“I know,” she sighed. “But you do, you know. When you lash out at me it hurts.”

A dozen excuses ran through your head. None of them even came close to making it up. You were just a bad person. “This is why you have to let me sleep on the floor.” You felt as though you’d finally been allowed to regain control of your body after some raging force had overtaken you. It left you dizzy with the shame of your words.

Natalia didn’t say anything. Her green gaze bore straight through you. Vulnerability raked at your spine as if she held your bleeding heart in her fist.

“Please,” you added. You did not beg.

“You can sleep on the floor,” she relented. The cool release of relief soothed your aching mind. “But you have to promise me something.”

“Okay.”

“Promise me that when we get back you’ll work on talking through whatever’s going on in your mind. If not with me that’s fine. But you have to talk to someone.”

The offer was steep. The urge to shut it all in was more than an instinct. Being guarded was the key to your survival. “Fine.” If tearing yourself apart meant Natalia could find peace, you would rip the flesh away yourself. “I can do that.”

She blinked as if she hadn’t expected you to agree. “Here.” She held out a blanket that had been folded at the end of the bed.

“Thank you.” You shut off the light and laid on the floor. For a moment before your eyes adjusted you couldn’t see a thing besides pitch black. Your heart thundered in your chest as shapes began to fall back into focus. The rectangle dresser, the thick bed frame, the moonlight filtering in through the blinds on the window. Covered in the rather large blanket and supported by the carpeted floor you fell asleep.

You dreamt most nights. Vivid atrocities doused in blood and the screams of pigs to the slaughter. The tip of a sword, plunged through the hearts of the guilty and innocent alike. A metal fist, knocking you sideways and ramming you in the face until your eyes swelled shut. Never stopping until its master called it off. Faceless bodies behind surgical masks, watching as you writhed under a spotlight like a bug under a magnifying glass. A burn beneath your skin so violent your jaw locked with the pain and you felt as if you couldn’t even draw the tiniest of breaths.

None of them held a candle to the nightmare that cursed you tonight. It had visited since you were small, and it came often. Not just the feeling, but the memory of being suspended in limbo.

Your limbs froze, even your neck refused to lift your head as you stared at a single spot on the popcorn ceiling. The walls, the fear-soaked smell of your own sweat, the buzz of a lamp to your right all closed in on you. You couldn’t cry, you couldn’t speak, it took everything you had just to breathe.

Time stretched on and all you could do was lay there and stare at the ceiling. You tried to focus on the drone of the lamp instead of the heavy panting a foot away from you. But you never could completely. Your chest constricted with every breath but never reached the point of constriction. Your stomach crackled with repulsion, but bile never rose into your throat. You forever hung teetering on the edge, violation wrapped around your frail body.

I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m trapped. I’m–

Your eyes flew open and you sat up, knocking skulls with someone else. A strangled noise leapt from your mouth into the silent air. No buzzing lamp. No heavy breathing besides your own. Your limbs had become tangled in a blanket and you thrashed to free yourself.

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name. The word lassoed your mind and hauled you to the present. Concerned green eyes peered at you in the dark. You knew those eyes. For a second you imagined they belonged to a child no older than thirteen. She wasn’t supposed to be in your room. She wasn’t supposed to see you like this. “What are you doing in here?” You thrust your hand out to keep her away. “Get out.”

“Hey,” Natalia said, voice as gentle as the evening breeze. Her kindness would get her killed. She spoke your name again and the illusion dissolved some more. “You’re safe. You were dreaming. We’re at Clint Barton’s house in Iowa.”

You got to your feet on shaky legs, looking through the woman in front of you. The room around you was not the one in the lingering dream and not the one you grew up sleeping in.

A cool hand found your cheek and tilted your gaze down. “Come back,” Natalia said.

The shadows fled, no match for her. Not truly gone, but subdued for now. “I am sorry I woke you,” you said.

“Don’t apologize.” She drew a breath. “I was awake anyways.”

“I guess sleep is not especially kind to either of us.”

“No. I guess not.”

She pulled away, stepping into the splash of moonlight on the wall. You thought she looked like an angel, or maybe a ghost. Either way she looked ethereal, as if she might turn to smoke if you reached out to touch her.

“I thought you said you’d grown out of them,” she whispered, facing the light, and away from where you hunkered out of its reach.

Your jaw twitched. “I lied.”

She nodded to herself. Disappointed but not surprised. You thought she might berate you for it, present a list of the consequences until they were seared into your brain. Instead she just extended a hand and said, “Come here.”

You fell into her and let her pull you onto the edge of the bed. You sat there, feet planted on the floor. “I hope I did not wake anyone else,” you said.

“You didn’t,” she said, settling down beside you. “You were so quiet. I almost didn’t notice something was wrong.”

“What happened?”

“I just…had the feeling something was wrong. That I needed to check on you.” She turned your forearm up and traced her thumb over the pulse point on your wrist. “Your forehead was all sweaty and you were breathing super fast. You seemed so scared.”

“I am okay,” you said.

“It’s okay to not be sometimes. I think I’m starting to learn that.”

“I really am.” You wanted to say more. You chewed on your lip, staring at the door as if it could tell you what to do. Natalia, so small yet stronger than you in a million ways. She deserved to know how much she meant to you. “I am always more than okay when you are with me. You make me feel safe.”

“Do you mean it?” Her eyes met yours, pupils blown amidst the fern green iris. You wondered if it was because of you or the dark.

“Yes,” you said. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I think…I would go through all of it again just to keep you.”

“I don’t know if I’m worth that much.” You wished she could see herself through your eyes so that she understood.

“Natalia Romanova, you are worth the entire world.” Hesitantly you leaned over and kissed her temple, lips just grazing the soft skin. You pulled away, scanning her face for any sign of reproach. “Was that okay?”

“It was more than okay,” she said. She leaned her weight against you, shoulders pressing into each other.

You sat like that for a while, listening to the sound of her gentle breathing and basking in the peaceful moment. Maybe if you could remember how you felt now you could summon the strength to serve SHIELD. You allowed your mind to wander to places you normally didn’t entertain. Someday you and Natalia would have your own place like this. A bubble no one else could touch where you could sit just like this every night. You would never have it though, only the filmy mirage of pretense.

Natalia moved to the other side of the bed, laying down on her side. “Come lay down with me,” she said.

You didn’t want to return to the floor, but you weren’t sure you could stay on the bed either.

“Please.” Behind you the best dipped and a pair of arms slid around you. One of her hands came to rest right above your heart. She tucked her chin into the space between your neck and shoulder and involuntarily, you dropped your head against hers. “It is Christmas after all.”

Natalia tugged you down and you let her, lowering yourself until your back was flush against the mattress and your head lay in her lap. You refused to move your legs, leaving them draped over the side. “I am so sorry for the things I said earlier. I did not mean it.” Shame stabbed at your lungs and behind your eyes. Your jaw ached with it, and your tongue was sour with traces of your own bitterness.

“It’s okay. I understand,” she said. You didn’t deserve her tenderness.

“You should not have to, Natalia. It is not fair for you to deal with.”

“Remember when we promised each other we’d never leave the other one alone?”

You huffed a dry laugh. “We could not have been more than fourteen years old.”

“So more than old enough to know what we were saying,” she countered.

“It will happen again,” you said, tone darkening.

“And I’ll be there when it does.”

“I cannot control it. Sometimes things happen and I feel everyone is out to get me.” You flicked your gaze away from her face. “Then the shouting and the hateful words and the rage comes. I do things I cannot take back.”

“That’s why you need people who know that that isn’t really you. Who know you’re kind and loyal to the bone. Who will help you heal.”

“I am not sick,” you insisted.

“I know. But we need to understand whatever this is,” she said. “Before it gets you into trouble with the wrong people.”

You took a deep breath, ribs shuddering like the bars of a rusted cage. “I am scared,” you whispered.

Natalia ran a calloused hand across your cheek. “I know,” she said. “Just know you’re not alone. We’ll figure this out together.”

You nodded your head, afraid that speaking might reveal the lump in your throat.

“Come on, let’s get some rest,” she said, tugging on the collar of your shirt.

“You are unbelievable,” you mumbled.

“What happened to me being the best person ever?”

“You can be both.”

She peered down at you, eyes alight with mischief. “I haven’t heard a ‘no’.”

Exhaustion had broken down your resolve, and you’d have a better chance of sleeping through the rest of the night in the bed. “Okay.” Your agreement had nothing to do with the way Natalia blinked slowly at you, nor the way she had taken to sifting her fingers through your hair.

“Finally,” she said, lips quirking up in a victorious smile. “You’re almost as stubborn as me. Not quite though.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you said, pushing yourself fully onto the bed. “Do not make me change my mind.”

You laid down and Natalia settled her head on your chest. “You’re so warm,” she said.

“Is that why you wanted me up here? Cause you were cold?”

“No,” she said as she pressed her cheek further into your collarbone. “Go to sleep.”

“Goodnight Natalia.”

“Goodnight.”

You woke in the morning not to the terror of memory infiltrating your mind but to sunlight illuminating the space before your eyelids. You blinked rapidly, clearing away the morning bleariness. You couldn't recall the last time you had started your day after sunup.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” Natalia said, still buried into your side. Under the sheet her legs tangled up in yours.

You yawned, stretching your arms above your head. “Have you been awake long?”

“No,” she said. “Just a few minutes maybe. I think we should get up though. I imagine Cooper will be awake soon. It would be cruel to keep him waiting. I remember how exciting Christmas morning was.” She said, sounding far away. “It wasn’t real, but…there is something really magical about this time of year.”

You rubbed gentle circles on her upper back in between her shoulder blades where you knew she held tension. “It is real now, no? For the Bartons and for us, Christmas means something?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, crinkles around her eyes when she looked at you. “This is real.” You had a feeling she wasn’t referring to the holidays anymore.

“Before we go downstairs I have something for you,” you said. You palmed the thin silver necklace that had been stored in your bag. “Turn around and close your eyes.”

“Should I be nervous?” She asked as she faced away from you.

“No, no.” You clasped the chain around her neck. “Okay you can look now.”

Natalia examined the charm, cupping it in her hand. “I um—I didn’t get you anything.”

“And you do not need to,” you said. “You are all I could ever want.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Clint took me out. I was saving it for the right time. Now seemed perfect.” You looked at the little silver sword strung hilt to blade tip along the necklace. Your signature weapon. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she said, smiling up at you in a way that made your head go empty and quiet. You felt as if everything might be okay when she smiled at you.

“It is, uh…It is to remind you that I am always on your side. That I am always with you even when it may seem like I am not.” Your heart pounded with fear she may reject the gift. She would cast it aside, and you with it.

“It’s perfect,” she said instead. “You’re perfect.”

“Merry Christmas Natalia.”

“Merry Christmas.”

A/N: The drive from D.C. to Iowa is definitely NOT doable in the time they make it in the story.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader

183 notes · View notes

lunaroserites · 3 months

Text

Art and Ice - Nicknames

Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Characters: Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Loki, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, a lot of the avengers cast is mentioned.

Summery: Bucky and MC meet officially for the first time!

This might a 2 or 3 parter (it's gonna be more because cannot help myself). College AU, our boy Bucky is on the hockey team, and reader is an art major (because I love that trope and couldn't help myself)

Warnings: Not beta'd! All mistakes are my own. Friends fluff, swearing I think, mentions of college students being college students. Bit of friendly harmless flirting between friends. Derogatory use of the word puck bunny. Bucky is a playboy. Mention of drugs (No use, just a couple comments). Fighting, and mentions of attempted drugging at a party.

Word Court: 2957

Likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!

Please do not repost, translate or otherwise copy my work elsewhere, without my express permission, thank you! Lunaroserites on tumblr and ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“I can’t do this,” You groaned looking down at the few sketches you’ve managed to produce since you refused to step foot back into the hockey arena again. You could feel the pit you were falling into already growing, and it was all because of a certain fluffy haired, sea-blue eyed hockey player.

“You can do this and you will do this darling,” Loki drawled out as he spoke with a hint of annoyance. He was laying down with his leg dangled off the side of the fountain in the student commons, an open area full of windows and natural light. His other leg was propped up and bent at the knee which you were using as a back rest. You side eyed him begrudgingly.

“This is awful,” you leaned your head back against his knee.

“Well don’t look now, but awful just entered the commons,” you followed Loki’s gaze and noticed Barnes and a couple of the other players entering the area. A couple girls were making their way over to them as they placed their bags down and sat at a bar table. Barnes' eyes swept the commons and caught your gaze, he stopped and squinted and you looked down instantly.

He nudged Wilson with his elbow, who made an annoyed noise, “what Bucky?” Bucky tipped his chin in your direction, Wilson’s eyes followed and he stared for a couple seconds. “Wait, is that the girl from the rink?” Bucky nodded, thinking the same thing. He couldn’t get your eyes out of his head, they were so expressive from the few glimpses he had of them. “She’s hanging out with Odinson’s brother,” the younger Odinson was usually present at the parties his brother threw but rarely participated in anything. Usually hiding away in a corner or in his room reading.

