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imagines--galore · 2 months

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||The Thread of Fate|| Part Fourteen

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen

A/N: I LOVED writing this chapter! That's it. That's all I'm gonna say! Enjoy my lovelies!!!! Eeeeeepppppppppp!!!!!!

"I was saving that peach for this morning."

"Then you should've told me last night. How was I supposed to know it was yours?"

"Because I didn't eat mine last night. You were right there when I put it away."

"For all I know, you didn't want to eat it."

"Who in their right minds wouldn't eat a peach?! Its the best fruit there is!"

"Which is why I ate it!"

And so the argument continued, words flying back and forth across the breakfast table. Iroh sipped his tea contentedly, enjoying the warmth of the beverage. The little argument didn't bother him, really it would bother him if Orora and Zuko weren't arguing first thing in the morning.

Thinking that perhaps he should step in, lest Orora freeze Zuko for the rest of the day, and she would do that, Iroh cleared his throat, catching both their attention. "I believe you owe Orora a peach Zuko." He stated calmly, prompting his pupil to shoot a smug smirk in the scowling Prince's direction.

"She can get one herself." He grumbled, standing up. Orora pursed her lips in annoyance, but chose to remain quiet. She wouldn't be letting it go that easily, but for now, they were already getting late for work.

Best to pick up on it later.

Iroh couldn't help but chuckle at the look of intense concentration on Orora's face. He knew exactly what she was planning, he just hoped her revenge, should she choose to seek it out, which she would, wouldn't make Zuko too annoyed.

Then again, it was rather nice to see Zuko display emotions other then anger, anguish and hopelessness. For too long he had watched his nephew despair over the loss of his home and his honor. But ever since Orora came into their lives, Iroh had seen significant change. One that made him realize that perhaps the boy Zuko had been before he was banished, was still somewhere inside him.

And as they stepped into the teashop to begin work for the day, he caught his nephew shoving a peach into Orora's hand before stalking off to look for his apron. His young pupil stood still for a few moments, eyes darting from the fruit to the door where Zuko had disappeared.

Finally, she rolled her eyes, a gentle smile playing about her lips. Slipping the peach into her pocket, she began her tasks for the day.

Iroh shook his head, smiling to himself. It was obvious how the both of them cared for one another, and yet neither were willing to take the next step. Perhaps because of their views, views that had been thrust upon them by the world.

A Fire Nation Royal, and a Water Tribe Noblewoman.

A love that was never meant to be.

Huffing to himself, Iroh began to go over the many many teas he had stored on the shelf behind the counter.

He had allowed them both the dignity of working everything out themselves, but if they were going to be too stubborn about their nonsensical views, he would have to step in.

They were far better together then they were apart, he had seen and experienced it firsthand.

Perhaps an opportunity would arrive soon, that would help push both teenagers together.

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She stared at the peach in her hand.

It was rather strange how something as insignificant as a piece of fruit held so much meaning. And all because Zuko had given it to her.

Granted he had done so because his Uncle had told him he owed her one, but, lately, Orora had begun to realize that even though his Uncle was the one to advise Zuko on something, the act being carried out was something he did out of choice, and not necessity.

She was on her break at the moment, sitting in the back of the tea shop, looking over at the peach as if she were seeing it for the first time. Taking a bite of the fruit, she smiled at the sweet taste that burst across her tongue the moment she split the skin with her teeth.

Staring listlessly at the wall across from her, her mind wandered to the dinner they had a few nights ago. She still couldn't believe her and Zuko had managed to pull it off without any major mishap. They had actually been smiling at one another by the end of the night. And there was also the fact that she heard him laugh for the first time since they had met.

She had come to that realization late at night. It was shocking enough that she had laid there in silent surprise for a good few minutes before it sank in completely. It was sad how Zuko didn't allow himself to be happy. He didn't smile often either.

If eating spicy food and reacting to it got a sincere laugh out of him then she would probably do it again.

Orora shook her head as she took the last bite of her peach. The past couple of days, she had been seriously contemplating on Zuko being her soulmate. Here in Ba Sing Se, so far away from the horrors of war and the danger that had plagued them, she had to admit it was easy to dismiss all that was going on beyond the Walls and build a new life.

Maybe

Maybe having Zuko as a soulmate wasn't such a bad thing.

He did look out for her, she mused as she stood to wash her hands in the sink. Whenever she would go out in the city he would follow her. At first it had been a little annoying, but seeing him actually be sincere about the task had softened her heart. And though she knew she could take care of herself, should the need arise, it was comforting to know that there was someone watching out for her.

And then there were the little gestures he had been acting on every now and then. She usually slept late, wanting to get a bit of practice in before heading to bed. Besides, as a waterbender, her abilities were much stronger at night under the light of the moon. Sometimes she would practice for so long that she would barely have the strength to stumble to her bed roll, let alone pull the blanket over her. She would wake the next morning with the blanket covering her, and she knew it had been him.

How?

Because her string had tugged a little during the night and despite being asleep she had felt it.

He would always wait by the door before they left to ensure she walked between him and Iroh during their short trek to the tea shop. And when it was time to go home, he would be at the door once more, walking a pace behind her.

Zuko probably thought she didn't notice. But she did.

She noticed everything about him.

How, despite the cold exterior he tried to maintain, he actually had a kind heart. One that had hid from the rest of the world because he had had his face burned for showing that empathy for someone else.

Looking down at her hands, Orora suddenly realized she had actually washed the peach pit. Smiling softly, the girl couldn't help but shake her head as she recalled how Zuko had avoided her eye when handing her the fruit.

And for some unknown reason, one that certainly had nothing to do with sentimentality, she slipped the little peach pit in the pocket of her trouser.

The moment she did, her string flickered with color, and remained a deep red for a good few minutes.

All the while she stared at it, a warmth spreading through her entire body.

And if she blushed when Zuko walked in a few moments later, she simply walked past him, head held high, and eyes aglow with the realization that, perhaps, her feelings for him were beginning to grow stronger.

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Warm amber gold eyes followed Orora as she walked back to the front of the shop. Once her break ended, his began, and Zuko was dying to eat something and get off his feet.

Honestly, serving tea all day, taking orders, washing dishes and stocking new product was as taxing as firebending. As someone who hadn't had a job his whole life, it was an eye-opener for him that people did all this and much more, just so they had a hot meal and a roof over their head.

Moving to where their daily lunch was, he picked up his bowl and settled onto his chair as he began to eat.

His eyes flickered to the two bowls that were still full of food, and he frowned. Orora hadn't eaten. She would likely be starving when they got back home. He needed a reminder to tell her off when it came to skipping her lunch. She did that often, he noticed, not eat because she didn't feel like it. If she kept doing that, she was surely going to get sick.

Letting out an annoyed huff he took a big bite of the stew he was eating, chewing almost aggressively. It was a little annoying at times, how much the thought of Orora occupied his mind. It was beginning to get rather tedious, if he were honest with himself, trying not to think of her.

But the surprising revelation about it? Was that he didn't actually mind thinking about her.

It was strange. For so long all that had occupied his mind was capturing the Avatar and getting back home. But now that was something that seemed as impossible to achieve as seeing a live dragon.

But what did seem possible? Was living a quiet life as a refugee. During the 100 year war, no Fire Nation army had been able to penetrate the walls of Ba Sing Se. So there was no chance of the city coming under the Fire Nation's control.

Maybe Uncle was right?

Maybe it was time to stop looking to the past and look towards the future.

A future with his Uncle at his side, someone who genuinely loved him.

And Orora. A future with Orora.

Would it ever happen, he wandered, playing with the last few pieces of meat that were at the very bottom of his bowl. He saw her as a friend now, and he was content with just that.

After all, he sighed in slight defeat, leaving the rest of his stew as he moved to the front of the tea shop again.

Soulmate or no, who could ever accept him?

A scarred, banished prince, with nothing but his title to remind him of who he had been.

Nothing more.

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The new boxes of teas had arrived, and Iroh had eagerly opened them up to begin stacking them in the appropriate shelves. Climbing up the ladder, he lowered his hand down where Orora began to hand him the boxes one by one.

It had been a relatively slow day, so most of the chores they would normally do after the shop had closed were nearly completed now. Orora was honestly looking forward to going home early. It had been a busy few days, and she would also be going to Lake Laogai to practice a little of her bending soon.

A little lost in her daydream of practicing in a large body of water, she very nearly missed Zuko approaching the both of them.

"Uncle, we have a problem." His voice sounded urgent, prompting Orora to turn and look at him, while Iroh descended from the ladder.

"One of the customers is on to us." Zuko stated through slightly gritted teeth. Orora looked around the tea shop, and not finding anyone that would look remotely threatening rolled her eyes at Zuko. "You're being paranoid Zuko." She stated in a low voice, before moving to arrange a few more tea boxes in one of the lower shelves. Zuko threw a scowl in her direction before continuing to address his Uncle.

"Don't look now but there is a girl over there at the corner table. She knows we're Fire Nation." Iroh turned around to look at the girl, but was quickly pulled back by Zuko, who growled at him. "Didn't I say don't look?!"

"She's harmless Zuko. She's been coming in for days now. Always orders the Jasmine." Orora stated, not at all bothered by his accusations. Their main concern had been Jet, and he was already dealt with, so no reason to go around stirring up trouble. And she was aware how much Zuko loved to get in trouble for no reason.

Iroh had managed to see the girl, and having seen the girl before as well, he had also noticed how she would often watch his nephew as he worked around the shop. He tried his best not to let his glee show as he spoke. "You're right, Zuko. I've seen that girl in here quite a lot." He nudged his nephew in the stomach playfully. "Seems to me she has quite a little crush on you."

The reactions he had been hoping for were instant. Zuko blinked in astonishment at his suggestion, his brain unable to comprehend that anyone, let alone a pretty girl, would have a crush on him. Orora had dropped the box she had been setting, and turned to stare wide-eyed at her teacher and soulmate.

"What?" They both all but squawked out, prompting Iroh to let out a chuckle.

As if realizing what had just come out of her mouth, Orora quickly turned her attention back to her task, though not before she caught the look of surprise Zuko threw her way. Obviously he had seen her reaction. Though nothing could be said on the matter at present, since the girl came up to the counter. "Thank you for the tea." She said, a smile on her lips as she placed a few coins on the table, which Zuko picked up to put in the money box. "What's your name?" She continued, prompting Iroh to smile slightly.

Turning back around, Zuko spoke. "My name's Lee. We just moved here." He added, gesturing to both his Uncle and Orora, the latter of whom was still rather busy with stacking boxes, however she was more then aware of the conversation happening behind her.

"Hi Lee, my name's Jin." The girl introduced herself. "And......well, I was wondering if you would like to go out sometime." Zuko was stunned, for lack of a better word, staring at Jin as if she had suddenly grown an extra limb or something. Iroh, not wanting such a golden opportunity to go to waste quickly stepped forward.

"He'd love to!" He exclaimed loudly, behind him Orora glanced at Zuko out of the corner of her eyes, trying to see how he had reacted to being asked out by such a pretty girl.

"Great." Jin exclaimed, sounding delighted. "I'll meet you in front of the shop at sundown." And just as suddenly she had appeared, Jin walked away. A large smile on his lips Iroh threw an arm around Zuko's shoulders, who finally broke out of his bewildered state to glare at his Uncle.

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"I'm not going."

The deceleration came as no surprise. As soon as Jin had walked out of earshot, Zuko had been quick to turn to his Uncle and state what was on his mind. Orora, not wanting to hear the rest of the conversation, moved to the back of the shop to finish doing whatever cups were left.

She knew Iroh wouldn't let Zuko back out, not when it meant making someone sad, so it was better to not be a part of that conversation.

Besides, she needed a little alone time to figure out why she had reacted the way she did just then a few minutes ago. Bending some clean water she splashed her face with it, allowing the coolness of it to calm and relax her a little. Maybe she should spend the evening on the roof. There was bound to be a moon out, and she just needed to bask in it's silvery glow. That always helped ground her.

But first, something to eat.

She moved to where her bowl of broth was still waiting for her. It was cold now, but she barely noticed as she caught snippets of conversations from beyond the open door.

Finally, Zuko appeared. He began pacing, grumbling under his breath, and she knew Iroh had won. "You know, you should be glad a pretty girl asked you on a date. Most guys aren't so lucky." She stated between a bite of her stew. He glared at her, to which she simply shrugged. "I'm just saying, why not go out and just have fun?" Setting her bowl down, she watched as his gaze flickered from his finger to her own.

The very finger the string that attached them to one another was tied.

She sighed, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth as she spoke. Zuko, just because we've decided to be friends doesn't mean we've promised anything more." Her voice was soft, and sounded a little detached, even to her own ears. And despite her heart telling her not to, her mind was pushing her to do the right thing.

"Go out with her. And like your Uncle said, be a normal boy for once. You deserve that more then anything. To be treated normally and not as the enemy." A smile pulled at her lips, though it didn't reach her eyes. At least not completely.

Something that Zuko noticed, even as he finally relented. "Alright, I'll go."

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Zuko was beginning to feel a little exhausted.

Mentally.

Jin spoke. A lot. And while that wasn't a bad thing, he had never been good for long conversations. He preferred silence and as minimal conversation as possible. Orora had understood that early on, and though she teased him about being broody, she would keep quiet when she knew he needed the silence to just......be.

Her conversations did help him forget his rather morbid thoughts, and whenever he would return to silently contemplating, he found his mind to be much lighter then it had been before.

And all because he spoke to her.

"So tell me, I know Mushi is your Uncle, but what about that girl that works with you?" Jin's question had him blinking out of his stupor and looking at her across the dinner table. "Oh, she's a student of my Uncle's. He helps her with her waterbending, even though he isn't a bender himself." He was quick to add with a shrug.

He watched, confused, as Jin let out a little sigh of relief, her shoulders drooping slightly. "Oh well thats good! From the way she looks at you sometimes, I thought you two were soulmates or something."

Zuko blinked.

"What?" That word was supposed to come out as a demand, but instead it came out hoarse and unbelieving. The girl shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean I've seen her look at you sometimes, and thats the exact way my mom looks at my dad when he isn't looking." She grinned. "They're soulmates." She added as a away of explanation.

The young prince simply gave a small nod, before returning to his silent contemplation, only half listening to Jin as she continued to talk.

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The only good part of her evening had been when she had seen Zuko walk out after Iroh had helped him with his unruly hair. She had to physically hold herself back from laughing out loud, and had only let loose after he had gone, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

"I see you are amused by my nephew's misery Orora." Iroh said, though there was no anger in his words, only slight reprimand. Orora pursed her lips to keep from smiling. "I'm sorry Master. Though I do hope Zuko has a good time. He deserves it." She added.

Iroh reached out to pat her arm in an affectionate manner. "I know you are a little hurt, but you possess a kind heart for saying so Orora." Seeing the slightly crestfallen look on her face, as she allowed her true feelings for the date to show, Iroh continued.

"And who knows, perhaps this date will act as the wake up call my nephew needs to not take you for granted."

She shook her head. "He doesn't do that Master." Moving to the window, she placed one leg over the ledge. "Although, it would be nice if he were to notice me as a girl rather then just his friend." So saying, she pulled herself up on the roof to loose herself to her thoughts.

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Well this was a little awkward.

Zuko glanced at Jin, looking more then a little crestfallen about discovering that he lamps weren't lit. And looking at her sad expression, he was reminded of Orora, and how sad she would look whenever he spoke to her about his past. Though since that first night, when he had revealed everything, he did try to cheer her up. Mostly he just said something to annoy her, to distract her from thinking about his past.

Lately though, he had been working on actually making her smile.

"Close your eyes. And don't look." He said. Jin gave him a confused look, but did as he asked. She even covered her eyes to assure him that she wasn't looking.

Zuko walked forward, holding his hands together. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling as he allowed his inner fire to burn a little brighter. It had been so long since he had firebended. Using his pointer and middle fingers on each hand, he shot small bursts of flame in the directions of the candles to light them. It didn't take long for him to be done, and once finished, he stood straight and looked at Jin, who still stood with her palms over her eyes.

"Okay, now you can look."

Removing her hands, Jin gasped. "Oh, wow." Zuko had to admit, the lights did look rather beautiful as they reflected off the surface of the water of the fountain. Jin looked at Zuko, amazed. She walked up to him, looking at the candles. "What happened? How did they light? What did you do?" There was no accusation in her tone. Only surprise and happiness as her gaze flitted between him and the lights around them. Zuko didn't reply and Jin finally fell silent as well, looking around at the pretty view in awe.

And as he watched the light reflect in the fountain, he couldn't help but think of Orora and how she would probably create ice crystals to hang in midair. He was sure the sight would only become even more wondrous then it already was.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he felt Jin take his hand. Feeling a little lost and confused, since he had no other girl other then Orora actually take his hand voluntarily, he turned so he could look at Jin.

Who was beginning to lean in a little.

Prompting him to quickly hold up a piece of paper between them. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. Surely she hadn't been about to..........

"I've brought you something." Jin looked at him surprised. "It's a coupon for a free cup of tea." He continued, prompting the girl to smile. "Lee, this is so sweet." She said taking the coupon and smiling at him. Zuko shrugged as he took a couple of steps back. "Don't thank me – it was my Uncle's idea. He thinks you're our most valuable customer."

Jin smiled. "Your uncle is a good teacher." The young prince's face softened slightly at the words. "Yeah, Orora can testify to that." He said, his eyes falling to the fountain once more where the water rippled slightly in the breeze. He felt Jin walk up next to him. A hand pressed to the side of his face. "I have something for you too. Now it's your turn to close your eyes."

With no hesitation he did. He felt Jin move even closer to him before a pair of soft lips pressed against his own. The contact was brief and she pulled back almost instantly. And though he did lean back in a little, almost instinctively he pulled back.

He opened his eyes, standing there and looking at her. Imagining someone else.

Someone with darker skin.

Ice blue eyes.

A patch of white in her hair.

And a smile that had begun to effect him more then he ever thought possible.

He turned his back on Jin, beginning to walk away.

"What's wrong?" Jin called out behind him. He could almost hear the disappointment in her voice. "It's complicated." He said, trying to shake away the image of Orora looking at him just as Jin had a few moments ago. "I have to go." He said starting to walk once more.

"Its that girl isn't it?"

He turned around startled, his eyes wide in disbelief as he stared at Jin. She had an almost sad smile on her lips as she looked at him. "You know you look at her the same way she looks at you sometimes. I've seen it." She said sighing in an almost melancholy way. "I would kill to have someone look at me like that. Like I'm their reason for getting up in the morning." She clarified, oversharing as usual, given how that was how she talked. Jin shrugged.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be as complicated like you say it is."

Zuko looked at her one last time, before sprinting back home.

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Iroh looked out from the window down in the street, hoping to catch sight of Zuko as he returned. Of course he did not anticipate his nephew taking the back entrance of the apartment building. The door opened and Zuko walked in, silent and contemplative.

Trimming a bonsai tree to appear nonchalant, Iroh barely glanced at his nephew. "How was your night, Prince Zuko?" He asked. Zuko responded by walking to the bedroom and slamming the door shut behind him. Iroh looked after him for a second with a confused expression before he sighed and moved back to his task.

Though he immediately turned back around when he heard the door crack open and Zuko's voice to filter out.

"It was nice." He said, his voice soft and sounded as if he didn't believe the words himself. The door closed again, and Iroh smiled before resuming his task.

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He found her lying on the roof. Her arms behind her head, her gaze trained towards the night sky, the light of the moon bright yet soothing. She didn't move her head, though she knew he was there as he mirrored her position.

A peaceful silence enveloped them both.

Where Zuko's mind had been a cacophony of words and voices echoing all around, barely finishing a thought, it was now silent. And where Orora had been overthinking even the most minutest of details, she found perfection in that moment as Zuko lay beside her.

"So, how was your date?" She finally spoke, her voice breaking the stillness of the moment, though not taking away from the tranquility of it.

"It was nice." Zuko repeated the same words he had told his Uncle, eyes tracing the many stars that littered the night sky. "I told her we traveled with a circus at one point. She seemed to believe it."

A soft laugh echoed across the rooftop. A sound that prompted Zuko to smile. He liked hearing her laugh.

"She also asked me to juggle, and I broke a couple of pots."

Another laugh. He was beginning to associate that sound with true happiness.

"Then she took me to see this fountain. You would've liked it. The lights made it look like the water was dancing." He never would've thought he would say words like that. Words of beauty and appreciation he always kept to himself. But here, with her, he had no problem saying them out loud.

Another silence.

This time it was broken by Orora. And the words she spoke next were so soft that Zuko almost missed them.

"Did you kiss?"

He stiffened beside her, and she had her answer. A pang of sadness had her almost wincing as she pursed her lips.

"She did." His voice finally came, soft and sincere. "I didn't."

Normally when the both of them spoke to each other concerning anything, words were their major means of communication. A way to get their point and message across.

But right then, they were barely speaking, and yet the amount of emotion, understanding and comprehension that passed between them was one neither had ever felt before.

Finally, finally, she turned her head, something she had been dying to do since he came up.

Why?

Because she wanted to look at his handsome face.

She wasn't at all surprised to see him looking back at her. The wind blew softly, a few strands of her hair escaping her comb and tickling her cheek.

"Why?"

Her heart was beating fast, though her breathing was calm and slow. She had never seen him look so gentle before. So soft.

Zuko allowed his eyes to roam over her face. From her expressive blue eyes, to that soft looking patch of white hair. And while in the past he had to stop himself from touching it, this time he didn't.

His hand lifted to gently brush the tips of his fingers against the strands. They were just as soft as he had imagined.

In his attempt to stroke her hair, his body had shifted even closer, and tilted slightly so that he was lying at his side. Loosing herself to the feeling of his fingers in her hair, Orora couldn't help but lean towards him, her upper body turning to the side as well.

Their gaze never wavered from one another.

He cleared his throat, wanting to give her an answer though unable to find the words. And somehow, she understood.

So she brought her fingers up, gently pressing them against his lips and giving him a smile, showing him that despite him not saying a word, she knew.

A look of gratitude flashed in his amber gaze, as his hand slowly dropped from her hair, to rest his palm against her cheek. The gesture surprised her, prompting her to remove her fingers from his lips. Though they didn't get very far.

Instead she pressed her fingers gently against the scar on his face. She allowed her fingers to trace along the rough skin, a touch so exquisite and tender, that Zuko was sure it was nothing but a dream.

But the reality of it was that Orora was lying next to him. And she was touching his scar. The ugliest part of him. And she was touching it as if it were the most softest of flowers.

"Close your eyes." He said, his voice a perfect replica of his expression.

Tender.

The girl stopped moving her fingers, though her hand stayed where it was.

She did as he asked.

He moved closer, his eyes closing as well.

She felt his nose brush against her own.

He felt her warm breath caress his mouth.

And in that moment, there was no war.

There was no Fire Nation or Water Tribe.

No Prince or Noblewoman.

It was a moment between a boy and a girl.

A moment under the stars as his lips found hers in a tender embrace.

And the string that connected them together burst in a flash of color.

Blue and Red.

Before it faded once more.

