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whoppert · 2 months

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SUNNA 10 (loki/reader) (stephen strange/reader)

◂ previous chapter first chapter ▴

4945 words

warnings: the after effects of mind violation; canon-typical violence. minor gore; depictions of wounded animals

AO3 MASTERPOST

With that, we see the world through Loki's eyes . . . .

Another step towards the shirking Midgardian.

The right side of my face relinquishes the sting for a long steady burn. Oh, I don’t blame her for the slap, not really, she’s shown a penchant for explosive bouts of emotion, but the unexpected pain makes the uncivilized part of my mind react murderously.

"I'm sorry," she says, hands out in apology. "I'm sorry for hitting you."

I actively reel in the desire to kill her. I am provoking her for more than one reason, I remind myself. I need her mad. “I am willing to admit, transfiguring into the sorcerer was perhaps a bit harsh-”

She stops backing away unexpectedly, and I almost collide with her.

Her shoulders draw back, face contorting with anger. “A bit harsh? A bit harsh!? Are men not taught manners in Asgard? God, why are you such a fucking tool?”

AO3

"You know nothing of my background, I think all Asgardians are tools in one way or another.” I match her energy, each one of us refusing to back down, glaring at each other. Good. “I apologize if I upset you, but it certainly wasn’t personal. All in the spirit of fun.”

“That wasn’t personal? If you upset me?”

"That is what I said."

She is genuinely flabbergasted. "God, you're such a-! What did I ever do to you?"

"What do you mean? I'm here! Against my will! Fixing your mess." I gesture around us. This I genuinely believe. This is not my mess.

She's waving her hands in the air in front of her. "Woah, woah, what? You're still half responsible bud! I need you to be like so for real right now, this is your mess." Right fingers tap on her left palm in beat with her words.

“If I caused you harm it was indirect, I'll admit that much culpability, but I have been practicing magic for longer than your bloodline has existed. There's never been a problem before.” It's true.

“Indirect?” She's almost nose to nose with me on the sloped ground.

"Yes, indirect. If you hadn't been enchanted, then my involvement wouldn't have resulted in this. The enchanter - that is where fault lies."

"Okay? You can't just go into people's heads like that!" She's infuriated. I can feel it, feel all her emotions, hear it in all her thoughts. So... so close.

"Huh. Why can't I? Tell me, I implore you." I know how to sound audibly arrogant. I know the affect that has on someone already frustrated.

"You don't really plan to listen, Loki. We met, and granted I was a little rude, but who just meets someone and then stages a whole shitty diversion just to break into their head? How entitled do you have to be to do that to a person?"

Mind magic is a complicated thing. While I'm in her head I'm bonded to her. When entering a truly fragile mind, it's necessary to bond the guest consciousness to the host, it makes it easier to read the connections and to heal broken bonds. It tricks her mind into thinking I am one and the same. My magic will linger on her for days afterwards, stopping her mind from rejecting the supplementing power.

Such a long time has it been since I have attempted to heal a mind... I have been quite unprepared, forgotten what it is to feel as another feels, hear what another thinks without escape.

It means I feel the throbbing of her pain. I don't like it.

"Do you really think that that's okay?”

I am forced to steel myself. There is a higher purpose to this. Her pain as long as I feel it is my pain, and it makes me want to bite like a wounded dog. I channel that feeling, as I have done so for a millennia - from lashing teeth to a single precise blade. "Sunna, I have met hundreds of thousands of peoples, in different realms and different places. Your kind are born and grow old in the blink of an eye to me. You are nothing to me. I care little for the vapid sensibilities of the common man, just as you cannot weep and wail over every insect killed in your presence because you will never be able to carry on. I am a god and you are a girl. Do you blame a gust of wind for blowing down a castle made of sand? No. No amount of tact could make such a truth easily digestible, and you simply will not be able to induce guilt in me for it."

"Fuck you."

Again, I don’t blame her for the punch. It is the risk you take with provocation. Her fist never makes contact with my face though, I am still quicker than she is, wrapping my fingers around the assailing wrist and holding it firmly in my hand. Unsuccessful attempts to wrench out of my grip were made, and it's harder to restrain her than it technically should be. Perfect. Sunna’s anger is making her stronger.

“So you just mess with people- what- because you can?”

“More or less."

She is preparing another strike.

"Time ever marcheth forth and when you live as long as I do you find entertainment wherever you can.”

I grab her other wrist as well, halting the right hook.

Genuine surprise weaves through the timbre of my voice, “your swings have good form. I refuse to believe that Strange taught you how to fight. That buffoon couldn’t throw a half-decent punch to save his life. Stop it, you’re going to strain a muscle."

She swears at me again.

Something in the air shifts, enough to pull my attention to our surroundings, only for a second but long enough that she pulls me off balance, forcing me to take a step forward. She uses the momentum to grind her heel down on the top of my foot. In real life, this wouldn't have hurt, wouldn’t have caused me to yelp in pain as I did. Every other form I take, I take with me the durability of an Asgardian.

“No matter what I do, what questions I ask, you spin into conspiracy theory, like trying to poison me against Stephen, I know what you're doing-"

"Acknowledging reality is not poisoning."

"You are actually crazy! Like I knew you dressed well, but the way you accessorize the tin foil hat - that's crazy. You wanna talk about bugs? Talk about animals? You’re like a fucking animal skulking around, lying and chipping away at my sanity piece-by-piece. You didn’t put this spell on me, fine, you didn’t intend to cause me harm? Fine! But you fucked up that spell, you fucked up my head, and everything would have been fine if you didn’t feel entitled to other people’s brains and business, so forgive me if I couldn’t give two shits if you did it directly or indirectly. You owe me a solution!”

There's a pregnant pause while she waits for me to say something, my foot tender and throbbing. “You think I dress well?”

Another shift in pressure. The memory around us fades away.

The night sky around gives way to masonry, mortar appearing before bricks, sprouting out of the ground like some bamboo made of only right-angles, the bricks grow in, strange rectangular fruit. The roof was the final thing to form, snapping on and blocking the newly risen sun.

Encased in the walls of the top of a stone clock tower, she shows Memory-Strange some magic she had learnt as a child, waving a hand through the bell that signaled the changing of the hour. A purple glow has washed over her features. It seemed to catch in the sorcerer’s eye.

“This is my mind,” the real her contended. “You do not get to act this way in here, this is my head.”

The walls of the tower crack and the ground jolts, shards of another scene loitering behind the set. She is almost there, unwittingly close to a breakthrough.

The automatic door to the local gelato shop slid open with a beep, complete with a welcome mat outside, with the words ‘ice to meet you!’ emblazoned in pink. The inside of the shop was almost empty, but she sat with Wong in one of the shop’s pastel tables, eating their gelato and talking.

“I don’t care what you do out there in the rest of the world but you don’t get to come here and laugh at my memories and torture me because you got bored. Get it together! I have no memories, Loki! My brain is so broken! My body could give out on me any second, everything hurts and my magic is gone. I’m scared, so you need to step up! I need you to step up. You owe me.” Color blooms high across her cheeks.

The gelato shop shudders, splintering away, thrusting us into an intoxicated New York city night.

The lights were too bright, so much so that they hurt her eyes. She could hear every sound around us, every hum of a motor vehicle, the rustle of trash being kicked on the sidewalk, and people speaking to each other in various tones all of which were so intrusive that they thudded against her skull but still she couldn’t make out a single word of conversation.

Ah, here we are. The underlayer.

Her pain transports me. Once when I was small, Odin took me out into the forest to hunt. I did not take to physical endeavors in the same way that my brother did and I was acutely aware of how this made me lesser than Thor. Still I was young, and was always chasing the ghost of approval that Odin gave occasionally - not enough to sustain me, but often enough that I was haunted with the need to make him proud of me. Desperate for more.

I did not rejoice in the killing of animals. More often than not it would do little more than to wash me with nausea, but that day we had laid a trap for a bear, a clamp with so much force that it would be able to restrain the beast long enough for Odin to kill it. We sat in wait until the sun set and rose and set and rose again, the time being of little burden to us.

We sat until a reindeer, antlers freshly shed, wandered near. He called for his kind, but there came no reply.

“He is lost,” Odin said.

So profoundly alone, just as I was.

Odin knew of the magic mother was teaching me, and had forced me to render us invisible to the forest, he had said he didn’t want me to be a distraction when the bear came. Through the lens of an adult as I now am, I can see that it was more important for him to model to me what he thought a great warrior should be, to stroke his own ego, because surely the reason I was such a disappointment is because I had not seen him kill personally. But this was no bear. This was a reindeer, lost and alone, and stepping awfully too close to the trap. For a moment I forgot about the spell and I moved to stop him, to chase him away.

“Halt,” it was a simple command from my father, and it was all that it took to freeze me in place.

The deer was going to step in the trap. “Please, father,” I could not drag my eyes from the beast, “we came to conquer a bear, not this. This is not worth our time,” my voice sounded more practical than I felt.

“Watch.”

The deer made only one misstep, and the teeth of the clamp reared up. This trap was made to subdue a creature much bigger and stronger than a reindeer, so the first sound to echo through the forest was the snapping of delicate bone. The second sound, a scream of agony.