“I think so,” Bucky stood and threw his bag over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Wilson hissed.

“To say hello,” Bucky gave him his dazzling smile.

Loki noticed Barnes coming toward you two before you did, your head was down as you focused on the drawing you were working on, “trouble is heading our direction,” Loki said lowly, you looked up without lifting your head and saw Barnes striding in your direction. You swallowed thickly and kept your head down, he might just be walking in this direction for another reason. He couldn’t pick you out in a crowd, impossible, he only saw you twice.

“Excuse me,” your dreams were dashed as you saw the toes of his shoes and his frame created a shadow over your sketchbook. “I couldn’t help but notice you were at the rink a week ago,” he said, “and I know every pretty girl that hangs out there, can’t say I know you,” he said with an air of arrogance. You scoffed at him, side eyeing Loki who had his book covering his mouth, but you could feel the slight tremble from his contained amusement.

“I think you’re mistaken,” you said in a hushed tone.

“I don’t think so, you have the same hair and,” his hand snatched the sketch book from you. “Sketch book,” you jumped startled at the sudden invasion of privacy.

“Hey give that back,” you snapped harshly. Reaching to take the book back, he kept it from your reach easily. You stood now and pushed his outstretched hand out of the way to grab the book from his other hand. Your chest pressed up against his as you reached desperately for the sketchbook. “I said give it back.”

“Ah baby, don’t be like that,” your nose scrunched up and you narrowed your eyes at him, he had a playful expression on his face and his eyes were gleaming with mischief as he gazed down at you.

“I’m not your baby,” you said sternly. “And give me my sketchbook back please, now.” You seethed. His eyes flicked to you for a moment before flicking to the open drawing.

“You know that certainly looks like me, I know I have admirers. But no one has ever drawn me,” he mused as he continued to keep the book from your grasp. You looked at Loki who was already sitting up and standing.

“Give it back to her Barnes,” Loki's tone was tense, and stern. “She asked you nicely.”

Barnes' eyes snapped from the book to Loki in an instant and he turned to fully face Loki. They stood at the same height, but Barnes was stockier. “What are you gonna do about it Odinson,” Barnes taunted.

“Don’t be a child. You wouldn’t want to cause a scene,” Loki said in a tone with underlying intent. “You don’t need the coach to hear about another incident,” Loki said knowingly. You watched the tense exchange between the two men with wide eyes, the tension palpable. A few more tense seconds and Barnes relented, lifting his hands up in mock surrender.

“Whatever prick,” Barnes spat at Loki. “You ever want to have some real fun, you know where to find me sugar” he winked and handed the sketch book to Loki and looked at you once more, his eyes roving over your body. Your eyes widened at his choice of words, taken slightly back by how hostile he became when Loki intervened.

Loki handed you back your sketchbook before putting a hand on your back and leading you the opposite direction of Barnes, you looked over your shoulder quickly before picking up the pace to match Loki.

Once sufficiently far away from the commons you stopped and looked up at Loki.

“What was that?” You asked. You know Loki knew Bucky, hell you’d seen him at Thor’s parties before. Usually you would be in Loki's room with him when you attended them, disliking them as much as he did.

“Barnes being Barnes,” Loki said with a slightly annoyed tone. “He’s got a rap sheet. One more complaint or misbehavior and he’s benched for the rest of the season,” Loki stated. “That doesn’t look great for an NHL prospect.” You nodded as you listened to him speak.

“Thank you,” you said softly as you hugged your sketch pad to your chest.

“It’s no problem darling,” he said back sweetly. “Now, you need to get back to the rink and get your project together.” You huffed and groaned.

“You had to ruin it,” you whined and threw your head back. “I’ll go with Nat to the next practice,” you relented and stared up at Loki.

Loki smiled and patted the top of your head “perfect darling.” You glared at him for a moment before shaking your head.

~The next day~

You sighed as Nat dragged you to the rink, making sure you had the appropriate clothing on this time so you couldn’t duck out randomly.

“This is the worst,” you groaned as you sunk into the hard plastic seats and covered your face with your hands.

“Stop whining, it’s fine,” Nat sat next to you and smiled at Clint who skated up to the glass. He waved at her and you before skating backwards, showing off. Nat was like a giggly school girl as she watched him. You rolled your eyes and smirked at her.

You propped your sketch pad on the arm of the seat and hunched over to draw. Your eyes trained on the skates as the players drifted by. The movement of the blades over the ice was incredible. You had stayed up and researched how the skating part actually worked, “Nat? Did you know the reason they glide like that?” You said absently as you focused on the sketch you're doing. She hummed in acknowledgment, “the blade of skate melts a very thin layer of the surface ice and they glide on the water from the melt,” you muttered.

“Interesting, no I didn’t,” Nat said back as she watched her man snipe a puck into the net. You were watching as well, sketching the stick as he flicked it effortlessly and the puck soaring through the air. Silence fell over you two once again as you focused on the paper before you.

That silence was quickly ruined by someone slamming into the boards in front of you and you yelped in surprise. You squinted at the body in front of you and then glared at him. Barnes. He was saying something but you couldn’t quite hear him, pointing to your ear and then shrugging to indicate you couldn’t hear him. He made some obscene gestures before skating away. You rolled your eyes and went back to drawing once again.

Then someone else banged on the glass making it shake. You looked up and glared, but this time it wasn’t Barnes, his teammate, “Wilson,” Nat said as you stared at him.

Wilson was pointing toward the center of the rink where Barnes was skating effortlessly, moving beautifully on the ice. He moved the puck back and forth quickly causing the defenceman to stumble and he scored on the net. He lifted his hand up in the air and spun on one foot. He pointed his gloved hands at you, you rolled your eyes in response.

As much as you hated to admit it, Barnes' movement was too captivating to not want to draw. “He might be a prick, but damn he can skate,” Nat voiced your thoughts.

“He’s handsome too,” you regretted the words the second they spilled out. Nat turned her head and raised her brow at you, a sly smile on her lips. “No, I don’t mean I think he’s handsome. He’s just you know, got that natural handsomeness to him,” you stammered. “Oh god, I’m making it worse,” you buried your face in your hands. Nat laughed a deep bellied laugh while patting your shoulder.

“No, you’re right. He’s handsome. And he knows it. That makes it worse,” Nat said, her tone a little sour. You nodded in agreement, he then flew past you two, you both rolled your eyes.

Practice ended and you followed Nat to the wait for Clint. She asked you to join them for pizza after practice. Standing in a hallway that leads to the locker room you were showing her what you drew that night.

“Ah, my number one admirer,” his voice rang out, you wanted the floor to swallow you whole. “Did you get my good side,” he asked. You rolled your eyes at him for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

“You only have good sides,” a whiny voice said and you cringed. Nat mirroring your expression but being much more subtle you’re sure.

“Hey babe,” Clint said as he wrapped his arm around Nat and kissed her temple. “Barnes,” he tipped his head toward his teammate.

“Barton,” Barnes said back, “you gonna introduce me to your friend?”

“Uh, she’s Nat's friend,” Clint said.

You shook your head and dismissed Clint with a smile.

“My name is…”

“I like Bunny,” Barnes cut you off suddenly. “I don’t do names for pretty ladies,” he stated. The girl hanging off his arm made a disgruntled noise and looked taken back by his open flirtation while she was right there. You felt a little bad for her.

“Nuh uh, I’m not one of those puck bunnies,” your eyes flicked to the girl hanging off his arm apologetically.

“Never said you were Sketch,” you scrunch your nose at the nickname.

“Original,” you sassed.

“I’ll figure one out,” he affirmed, you crossed your arms over your chest and shook your head.

“God you’re insufferable,” you muttered, glowering at him.

“Is he always like that?” You asked as you sat down across from Nat and Clint in the booth at the pizza place. It was a local spot, well loved by the students that populated the town.

“Barnes?” Clint as he took a bite of his pizza, you nodded.

“Yeah, he’s all talk. He’s practically harmless,” you raised an eyebrow at Clint. “Off the ice, he’s hell on it.” You nodded. “So what’s the project you’re working on?” He asked.

“Movement, human movement. My art prof has a vendetta against me so I’m trying to go outside the box. Pietro offered to let me do the project on him at the track. But Prof. Grace would just say I made the safe choice,” I groaned. “And football season is over so I couldn’t do it on Thor.” Clint was familiar with Peitro and Wanda since they hung around Nat, same as Thor since the sports teams tended to run in the same circles outside games.

“Right, your roommates,” he nodded. You lived with Wanda and Pietro since the start of university, being you were good friends with them. You had met Nat your first year and subsequently met Clint when they started dated that same year. “You’re friends with Thor's brother aren’t you?” You nodded and smiled.

“Yeah, best friends since middle school,” you nodded. “So by extension I’ve known Thor and Hela since then as well,” you added afterwards.

“Why did you pick hockey?” You shrugged.

“Nat suggested I come and watch a practice. You guys move so fluidly on the ice it was easy to draw,” you answered simply, eating another piece of pizza. “And frustratingly Barnes is incredibly talented and moves beautifully, I might have to ask him if I can make him my focus,” you groaned and rubbed your temples. “But he’s insufferable.”

Clint let out a loud laugh at that and nodded, “he can be. He’s honestly not that bad once you can get past the jock personality.” You rolled your eyes.

“That’s like saying cocaine isn’t bad once you get past the cocaine,” you laughed. “I’m pretty sure the jock personality is just him.”

“Eh, he’s cocky, but he’s earned it. He’s pretty damn good,” Clint said.

The rest of the evening passed quickly as conversation drifted from the brunette that had been clouding your thoughts.

“Thanks for the lift,” you waved as Clint and Nat drove away. You quickly climbed the steps to your flat and entered.

“Wanda, Pietro?” You called as you dropped your keys in the bowl at the entrance.

“Living room princessa,” Pietro called sweetly.

“What’s you guys watching?” You asked as you walked into the living, stripping your jacket off.

“Silent hill,” Wanda answered.

“The one with Kit Harington?” She nodded, you smiled and joined them on the couch.

“How was practice?” Wanda asked softly.

“It was good, I’m going to ask Barnes if I make him the focus. And I think a bullet in the thigh would be easier to deal with than him,” you sighed leaning your head back against the couch. “I was considering asking Loki to come with me when I asked him. But I don’t think that’s a good idea anymore,” you muttered.

“Why's that?” Pietro asked.

“They seem to have some kinda beef,” you shrugged. “He wouldn’t get into it,” you said. “Bucky’s a player, Loki isn’t a fan of that. And he’s been around him at parties. He’s apparently one incident away from being benched for the season.” Pietro seemed to nod knowingly.

“I’m not surprised, he’s a bit hot headed. Gotten into a few fights with people. Usually with good intentions though. Seen him knock a dude out flat on his ass for trying to drug a girl at a party. He also tends to back-talk instructors,” Pietro said. “He doesn’t seem like a bad dude. A little cocky and a bit of a flirt. Seems harmless enough.” You nodded at Pietro’s explanation and watched the rest of the movie with them in silence.

You texted Loki to ask why he didn’t like Bucky. Curiosity getting the better of you. His answer came back in a couple short paragraphs.

He seems like trouble.

Like he can’t be stable for one week.

He looks down on the arts pretty openly as well. Well at least English.

And he was rude to Helena as well a couple times.

You nodded as you read the series of texts. Loki was pretty traditional and he was never a fan of bouncing from one girl to another. Bucky was very open about doing that.

He also gets pretty obnoxious at parties.

He’s had a few scandals as well. Skipping out on one girl to be with another. Bit of a womanizer.

Why?

You quickly typed back you were curious because he was mostly likely going to be the focus for your project.

I figured he would. Guys a prick but he’s good at what he does.

Everyone said that. From what you’ve seen he was pretty good at hockey, not that you could judge that very well. But there was more to life than a sport. You typed a quick thanks back and wished Loki a goodnight.

Wanda and Pietro both went to bed and you stayed curled up on the couch. You decided to do some research yourself. Typing Bucky’s name into the search engine, his stats came up, and few hockey related awards he’s won. Some articles about how good of a prospect he was. His draft position whatever that meant. Him and Steve were drafted together from what you could tell.

Then you saw a Reddit thread from your school's Reddit talking about him, the fights he’s been in, his lack of care for academics and some people fighting about him being their boyfriend and how he was a cheating piece of shit. He apparently got into an altercation with someone on the Polo team and he and the captain of your school's rival hockey team got into a pretty bad fight after a game last year.

Your eyes widened as you read about the fight Pietro mentioned, he was lucky the guy's family didn’t press charges from how badly Bucky beat him. Part of you knew that behavior wasn’t acceptable, but a smaller needy part of you found it insanely hot how far he went to protect the girl the dude tried to drug. You shook your head and closed the search and went to bed. You would ask him tomorrow after practice, which Nat was dragging you too again.