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divinelydecreed-custommade · 1 month

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He's got a girlfriend anyway

Hey my loves, I wrote this ages ago and now see it reads like a Matty Healy blurb😭 there aren't any names though so it's really just a silly little story about you & your pretty boy bestie and the "will they/won't they hookup" energy that surrounds your not so platonic relationship. also - you're both in the like 19-21ish age range if you care about that for the visual

content - cheating adjacent (you might feel like its full blown cheating depending your moral compass lmao - proceed with caution if you're not here to read about that), pining fallingforyou vibes

You end up in his lap in the backseat of your best friend's car. It's purely logistical. You're both small and openly affectionate and it just makes sense for you two to cuddle up in the corner to leave room for your friends with longer legs and broader shoulders - although you probably would've ended up in the same position even if the backseat were totally empty.

You've been mistaken as his partner and he yours more times can either of you care to count. It might be because his fingers are always laced through yours when you're walking through town, or because your legs tend to find themselves draped over his when you inevitably sit next him on the sofa. Just about an hour ago your new drunk bathroom soulmate was saying how jealous she was because her boyfriend never wants to dance with her like yours was all night. You laugh it off with a "yeah, I love him!" Because you do. In a platonic way. Of course. Since he's got a girlfriend anyway. She's new and you like her well enough, but she couldn't come tonight and old habits die hard. So now your back is against the car door and your right side is against his chest. His left arm is wrapped around your waist and his other hand is resting on your leg, keeping you steady as your friend takes sharp turns on the drive back.

You're both tired after a night of drinking and dancing and one of your hands is lazily playing with his curls while the other is tracing the fingers resting on your thigh. He's gently dragging his blunt nails down your back and everything feels nice, and easy, and comfortable. You could easily fall asleep surrounded by the scent of smoke and cologne clinging to his clothes and skin with the quiet music playing from the stereo. He shifts a little beneath you and you end up tugging his hair a little harder than you meant to. You whisper an apology in his ear but he just laughs softly as he continues to lean forward.

At first you think it unintentional - the way his lips just barely brush your neck - but that thought quickly leaves your head as he trails kisses down to your collarbone. You're still combing your fingers through his hair and pull at it again as you feel his teeth grazing the base of your throat much too lightly to leave a mark. You turn closer so you're almost chest to chest in the confines of the backseat and feel his lips curve into a smile against you. You trace your fingers down his shoulder to rest above his racing heart, satisfied that he seems as effected as you.

He's getting bolder, easing his hands under the hem of your top running across your bare back and ribs as the car comes to a stop at its first destination. You move to open the door once you realize you've made it to his already and hop out first, allowing him to follow behind you. You stand on tiptoes to hug him goodbye for the evening as his housemates head for the door, expecting him to say sleep well, or see you soon, or anything but what he actually says:

"Y'wanna come up?"

It shouldn't shock you as much as it does. You pull back enough to look at him with a furrowed brow, giving him the opportunity to say he was messing and take it back but he doesn't.

"I don't think Connie would appreciate that, love."

"Shit - I didn't mean to - sorry..fuck." He trails off.

"Forget it, just go to sleep, yeah? We'll talk in the morning if you want."

He quickly nods, "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

You squeeze his hand and press a kiss to his forehead before you leave and get back into the car. Now that the front seat is unoccupied, you slide in next to your best friend who simply says "The fuck was that?"

You wish you knew, but you just shake your head and press your fingers to your temples, looking down at your lap. "I dunno - he's drunk."

"Mm, maybe." She says, sounding wholly unconvinced. "He's always been so into you though."

"Yeah, well. Apparently not that into me." You say it and look over to her with a wry smirk that you hope ends this line of questioning.

It does - the next thing she asks if you wanna get fries on the way back to your shared apartment. Now that is a question to which you will always know the answer.

this is my first time sharing any writing on this acct - feel free to engage if you like ❤️

#my writing #friends to more #storytelling #matty healy fic #matty healy x you #matty x reader

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dashielldeveron · 1 year

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soulmate trope | aizawa, part two.

Aizawa's route of soulmate trope.

Part two bc tumblr formatting weird (also it's formatted the texting sextions oddly. pls be patient). Part one here.

Warnings: BTS mention. Reader is explicitly a kissless virgin to make Aizawa feel Worse. Part one: reader gets a mild hand injury. Threat of dub-con. Claustrophobia. Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Part two: alcohol consumption (not by reader). Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Fem reader.

Remember that U.A., for the purposes of this fic, is a university. Lore dropped carries over to previous and subsequent chapters.

~38k overall. ~18k for part two.

The semester trudged on.

It ripped you apart, interacting with Aizawa in class as if you were the same as every other student, when you knew what he ordered at his favourite hole-in-the-wall ramen place, what he looked like shaving in the morning, what type of cat treat Konpeito preferred—the trivialities were stacking, and you savoured each one.

YOU

i had a dream about you

SHOUTA

Should you be texting during class?

YOU

Yamada-sensei has abandoned his lesson

YOU

in favour of recording noises for put your hands up radio

SHOUTA

Noises

YOU

bleep bloop

YOU

hey ya howdy doodle doo

YOU

etc.

Present Mic knew about the soulmate bond, as you’d suspected. While you’d been grading for one of Midnight’s underclassmen classes, Aizawa conveniently had been in the faculty lounge at the same time. You still had to be careful, hanging out, because it’s a tenuous boundary to walk, and you never know who’s watching.

For example, Present Mic.

He’d walked by at the same time Aizawa had mumbled a sorry about that in regards to how ill-stocked the faculty lounge was to preparing coffee, and Present Mic had only heard what he wanted to hear.

“OOOH,” he’d shouted, and he’d dropped everything in his arms and contorted his back over the arch of Aizawa’s leather office chair to hang upside down. “ARE YOU STILL GROVELLING FOR BEING A LITTLE BITCH, LOVER BOY?!”

You’d also felt like screaming.

“Don’t call me that.” Aizawa had whacked Mic’s face away, but he’d kept hanging around and slapped his hands to his cheeks.

“OH, HO? SHOULD I SAY LARGE BITCH, THEN?! YOU SHOULD TELL HER HOW HARD MIDNIGHT BLEW INTO YOU FOR BEING A HUGE DICK.” Present Mic had slithered farther into Aizawa’s seat and nearly into his lap.

Aizawa’d reached for his sleeping bag. “Midnight…was pissed at me for treating you the way I did,” he’d said, tucking his feet in and yanking the yellow fabric up around his hips, and he swatted at Mic again, who slinked his way into the sleeping bag, too. “What she’d heard from you—”

“SHE MADE HIM RIDE HER THIGH,” Present Mic had said, somewhat muffled in his headfirst descent into the sleeping bag, “TO GET RID OF THAT SEX QUIRK. SHE SAID IT’D BE ESPECIALLY HUMILIATING AND PATHETIC IF HE CAME WITHOUT HER HELP.”

Aizawa had upturned his sleeping bag to dump Present Mic out of it, and, muttering under his breath, he’d zipped himself in and rolled over to the faculty couch, curling up underneath the coffee table.

Present Mic had spun Aizawa’s chair twice before sitting in it, and he’d propped his chin on both fists. “So! How are you doing? Does he know about your contraband cat yet?”

YOU

he’s trying to bribe dark shadow into bellowing the opening jingle

YOU

i think i’m gonna throw up

SHOUTA

I’ll intervene if the lights pop out again

YOU

rolling around in a sleeping bag is not the fastest method of travel

SHOUTA

Ground yourself. Head between your knees, if you have to

YOU

(◕‿◕✿)

YOU

thanks i’m cured

YOU

but yes back to dream about you

SHOUTA

It isn’t explicit, is it?

It was still all frustratingly platonic and professional from his end. You understood, but that didn’t mean you didn’t hate it. Sometimes you trained with him and Shinsou, but that was all that you could officially schedule. Everything else had to fall as a tired coincidence.

It meant being in the same area of the library doing work, at tables far from each other. Casually bringing him tea when you’re making your rounds through the faculty offices for Midnight. Joining the regular rotation of Eri’s babysitters—but only if Togata or Monoma couldn’t make it that day, and oh, Midoriya’s out, I guess I need someone else who’s not doing anything right now?

(Babysitting meant that Aizawa would be out, but Eri liked you, especially since you brought Dango over to play with Konpeito. If Aizawa had noticed the different type of cat hair on his shitty couch by now, he hasn’t said anything.)

SHOUTA

Don’t put that sort of thing in writing

YOU

of course it’s explicit. how could i tell you any details if it’d been vague and nebulous

SHOUTA

Pedant.

YOU

you love it

SHOUTA Debateable

YOU

(❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

YOU

anyway so in dream we’re at some sort of outdoor awards ceremony

YOU

and the ground is covered in dead wet leaves

Just like Ito said, there’s been an increase in romantic clichés in your life—but, as you discovered (and reported back to both Midnight and Ito), you have to lean into the cliches for them to happen. A backburner signal goes off in your brain when the opportunity for a romantic cliché arrives, and you apparently have the option to ignore it. Which is nice, because the signal only bleeps (more of a gut feeling, really) at what could be a first step, without elaborating what situation might unfold.

You found you have the most energy for the first step signals surrounding coffee shops, and those have been very stare-at-each-other-from-across-the-room-in-unvarnished-lust (although, one time, you were handed an application to work there. You declined). What turned out to be a forced-to-be-roommates cliché brought about the destruction of your dorm room, and only your dorm room, by a training accident and your first step of opening your window overnight, but the whole cliché was subverted, because not only did Aizawa refuse to let you choose his flat over one of your friend’s dorms, but Cementoss and his team repaired your dorm by bedtime.

YOU

we are alone at the shittiest, kind of broken table at the back of the venue

YOU

and there’s still pressure to keep our relationship secret bc people are weird about professor/former student stuff

SHOUTA

Nice to hear you plan on graduating

YOU

sensei (derogatory)

YOU

and you let me scoot my chair as close to you as possible and h*ld your h*nd. intertwining our fingers. letting me k*ss them. you positioned yourself so that no one else would see

YOU

(notice how i censored the sexual parts. yer welcome)

YOU

you had your hair half-up half-down, some of it pulled back in a bun. v v v sexy btw, you should do this irl more often

SHOUTA

I’ll see what I can do

YOU

and you let me play with your hair a bit, with you leaning into my touch. we shared a very sugary pear that i had to fight Yamada-sensei at the buffet for. v v v v v warm and intimate

YOU

the sharing of the pear. not the fight. obviously

YOU

i swear, not knowing what kissing/physical romantic stuff feels like makes my brain come up with the most intimate shit on the planet

YOU

so yeah i dreamt some damn this bitch lonely hours about you

YOU

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ

YOU

…shouta??

YOU

you’re not in class rn, right??

SHOUTA

You tell me that you subconsciously devised an act so fondly intimatewith me adn hagve the nerve to say yo’ure fuckngi lonely

SHOUTA You’re going to rip me apart

Aizawa still hasn’t touched you in any way that matters. The soulmark flitted from behind your ear to your fingertips, your forearm, the back of your hand, and carefully back into its hidden place behind your ear. If anyone’s noticed, they haven’t said a word. You’ve been careful.

(The terribly, awfully, evilly romantic touch that made your head spin when it happened [and now when you think back on it] hadn’t even been skin to skin. It had been, in a small group of people, his hand flattening and lingering on the small of your back for just a bit too long, in congratulations for getting selected to student-teach a stealth section of a class for hero-course first-years.

Because you know it was an intentional decision to touch you like that. He could’ve just clapped you on the shoulder, like he would’ve done for any other student.

But he chose to spread the warmth.)

YOU

funny. that isn’t on the itinerary until after graduation

SHOUTA

You’re on thin fucking ice

YOU

and if i fall in??? whatcha gonna do, rescue me???

One of these days, when you shift in your sleep to his bed, you’re going to wake up with his arm around you. You can feel it.

***

The academic situation the week before graduation was a joke.

Less than a third of the seniors bothered to show up to class, and those who did sat through classes on their phones and with their friends instead of in the dumbass seating arrangement. Sero, honest to God, brought his switch to class and played Mario Kart with Todoroki and Kouda, and that was the most intellectually stimulating conversation unfolding.

You attended, because Aizawa had to. You figured you could lighten the mood, and the odds of you shifting to be next to him were significantly lower if you were in the same room.

The lax attitude permeated Sakura Grove, too. Ito was incredibly receptive to all rehabilitation efforts, accepting everything thrown at her with enthusiasm, so long as she got to have access to some way of watching hot people. She was easily coerced into tough recovery shit purely through the promise of BTS interviews and josei manga.

She was even allowed to have her home collection of josei and shoujo manga shipped to her, usually in a care package from her aunt. It wasn’t worth the effort it took you to go through them to approve their contents, but you still scrutinised and logged everything according to Grove standards.

Hell, the candy you were sneaking out of your backpack right now was from Ito. You were eating a goddamn villain’s sweets from home, and it wasn’t even the first time. Ito’s aunt apparently confused her flavour preferences with her sister’s, so you got the flavours Ito didn’t like. And everyone, including Midnight, was strangely okay with this.

(Midnight tried some, too, the first time Ito offered, after the bag had been put through the fucking rungs. Days of processing to ensure its safety, and the moment Midnight put one on her tongue, she spat it back out onto her desk, where it rolled off into the carpet and picked up fuzz. She ended up asking the on-site translator what the fuck the Dutch label said, because when you expect caramel and get salted liquorice, it’s a shock.)

Ito hadn’t wanted these little lemon-lime-flavoured bitches, even though Jungkook was beaming into a bouquet of daffodils under the logo, so here you were, a semi-hard green ball surreptitiously stowed in your cheek as you struggled to bite down (they had a bizarre inside texture. Interesting enough to keep eating them despite your caution, because something deep in your gut told you to keep eating them. Signs of addiction, anybody?). Your book splayed open on your desk (actually yours in the seating chart, since it was the closest to the door and therefore sweet, sweet freedom), but you were half-reading it, half-scrolling through your phone in your lap.

The sleeping bag slowly rose and fell from its place lying across the teacher desk, the only indication that Aizawa was awake at all being the sluggish deflation of the applesauce packet he was sucking on. The end of the sleeping bag dangled off the edge of the desk, with his boots mutedly knocking against the metal side when he exerted enough effort to take a deeper breath and thus upset his oh-so-delicate position lying on his back. Cosy little bastard. The instant you graduate, you’re climbing into that thing and sucking the soul out of his cock.

Nothing was happening online, and you were pissed at the protagonist in your book, since she was getting to go on a date with her hotboy emo assassin boyfriend, and you weren’t. And Todoroki’s sudden screech at losing again really kept you from concentrating, but, y’know, it’s not like anything’s going on… You checked the wall clock. An hour left, and then there’s only two more school days until you’re out of here.

You cracked the candy in half, caught a strange, flaky texture against the roof of your mouth, and swallowed it down before sneakily reaching for the next one. Out of here. Out of U.A. Now, that’s actually debatable for you, and it left a weird feeling in your stomach. With the work you’ve been doing for Midnight all these years and what Present Mic and Aizawa have shown you about the academic process, you were doubting yourself: you’ve always planned on being a pro-hero, but (cringe) teaching was actually really fucking appealing. Yes, parents were insane, and emails were the devil, but teaching itself was a goddamn delight. The way those first years’ faces had lit the fuck up as they connected things you’d taught them in the stealth section was the best thing you’d seen in a long, long time. And they were as excited about it as you were.

You low-key hated how much you liked it. Because if you stayed on at U.A. to teach (and Nezu has hinted that he’d be interested in hiring you), you’d never escape the professor/student status with Aizawa, even though you’d be his peer on staff. Because everyone around you would remember, and everyone who didn’t know would connect the dots.

If you taught somewhere else, you wouldn’t get to see him much at all, and you might not even get to teach hero-course-relevant material.

Your tentative plan, agonised over in detail with Midnight, was to keep sidekicking under her at Sakura Grove as a steadier job with more routine, especially since Ito would probably be approved for parole soon, and to work as a pro-hero somewhere else as well. You’d groaned and she’d laughed when you came to the conclusion that, with your skill set, you’d be most useful working as an underground hero like Aizawa.

It was both shitty and gratifying that everything in your life seemed to point towards him.

God, this class was dragging on. You willed the hands to spin around the clock faster as you sucked on a fresh piece of candy, determined to suck down to the centre to see what the odd inner texture was about instead of chomping down again like Ito into a picture of Suwabe Jun'ichi.

Maybe you should play a round of Mario Kart. Might take your mind off things. I bet I can run Todoroki into the lava first try, you thought as you swirled the increasingly porous ball around with your tongue.

Yeah, that sounded brain-numbing enough. Shutting your book, you slid it to the corner of your desk and started to get up, giving up and swallowing the damn candy.

But you’d evidently gotten past the hard-candy coating to something large and dense blooming rapidly right as it hit the back of your throat, and you were choking, loudly, drawing the attention of even a Shy-Guy focused Sero, and after coughing up an embarrassing amount of yellow-green spittle, you unceremoniously hacked up a surprisingly realistic daffodil blossom, unfolding to its true size as it lay in your thickened saliva.

“Eurgh,” you said, testing, and you cleared your throat again, prickly and grating. You had only closed your eyes for a second, but Aizawa was standing in front of you, eyes widened in horror at the flower you’d coughed up. How had he gotten out of his sleeping bag so—?

Before you could get a word out, Aizawa grabbed you by your (bare) forearm and rushed you out of the classroom, arm sliding around your waist before he even shut the door behind him. The pink ink smeared down your arm as he led you to the closest empty hallway, where he skidded to a halt and clamped his hands on your shoulders, looking directly at you with the most serious expression he’s ever shown you.

“I haven’t been kind; I haven’t been honest,” he began, all apologies and concern and a desperate sort of tenderness, “I’ve been putting it off because I’ve been selfish and have wanted so hard to do this right, because I don’t deserve anything as good for me as you, and you don’t deserve anything thoroughly fucked up like I am.” Aizawa’s obscenely large hand cupped your face, taking up your entire cheek with his fingertips grazing your earlobe and neck (oh, man, choke me about it), the pad of his thumb hovering over your lower eyelashes; he jerked you towards him, his gentle grip trapping your arm between your bodies.

What the fuck?

I mean, you’ll take this. You’ll take it.

What the fuck’s he on? Those applesauce packets have addled his brain.

He must have read your complete bewilderment as encouragement, because he kept going like he had to vomit up these words or else get shish-kebabed for Mic’s end-of-the-year barbecue. “But now that you’re fucking dying—God, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I had—plans. For you. But now—Christ—you should know that I haven’t thought of you as a stu—”

“Oh, my fucking God,” you said, your jaw dropping in the smuggest fucking grin and shaking your head, “Oh, my God. Shouta.”

He was flushed and panting, but he stopped to listen. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

(Oh. You’ve never said his name aloud before.

You made a note to tease him about that later. You have something worse to make fun of.)

“You are the dumbest fuck alive,” you said with a shit-eating grin, reaching up to finger-comb his hair out of his face, “I was eating in class. I swallowed a piece of flowering candy at the wrong time. Hanahaki disease isn’t real.”

Aizawa untangled himself from you and took a step back, and then another. “Neither are soulmates,” he said carefully.

“Okay, okay, I can see the logical jump,” you conceded, holding your hands up, “You may continue with your sordid confession now.”

Aizawa blinked, weary again now that the adrenaline was draining away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, fluffing up his capture weapon to cover most of his face.

“Oh, you—you prick! You’re going to hell.” You grinned, poking your tongue into your cheek. “It’s two more days until graduation, and the minute I’m off that stage, I’m yours. C’mon. You can bend your rules with two days left.”

For some reason, he sank more into his scarf. “Let’s go back to the classroom before Todoroki lights something on fire.”

***

You’re vibrating out of your metal chair at the commencement ceremony. Glassy-eyed, you went through the motions of the walk, the pictures, the handshakes, sad goodbyes that aren’t even real, because people were going to the same places and agencies that they’ve been working at for the past few years. Just as pros.

Aizawa’s right there, and his hair’s slicked back, and he’s wearing a suit, and he’s avoiding your ravenous gaze like a good professor should, instead bowing to parents and entertaining the small but constant group that swarmed him.

Hiss, hiss. Back off. He’s yours. You've waited.

When Jirou asked about the twitch in your left eye, you decided it was time to leave. You’re driving yourself insane, watching him like this.

You sat on the front steps of U.A. with Shinsou as the sun sank past the horizon, jovially engaging with your friends who stopped to talk before going out to celebrate. He didn’t ask after whom you’re waiting for, though it was clear you were killing time.

When the night chill swept through the courtyard, Shinsou stood, his hands in his pockets. “I’m beat.” When you didn’t join him, he continued. “D’you wanna go get ice cream, or something, before turning in?”

Aizawa’s still inside. “I’m okay,” you said, stretching, bones cracking, “I think I’ll stay here a bit longer. You go ahead.”

Shinsou stared at you oddly for a second, but he nodded. “Right, then. I’ll go.” He jogged up a couple of stairs before calling back, “You shouldn’t wait out here too long.”

You waved him off.

Eventually, a night wind came that had you pulling down on your sleeves, hunched over on the stairs and rubbing your upper arms. You dug out your phone—no messages—and called him.

He answered after a few rings, his voice groggy and hoarse. “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Where am—I’m in my bed. I’m sleeping,” said Aizawa, yawning distantly (he must be tilting his speaker away). He sounded a bit more awake when he asked, “Where are you?”

Fury overtook you. “Where am I? You dense mother—”

You’re straddling his hips in his bed, layers and layers of blankets between you and him.

“—fucker.” You glared down at him, hair mussed up and splayed on his pillow. You hung up your phone and tossed it off the bed; you grabbed his and flung it into the wall. “I waited for you to come out of that building,” you said, planting your hands on either side of his chest to loom over him in what was hopefully a threatening way.

Rubbing an eye with the heel of his palm, Aizawa said, “I hoped you wouldn’t. Shouldn’t you be out with your friends? You’ve graduated. You’ve completed a tough stage of your life.”

“Correct. But aren’t you omitting,” you said, bunching up the fabric of his black henley in a burst of courage (though you didn’t know whether to put your weight on him or not, so you just kind of hovered), “that I’m not your student anymore? I’ve graduated, Shouta. I’ve waited. It’s time. We can start our lives together for real. Aren’t you—aren’t you going to kiss me about it?”

Aizawa’s chest rose and fell underneath your fist, and when he didn’t respond, you released his shirt and sat back with all of your weight on his legs. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.” You crossed your arms, uncrossed them in a nervous fidget, and crossed them again so that you wouldn’t touch him in any way that grossed him out. Though every cell in your body shouted not to, you climbed off of him, kneeling at his side instead. “What’s,” you started, hesitating, “Is anything wrong that you haven’t told me? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Barely perceptible in the crack of moonlight through his partially drawn curtains, Aizawa gave you a sad smile. “There’s something fucked up about waiting until graduation to kiss you, isn’t there?”

“Goddammit,” you said, crumpling and burying your face in your hands, “I get it. I get it.” You ran your tongue over your lower lip. “I hate you.”

Aizawa reached out to brush hair out of your face, not that you really needed it. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” you said back, shaking at his cool touch sliding behind your ear to fix the soulmark.

***

The next ten months of your life were a blur.