I could not move. I was not allowed to. Odin insisted that I watch. If it were a bear caught, he would have charged in and killed the beast (not without show), but death would have been swifter than the slowly encroaching starvation and blood loss. The trapped animal moaned and cried out. Time passed, how much I did not know, but even now, a millennia later I can see the animals panic and terror shift into anger as though it were before my own eyes once again. Asgardian animals are often more conscious than their Midgardian counterparts and I swore I could see the moment that it decided to gnaw off it’s own limb, now broken in several more places from its wild thrashing. Blood pooled around it. After hours of suffering, it tore through its own sinew and muscle, the gore lashed between its teeth.

It was free... but only managed one shaking step before it collapsed. It had lost too much blood, exhausted and in shock. Even with the lengths it had gone to to free itself, it would die soon anyway. Finally, Odin sent in his wolves to end the deer’s life, and my eyes shut tight, so I could spare myself a fraction of the horror that I had been forced to see.

“Open your eyes and watch, boy.” Odin’s words echoed through my mind, and I am brought back to the scene in front of me, bright lights and loud noises, Sunna standing in front of me, the only respite from the calamity.

“Fine. I agree. I’ve behaved out of line, I apologize.”

She did a double-take, trying to figure out if I was being sincere. It was an expression I had seen on many faces over the years. "Why?" She asks.

I do not answer her.

We had broken through to the underlayer of her subconscious, to the memories she could not access by natural means, and it is represented by the New York cityscape stretching out in front of us.

I swept a hand out gesturing down the never-ending block. “When we first entered your mind, we could only access the memories closest to the surface, the ones we knew you to possess, solidified in your mind, untouched by the spell or by the actions of... unaware third parties. We now find ourselves in the deeper layer of the mind, so to speak. This layer is only accessible through a deep emotional outburst.”

"I guarantee that if you have let me know, I could have had a sufficient mental breakdown without all of that. So I'm still mad at you."

"It has to genuine, raw," I insist.

She rolls her eyes, and the expression is quite attractive on her.

“You're so cruel.” It wasn’t an accusation, more of a statement, without mirth.

She is not the first and would not be the last to tell me this.

“I would say it was unbecoming of a prince, but your reputation is built on cruelty. The old stories, the Battle of New York, the way you treat Stephen. Cruel. An apology doesn't hide it.”

“Did you hope to wound me with that comment?”

She swallows. “Yes.” It's honest.

Each memory we watch is framed with a kind of ease after that.

Nothing flows as it should in here. It is starting to become alarming.

Her mind should respond to her intuitively, but it does not. There are no full memories, only fragments left and distorted.

I can feel her frustration lap at me, threatening to boil over any minute.

For the second time I channel the häxeri, witchcraft. A gift from my dearest mother. The darkness flows as I hum. Let me find the threads of her core. Show me the damage. Show me the bonds broken that I may heal them.

Around us, pieces of her bedroom flow into place like smoke. It is a memory of me, the memory of me.

We watch as she snatches the laptop from my hands.

Suddenly I see her perspective of me, tinged with frustration and fear, as I loom over her. She is a reindeer nearing a trap.

Memory-Loki is forced into the armchair, but her powers are unrefined, and she's using anger as her motivator. A burst of green light knocks her to the floor, and in response she aims a surprisingly well placed kick at my legs, which knocks me down hard next to her. She'd hit her head on the ground, and the memory fabric itself became hazy.

One of my own memories flashes behind my eyes, of Thor killing his goats. A predator. An impending doom approaching a trapped animal.

She jolts as I remove my palm from her forehead. Nothing had appeared out of the ordinary. Sunna stormed out of the Sanctum, her phone shoved hastily in her pocket before getting as far away from me as fast as she could.

The real Sunna stands in front of me, and she regarded the scene in front of us blankly. “I used to remember this, like really clearly,” she chewed on the skin of her bottom lip, “so vividly in the hours after it happened. Out there, I mean. But it disappeared like a slow leak. The details are fuzzier. I still remember, but it feels like all of the memories I've got are so fuzzy now.”

I feel sick.

"So how is what you do different from what Gorron does?" she repeats the question.

The first time she asked escaped my attention. I turn my gaze towards her, hyper-aware of her presence here with me. Every mind is different but this mind is so peculiar. "Gorron looks at your physical brain," I clear my throat. "He can watch a memory via osmosis by pressing on the brain tissue, but nothing so deep as this. I am inside your mind right now."

There is something she is feeling that I can’t identify. "How does it compare to the last time you were in my mind?"

"It doesn't."

"Well, how do we fix it?"

“I don’t know yet,” I answer. It's honest. She didn't believe me I could see it in her face. She feels as though I am holding out on her.

"How do you decide which questions to answer and which ones to cryptically avoid?"

"I flip a coin in my head."

The scenery changes around us. The walls of the Sanctum morphed into a place I have never been.

She was writing furiously on a clipboard, taking very detailed notes of the exhibit in front of her. The dark violet of the museum uniform blazer compliments her well.

It took several long moments for her to notice Strange from where he watched her, his face a mix of emotions. Finally, and with much convincing, he approached, stilling a few feet away. “Excuse me…”

She turns, immediately erupting in a smile. “Hi! Did you need some help?”

It took him a few too many seconds to reply. “Uh, yeah. I- I was wondering if you could tell me where the entomology wing is?” He was nervous.

"Of course!" She rattled off some directions, but when the confused look on Strange's face doesn't clear she endeavored to just show him herself.

We followed them to the entomology unit, watching their very first interaction.

"Big fan of bugs are you?" Sunna strikes up a conversation effortlessly.

"Uh, I suppose. Are you?" He looks at her so intensely.

They arrive at their destination.

"No, afraid not. I can't stand them to be honest, but the exhibit is really cool, there's a lot of really passionate people working that one!"

Strange thanks her, but as she walks away he calls out to her, "actually, this is embarrassing, but I totally, uh, spaced out. I meant- the Babylonian exhibition?"

"Oh, well, that's alright, I'm actually heading that way." She gestures for him to follow. "What brings you there?"

"The art, I guess. Big fan."

"That's cool! I don't think it gets the recognition it deserves."

"Oh yeah, me neither. I don't know anything about it. Maybe you could start me off?"

The pair talked for hours, completely absorbed in each other's company, touring the museum. Their humors seemed to mesh, and they have a surprising amount in common, fiercely academic, competitive, intelligent. Not once did anyone come check on her, to find out why she wasn't doing her job. Nor did her coworkers so much as glance in her direction. Finally, Strange managed to detach himself from her side long enough to leave.

"What woman talks to a stranger for hours at work without attempting to end the conversation?" I ask, turning to face the real her. "What woman isn't uncomfortable with this level of attention? Presumably you have things to do, you can’t just spend all your time talking with patrons, especially not just one."

She didn't reply, too busy staring at herself.

If there wasn't a soft rise and fall of Sunna’s chest, one might have wondered if she had been instantly petrified. The light behind her eyes had vanished completely. She did not move, had not moved after Strange left, but the other people of the memory continue on about their business, walking through the Cultures of the World exhibit, ignoring her. It was as if she wasn’t there.

We both stare for a few moments, until the background noise of the museum fades and silence grows louder and louder.

"What’s going on? Why aren’t I moving?”

“I don’t know.”

The lights of the museum blink off one by one. The doors are locked and still she does not move.

As though caught on a breath of wind the memory is gone.

“What the hell was that?”

“Do you remember anything like that?” I ask.

“Well I remember meeting Stephen,” she puzzled, “but I specifically remember finishing work, because the whole time I was super distracted by the idea of visiting the Sanctum. The Bleeker Street occultist is kind of a local legend and I had a professional curiosity in Stephen's collection of antiques- anyway, my boss called me out for not putting an artefact back into storage properly.” She ran her hands through her hair. “Like I remember, I never forgot. It was really embarrassing. Could that memory that we just watched be wrong?”

"If your mind is missing a part of a memory, it may distort it. Fill in the gaps, so to speak. Minds naturally do that all the time. It's possible that as sick as you are, it is unable to fill in those gaps and this is what it looks like.

She's uneasy. I'm uneasy.

We continue our way down the block. New York is an ugly, smelly place, and this has translated well into her memory. Still, even to the untrained eye this was, at best, a copy of the city, even excluding the piercing nature of the lights and the chaos of noise. Things hid in the shadows here, intrusive thoughts, feelings that she could not accept - though I drew attention to neither.

Another memory forms, growing from the roots up. A vast field of yellow wheat stretching out as far as the eye can see. Buzzing of insects and the humming of machinery somewhere far off. A cerulean sky spread like drop of ink in water.

“I- I don’t remember this.” Sunna corrected, “It's not in my living memory. Could this be a memory that I lost?”

I speak the word for 'yes' in her language, but I do not know.

The Memory of Sunna is next to us. She was not perturbed by the plants, nor the hot sun on her skin. In the distance appeared a woman, walking through lines of wheat to get to her.

We observe in silence for the five or so minutes it takes the woman to arrive.