Taglist: @vicmc624

Feel free you send me a message if you have a request or would like more, or would like to be added to the tag list <3

Chapter 3

#bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fluff #marvel #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #hockeyplayer!bucky x artist!reader #college!bucky #college au #bucky barns fanfiction #hockey fic #college fic

115 notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 days

Note

AITA for watching a movie with my boyfriend in the apartment after my roommate went through a bad breakup? (🧌 so I can find it later)

My roommate (B, 19f) and I (19f) have been at each others throats for as long as we have lived together, but recently it got worse when her boyfriend (22m), M, was revealed to be not only a cheater but a predator who takes photos of women at his place of work. Before this incident, B and I had not spoken for month and she was overtly hostile - going as far as inviting over her boyfriend to spend the night when she knew I could not stand him.

When they broke up, she apologized for her behavior and asked for my friendship back. For as long as B and M have been together I have not liked him. On the night of my birthday she allowed him to spend the night without asking me, as they were both too drunk to drive when she brought up the question (we had previously discussed and agreed that all overnight guests should be cleared with whoever was home). i couldnt say no due to their state of intoxication. they proceeded to loudly have sex that could be heard in all the apartment. I asked he not spend the night after that, but was fine with day visits. She constantly asked, so I agreed on the condition that communal spaces weren’t violated.

Recently she and him broke up, after she found out that he was cheating in a variety of ways and taking photos of women and of her while he was working and they first met (they were coworkers, she was underage at the time). She knew he was a sex addict, but had not thought it would lead to him cheating. She was devastated, understandably, and banned men from the apartment for a while and I obliged her for a few weeks. I now have a boyfriend (19 m) who comes over to watch movies and hang out, never violating common areas or spending the night if she is over. She recently got back together with him and has kept the banning of all men from the apartment yet spends nights at Ms place. If my boyfriend and I are watching a movie in the common room, she will fake cry in the kitchen or slam doors for the entirety of the film before going to her exes house or asking us to leave the apartment. If my boyfriend and I are sitting in the kitchen, she will slam cabinets and fake cry. It’s endless.

She recently left for a trip without informing me and when I saw she was back in the state I gave her a heads up about the fact that my boyfriend was going to stay over, as she had not told me to expect her back. She accused me of violating her boundaries and when I mentioned the past violation of mine she told me that she was currently going through a tough time in her life. I’ve asked her and she said there was nothing against my boyfriend specifically it’s all men. She moves out in a few months but at this point she’s stealing things, moving my stuff and going into my room when I’m not home.

Am I the asshole for continuing to have him over and not giving in to her behavior and demands?

#aita #am i the asshole

56 notes · View notes

sensei-venus · 5 months

Note

Xolo Maridueña x midsized!fem reader enemies to lovers smut? 💜😼

(Unedited) (Borderline Smut, Enemies to Lovers, Cussing, Xolo being a dick, Making Out, Fingering.) (P2 TBA)

“For the hundredth time no Xolo! You can’t borrow my practice board! Go ask one of the assistants to go get you one. This is mine, I brought it from home.” Reader practically screamed from across the court yard. She stomped away from the main set, her personal breaking board in hand.

The staff on hand watched the whole situation go down in only a matter of minutes. No one had the nerve to try and get between the two. Their bickering was a common thing on and off set. Almost everyone had grown accustom to their weird behavior.

Every incident seemed to start with Xolo doing something to get on Reader’s bad side. He would try and do the smallest things to piss her off when ever he could. Every chance he could he did something.

Taking her things, pranking her with Jacob, saying mean things, taunting her on set , making her mess up scenes just to laugh at her. He would constantly pester her over tiny things knowing what ever he was doing would make her mad or upset.

The minute she showed up to work on set he seemed to have his eyes on her. It was almost as if he made it a personal mission to become her enemy. Just about everyone was surprised at his actions. It wasn’t like Xolo to be so mean to someone and so randomly at that. At times even Jacob and Tanner had to say something to him about his nasty behavior.

After a while they just gave up on trying to stop him.

He never showed any signs of stoping his new mean nature to the new chubby girl. They just tried their best to keep them away from each other as much as possible.

Which didn’t always work, seeing as they were both on set together a lot.

“Oh come on, can’t you let me use it for like a hour or so? It’s not that big of a deal you know. You’re kinda being a bitch about this.” Xolo laughed as she walked away from the main set.

They had just finished the last scene of the day so everyone was slowly disappearing off set for the day. A few staff members and set hands still prowled around to take things down. The only main cast members still on set where Xolo Reader and Tanner.

“Dude can you stop saying that stuff? Reader didn’t do anything to you to have you messing with her all the time.” Tanner hissed from Xolo’s side. His eyes were pulled tight as he grimaced Xolo’s way. This made Xolo roll his eyes while pushing his thick curls back with his free hand. He snorted at Tanners words and just shook his head.

“No man you should really go apologize to her right now.” Tanner said in a serious tone. He crossed his arms as they sat in a short silence before Xolo groaned loudly. Tanner being fed up with the other guy started to walk away with a small head shake.

Heading towards his own trailer he hears Xolo yell out “Fine! But just this once because I don’t want her getting the directors involved!” Tanner just rolled his eyes.

Xolo slowly made his way towards the trailer that was known to be Reader’s on the back lot of the set. It was parked out by the very back of the trailer lot. He wondered if that was just where they assigned it to be dropped or if the girl asked for it to be parked there. The thought was put on the back burner as he neared the trailer.

With a small huff he walked to the door and knocked. A quick “Come in!” Sounded from the other side making him open the door and walk in.

The trailer was a decent size, a large vanity set up near the door, a small table and booth nook in the middle with some over head shelves, a small bathroom in the back and a very small couch on the ver back end. The place screamed “Reader’s sanctuary” from the moment he stepped in.

He was actually a little surprised at the inside, he had never actually been in Reader’s trailer before. It was definitely decorated in her own style.

Reader sat in one of the booths in the nook area scrolling on her phone. She looked up with a small but the minute she got a good look at Xolo she was scowling. Venom seemed to almost drip from her voice “Oh great Xolo, back again to try and fuck up my day? What your still mad I wouldn’t let you mess with my board? I told you to go get your own you asshole.” Her eyes locked onto his. He could feel one of his eyes twitching.

“No I don’t want your stupid board you dumb-“ he quickly thought back to Tanner and his words. His own thoughts coming back up about the situation. He knew that he was on thin ice right now because of his and Reader’s consent arguing on set.

One more big situation and he could be suspended.

“No I’m just here to apologize for what I said earlier and for trying to take your practice board. It’s my bad, I’m sorry.”

“Puff- yeah right. Who said something this time? Jacob? Mary? Pay-“

“It was actually Tanner.”

The room was silent for a moment as all of it sank in.

“Yeah Tanner would be the one to be done with your little bullshit comments and big mouth.” She raised a brow while smirking at him. Her eyelashes fluttering a little as she looked up at him. Her eyes piercing his while they just stared at each other.

He hated her so much.

He hated her eyes and her lashes, her brows and lips, her cute noes and chubby cheeks. Her soft hair and nice shoulders.

Her fat tits that always seems to be pushed up to the high heavens. Soft belly and nice thick hips and thighs.He wanted them wrapped around his head. He wanted them to smother him while he got off to it.

Why did she have to be so fucking difficult.

“Yeah what ever Reader, just accept my apology so I can leave.” He sighed. Reader only smirked before crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat. With a laugh she reply’s back “What if I don’t? What if I don’t want to accept your stupid lame ass apology? What are you going to do about it?” She taunted. Xolo’s patience was growing thinner by the moment the longer he stood there.

Not to mention his earlier thoughts starting to get to him. His pants were tight and it was only a matter of time before it got worse and Reader might be able to catch on to him. The pants he put on after filming were not as baggy as he would like them to be at the moment. If his dick got any harder it would be insanely obvious to everyone in the room.

She quickly gets up from the table and starts to quickly push him back. Not physically but her stance causes him to walk backwards to the front of the trailer again. At first he thinks she trying to get him to back out of her trailer, just kick him out before going to report him for his behavior. Soon enough he is backed into the wall by the door. But she doesn’t force him towards it. Just backing him into the wall by her vanity.

Moments tick by as they just stand there together in the heated air.

He doesn’t even know what happens next. Maybe he blacked out or something because when his eyes come back into focus he’s pressed up against her.

His body is smashed into hers as he lifts her up onto her heavy vanity. Things clank onto the floor as they are pushed off the table top but they don’t seem to care. His lips are on hers while his hands grab at her fatty sides gripping at her rolls. His fingers push up her shirt and sink into her soft flesh. She moans into his mouth while he pinches at her skin. She shivers at the attention and grips at his shirt collar. Her own hands slowly dip under his tshirt to ghost over his tanned and ripped muscles. Finger tips dipping into his abs.

“Why do you have your be so fucking difficult all the time?”

“Why do you have to be so annoying all of them time.” Reader hisses as they pulled away for a brief moment.

They both panted for a while before Xolo started to get handsy again. In a blink of an eye he was helping take off Reader’s pants, throwing them somewhere on the trailer floor. His fingers dug into her panties, peeling them off her and letting them fall below. His lips meet hers again while he started to play with her. Fingers fondling around her wet folds and sipping thought them.

Collecting all her wetness so he could tease at her hole. She was dripping wet by the time his digits found their way into her hole. She whimpered as he plunged in, fingering her tight cunt open.

He smirked into their kiss at the feeling of her tight walls around him.

(Part two maybe???🥴)

#cobra kai #cobra kai blog #cobra kai ask blog #cobra kai imagine #xolo mariduena #xolo mariduena x reader #xolo maridueña #cobra kai cast #xolo mariduena x chubby reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #cobra kai x plus size reader #cobra kai x chubby reader #cobra kai x reader #smut #smut thoughts #cobra kai smut

123 notes · View notes

reallyromealone · 2 years

Text

Moving in

Dad Aizawa x baby reader

Shota sighed as he wrapped his son in a sling, (name) snoozing away happily as his tiny little hands clung to his dad's sweater and little feet dangling. With a sigh Aizawa made his way to the newly built dorms at UA, their stuff having been sent the night before so all that was left was them going there "let's get this over with..." Aizawa grumbled and the father son duo went off to their new living space for the year.

When they walked in it was still early maybe five am and little (name) was still out like a light as they went to the teachers dorm and Aizawa carefully set up his play pen so later when he got his shit ready (name) would have a place to sleep.

By time students arrived (name) was awake, stretching his little arms as Aizawa turned him to face forward because boy howdy did (name) get excited for new people "Aizawa sir, whose this?!" Mina asked excitedly as little (name) just looked at the incoming students curiously as he sucked on his pacifier. Aizawa sighed before looking at the students "this is my son (name)" he said bluntly and let his son hold his finger "how old is he?" Ochaco asked as she cooed over the babe who did not care for these people, far more interested in his hands hands.

"He's eight months old"

The students were facinated by the tiny baby but eventually Aizawa shooed them off to get them to go unpack "I will be unpacking myself, my room is down the hall to the right" Aizawa explained to the kids "I will put up a door sign if (name) is sleeping" he said holding up a door handle sign that said "sleeping baby" in simple bold words and the students nodded.

"We will uphold that sign!" Iida said seriously and chopped his hand and Aizawa just nodded before wandering off to his room...well rooms.

Teachers had more space than students especially if they have family, Aizawa getting two bedroom and a bathroom along with a small sitting room.

Just enough space for the two Aizawas.

Setting (name) into his play pen and grabbing a few toys for his son to play with, he began unpacking. Setting up his bed and setting up (name)s crib were the first things on his list before moving onto everything else.

(Name) just watched his dad go back and forth, perfectly amused with the company of his dad.

In his play pen were a few soft dolls of his dad's friends and co-workers and his all time favorite a handmade plush of his papa made by uncle Hisashi when he was born.

Aizawa had to bring it everywhere lest he be met with a sobbing baby.

The only fridges on the dorms were in the common area so Aizawa sighed before restrapping his son to his chest and lugging his babes formula and other infant food supplies to the common areas kitchen and began setting it up "you need help Mr. Aizawa?" Jiro asked softly, noticing her teacher had his hands full, Aizawa turned to look at her with an empassive expression before nodding "go to my room and grab his high chair if you can" he said calmly as he tried to keep his son from grabbing all his little baby snacks he loved so much "you can have some when the chair comes out" Aizawa said soft yet sternly to his son who looked up at him curiously.

" Here you are Mr Aizawa" Jiro said holding the high chair "thank you, this is an inconvenience but could you hold (name) while I set it up? He has a tendancy to want to 'help'" Aizawa asked the teen who awkwardly nodded and took the babe who was very facinated with her ear jacks and the teen played around with him, waving them infront of his face and watched the babe try to grab them.