In an attempt to not feel so terribly lonely, you buried yourself in work, Sakura Grove during the day and moonlighting as an underground hero after dark. You had to be a pro to be a professor at U.A., so you pushed yourself not just to be good but good enough. Hopefully, you’d be firmly established as a pro before you went back.

Nezu had discussed that with you in an unofficial job talk that last week of school. You’d also taken the opportunity to confide in your soulmate situation, and God bless Nezu for being so discreet and understanding. He promised to keep your student ID active so that you could still scan into doors on campus and that you could leave without hassle when you shifted to Aizawa (it did tons for your self-esteem when Nezu suggested going ahead and upgrading your student pass to a faculty one; you’d walked out of that meeting positively glowing).

You haven’t been shifting to Aizawa as often. You figured it was because you were suppressing your desire to be next to him as much as you could—still fucking difficult, since it crossed your mind every day. You kept it as low-stress as you could—you most often shifted to him in your sleep, so you could sneak out before the bastard woke up.

(You didn’t want to think about how he’s keeping to one side of the bed, using bedding and blankets instead of his sleeping bag now. You continued to leave nothing but your indent on the pillow.)

(You could count the number of times he shifted to you [that you were aware of] on one hand, but once, as you blinked away sleep, he was scratching Dango’s neck in what appeared to be a familiar way.)

The ache made its home in your chest again.

***

Then came a mission.

To quell the PLF action outside of Mustafu, a team was going undercover to PLF bases throughout Japan to extinguish them. And hey, who do we know who has amazing track records, already work well together, and aren’t too well known by the public and thus are able to go undercover?

Class A reunited in the back of a rented-out, hole-in-the-wall ramen place (Class B was the other team and met in a different location). The cook waved at you, having recognised you from the times you and Aizawa have picked up takeaway, and you shuffled into the back room, dimly lit, private, and pungently smelling of broth.

Aizawa’s surrounded by the half of the class already present—Mina’s showing him a video of a dance she taught primary school kids; Kirishima, hair ungelled and loose around his shoulders, was asking for advice about perpetually split fingernails; Asui’s handing him a juice box with the straw already popped in.

When Aizawa wrapped his lips around the straw, he locked eyes with you, dance routine video playing on without an audience. He’s looking painfully handsome in a black turtleneck and long coat with his hair pulled back, and he only got prettier when he gave you some semblance of a smile: more around the eyes than the mouth.

The moment was broken when Kaminari slammed into Aizawa in a hug, knocking him off balance, so you were grinning when you neared him.

Recovering, Aizawa grasped Kaminari’s shoulders. “Put someone in your own agency as your emergency contact.”

“But Daaaaad,” said Kaminari, his whine eliciting a few giggles from Yaoyorozu and Jirou, “You’re gonna take care of it better than anyone else.”

“I am no longer your professor and am therefore exempt from responsibility. The last two times I was called during class,” said Aizawa, setting his juice box on a booth’s table, “It’s nearly impossible to find a substitute at the last second.”

“But you did.” Kaminari shoots him a double thumbs-up. “You’re the best, but sure, I’ll add someone else to the list.”

“Ooh, during class—there is a new Class A that you’re latched to,” Mina said, turning off her phone and stowing it, “They’re not as cool as we are, right?”

“They’re certainly less trouble, at the very least,” said Aizawa, and he glanced over the former students who had arrived. “Why don’t you work on pushing the tables together?”

They scattered. You stayed.

The ache lessened now that you were near him.

You bit your lip. “Is it okay to hug—”

“C’mere,” he said, and you did, wrapping your arms around his neck and inhaling deeply the scents of pine and sandalwood. You had to step out of his embrace hastily, since anyone could notice something off, but the soulmate warmth had flooded your system like a sugar rush, especially with the observation that he’d pulled you close by your waist, as opposed to when he’d gawkily hugged Kaminari around his shoulders.

You stepped out of his personal space, clasping your hands behind your back. “I know I’ve said it a lot, but you smell incredible.”

“Thank you,” said Aizawa, picking up his juice box, “The shampoo you’re using is particularly nice, too.”

“Thanks,” you said while he slurped, “Is Eri doing okay?”

“She’s doing well. She misses you,” he said, and after a beat, he smirked. “She wants you to bring Dango the next time you shift.”

You sucked in through your teeth. “Ah, ha, you know who Dango is?”

Aizawa was really and truly smiling now, eyes half-lidded and soft. “Eri told me about how you would bring Dango over to play with her and Konpeito. I’ve known from the start.”

“I can’t believe I now have beef with a primary schooler,” you said, “She promised not to tell.”

“She also didn’t seem to understand why you couldn’t bring Dango during a shift,” said Aizawa, leaning back on the table and tilting his head, “You’ve been leaving before she even gets up. Does your work at Sakura Grove start earlier than regular businesses? It’s a long commute, sure, but you leave earlier than it takes to be on time. I’d told you to stick around, if you wanted. You seem to have forgotten that since you graduated.”

“Oh.” You stared blankly, and you blinked. To fill time, you joined him in leaning against the booth table, the hands between the two of you almost touching. “I, uh. Huh.”

Aizawa leant closer to your ear, a strand of his loose hair tickling your skin. He spoke quietly, in that infuriatingly rumbly voice of his. “If you’re distracting yourself by overworking, I advise you to ease up.” The tips of his fingers grazed yours, exploding in pink. “You haven’t been answering my calls; you’ve been sneaking out in the morning. Midnight called me to ask if you were all right, and it was shameful that I couldn’t answer her.” Your jaw quivered at the brush of his hot breath against your skin, but if he noticed (and he probably did, that perceptive bastard), he didn’t say anything. “If you work yourself to the bone, you won’t be any good at your job, and you won’t grow. You don’t have to push yourself. You don’t have to prove yourself. Stop rushing. Take your time.” He leant back, sitting upright. “Linger when you shift to me.”

You tapped your pink fingers on the table; it was a relief seeing the mark, instead of just knowing it’s behind your ear. He’d been rather close rather quickly, saying all of these caring, helpful things with an undertone of innuendo, and it was a lot for you after the long dry spell, so there wasn’t anything left in your brain besides looking up at him full of yearning and saying, point-blank, “I’m in love with you.”

Aizawa kept soft eyes on you while covering your hand with his, clumsily lacing fingers together. “I know.”

Your friends erupted in a wild cheer when the last stragglers, Bakugou and Midoriya, finally pushed their way through the double curtains, with Midoriya waving brightly as he joined them and Bakugou ducking his head and averting his gaze.

You jumped out of your skin at the noise and placed a hand over your heart when you realised what it was—and Aizawa was fucking laughing at you. His fingers curled more tightly into yours while he covered his mouth with his other hand, unable to conceal a terrible sort of wheezing laugh and a wide grin.

He’s beautiful.

Tempted to ask if he were having an asthma attack, you instead pouted, pursing your lips. “Hey, you know that when you’re doing hero work at night, you have to be alert for any sort of unusual sound—”

“Correct,” said Aizawa, trying to reel himself in, “but you may want to work on having a work mode and relaxation mode, with clear boundaries. If you’re on guard all of the time, it drains your energy. I’d like you to have the space to live.”

Jirou called the two of you over now that everyone was present. Aizawa stopped you from joining your friends at the end of the table, subtly pointing at the chair beside him.

Knowing that everyone would want to catch up, Aizawa announced he’d be waiting until after their food arrived for the debriefing. While you talked with Shinsou, seated at your other side, Aizawa examined the menu but ordered the same thing he always did.

Aizawa ate his ramen faster than normal and pulled a manilla file from his long coat, quieting most of the table with the gesture—it reminded you how careful you have to be in your actions, your inflections, because all of these people instinctively paid attention to him.

“You all have been split into sub-teams based on the size and structure of each Paranormal Liberation Front base and your individual abilities to infiltrate them. The majority of you are going to Tokyo, but to those going to less urban locations, your job is just as important in quashing extremists.” He passed the file to Midoriya, on his right. “Take the envelope with your name and a moment to read it before getting in your group. No, Iida,” Aizawa said before Iida could gesture more, “Midoriya is only involved in the planning stage. As he and Bakugou are the most well-known by the public, they will be staying here to maintain a sense of normalcy.”

Shinsou handed the file to you, and you took the last envelope while Midoriya took over explaining to the table. With Aizawa watching you in his periphery, you ripped open your envelope.

Hero commission stationery. Cute. Secrecy of mission, dedication of self…You’re going to Tokyo. Great, you’ll have to burn your city-grimed clothes at the end of each day.

“Who assigned these teams?” you whispered to Aizawa.

He finished his bite of noodle, swallowed thickly, and tucked loose hair behind his ear. “I did.”

You narrowed your eyes. “My team is you.”

“It’s only logical,” he said with a sly smile as he reached for his drink. “Keep reading.”

You scanned the rest, the soulmate trope signal growing in your gut. “Since when does the PLF have connection with the yakuza?”

“Since the families in opposition to Chisaki bolstered their defences against heroes. Keep going.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Their headquarters is in a club?”

“Beneath it,” said Aizawa, and under the table, his knee nudged yours. “So, tell me: what would be the purpose in sending two underground heroes there?”

You took a deep breath, bouncing your leg. “Heroes specialising in stealth would be trained already in how to infiltrate a place unnoticed. They would be accustomed to reading people, to recognising the details that betray intention. And they’d be less likely to be recognised by their faces. Well, goddamn,” you said, reading over your letter again, “Logical. But again: why am I going to a club? I’ve never been to one and have never wanted to.”

“Because you need to grow.” Aizawa tucked that loose strand into his ponytail. “You’re not at your best in large, social situations. Your crowd work needs to improve.”

“So, you’re sending me to a fucking club—”

“Not sending you,” he said, “I’m coming with you.”

“Pedant,” you grumbled, secretly pleased that you’re rubbing off on him. “Seriously, I don’t know if I can do this.”

Aizawa shook his head. “I do.”

***

You were teeming with envy for your classmates sent to rural PLF bases when five o’clock brought vast hordes of businessmen and freshly released workers onto the train to uptown Tokyo.

You have a firm stance on personal space; you’re not used to touching people or being touched, so you grew more and more visibly flustered as more people packed on. A faint call of the soulmate signal echoed in your gut, and you panicked—is it a romantic cliché to get fucking groped?

But before it can escalate to a true panic attack, Aizawa set his duffel on the floor and reached for your waist—you jumped at his touch but relaxed when you saw it was him. He guided you in front of him, unbuttoned his long coat, and wrapped it around both of you, pulling you back against him with his arms hugging your waist, large hands covering more of your body than you’d imagined. Back against his broad, warm chest. Feeling tucked in under the coat.

Tilting your head back to look at his tired eyes, you mouthed Thank you.

Aizawa nodded, and when you settled into his arms, he rested his chin on the top of your head.

***

The A/C in your hotel room conked out an hour before infiltrating Club Magenta.

“There’s a pin that the yakuza has issued to PLF members for club access,” called Aizawa from the bathroom, the door cracked to let out steam, “It’s a visible marker for who’s safe to confide in, since PLF members haven’t been sworn into the yakuza.”

You pulled the fan chain through its cycle of settings again, and no, that was the highest it could go. “Wait, a pin? Would either of mine look like it from a distance?”

“Unless you’re coincidentally wearing the eye of Horus—” The bathroom door slammed open, steam and light outpouring. “Why are you wearing pins on a mission?”

“It’s to contribute to my I-am-open-and-not-hiding-anything vibes by providing more information about myself than necessary,” you said, kneeling on the bed, crawling off of it, and being slapped with 80 psychic damage at the sight of Aizawa’s clubbing disguise.

How annoying. He’s got on this unbearably irritating all-black ensemble (though that form-fitting button-up peeking out from underneath that stupid leather jacket was more of an ashy-grey-black than straight black), but a flash of his socks revealed neon kittens—if you could get past those funky, leather boots with flowers painted on. He’d shaved away all but a shadow of stubble, and his hair was up in that half-up, half-down bun style that was horribly, horribly attractive.

You had to sit down on the edge of the bed.

Aizawa strode over to you, squinting down at the pins near your left shoulder (the tips of his boots parted your legs where he stood). The expected wave of disappointment washed over his face as he read Good Pussy Gang and experiencing sensory overload—both in pastel, the latter with cartoon frogs.

“What the hell is wrong with you,” said Aizawa, unconsciously edging further between your legs.

“Well, the other options for pins up for borrowing from the girls could imply some things that could turn out badly for me in this situation. There was my sun sign is cocaine, but then what if I were offered cocaine? I don’t wanna do that,” you said, grinning, “And the one that said don’t bully me; I’ll come was a little too close to home, and you’ve taught us to never be that vulnerable about our true selves when undercover. Fuck Nasty wears its joke out quickly. It was tough choosing, though. Runner-up was crab rangoon.”

Narrowing his eyes, Aizawa plucked at the charm on your necklace. “And this, I presume, is the entire clitoral gland?”

“It’s a wishbone,” you said.

He set the charm back against the hollow of your throat. “Figures. Just—just what the hell are you wearing?”

“You’ve seen me in a dress before.” It’s really not that bad: also all-black, long enough to feel safe—but since you’ve been informed you have nice boobs, it’s also got a square-cut neckline to show them the fuck off.

“No, I meant—” Aizawa hooked a finger underneath the leather strap on your shoulder and yanked, pulling you upright and rather close; you laid your hands on his chest to balance yourself (oh, hohohohoho, his chest! You’re successfully touching it).

“That,” you said, biting your lip as his hooked finger ran down the strap from your shoulder to the side of your boob, “is called a harness, Shouta. You seem like the type to know a lot about—”

“Not the point,” he said under his breath, his hands resting at your waist (!!!), just below the leather going across there, thumbs rubbing at your sides. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and then cleared his throat. “Enlighten me. Why do you have a harness?”

(“Because it pushes your boobs up and together, and men are weak,” Mina had said.)

“It’s from Momo’s failed Attack on Titan cosplay,” you said, truthfully, “She got the placement of the horizontal strap wrong. See, it’s supposed to go here.” You drew a line across the tops of your boobs, watching his pupils follow. “But she made it here, under the boobs, like an underbust corset. She was going to throw it out, but I thought it looked good on me.”

He rubbed his thumb over the leather one last time before dropping his hands. “It does,” he said in a sort of croak.

You soared on the high of that croak the entire uber ride to Magenta.

Tinged pale pinks and greens under spotlights, the line outside stretched around the block and into the night. Bit embarrassing how Aizawa’d had to explain ratio to you, and a couple of eavesdropping woo girls thought it was simply adorable that it was your first time in a club and agreed to latch onto you two to be let in. The bouncer talked to Aizawa, not you, but let you pass, stating that first-timers at Magenta need to stay on the first floor unless otherwise invited.

“Can everyone just look and me and tell I’m a virgin?!” you hissed into Aizawa’s ear as you were led down a pitch-black corridor. “How come no one’s talking to any of the other women like that?!”

Harsh drops in the music coming from somewhere shook the walls more and more as you walked farther into the dark, and a heavy, steel door (with a glow-stick around the handle) opened onto a pulsating sardine can of a dance floor coated in way too many people, all writhing and twisting to the beat. The floor sectioned into a panelled grid, with each panel somehow lit from underneath, flashing pinks, greens, and black. The ceiling was similarly gridded but only with white light, from the view below, and you could see the silhouetted footsteps of dancers on the floor above.

Aizawa guided you to an edge booth before going to the bar; you, keeping an eye out for the Magenta pins, camped out and shazam-ed the incomprehensible electro-pop song currently vibrating the chairs away from a nearby table (the table was bolted down, but the chairs weren’t).

When Aizawa slid into the booth with drinks, you dragged him close to you, pressing your face into his shoulder and inhaling deeply. “Thank God,” you said, refreshed by the pine and what was apparently new leather, “Too many people are vaping for me to breathe. And it’s so fucking humid in here.” You popped up, accepting the glass of fancy-as-fuck pink lemonade as he skidded the glass across the table to you (you’d decided ahead of time that you weren’t drinking on the mission tonight). “I’m glad Mina told me not to rely on makeup too much due to the sweat, but fuck, this is kind of awful.”

“Yet the humidity’s from crowds of young people dying to experience this flavour of awfulness,” said Aizawa, the glass of some sort of whisky-based drink eclipsed by his hand (big hand…big hand could hold you…), “Seen anyone interesting so far?”

You cupped your hands around your glass, savouring the cool condensation. “Perhaps. Mostly I’ve been acclimatising myself to my surroundings—”

“Spoken like a true hero and a huge nerd.”

“—and I haven’t seen an eye of Horus pin, or any pin, for that matter, but I’ve seen a couple of people, I think, not dressed for a club leaving through a different door. Just there,” you said, raising your glass in that direction and to your lips. “And I happen to like being a nerd, thank you.”

Aizawa’s knee touched yours under the table when he turned in to speak more quietly. “The bartender was wearing an oversized jacket with pin-holes in the lapel.”

“So, not her jacket. Bartender doesn’t qualify?”

“Suppose she doesn’t have to. Only has to deal with the alcohol and kitchen, not crime. Though the price of their scotch comes close,” said Aizawa, taking a sip—and the chokehold his Adam’s apple has on you when it bobs, yikes. Oof. He leant in closer, his breath grazing your neck, to say, “And trust me, if anyone knows you like being a nerd, it’s your sensei.”

Your life flashed before your eyes (lots of reading, lots of yearning, not enough telling people to shut up). Your face felt tight from suppressing a reaction. “Incidentally, didn’t you say you could handle alcohol well?”

“Correct,” he said, smugly taking another swallow, and the soulmate signal erupted in your gut.

Not…the greatest sign.

“If you’re going to try to harass me about how well I can hold my liquor, which is perfectly well, then allow me to make another extrapolation about you.”

You nervously took another swig of your lemonade. “Go ahead.”

No mercy in his expression. “You have a book in your purse, don’t you?”

“Well, fuck,” you said, shifting in your seat, “Is my not-like-other-girls complex showing?”

“I don’t know what that means, but since it flusters you, yes.”

You tried to down the rest of your lemonade, but the glass was really big. Whatever. You pushed on the table to stand. “I’m gonna go dance. I have no idea how, but it’ll be a learning experience, right, fuck-o?”

Holding his glass in from of his smile, Aizawa rolled his eyes.

“I’ll see if there’s anyone out there wearing the pin who doesn’t fit a stereotype and get to talking. See if there’s any more exits,” you said, successfully finishing your lemonade this time and slithering out of the booth, “You stay here, being effortlessly, excruciatingly handsome, and watch the flow of traffic, yeah? See if anyone approaches. Is the soulmark in place?” You spun around (with a bit of traction from the beer-soaked floor) and gestured to your ear.

When he didn’t touch you, you faced him again. Eyebrows raised, Aizawa was frozen, his glass an inch from his lips.

“You think I’m handsome?”

“Is that what you’re focusing on? C’mon, Sho, you’re the most beautiful creature alive, and you know it. I wanted to drop dead when you walked out in your slutty little outfit earlier. You’re playing to my exact weaknesses, you cunning little fuckslut. I already want to quit the mission and make out with you, but I know you won’t allow that, so let’s get the ball rolling so we can finish, yeah?”

He set his glass down with a loud clink. “Right.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Let me fix your soulmark.”

After that, you fucked off onto the dance floor, a bit discombobulated from the nearly-strobe-but-not-quite lights from the floor panels, but you guess the advantage would be if anyone saw you embarrassing yourself, they wouldn’t be able to get a good look at you.

Dancing was out of your comfort zone, but making people laugh? All too easy. All you had to do was compliment a woman on her heart-shaped nipple stickers, and she invited you over to her friends’ dance group. You elected to lean into the everyone-can-tell-this-is-my-first-time-in-a-club bit, and by being honest and awkward within the boundaries of your mission persona, the more experienced club-goers delighted in teaching you some basic club dance moves.

Yes, the music throbbed through your skull as you pulled questionable moves in a dense, sweaty pack of bodies—but hey, your mission persona’s new bestie said that everyone besides professional dancers fake knowing how to dance, so you do you, girl. Besides, Haru was fishing out her phone to show you pictures of her cat, and Kisa was shouting over the music the premise of her PhD dissertation that she was defending next month (she invited you to the defence, and though you won’t have any good questions about the usage of prosthetic limbs as moral denotation in English Victorian literature, you genuinely planned on attending).

(No pins, no outsiders, no one not young and exceedingly drunk—)

“I think you’ve got it!” Haru yelled, her features illuminated in pink, “I think that’s all the basic solo moves! Do you know how to grind? Should we move on to grinding?”

Outward shouts of agreement from the group. Internal screaming on your part. How do you say my ass belongs to my stupid soulmate undercover?

All too quickly, Haru introduced you to Kazu, who waved politely and offered an honestly endearing smile, but you were pressed up against him way too quickly, with too many people touching you, with multiple pairs of hands on your hips trying to guide their movement, and hey, is that an eye—

When Aizawa yanked you out of the cluster, you could breathe again.

“Oof, ouch, I’m sorry; we’re sorry, sir. We didn’t know we were swarming her,” Kisa was saying while you were reorienting yourself, “She should be just fine, though! Nothing bad has happened to her since she’s been with us, and until now, it’s just been us girls—”

More of that language. Assuring Aizawa, like you weren’t even there. And, like, these were women! Some of whom were in academia and medicine, and shit, fighting the good feminist fight! Why were they talking about you like you were—

“They think I’m your dom,” Aizawa said as he steered you towards a roomier part of the floor, “They want to ensure you’re not in trouble with me.”

You turned to face him. “Shut up. No, they don’t.”

Aizawa didn’t have to say anything—just let his gaze sink to your harness.

“Oof,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back. Biting the inside of your cheek, you bounced on the balls of your feet, and you met his eyes. “Am I in trouble with you?”

“No,” he said evenly, “but you’re not going to learn to grind on anyone but me.” He closed in on you, body heat mingling, and looked down at you, eyes half-lidded. “Do you seriously not know? Do those books you read teach you nothing?”

Aizawa took mercy on your headshake no, spun you around, and grasped your hips, his thumbs digging into the swell of your ass.

(He’s touching you, and it’s lower on your body; it’s intimate. You need to go lie down to think about this. You can already feel you’ll be processing this touch for a long time—)

Aizawa jerked your ass back against his pelvis, and your brain emptied.

“Now,” he said, his voice low in your ear (though you’re already sweating, a different heat started to build in you), “The first step is to relax. The movement will be smoother if you’re not wracked with tension.”

“How can I relax when you’re—” Realisation seized you like a sailor grasping for a fish flopping around on deck. “You’re drunk, Shouta,” you said, sighing, chest heavy with compassion and disappointment that he wasn’t flirting with you entirely deliberately, and you reached up to cup his face in your hands. “Let’s go back to the booth and wait it out. I’m going to take care of you.”

He snatched your hands away before your fingertips could even turn pink. “No, little girl,” Aizawa hissed, forcing you around and pinning your hips against his, his splayed hand pressing down hard on your lower stomach, “I’m going to take care of you.”

You would like pink lilies at your funeral.