She had long curly, light hair that seemed to poof up as though it defied gravity. Her skin was dark and almost tinged blue, as though it was reflecting the cloudless sky. But it was her eyes that drew us in bright with false joy. When she opens her mouth to speak, her voice matches the woman that had visited Sunna in her dream, who had come to warn her and teach her.

Sunna and I exchange a glance.

“You don’t know me, but I know you,” the woman called.

“Who are you?” Memory-Sunna asks.

“A friendly observer,” her laugh was delicate. “But I would like to offer you some advice.”

“Which is?”

“Run. Get away and never look back, don’t come back.”

“Come back where?”

“Home.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The cloud-woman smiled, but it was only a mask over heartache. “And you won’t remember this when you wake. I can only hope that Strange will be able to extract this dream.”

“If I won’t remember, tell me your name.”

“Kuema.”

The field vanishes, giving way to the city again.

"Or I don't remember it because it was a dream and no one remembers their dreams."

"Some do." I can't help it, but I don't tell her, because Strange can ruin his life on his own. "We have a name that carries a lot of power. It must be her magic that brings your dreams to you. Sister signatures. She must get her power from the same place yours comes from."

“Is she behind all of this?”

“Perhaps, perhaps she is another pawn, much like yourself,” I ran my fingers through the tall stalks of wheat. “On the bright side, this will all be a great story for your memoirs."

She gives me a look and I feel the accompanying feeling, but I can't decipher it.

Another memory begins to form around us.

An apartment. It was small, and had too many coats of paint, but still the light switches have a spot where the grease from hands had rubbed through the unsightly beige. The apartment itself was quite messy. Clothes and takeout containers were spread across the room, the kitchen had a sink of dirty dishes and the open door leading to the bedroom framed an unmade bed and a cold cup of coffee left on the bedside table.

The most curious thing of all was that the apartment is empty. No matter the memory, Memory-Sunna had always been there. This mind is unstructured. It's unsettling.

"This is my old place," Sunna remarked. "I lived here until I moved to the Sanctum. Is there any sign of a signature?"

A wave of my hand and the room is engulfed in purple. The surprise caused her to take a step back, bumping into my chest.

She looked up at me, eyes wide and apologizes.

"It's nothing," I reply but neither of us move. I get the impression that she is too frightened to, like she can feel something I can't.

"I don't think this is real," she said. Confusion.

For a beat everything is silent.

Without warning, the apartment disappears like sand down a storm drain. Again we are plunged back into the city, but all of the fragments that had been hiding in the shadows were emitting a piercing screech. Our hands clamped over our respective ears, but it was no improvement.

"Make it stop-" but Sunna is cut off.

A monster, the color of ash burst through a building, coming straight towards us. I used the seconds before impact to shove her out of the way, but the four legged beast clipped my shoulder and sent me staggering. The creature smashed through the front window of an office and skids across the marble floor.

We run in the opposite direction.

"What the hell is that thing?" She yells over her shoulder.

"Whatever it is, it's in a bad mood." I rub my shoulder. Ouch.

There's an alleyway ahead, I push her down it, following closely behind.

The sound of breaking glass echoes behind us as the monster makes its way back outside.

"Can't you do something about it?" A squeak escaped her when the creature made its way down the too-small alley, powering through the brick like it was snow.

"It's your mind! I have limited powers here," I snap.

"Well, use your limited powers to kill it!"

"I could give it a try and just hope that you don't die when I do that."

We burst from the alley and into a forest, the smell of moss surrounding us.

The monster did not follow.

She doubles over, her hands on her knees while she catches her breath. "You said that none of this is real, so that thing can't hurt us. Right? Please tell me that's right?"

"Would you like to test you theory?" My shoulder aches. "It's real and it isn't. I'm not just trying to be enigmatic. We can definitely get hurt here."

"So if that thing dies, I might die. And if we die in here, we might die out there."

I nod sharply.

In the distance birds begin to cry. Trees are being uprooted. Something huge crushes through the flora.

Again we run, but the beast is on our tail too quickly. It roars are visceral and loud.

A tree falls, the shadow on us growing larger and larger.

I send a wave of seidr at it, throwing it backwards and onto the animal with a disturbing crunch.

Beside me, Sunna yelps in pain. I feel it. She can feel the monsters pain, so I really can't kill it.

The trees began to thin, turning into wisps of smoke.

Fire overtakes the environment.

Fire rages on, and so must our protagonist . . . .

AO3 MASTERPOST

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theoddcatlady · 5 months

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Nearly lost my temper at work yesterday

For a bit of background, I work at an insurance company. I’m not exactly changing the world, but it pays well and it’s usually pretty chill. Except for yesterday, which I just really need to rant about. It was a bunch of little things that stacked up to my… almost explosion.

The water cooler was dripping nonstop. Citrix servers had gone down and that was the main program I use for work. I had a pounding headache from the bright lights in the office and my skin was all dried out from the artificial air. And for fuck’s sake, Barbara would just not leave me alone.

I’m not a people person. I can answer the phone and be amicable enough, but I’ve never been like BFF’s with my coworkers at… any of my jobs. Most of my coworkers get I’m here to do my job and get paid. Barbara though, good god. She just doesn’t get the hint. And I can’t exactly mouth off to her because she’s been with the company for like two decades so if she complains I’m the one in trouble… not like she’s done work for the last five years, but I digress.

“So is this your boyfriend, Ellie?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek as Barbara plucked one of the pictures in my cubicle up, cooing and aww’ing. I hated being called Ellie. “He’s so cute!”

“Andrew is my brother, actually. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.” One of the only other people I can tolerate in this world. I grabbed the picture and not so gently snatched it back, setting it down. The vein in my forehead probably popped out another good inch as I saw that Barbara had left a greasy thumbprint on the glass. I’d need to clean it when she was gone.

“Oh!” Barbara cocked her head to the side. “You don’t look alike!”

“I’m adopted.” Desperately I stared at my computer, willing Citrix to get its shit together so I could tell Barbara I was busy working. I was not going to be that lucky.

“You know, I have a son about your age.” Barbara started fiddling with the other things in my space, my notepad, the pens. “He just broke up with his girlfriend, and I was wondering, I bet the two of you would love to have coffee together…”

“I’m sorta preoccupied with other things at the moment than dating. And I hate coffee. I’m more of a tea person.” Jesus Christ, I was at the point where I was begging the clock to speed up. Even with the systems down, I still wasn’t allowed to leave until four. Just in case they came back on, even though they never had in the past. I wouldn’t mind getting paid to sit on my ass and do nothing if fucking Barbara would leave me alone.

“At your age?”

Oh, here we go. I rolled my eyes as Barbara tutted her tongue at me. “You need to get on that, honey, otherwise you’re going to be unmarried at thirty! After that it’s all downhill, not to mention how this could effect your future children- is something wrong with your arm?”

Shit. I hid my hand under my desk. “No!” I spared a glance and almost starting cussing. Of all times to start shedding, this was not a good time. “Bathroom emergency, move it!”

I shoved past Barbara, accidentally pushing her to the ground in my haste. I heard her snap after me but I didn’t care. I scooted into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.

I held my hand in front of me to see more skin start to flake off, revealing the putrid muscle and flesh underneath. Fuck me. Today had to be that bad, huh?

My brother used to call it my ‘zombie mode’ to make me grumpy, but it’s not really like that. I keep my sanity, but I just start rotting and falling apart at the seams. It’s been like this since I was a kid, though I do tend to rot quicker when I’m having a shitty day, so Barbara can get fucked.

There’s really only one way to speed up the process so my skin grows back normal and healthy, and it sucks.

I sent Andrew a text, telling him to come pick me up as soon as he could and to bring my large coat. He knew what I meant. With a sigh, I double checked the lock before I pulled my shirt off, bra following onto the floor. Where the underwire was pressing against me the skin was already starting to come off. I gritted my teeth, grabbed on, and yanked.

It doesn’t hurt, not when my skin’s already dead. Sometimes a bit of the live skin comes with it and oh that hurts like tearing a hangnail, but it’s hardly lethal.

Pus and blood spattered into the sink as I ripped more and more of my skin away, both lumps I once called breasts slapped on the ground with a wet sound. I could see tumorous, bulbous growths starting to form in the fat. With most of the skin on my torso gone, I moved onto my arm. I groaned with relief as I finally scratched away at the sore, ripping away more skin and flesh.

I had skinned my entire upper body and was finally starting to feel relief when I heard a timid knock at the door.

“Sweetie? Ellie? Are you okay?”

Barbara’s voice made my blood boil, but right now she was exactly what I needed. I cleared my throat before approaching the door. “Sorry, Barb, I… I threw up. Everywhere. On my clothes, on the sink. It looks like a horror film in here. I called my brother to come get me, but could you please bring me stuff to clean up? I am not leaving this for Willis to clean up tonight, he’ll probably quit.”

“Oh, of course, sweetie! Don’t worry about work, I’ll handle it.”

She even was nice enough to cover her eyes as she handed me the cleaning supplies through the crack in the door. I scrubbed that floor and counter spotless, filling a garbage bag with bloody paper towels and gore so that no one would assume I butchered someone in the bathroom.