When Aizawa set up the high chair he grabbed some bananas and chopped them up before taking (name) and putting him in and the two watched little (name) go to town on those bananas "he really likes bananas huh?"

"Oh he's a monster with bananas" Aizawa said with a slight laugh "if you need anything sir don't be afraid to ask me! I'm willing to watch him" it was very sweet seeing Jiro wanting to be helpful "focus on school but if it's an emergency I will come to you" Aizawa said patting her head "and you will be compensated accordingly when you do"

Jiro went back to her room to finish unpacking as Aizawa watched his son eat away "this is our new home bud, get used to it" Aizawa said fondly and little (name) wasn't even listening.

#bnha x male reader #mha x male reader #Aizawa x male reader #aizawa x male reader #aizawa x reader

1K notes · View notes

marshmallow-rainbow139 · 11 months

Text

Things Anne Wayne has said since becoming Batmom - Part 2

"Don't come anywhere near me; you stink of Poison Ivy."

"I will give both of you a hundred bucks if you manage to hang out with each other without trying to kill each other."

"We have a perfect training area in the batcave. Why are you butchering my garden?"

"Should we create a secret handshake in case a clone ever appears?"

"Selina is coming! Hide my jewelry!"

"So when the bat signal pops up, you answer immediately, but when I text you to ask what you want for dinner, it takes you 3 to 5 business days to respond!"

"When I said you could bring in stray animals that we could temporarily foster, I didn't mean creatures from another dimension!"

"Alright, what's the deal between Hawkgirl and Green Lantern? Their tension is so thick that not even krypotanite can cut it!"

"So who's your work husband? Jim or Clark?"

"You already have multiple weapons; why do you need a flamethrower?"

"Honey, there's a space ship in our yard!"

"Put a jacket on; you're going to fight Mr. Freeze!"

"Why can't those big villains execute their world domination plans during the summer and not during the school year? I'm running out of excuses to give your teachers!"

"You survived the Joker. You can survive dodgeball."

"Can you ask Clark if we can use the fortitude of solitude? I can't handle this heat anymore!"

"I got so bored that I named the bats. Be careful with Sheila; she bites!"

"Use the stairs like a normal person! You don't need to use the grappling hooks all the time!"

"Did you know Harley broke up with the Joker and is now with Poison Ivy? Good for her!"

"Can I borrow a bat-pen?"

"Don't you dare use the bat voice on me! We're having a serious argument!"

"With the amount of Wayne buried in the backyard, I'm not surprised if this place is haunted."

"Oh, Alfred! I found one of your guns!"

"Can you guys hurry up? You promised to watch Grey's Anatomy with me before patrol!"

"Your ass looks fine today, Bruce. Sorry kids, I forgot the coms were on!"

"I'm sorry? Which of my sons did you take? The little one? Oh, God bless you! I hope you said goodbye to your loved ones!"

"I learn Arabic for two reasons: making Damian comfortable and cussing at Ra's Al Ghul."

"I wish I could gloat at Margie. Yeah, her son won the spelling bee, but mine saved the universe!"

"The Joker's laugh is more sincere than Margie's."

"Duke, I assure you, the t-rex is just a statue."

"Damian, is that your mother on the rooftop? I gave her my number to tell me when she was coming to visit."

"You have so many things on that utility belt but not chapstick for your wife?"

"Oh, thank you, sweetie, I mean Batman!"

"Do I need to speak the opposite of what I mean for Bizarro to understand me?"

"All of my sons are like orange cats. Not one single bit of common sense in their brains."

"I bet Lois doesn't feel anxious when her husband goes on a mission. His only weakness is glow in the dark rock!"

#batman #batfamily #batmom #bruce wayne x oc #oc #anne wayne

219 notes · View notes

luvly-writer · 6 months

Text

"XOXO"

Ch. 7 Angel and Ivy

-•-

Autho's note: I am trying to post as long as I have a free space. I am genuinely excited for this story and it has me going. Hope you enjoy another chapter!

Warnings: None

Taglist: @w31rdg1rl @mxtokko @loonymoonystuff @grandstrangerphanthom @1lellykins

Masterlist:

"Tim...Tim...TIM! Are you listening to me?!" Snapped Y/n. She was currently taking a bubble bath with Tim on the phone as they discussed their next move. On the other hand, Tim tried his hardest to divide his attention between the girl and the case board in the apartment. He had his headpiece on as he observed the evidence in front of him. "Yes, angel face, I am listening"

"What did I just tell you then?" she quipped sounding exasperrated.

"If you must know, you just told me that I must make an appearance as your date for the winter debutant dinner because now that your parents are aware of my existence and that it is quote-on-quote serious, they want to meet me and that it is important that I make a good impression especially since Mr. Morris is going to be there."

"Hmm, good, you were listening. As I was saying. Ever since the picture of our kiss, every time we go out to dinner or lunch, or brunch, or just any time we have been pictured together these last few weeks, they throw remarks on how good of a man you could actually be for me when Morris is right there. They keep inviting him for dinner, Tim! They are still pushing! They still see this as a temporary thing and not something serious!" she said exasperated.

"It IS temporary" he adds hearing her groan.

"Timothy that is so not the point! You have to make the impression of the century so that they turn their attention to you or at least consider you a runner-up in the race. I can't keep on hearing about which opera Francis enjoys more and which book I should read next to have conversation topics with him and what play is playing so that Francis can take me with him to see if we give it a chance-"

"His name is Francis...Francis Moris?" asked Tim containing his laughter. He put on some gloves and began examining a new formula that was found by Jason at Avery Park. "His parents didn't love him I see, with a name like that?" He said as he began to laugh

"THAT IS SO NOT THE POINT" She whined.

"Are you sinking on the bubbles again?" he asked amusedly. In the last few weeks, they had actually started finding out that they enjoyed each other's company. Having to share many dinners, brunches, lunches, and even some breakfasts, they found some common interest reluctantly. "Yes but only because there is this stupid boy unwilling to focus on the important details. My life is on the line." she grumbled

"I can assure you it isn't" he quipped back and laughed once again as she let out a string of curses. "It might as well be, Tim!" she said.

"Since you won't take the downfall of my life seriously, what are you doing?" she asked boredly

"Inspecting some substances that were found in Avery Park for Batman," he said taking notes on what he was seeing.

"Substances on Avery Park? That sounds...messy. Please tell me that none of the rouges are planning to attack this weekend. We really do need to make that apperance." she said leaning back and closing her eyes.

"Well, we hope not. Poison Ivy has been extremely suspicious the last few weeks. We have no idea when or where or if she might strike." he said.

"Hmmm, probably at the Chefield's gala in three weeks. He is making a new investment in the small clearing in Avery Park intending to build a new power plant that will go directly to his hotel. It's close to a small river and all the construction will cause major damage to the already decreasing green areas of Gotham. It is a pity, that place is beautiful. Clara, Satine, and I would escape there every once in a while to have a picnic." Y/n expressed as she finally began getting out of the bath and drying herself. Tim's eyes opened, this was new information to him and it helped the case greatly.

"How do you know this?" He questioned

"Oh, through Satine. She has been trying to convince Senator Gomez to decline his contract. If that doesn't work, Clara has all the information ready to blackmail him into declining. She will tell his wife that Satine is not the first one of his lovers and that the real reason the kid's maid had to be sent away was because she was pregnant with his child. Plus, my mother and Mrs. Chefield have tea every second Saturday of the month, and because of so, I got early access to the invitation. This also means that if he doesn't believe Clara's threats to air him, she will tell me so that I let it slip to her during one of her meetings with my mother. Either way, the options are either he declines or his career and family life are over. I am sure that a cheating scandal and an unsupported child with the finishing touch of a divorce won't look good for the upcoming elections."she explains leaving Tim amazed.

"Who would have known you three were bitches for a good cause" he said making her laugh, a sound that was surely growing on him.

"Like the bitchy Charlie's Angels" she joked as a response

"Whose Charlie then?" he asked

"I don't know, sometimes morality and justice, sometimes revenge, sometimes self-gain, depends on the highest bidder," she responded, her tone full of humor.

"On a serious note, you really think that is when she will strike?"

"Oh absolutely, good thing it will probably be canceled so, people won't be harmed right?"

"You have no idea the advantage that you have granted to us," he said as he began typing a message relaying this entire information to Bruce.

"It's a good thing to always have connections, I guess," Y/n said as she finished her routine and got ready for bed. She placed her cell phone on the pillow next to her head as she got comfortable. She had to fight the yawn that was escaping her. Unfortunately, Tim heard it and stopped what he was doing.

"Before you go, what color is your dress for the debutante's dinner? I want to match my tie with it."

"It's light blue with a lot of sparkles," she said with a dreamy tone.

"You like your sparkle don't you?" he asked amused at her cute tired state.

"Who doesn't?! Sparkles are the highlight of Christmas. Snowflakes, ornaments, snow, everything sparkles! Plus, who doesn't love Christmas? It's the best time of the year!" she said, sleep-slurring her voice. "You don't have to match...thank you though" she said.

He smiled at his phone. "Good night, angel face. You can barely speak coherently." "Yeah, stay safe and warm tonight, Timmy. I need you there."

"Of course, angel. I will be there. Thank you for the information on Poison Ivy." he answered before hanging up. Every day he learned something new about Y/n. She had this facade of being a stone-cold bitch yet, once you work past that she really was just a girl. She was sentimental, always keeping every letter and small sweet thing given to her. She was sweet to the elderly and surprisingly never acted snobby with anyone who worked for her. The maid, butler, and drivers were always treated fairly and you could see that they cared for the girl. She tipped fairly in the restaurants and had a surprisingly good sense of humor. Given another circumstance, he had deduced he was sure they would have been friends...maybe even more.

---

fun facts:

tim started caller her angel face after the post. He originally said it sarcastically because of how much of a nightmare she can be, but stuck with it just cause he really thinks she looks and is an angel. That’s her contact name.

Y/n loves it.

-•-

74 notes · View notes

renren-006 · 11 months

Text

The Hearts Want | Daryl Dixon x reader

Summery: you just cant get him out of your heart. good thing he likes you too, maybe more than you thought

word count: 1806

warning: smutttttyyyy

a/n: ahhhh i just love daryl so much!!!

It was another hot day in the Prison. The heat of summer makes your skin crawl with sweat. You sat out by the picnic tables in the common area. You sat watching the man that was constantly on your mind.

“He's older than you,” Carol pointed out. You knew this, of course you did. It was the one thing that constantly went through your mind whenever you looked over towards the archer.

“I know” You answered, already knowing that some of the members from the other community would rag on you for ever being with him, not that you were.

Daryl had found you in the woods back on the Green farm, you were paranoid, lost and convinced you were going crazy. You were a little older than Beth and just around Maggie's age, but you stayed away from the older Green. Beth became your best friend, saving you from yourself more times than you can point out. While you may be older than her the two of you lived in your youth around each other.

“He's Daryl, he’s harmless plus the world did kinda end” Beth said from beside you at the table. It was just the three of you today, Sasha and Michonne being off somewhere.

“You girls know I trust Daryl, he’s my pookie but he’s weird with feelings”' Carol defended, knowing we only meant to point out the obvious about Daryl. He was a recluse, only hanging around a few and you had only just started to crack his shell.

“He's just so stubborn but so…” You started, your words drifting off not being able to fully say the rest of the sentence out loud.

“Attractive?” Beth supplied for me, you nodded your head. He was handsome and lord did you want to know what he could do with his hands. “Omg stop” Beth squealed from beside you.

“What?” you asked, shocked by your friend's outburst.

“You are thinking about what he would do to you” Beth exclaimed loudly, followed by your hands covering her mouth. The two of you continued to wrestle with each other until the man in question approached the table.

“You girls fighitn’ ov’r here?” He asked, the southern drawl coming out heavy.. You swallowed slowly. Beth kicked you from under the table, you hissed and clutched your leg. “You good darling?” he asked, using that damn nickname again.

“Oh…yea im fine” you told him hesitantly, a small blush crept up your cheeks, making it look like the sun's heat was getting to you. Beth snickers fom beside you. Carol was here to save the day, and more importantly save you.

“I think the girls should go help out Lori with the laundry, hm?” she questioned. You both shot up from the table, saying a small goodbye and dashing back inside the prison to a little bit of cooler air. Carol still sat, and Daryl joined her. He didn't say anything at first, still wondering why you had been acting weird around him.

“It's not my place to tell you so don’t ask'' Carol started, “but the girl has a special place in her heart for you, so don't be mean to her pookie." She stood up from the table, leaving a startled Daryl and walked away.