“A step-by-step lesson, since you’ve managed to make it this far being so woefully ignorant. Some people say grinding can be for fun and nothing else, but for you, since you’re with me, grinding is always sensual.” Aizawa took your twitching hands in both of his, and he dragged your hands up your thighs, plucking at the hem of your dress before trailing them up to your waist. “Usually, your goal would be to get me hard. Luckily for you—”

Grunting, Aizawa ground his erection (?!) against you, rolling his hips from top to bottom to make you feel everything from the tip to his balls, putting so much pressure on your hip and stomach that you grew aware of your goddamn hipbones (this man is bringing up your skeleton, among other private, inner things you don’t want to think about, and it’s just a dance).

“—I’m already there. So, you don’t have to worry about any responsibility. You just sit pretty and let your sensei teach you, hm? I know you’re a quick learner. You’ll catch on.”

Aizawa tapped the back of your knees, making you bend them when you flinched, but he motioned for them to stay bent, doing the same himself. “Move your hips to the beat, matching my speed. Some songs call for moving your hips in a figure-eight, but most work better if you’re moving them in a circular motion—”

“Circular how?” you asked, swaying along to the beat just barely, not even realising you were doing it, “Like, are we talking circle on the y-axis or the x-axis?”

Aizawa scoffed into your hair. “Fucking—it’s not that simple; it’s not two-dimensional. It’s,” he said, raising a hand in front of you to make a flattening gesture, “There’s another plane intersecting. Not just the y- and x-axes. God, what is it called when there’s a third—forget it.” He huffed and nuzzled against your neck. “Think of the movement as Saturn’s rings.”

You looked back at him, grinning. “Are you Saturn?”

“Cheeky,” he said, and he directed you to face the front again by sliding his thumb along your jaw, “or should I say brat. Jesus, am I Saturn—no, sweetheart, but I’m losing my patience for you. Pay attention.”

Sweetheart.

You have the mental image of popping champagne while Midnight and Ito throw confetti.

You’re almost too overwhelmed by the new and very good and oh? to keep absorbing more information and observing more sensations, but the only way out was through.

So, Aizawa taught you the right way to roll your hips, to adjust to different songs, what to do with your hands, with every point of contact along the way feeling like a lit sparkler, and you’re a light that won’t go out.

Both present and far away, you couldn’t keep it together (maybe you were experiencing sensory overload). Being so close to Aizawa, with him wanting to be near and nearer to you, unfurled a heady thrill up your spine as he slid his hands over your hips and ass and waist, tugging back on the harness when your back strayed too far from his chest. The way your bodies moved together, slowly, sultrily—his hips twitched involuntarily against you.

“Let me look at you.”

Grabbing your chin again, he turned you towards him, and your hands trembled under his as he encouraged you to run them down his chest (half of his features highlighted in a flash of pearl green, he smirked at you when you lost your nerve and broke eye contact, gathering the fabric of his shirt in a frustrated fist before noticing you were grazing his abs and let go). But he kept you close.

Head swimming, you hooked a finger into his belt loop and yanked to close the scant space between you. You found yourself saying nonsense, like your sentences were rice-paper butterflies that couldn’t float off your tongue and into the dark fast enough. “I want to take a nap inside your ribcage. I want and love every part of you, even the ones I don’t know yet, even if you want no part of me. I’m always yours, in every iteration of me, in every timeline, forever. I don’t care if everyone else forgets me or hates me so long as you know me. I’m going to make you pancakes in the morning. I’m going to give you the best blowjob of your life. I’m going to eat you alive. I’m also possibly experiencing sensory overload and may pass out, so we may need to rain-cheque the mission and leave soon.”

Nodding, Aizawa leant in to kiss you.

The music and lights and people faded away, and you were weightless, in freefall, with a spark of yet more heat kindling low in your stomach.

(From there, the details escape you—and that kills you when you look back at this moment, because it’s your first kiss. But you don’t remember if his lips were chapped or how it tasted or sounds, or anything [possibly because of how bombarded your senses had already been], but you remember how he made you feel: like you’ve been exploring an endless garden, searching, and then seeing him when you turn a corner, his back to you as he waters greenery, and how blinding his smile is when he turns to you.)

***

The mission. Right, the mission. Really hard to care about it once you’d kissed Aizawa.

It went fine. You returned to the booth and read aloud from your book to him until he decided he was sober enough to continue, and you’d scouted some pin-wearers and sneaked downstairs. The PLF stragglers split you and Aizawa up during the fight, so it thrilled you to bits when the soulmate bond made Aizawa shift to you when he couldn’t get loose from multiple yakuza holding him down. Good shit.

Nothing happened when you made it back to the hotel, because Aizawa passed the fuck out within a minute of unlocking the door, which was fair.

You’d been summoned to aid Hagakure and Kirishima at a base just outside of Tokyo, so you’d taken care of that and were now driving back home.

(He’d told you he’d rented the car because he didn’t want to risk your feeling overwhelmed on the train again. Magnanimous fucker.)

Unfortunately, most of the car ride had to be spent reporting to a hero commission employee and then listening to the next step of the plan on speakerphone. You found yourself nodding off, despite the hard copy of the mission report in front of you waiting to be filled out.

The hero commission had to hang up abruptly (something something Best Jeanist?), and the second Aizawa hung up the phone, it rang again. Groaning, he answered it, turning on speaker again and replacing it in his cupholder.

“Eraserhead speaking.”

Crying out, you hunched over in the passenger seat, the soulmate signal cutting so suddenly and severely that it was as if your stomach had been sliced open with a blunt knife.

A hand flying to your shoulder, Aizawa slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road.

“…been trying to reach you all morning,” the voice on the phone was saying (another hero commission employee, from the legal side, it sounded like), “but I haven’t been able to get through.”

Shaking your head, you held up a hand to Aizawa to let him know you were okay, that it would pass. Still, his jaw tensed, and he slid his hand from your shoulder up to cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone.

“—because it looks you left some of your financial agreement blank; did you mean to indicate that yes, your wife should be paying child support for Eri?”

Aizawa dropped his hand from your cheek and stared blankly at the phone in the cupholder. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Child support for—”

“No, hold on,” said Aizawa, gesturing and shaking his head even though the other person couldn’t see, “Actually, before we—listen, I don’t have exclusive custody of Eri; she’s under the care of U.A. as an institution. She happens to be near me the most because she bonded with me first. You must have inaccurate—inaccurate information.” He shot a questioning look to you, and you shrugged, excitement bubbling in your gut.

“Allow me a moment?” Mouse clicking was heard. “Okay, well, I’ve got you and your wife’s bank account information pulled up here—”

“When was a quirk incident form for me last processed by your system?”

Aizawa shot you a warning glare while you proceeded to silently lose your shit, clamping a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. You unbuckled and reached over the console to pepper pink kisses all over a sulking Aizawa’s face while the speaker rattled off an apology for the delay in processing hard copies of paperwork when they’re used to digital, ultimately confirming that due to a mistake in filing and your little jokes on paper, you two have been married for eight months now.

Running your fingers through his hair (sandalwood sandalwood sandalwood), you pressed your forehead to his, and while the speaker was still apologising for the error, you whispered, “I am going to give you the most egregious road head.”

Aizawa laughed through his nose, making a horrible sort of snrking noise, and he slipped his hand over his own mouth to cover the wheeze in his laugh. You kissed the tip of his nose and leant back to your seat after giving his hair a final, gentle tug.

Steeling himself, Aizawa the pink-nosed reindeer cut the hero commission employee off. “I understand, but I’m still in the field right now. Please forgive me, but I’ll have to call you back later.”

The moment you hung up for him, Aizawa let out a loud groan, tilting his head back and sinking down in his seat, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Jesus Christ,” he said over your burst of open laughter, “You got what you wanted, I suppose.”

“Ohhhhh, no,” you said once you got a breath in, “I’m married to the person I love more than anyone, boo hoo. Do you—” A harrowing thought sobered you. “Do you not want this?”

Aizawa peeked from under his hands, and he dropped them to his lap with a sigh. “Well,” he said, sitting upright again and turning the key in the transmission, “It’s certainly not how I wanted to propose.”

Your throat ran dry, and you smiled through it. “Can’t be helped, I guess. Would it make you feel better if we went to pick out rings?” you asked, not quite joking but not quite serious.

You got to see the way his cheeks and ears tinged bright red as he checked behind you to merge into incoming traffic, and he tucked his chin into his scarf, as if he didn’t want to be seen. “The ring’s already at home.”

***

You were to take over teaching Midnight’s classes. Your duties at Sakura Grove would taper off as other employees learnt how to replace the both of you.

You were also to give her eulogy.

As her former student, close friend, and only sidekick, you were the natural choice. You didn’t want to do it, but you knew if someone else did it, they’d fuck it up.

You deliberately didn’t look at anyone in the crowd (students, heroes, and civilians whose lives she’d affected) and instead focused on the clock on the far wall. If you looked Yagi or Yamada in the eyes right now, you’d crumple.

So, you started talking. You have control over the jokes, this way, over the stories, by doing it yourself. You were doing fine, speaking in a disconnected way, until you noticed, for the first time, that Nezu was sitting on a couple of bibles to see over the pew.

For some reason, that made your grief-stricken brain lose the last threads of composure at which you were grappling, and the first fat tear trickled past your waterline.

And you shifted right into Aizawa’s lap, in front of everyone.

His wheelchair was parked on the outside of the second pew (he wasn’t even supposed to be out of the hospital yet and didn’t yet have a prosthetic), so those attending could see the shift without even having to turn their heads much. Gasping, you were straddling/kneeling in Aizawa’s lap with your arms around his neck, his chin almost in your boobs, and he looked just as taken aback as you did.

You ignored it, instead standing, wiping the tear, and continuing where you’d been cut off mid-sentence as you returned to the podium.

You shifted four more times during the course of the eulogy.

So, Midnight celebrated romance even in her death: amidst condolences came the curious congratulations on finding your soulmate.

***

You woke up in his bed.

When the bed creaked and a warm, muscular arm draped over you, there was no scrambling off of each other. No panic. He grumbled something against the back of your neck and tightened his grip around your waist, curling into you.

You woke up in his bed.

“What—why are you leaving?” came Aizawa’s rasping morning voice, his hand emerging from under the covers to grasp your wrist. “S’not daylight yet.”

“I know,” you said, putting a knee back on the bed to lean over him, and you brushed hair out of his face, trails of pink following. “But I can’t go straight to Sakura Grove like this; I need stuff from my flat. One of my replacements starts training today.”

“Mm.” Aizawa blinked blearily up at you, a sleep smile growing as he held your palm to his cheek. “Take some shoes for the commute, at least.”

“I was planning on it. Is my pair of All Might socks still here?”

“Yeah. I washed them,” said Aizawa, and with a grunt, he moved to sit up.

Hands on his chest, you pushed him back down. “No, baby, stay in bed. I’ll get them. You need all the rest you can get.”

You woke up in his bed.

It’s empty, so you followed the scent of coffee into the kitchen, where a shirtless, pink-sweatpants-ed Aizawa stared into a mug with amorphous cats that Eri painted.

“You’re adorable,” you said, opening the cabinet next to him and scanning the mug selection.

The slurp he made was monstrous. “Eri misses you.”

“I miss you, too, Shouta.” You selected a #1 Dad mug from Kirishima, and Aizawa poured the steaming coffee into it for you. “We’ll see each other more when school starts again. The next time the teaching certification test is being offered is late next month, and then I can start orientation here.”

Aizawa nodded, resting his elbow next to you on the counter, grazing your fingers cupped around your mug. “I know you’re still working the fifth district at nights, but is there a chance you could take a leave of absence for this weekend?”

“Hot date?”

He hummed into his coffee. “If only. I’ve got a short mission out of town, and there’s no one I’d trust more to watch Eri.”

You smiled at him, with Konpeito rubbing against your legs. “Of course.”

You woke up in his bed.

“Thank God,” said Aizawa, rolling on top of you and burying his face in your neck.

“It’s only a few more weeks,” you said, wriggling in his hold when his breath tickled you.

“No, I mean—the ring’s finished being resized,” he said, sitting up, “and I’ve been desperate to see it on you.”

Aizawa retrieved the box from his bedside table and slid it on your finger: white gold with an emerald embedded, all strategically designed not to catch on anything—made with your hero work in mind.

You wiggled the fingers on your left hand, the emerald catching the morning light. “I’m going to throw up. It’s gorgeous.”

“Hold your nausea for when you hear Hizashi’s latest ideas for our ceremony.”

“Oh, fuck,” you said, plopping back down onto the pillow, “Does he not understand simplicity? Or not being a fucking tool?” When Aizawa shook his head, grinning down at you, you lifted your hand to run your thumb over his lower lip, and his tongue darted out to meet it. “All right, my love. Lay it on me.”

You woke up in his bed.

Dango had jumped on you and meowed loudly, because she didn’t understand that the feeding schedule was a little different now that she lived in Aizawa’s apartment.

(Dango had pre-emptively moved in before you, because the sooner Dango and Konpeito bond, the better. Eri got so upset when they play-fought.)

You woke up in his bed.

“Shouta,” you said, rolling over towards the lit lamp, “What are you doing up already?”

He crossed out something in red ink. “I’m reworking some of the written tests for my new curriculum. I meant to do it last night but went to bed early instead, and I’d rather do it now than this evening.” Aizawa slid his glasses down his nose, his good eye glinting at you playfully. “Nothing’s come up? You can still come over tonight?”

“Yeah,” you said, scooting over to feel his body heat, “I haven’t seen Shinsou in so long, either, so I’m glad he’s coming over to dinner, too. You aren’t going to keep him busy long, right?”

“We’re setting up the room at the end of the hall for a new tenant, so we should be done by the time you get here.” Aizawa rolled his shoulders back before setting his papers to the side, and he folded his glasses to set them atop them. “What, are you planning something with him to get back at me?”

“Nah,” you said, rustling the sheets as you sat up, “I just need his phone at some point. It’s really fucking weird that my best friend is my soulmate’s, like, ward-mentee, because Shinsou’s got my contact name as Mommy. With a little heart.”

Wincing, Aizawa guided you into his lap, his hands light on your waist.

“I’ve got to change it back to my name,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck to sink into a hug. You pressed your lips against his neck—not really a kiss, but more of just resting them there. “Who’s moving into the room at the end of the hall?”

Kissing the side of your head, Aizawa stroked your back through your sleepshirt, his fingertips trailing heat down your spine. “Well,” he said, his voice morning-gravelly, “Let’s say it’s another ward-mentee. U.A. wants me in charge. You’ll see.” You felt him smile against your ear, and he kissed it before biting the cartilage gently. “When are you moving in?”

“School starts next Wednesday,” you said, “so how does this weekend sound?”

You woke up in the bed you shared with Aizawa, slammed the alarm clock off, and flipped back over, spooning Aizawa with your nose smushed between his shoulder blades. He laced his fingers back through yours and kept them over his heart.

***

On a weeknight two weeks into the school year, you’re dangling your legs off the top of a water tower, forehead pressed against the railing, watching cars pass under streetlights below.

Being a teacher was tough. Being a teacher and an underground pro-hero at night was tougher. You now understood Aizawa’s need to carry a sleeping bag around. You hadn’t caved and done the same, but you kept a pillow at your cubicle in the faculty lounge because it was just too damn hard to stay awake during your off period.

(At least things with Sakura Grove were wrapping up. You’d stay in their contacts as a consultant, especially for Ito, but you didn’t have to go there anymore. Sad that that part of your life was ending, but it scooted over on the couch for new beginnings.)

You’re dancing around the point: because of your endless exhaustion and the difference in your and Aizawa’s schedules, you’re still a goddamn virgin. It’s stupid as fuck. The longer you put it off (which you’re not even doing intentionally!), the more of a stressful event it’s going to be.

“Sleeping on the job?”

You jolted awake, cold indent of the railing cutting into your forehead, and your head whipped around in search of him. “Dozing,” you said, tilting your head back far enough to watch Aizawa slide down from his crouch atop the water tower, “Too shallow to be real sleep. You don’t even get to R.E.M.”

“All of that to say that you want to go home,” said Aizawa, and he nestled up behind you, placing his legs on either side of yours and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull your back to his chest. He pressed his cold nose to your neck (you yelped) while the ends of his capture weapon trailed onto your lap.

“I guess, but I only have about half an hour more of my patrol,” you said, covering one of his hands with yours (pink didn’t blossom there, probably because he kept brushing his lips where your neck met your shoulder), “I can wait it out.”

“Mm, if you say so. Right now, I’d rather have you in bed. I miss you too much.” He inhaled deeply before placing one final kiss behind your ear and said, “I have something for you.” He took a moment to riffle through the pouches on his utility belt, and your heart dropped into your stomach when he reached around you to retrieve the knife hidden in your boot (oh, my God, the intimacy of knowing where on your body you kept your weapons). Aizawa brought his arms around your waist again, this time with a brown-sugar-coated pear in a brown paper sleeve cupped in one hand, the other cutting into the soft flesh of the pear.

He held the blade to your lips, which you closed around the slice of pear, the brown sugar grains melting on your tongue. He fed you another slice before cutting one for himself.

The pains and care he took for you compounded and curled on your chest like an overweight cat, and you cracked in half: you started fucking crying.

As soon as the first tear track shone under the streetlights, Aizawa, brow furrowed, turned your chin towards him (you automatically took the pear and knife to hold them in your lap).

“What’s—”

Taking in your weak, shaky smile, he took on one himself. “I see.” Aizawa finger-combed some of your hair out of your face and rested his curled fingers at the roots of your hair at the back of your neck. “Still,” he said, swiping away a fresh tear with his thumb, “I can’t have that—not my pretty girl crying.”

No matter how thoroughly he dried your face, it didn’t matter: it started raining on the way home. Both of you were soaked, grinning as you scanned into U.A. under the torrential rain funnelled from the awning where faculty entered, dripping onto the floor when you checked in on Eri for the night (All Might had put her to sleep earlier), and just fucking dropping your wet hero support items to the tile in the kitchen, your shit tangled up in his capture weapon and knocking against his goggles.

A low rumble of thunder shook the windowpanes as Aizawa kissed you, opening his mouth before you even kissed back, the edge of the kitchen counter smarting against the small of your back while you breathed in your soulmate in the dark.

Parting to breathe, you managed a grin as a flash of lightning illuminated his ruddy cheeks and soulmate-pink lips. “I feel like if I go to bed tonight, I’m going to die in my sleep,” you said, panting.

“Good thing sleep’s not on the agenda,” said Aizawa, and his lips seared into yours (fucking peach chapstick, you were of sound mind enough to note) as he fumbled for the zipper on the back of your wet costume.

It plopped with a squelch to the floor, and the chill of the A/C sweeping over your bare skin made you huddle into Aizawa’s chest—but you swore and flinched away, since his body temperature didn’t really help with how wet his clothes were.

Scowling, you kneed him away and rubbed your hands up and down your arms. “Take this off,” you said, plucking at his jumpsuit, “It’s fucking frigid in here.”

Lightning lit his smirk this time, and Aizawa started undressing, the sodden splat of his socks hitting the tile first.

“You gonna let me wear your clothes this time, pretty boy?” Watching him strip, you shivered for more than one reason. “Last time, you only gave me towels.”

Aizawa scoffed. “That’s because if I’d had to see you wear my clothes, you wouldn’t’ve made it farther than the bedroom.” His jumpsuit made a weird noise, and he fished his utility belt out of the belt loops to set it on the counter.

When you gestured towards his boxer-briefs, he shook his head. “Not yet. Yes, they’re cold, but I want to focus on you right now. Leave your underwear on, but go ahead and leave your wet hero costume in here. They can drain in the sink,” he said, tossing his socks in.

“Okay,” you said, doing the same, “but please at least change into dry boxers, or something—”

“I will,” he said, undoing the rest of the buttons on your pants once you’d done the first, and he fucking lifted you onto the counter, kissing you, to drag them down your legs before putting them in the sink. “You with me?”

You nodded and pulled him in for a hug—skin still slick-moist but warmer now that body heat mingled together, and his breath heated your neck while he sucked a wet mark onto it. “I’m with you, Shouta. I love you.”

Grunting against your throat, Aizawa hugged you tighter. “Oh, I love you, too, sweet girl. So much.”

He eased you down off the counter, and you flinched again at the cold. “Oof, ah, I have to get out of this wet fucking bra; it’s too fucking cold in—”

“Want me to go adjust the thermostat?”

“No, it’s fine; it’s fun. I just,” you said, kissing his shoulder on impulse, “need you.”

His eyes fell to half-lidded, and a roll of thunder nearly masked his low chuckle. “All right, then. If you’re sure.”

Aizawa led you to the bedroom, hardly space between the two of you while running his hands over your arms and waist to generate heat, his voice rasping in your ear the whole way (so much louder than the constant sound of raindrops assaulting the windows as the wind picked up). “That time you shifted into my shower—the image of you is burned into my brain,” he was saying, nudging the bedroom door shut with his foot so his hands wouldn’t have to leave you, “You were so confused but keen to do what I said. I was trying so hard to be good, noble, like you said, but the part that stings above all is that I liked the handprint on your back. I liked having my mark on you, on display, in such a large way that anybody could see. Killed me to have to cover you up. Lights on?”

“Let me open the curtains instead,” you said.

“Good. I’ll change into dry underwear so that you don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Don’t look,” he said, releasing you from his hold.

You drew back the first set of curtains and fiddled with the pullstrings to raise the blinds. “Are you telling me you beat yourself up-slash-off about the way you thought about me?” you asked, smiling at your own dumb joke, “I get it. I do, but c’mon, baby. You’ve made a home in my heart and in my own damn blood. What’s the shifting into your bed while I’m dreaming been besides my body calling out to you?” Oh, fuck yes, the blinds went all the way up this time. You crossed to the second window. “What’s my—hey, nice ass. Very cute.”

The elastic waistband snapped in that final rush to pull them up. “I told you not to look,” said Aizawa, frowning as he joined you in tying away the opposite curtain, “Are you really gonna be a brat this early in the—” He cut himself off, slapping a palm over his eyes as he stepped back from you (successfully raising these blinds on the first try!). “No. No, I shouldn’t. Not for your first time.”

Closing the distance, you took the hand over his eyes and held it against your cheek. “You could a little.”

His thumb loosed itself from your fingers, falling to your mouth, and you kissed it, parting your lips to lick the pad just barely.

He swallowed visibly. “Get on the bed.”

You did, and you wormed your arms around your back to unhook your wet bra (fucking frigid half-dried in the A/C, plus you were betting the feeling of your nipples grazing his chest was fucking stellar), whipping it off the bed before he could even join you.

“Notice I didn’t say you could do that,” Aizawa said, laughing through his nose, one knee on the bed. “But that’s all right for now. I like how vulnerable you look, how needy, how—” Aizawa crawled over you, eclipsing you. “—how out of touch with anything but me.”

His lips were warm, soft (peachy), and more consuming than when you’d met them earlier that night, and when his tongue brushed the roof of your mouth, he secured an arm around your back to arch you closer to him, boobs pushing into his chest and held like you’re something precious.

“I’m sure you know this,” Aizawa said, thumbing into your mouth and dragging the spit down your neck (cooling in the night air), “but you have absolutely perfect breasts. Whenever I’ve felt them against me before, I’ve gone fucking crazy—and now I get to—” He kissed you again, giving a firm, final bite to your lower lip (smiling when you tried to suck his tongue back into your mouth but shaking you off anyway), before pulling back to look at you, his wet thumb trailing down between your boobs and then circling up around one of them, pausing when you tensed up before he touched your nipple.