My brother gave me my trench coat when he came to pick me up and acted like he was helping me out of the building as he escorted me, in reality he was making sure I wasn’t bleeding over everything.

Now I’m home, enjoying a few seasons of Friends as I heal up. Andrew is a coroner and if I didn’t have him, I probably would’ve lost my mind and eaten Barbara on a bad day years ago. Whenever I’m done ‘shedding’, he brings me home a few human body parts so I can eat. I usually add them to whatever junk I’m eating, but Barbara was nice enough to bring me some chicken noodle soup. Now it’s chicken noodle soup plus a kidney, but hey, what can you do.

Whoa, feels good to get my shitty yesterday off my chest. Thank god it’s Friday.

#my stories

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rekrappeter · 3 years

Text

finding a true love’s kiss

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: you couldn’t stand fred weasley, yet you were best friends with george weasley. it was a strange dynamic until you end up in detention with fred and he reveals a secret he has been hiding for years

warnings: not proofread, written weeks a part, inaccurate Harry Potter vocab probably, shitty ending

notes: this was originally for @lunalovecroft‘s writing challenge but I wrote one part like two months ago but hopefully it’s still legible to some extent. prompt used was “you can hate people and still think they’re hot”

"How long have you and George been friends?" Katie Bell aimed the question at you, diverting your attention from the burgundy rug underneath you to the curious eyes of your roommates anticipating your answer. You were all sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, creating a circle as you delved into the usual Friday night gossip session.

Pondering on the question for a second, you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly, "since the beginning of time it seems."

"Yet you've never... did it?" The girls squealed around you, clapping their hands in excitement. With wide eyes, you denied the question to no end.

"Did I have sex with George?" You spluttered out, feeling your face flush, "absolutely not."

"Why not?" Angelina pushed, wanting to get more details from you.

"I'll have you know," you started, lifting yourself from the floor and making your way to your own single bed, "myself and George are only friends, that's it."

Angelina eyed Katie as you turned your back to them, stripping from your white buttoned-up shirt and replacing it with a cozy pyjama top. "What about Fred?"

The silence was deafening, no one dared to laugh or squeal this time around. You stared down at the white material dangling from your fingertips, a sickening feeling forming at the pit of your stomach. When you scoffed, the girls’ shoulders loosened and they let out a sigh of relief when you turned to them with an amused smile on your face. "Fred and I can’t even be in the same room together for longer than needs be, never mind long enough for us to... do the deed."

“I don’t know, y/n,” Katie drawled on, standing up and walking over to you, she squeezed your shoulders as she said, “I think it’s all the sexual tension building up.”

Pushing her away from you, you faked gagged in their direction, “You two are crazy.”

“I just don’t understand how you can be best friends with one twin, and hate the other one,” Katie laughed, changing into her own pajamas and climbing on top of her unmade bed. “But we see the way he is around you.”

“Yeah, an ignorant jackass,” you chuckled, flopping down onto the bed.

“More like a boy picking on the girl he has a crush on,” Angelina said.

“Please, don’t make me sick,” you shuffled into your bed, pulling the quilt up to your chin. Angelina switched the lights off, leaving you in complete darkness. You listened to her maneuver in the dark, trying to dodge the mess you all made. Hearing her muffle profanities made you giggle, assuming she walked into something or kicked a lifeless object.

“You know, y/n, you can hate people and still think they’re hot,” you rolled your eyes at Angelina’s words, twisting in your bed and letting out a loud exhale into the pillow.

“Thanks for the words of wisdom, but Fred Weasley is not hot,” your voice was filled with distaste, your lips smacking together loudly to get your point across but you knew it would fall on deaf ears. Your friends never listened when you told them over and over again that you weren’t hiding feelings for Fred, the relationship you had with him will forever be non-existence.

It was safe to say that the conversation from the night before had left a sour taste in your mouth. You were woken from a sweet slumber by the sound of birds chirping through the opened window; normally, you’d groan in annoyance but enjoy the sound. This morning, however, was different. It was as if the birds had clawed their way into your brain and changed a few wires, you climbed out of the bed with the sudden urge to crucify the loud creatures. One look at your face and Angelina was twirling on her heels and made her way out the dorm room, leaving you to your own devices.

Mornings were usually the quietest time of the day for you. You would get up and skip down to breakfast but this morning you couldn’t even work the courage to plaster a fake smile on your face as you entered the Great Hall and your mood remained foul at the sight of Fred Weasley sitting beside his twin brother. Heaving in a sigh, you sat across from George and started piling the breakfast onto your plate.

“Jesus, don’t you look awful this morning,” Fred’s voice echoed through your thoughts.

Snapping your head in the direction, your eyes narrowed, “you really want to start this early?”

“This started a long time ago,” Fred snapped back at you, the smirk on his face making you roll your eyes to the heavens. You ignored him, looking at George who has a pleading expression on his face.

“Don’t even say it,” you mumbled, reaching for the milk and pouring it into the bowl of cereal in front of you.

“There’s no point, I’m sick of saying it,” your best friend said.

You ate silently, listening to the twins bickering and there was something about Fred’s voice that was eating at you. Despite knowing him for years, it was familiar, more familiar than usual. You glanced up from your spoon, unconsciously connecting your gaze with Fred. You shocked yourself by not looking away or flipping him off, and it surprised you when it looked as if he fell into a dream. The longer you looked at him, a warning signal was going off in your head and then something clicked in your brain. All the color drained from your face, fear striking through your body.

“y/n, what’s going on?” George asked, grabbing your hand but you pulled it back and scrambled from the table, walking quickly out of the hall. Everything came flashing back - everything you dreamt about last night.

“You’re being so damn annoying today,” you hissed, pushing Fred away from you as he reached across the table to grab something. It was just you and him in the kitchen of the Burrow, a place you spent numerous holidays but it was quieter than usual.

“You’re annoying every day,” Fred retorted, taking a bite of the red apple. He leaned against the countertop, looking at you flicking through the book in hand. You rolled your eyes, stalking away from him but you could hear his footsteps follow you, “Why do you hate me?”

You looked over your shoulder, brows creasing in confusion, “What?”

“Why do you hate me?” Fred repeated.

“I don’t hate you, Fred,” you muttered softly, feeling the air thicken around you. You turned to face him, watching him swallow awkwardly and you could see it in his eyes; he didn’t hate you either. Without another word being uttered, you closed the gap between your bodies and connected your lips to his.

“Fuck,” you muttered angrily, remembering the dream that soon turned into a nightmare. You’ve never dreamt about Fred before, he may have been in the background of some but he was never the main character, he was most definitely never the love interest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“That’s a lot of fucks given,” George chuckled, pushing his way past students walking towards The Great Hall, “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, G.”

George raised one brow in the air, his arms crossing in front of his chest as he examined you closely, “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” you popped, brushing your hair out of your face and stepping out to the courtyard, “Just remembered a nightmare.”

“Want to talk about it?” You immediately shook your head, earning a laugh from George who nodded understandingly. “Most likely about my brother being a dickhead, aye?”

“Something like that,” you laughed, trying to push the lingering face of Fred to the back of your mind.

The day slowly passed by, your mood gradually getting worse throughout it. Every free second that your mind was preoccupied with studying or maintaining a conversation with someone, it wandered off to the same red-haired that starred in your dream last night. It wasn’t the usual thoughts that you had about Fred that consisted of wanting to punch him in the face or lock him in a broom cabinet. It was worse than that, you found yourself seeking him out and admiring how he twirled his quill between his fingers. The anger that usually washed over you whenever you looked at him was non-existence. It was more of a longing feeling and it terrified you.

You had spent the majority of the day in the library, not wanting to confront George and definitely not being able to be in the presence of Fred. You were slowly making your way back to the common room, trying to procrastinate it as much as possible hence why you took the long route around the castle. What you didn’t expect was to hear an explosion from up ahead and a strangled yell of annoyance but it was enough to put the puzzles together.

Just as you were about to round the corner, a figure stumbled into you and knocked you to the floor. You gripped out for the robes that made you lose your balance and brought them to the ground as well with them landing on top of you. A flash of red-hair made you groan and your eyes connected to Fred’s wide brown ones. It startled you, the image of him kissing you making your stomach nauseous.

“Shit, get up!” Fred exclaimed, jumping from your body and he waited for you but you were still in a shocked daze. He groaned and gripped your robes, pulling you up and running along the corridor with you trailing behind him. “In here,” he demanded, opening the door and pushing you inside with him.

The rough gesture brought you from daydream, realisation kicking in and you pushed Fred away from you. “What the hell?” you yelled, fixing your robes and hair that was a mess but you were consciously aware of them now.

“Shut up,” Fred demanded, covering your mouth with his hand. Your eyes widened again, feeling your heart hammer against your chest at the close proximity of his body to yours. Your eyes darted around his face, his eyes closed as he tried to listen intently to whoever was searching for him. The freckles danced along his nose, similar to how George’s were but with Fred, they were evenly spaced and spontaneous. His eyes lashes were full and long, you envied them. His lips were uneven, his top lip thin and his bottom lip full but they looked so kissable in that moment. When his eyes fluttered open after seconds of silence, your eyes lingered on his for a moment longer. You wondered if he felt the shift in emotion between you, or if it was one-sided. “I think it’s safe.”