The days following Carol's words to Daryl he started over thinking many things, the way you looked at him, the small touches, even the way you walked. Every single thing you did clouded his mind till he knew he was in trouble. He figured that it was some sort of cold, then he realized it wasn't a cold that was making him hot it was you. For a week he let his feelings be mulled over, and after having many conversations with Carol and Rick about it he knew he had fallen hard for you. The two of you had not hung out in a while, courtesy of Daryl avoiding you, but you figured he was busy and not that he was grossed out by you. Daryl also avoided you knowing that he was older than you and thinking that it wasn't a good thing to be attracted to a woman significantly younger than himself, but Daryl continued to watch you. He watched you leaving the prison, watched you enter all the while you didn't see any of the looks he gave you. He did this for weeks, just watching you still afraid of the things going through his head.

“Oh pookie” Carol said to her best friend. Darly shook his head.

“Ah! how could i ‘av been so stupid?” Darly asked her, she smiled at him.

“Your not stupid Daryl, just a little blind” She told him, when you walked out of the door to the prison Daryl's eyes immediately found yours. You smiled over at him, someone probably Sasha called your attention away from him and you walked down the gravel path towards the gate. He trailed your body with his eyes, watching the shape of your ass walk away from him. Carol got up and stood beside him, pushing him in your direction. She nodded, giving him a bit of encouragement.

“She’s not going to reject you,”Carol assured the man.

“What if she does?” he asked

“She wont” Carol said, giving him another push. Daryl kept his eyes on you watching the way your hips moved or the placement of your hands. You were talking to Sasha about another potential run for supplies further out, you were willing to go with but needed to check in with Beth and the others in case you had another job they wanted you to do. You didn't want to admit it but you hoped Daryl would be going as well. Daryl walked down the path towards the two of you, Sasha waved him over.

“Hey, I'm trying to get some people to go on another run further out tomorrow. I need you man, your good out there” Sasha told him. He glanced at you.

“You goin’?” he asked, you looked back at Sasha who had some sort of mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Yea, I was planning on it” You told him, he nodded.

“Good, ill see ya’ tomorrow then” he said, walking back up the hill towards Carol.

When the sun rose Sasha, Daryl, Michonne, Bob and yourself met up at the gate. You had on your jeans, a tank and a flannel shirt to keep the sun and the bugs off your arms. The heat of the morning was variable, seeing as the sun hadn't gotten to peak height just yet. You carried your bag with you, loaded with water and a few cans of beans, your hip had your gun holster and an assortment of knives on your belt and boots. You could never be unprepared going out into the world you lived in now. Daryl took in your appearance, turned on by just the sight of you standing there with all your equipment. Once the car was loaded Daryl offered for you to ride with him.

“I don't want to be a burden, I can just ride with everyone else” You told him, he shook his head.

“Nah” Daryl said, “I want ya’ to ride with me.” You hopped on the back of his motorcycle, and hugged his middle, once you got comfortable, and felt the flex of his mussel under his shirt. He didn't flinch, and he didn't move when your hands roamed a little. When the journey started you didn't realize how much the rumble of the motorcycle engine could entice you, or even the way he felt while you were hugging him. Daryl knew that if you stayed on the bike long enough he may have you unraveling. He knew what he did to you, because he watched you too often to know about the hungry looks you gave him. Beth would often slap your arm or flick your head when you were lost in thoughts about him. It made him want you closer, just thinking about the way your eyes looked at him, or the way your mouth contorted when you thought about him long enough. When the group had stopped for the night, in one of the town they had scavenge everyone stayed in the two closest houses. Daryl, Michonne and yourself in one ad the other had Sasha and Bob in the other. The whole night you wished you were next to him, drawing a straggled wine from your mouth. The room you were in was cold, no one else was staying with you since the only bed was yours. Michonne took the room downstairs while you and Daryl took the rooms upstairs. You heard one of the bored squeak outside your door, and a soft nok came from it. You walked over to the door and opened it to find Daryl standing outside your door.

“Daryl?” you asked. Before any more words could leave your mouth he kissed you. It was needy, sweat and a little rough. You felt him move forward making you cling to him and follow his movements. He shut the door behind you before continuing the kiss he had started. You didn’t question it, your mind to hazzy now from the breathless kisses with Daryl. He moved to lay you down on the bed, his hands came to roam over you.

“Woman, you have any idea how many times a day I wanted to do this?” he asked you, feeling his hands all over your skin, he started a trail of kisses down your neck till he found your sweet spot. “How i wanted to see you unravel on my bike, make you ride it out behind me?” His words sent a moan out of your mouth and shivers to travel down to your core. You felt hot in your clothes and attempted to rip them off. Daryl however stopped you, taking the lead by taking them off you himself. “I want to see you squirm, Y/N, I want to see you unravel underneath me as I take you” he told you, and you only nodded our heads. “I need confirmation sweetheart or ill stop right now”

“Yes! Please Daryl” you moaned, you wanted all of him, his mouth, his voice, the throbbing feeling of your core didn’t stop and you couldn't take it. Cloths ended up on the floor and Daryl crouched over you watching you breath. You nodded your head, waiting to feel him inside you. Both of your breathing increased and the moans coming from both of you filled the room. He helped you ride out your orgasm and you did the same for him. His hands fell from your hips and the two of you collapsed on to the bed.

“God Darlin, you really are somthn’’” Daryl said to you.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixion #The Walking Dead

245 notes · View notes

merrybloomwrites · 1 year

Text

You Can Start a Family (Chapter 1)

Summary: During their break from Love on Tour, Mitch and Sarah make a new friend. She's spent years taking care of herself and others, nearly to the point of burnout, and they have plenty of love to share. The couple becomes a trio, and eventually a quartet after Harry finds out the truth about the relationship between Mitch, Sarah, and Y/N.

Hi everyone!! I've had this idea brewing for awhile and finally started writing it. For those who found this in the Harry Styles x Reader tag, I promise he will enter into the story later. Not to give too much away but it will eventually be the 4 of them all together privately but as 2 separate couples publicly.

I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort and all things soft, and am branching out into more spicy territory, so this should me a good mix of both. I hope you enjoy!

(yes the title is from Matilda, it's a found family story, of course the title is from Matilda!)

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

Mitch and Sarah had been touring with Harry for years, and they loved every minute of it. They got to play for wonderful crowds of fans, explore new places, and meet new people while falling ever more in love.

But when Mitch’s mother, Tammy, was diagnosed with cancer and had to undergo a series of surgeries, they immediately made the decision to sit out the Asia and Australia leg of tour to be with family. The doctors were very confident that they would get all of the cancer, but everyone was still nervous.

The first surgery had been a success. There were 2 days in between procedures to give Tammy time to recover. Mitch and Sarah spent plenty of time at the hospital with her to keep her company. They shared stories, played cards, even sang to her when she was dealing with pain.

On the second day post-op Mitch’s father, Mark, went to the hospital early in the day and asked for some time to be alone with his wife. Mitch and Sarah let him know that they would come in the afternoon and bring lunch for everyone. That morning they decided to walk around the neighborhood.

Mark and Tammy had moved into their house two years prior. They had sold Mitch’s childhood home in the center of town to buy a house in a quieter area. It really was a lovely street they lived on, quiet with lots of open land. Even though it was only late-February, the weather that day was mild, making for a very pleasant walk.

The residents of the neighborhood were all very friendly. Everyone Mitch and Sarah walked past shared a greeting with them which Sarah reciprocated with a cheerful good morning as Mitch politely waved.

When they were almost back at the house, they came across a young woman pushing a stroller. She looked to be in her mid-20s, and they guessed the little boy was roughly 15 months old.

Mitch and Sarah had discussed having children of their own. They always knew that they had a lot of love to share and a desire to care for someone but decided to remain child free. They felt that with their lifestyle they wouldn’t be able to give a little one their full attention.

“Good morning,” the young woman said with a smile and a slightly confused look on her face.

“Good morning,” Sarah replied before turning to the stroller to greet the toddler. As she waved to him, Mitch reached his hand out to the girl to introduce himself. “I’m Mitch, and this is my wife, Sarah.”

“I’m Y/N, I actually recognized you guys. I’m a fan of Harry Styles, and I think you both are really awesome.” Internally, Y/N was freaking out at casually bumping into two of her favorite musicians, but she was determined to remain calm and casual.

“Aw, thank you, that’s so sweet!” Sarah said. “What is your son’s name?”

“His name is Ryan, and he’s actually not mine. I’m the nanny. It’s a common mistake.” It truly was. Every time you were seen in public with Ryan people assumed he was your son. For a 26-year-old who looks so young that you still get carded every time you go to a bar, having a toddler as a companion suddenly ages you in strangers’ eyes.

“You said you’re a Harry fan, is this little one a fan as well?” Sarah asked.

“Oh, he definitely is. He loves music, and every time I put on videos of Harry, he pays close attention. Even when I put on One Direction, he’s most focused when Harry sings.”

“Have you been to any of Harry’s shows?” Mitch asked.

“Yea, I actually went to one of the Chicago shows. It was amazing! I had such a fun time. He puts on a great show, and you guys and the whole band are really talented.”

“What’s your favorite song of Harry’s?” You were about to answer Sarah’s question when Ryan started kicking and yelling.

“I’m sorry, he doesn’t love being in the stroller too long, especially if we’re not moving. I should get him home so he can run around before nap time.”

“Oh of course! It was lovely meeting you Y/N,” Sarah said as Mitch smiled and waved next to her. You waved good-bye and started walking down the driveway to Ryan’s home, noticing Sarah and Mitch walk into the house directly across the street.

Once you got back to the house, your internal freak out finally became an external freak out. “Ryan! That was Mitch and Sarah! We bumped into Mitch Rowland and Sarah Jones, how crazy is that?” Ryan stared at you and you imagined he was thinking that you were the crazy one, freaking out over random people. You continued on with your day, deciding that afternoon to bake cookies for the couple. Ryan was a wonderful helper, pulling every mixing pot and utensil he could find out of the kitchen drawers to scatter all over the floor while watching you do something he’d never seen done before. You talked him through every step of the cookie baking process, thinking that every activity is a new learning adventure for the little guy.

Meanwhile, Mitch and Sarah spent a couple of hours that afternoon visiting Tammy in the hospital. She had been told the first surgery was successful and that they would move onto the next step as planned. She was also feeling better than she thought she would having just had surgery. She knew that it was going to get harder as they did the final two procedures, so she was happy to spend time with family while she was feeling up to it.

Mark had gone home for a little while and came back around 5 in the evening, sending Mitch and Sarah home so he could have dinner with his wife. They said good-bye and let her know they would be back the next morning before her second surgery.

Shortly after, Y/N finished her workday and went to drop off the cookies on her way home. She knocked on the door and a moment later Sarah answered.

“Hi! Ryan and I baked cookies today and wanted to share with you and Mitch.”

“Thank you so much! Are these snickerdoodles? Those are my favorite!”

“Yes, they’re mine too! I used my grandmother’s recipe. We used to bake them together for like, every holiday.”

Mitch walked into the entryway as you finished speaking. Sarah handed him the container saying “Look, Y/N baked us cookies. Isn’t that sweet?”

He smiled softly saying, “Thanks. Can I actually ask a favor?”

You nodded, having no idea what he would say next.

“Can you not post online about us being here? We’re here for a family matter and don’t really want anyone to know about it. Or know where we are.”

“Oh of course! I would never share where you all are. I don’t really post online at all anyway. My Tik Tok and Instagram are pretty much just of my cats.” You forced yourself to stop talking before you made your life sound incredibly sad. Because truthfully, you felt it kind of was. You had barely any friends in the area or living family members. Aside from going to work, you didn’t get out much. You spent most weekends at home with your cats reading or bingeing the same TV shows over and over again. But no one needed to know that.

“Thanks, we really appreciate it. It can be hard to have privacy sometimes and right now being home with family we really need it.”

“If there’s anything else you need just let me know! I’m right across the street most of the time and my apartment is only a few minutes from here. Have a great night you two!” They said good-bye and you got back in your car before you could say anything to make a fool of yourself. You felt you had done well so far, but you were secretly fangirling and were afraid that it was only a matter of time before something crazy slipped out of your mouth.

You hadn’t lied when you said you never posted on social media. There was no way you were spreading personal information over the internet, especially personal information about someone else. However, it was difficult to not immediately call up your best friend and tell her who you had met. You were just so excited to have interacted with Mitch and Sarah. You had been a huge fan of theirs for so long. There wasn’t much about them online, just short snippets from concerts and interviews here and there. It was hard to guess how they would be in real life, but so far, they seemed like sweet, down to earth people.

When you got back to your apartment you took a quick shower, had dinner, and decided to read some of your book. You were nervous that if you touched your phone, you’d call your friend, so you ended up going to bed quite early to avoid temptation. You fell asleep thinking back on the interactions of the day, happier than you had felt in a long time.

What you didn’t realize is that you had made an impact on Mitch and Sarah as well. After you left, they sat down to have dinner together and you became a topic of conversation.

“She seems sweet,” Sarah said.