His eyes were dark when he glanced up at you again. “Do you trust me?”

“With everything I’ve got,” you said, feeling your heartbeat pulse in your lips now that the pressure of his was gone.

With a wry grin, Aizawa tilted his head. “Yet you’re not relaxed. I’d say you’re a bundle of nerves, but…” His eyes flicked down towards your crotch, and you rolled your eyes at the dumb clitoris joke (hell, yeah! You’re rubbing off on him).

“I’m trying; I thought was I doing good so far—”

“You are. But let me give you a little task so that you’re not concentrating on feeling nervous, yes? One you can handle.” He kissed your cheek and waited for your minute nod before continuing. “I want you to keep your hands by your head,” he said, moving them on the pillow where he wanted them, “You’re not allowed to move them. I get the feeling you’d like them to be tied there, but we’ll save that for another time, yes?”

You arched up to meet his lips, and he let you, moving his against yours, letting your tongue cross into his mouth before breaking away again.

“Good. You’re so good for me, and sweet. And another thing,” said Aizawa, squeezing your wrists to draw your attention back to them, “I want these hands open. Palms up. You’re not allowed to make a fist, sweetheart.” At your baffled expression, he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Just an extra challenge, but I know you can do it.”

You huffed, pouting (and he laughed over it, that horribly endearing, wheezing laugh). “Sure. Yeah. You want me to relax, so you give me what suspiciously sounds like a test. And wow, we know that I have some sort of stupid complex about being the best and getting the approval—”

“And you can get it so easily, should you do this well enough for me.” He shuffled down your body a bit, fingers sketching around your nipples before squeezing your boobs (crazy insane maniacal ridiculous how his hands cupped them perfectly…).

“Oh, you’re evil,” you said, shaking your head.

“You have no idea,” said Aizawa before he wrapped his lips around your nipple, tongue flicking and swirling around it, languidly, heavy with saliva—careful, dark eyes scanning every reaction from you.

Jumping at the contact—but no, don’t bend your fingers even a little. Flat. Flat against the pillow, where he put them. Okay. Okay, we’ve got a handle on it. The initial shock was just—

“Fuck!”

(No, no—keep them against the pillow; sink them into the down if you have to—)

Aizawa’s teeth had ever so lightly grazed you, and his smug little laugh through his nose burned you up inside, so you refused to look at him. Though anger wasn’t the only reason for heat: it was starting to coil in your lower stomach, too, spreading as your thighs clenched—oh, yeah, you have legs, so you rubbed your thighs together in what was hopefully way he wouldn’t notice (but fuck all if he noticed, though, because at the rate your breath was hitching and how frequently you were twisting away from his mouth, any shred of your remaining pride would be crumpling into nothing before he even made you—)

You were writhing, arching your back, eyes scrunched shut, at the moment Aizawa both closed his lips around your other nipple and pinched the first one, and he kept at it, circling it with his tongue as you came back down, stilling.

“Holy shit,” he said, eyebrow raised, pulling his mouth away with a wet puck, “Are you getting off already?”

Aizawa was reaching for your face, but (there’s a split second where you wanted to bury your face in your hands, but the man liked his technicalities) you screwed your eyes closed again and hid yourself to the side in the pillow. “I’m sorry I’m such a stupid virgin who gets worked up easily. I didn’t mean to upset—”

“No, no, no—open your eyes, darling,” he said, hands cupping your face, wiping away the tiny bit of sweat that’d broken out at your hairline, “You’re fine. You’re perfect. There’s nothing to apologise for. Open your eyes. There. That’s my good girl. Thank you.”

You, biting the inside of your cheek and scowling, dug your head out of the pillow to face him, but you kept your eyes averted, still not looking at him.

(Unfortunately, you were not immune to good girl.)

“I’m not upset. How could I, when I know my pretty little wife is feeling so good?” Aizawa pecked your forehead. “You’re just more sensitive than I anticipated. And that’s good. That’s fine. That’s fun for me.”

“Oh, my God,” you said, wincing, trying to sink farther into the pillow to get away from this beautiful man, “You’ve got to shut the fuck up. You keep hitting me with these lines that knock it out of the park. It’s too much.”

Thunder shook the windows, the bedframe rattling with it.

He grinned, and you wanted to punch him. “Is that so?”

“Shut up, holy fucking shit. Just fuck me already.”

And Aizawa was frowning. “Are you—I don’t think you’re ready enough—”

“Oh, come off of it,” you said, gritting your teeth and averting your gaze again, “I’ve already come once, and you’re so overwhelming that I’m going to pass the fuck out just from you talking. I don’t care if I come again; I just wanna get this o—just penetrate me, I guess.”

Scowling. Scowling now. Grimacing, even. “You don’t really want me to do that.”

“Yes, I fucking—”

“You’re not wet enough,” he said with a growl. “Yes, you’ve orgasmed, but you’re not ready for me.”

“You can’t be that—”

“I am,” said Aizawa, a hand sliding down his stomach (holy shit, he’s got muscles) to hook into his waistband, snapping it, “above average, sweetheart.” When he said the word, his voice teemed with scathing condescension, and your stomach dropped. “When I say you’re not ready, I know you aren’t.”

Your cheeks began to feel blotchy, but you weren’t going to cry. “Would you—please—try? I think I might be overwhelmed already, and I want you to feel good.”

Aizawa sighed, and he crawled back over you, reaching towards your hands flat on the pillows to lace his fingers between yours. “It’s not about me right now. We’re focusing on you, baby.”

You lifted your cheek, leaning into the kisses he was pressing onto it. “I know,” you said quietly, “but I think I would feel good knowing you feel good, so, ish, in a fucked-up way—would you try? Please?”

His lips met yours again, just briefly, and he said, “Okay. If you hurt, we’re stopping.”

“Well, hey, that’s pretty much guaranteeing that we’re—”

He cut you off with an exasperated look while he tossed his underwear off to the side, not bothering to unhitch his prosthetic leg.

Aizawa was pushing into you, beginning to stretch you open on his cock, and he’s only gone just barely what could be considered shallow, not much more than a squeeze around the swollen tip of his cock, and you’re clenching down around him, clamping down tight, and you didn’t even notice your eyes stinging with tears for the strain in your cunt.

But Aizawa did. He pulled out before they overflowed down your face, and he’s kissing them away in apology. “We can stop here. I won’t mind. You’ve already done so, so well for me. Thank you for trusting me.”

After a bit, you managed to get a hold of yourself, and you moved to—well. That first, you supposed. “Shouta,” you said, wiggling your fingers interlocked with his on the pillow, “may I move my hands? I’d like to touch you. Just a bit.”

“Go ahead.” He released them.

You placed your palms on his tits/pecs and instantly felt better (not cured, or anything. But definitely better). “Okay,” you said, scratching him gently, “I’ve had a moment. I’m not as overwhelmed anymore. Fuck you for being right about—about wetness.”

“Thank you,” he said, similarly scratching your head while sliding a calloused hand to your waist.

“Listen, Sho. I was scared that if I didn’t make you try to get in me then, you’d try to make me come again beforehand, and I’m scared that I’m gonna pass the fuck out if I have three orgasms as good as the first one you gave me.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to come if I eat you out, even though I’d like you to,” said Aizawa, smiling at the way your eyes fluttered when he scratched a certain spot, “I can simply go down on you to stretch you out. Everything’s fine. All that’s happened is that you’ve come earlier than expected—which, I assure you, was fucking hot—and now you need different preparation to take me. You’re fine. We can stop here, or—”

“Would you be cool with going down on me?” You bit the inside of your cheek and averted your gaze again. “Or, or, actually, you don’t have to do that. You can just—”

“You’ve got to stop overthinking, baby,” said Aizawa, grabbing your chin to kiss you again, which he did deeply and so hard that he was gasping when he broke away, “because I have been breaking myself over the thought of tasting you. I’ve been—please don’t think that I don’t want any part of you, because I want even the things you don’t like about yourself. Whatever you want, I also want, enthusiastically and desperately. This soulmate shit has reduced me to freshly popped edamame whenever I—”

Aizawa cut himself off at your laughter, sitting back on your hips and crossing his arms.

“Oh, babe, Shouta, that’s,” you said, grasping at his hands to drag him over you again, “I appreciate the effort. I do, really. But that’s a bad metaphor. Doesn’t fit the tone of the situation. Plus, I would argue that edamame bursts instead of pops. It’s a bean, not a pea.”

His ears were tinged red. “Whatever it takes for you to laugh again, you fucking pedant,” he grumbled against your neck, and his fingers trailed between your boobs and down your stomach, took a moment to curl into your pubic hair (tugging), and sliding between your folds, spreading what wetness was already there.

You eased your laughter to a smile, and you plopped your hands, palms up, on either side of your head again. “So, are you gonna make me wet or not, Shouta?”

“And you say I’m evil,” said Aizawa, grinning and shaking his head, and after another kiss, he slithered down your body, kissing and licking as he went, eyes dark and fixed on yours (his good one, anyway), even as he spread you and pressed his lips to your clit for the first time.

He’s right. He’s right. He’s always right: the task of keeping your hands flat and in one place distracted you from getting worried about how you looked or tasted or whatever, and you were laughing at yourself for how hard you were finding it to keep from forming a fist—but that’s the impulse, apparently, when the goddamn love of your life is sticking his tongue as far as he can go into your cunt and moaning like a whore about it in that stupid fucking rumbling way.

“Sweet girl,” he was saying as he licked the inside of your thigh, his scruff scrabbling pleasantly against your skin, “Are you with me? You look a little unfocused.”

You shook yourself and glanced down at him. “I’m good—”

“You are.”

“I mean, I’m with you,” you said, heat flooding your cheeks the fastest it ever has. “You’re very good. As well.”

“Is it all right for me to add a finger into this? All right, sweetness, relax,” said Aizawa, and he dragged his middle finger over your clit, circling it before drawing it back up, this time knuckle-side down, and it’s that finger that first slid into you with a soft wet noise—barely there, but still audible—and dragged and pressed inside you, aimlessly feeling you out, totally unrushed.

Your own fingers strained to lie flat.

After more licking and prodding, he added his index, and the suction on your clit lent a distraction from the stretch when he parted his fingers inside you, though there’s a soft wince from you, regardless. Under your assurances, Aizawa continued, working more space between his fingers though you clenched around him, and the third made your stomach burn, your hips chasing his fingers as your insides wound tight. He’s kissing and sucking your clit, keeping watch over your expression and the growing squelching and spasming of your cunt, and you, a bit dizzy, whimpered without meaning to when he started to pump his fingers in and out of you. You felt his smug grin against you as it reformed into a pucker to give your clit a particularly harsh suck, and you’re falling apart just a little, but it’s cool, it’s fine, and you found yourself coming, again, but this time it’s gentle, a smaller crest, under the careful watch and tongue of your husband—and when he slowly withdrew his fingers, your cunt complained the whole way, leaking and squelching around them.

The smug-as-shit bastard waved his fingers towards you, strands of arousal connecting them and seeping down into his palm. “If you want a taste, this is all you’re getting,” he said, touching your lips for barely a second, “because the rest is mine.”

Your head emptied at the way his tongue slathered the rest of it up, sliding between his fingers.

“I believe you’re wet enough for me to fit,” said Aizawa, still licking at his fingers.

“Hold up! I didn’t get to see you earlier,” you said, sitting up, “Do whatever. I need to see your cock.”

And you immediately saw red, because this motherfucker? Stupid. Stupid as hell. Stupid and hell and handsome and above average, my ass. You were insane for not wanting to prep much earlier. You’d gotten some of what he looked like when Serendipity’s quirk was affecting him, but you’re going to die. You’re going to die and then be able to talk to Midnight about her friend’s cock (too soon? You shook it off), because he’s infuriatingly pretty, and it just isn’t fair.

Jolting, your hand flew to his wrist when he thumbed over your clit again, circling it.

“You told me to do whatever,” said Aizawa, nudging your thighs a little wider apart.

You shot him a look before returning to trying to fucking grasp (figuratively) his cock. You’re shaking your head at it, sucking in through your teeth. It’s fucking stupid—tilting a bit to the right, a little veiny (artery-y?), flushed a dark pink at the tip, and absolutely fucking weeping for you, cum dripping for the first time onto your thigh and the mattress.

Your hand darted out, hesitating, to touch the trail of dark hair on his abs leading to his cock, and once your ring finger grazed half of that maddening v, you retreated, scooting back an inch or two on the bed as you jerked at his brushing against your clit.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow when you looked up at him, wet fingers stilling.

“I’m going to kill you,” you said on impulse, wide-eyed.

Aizawa opened his mouth and closed it again. He blinked and after a beat, said, “All right. Not the most encouraging thing to hear in reaction to my dick.”

“Yikes. I mean,” you said, cringing and biting your lip, “Maybe you’d ought to prep me more?”

At the very least, you’d expected a burst of laughter from him, but to make matters worse, he took you seriously.

“Noted,” he was saying, kneeling again to put his mouth on your clit, “When I was feeling around inside you, I was thinking that I’d have to work to open you up to take me. You have such a tiny little cunt—”

“Oh, my God, never mind,” you said, burying your face in your hands, “You’re a menace. I’m leaving. I’m leaving forever.”

Laughing to himself, Aizawa peppered kisses over the backs of your hands. “I’m only joking, love. I said it to fluster you.” His hand cupped you, fingers rubbing in slick while you kept spasming every few seconds. “I know you’re ready to take me,” he said, and (your life began and ended in a second), he started slid his cock up and down your folds (swollen from coming twice already), covering it with your slick and dripping pre-cum onto you.

When a choked noise escaped your throat the first time his cockhead caught on your clit, you clapped a hand over your mouth, horrified, but a gently smiling Aizawa released his grip on one of your shaking thighs to uncover your mouth, with his smile twisting into something darker when he put your hands flat on the pillow again.

“Oh, you are the worst.”

“It’s just for a minute more. Then you can touch me. I promise,” he said, watching the way your cunt was trembling erratically when he wasn’t even inside, “You’re probably gonna come the moment I get seated inside you, yeah? Look at you twitch.”

Adjusting your legs around his waist, Aizawa took your hands in his as he pushed in, breaking you open with slow, gentle thrusts. “Easy,” he said, when you grappled with his hands, almost thrashing, to squeeze them harder, “Easy, sweet girl. I’ve got you.”

Lightheaded.

And very, very warm.

You might be holding back tears. You’re not sure.

But you’re certain you’re taking deep breaths, as instructed, and you shook your hands out of his to wrap your arms around his chest, to feel him close and warm and over all of you, grabbing at him blindly to hold more (a small voice in the back of your head hoped you were scratching him up).

Aizawa struggled to breathe as well, but he gritted his teeth, his face and heaving chest fucking flushed. His hands shook as they travelled down to your waist, unable to still your shuddering hips underneath him. “And here I thought you were soft all over,” he grunted out, “Turns out that you’re softest inside. Fuck.” He screwed his eyes shut. “My lovely little wife. My soulmate.” Aizawa carefully exhaled before opening his eyes again. “Is it okay if I move a bit more?”

At your nod, he rolled his hips shallowly, keeping a careful watch on your face for any minor reactions that he couldn’t hear, and each time he thrust into you, the further away from any reality but Aizawa you got. You blanked, feeling nothing but how you strained around him, spasming and pulsing, and how your muscles were seizing, how—how it wasn’t feeling like you were full, or that you and he were overlapping, but that hey, this is how it’s supposed to be, soulmates—you and him, together. And separating yourselves just didn’t make sense, in the way that you can’t separate the hydrogen from oxygen and still have water; to have you or Aizawa, you needed the both of you. Package deal. Bonded pair.

And wow, the tears you’d been holding back now flooded down your face, pausing at the resistance from each time his hips met yours before continuing down your cheeks and neck, and you’re out of it, out of anything besides Shouta when you cup his reddening face in your hands (pink handprints blinking before the next thrust) and manage to whine, “Sensei—”

Aizawa broke, expression flashing pure vulnerability, and he kissed you before you could say anything more, and he smushed his hips against yours, hitting you more deeply as he finally circled your clit again. The orgasm was torn out of both of you, but it’s torn in the way that the wind tears a kite away from its flyer.

When you opened your eyes, the bedroom was filled with floating, pink dust, glittering when lightning struck. You had to encourage Aizawa from his spot, buried in your neck, to see it, and the two of you watched it shimmer and dissipate as the storm picked up again, rain audibly hitting the glass.

“Do you think that happens every time?” you asked as Aizawa helped you out of the bed.

Aizawa turned the knob to the bathroom and flicked on the light. “I’m sure we’ll find out.”

He had to help you walk, since your legs were shaking so badly. Luckily, you had a good laugh about it. Aizawa set you up (or rather, down) in the shower, telling you to warm up while he changed the sheets and that he’d join you soon.

By the time the two of you were out of the shower, the soulmate dust had vanished. Aizawa got into bed first (and he had to take a moment to calm down when he saw you wearing his pyjamas), and you climbed in after him. After some brief experimentation, you found that, if you shaped your hands just right and pulled them away all at once, you could leave a soulmark in the shape of a heart. So, you did, just over his real heart, and you leant back, pleased with yourself.

Aizawa glanced down at his chest and grinned. “Adorable. But I’m afraid it won’t stay for long, my love.” He held his hand mere inches from your head, wiggling his fingers in a taunt. “I doubt I can go for long without touching you.”

You caved without hesitation, leaning into his touch as a chuckling Aizawa ran his hand through your hair. “That’s fine. That just means I can constantly make it anew.”

“You’re ridiculous,” said Aizawa, and he wrapped his arms around you to pull you close, snuggling into you. “Go to sleep. You can mark me again in the morning.”

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair

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

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mymainwastoocluttered · 2 years

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Sudden Soulmates (Idia)

When you touch your soulmate for the first time, the memories of the past life you two first fell in love return.

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Sudden Soulmates Masterlist

I had to literally look up how vending machines work cuz they are not really a thing where I live

— (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

Idia has never bothered with his soulmark, or the lack thereof. In fact, part of him feels rather pleased that at least that aspect of his life wasn't decided by outside forces.

Does that mean he'll probably die as a forever alone icky otaku? Yeah. But at least it'll be his choice.

For someone with such low self-esteem, Idia can be rather prideful. Being thrown around by a force he cannot fight directly, be it his family curse or Fate itself, will never sit well with him. The mere idea of bowing to them makes his skin crawl.

Idia just wants to do what he wants, like what he likes, like how he lives.

Not even Ortho's death could stop that.

So it's safe to say he is not happy when he comes out of his first shower in two days and there's suddenly a soulmark smack dab on his chest, right in the middle of his sternum.

The first scream is of terror. The second is of rage.

Poor Ortho has to use 100% of his processing power to both calm down Idia and make sure the room—maybe even the House dorm itself—doesn't melt at the mercy of fiery hair.

Idia absolutely hates his soulmate and he has not even met the person. He's frantically looking up information on soulmates, trying to understand how a soulmark can just appear so suddenly.

By all means, it makes no sense. Soulmarks do not appear, they're either there or not. Even if one soulmate is fated to be born after the other, the mark will still exist on the older one. A soulmark can only form in the transition from one life to another, in the brief moment between death and rebirth, as a result of a grand love lived.

If Idia really is meant to have a soulmate, the mark should've always been there from the moment his mother got pregnant.

But it wasn't.

But now it is.

And he doesn't want it.

He doesn't want to want it.

Yet. Yet he rubs his chest unconsciously when he's thinking. Yet he stares at it whenever he takes off his shirt. Yet he draws it whenever he has a pen on hand.

A pomegranate surrounded by keys, like an oddly drawn sun.

He figures the keys represent him, and the pomegranate... Seven, he cringes just thinking about it, but if the keys represent Hades—the keeper of the Keys of the Underworld—, then the pomegranate can only represent Persephone, Hade's loyal and beloved wife. Idia's fated one.

He dares not say it out loud, but Ortho cares not and blurts it out as soon as he sees the mark. The boy is over the moon with the knowledge that his older brother has a fated one. Idia spends a good amount of time telling Ortho that hacking into everyone's medical records to look for a soulmark description that matches his is not a good idea, even if Idia himself is extremely curious.

Will they start switching bodies suddenly? Will they remember the past life that started their love? Will they feel the mark burn when they're near? Will they dream of each other? Soulmarks that aren't names are in no way rare, but they also tend to make it hard to find each other, though the rise of social media has made it immensely easier.

Oh, well. It's not like his soulmate will want him. And he still bitter about the whole Fate thing.

Meeting them would be just terrible, really.

But still...

"Idia? You ok, buddy?"

Idia startles from his thoughts just in time to catch the coin he had mindlessly tried to push inside the vending machine through its glass before it can fall. Oh, Great Seven, why must this happen to him?

Why today? Why her? Why now? Why him?

"A–ah! He... Hello, Prefect..." Idia mumbles, trying to hide his humiliation. The tech guy trying to push the coin through the glass of the vending machine, how embarrassing is that? Kill him now.

"Hello. Everything ok? You're thinking so hard, your hair is burning your coat."

He yelps, hand going to the back of his neck, trying to feel if his coat is really burnt—it is. Not by much, but he can feel the burned texture. And if he concentrates a bit, he can smell it too.

"Kill me now."

"Don't be like that! It's understandable, really, I'm sure you're coming up with something cool in that incredible mind of yours!"

"N–not really..." He mumbles, turning back to the machine in hopes she won't see how embarrassed he feels by both her presence and her compliment. "Wanna something? M... M–my treat."

"Oh, no, you don't need to–"

"As... As a thanks for, uh, for hanging out with Ortho. He really likes you."

And he does, Ortho likes the Ramshackle Housewarden so much he has even mentioned wishing that she was Idia's soulmate, so he could have his two favorite people as siblings. Idia wasn't sure on how he felt about that back then, and he isn't sure about it now, so he just shoves the coin inside the hole and punches in the hot chocolate number.

"Did Ortho tell you I like that?"

"... Yeah..."

Thank the Seven the machine is quick. This weird half conversation might kill him.

Clumsily, Idia takes the beverage and holds it to her, praying his hair doesn't change colors when a million anime scenes like this flash in his mind.

Though it's not them that prevent him from hearing her thanks. It's how their hands touch for the first time ever as she takes the can from him, and how he is not Idia anymore.

He is Hades.

Surrounded by flowers and curious critters, frowning at their adorableness. Disgusting. He wants to burn them all, but then his companion laughs and his anger burns away, only ashes in this sea of love.

"Hades," the woman holding his hands smiles warmly, her hair the same color of wheat, her eyes the same hue as spring.

Had he been a mortal, he'd believe piously that she is the only divine to ever grace existence.

"Persephone," her other hand touches his chest, right the middle of it where his ribs meet, and he sighs her name again. "Persephone."

"You must return soon, my all. Our Kingdom cannot thrive without you," she warns, but the kiss to his cheek prays a different litany.

"I cannot thrive without you, my everything," he admits, for she'd know even if he lied.

"It is only temporary, love. I shall always return to you, for my place is by your side."

Hades takes her hand to his lips, kissing it with a gentleness he once believed himself incapable of. Her skin is warm, but not searing like his could get, just warm like gentle sunlight. Her skin tastes of life as he kisses up her arm, and her lips of promises of happiness.