You feigned a roll of your eyes and licked the palm of his hand, earning yourself a look of disgust from him. “I don’t even want to know what you did…” you mumbled, glancing around the room he pushed you in; an unused office except it was piled with broken chairs and tables, unopened boxes were on top of each other, some materials spilling from them.

“Of course you don’t, it’d be too much fun for you,” Fred retorted, stepping away from you and stumbling over a box behind him. You laughed loudly, ignoring him flipping you off as you opened the door to the office and stepped outside, only to be met with the peering eyes of Professor McGonagall.

“Professor..” you gasped, trying not to stare too much at the black ashes swept through her hair, “W-what happened to you?”

“Funny you should ask, Miss y/l/n,” her glasses hanging at the end of her nose, “I’m not at all surprised to see you, Mr. Weasley, however, y/n, I do hope that detention tomorrow will give you enough time to think about your actions.”

“P-Professor -,” you stuttered but you were cut off.

“This office looks like it needs a good tidy,” McGonagall peered into the damp and dark office, “It’ll at least keep you both busy on a boring Sunday, without magic.”

You stalked away from Fred when McGonagall excused you, the anger was bubbling inside you and you ignored his chuckles as he followed you back to the common room. “Wait up, y/n.”

You twirled on your heels, getting ready to give this man a piece of your mind when you looked over his shoulder to spot the other twin making his way towards you. A grin was on George’s face until he spotted the two of you, and it deflated just as quickly. “Where did you go?” He asked Fred, shoving his shoulder.

“I bumped into this headwrecker,” Fred pointed towards you. You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, “McGonagall found us.”

“And we both have detention tomorrow,” you deadpanned, glaring at the twins.

“Oh,” George mumbled.

“Oh? Oh? That’s all you can say,” you sighed in frustration, “Because you two are complete gits, I have to sacrifice a whole Sunday and spend it with this twat.”

“I don’t know which bit she’s more annoyed about,” Fred whispered under his breath to George, but you could hear him clearly. You groaned and marched towards the common room, not seeing George and Fred share a look of amusement.

“I’ll give you one guess,” George laughed, shoving his brother again and following after you.

The dreaded hour of the clock struck and you were leaning against the cold, brick wall with your feet stretched out in front of you. Your eyes were glaring at the locked door of the office you misfortunately got dragged into yesterday evening by your so-called enemy. Your developing feelings for Fred ceased before they even got the chance to blossom into something real. The trouble he caused you left a sour taste in your mouth, a permanent frown on your face.

“Miss y/l/n, good morning,” Professor McGonagall greeted you, her eyes scanning the empty corridor for a certain ginger twin but she sighed and shook her head disappointingly when he was nowhere to be seen. With a quick swift of her wand, the door glides open and you follow her into the room with a heavy exhale. “Please do use these hours wisely, maybe even consider building bridges.”

The frown deepened on your face, first because of what she had implied and then secondly because your eyes danced around the room and it looked even worse than what you remembered. Ignoring her previous implications, you questioned her desire to how tidy she wanted this room. With an echoed laugh, she turned her attention to the door barreling open and Fred slipping through the door, “Ah, Mr Weasley, just when I was starting to get worried.”

You turned your back to Fred, not having the energy to deal with him, and you missed the smile he sent your way. “You know I’d never disappoint you, Professor.” You rolled your eyes at the charm lacing through his tone, distancing yourself as far from him as you could and started stacking tables on top of one another. You grimaced at the layer of dust flying around you and tried to swat it with no success. The sound of Fred chuckling made you glance over your shoulder to see him standing there alone, the door clicking on McGonagall’s way out.

“What?” you snapped.

“What?” Fred mimicked you, sitting down on a random chair. He kicked his feet up on a desk, tilting back in the chair slightly and swinging his arms behind his head.

“So what? You’re not going to do anything?” you asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “You got us into this mess.”

“You’ll actually soon realise that if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have got caught.” Raising your brow in his direction, you challenged his statement. “If you weren’t being weird and staying at the library, I wouldn’t have bumped into you and we wouldn’t have been in this office.”

You scoffed, “If you weren’t such a dimwit, we wouldn’t have been in this office.”

“Dimwit, wow,” Fred chuckled, “What age are you, five?”

You stared at him in disbelief, shaking your head and letting out an annoyed sigh, “Just do some fuckin’ work.” You turned on your heels, letting his next sentence fall on deaf ears as you blocked him out. You tried to ignore him as best as you could, the next thirty minutes passing by excruciately slow. It seemed that after five minutes of sitting, Fred got bored of his own company and started stacking chairs and pushing them into the corner with ease.

“Where are you spending the holidays?” Fred asked, breaking the silence.

“Why do you want to know?” you retorted earning a groan from him. You turned your attention to him, watching him lift his navy jumper over his head. Your eyes fell to the exposed area of his abdomen as his t-shirt got caught in the process, you felt yourself becoming flushed and looked away quickly before you got caught. “I’m going to my Grandma’s,” you gave in, finally answering his question.

“I thought Ginny mentioned something about you staying with us.”

“Y-yeah, that was the original plan but I have to go back home,” you mumbled, feeling the sides of your mouth twitch.

“Is everything okay?” Fred asked, he sat on the top of a desk, his legs dangling beneath him. You found yourself closing the gap between your body as the conversation went on, becoming weirdly comfortable with him. This was probably the longest you have ever been in the same room with Fred alone and the hatred that was so often accompanied between you was elsewhere. It felt strange.

You shrugged your shoulders, not knowing what has got into you, why were you opening up to Fred Weasley? “I got a letter from my parents last week, grandma is ill so..”

“That’s understandable,” Fred sighed, his eyes lingering on your features. You avoided his eye contact, feeling the air thicken between you, “Why do you hate me?”

The question caught you off guard and he could tell straight away when your eyes snapped to his and your brows creased together, “What?” you choked out.

“Why do you-”

“No, I heard you,” you snapped, running your fingers through your hair, “What made you ask that?”

Fred pouted, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he thought of a reasonable explanation as to why he was trying to change the dynamics between you. “Honestly, I don’t know, I just want to know why you hate me so much.”

“Fred, why do you hate me?”

“Because you hate me,” he chuckled. His words made you laugh, shaking your head and when he looked up at you, he couldn’t help himself but start laughing as well and soon enough, you both were laughing together in disbelief.

When the laughing died down, you were standing closer to him with a smile tugging on your lips, “You’re a bit of a twat,” you said.

“And you’re a bit of a princess,” he smirked, his brown eyes sparkling in amusement. It was easy to see the differences between Fred and George; in your eyes, they looked completely different. George’s smirk made you want to cradle his face whereas Fred’s smirk made you want to slap it off his face, with your own lips. The thought awoke you from the daze you were in, panic washing over you to see Fred’s features softening. He let out a shaking breathe before he wrapped his fingers around the material of the checkered shirt you were wearing. The startle movement made you stumble forward, but before you could protest, his lips found yours swiftly. For a split second, you felt yourself float away, to a place where there was none of this back and forward conflict. A place where you could relish in one another's company.

It was a happy place, but that was before your eyes shot open and a loud gasp ceased the moment. You pushed him away, wiping your lips with the sleeve of your shirt. "w-what the bloody hell was that?"

You wanted to smack the smirk off Fred's face, the amusement swirling in his eyes irking every bone in your body. "c'mon, it was bound to happen.."

Any ounce of respect that had developed in the last couple of hours that you gained for Fred completely vanished and he could tell by the way you were gawking at him in shock, “It was never going to happen,” you snapped. You stepped away from him, shaking your head.

“y/n, it’s all too expected,” Fred tried to defend him, sitting up from the table he was leaning on, “in all those movies and tv shows you watch, the two that hate each other the most usually fall in-”

“They’re movies, Weasley!” you shrieked, the walls shaking with the tone, “They’re fantasy, they’re… they’re not real life.”

“Why can’t they be?” Fred wondered aloud.

It took you a moment to process his question, your eyes shifting to look at him finally. You watched him gulped, his bottom lip sucked under his teeth, and it all fell into place. The vulnerable look on his face, the pleading in his eyes, made you soften slightly, your heart hammering against your chest. “D-don’t tell me you love me,” you whispered.

Fred’s shoulders lost all the tension they held, drooping down along with the frown on his face that gave you all the answers you needed. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly.

“Fred,” you breathed out, “This is bizarre.”

“You’re acting as if I had a bloody choice in the matter,” Fred hissed, his long fingers running through his hair, brushing it away from his face.

“Of course you do!”

“No, no I didn’t,” Fred stalked up to you, his body towering over you but he wasn’t angry or annoyed, he was desperate, “I woke up one morning and had these sudden feelings for you, but do you understand how hard it was for me when you couldn’t even be in the same room as me?”