“Yea. And calm.”

“I didn’t even guess she was a fan and recognized us at first, she was so casual.”

“Well, you were also distracted by the baby. You missed the barely contained panic on her face when we first said hi.”

“Ah so that’s why you introduced yourself. It did seem out of character for you to strike up the conversation.”

“I’m not completely socially inept Sarah, I can talk to people when I want to. I just don’t always want to.”

“I know that. I was just curious about what you saw in her that made you want to talk to her. Thought maybe it had something to do with that conversation we had a couple weeks ago. I know I thought back to it when she stopped by with the cookies. She is rather pretty.”

Mitch put down his fork and just stared at his wife for a moment. He knew exactly which conversation she was bringing up. One they had after Harry’s birthday party post Palm Springs night 2. After Harry’s birthday show the whole band and crew went to a club that had been reserved for their group. While Harry generally liked a more laid-back birthday dinner, he figured since it was also the end of the US leg of tour, they all deserved to go a little wild.

On top of their normal entourage there were a fair number of people in attendance that Mitch and Sarah didn’t recognize but assumed either knew Harry or were somehow connected through their networks. Well into the night, when everyone was feeling rather loose thanks to the alcohol in their systems, a young woman came up to the married couple. She introduced herself as Colleen, and let them know that if they were interested, she would be more than happy to please them both. They were startled by how forward she was, and immediately, but politely, turned her down. Once she walked away, they shared a surprised look.

After getting back to their hotel, Sarah brought up the interaction suddenly while getting ready for bed. “Maybe we should’ve said yes.”

“Said yes to what?” Mitch asked, slipping out of his jeans and throwing them on top of his shirt that was already piled on the floor.

“Said yes to that girl.”

“What girl?” Drunk Mitch wasn’t always the best at paying attention enough to store conversations in his memory.

“Colleen. You know, the one who offered the three way.”

“Oh.” Mitch joined his wife in the bathroom so he could see her while they had this conversation. “Is that something that you would want?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. Obviously, it’s not something I need. You keep me more than satisfied, so this isn’t about anything being missing. But you know I’ve always been interested in experimenting with a girl.”

“I still can’t believe you spent years touring with bands and never once hooked up with a girl.”

“Yes well, I was focused on work at the time. It just didn’t seem all that important.”

“But now you’re interested in the possibility again?”

“Part of me feels like I want to have that experience, even just once. I mean I know you’ve experimented with boys. You and Harry had your fling in Jamaica.” Mitch smiled thinking back to the writing trip they took when working on the first album, before the touring band had been brought together and he met Sarah.

“Alright. Maybe we’ll meet someone who’s a good fit for us to branch out a little and have some fun. But right now, I am drunk and exhausted so let’s get some sleep and talk about this again when we’re more coherent.”

They didn’t talk about it the next morning as they dealt with their hangovers, nor did it come up in the following weeks. Not until Sarah casually mentioned it at Mitch’s parents’ kitchen table on a random Wednesday in February. Just as Mitch was about to reply his father walked in, effectively cutting off the conversation. But now it was on top of both their minds, surely not to be forgotten for weeks once again.

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

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Chapter 2 is posted here!

If there are any specific scenarios you want to see with this dynamic let me know and I'll try to work them in! I might do some blurbs outside of the main story as well.

Hope you enjoyed, and I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback!! (or if you find a typo, feel free to point it out!)

#sarah jones x reader #mitch rowland x reader #harry styles x reader #mitch rowland x sarah jones #mitch rowland x sarah jones x reader #sarah jones x mitch rowland x reader #mitch rowland x harry styles

233 notes · View notes

skzhua · 1 year

Text

my treat ('my eyes' series)

♡ "Just one bite."

pairing: lee felix x reader.

genre: fluff, fluff, fluff (did i mention fluff?).

word count: 7,698

warnings: swearing, might cause a heart attack of cuteness.

summary: brownie boy was a myth for you. since the first day you had stepped on the campus, everybody would be praising brownie boy. you could not believe that a grown man was kind enough to be giving out free food, good food. when brownie boy heard about your suspicions, he was more than willing to prove you wrong.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Hyunjin tugged on your shirt once more and kept on pouting like a child. For being the big brother, he surely wasn't acting like one.

"I'm not helping you bring your luggage, gosh." you said for the nth time.

"Please, I can't make a fool of myself in front of Byeol, again." he tugged one more time. "Last year was a mess when I moved in, I wanted to die."

"I know, you told me this already." you rolled your eyes. "I've heard you're popular there, why are you being such a baby?"

"People think I'm good-looking, that's all. I swear I'm a loser."

You chuckled. "I didn't need you to confirm it."

He pouted. "Mean..."

"Hyune, I'm the one starting in a new college, so I should be the one stressing out." you pointed out. "Are you going to give me a tour later, or not?"

He pondered for a moment as he stared at his luggage. He knew he shouldn't be this dramatic but, between the two, you were definitely the sibling who succeeded in everything. Yes, he did worry about your arrival in his school, but he knew you would fit in just fine. You had decided to transfer school mid year since you didn't like the all-girls kind of vibe there was in your old one. The drama was intense, and because you were among the prettiest according to the other students, you were both praised and bullied. Having your brother around would definitely be of help, plus the fact it wouldn't be only girls going there.

"Sure, I suppose I can." he said nonchalantly. "Only if you help me bring my stuff today."

Being the good sister you were, you were driving Hyunjin to his apartment as your trunk was loaded with bags. You had already moved most of your things to your own place, and it didn't surprise you that Hyunjin was doing everything last minute. He struggled to bring all of his things with him and you mocked him as he dragged a bag behind him. Exhausted, he threw himself on his couch, exhaling a loud grunt.

"So? The tour?" you poked his cheek.

"Later." he mumbled into his pillow.

"Dude, school starts tomorrow and I want to be able to find my classroom, thank you." you pleaded.

"Ugh, fine." he groaned as he lazily got up from the couch.

You happily followed him as he opened his front door. You were suddenly stopped when Hyunjin didn't move, making you bump into his back. The impact made him stumble on his feet and he fell in the hallway. You were about to nag at him for being so clumsy, until you saw Byeol, his long-time crush. She laughed at the man and gave him a hand to help him get up, making your brother as red as blood.

"Be careful." she laughed.

"Yeah.. um... Thank you." Hyunjin coughed out while the girl went back into her own apartment.

As he kept his gaze on where she was standing seconds ago, you grew impatient with him and slapped the back of his head before walking towards the elevator. When the doors slid closed, you took the opportunity to slap his arm again, repeatedly.

"Ow! Y/N, the fuck!" he grunted in pain as he rubbed the spot you had hit.

"You're the dumbest person I know, for real." you rolled your eyes. "Why can't you speak to the girl normally?"

"I get nervous." he chuckled in shame, which earned him another hit. "What the hell?"

"Idiot." you muttered under your breath.

Hyunjin was surprisingly a decent tour guide. He showed you the common areas of the campus like the cafeteria and the library. You were intimidated by the size of the school, but Hyunjin reassured you that you would most likely stay in the same wing since they were all attributed certain departments. He ended the visit by showing you the dance studios. There, you met his friend, Minho, who was already practicing. You both sat on the couch in the corner of the room to watch him dance along the music. Not going to lie, you were more than amazed by his technicality and fluidity. You had thought about joining the dance club and Hyunjin had even told you he could get you a spot in no time. However, you deeply believed you should prove yourself instead of relying on your brother.

As Minho finished, he walked towards you, greeting Hyunjin before he sent you a sly smirk. "Hey there." he winked.

Your brother stood up right away and put his hand to stop Minho from approaching you any closer. "That's my sister, Min." he said sternly.

"Ah, Y/N?" he cocked his head on the side, still looking at you, as you nodded to confirm. "I heard you wanted to join the group. Auditions are next week if you are still interested."

"That'd be wonderful, of course I'll come." you squealed.

"Good, I'll post the information on our Instagram page, so you can go ahead and follow us."

You thanked him and he was quick to drop the talk and ask Hyunjin about his holidays. In the meantime, you took a look around the studio and were impressed at how clean and organized it was. You noticed on the table a tupperware full of brownies. While you did think it was odd, you didn't question Minho about it. The boys eventually ended their conversation and Hyunjin brought you to the courtyard.

"It's not much since we're still in winter, but it's very pretty in the summer." he said as he breathed in the fresh air. "I think I covered everything. Down for a snack?"

"Why not." you shrugged and followed him as he lead the way to the convenience store.

Minho frowned as he counted the people in the studio, again. Someone was missing. He sighed loudly as he passed his hand through his hair.

"Has anyone seen Yongbok?"

You looked at the other dancers who were doing the same as you before telling Minho they haven't seen him. He sighed once more before deciding he'll start the auditions without his second dance captain, the other one being Hyunjin.

"Alright, I want to see how good you are at both dancing and freestyling. I'll put some music and we can gather into a circle." he explained. "One by one, you'll show us what you can do. You'll know by the end of the day if I selected you or not. Shall we start now?"

Just as he had previously instructed, you gathered in a circle and, one by one, you danced for a some time, enough for Minho to take some notes. His expression was blank so it was hard to determine if he was pleased with what he was seeing or disappointed. The whole thing didn't last more than 20 minutes, and you were quickly dismissed.

"We have some brownies from yesterday if you want to take one before leaving. I'll reach out to you by tonight if you are picked." Minho concluded.

You walked to Hyunjin who was happily clapping his hands as a some sort of congratulations. "You did good."

"Good? Come on, now. I was amazing." you confidently affirmed.

Just then, you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you turned around, one of the guys who were auditioning was shyly smiling at you.

"Hey, I'm Junsoo. I thought you were great just then, and I was wondering if you are free this afternoon. Sorry, I just think you're very pretty." the man said, looking at you with hope.

"Oh... I'm flattered, I really am, but I'm not looking for a relationship." you said with an apologetic smile.

"It can be casual." he prompted, and it only caused Hyunjin to let out a laugh.

You nudged him for mocking the poor guy, but it didn't stop him from interfering. "I don't think she's interested."

Junsoo stared at the both of you for a moment, and he then gasped as a realization hit him. "Oh my god! You're already with him, I'm so sorry." he bowed his head, panicked.

In a hurry, he joined back his friend to leave the room, taking one last shy glance at you before the door behind him closed.

"Uh, I never even had this option in mind to scare people off from you." your brother said as he squinted his eyes in thinking.

"Don't even... People are not dumb enough. They'll realize we are siblings within days." you grunted, and went to the table at the back where you had left your water bottle.

A few girls were already surrounding the table and they were giggling about something. One plopped a brownie in her mouth and was almost moaning at the taste. Her friends were no better as they were squealing.

"Um, sorry, I left my bottle here." you made your way through the group.

"You're Y/N, right? Hyunjin's sister." a girl asked, to which you nodded. "Can you introduce me to him?"

"No."

"Y/N, you should try these!" another said and you saw her holding a brownie to you.

"Sorry, I'm not very hungry." you waved your hand as a no.

The girls all gasped at your refusal. "Do you even know who made these?"

"No..." you trailed off, rather uncomfortable from their reaction.

"Brownie boy!" a girl said dreamily.

"Ah, well I'm sorry to this brownie boy, but I'm not in for a treat right now." you said and left to go back to the boys.

"You good?" Hyunjin questioned, noticing you were a bit off.

"Yeah, those girls are... weird. Let's just go." you pushed him out of the studio.

Unlike what you had thought, those girls were not so different from the other students. As the weeks passed, things were being said more and more, spreading throughout the campus like a virus. Seemingly, brownie boy was this psychology major who liked to bake pastries for the other students. Apparently, his desserts were far better than the ones you could get at the cafeteria. And the best out of this was that they were free. First arrived, first served.

It sounded wrong to you. First of all, what kind of student had the time to bake while studying? You were barely managing your studies and the dance club. Second of all, you did not believe one bit they were that good, mostly because the majority of his clients were girls who claimed he was the prettiest man they have ever seen. And third of all, there was no way he was doing this without making any profits out of it.

"Alright." Minho clapped his hands. "I see Yongbok still has not shown up since the beginning of the semester. Anyone knows where he's at?" he said, frustration heard in his tone. Seeing that nobody was answering, he sighed loudly. "I'll really have to talk to him... Anyway, today we won't do much since I have plans, I can't be here for the entire hour. I just want to revise some moves we learnt last week."

Practice went on as usual, with Hyunjin sweating like crazy making girls fawn at how attractive he looked (though you did not understand how they even thought he was hot while being damped) and Minho was the usual strict instructor. When you were done, he summarized what you would do for the next practice and he dismissed you all. Once again, there was a tupperware on the table, full of cookies this time. You had never seen the guy drop off his food that you were starting to think he didn't exist.

"I'm going to Chan's tonight, you two coming?" Minho asked as he came to you and Hyunjin.