He shall wait for her, for all eternity.

He is Idia again.

And he's kissing (Y/N), the magicless Prefect.

"Hrnk!" He quickly steps back, covering his face with his hands, trying to get his heart and his hair to calm down before he overheats.

"... Idia?" Perse–(Y/N) calls his name, and before he can process what he's feeling, he's back in her personal space, hugging her to his chest, almost purring when one of her hands rest on his chest, where his—their soulmark rests.

"You... I... You came back..."

"I did, yeah. Sorry for being late," she smiles warmly, like sunlight, gentle and shiny.

When he leans back down to kiss her again, he's not sure who exactly he is, other than the man who loves and is loved by her.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst x reader #x fem reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #Sudden Soulmates

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pandorasflora · 26 days

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What was I made for? - Chapter 1

Summary: When Neytiri ends up mating with Tsu'tey before the war, it leaves Jake heartbroken. Unable to handle the new role of Olo'eyktan, Mo'at arranges (forces) Jake to mate with her youngest daughter...You.

Pairing: Jake Sully x Neytiri's sister!Reader

Warnings: forced/ arranged marriage, one-sided enemies to lovers, Jake is kinda mean, reader is a softy, reader is left feeling like a second choice, she tries to act/ look like neytiri, angsty but it will be fluffy cuz i'm not a criminal, let me know if there's anymore.

What was I made for? Masterlist Main Masterlist

“Mama-You cannot ask me of this!” You cry, throwing your arms out and begging for your mother to reconsider.

“You will do great as Tsahik, it is Eywa’s will.” She states calmly.

“He will not love me, Mother. He loves Neytiri…” You murmur, looking down at your feet.

“He will grow to love you. That is how me and your father began.”

“He will not see me.” You whimper, tears forming in your eyes.

“Do you see him?” Nothing is said for a few moments…Is it really that obvious?

“I am giving up my happiness to serve him…Why must I mate in a loveless union?”

“Our clan is in desperate need for a new Tsahik and I am not getting any younger. Believe in yourself, daughter.” She takes your hand in hers and rubs it soothingly. She understands your worries, she was in your place years ago.

“But what about me? What about my feelings?” You plead

“You will begin to learn that leading a clan has its sacrifices…” She pulls you into a hug, tucking your head under her chin, rubbing her hands up and down your back softly.

“Jake Sully, this is my daughter-”

“Is this going to take long? I have a meeting.” He and Mo’at both know there isn’t a meeting but you don’t. He’s willing to take that risk. She pauses.

“I was hoping you two would get to know each other, you are to be mated in 3 days.”

Jake curses under his breath, rubbing his face in frustration.

“Later, alright?” He mutters, already turning to leave.

“I can come to your kelku later?...If you would like-” You start. You’re willing to give this a try and make it work.

“M’busy!”

You watch in silence as he walks the way to Neytiri’s home.

After spending the day preparing for your mating ceremony, you decide to drop off some food for Jake, like a little courting gift, as well as a bracelet. You’ve never done this before and it makes you feel all giddy and gooey inside.

You walk the way to his home before knocking on the side of the door. No answer…You peak your head through the flap and see the kelku is empty, oh well. He’s just not home.

You decide to walk back to your own home that you share with your mother and that's when you see them. Jake and Neytiri giggling a little too close.

You have no right to be jealous. You only found out you were to be his mate this morning, and Neytiri doesn’t even like Jake that way. She grew to love Tsu’tey and they are a beautiful pair, soulmates even. So why do you feel like this?

Maybe because you’ve had a silly little crush on the tawtute ever since he was ‘welcomed’ into your clan. His human features were so endearing and he was so pretty, you often found yourself sneaking glances when he was around.

It was heartbreaking to watch him fall more and more in love with your sister, the perfect child. You could never hate her, she’s your big sister Neytiri, constantly giving hugs and words of wisdom but still…It didn’t make it hurt any less…Especially if your love life has been non-existent since the day you were born, no boys ever taking interest in you.

You decide to walk up to them both, you miss your sister and you can give Jake your gift. You bring your fingers up to your forehead before bringing them down, bowing slightly.

“Kaltxi, Ma’Tiri, Ma’Jake…”

Neytiri motions for you to sit next to her. “How has your day been?”

“It was…Good. I have been busy with preparations.” You say, she hums.

You fall into an awkward silence, Jake fidgeting with nerves. He eventually caves and gets up to leave.

“Wait! Jake, I have something…For you.” You quickly jump up and thrust the food and bracelet into his hands, smiling slightly which looks more like a grimace.

“Oh…Uh, thanks?” He furrs his eyebrows before turning away and leaving. You sigh heavily before sitting back down with Neytiri…There was a couple seconds of silence before she speaks.

“You love him already, don’t you?”

You sigh again…”Yeah…”

#flo's work #atwow #atwow fanfiction #atwow x y/n #avatar fanfiction #avatar x reader #avatar x fem reader #jake sully x reader #avatar the way of water

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zepskies · 1 year

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Never Say Goodbye - Part 8

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 5,000 Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort and feels, alcoholism lol

Part 8: Long Distance

Sam stayed back at Bobby’s while Dean accompanied you back home, now that it was no longer a crime scene. When your dad finally got off of work, he greeted you in the living room with relief in his eyes and a warm hug.

That warmth diminished when he noticed Dean standing behind you.

“Dean’s a friend of Bobby’s,” you explained. Dean introduced himself and shook Jack’s hand.

“Yeah, wanted to make sure she got here okay,” Dean added.

Jack scrutinized him as they shook hands. Maybe he suspected that you and Dean weren’t telling the whole truth, but Jack seemed to accept things.

For now.

“I think we’ve got frozen pizzas for dinner if we don’t want to order out,” you said. You went over to the kitchen to check, but without you realizing, that brought you right to the spot where you were assaulted just two days ago.

The blood had been scrubbed off the tile floor. There were still small, suspect stains in the grout, though. You looked up and saw your reflection in the microwave. It wasn’t unlike that night, when you had looked up and seen your bloody face, then looked down and seen Danny Schmitt lying dead on the floor.

You flinched when a hand came to rest on your shoulder. It was Dean, and you gave him a small grateful look. You briefly covered his hand with yours, but you took a breath and forced yourself to move past the spot, and continue toward the fridge.

Jack watched the small moment between you and Dean. Dean knew that Jack had caught it, while you remained oblivious as you puttered around in the kitchen.

The three of you made somewhat painful small talk while waiting for the pizzas to cook. When it was done, Dean helped set the table and you cut out the slices. Jack took an opportunity to grab a beer and approach you.

“So why’s Skater Boy still in my house?” Jack asked. You could only assume he meant Dean.

“Dad, please don’t be rude,” you warned.

“You seein’ him or something?”

You set down the pizza cutter and gave Jack a pointed look. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

Dean could hear you and Jack talking from the dining room. He took issue with your dad’s phrasing. It was a little more than “seeing,” but at least now he understood what you’d been talking about with your dad. The guy was a hard-ass.

So Dean would go along with however you wanted to play this. It was only fair.

The problem was, this mostly left you to keep the conversation going once the three of you sat down to eat. For forty-five minutes you did your best to fill the silences, but Jack was a man of sparing words.

“So yeah, I should be able to finish my thesis in time. I’m looking to have a job lined up after I graduate next semester, but the only thing I’ve really been seeing is teaching positions,” you explained.

“Teaching’s acceptable,” your dad said, after finishing his second beer. “And doable, for you.”

You glanced at your dad with a telling press of your lips.

Dean understood your annoyance. Doable for you?

What was that supposed to mean?

“Well, I’m not sure I want to teach,” you said. “I’m thinking of applying to the natural history museum here in Sioux Falls.”

“And do what, dust off wax mannequins?” Jack remarked.

You set down your glass of water a bit too hard. “If you’re going to say something, say it.”

Jack gave you a look of exasperation. “I’m just sayin’. You went to college without a real plan, now it’s bitin’ you in the ass. And it ain’t been cheap—”

“For you it has, because I put myself through college,” you countered.

“What I’m saying is, now you’ve limited yourself—”

Jack actually reminded Dean of his dad in a lot of ways. But he had a feeling this man didn’t know his daughter very well. Dean wasn’t normally one to meddle in things that weren’t his business, but you were stressed out enough. He didn’t like the way your shoulders were tightening. He could feel your upset through the soul bond, and your eyes were dangerously close to frustrated tears.

He touched your knee beneath the table and looked over at Jack.

“Look, maybe we could just take things down a couple notches here,” Dean suggested.

Jack turned to him with an angry frown. “Now would be a very good time for you to butt out. Dean, was it? Matter of fact, why don’t you get the hell out of my house—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” you shouted. You clenched one fist on the dining table, the other on your knee beneath the table.

Both men looked at you with mixed reactions of surprise.

You turned to your dad. “The difference between you and me is I pursued what I was interested in. You went after what you were good at.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Jack asked, after his shock wore off.

“Nothing,” you said. “But neither is what I did. I’m proud of where I am so far, what I’ve accomplished. I’m sorry if you don’t think that’s worth much, but I do. You don’t have to agree with my choices, but you can at least respect me.”

Silence fell across the table.

Secretly, Dean was proud of you, and he tapered down a smile. He knew you sensed it when you glanced at him.

“I respect you,” Jack said, pulling your attention away. “But I’m still your father.”

You shook your head. “You don’t, Dad. If you did, it wouldn’t be so hard to tell you that I’m not dating Dean. He’s my soulmate.”

Once again, shock made the air tense. Jack’s eyes were open wide, looking from you, to Dean, and back again. His brows furrowed.

So Dean, ever the tension breaker, offered you and Jack a resigned grin. He pointed to his and Jack’s beer bottles, which were empty.

“Well,” he said, “I’ll get the whiskey.”

When your father’s shock finally wore off, he had plenty of questions for Dean. About where he lived, his job, his life in general—most of which Dean couldn’t answer honestly. Jack was a police detective by trade. As such, he was a perceptive man who knew he wasn’t getting the whole story, but eventually you cut off the inquisition.

You showed Dean up to your room, where you two were able to get some privacy.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, once you both sat on the edge of your bed. “I could tell that, uh…that conversation with your dad was a long time coming.”

You nodded, but you couldn’t quite smile. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied.

Tomorrow. You sighed, but you also tried not to let him sense your darkening emotions. Instead, you sat up straight and gave him a decisive look.

“Okay, then I’m staying with you at Bobby’s tonight,” you said. One more night together.

Dean’s lips raised into a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

You spent that night mostly playing cards with Sam, Dean, and Bobby as they taught you how to hustle poker. You drank and ate and laughed, and at night, you and Dean continued to learn each other’s bodies.

In the morning, you hugged both Sam and Dean goodbye.

“I’m sorry,” Dean apologized again while he held you. “I’ll call you later.”

Holding back your tears, you nodded and kissed him one more time. He tucked a finger beneath your chin to keep your head up. You tried at a smile, which he appreciated.

Then Sam and Dean climbed into the Impala. You watched them leave, and Bobby laid a supportive hand on your shoulder.

The next year was torturous for you both.

Dean updated you after various hunts. Not on a regular schedule, but often enough. Sam started calling now and then with historical questions—some you could answer off the top of your head, and some you actually put in some effort into researching. Dean didn’t like it at first, but soon he started calling you for information himself.

You were smart, quick on your feet, and realistically, a convenient resource since you had access to a university library. You enjoyed it though. You were happy to be helpful to them, but you also liked the research. Often they were interesting topics in the mythologies of different cultures (if you took out the whole hashing and slashing of innocent people and monsters out of it).

But that part too was gratifying; you felt like you were helping them save lives, in whatever small way you could offer.

You also visited Bobby more often. It was your last semester of college and he helped you with your thesis, actually giving you good notes. Dean, bless him, was encouraging, but really only helped you with the movie references. Bobby actually gave you feedback on your writing and added tidbits to the historical aspects as well.

You learned that Bobby was actually really smart. Maybe that was where you got your affinity for history and language arts.

One day though, your uncle noticed that you weren’t as into it as usual. You had a half-drunk beer in your hand while the two of you working in the living room—on the final draft of your thesis.

Bobby had asked you a question about a certain line, but you hadn’t heard him.

“Hey, you awake over there?” he asked. Jolting in your seat, you looked over at him apologetically.

“Sorry, what?”

Bobby smiled wryly. “Let me guess. Dean ain’t called you?”

You shook your head. “I talked to him yesterday. They’re investigating a cursed painting in New York somewhere.”

“So what’s with the face?”

You shrugged. “Nothing.”

After you didn’t give Bobby anything to go on, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Okay…”

You two spent an extended moment in relative silence, where only faint music from the radio played in the background. Plus, the occasional turning of pages from Bobby’s book.

“It’s just,” you started to say. Bobby closed his book with an expectant look on his face.

“I’ve waited twenty-four years to find him,” you said. “Twenty-fucking-four. And now I still have to wait. How long will it be until I can start my life?”

“Well first of all, you’ve been living your life long before Dean,” Bobby pointed out. “You have your own thing going, and right now, so does Dean. When he finishes dealing with his past, he’ll be able to start thinkin’ about his future.”

That was fair, you considered. It made you feel a bit immature when he put it like that. Nor was it realistic of you to expect Dean to drop everything else in his life for you…

You and your uncle had gotten closer over the past few months. So you felt you could ask him something that had been on your mind for a long time.

“Feel free to ignore me, but, about Aunt Karen…was she your soulmate?” you asked.

Bobby looked over at you after sipping at a fifth of whiskey. He seemed reluctant to even say her name.

“She was,” he admitted.

You knew this would be a sensitive subject, but you took a chance. “What happened to her, Bobby?”

At first, he was quiet. You just waited to see what he would say, if he was willing to trust you. After a short while, slowly, he told you.

She’d been possessed by a demon.

Not one exactly like Sam and Dean were hunting, but close enough. However, Bobby didn’t know then what he knew now.

She’d been coming at him with a knife, and before he realized what he was doing, he was defending himself with the same knife. But she just kept coming. It took your father, Jack, to pull her off of him. And Rufus, who had been tracking the thing, broke into Bobby’s house and exorcised the demon.

Then, a black spirit drained out of Karen’s body. She had enough awareness to look down at her three stab wounds before she fell to the floor. Finally, she bled out.

She was gone before either Jack or Bobby could get her to a hospital.

Jack had reluctantly helped cover up the scene by saying she’d suffered a psychotic break and attacked her husband. Bobby’s case was self-defense.

You could relate to that, at least.

By the end of his story, you were trying in vain to stifle your tears. When you were able to speak, you asked another question.

“Then…why does Dad hate you so much if it wasn’t you fault?”

“Because I killed her. My own wife, my…” Bobby sighed, a heavy, sharp exhale. “His baby sister. I can’t blame him.”

Because he still blamed himself. In the end, it was blood all over him and the body of his soulmate in his arms.

You didn’t know how to comfort him, but you tried. Still silently crying, you rested your hands on his arm while he couldn’t quite bring the whiskey back to his lips.

When you graduated in May, you didn’t expect Sam and Dean to come. You’d told them about it, but when the ceremony came and you stood on that stage, you didn’t see the brothers in the crowd. You saw your dad, Bobby, some of your colleagues from the university, and a couple of your best friends from high school.

You forced your disappointment down and accepted your diploma with a smile. You were now finished with school, complete with your master’s degree in Greek and Roman Studies. And in two weeks, you had a job lined up at the local museum. You would be giving exhibit tours, and you already had a script you had to memorize by your first day.

Maybe it was basic, but there was a path for growth there for you. In a few years you could work yourself up to museum curator!

The point was, you felt it was a step in the right direction.

Later at home that night, your dad congratulated you while you cut up the cake he bought for you in the kitchen. He set a hand on your shoulder, subtly asking you to pause what you were doing. You turned to him with a smile.

“I’m proud of you, darlin’,” he said. “You’ve got drive, and you did what you set out to do…so much of you reminds me of your mom that way.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. Thinking about your conversation with Bobby a few weeks ago, you looked at your dad a bit differently. You had compassion for him. Like Bobby, Jack had lost his person. He was just a man who couldn’t let go.

“I get why you have a hard time remembering Mom,” you said. “Now that I have Dean, I can’t imagine how I would feel if I lost him.”

But it was still a monumental fear. Every day that you didn’t hear from Dean between hunts could be nerve-wracking when you thought about what he was doing. Especially when you didn’t know how much he left out for your sake.

So when Jack nodded, you looked up and saw rare emotion in his eyes.

“How’s Dean?” he asked.

“He’s on a job in South Carolina,” you lied, and felt a twinge of guilt doing it. “Severe rat infestation.”

“Okay. And he couldn’t take a couple days off the rats to be here today?”

Your lips pursed at the question—mainly because it was the same one you had. You just didn’t want your dad to know that.

“He’s working hard,” was all that you could think to reply. You knew it totally didn’t convince your dad, but you handed him a slice of cake to shut him up about it.

Later in your room, you laid out your cap and gown on your bed. You debated keeping them in your closet, or just donating them. It wasn’t like you were ever going to wear this again.

Hey, beautiful.

You gasped when Dean’s thoughts startled you. You whipped around and there he was in your doorway, dressed in his usual jeans, shirt, and leather jacket combo. He smiled and held a bouquet of flowers for you.

“Congratulations, Professor,” he said.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you went to him. You actually almost bowled him over by jumping into his arms.

“Whoa!” he said with a laugh. He gripped your thighs tight around his hips but lost a few steps, crashing against the wall and disturbing some of your frames. You both laughed and kissed deeply.

After a while, you slid back down to your feet and he stroked your cheek in affection. He offered you the flowers again, and you accepted them with a pink blush. They weren’t just basic roses. Most of them you couldn’t name, but there were daisies and large orange flowers, thin springs of small white and green ones, white and red flowers that greeted you with soft blooming petals.

“Thank you, these are beautiful,” you said.

His smile fell. “Sorry I’m late.”

Your excitement dimmed, but you shook your head. “It’s okay.”

Dean noticed your cap and gown on the bed and gestured to them.

“Mind modeling that little number for me?” he teased.

Your mouth twitched. “What, really?”

“Yeah, why not? I wanna see the full package of the college grad.”

With another little blush, you obliged him. After setting down the flowers on your dresser, you slipped on your large, silky graduation gown first, then the cap. You adjusted the tassel so it wasn’t directly in your face. Then you grinned and struck a pose for him in the shapeless gown.

“Real sexy, huh?”

Dean smirked. “Absolutely. College girls are always sexy.”

You laughed and dropped the pose. Both of you sat down on the bed while you took off the cap. Dean fixed your frizzy hair as a result.

“Well, officially I’m not a college girl anymore,” you pointed out. “I’m starting at the museum soon, I think I told you.”

Dean nodded. “That’s okay. Hot nerds are even better.”

You giggled and took his larger hand in yours. “Where’s Sam?”

“Chillin’ at Bobby’s.”

“Ah…you saw my dad?”

“Downstairs. Wasn’t exactly happy to see me,” Dean said. “I, uh…I am sorry I couldn’t make it to the big ceremony.”

You shook your head with a smile. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Soon, you fell into the pull of him as he guided you into a kiss. You held his face in your hands, and he tugged you into his lap.

“Up for a sleepover?” you asked between heated kisses. Though it was difficult to think at the moment, Dean hesitated.

“What about your dad?” He groaned when your nails dragged down the back of his neck. You gave a nipping kiss between his neck and shoulder.

“You can be quiet, can’t you?” you said against his skin. Normally you wouldn’t dream of doing this when your dad was in the house, but it had been months since you’d seen Dean. Months.

One of your hands moved down between your bodies to palm at the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Well,” he said with a grunt, “I’m always up for a challenge.”

He left you on the bed, just long enough to get up and lock the bedroom door, before he all but tacked you back onto the bed and made you squeal.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Jack heard your bedroom door click. He sighed, trying his damnedest not to think about what might be going on upstairs.

He could storm up there and break down the door (like he was itching to do). You might be an adult, but this was still his house…

But he also didn’t want to disturb the newfound peace he’d found with you today.

Time for a drink, he decided. He grabbed his keys and headed out to the nearest bar.

Jack loved his town. He’d lived here most of his life, met his wife here, started a family and a career and all the rest here. But there was only one good bar, and that meant he was liable to run into his brother-in-law, AKA the town drunk.

Jack spotted Bobby down at the end of the bar with a young man, dark-haired and likely in his early 20s. Jack knew that your Dean was staying at Bobby’s house. Jack also knew that your Dean had a brother, Sam. This dark-haired beanpole was most likely him.

Jack didn’t know much about Dean, or his family, but he wanted to. He wanted to know more about the man in his daughter’s life.

So instead of heeding his instinct to sit at the bar alone, he made his way all the way down and greeted Sam and Bobby civilly.

“Your Dean’s brother?” Jack asked. Sam’s handshake was firm as he nodded. Jack detected the strength behind that loose-fitting flannel.

Hmm, not so much a beanpole, Jack thought.

“Yes, sir. I’m Sam,” he replied.

Jack nodded at their whiskey glasses. “Let me buy another round.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Bobby said.

“It’s all right,” Jack said. “I’ve got it.”

Bobby wasn’t sure what Jack was aiming at. They hadn’t spoken directly in a few years. But he could assume it had something to do with Dean dating the man’s daughter.

Jack turned to Sam and asked mild, probing questions. He learned that Sam had gone to college: pre-law at Stanford. He had been all set to go to law school and become a successful lawyer. Sam sounded like the kind of guy Jack would’ve preferred you end up with.

“But instead, you became a traveling exterminator,” Jack said. “What happened there?”

Dean had evaded this question before, but Sam told him something different.

“Well, uh, to be honest…something happened that kind of derailed things,” Sam said.

“Which was?” Jack asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Sam met his gaze steadily, but Jack saw something deep there, held behind polite bar conversation.

“My girlfriend died,” he confessed.

Jack set down his bourbon on the counter. A tendril of guilt licked down his spine for pressing. “I’m sorry.”

Sam nodded. “After that, I spun out for a while…but Dean, he didn’t let me crash. He got me back working with him on the job. Something…constructive. It kept me going.”

Jack considered that with his glass back up to his lips.

“After my wife died, I had my work and my daughter,” he said. “That’s it. That’s my life. It’s honest.”

Sam inclined his head. The conversation continued from there, on and off while they drank. Bobby interjected every now and then, but he kept nursing his second whiskey.

Eventually though, Sam bowed out with one last shake of Jack’s hand and a pat to Bobby’s back. It left the two older men to finish their drinks.

“They’re hunters, aren’t they? Like your friend Rufus,” Jack said.

Bobby glanced at him. Then he sighed.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But they know what they’re doing.”

Jack shook his head. Goddamn hunters.

But the more he considered his brother-in-law, your conversation with him earlier resonated in his mind.

“I get why you have a hard time remembering Mom,” you had said. “Now that I have Dean, I can’t imagine how I would feel if I lost him.”

Jack looked over at Bobby. As much as he hated to admit it, they were living the same life, more or less. He’d just had you to keep him somewhat anchored. Approaching sane and respectable. Bobby had been alone.

“It doesn’t get easier, does it?” Jack asked.

“What doesn’t?”

“Life,” he replied. “Without her.”

Bobby paused. Once he realized what Jack was really saying, he sighed once again.