You opened your mouth to answer him, but common sense made you see it was a rhetorical question, so you closed it and only stared up at him with wide eyes. There was nothing you could say in this moment to make it better or to make any sense of it. “When?” was all you asked.

“Christmas,” he answered honestly, making your brows cease together, “three years ago.”

“Three years?” you gasped, “Why did you act like you hated me?”

Fred sighed, creating space between your bodies again, “I thought the more I pretended to hate you, eventually my heart would catch up and stop loving you but..” He turned his back to you, swallowing back the heartache he was feeling and placed his hands on the table in front of him, his hands balled into fists. But he only fell in love with you more.

“I’m sorry,” he heard you whisper, the feign touch of your hand on the back of his shirt before it disappeared just as quick. Fred took a few moments to himself, trying to control his breathing and when he turned around to face you, he was met with emptiness. You were nowhere in sight, your bag that rested on the back of a chair gone as well. “Fuck,” Fred mumbled, wanting to scream into the abyss but pulled out his wand and muttered a quick spell to tidy the rest of the office up, trying to hold back the tears that wanted to escape.

Fred hid under the radar for the weeks that passed, hardly being the usual trickster that people were fond of. Everyone that passed the sulking boy in the corridor sent him looks of confusion, some even asked if he was okay to which he brushed them off. George had become worried when it was week three without tormenting any of the professors, and because George was worried beyond reason, you were non-stop hearing about Fred and it pained you knowing that you were the reason for his sudden change in behaviour.

Christmas came and went, the snow started to melt and the leaves were blossoming once again. It was safe to say you were enjoying the peace and quiet in Hogwarts, not having to come up with a comeback every five minutes to fight off the irritation that was Fred Weasley. Deep down, however, there was an abundance of loss. You missed him. It shocked you more than anything but it was true. You missed the sound of his voice, you missed his smart ass comments, you missed him more than you ever thought you would. Maybe there were some underlying feelings and your mind was brought back to the dreams that he occupied, the theme of them made it feel more real.

Sighing into your breakfast, you came to the realisation that morning that you had in fact had feelings for Fred Weasley. “What’s got you mopping?” your eyes lifted to see George sitting down in front of you, no sign of Fred anywhere. The Great Hall was rather crowded for this hour in the morning, there was a buzz in the air.

“I just realised I had feelings for someone,” you admitted loudly, earning every inch of George’s attention, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

“And what are you going to do about them?”

Your eyes connected with your best friend’s stare, your brows creasing together. “You know?” you asked hesitantly, earning an eye roll from George.

“It’s not hard to put two and two together, kiddo,” he chuckled, pouring himself some orange juice, “he’s down at the Quidditch pitch.”

There were so many questions running through your mind but there wasn’t much time. The feelings were overwhelming and you were near sure that you’ve missed your chance with whatever could possibly blossom between you and Fred. You darted from the Great Hall, pushing past crowds of students, ignoring their displeased looks and ran like your life dependent on it towards the Quidditch pitch. When you arrived, your lungs burning and your heart racing, your mood deflated seeing the area completely empty. With your hands on your hips, you tried to catch your breath, sweat beading on your hairline. “Fuck,” you breathed out, turning on your heels but only to halt in your step at the sight of Fred Weasley.

“Looking for me, y/l/n?” he questioned, his voice not as daunting as it used to be. It was flat and soft, something new for him.

“You’re the guy that pretended to hate a girl for years to make her fall in love with you, right?” you asked, a small smirk tugging at the ends of your lips. Fred rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “What if I told you it worked?”

“I’d say buzz off and stop messing with me.”

There was a moment between you and Fred, a moment of understanding where he stared at you from where he stood, the pleading in both of your eyes that showed this was just as awkward for you as it was him. It was different. The change in your interactions was something to get used to, wanting to be around Fred was new. Wanting to kiss him was a thought so out of this world that it blew you away. “I’m sorry I had you sulking for so long.”

Fred chuckled, taking a few steps closer to you until there was just enough space to breath in. For the first time in his life, Fred felt nervous staring at the person that he longed for for so long. “It would have been easier for us both if you just told me you felt the same that day.”

“Life’s never easy, is it?”

“Not when you’re involved,” he winked, the familiar smirk making its way back to his face for the first time in weeks, “I know I didn’t ask permission last time, but..”

“Yes,” you breathed out, this time being the one to wrap your fingers around his collar and pulling him towards you. Your lips pressed against his, the kiss soft and expected this time. Your lips moved in sync, his arms circling around your waist and pulling your closer. The kiss was perfect, and it was something you could get used to.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #fred #fred weasley imagines #weasley twins #harry potter #Harry Potter imagines #Harry Potter fanfic #Fred Weasley fanfic #fred fanfic #Fred Weasley tiktok #weasleytok #freddie #fanfic

882 notes · View notes

sharktoothedboys · 3 years

Text

Lips Of An Angel, Part 2

Here it is guys!! Part two!! Thank you for being patient with me!! and because you asked nicely I tagging @marshmallow12435 because you wanted to know when I posted!! So here goes! Enjoy everyone!!

====================================================

Shot ran until he thought his lungs might give out, he was hoping he would catch up to you before you even made it to Katsuki’s, if that was where you were even headed? No he couldn’t think like that, He was going to find you there.

There is was, just up ahead, Katsuki’s home, The lights were on, that’s a good sign right? It was almost 2am! Surely that had to mean you were there. He reached the door and began to hammer on it, Frantic, but he didn’t care, He needed to explain, or at least try to.

A very disgruntled Bakugo finally answered the door.

“She doesn’t wanna see you, Asshole.” He snapped a soon as he opened the door.

Shoto was trying to catch his breath on the blondes porch.

“I don’t care what you tell me she said, i need to speak to her.” He managed to get out between breaths.

He tried to push his way past the explosive hero, but to no avail, Bakugo stopped him.

“I said she doesn’t wanna see you.” He said eerily calm.

They angrily stared each other down at the front door, Bakugos grip on Shotos arm tightened, small crackles could be heard and the temperature in the room began to noticeably drop as the two heroes continued their stare down.

“Katsuki...” Your feeble voice came from behind the mountain of a man, “Its ok, i’ll handle it.”

Shoto looked behind Bakugo, his eyes widened in shock and sadness as he took in your dishevelled hair, red eyes and puffy cheeks, he had caused all this hurt, you let out a sniffle and he thinks he feels his heart break, This was all his fault. He snatches his arm away from Bakugos grip and quickly makes his way over to you, reaching for your hands, only to visibly wince when you retreat them from his reach, not letting him hold your hands in his.

“Say what you came to say, and leave.” You said, as you stared at you hands, picking at the loose skin around your nails, a habit of yours. “I already know all the important parts, so don’t try and play the victim here”

“No please, YN. I am not here to try and talk my way out of anything, what i have done is awful” He says sadly, “But please here me out.”

Bakugo interrupts. “I’ll be in the kitchen, YN if you need me to kick this guys ass, just shout.” He makes to leave, but not without harshly bumping in to Shotos shoulder first. Making you smirk a little. Petty, but you didn’t care.

“Thanks Suki.” You mutter, eyes still glued to your hands, still yet to look Shoto in the eye.

Shoto guides you to the sofa and sits down besides you, feeling the pain when you shuffle away from him being to close.

“I love you...” He begins but is quickly cut off.

“Don’t, Just don’t give me that bullshit, I don’t need you to lie to my face as well as behind my back, stop trying to make yourself feel better about doing something shitty. I don’t need your pity and your excuses, If that’s all you have to say then leave.”

“I can’t lie to you anymore, because I truly do love you, Please believe me.”

“WHY SHOULD I?!” You yell, forcing yourself to your feet to pace around, “Give me one good fucking reason as to why I should believe a god damn word that comes out your mouth! You have apparently done nothing but lie to me from the start! Everything you have ever said to me has been a lie, EVERYTHING!”

“NO Y/N!! I never lied to you, everything i ever said was true, every compliment, every i love you, everything was true, just please let me explain.”

“And what? I am meant to be grateful now?” You spit back.

“No, just please...”

you looked down at his desperate facial expression, you could see it in his eyes, sincerity, maybe you should just let him explain himself properly.”

“You have 5 minutes.” You huffed as you sank back down in to the sofa.

“Thank you.” He said, then silence engulfed the two of you, Where did he even begin?

“4 minutes left.” You stated.

“Right” He sighed deeply, “Well as you probably gathered from the phonecall, there has been...”

“No shit Sherlock” You snapped, you were beyond sad now, Shoto turning up and taking his sweet time had just made you mad, in fact it made you furious. He blinked back at your bluntness, he wasn’t used to you not being patient with him or swearing so much, he was taken aback. You had never snapped at him before. “Just get on with it Todoroki or I swear.”

That was it, hearing his family name slip from your lips instead of the usual Shoto made him snap, tears threatening to pour down his pink cheeks.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You snapped when you saw the tears. “You have absolutely no right to cry in front of me right now.”

“I can’t help it, hearing you call me by my surname feels like the final nail in the coffin.”

“If you don’t get on with it we’ll both be in coffins.” You muttered, “Now just tell me what you wanna say.”