"I need to finish this painting for class, sorry." Hyunjin answered.

"Yeah, and I don't know Chan so well, I'll have to pass." you replied in your turn.

As the three of you walked out of the room, you went your separate ways since you still had one evening class before you could go home. Arriving at your locker, you noticed a man there, struggling to open your lock. He cursed a few words as he was starting to get impatient.

"Excuse me?" you tapped his shoulder and he jumped a little, not having noticed you were there. "This is my locker."

He looked at the number and gasped, feeling guilty. "Gosh, I'm so sorry! Mine is actually next to yours." he explained as he moved to his own locker. Meanwhile, you were taken aback by how deep his voice was and by how it did not match his freckled face at all.

"It's okay." you smiled as you both went to open your own.

While you put your dance bag away and took your books, you glanced at the interior of his locker. He didn't have much, but one thing caught your attention. A certain recognizable tupperware filled with even more recognizable cookies.

"Are you a fan of brownie boy or something?" you joked while packing your bag.

He chuckled. "Actually, I'm the one you would call brownie boy..." he embarrassingly admitted.

You stopped your action and slowly turned to look at him. You blinked a few before you laughed. "No way."

"I swear I am!" he pouted. "Do you want one?" he offered as he went to open the tupperware.

"No thanks, I'm fine." you continued to laugh. "Sorry, I just can't wrap my head around you baking to give it all away to people."

"I just like making people smile." he shrugged.

"I see..." you mumbled. "Why brownies?"

"Why not!" he smiled widely, his eyes almost closing. "I don't know, they're tasty and soft. It's comforting food."

"I guess so..."

He opened his phone to check the time, and then closed his locker. "I have to go now. Tell me whenever you want to taste my food, I'll gladly make a batch just for you." he winked, and then left.

Watching him walk away, you huffed as you were still taken aback from your interaction. Surely, he was a pretty boy, but was he as good as he claimed? You remained unconvinced.

The sound of your phone interrupted your thoughts, and you looked at your notifications quickly.

Hyunjin: I'm stuck outside my place... again.

Y/N: Can you stop stealing my keys?!

Y/N: I'll skip class to save your ass, I'll be there in 15 minutes.

Hyunjin: You're the best!

Y/N: I know, you're lucky to have me.

The next day, you met Felix again, in the hallway this time. Although you two were locker neighbours, you had never interacted before which Felix found unfortunate. Unlike you, he had seen you around before. How could he have not noticed you when you were the talk of the school? Hyunjin's sister, even prettier than the good-looking art major. He would never tell this to his friend, but he did think you were the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on. He never dared to talk to you, but that didn't stop him from talking about you. Being friends with Byeol, he had repeatedly heard about you from her. She had met you a few times because of your brother, so he took the opportunity to ask what kind of person you were. She mostly told him you would constantly nag at Hyunjin which he thought was hilarious.

So when he saw you again, he didn't lose the opportunity to talk with you. He wasn't intrigued much because you were that pretty girl anymore, no. He was intrigued by how unimpressed you seemed to be about his cooking skills. While he had amazed everyone, you were the first to refuse his snack when he offered.

"Y/N!" he exclaimed the moment he spotted you.

As for you, you frowned when you saw he was the one calling you. Did you tell him your name unknowingly the previous day? You couldn't recall doing so, nor did you know his name.

"Hey, brownie boy." you nodded your head at him as he caught up to you to walk with you. "How do you know my name?"

"Ah, sorry. I'm Hyunjin's friend, actually. My name is Felix." he held out his hand and you shook it.

"I don't remember him mentioning you."

"I haven't hung out with him much these days, that must be why. Anyway, where are you going?"

His friendly attitude was quite strange to you. Never in your life had you met someone so happy and sweet. You were weirded out, but in a good way.

"I wanted to stop by at the dance studio to check the schedule. Do you want to go with me?"

He happily nodded, his hair bouncing with the movement. It was cute, if you were being honest. "I have to drop cupcakes, anyway."

You stared at him in shock. "You made cupcakes?"

"Yeah, yesterday."

"How the fuck do you make so much food?" you said, baffled.

"I like it." he simply answered before linking his arm with yours, which only made you even more shocked. "Let's go."

Felix was leading the way since you could not focus properly. Your eyes were set on your arms, entangled together as if you had known each other for years. Or worse, as if you were a couple. You didn't mind necessarily, minus the fact your heart was pounding in nervousness. Felix didn't seem bothered, and he kept rambling about some random things. He complained about his teachers and his friend who had started the whole brownie boy story which explained how he became somehow famous. He also took the time to ask you about yourself, though your answers were brief since your focus was on something else. The walk to the studio had seemed longer than it actually was, but you had finally reached it. You went in and spotted Minho immediately. You walked to him while Felix took the box full of cakes out of his bag.

"Hey, Min. Do you have the schedule for next week?" you asked the man as he was scrolling through his music on his phone.

"Next week is my week off, so no practice."

You had forgotten the school had been paying Minho to instruct the club. Not that he wouldn't do it without the money, but it did motivate him to run the entire club and do his studies simultaneously. He took his eyes off his screen and then spotted your new friend. His gaze immediately turned hard and he put his phone away to go to Felix. Confused, you called out for Minho, but he ignored you, still heading straight to the young boy.

"Yah! Lee Yongbok!" he grunted furiously.

Yongbok. So this was the dance captain who kept on skipping practice...

"Hey..." Felix waved, clearly nervous.

"It's not by leaving us food that you'll get away from this conversation so easily. Where the hell have you been? Hyunjin and I can't do everything alone, we actually need you." Minho nagged.

"I know, I know! I swear I don't mean to skip practice, but there is always something coming up. Seungmin has been asking me to replace him for his shifts at the café and you know I can't say no..."

The older man shut his eyes, and you could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears. "I really don't want to kick you out, and I should have already, but if you keep missing-"

"I won't!" he cut him off. "I promise."

Still not convinced, Minho glared at Felix one last time, and went back to the speaker to pick a song to dance to. You had watched the scene in silence and you coughed in awkwardness.

"You have two names?"

Felix grunted, discouraged. "Yeah, don't question it much."

With that, he left the room and for some reason, you followed him. "Where are you going?"

"My day is done, I'm going to bake something and watch something." It wasn't intended, but you scoffed, loudly. "What is it?"

Searching for your words, you didn't know how to tell him you found this whole baking thing ridiculous without hurting him. "I don't know why you do this." was the best you came up with.

"I told you yesterday, I like making people happy. What's wrong with that?" he started to get defensive.

"No, don't get me wrong. I'm not judging, but you realize you're like wasting time with this? And you get nothing out of this but happiness? I just don't get it." you said in all honesty.

He stopped walking and turned to you, a frown on his face. "Have you even tried my brownies?" You shook your head. "I'm 100% sure you'll change your mind and be glad I do this once you taste them."

"Felix, I'm very picky with what I eat, especially when it comes to desserts. I doubt they are that wonderful, no offense."

He grinned. "None taken because I'll make you eat some one day whether you like it or not."

"So never? Good." you snickered, but Felix answered back by grabbing your hand and dragging you somewhere. "Felix, the fuck?"

"Do you have school still?"

"No, my day's over, why?"

"You're coming to my place and you're going to eat those brownies. And you will love them." he smiled confidently.

He ignored your incoherent protests and still had a firm grip on your hand. Giving up on trying to change his mind, you looked at your hands intertwined together and noticed how small his were. What was not cute about this man? After walking for a while, you arrived at his dorm. He hurried you inside and you were welcomed by a plate full of the cupcakes, the same he had brought to school that day. You assumed it was his leftovers. They looked delicious, yes, but you were not going to assume just by the look of them.

"Serve yourself." he prompted, but you didn't budge.

He waited for you to move and yet, you were still standing at his entrance. He ended up picking up the plate and bringing it to you. He held it up to you and, with a smile, you refused to eat one. To this, he pouted. He seemed like a pouty person and it was adorable.

"Please..." he pleaded. "Just one bite."

He took one cupcake and offered it to you. At that point, you just couldn't say no. Hesitantly, you took it from him and slowly bit on the food. As you chewed, you were met with an explosion of flavours. While they were intense, they were surprisingly insanely good. Needless to say, you were beyond impressed.

"They're fine, I guess." you lied and his smile dropped.

"Fine? They're fine?"

You felt bad and wanted to tell him the truth, but thinking again, you had an idea. You could not give him the satisfaction of being right. Plus, if this means he'll try to make you like his baked goods by making more, you weren't going to complain. Food is food, after all.

"Yeah, they are fine. I still doubt you made them yourself, though."

In doubt, Felix took one himself to eat and stared at nothing as he munched, proceeding the taste. They were excellent as usual, why weren't you happy with them?

"Do you have a preference for something else? Cupcakes might not be your favourite."

"It's not that, I just don't see how they're so special."

Felix paused a moment. He wasn't sure if you were messing with him, but if you were, you were good because it worked. He wouldn't force anyone to like his food, but you were different for some reason. He just knew he had to prove himself. Why? He wasn't sure why he needed your approval, but he was determined to get it.

"I'll make another type of pastries and you'll let me know if they're good?" he suggested.

"Sure." you acquiesced.

He invited you to sit at the counter and he started to pull out the ingredients. You observed him as he laid out the bowls in front of him, and it was quite attractive how he frowned in concentration and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were surprisingly veiny, and his muscles flexing as he moved his things around were also something you noticed. Realizing you were literally checking him out, you quickly spoke to snap yourself out of it.

"When did you start baking?"

"Hmm." he thought for a moment. "A few years ago. I don't know why, but I find it satisfying. I don't think about anything else, and the fact I get rewarded with food in the end is a plus."

"Fun." You looked around the place in the meantime. There wasn't much, but it was cozy. "Do you have this place alone?"

He shook his head. "No, there's my roommate Seungmin. He's more often at the coffee shop where we work than at home, though recently he asks me to replace him a lot. I think he's escaping a girl or something."

You laughed, imagining a grown man scared of a girl. "People tend to escape what they like. Maybe that's just the beginning of somethig nice."

He huffed as he placed the flour back in the cabinet. "I doubt it. Seungmin is not so fond of relationships."

"Are you?"

To that, he sent you a knowing smirk. "You curious?"

"I'm just making the conversation." you held your hands up in defense.

"Sure you are." he still grinned.

He focused back on his recipe after you connected your phone to his speaker to play some music. You offered yourself to help but he refused, saying it would ruin the cookies. You found it odd how easy going it was with him despite having met him the day prior. He brought such a warmth and it wasn't difficult to take a liking to him. Most importantly, you were quite mad at Hyunjin for never introducing you to the sweet man.

"How did you meet Hyunjin?" you asked while he put away the tray in the oven.

"Dance club. I thought he was mean at first, but turns out he's only a tall good-looking dumbass." he chuckled.

"That, he is." you laughed with him. "But you're the same year as him?"

"Second year." he corrected. "Same as Seungmin and our friend, Jisung."

"I know him! He lives in the same building as Hyunjin."

Your conversation was cut when the front door opened and, presumably, Seungmin walked in. He looked at you suspiciously, but then smelled the cookies.

"Again?" he said to Felix.

"It's your favourites, don't complain." he rolled his eyes at him.

"What is Hwang Y/N doing in our dorm?" Seungmin asked as if you were not in the room.

"She's here so I can prove to her how good of a baker I am." he said proudly.

"She would love to see us bake together then." he chuckled, but Felix glared at him. "Fine, I'll be in my room."

He left the two of you alone, and you continued to chat with Felix. You didn't see the time pass until the oven's timer rang, indicating that the cookies were ready. Felix got them out and displayed them beautifully on a plate. Then, he opened a drawer full of tupperware boxes and filled three of them. For the last one, he brought it in front of you.

"You can bring them home."

"That's very kind, but I don't think I'll eat the whole box." It was a lie, you knew in advance you would devour it completely by the end of the day.

"Bet."

Putting the box in your hands, he came incredibly close to you. He wasn't a tall guy, but tall enough so he was hovering you. You felt small, but it was somehow comforting. You didn't dare to move, afraid to ruin the moment. You studied his freckles, his soft eyes and the pink of his lips. There was no denying he was good-looking, a hundred times more than your brother you would say.

"Can I have your number? I'd like to do this again with you." he said softly.

He gave you his phone and you entered your phone number. "I should go home, it's late." you said sadly as you gave him back his device.

"Yeah, it might be a good idea." he rubbed the back of his neck. "Tell me about the cookies, yeah?"

"Will do, brownie boy."

The day after, Hyunjin had texted you to tell you that Felix asked him for help to get you to like his pastries. You were touched at how he had to reach out to your brother only to please you. However, he didn't have to do anything since you already thought he was talented. But you lied again, and said they weren't so good. So the week after, he invited you over again to make some cinnamon rolls. This time, though, you had finally admitted how good of a baker he was.