“Nope,” he agreed.

“I don’t know Dean Winchester,” Jack said. “You do. Should I be worried?”

“He’s a good kid. Got some rough angles,” Bobby conceded. “But you’ll never find a more loyal man in Creation. He’d break his own neck before he’d hurt that girl.”

Jack nodded. “Good. Saves me the trouble of breakin’ it for him.”

Bobby chuckled and finished his whiskey. Jack ordered him another.

Bobby looked over at him again. “Thanks.”

Jack nodded. They drank in companionable silence until the bar closed.

The next morning, you and Dean stood outside your house on the driveway. The Impala shone next to you in the bright day’s sun. Soon, you’d have to watch the car peel away. In a way, it was harder the second time.

Dean held your cheek and kissed you nice and slow. You knew he could sense what you were feeling right now, but you tried to hold it back from your connection as much as you could.

You let your hand drift down from his shoulder to his chest, over his heart.

I love you, you wanted to say. It was poised on your tongue, but you were afraid of being the first one to say it. Maybe it was silly, but you wondered if you had gotten attached to him more quickly than he had to you.

Meanwhile, Dean sensed your anxiety and worry, but he didn’t hear your thoughts and insecurities that you were holding back. So he just chocked it up to the fact that he was leaving. Guilt nagged at his heart.

“I’ll call you,” he promised. He always promised to call, and he always did. This time, it just didn’t make you feel that much better.

But you still faked a smile and bent to grab the bagged up containers you’d put together for Sam and Dean. It was some homemade chicken parmesan and garlic rolls, which would probably last for all of a couple of hours, knowing Dean.

“Share with your brother this time,” you reminded him. Dean smirked and took the bag from you.

“No promises.”

The next few months were spent with you and Dean each focusing on your jobs. You talked on a frequent non-schedule basis: phone calls on your lunch break, on your commute before or after work, between Dean’s hunts, on long drives across state lines.

When you didn’t have time to talk, you sent emails. Yours were often longer and more detailed than Dean’s, but that was just how he spoke. Direct and to the point, albeit with one or two dirty jokes thrown in.

Sometimes all you two had time for was a brief text here and there. Dean would wish you a good morning. He’d tease you, asking what you were wearing.

“Yoga pants and a ratty old shirt,” you’d replied once.

He’d said: “Hmm, yoga pants.”

You laughed. “You’re ridiculous. I’m literally eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s right now.”

“Ooh, what flavor?”

You’d rolled your eyes. The only thing that distracted his dirty mind was his stomach.

Sometimes you would send him a new song to listen to (which he would complain about, if it was anything past 1989).

But then that day came.

That dreaded day when Dean didn’t answer your call. It wasn’t just that he didn’t answer right then. You had finished your last tour of the museum for a class of second graders and were walking out to your car. It wasn’t unusual for Dean to hit you back later if he was mid-hunt.

So you waited until the evening without a response. A warning bell trilled in your mind, but you tried not to get worried just yet. You decided to text him.

Hey, just checking in.

You went to bed that night still waiting for his reply.

Then the morning came, and you went a little crazy. You called him twice, then Sam.

When Sam didn’t pick up, that little bell in your mind was a screaming fire alarm. It was a Friday though. You still had to go to work.

So you got ready for your day as usual, though even your manager Jerry noticed that you were distracted. You had been working at the museum for around six months now, and you had proven yourself to be a dedicated worker and enthusiastic about your work. So Jerry knew when you were having an off day.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said. “It’s nothing.”

“Okay, well, you’ve got another tour in five minutes,” he reminded you, before he tsked and rushed over to a group of teenagers who were messing with the neanderthal exhibit.

You sighed. The moment you thought about checking your phone again, it rang in your pocket.

Quickly you checked who it was, your eyes widening. You answered, “Sam? Is everything okay? I’ve been calling—”

“Listen,” Sam said. “I…I need to tell you something.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach when you heard his tone. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t good.

“What happened?” you asked.

“We found our dad,” he said. “And the demon.”

You gasped and moved to a corner of the museum for some privacy. “You did? That’s…that’s great! But what—”

“We got into an accident,” said Sam. “My dad and I are okay, but Dean, he’s…”

Your breath stilled in your lungs, even as your heart started to pound.

“Where are you?” You started toward the back offices to grab your purse and fished for your car keys. While Sam told you the hospital and the city, your heels clacked on the shiny tile as you booked it to your car.

“Hey, where are you going?” Jerry asked.

You put Sam on hold for a moment and said, without hesitation (and tears in your eyes):

“I’m sorry, I have a family emergency. My boyfriend just got hit by a truck.”

AN: Aaand another cliffhanger. But I'm sure you know where this is going next...

2.01 "In My Time of Dying," in which the reader finally meets John Winchester, but she could end up losing Dean for good this time.

(Also, there are just a few more chapters after this. I promise I won't go through the entire show lol.)

To keep reading: PART 9

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

@curlycarley @buckywenal24 @jamerlynn @iprobablyshipit91 @globetrotter28 @deamus-liv @irgendwas122 @deans-spinster-witch @dogbarkbark4445 @my-proof-is-you @vera0124 @deans-baby-momma @lacilou @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @happygoodvibe @theonlymaninthesky @spnexploration @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @imagineteller1ller1 @icequeen1371 @mininjageek @tiredqueen73 @bitchwitch1981 @abbigaleelizabeth @ohgodthebogisback @where-the-river-bends @loveprof6 @thespnlover

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madwomansapologist · 10 months

Text

living as shan yu's prisioner/bride would include

synopsis: After the initial fear and distrust, you undertood that you only had one choice: adapt. And, going against everything you knew about yourself and the world, you discovered that it weren't that hard. That Shan Yu wasn't that horrible.

warnings: female!reader. shan yu (that's my wife. yeah, i decided that 30 seconds after meeting her. she's my soulmate, idiot) x reader (slow down, big boy, i have standarts. oh. you gave me a horse. you're kinda of reaching them). mentruation because i'm a whore for domesticity in moments of vulnerability. violence. not that dark. it's kinda about the first steps of falling in love when your logic says you're not supossed to. in this house we hate the misogynist version of Shan Yu in Mulan (2020).

note: that happened right before the end of this. hope y'all like it!

• You felt guilty. So dirty. How could you feel that way about it? But it didn't matter how many times you told yourself that you shouldn't feel that way, you did it anyway. A heart feels whatever it wants. And yours feel free.

• That's something special about feeling the air against your body, the speed of your horse, the world moving on with you. Not despise you, not without, but with you. And it felt so good. Like it was supossed to be that way.

• When Shan Yu gave you a sorrel, he knew you wouldn't try to run away. Quickly after meeting him you knew you couldn't. It would be impossible for you to escape the Huns. And even if you did: then what would you do? Who would be able to help you? You knew that you couldn't, but Shan Yu also didn't gave you a reason to try.

• Yes, he kidnapped you. That is reason enough for you to at least try. But Shan Yu said he would make you his Empress. Endless times. He talked about how you'll reign beside him. You have classes about war, history, economy. The other Huns treat you like you had spend your lifetime with them. He'll make you his Empress. If he win the war, of course. And he promissed that you'll see your family again after the war.

• Shan Yu made clear that he wants your heart. He won't touch you, not without your consent first, but you're his bride. He made sure everyone knew that. You're his. His bride, his future wife, his mate. You don't know how anyone could fall in love that quickly. You believe him, Shan Yu have no reason to lie, you just don't get it. It may be that easy to him, but it isn't for you.

• You would never chose to be close to him if things were normal. The leader of the Hun army, an enemy of the Emperor, his fame precedes him. But things aren't normal, are they? You don't love Shan Yu, but you certainly don't hate him. And sometimes you think that he would be nice as a friend. Someone that would be easy to be around.

You were freaking out. You woke up in pain, and it took you a second to figure out what was that warm feeling in between your tights. Tears were rolling down your face when Shan Yu suddenly moved on his bed.

"Are you hurt?" You don't know how he did it that quickly, but when you looked at him Shan Yu had his sword on his hand. That man was ready to kill someone. The moonlit made it easy for you to see him, which means he could also see you. That made you feel so embarrassed. "Why are you crying?"

"Look away!" You shouted. Shan Yu almost did as you demanded, but he couldn't just ignore your tears. You tried to grab the bed sheets, but your sleep weaked your movements. "Just go back to your bed and leave me alone."

Shan Yu approached, and then he understood. He's experienced in the battlefield. Shan Yu would be able to recognized blood even if blind. "I will prepare a bath for you. It will help cease the pain."

"Stop", you could feel your body getting so warm. "Just leave me alone. I'm embarrassed enough."

Shan Yu sighed. "Embarrassed of what?" You pointed to the sheets. "Do you think that's the first time I see blood? Are you afraid I will faint?"

That made you chuckle. "No."

"I will prepare a bath for you." Shan Yu walked towards the bathroom. "Just sit down and wait."

That's what you did.

• Shan Yu isn't violent. Not to you. You fought his men, screamed at him, called him a liar: he never reacted. And he can be somehow kind when he wants to. You can sense that he's always checking if everything is okay with you. And he can be fun. In a weird, little bit off, kinda of way.

• Like how Shan Yu knows when he's better than someone and just let them dig their own graves. It isn't him being patient, coward or anything else: this is Shan Yu having fun. He likes the chase. You heard countless people calling him a monster, but you disagree. He's a predator.

• Fun. In a way that you don't really understand. And you would never say this out loud, not even under torture, but you feel that life would be easier with him. Or at least it wouldn't be the worst thing ever to stay beside him.

• Shan Yu isn't violent, has a good sense of humor, somehow respects you. Money would never be a problem. Even during a war, Shan Yu gave you clothes to fill countless wardrobes. And with him you're safe. You knew his fame, and now you know it fits him.

• It's nice to not worry about marriage. There is no family talking about how you should've already married to someone. There is no such a thing as spending sleepless nights thinking about what would happen to you if your father die before you can find someone. You don't worry about this anymore.

• So, yeah, somehow you enjoy that situation. Not love, and you certainly didn't dream with having that type of life, but you found yourself enjoying your time with the Huns. Your time with Shan Yu.

"You know that you don't need to run everytime, do you?" Shan Yu asked, scaring you. You didn't expect him to be behind you. You didn't even heard him approaching. Before looking at his direction, you could see that constant smirk on his face. "Horses are able to trot."

As usual, when you got the chance you ran with your sorrel, you did it. Feeling the air against you, a type of freedom you never experienced before. Exhausted, you waited for them to reach you.

For him to reach you.

Shan Yu grabbed your sorrel's rein, guiding him. You let him do it. Your body was already tired. Unlike him, you're not accustomed to ride for so long. And you could go to your carriage, Shan Yu wouldn't said no to you, but you know why he gave you that sorrel.

Before his gift, he led the army mounted on his horse while you stayed inside the carriage. Now, you can ride with him if you want to.

"Maybe I'm trying to runaway," if you know him well enough to understand the way his humor works, then he better understand yours. "Smarten up, big boy."

But you think there is another reason for that present. A thing that you noticed a while ago. The way he lighten up when someone mentions that you can fight. Or when you share your opinion, regardless if it's what he wants to hear. Shan Yu likes to see you fearless. He likes when you talk back. When you make sure everyone heard what you have to say.

"It's a joke," you told him. "I'm not planning on running away."

"Why?" Shan Yu said so calmly, but you could hear it was a honest doubt.

You also thought about it before. Why didn't you run away? Okay, using your logic you understood it wouldn't work out, but somethings aren't about logic. Humans don't usually do things only because of logic. Why your emotions didn't made you try everything you could? Why didn't you at least tried to runaway from him?

"I hope to never see a matchmaker again."

That made Shan Tu buffaw. "Alright," he nodded with his head. "It's a promise: you'll never see a matchmaker again in your life."

"Watch out," you smiled at him. "I may fall for your pretty promises."

"I'm counting on it."

• Things weren't perfect. Of course they weren't. But that feast was the last straw. There are some lines Shan Yu can't cross without you reacting. There are things that not even your logic can ignore. Things that made your heart decide to act. And of course it included him being violent. You should've know.

• All night long, you could feel his eyes on you. Those yellow eyes, following your steps like if you were a prey, would never go unnotice by you. Not even the loud music of the feast, the amounts of alcohol you drank, the way your feet were already aching because you danced for so long: you could feel Shan Yu watching you.

• You know he wants to join you. To dance with you, to hold you, to have you. You know that. But Shan Yu promised he would only touch you after you decided that you want him to do it. And you didn't say anything. You didn't try anything. You did not gave him permission, so he only watchs.

• At some moment, when it was already midnight, you fell. It wasn't anything important. It didn't hurt you. It was more embarrassing than anything else, but you were drunk enough to not care about it.

• Someone helped you getting on your feet again. Just a kind hand for you to hold on until you were sure you wouldn't fall again. For a second, you forgot about his eyes on you. You just hugged whoever helped you in a way to show your drunkness gratitude. And that was when Shan Yu made sure everyone knew he was still there.

• Shan Yu is quickly. Your mind, lacking sobriety, almost didn't record him moving towards you. You just noticed what was happening when Shan Yu hold the man by his throat, pulling him away from the floor. You knew he was scary, dangerous, cruel. You knew that. But you never saw it. You never saw how his eyes can burn others. You knew who Shan Yu was, but you never saw it.

• The poor man were turning blue on his head, barely able to struggle against the strong hold on his neck, trying to say something. Trying to say he was sorry. You were frozen in place, almost convincing yourself that it was all a nightmare, until Shan Yu dropped the man on the floor. He coughed, trying to breath again while thanking Shan Yu.

Shan Yu looked at every single person on the feast. Every single one. "No one touch what's mine."

Shan Yu wasn't only punishing him, but teaching everyone around him a lesson. And you can't deny, he was a great teacher. Everyone seem to understand. Everyone seem scared enough to never go against him.

But when Shan Yu looked at you, he didn't saw your usual challeging gaze. He didn't saw joy, or tiredness, or surprise. He didn't saw fear. When Shan Yu looked into your eyes, all he saw was disgust.

Your gaze alone made something itch inside him. But your words cut his soul in places he didn't even knew existed.

"You will never touch me," you whispered, only for him to hear. "I will never love you back. Hurt whoever you want, hurt me if you desire, you will never have me."

You told Shan Yu to smarten up. At the time it was only a joke. But now, after seeing how cruel he can be and hearing what he had to say, you changed your mind. Your heart feel smaller. You won't stay here for long.

Without giving him a chance to reply, you turned your back on him and walked towards your carriage. You stood there until you were sure no one had followed you. You put on your boots, grabbed a bag with food and water, and went to the stable.

You were lucky. Everyone was at the feast, which means no one was there to see you riding your sorrel. Which means no one was there to see you running away. Which means your carriage was empty when Shan Yu went there looking for you.

You knew the path you need to follow. Your could hear the river, you saw the birds flying north, all you need to do was to be faster than the Huns. And you're almost sure that they're all drunk.

At some point, maybe twenty minutes after you exit the stable, you heard another horse. You couldn't see it, but you knew it was Shan Yu. That scared you, made you shiver, but you didn't stop. You just went faster and faster.

Shan Yu is strong, but he's too strong. His horse wouldn't be able to compete with your sorrel. He can try, but you know for sure that your sorrel needs to worry about less weight.

He was close. But not close enough.

You don't know for how long you tried to make him struggle, but at some point it started raining. It was harder to see the path, you were shivering, and the ground turned muddy. You tried, you really tried, but nothing can control a horse's response to thunders.

You almost fell when he jumped, your hands burned holding the rein. You weren't so lucky the next time. When you collapsed on the floor, you felt like all the air in your lungs had imploded. You tried to move, the rain falling on your face kept you awake, but you couldn't stand. It burned.

And that gave Shan Yu exactly what he needed: time.

When another thunder came, you rolled to the side so your sorrel wouldn't step on you. You crawled on the ground, holding your head as if it would fall from your neck, and struggle to stand up. It hurts, it burns, but you're stronger. It felt like it was impossible, but you stand where once you fell.

It was hard to control your tears, and even harder to deal with the pain on your chest. You tried to hold your sorrel by its head, but he was so scared. You didn't stop trying to calm him down, but then you heard.

Shan Yu reached you. There he is, so close and yet so far away. Riding his own scared horse, rain dripping on his skin and marking his clothes. He wasn't wearing his usual fur. No. Shan Yu was still using the clothes for the feast.

That made you think less of him. You prepared. You have food, water, maps. And he just took a horse and went to search for you? Why would he act so unprepared?

With thunders ecchoing on your ears and pain spreading along your chest, the right answer didn't even passes through your head. Why Shan Yu was unprepared to the cold, to the rain, to the chase: because he was scared. He was scared that one second he wasted not looking for you would be the second that would separe you both forever. Because Shan Yu was scared. So scared.

"I won't stop trying," you shouted at him. It was so dificult to find strenght to say things, but you did it anyway. Screw it. Don't matter what he does, you will keep trying to flee away from him.

"Don't be stupid." Shan Yu jumped from the horse. You could hear the tiredness on his voice. He also sttrugled with his breath. "Are you trying to kill yourself? What would you do? Keep riding in the rain, waiting until the cold took your body?"

"I would rather die than live as your object!" You tried to mount your horse again, but he keep moving away from you. He was so scared. You caressed his fur, trying to make him stop. "For once, be honest with yourself. Face the truth. You don't love me. You won't have a happily ever after with me like in a old fairytail. I'm just someone you saw naked once. I'm not a person for you. I'm something that only you can consume."

Shan Yu walked towards you, but you moved away. He was trying so hard to be calm. All he wanted to do was took you on his arms, put you on his shoulder and walk you home. Home. There you could scream for how long you wanted. You could speak, he would hear, and things will change. He sighed. "That's not the truth and you know that."

"Do I? Because that is all I know. You saw me naked and now you do anything you can to make me let you fuck me. A person touch me and you almost killed him! Why won't you get over it? Find someone else!"

Then Shan Yu realized that no, you didn't know. You really didn't understand? How could you? He said to you so many times. Shan Yu made sure that you would see it, but you didn't. "I love you," Shan Yu didn't know what else could make you understand that. "I won't find someone else, because you are the one. We are meant to be. This isn't about your body. This isn't about your touch. All I do is to make you see it. To make you want to be mine."

You just glared at him, trying to understand what your mind wanted. Trying to understand him. "But why? Why do you feel this way about me?"

"Because you're like me."

"No. I'm not," you didn't move this time when he stepped closer. "I'm nothing like you."

"You want more of life," Shan Yu stood right in front of you. "You don't want to go back to a dead village, to go through the same day again and again, to no be remembered. I know you want more. You want to see the world. You want to feel free. It's your time to be honest with yourself. Face the truth. You want more."

Shan Yu wanted you to agree. He wanted you to say he was right, that you want more, that you want him. But he thought you would scream at him, push him away, declare your hate for him. He didn't imagined you would cry.

"I don't," Shan Yu stopped. He didn't knew what to say. He didn't want you to cry. He didn't want you to react this way. "Please, don't cry. Everything will be alright."

"I'm tired," you whispered. "Im in pain, I'm scared, and I don't know what I want. I don't know what to do."

"You're hurt?"

You nodded. "I fell."

Shan Yu sighed. How he wanted to just touch you. Hold you in his arms. Clean the trace of tears on your face. See where you hurted yourself. "We will come back to our carriage, we'll eat and rest. And when you're fine, you can decide If you go back home."

It was so dumb. So stupid. You could help but laugh, almost forgeting the tears. "And you would let me go if I want to?"

"I want to feel your love, not to see your disgust." Shan Yu sighed. "If you want to go, you can. But when i defeat the Emperor, when China became mine, I'll come back to you. And then I'll ask you once more if you want to be mine."

"You promise?" You didn't knew what to think about this.

"I do," Shan Yu answered. "Sadly, I do."

• That was the first night of a thunderstorm that lasted days. That was the first night of a thunderstorm that would make Shan Yu fall. That was the first night of a thunderstorm that would change your mind.

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stevesbestgirl · 11 months

Text

Dreamweaver

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Warnings: mentions of depression, a few curses, briefly mean!Morpheus, soulmate tattoo bs, I took liberties with the lore

A/N: I started this forever ago when I was dealing with some stuff with my brother, so if it feels like a self-insert 🤷‍♀️ (no descriptions of reader's appearance)

5775 words

"Dream."

Lord Morpheus, also known as Dream of the Endless, raised his head from his desk, where he was pouring over a book.

"Dream!"

He heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before standing.

"Dream of the Endless, I hold your sigil and I call to you."

"Yes Death, I am on my way to my gallery as we speak."

"Forget your gallery, come here."

Morpheus suppressed a sigh. But with a sound suspiciously like the flutter of a raven's feathers, Dream disappeared from his library, appearing instead beside his sister. Death's gaze did not waver; she appeared to be watching a young pair seated on a mattress on the floor of a simple bedroom. One, a young woman, seemed to be comforting the other, a young man with enough resemblance to be a sibling.

Dream spared only a quick glance, "Why am I here, sister?"

Death finally tore her gaze from the two mortals, "Can't you see it?"

Morpheus watched the pair again, unsure of what he was supposed to be seeing.

"Maybe I'm just bad. That's why she left." Dream could see the wisps of despair puffing up around the boy, evaporating like drops of water on a hot pan.

"You took the fall when I broke Mallory's lamp when we were ten. Don't tell me you're bad," the woman insisted despite her soft tone. "And nothing you did made Bella leave."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Dream's gaze swiveled back to his sister, "I am unsure what it is I should be seeing."

Death huffed impatiently, "Open your mind for just one moment and consider that a mortal may surprise you." When he still stared at her, his jaw growing tight with impatience, she rolled her eyes, "She's dream weaving, Dream. You of all people should be able to tell."

"The dream weavers died out hundreds of years ago."

Death grabbed her stubborn brother by the shoulder, twisting him to face the girl again, "Watch."

Dream watched, albeit a bit disdainful, as the young woman continued to speak. She offered musings about their past. Their childhood seemed to have been a difficult one. But she made jokes, reminiscing and reflecting on what they could learn- how they could create better for themselves. And then he saw it.

Human consciousness, all consciousness really, clung to the Dreaming with tethers. Needless to say, humans clung particularly closely compared to most other sentient life. Each dream, though they varied in strength, was a connection to the dreaming. When a being began to lose the will to live, those tethers weakened.

Her brother's tethers were weak; not quite on the brink of severing, but looking rather exhausted. And while it wasn't possible for her to strengthen the tethers- only their owner could do that, she was reinforcing their connection to the Dreaming. The dreams she was sharing were indeed woven into an intricate web, right on the cusp of his realm.

Her own web was vast, ethereal silver glimmering in elaborate knots and designs, each one a waking dream. This girl's very existence was tied up in his realm.

His only show of emotion was a small parting of his lips, but that was enough for Death. "I told you so."

Dream said nothing, watching the girl speak.

"What are you thinking, brother?" Death prompted, clearly awaiting some kind of response.

"It appears that a new age of Dreamweavers may be upon us, sister."

"Are you going to speak to her?"

"I suppose I am duty-bound to make contact. Soon, more like her will appear, if they haven't already. If they go on unsupervised, they could damage the realm."