“There has always been someone else that has also had my heart.” He said, wiping the tears away, “She shrouded my mind and for a while she was all i could think about, even after we met, I just couldn’t seem to get her off my mind, But the closer we got, the more she faded away, eventually I found myself barely thinking of her, and smiling around you a lot more. Just as a I found myself fully falling for you, she clawed her way back in to my life, and it was like she had never left, like I was under some kind of spell for her. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt you, I really was falling hard for you, But I also kept finding myself in her embrace, I am sorry for what I have done, truly, because after tonight’s phone call, I saw you were gone and I just instantly knew, I felt it in my bones that you were the one I needed in my life, the one i wanted and desired the most. The panic that washed over me at the thought of you not being in my life, Imagining not waking up to you every morning, No more loving kisses, no more breakfasts together before going off to work, no more evening cuddles while a forgotten movie played in the background, I couldn’t not have you in my life, and i promise to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, If you could just find it in your heart to give me one last chance, Just come home with me and forget any of this ever happened, to please, just forgive me and let me hold you again.”

A few tears rolled down your cheeks as you cupped his face with your hands, he automatically leaned in to your touch, he looked in to your eyes and gave you a small smile, which you returned, and he closed his eyes in contentment....

“Is that it?” You sighed

His eyes snapped open as you let go of his face, staring straight in to your stoic eyes that gave nothing away. Emotionless.

“Di you really think something like that pathetic little speech was going to get me to come home and welcome you back with open arms, when our whole relationship was built on a rebound that you didn’t even get over? You want me to just up and forgive you after 3 years of deceit? You think its gonna be all sunshine and rainbows? No, I don’t trust you and you want to follow you home like a loyal puppy and play happy families and pretend like none of this happened!!”

You stop to catch your breath, standing and running your hands through your hair, A speechless Shoto sat staring at you as you continued with your rant.”

“What? Nothing to say? Did you not prepare for the possibility I wasn’t going to return to you, what like I am so lucky in life to be with the great Shoto Todoroki? Well, as it turns out, I am shit outta luck! And so are you!! Tough luck Todoroki! TOUGH FUCKING LUCK! This isn’t some sappy RomCom where you say a few nice things about me and I come running back to you, I’m not some pathetic lonely woman who thinks she will never find love again, who thinks she has nothing else in her life worth living for because some asshole cheated on her, I am not someone who has no other options because some lying cheating scumbag bastard strung her along for 3 years, NO! Not me, I have a life still to live, and I don’t need you in it. But I do want an answer, so give me one. Who is she?”

He stared open mouthed at your heavily breathing frame, Should he tell you? Would you kill her? What does he do now? Just as he was about to open his mouth the door opened and he suddenly didn’t have to say anything, In walked Camie, Bakugo’s long time girlfriend, and from the shock on her face and the look on Shoto’s as he stared at her presence, It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

“Sh... Todoroki... YLN.. what...what are you guys doing here so late?” She asked, a lump in her throat as she did.

You looked from her to Shoto, and you knew.

“It’s you...” You said, “Its been you all along..”

Camie just stands there like a dear in the headlights, her gaze flitting from you to Shoto, begging him with her eyes for an ounce of backup.

“ I....” Tears began to pour freely down her face.

“KATSUKI!!!” You screamed.

“NO! PLEASE!” She lunges towards you, grabbing your arm.

“What? and just let my best friend continue his life with an unfaithful whore?”

You yelled at her as Bakugo shot in from the kitchen, just in time to witness you thro Camie from your grasp on to the ground.

“Woah!!” He yelled, heading for Camie, but you stopped him, “ What the hell is going on here?”

“It’s her” you said calmly looking down at the girl, who was now her knees, crying at your feet. “It’s her who has been fucking Todoroki for almost my entire relationship with him!”

Bakugo just stared down at her, eyes wide, His gaze turned to Shoto, who was sat on the couch, his face in his hands as his shoulders shook from silently crying. Bakugo saw red. His head lowered, his teeth grinding together, His Palms crackling loudly around his balled up fists, He was about to step forward until he felt your hand on his shoulder.

“They are not worth it, either of them.”

He calmed down slightly at your words and touch and looked you in the eye, you smiled and he returned the smile.

“Just one question,” He stated boldly, looking down at Camie, “Di you ever love me? Or did you just choose me to get closer to this bastard?”

She looked up at him, her silence speaking volumes, That was all he needed.

“Get the fuck out, both of you.” He fumed

“But where am I meant to go?”

“Do it look like i give a shit about where you go, end up in a ditch for all I care, why don’t you go to lover boys house with him, Whore.”

“She is no longer welcome at my place.” Shoto said as he stood up heading for the door, not without giving you one last apologetic smile.

“Katsuki, please.” Camie begged holding on to the hem of his shirt from he place still on the floor.

“NO! You don’t get to call me that anymore, Now I aid, get out.”

He bent down grabbing her by the collar of her coat and literally throwing her out the door, Shot still stared at you sadly as the door was slammed in both thier faces. He had really fucked up, and he knew deep down there was nothing he do to fix it.

He stared longingly at the door, until Camie tried to grab his hand, that he snatched away.

“Don’t touch me, this is all your fault, I was just getting over you! I had found someone I could love, who I DID love, why did you haver to come back and ruin everything for me!? I am going home, don’t follow me.”

He storms off leaving her in the street alone to sort out her own situation, He was done with her, he wouldn’t let her ruin his life again.

Back in Bakugo’s house you slumped down on the sofa, your head on your hands, tears wanting to fall but you not quite letting them.

“He isn’t worth it.” Bakugo said in a calm voice, a hand around your back, drawing small circles along the small of it to calm you down. You look at him smiling and padding your eyes with your hands to stop the tears, “ You know I am right.” He smiles down at you.

“Yeah, you’re always right. Aren’t you?” You giggle back at him.

“You know it, sweetheart.” He laughs, “Now come one we should get some shut eye, we are both on patrol tomorrow. You can stay here as long as you need to.”

“Shit, Patrol. My hero uniform and everything is all at that hom... Todorokis place.”

“Don’t worry, make me a list and ill swing by in the morning for your uniform, you have bought the essentials right?”

You nod at him

“Right well I’ll get you some fresh sheets for the guest room, lets sleep.”

You yawned and followed him to the guest room and he got you the fresh sheets he promised and bid you a goodnight as he went to his room.

The next morning, Bakugo was true to his word and went to Shoto’s house to collect your hero uniform and a few other things as specified in the list he asked you to write for him. He arrived, ringing the doorbell and waiting for an answer. He eventually opened the door, he looked like shit.

“Bakugo.” He seethed

“Asshole.” Bakugo replied.

After they exchanged their greetings, Bakugo made his way inside, explaning you had sent him for the bits you needed.

“Is she okay?” Shoto asked sheepishly.

“You don’t get to know that.” Bakugo spat back as a reply.

“Come on Bakugo, at least let me know she is okay?”

“You threw away the right you had to know anything about her or her life.”

Shoto stared down at the blonde as he packed a few of your belongings into the bag he bought with him.

“Oh my god...” Shoto realized. “ You’re still in love with her aren’t you?”

“Always was, always will be.” Bakugo replied without missing a beat, he smiled up at the dual haired man, “ Your loss will be my gain.”

He zipped up the bag and stood besides Shoto. Shoto’s left side began to ignite a little out of jealousy and rage.

“Go ahead IcyHot, do your worst, I’ll just go home and have YN patch me up while i tell her what a monster you are.”

With that said, his flames extinguished, He didn’t want you to think he was a monster, even though it is what he deserved.

“Just treat her better than I ever did.” Shot said quietly.

“That won’t be difficult.”

That stung.

Bakugo stepped past Shoto, leaving him behind with just his thoughts and memories.

He made it back to his house, he entered only to be hit with the smell of bacon and eggs, a smile creeped on to his face, he could get used to this domestic life bullshit, coming home to a cooked meal everyday sounded great. He decided there and then that he wasn’t going to waste another second of his life with out you. He walked in to the kitchen gaining you attention.

“Hey Kats....” You were cut off by his lips slamming down on to yours, You were still for a few seconds while you figured out what ws happening, and then you melted in to his embrace as you returned the kiss, you felt his smile on your lips as the kiss deepened.

He begrudgingly broke the contact.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that.” He whispered against your lips that were still very close to his own, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Then show me, Suki.” You said as you returned you lips to his and kissed him with all the passion you had.

You were sure he has the lips of an Angel

===================================================

@marshmallow12435

There we go guys!! Part 2!!! I absolutely LOVED writing this story, so I hope you all enjoy it too. It deffo my new fave! Please like and follow I would be eternally grateful!!

#shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #angst #my hero academia #mha #shoto angst #katsuki fluff #lips of an angel #loved this #enjoy #my hero academia scenario #scenario #head canon #fiction #story #part 2

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 20

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

His apartment smells stale and dusty. His thrice weekly trips here to feed his fish are always quick and procedural; he hasn’t stopped to take in the state of the place in a while. A thick layer of dust covers most surfaces, his mattress is bare and there is no toilet paper in the bathroom. He sighs, frustrated and annoyed as he roots around in the closet for a set of sheets to make up the bed. He showers, remembering that his shower head is way too low for his tall frame, and misses Scully’s more luxurious setup.