However, it wouldn't be the last time you went over at Felix's to watch him cook, until you actually started to bake with him. The last time you went, he had explained to you each step to make brownies. You had listened attentively and tried your best to be as precise as possible. You could say this moment had pretty much confirmed how close you had become. You had played with flour, which made a mess in the apartment, and you stayed at his place until very late that night, cuddled up to him as you took a little nap. You had learnt quickly he liked physical contact as his way to show he cares for someone, but since he was also chasing Minho around for hugs during practice, you didn't see it as more than friendship. Plus, you were as much of a hugger as he was.

One day, you were in the courtyard reading your book for your class when Byeol came up to you. Removing your earphones, you invited her to sit with you.

"I heard about my brother offering you to live with him." you said with a knowing look, and the girl blushed.

"Yeah, I'm moving in tomorrow, actually. Hyunjin told me he'll skip class to help me out." she let out a laugh.

"I have the afternoon off if you'd like me to stop by." you suggested, though you were pretty sure she would want to be alone with your brother.

"No, it's okay. I have Felix helping me too, so I think I'll be fine. Thank you, though."

One more thing you had learnt about Byeol was that Felix shared everything with her since she didn't talk to many people and he couldn't keep his mouth shut about his own secrets. It was as if she was his personal diary. Since learning this, you became a bit closer with her, in hopes she would know if the guy was as interested in you as you were in him.

"Felix? Can I come, then?"

"Y/N..."

"Please, Byeol. I only see him when baking and dancing, it'd be good to do something else with him."

She eventually agreed and that's how you found yourself in her now-old room with Felix, trying to move her bed out to Hyunjin's place. Though Felix did have a certain amount of muscles, his strength did not correspond to it. To your surprise, you were the one who was able to push the bed further. Giggling as you both mocked him for his lack of endurance, Byeol had nagged you for not actually helping her. In the end, you managed to move the bed and she told you two off, saying she had the rest under control.

"I wanted to try out this doughnut recipe if you wanted to assist me on the task." he said as you walked out of the apartment building.

While you adored cooking with him, the past three weeks had solemnly been this. You were not joking when you said to Byeol you wanted to do something else with him. For once, you felt strong enough to resist his puppy eyes.

"Not this time. Sorry, Lix."

His face dropped when the words left your mouth. While you were comfortable with how the friendship was blooming, Felix was overstressing about it. He wanted to spend as much time with you as possible because you were so easy to be with. He felt the happiest with you, and that's a lot considering he's constantly a ball of sunshine.

"Oh." he murmured, disappointed.

It broke your heart seeing him sad, so you were quick to suggest him an idea. "I do have this new Mario game I bought for my Switch, though. I know you mentioned you like gaming, so if you want to try it out with me."

Grinning from ear to ear, he cheerfully said yes and you were on your way to your dorm. At that point, your hangouts were always at his place, meaning he had never stepped foot in your dorm. You hoped internally that you had cleaned up. When you opened the door, you were happy to see that your dirty dishes and clothes were no longer laying around. Hearing a growl, you searched in the living room for the source of the noise. You soon spotted the black and white ball of floof.

"Kkami!" you ran to the dog and petted him as he tried to run away from you. You eventually managed to pick him up and cuddle him.

"I didn't know you have a dog." he said, joining you to tickle Kkami.

"He's Hyunjin's. He's at my parents' usually, but they went on a trip and Hyunjin can't keep him or he'll make a mess out of his art." you explained, letting him go since he clearly didn't want to be in your arms. "He's not very social, but I know he loves us."

"He's like you! You're mean to me, but I know in reality, you just love me."

While you blushed, you hid it by turning your face away from him and scoffing. "Keep dreaming, Yongbok."

"I told you not to call me that." he complained, but you acted as if you didn't hear.

You opened your Switch, started the game and went to sit next to your friend, giving him a remote. It started well as you were leading on the chart board, until Felix stopped going soft on you and was beating your ass. Again and again, he was winning, and you were growing frustrated. Game rage was never something you liked experiencing, even less in front of the boy you liked. Eventually, you gave up on trying to win, and grew tired as time passed.

Yawning after another round ended, you stood up to turn off the console, and then plopped right back on the couch. Felix scooted closer to hold you in his arms, and you snuggled comfortably into his warmth.

"You okay, Y/N?" he asked softly.

"Mhmm, tired." you mumbled before closing your eyes.

"Can a sweet treat comfort you?" he whispered.

You smiled weakly. "Depends which one."

"Can it be a surprise?"

"Lix…" you whined quietly. "I don't like surprises."

"Just one bite."

Too tired to bicker back, you nodded before you felt him move a bit, probably getting whatever snack he had packed with him. Seconds passed before you felt something on your lips. It was sweet, indeed, but it was definitely not something edible. It was soft and tender, and you recognized Felix's lips despite never having kissed the man. After the shock dissolve, you kissed him back slowly, scooting closer to feel his embrace as much as you could. As it got more heated, his mouth had opened slightly, allowing you to carefully bite his bottom lip. Startled, he back away from you and stared at you in shock.

"What was that?" he shyly spoke, blushing.

"You said one bite." you shrugged your shoulders, and he laughed.

"I should have asked, I'm sorry."

"Hey, I kissed you back. Don't worry about it." you smiled kindly.

"So… um… I kind of like you?" he confessed, though it came out more like a question.

"That's very convincing, yeah." you teased making him pout at you.

"You're mean."

"Sorry, sorry. I like you too." you confessed back.

Not knowing how to answer, Felix could only grin like a child as he grabbed your hand in his, rubbing it softly with thumb. He brought you closer to cuddle, and since you were still very tired, you eventually fell asleep in a matter of seconds. Felix, on the other hand, observe you as you snored quietly, not quite grasping what had just happened.

The next day, you woke up surprisingly late. You noticed the moment you opened your eyes that you were no longer on your couch, but in your bed. Suddenly, you heard a loud thud coming from your kitchen, along with a deep voice cursing. You got up in a hurry and ran to the kitchen to see what was happening. There was Felix, lost in front of your counter as he searched for ingredients. You soon noticed a mixing bowl on the ground, thus the noise from earlier.

"Are you trying to ravage my kitchen or something?" you exclaimed, not sure on how to react to the poor state of your kitchen.

"Good morning to you too." he smiled awkwardly only for you to send him a glare. "I just wanted to make you some pancakes for breakfast, but I never came here before so I have no idea where you stuff is, and I got a bit clumsy so I made a mess… I'm sorry."

You sighed loudly before you picked up the bowl from the ground and went to the counter to reorganize it better. "There you go… You could have woken me up, you know?"

"You look pretty when you sleep." he giggled, and damn, your heart melted.

"I snore."

"And it's adorable." he affirmed. "Now that you're awake, do you want to make those with me?"

"Gladly." you smiled and the two started to mix the ingredients.

Felix was being nothing but a gentleman. He didn't let you do the dishes and hurried to prepare the table. He decorated the pancakes with butter and whipped cream, as well as some fruits. You were still fighting to help him, but he didn't let you as he only allowed you to sit at the table and look beautiful (His words, not mine). After a while, he finally finished everything and brought the plates to the table.

"This looks yummy!" you complimented, clapping your hands in excitement.

"Serve yourself."

You wasted no time to dig in and eat the pancake whole under a minute. You had not even realized how hungry you were until you were already done eating. Felix still had half of his, so he cut a piece he aimed at your mouth as he brought the fork closer.

"That's cheesy."

"Shut up and eat." he rolled his eyes, and you gladly obliged.

"Thank you, Lix. This is so good." you hummed contently.

"My pleasure." he chuckled, but stopped and frowned instead.

He did the same move, only this time, he stopped moving the fork forward and brought it back to his own mouth. You pouted, disappointed, and he could only laugh at you.

"Wait, you have something on your lip."

He leaned closer and reached out to wipe off whatever you had. You thought he was done, but he kept his palm on the side of your face. You eyed him in confusion, and he answered with a smile. Without you noticing, he was getting dangerously closer, making your heart pound. It pounded so loud, you were afraid he was going to hear it. The instant he was close enough to almost be kissing you, he leaned backwards into his seat and laughed cutely.

"You are so evil." you huffed in disbelief.

"What can I say? You like bad boys." he joked.

You could only huff at him once more. "I'm this close to kicking you out of here."

"You wouldn't"

"I totally would."

"No."

"Felix!" you whined, frustrated.

The next month or so was not so different from how things were before. Well, other than some kisses here and there, but you and Felix still acted like friends at school. You had never talked about labels, nor did you speak about your feelings. In other words, the situation was confusing. While he acted like you were one of the bros in public, he was the most touchy person when you would hang out alone. Even then, his behaviour apart from physical contact wasn't that different.

The last day of the semester eventually came. As per usual, a group of guys was staring at you the moment you stepped outside of the classroom, having finished your final exam. You saw a guy, Yooheon you believed, acting more nervous than usual. You didn't think much of it, until he walked up to you.

"Hey, Y/N. I'm actually in your class and, um, I just wanted to ask you something." he spoke anxiously.

"Yeah, I know who you are." you chuckled. "What can I help you with?"

"Do you want to go on a date with me? I believe you are single, so I'm simply taking my chance."

Technically speaking, you were single. With Felix, however, things were blurry. He had never told you how he saw you. Were you his girlfriend or his friend he would occasionally kiss?

"She's with me." you heard a familiar voice coming from behind.

Yooheon bowed apologetically and you gave him a sad smile before he went back to his friends who were teasing him. You turned on your heels and walked away from the scene, a frantic Felix catching up to you.

"Hey, what is it? I saved your ass." he breathed out.

"I didn't need to be saved. I can reject someone alone, you know?"

"Right, but I know he was probably going to insist and then you would have been stuck. With me there, he knows you're taken already." he justified as it made perfect sense in his mind.

"Lix, I'm not taken." you rolled your eyes.

He stopped walking and his eyes squinted, lost. "What are you saying?"

You turned around to face him, and exhaled loudly. "You never explicitly told me we were dating. I mean, on that point, I get it. I've been busy, you've been busy. I can understand we didn't have the mindset to figure that out. However, you only ever kiss me if we are at your place or mine. At school, it's almost as if you see me the same as you see my brother or Minho, or even Seungmin. It's like you're ashamed or something..." you trailed off, uncertain if you worded correctly what had been in your mind.

Felix slowly turned red, and he coughed to buy some time to think, and he then spoke in his turn. "I thought you were not comfortable with PDA or something. I don't know, I just figured it was a "at home" thing? Plus, consider the fact dozens of men are looking at you every day because, might I remind you, you are quite literally the most beautiful girl on campus. And, like, jacked men look at you all day, which can be intimidating. Meanwhile, you chose the guy who bakes cookies and brownies, and who likes Mario Kart." he explained the best he could, without wanting to sound too weird.

You let out a small laugh as a response. "You feel intimidated by other guys?"

He looked around, and nodded slowly in shyness. "Shush, it really is intimidating." You only laughed more, but it kind of reassured Felix in a way. "As for the labels, I just assumed it was obvious you are my girlfriend."

"It wasn't."

"Okay then." he took a deep breath and stepped closer to you, taking your hands. "Hwang Y/N, will you have the pleasure of becoming my girlfriend?"

You smiled at how precious he was being. "Gladly."

With that, he brought you closer to kiss you, other students around watching you as some of them gasped in surprise.

"Ah!" he exclaimed as he pulled away from you. "For Chan's party tonight, you're already stunning but I want you to dress to feel good about yourself."

You couldn't believe how sweet he was being. You had went back to your respective dorms to get ready, and later met up in front of Chan's building to go inside together. Felix had Seungmin and his girlfriend, Dahye, tagging along with you. You were among the first people to get there and installed yourselves comfortably. Felix went to get you some drinks and it didn't get missed by his friends how he called you baby before leaving.

As the evening went on, you were starting to wonder when Hyunjin was going to show up. You had pestered him into coming to the party to socialize for once instead of staying at home. The questioning in your mind was soon answered when you finally spotted Byeol. You got up to hug her tightly, and then doing the same with your brother.

"I could've sworn you wouldn't come and stay at your place to watch cheesy ass movies together." you joked.

Byeol sent you a shy smile and then said "That was the plan."

You smiled at her. "I'm glad you came."

You went back to Felix and he grabbed you by the waist to bring you into his embrace, nuzzling his face into your hair. You chuckled at his behaviour, since he was clearly starting to feel the effects of alcohol.

"Are you okay?" you asked as you rubbed his arm in a soothing way.

"Yeah." he said, voice hoarse. "I just love to have you in my arms."

"I love it too. A lot." you murmured to him, and he pecked your cheek lovingly.

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids series #stray kids scenarios #stray kids college au #stray kids fluff #stray kids fanfic #stray kids your eyes #stray kids felix #lee felix #lee felix x reader #lee felix fluff #lee felix college au #lee felix scenarios

395 notes · View notes