Death cocked an eyebrow, "Why do you sound so reluctant? You've never had issue with dream weavers in the past, have you?"

"Not yet. But I have an odd feeling about this one."

After departing with Death, Morpheus tasked Matthew with keeping an eye on the girl. She stayed with her brother through the night, the pair of them departing early in the morning and returning a short while later with what appeared to be a third sibling.

Only once the two young men were in each other's company did the girl leave, returning to her own home a short distance away.

She seemed lost in her own thoughts as she puttered around the house, cleaning up odds and ends before changing into a tee-shirt and climbing into bed. Underneath her eyes, dark circles were beginning to swell. She was exhausted.

Morpheus almost felt bad for her; this sleep would not be as restful as she might be expecting.

Y/N always had vivid dreams, both waking and while asleep. But she immediately knew tonight was different. Dressed in nothing but her tee-shirt and underwear, her bare feet were chilled against the dark stone floor underfoot.

A shadowed figure sat in a throne at the head of the large room, as though waiting for her.

"Hello?" She took a hesitant step forward, hands clinging to the too-short hem of her tee-shirt, which was barely covering the tops of her thighs.

"Approach, Y/L, L/N."

She did as the voice instructed, stepping forward on unsteady legs. It was male, authoritative and nearly stern. But it wasn't aggressive, or even raised in volume. He simply spoke and expected compliance.

It was also beautiful, deeply toned and unrushed in its delivery. He had an accent she couldn't identify, her mind reeling with thoughts as she approached the throne, still cloaked in shadow.

She felt exposed, painfully aware of his gaze on her. She gave her shirt another nervous tug down, trying to make sure she was covered. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, "What is this place?"

The silence stretched, her fingers abandoning the hem of her shirt in favor of fidgeting with the cuticles of her fingernails. But her hands parted hastily and she sucked in a gasp as she suddenly found herself fully clothed in a pair of dark jeans, socks, boots, and a black jacket over her tee-shirt.

She was relieved for both the privacy and warmth granted by the clothes, but her heart was pounding at the magic, "Am I dreaming?"

The figure remained in shadow, "Yes," he confirmed. "But more importantly, you are in the Dreaming."

She blinked, willing her eyes to make out the figure in the dark as questions bubbled up inside her, "And that would make you-?"

He rose slowly from his chair, towering over her at his full height, somehow still shrouded in shadow, "I am Dream of the Endless, creator of the Dreaming, King of Nightmares."

It suddenly became quite clear to her as she gazed up at him that he wanted her to be intimidated. The question of why still loomed.

"King of Dreams then too, right?" She couldn't find it within herself to give him the reaction he wanted, king or no king.

His voice remained level, "Yes."

"Am I forbidden from laying eyes on the King of Dreams?" She cocked her eyebrow, only slightly, in a challenge. She took a step backwards, inviting him to step into the light.

There was another long pause before he answered, "No, you are not." But instead of moving, the shadows seemed to loosen, pale skin blooming behind the darkness until his face was wholly visible.

It seemed the perfect match for his voice, slim with sharp cheekbones and a shock of deep ebony hair. Long, dark lashes framed his eyes, which were dark, almost entirely black in a way that should have been eerie. But they glimmered like stars, little specks of light dancing deep within their depths and seeming to invite her inside. She felt as though she was falling forward until the darkness swallowed her up.

But inside was far from dark. It was a massive stretch of blackness, yes, but far from nothing. The black was a canvas, swirling with color and light and looking like entire galaxies.

A mess of incoherent thought washed over her, driving her own thoughts from her mind. The galaxy showed her a beautiful woman. She felt insecurity, fear, but also something warm and safe she could only describe as love. Then she saw the sun, but the sun as she'd never seen it before. The sun through the eyes of someone who couldn't go blind. And then came pain, rejection, grief-

"You should not be here."

Then she was back in the throne room, balled up on the floor, her cheeks wet with tears. She sat up, hastily wiping her cheeks, but Dream was already hauling her up by the shoulder of her tee-shirt, her extra layer of clothing stripped away in an instant, "You dare to invade my mind?" His dulcet tones were reduced to a mere hiss. "As the King of Dreams, it is my responsibility to warn you that if you or others like you meddle in the affairs of my realm, it will cost you dearly. It seems that every time I show compassion to a human, you are determined to make me regret it. Cross my path again and you will not receive such mercy a second time."

She wanted to plead with him, to make him understand that it had been an accident. She didn't even understand what she'd done- were those his thoughts?

His change in demeanor stung more than it should have. But his sudden rage combined with what little she'd seen made it clear he would not leave himself vulnerable to her, and perhaps for good reason.

"I apologize for any offense, it was not my intent. I will do my best not to get in your way again." She offered him a sad smile, "And I'm sorry for your suffering."

His eyes glimmered in a brooding smolder and then she found herself jolting awake in her bed, a sheen of sweat glittering on her skin. She made a half-hearted attempt to tell herself it had only been a dream, but there was no denying what she'd seen- what she'd felt.

She felt out of place going back to her everyday life, but her work wouldn't wait for her. And there was plenty left to do for her brother, so she put it behind her, hoping that whatever she had done to draw the King of Dreams' ire was a one-time thing. Their interaction had left a lingering bad taste in her mouth.

She had hoped that her responsibilities would drive the memory from the front of her consciousness, but it continued to creep up on her each time she had a moment to breathe, haunting her rare moments of rest with nightmares. She suspected the King of Nightmares was wholly capable of sentencing her to a lifetime of nighttime terrors, but she wasn't convinced this was his intention. But if she was connected to Dream, as he'd called himself, the only way to fix it would be to visit the Dreaming again.

And now she was thinking about it again. She gave herself a shake; she had another long night ahead of her. So she turned up the music in her car and left for her brother's apartment.

"I thought I might see you back here, brother." Death looked smug as Dream appeared beside her in the same place they'd watched from last time.

"And why are you here again, Death?"

"To catch you in the act, obviously."

Dream made a disapproving noise at her joke, but didn't press further. He watched as she and her brother played a video game together. He'd done some reading in her book after her uninvited foray into his mind, though mostly out of spite. It had done nothing to reassure him that he'd acted appropriately.

Her childhood had not been an easy one. Teenage parents, poverty, and drug use had rendered her functional guardian to her two younger siblings at a young age. Once he arrived at the abuse resulting from her first romantic relationship, he'd stopped reading.

The two Endless watched for quite some time before speaking again, but surprisingly to Death, it was Dream who broke the silence. "Why are you truly here, sister?"

"It is part of my responsibilities to check on the humans whose ties grow weak."

"Do you spend this long on every one?"

She huffed a sigh, "No." Stealing a glance at Y/N, she admitted, "When she weaves the dreams, that strengthens the connection, giving a weak tie more time to recover."

Dream tipped his head, "Yes, as you explained last time."

"I'm starting to suspect that the dream she's woven around the center tether may be permanent."

"Is such a thing possible?"

"I don't know. Like you said, this could be a new kind of dream weaver." They both watched her laugh, drawing a laugh from her brother as well. "I wish I could just ask her what she's capable of."

Dream looked back on the way the girl had collapsed in his throne room, realization making his stomach sink, "She is unaware of her abilities."

"As far as I can tell." At Dream's silence, Death glanced at him sharply, "Why do I get the sense that you may have done something foolish?"

Dream was silent, reassessing his interaction with this new information. He'd brought her into his realm, exposed and confused, then put on a show of being intimidating and immediately lost his temper, resorting to threats and expulsion.

He refused to feel shame over actions taken to protect his realm, but he couldn't identify the strange pit that seemed to have opened in his gut. She likely thought him a monster, a nightmare himself instead of their king.

"Dream, what did you do?"

Death's voice broke him from his stupor, though he kept his gaze on the girl, "I brought her to my realm and lost my temper."

Death couldn't suppress an eye roll, but Dream didn't seem to notice, "What was it this time?"

"I suspect one of those new abilities allows her access to memory."

There was a long pause. "She got inside that thick skull of yours?"

Dream broke his gaze to send his sister a scathing look, "Yes."

Death sent her an appraising glance, "She seems to be holding up rather well, all things considered." It was meant to be a joke, but Dream thought the circles under her eyes were damning.

"You are typically far slower to admit you are wrong, so I ask you again, brother, what are you doing here?"

"After my meeting with the girl, I spent an entire evening working on new dreams and nightmares. It was the best work I've done in ages."

Now Death did smirk, "She inspired you then? Is she your latest muse?"

"My days of muses are behind me, sister. Aside from the fact that she is a mortal, my realm needs my full attention."

"Of course, brother."

That night, when Y/N fell asleep in her bed, she found herself back in the throne room. Muttering a curse under her breath, she stood, grateful that she'd slept in a pair of shorts this time.

"Approach, Y/N."

She did not obey the voice this time, stubbornly remaining in place and gazing resolutely into the dim light, which was only slightly improved from her first visit.

A moment, then two, passed before there came a sigh. "Very well." Several long strides later the King of Dreams had left his throne to stand before her. She avoided his eyes, afraid to repeat her mistakes.

"Dream King."

"Yes, I suppose I deserve that as well."

Tipping up her chin, she nodded, "You do." She seemed to catch herself, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what I did to end up back here."

"I brought you here- in both instances. You've done nothing wrong, I have realized too late."

She was stunned. She hesitantly met his gaze, relieved when her feet remained planted on the floor.

Dream held his expression steady and nodded, "I apologize for my prior behavior."

She surprised herself by tipping her head, "Thank you." She chewed her lip for a moment, "I'm sorry too. For before. I'm really not sure how I did it."

She knew she didn't have the leverage to flaunt a grudge against the Kind of Dreams. She was pleased with her own politeness, but she would not trust easily.

Dream was silent for a long pause, "What exactly did you see?"

She looked away, "Not much. A woman- a beautiful woman. The sun. And I felt-" His eyes seemed to pull her gaze back in, "I felt some of your pain, I think."

"I apologize."

Her brow furrowed, "For your suffering?"

He shook his head, "For yours, at my hands. We have much to discuss, but you will not struggle with nightmares from tonight on."

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a smile, "So, I can rest assured?"

Dream either didn't catch the pun or was ignoring it, nodding, "You may. Now come, have a seat." He led her back toward his throne, where a small tea table and a wooden chair sat on the dais beside his own.

She waited, watching him take his seat on the throne before she sat on the wooden chair, ruefully thinking of her own chair at home. And then it was her chair she was sitting in. No sound or movement accompanied the change, it simply was.

Dream raised an eyebrow, as if challenging the action, "Did you just alter the Dreaming?"

Face flushing with warmth, she stumbled over her words, "Not with intention."

His gaze seemed inquisitive, "Have you always manipulated the Dreaming so skillfully?"

She raised a brow, a reluctant smile forming at the corner of her mouth, "I'm not sure that was a compliment."

"Simply an observation."

"Sounds a bit sinister though, doesn't it? 'Manipulating the Dreaming.'"

"What would you call it if someone were to create their own clay sculpture on a block already used by someone else?" Dream wasn't offended by the action so much as he was curious.

"If it serves a new function, I would call it repurposing," she replied thoughtfully.

There was a long pause, "Indeed." She couldn't decipher his tone. "What if I told you that the person who made the original sculpture also created the clay? And that the only clay that would ever exist was his creations."

She sobered up a little, "I'm sorry if I've ruined your work. Once again, not my intention. I have a lot to learn about your realm."

His gaze trailed over the chair she'd conjured, noting the details. The golden colored thread in the stitching that glinted in the dim light of the throne room. The slight wear to the fabric around the arms. Dreams were often vague, even half-formed, because mortals struggled to shape the Dreaming. But Dream suspected he'd find a perfect match to this chair if he were to visit her home.

"Clay is never ruined for having been used for creation. However, some do not take kindly to their working being- repurposed. But that is what I brought you here to discuss."

She gave him a nod, "I'm listening."

His dark gaze seemed to pierce her, "You are something known as a dream weaver. Historically, dream weavers used their abilities to tether many humans to the same dream."

She blinked at him, expression blank for a long time, "I don't mean any disrespect, but could you be mistaken?"

"I could be, but my sister is almost certainly not."

"Your sister?"

"Death."

She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts that had grown thick and slow.

"Why would you want humans to have the same dreams?"

"Back in the early days of human development, human dreams were chaotic and disorganized. Dream weavers helped drive human development by uniting many humans under the same dream."

"Dreams affect human development?"

That drew a surprising chuckle from the Dream King, "Dreams are human development. The world exists as it is because of dreams- because of the Dreaming." There was a marked note of pride in his voice at that.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"So like, the depths of the ocean and all the scary stuff down there was all dreamed up by humans?" He nodded. "What about space- the entire greater solar system? Is any of that real?"

"Created by dreams, but very real." She took a moment to process that, stifling a sigh. "You are displeased?" Dream raised a curious brow.

"That's a very human-centric reality. I kind of liked it when we were just little specks of dust among the vastness of the uncharted cosmos."

The corner of his mouth lifted in almost a smile, "You still are. But only because humans have dreamed it so."

"How have we survived this long? It seems to me that human beings have a tendency to destroy more than we create."

"Humans can be very destructive. But they are also very clever. No other species has demomstrated such an capability to dream up solutions to its problems like humans."

"So like, climate change. The solution to all of the pollution, to the whole climate crisis, exists?"

"Not exactly. It may or may not exist now. But it could exist if enough humans were to dream of it."

She rested her head in her palm, forcing a breath; she was starting to get light headed. This was overwhelming. Her next breath did not come as easily as the first, a fact not unnoticed by the Dream King.

"Are you alright?"

"I-" she swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump in her throat, "I think I'm having a panic attack."

Dream calmly reached out and brushed his hand over her forehead, his intent to soothe her distress. Instead, a sharp spike of heat burst through his palm, quickly going icy. He heard her gasp, but couldn't tear his gaze away as the trails of ice left behind dark lines of deep purple criss-crossing over his wrist.

"What the fuck?" Her voice was barely over a whisper, the only evidence of distress the high-pitched strain that overtook her tone. Tearing his eyes from his hand, he saw the same design decorating her hand in a blue so dark it was almost black.

Her wide-eyed gaze flicked up to his, "Did you-" She left the question unfinished, not wanting to make an accusation and unsure of what to ask even if she did.

"No."

"Do you know what this is?"

"No." His voice had gone cold and hard, just like it had been their first time meeting. Her eyes flicked back to the lines marking her skin and Dream saw the panic begin to rekindle in them.

After only a split second of hesitation, he pressed his palm to her forehead again, "Sleep, now. We will speak again soon."

Her eyes grew cloudy, but she fought against his magic with surprising vigor, "No- the- n-nightmares-"

Dream's hand seemed to slide down over her cheek to cup her face of its own accord as her eyes started to glisten with fear, "You will suffer no bad dreams tonight, Dreamweaver."

And as she faded from his realm, her consciousness joining her body in sleep, Death's words about the girl's resilience to seeing inside his head echoed again. But the lines swirling over his wrist stretched from his fingertips all the way up his forearm, nearly to the elbow, demanding his attention. They were delicate, weaving together and knotting at the crossroads between, like a tangle of flower stems and intricate lace. And at the apex of it all, the palm of his hand had an empty circle at the center.

As he stared at the mark on his hand, Dream of the Endless felt something he was neither accustomed to or fond of- he felt lost.

"You look like a kicked puppy today, brother," Death remarked, not breaking pace on her way to the next destination. The city street seemed to blur behind her, though her pace appeared normal. Dream's long strides quickly made up the distance, though he said nothing.

Death's raised eyebrow slowly lowered as she noticed the markings on his hand. "It appears that congratulations are in order."

The frown lines on his face only seemed to grow more pronounced.

"Unless-"

"Unless." Dream was unamused.

"Unless you are not pleased to have found your soulmate."

If he were mortal, those words might have rung in his ears, the vibrations enough to make everything he'd known crumble. But they were not enough because he was not mortal and he did not have a soulmate.

"You believe such foolishness, sister?"

"You are so confident it is foolish with the evidence staring you right in the face?"

"This?" He raised his right hand, "This is not evidence. I have never encountered such delusion in any text or reading-"

"And you will not. But if you sought out the people who can remember the farthest back in human history, they would remember."

"If it is so certain, why is it not documented?" Dream sounded annoyed that it was becoming more difficult to be skeptical.

"It is. But it has been changed in writings, splintered and embellished, transformed into something not quite the same. They never quite get it right. But they dream of it. Surely you have seen that."

"I have. Yet I have never met a mortal with markings like this."

Death suppressed a chuckle at his determination to disprove her theory, "I myself have not seen a soul mate marking in a long time. But they exist. I suspected as soon as you'd told me the girl got in your head."

"I suppose that was a sign as well," he mused bitterly.

"Yes, it was. Why are you so determined not to believe, Morpheus? You aren't usually the type to ignore evidence. I thought you would be happy."

"Happy at a cruel joke? Even if I accepted this as truth, it is clearly the result of Desire's interference once again."

Death shook her head, "Soul mates go even beyond Desire."

"Then why is my soul mate a human?" he demanded. "Am I meant to destroy human-kind in my pursuit of happiness, sister?" He knew he was being unfair, demanding such answers from his sister, but he would not allow her to light the hope inside him. He would not have what he wanted, that much he knew.

"Of course you aren't. I don't have all the answers, Dream. But be patient. They will make themselves clear over time."

That was not what he wanted to hear. "Thank you, sister. I must go." And he did, leaving Death alone just as a sigh fell from her lips.

All day long, Y/N got remarks about the lines twisting up her wrist. After a night of blissfully peaceful sleep, she woke up feeling refreshed, taking a moment to examine the designs that had followed her from her dreams.

The lines had filled in more since while she slept. What had been dainty lines had thickened to nearly an eighth of an inch- she'd measured. What was more, the deep, rich blue that had made up the original color was deeper now, with glimmers of royal purple, black, and the occasional glint of something golden- like a raven's wings.

The lines seemed to connect at every possible juncture. The empty circle at the heart of her palm seemed like the center, although she didn't quite understand why.

There was a lot she didn't understand; why did she have a tattoo at all? It wasn't exactly normal to wake up with new ink. And based on the Dream King's reaction, it was also not normal for ancient royalty to find themselves with a flash tattoo. But she would hopefully get more answers tonight.

She was embarrassed- mortified actually, at the way she'd freaked out last night. But she had to go back. He'd called her a Dreamweaver, whatever that meant.

But when she climbed into bed that night, she tossed and turned, anxious thoughts keeping her mind active. She felt a strange sense of trepidation whenever she visited the Dreaming; she wasn't exactly in a hurry to piss off the Dream King any more than she already had at their first meeting. But more concerning than the shadow of fear was the sliver of excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.

Despite her efforts to convince herself it was the remnants of the dream, muddling her emotions, even now she could feel his pull. She could practically feel him waiting for her on the other side of her consciousness. And when she finally did drift off to sleep, she never reached a state of rest.

Instead, she found herself seated in the chair she had left behind the night before in the throne room of what she presumed was the Dream Castle. Dream was waiting for her, his throne no longer shrouded in shadow. In fact, the whole throne room was warm and well-lit, her breath catching as she gazed around at the stunning architecture.

"Did you sleep well?" Dream's voice broke her stupor, somehow managing to catch her off guard.

"What?" Her head snapped to the throne, where he was waiting.

She watched the corner of his mouth curl up in a faint smirk, "You were concerned about nightmares, if I recall."

"Oh. No- yes, I um, slept fine." She wasn't sure why she was so flustered.

Dream let out a low hum, "Excellent."

She wasn't sure what to say, especially since Dream hadn't seemed to be in the best temper when she'd been here last. She had questions, starting with what had happened to her arm and ending with what the hell it actually meant to be a Dreamweaver.

"I'm sure you have questions."

She nodded, "A couple, yes."

"I will answer to the best of my ability."

Though her gaze lingered on the marks on her arm, the words that came out were, "What do I need to know about being a Dreamweaver?"

Dream was pensive before answering, "You must remember that the Dreaming, no matter how it responds to you, is my realm. What I say goes." You had to consciously suppress the shiver that wanted to rattle you at the intense way he held your gaze while he spoke.

She nodded, "You mentioned others- who may not take kindly to my abilities."

That elicited another pause, "That question leads to many more questions. Rest assured, I will provide an overview on my siblings, but not tonight."

She bit back the torrent of follow-ups and asked instead, "Are there more like me?"

He gave his head a solemn shake, "There were a great many Dreamweavers at one point in time. But eventually they stopped emerging and died out."

"No immortality then, I take it?" She was only joking, but he shook his head seriously. She suddenly felt shy meeting his eyes, "Are you immortal?"

He cocked his head like he was determining her intentions, "Not as you might think. I am not mortal- I do not age, grow old, or die by natural causes. Though it is exceedingly difficult, I can be killed."

The silence seemed to stretch as she processed what she had just learned. Everything should have seemed overwhelming- she shouldn't believe it. But she could feel the truth of it.

Finally, she held up a clenched fist, her eyes on the dark lines glistening in the light, "What is this?"

Dream was silent for so long that she almost asked again, but he finally said softly, "It is a soul bond."

Her gaze flicked to his eyes; the dancing lights there seemed to be waiting for her reaction. Then it fell to his own left hand, where the matching lines seemed so much more elegant on his pale skin.

"What does that mean?" She asked even though she already suspected.

"I do not know." That caught her off guard; she expected him to know everything. He certainly seemed to know more than she did.

She surprised him by asking, "Is there anything you want to ask me?"

He'd expected her to push for more information. "Have you always had these abilities?"

She offered a chagrined smile, "I didn't even know I had abilities, to be honest."

"You are quite skilled."

He made a vague hand gesture and she wasn't sure what he'd done. Then she caught a glimpse of light above her head, her mouth falling open at the intricate web of silvery white that seemed to hover over her head. She didn't quite understand how she had created this masterpiece of dreams, but she believed him.

It took her a moment to realize that he had paid her a compliment, "Oh- thank you." Her face felt a bit hot. "I have another question." At his nod, she continued, "Will I see you again?"

She couldn't explain it, since his eyes were so difficult to read, but he seemed pleased as he mulled that over, "You are not bound to me; you are free to go back to your life. But should you have need of the Dreaming, it is always here. I trust you can make your way back."

She couldn't place why she felt as though he were flirting with her; he clearly avoided expressing any kind of desire to see her again of his own volition.

She felt the urge to admit she wanted to see him again, grateful to her own good sense for stopping her before the words formed. Dream hadn't spelled out what kind of being he was to her, but she knew he was likely high above whatever a 'soul bond' meant. He was the definition of being out of someone's league.

So she nodded her head, "Thank you, Dream King."

A beat of silence. "Morpheus. You may call me Morpheus."

Her lips curled into a half-smile, "Thank you, Morpheus."

He wasn't prepared for how his name sounded when spoken from her lips. She wasn't prepared for the soft smile that graced his handsome face. Even solemn, he was beautiful. But a smile, faced directly at her- because of her- it was like knowing the sun was shining because of her.

She was so unprepared that she blinked, waking up in her own bed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. A wave of emotions washed over her; loss, frustration, hope, longing. She felt desperate to fall back asleep, to see that smile grace Morpheus' face again. But if that was going to happen, she would have to go to him.

#dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dreamweaver #dream of the endless fluff #morpheus fluff #one shot

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