He also, of course, misses Scully. He understands why she’s upset; he should have called, but the degree of her anger confuses him. When the X files reopened, he talked to her about the need to travel, and the potential for cases to disrupt their personal life. She said she understood, and they’ve worked through several hiccups already. So while he knew she’d be disappointed that he missed Thanksgiving and maybe even irritated at his lack of communication, he’d never anticipated being thrown out of her apartment.

He crawls into his bed, cold and lonely. They just both need a good night's sleep and this will blow over tomorrow, he’s sure. When he’s more well-rested, he’ll be able to explain, to help her understand.

In the morning, he feels a bit more clear-headed, but still decidedly off-balance; he needs to make things right with Scully. He packs up his things, feeds the fish, and drives back over to her apartment. He opens the door and finds the place quiet, the lights out. Something seems off, but he doesn’t immediately recognize what it is.

“Priscilla,” he calls, realizing that the cat hadn’t come to greet him at the door like she typically does.

He walks through to the bedroom, the bathroom, but there’s no sign of either of them. Back in the living room, he sees that the litter box is gone and his heart sinks. He goes back to the bedroom and throws open closets and drawers, checks the medicine cabinet. Scully’s overnight bag is gone, as is her toothbrush and the toiletries she uses daily. His heart starts racing, panic setting in at the idea that she’s left him, and taken his cat with her. This is worse than he’d initially thought, a lot worse.

He goes to the hallway and picks up the phone to try her cell, but it’s off. He tries her mother, who hasn’t spoken to her today. He tries Missy, who doesn’t answer. Not knowing what else to do, he calls Valerie.

“Hi, Will, good to hear from you,” she says, and he can hear the gurgle of her infant daughter in the background. Thankfully, he’d thought to call her a couple weeks ago and offer congratulations on her new arrival, so this phone call today won’t seem totally selfish.

“Hey, Val, I hope you and the baby are doing well,” he says, “I’m sorry to drop this on you, but I’m somewhat in need of advice.”

“Yikes, what’d you do?” she asks knowingly, and he hears her speak in hushed tones to her boyfriend as he takes the baby.

“I fucked up, Val. She’s gone,” he chokes out, tears constricting his throat.

Sitting heavily on the couch, he tells her about the X files reopening, about missing Thanksgiving, about Scully’s irrationally explosive reaction. She listens quietly, asking a few clarifying questions.

“I feel totally blindsided, Val. You and I were together when I was assigned to the X files before, and I had cases like this that took me away at odd times, but it wasn’t an issue. I don’t understand why it’s one now. I’m not sure which one of us is out of line here.”

“Wow, okay, where to start,” Valerie begins. “First of all, I think you’re both out of line. You are an epically huge asshole, Will, no question there, but taking your cat and disappearing is a bit much.”

He feels a pang of defensiveness for her saying something unflattering about Scully, but he pushes it down.

“Something else that strikes me,” she continues, “is your questionably accurate recollection of what our relationship was like when you were assigned to the X files.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, sitting up.

“Maybe I did a better job of hiding it than I thought, but I fucking hated that assignment, Will. I was relieved when it was shut down, but you were so upset I didn’t think it would be helpful for me to tell you as much at the time.”

“You hated it? Why? I always felt like you were supportive,” he asks, questioning his entire understanding of their relationship.

“I tried to be, but it sucked always coming second. I understood why it was so important to you in terms of trying to find out what happened to Samantha so I dealt with it, but it was kind of like the X files was the other woman in your life. I knew that if it came down to it and you had to choose, you’d choose her. It was really painful. I honestly think if they hadn’t been shut down, we probably would have broken up a lot sooner.”

He runs his free hand over his face. “Then what do I do? Quit the X files after I worked so hard to get them back? I haven’t felt this satisfied with work in years, I don’t want to have to do that.”

“I don’t think you need to quit, you just need to learn how to prioritize things differently. She needs to know she comes first.”

“That’s not how it works, Val, you know that. When a lead comes across my desk, I have to run it down. I have to go out, investigate. I have to find answers.”

“No, Will,” she says with a sympathetic sigh, “You don’t have to do that. You choose to. And you choose to do it at her expense. That’s exactly why she’s so upset. Even if in your mind it feels like you don’t have a choice, you do. That might mean missing out sometimes, passing on a case or not finding the answers. But you can’t have it both ways. You can put the X files first and be alone, or you can put her first and sometimes miss an opportunity to investigate the files.”

“Is it really that simple?” he asks flatly.

“It really is,” she answers. “The truth is, Will, that you may love those files, but they’ll never love you back. You’ll find yourself a lonely old man if you don’t get your priorities straight.”

He slumps down on the couch with a defeated sigh.

“Thanks, Val. I’m really grateful that I can talk to you about this,” he says earnestly.

“Happy to be of service,” she says lightly. “Let me tell you something else, Will,” she adds, “you better work this shit out before you have kids with her, because it gets twenty times harder.”

He chuffs a laugh, but the thought of having kids with Scully simultaneously makes him feel elated and terrified, because he’s not sure if he’s already messed it up too badly for that to be an option anymore.

———

She’s curled up on her side in the middle of Missy’s bed, Priscilla tucked against her belly and purring loudly.

Missy spends most of her time at John’s these days, so she offered her apartment as a place for Dana to crash, or hide out, or whatever it is that she’s doing. She’s honestly not sure, she just knows that she needs to be away from Mulder. To get space, to give it, to punish him, maybe all of those things. She wants him to hurt like she did, to not know where she is or when she’ll be back. She hopes that he fears she might be gone for good, though she knows she’s not. Taking Priscilla was just logical; having no idea when Mulder might come home she couldn’t very well leave her there to fend for herself. Knowing that it will add salt to the wound does give her some sick satisfaction, though.

The house phone rings and she lets it go, given that it’s not her apartment. The answering machine kicks on and Missy speaks to her as the message plays, telling her to pick up.

“Hello?” she answers, catching it just before Missy hangs up.

“Hey, Mulder is on his way over there,” Missy says breathlessly.

“What? Why?” she asks, not sure if she’s ready to see him.

“He showed up here, he’s been looking all over for you. He asked me if I knew where you were and I said no, but I’m a shitty liar, Sis.”

“Okay, I guess I have to talk to him sometime,” she answers, a sick feeling churning in her gut.

“Call me after, okay? Good luck.”

She relocates to the living room, not wanting this conversation to take place on Missy’s bed, and waits. The longer she waits, the more on edge she feels. When the knock finally comes, Priscilla startles and runs into the bathroom.

She stokes her own anger as she walks to the door, straightening her posture. She is mad, indignant, furious, ready to go into battle. That is, until she opens the door and sees his crumpled expression, his hooded eyes contrite and devastated. All the anger pours out through her heels, replaced by grief and fear. She feels her chin pucker, her nose burning as emotion wells in her throat.

“Scully,” he croaks out, and she steps forward, opening her arms to him. He folds against her like a rag doll, this big, strong man suddenly like putty. They make their way to the couch and he curls into her lap like a child, crying softly with a tortured grimace. She pets his hair, not offering any words of reassurance, but letting him know she’s there. He sits up a little, wrapping his arms around her rib cage and tucking his face into her neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he says in a harsh whisper, and her heart aches. She wants to forgive him, but sorry is not enough.

“I can’t live this way, Mulder,” she says against his shoulder, and he pulls back to look at her, not sure what she means. “I grew up watching my mother wait for my father to come home,” she explains. “Each time he didn’t write when he said he would, or call on a scheduled day, every time there was something about a navy ship in the news. We waited up, praying that he was okay, and it was torture. I swore that I would never put myself or my children in that position, and it’s a promise I intend to keep.”

His gaze drops away from her face and he nods sadly. “I didn’t understand, Scully, how to have both the X files and a relationship. I thought I was doing what had to be done, but I see now that I wasn’t putting you first, and I’m sorry. I’m going to do things differently, I promise. Please, give me another chance to get it right.”

He lifts his eyes to meet hers and she can see that he really means it, that he really understands. She nods, and he kisses her desperately; her lips, her cheeks, her ears, her hair. He kisses down her neck as he clings to her, his hands touching her back, her arms, her thighs.

“I was so scared, Scully,” he squeaks out between kisses. “I love you so much, and I was so afraid I ruined everything.”

He kisses the tears from her cheeks, finding her lips again as she grips the back of his neck, pushing her tongue into his mouth hungrily, needing him so much closer. He shifts to put his back against the couch, pulling her into his lap and gripping her hips, arching his pelvis up into her.

She’s overwhelmed with arousal, and love, and desperation. He pushes the hem of her shirt up and over her head, finding her braless, and sucks a nipple between his lips. She whimpers, slipping her hand down to rub her palm roughly over the bulge in his jeans and eliciting a deep moan from his throat. She stands suddenly, pulling down her cotton pants and panties, and he follows suit, standing just long enough to push his jeans and boxers down to his knees, sitting again as she climbs astride him. She impales herself on his erection, crying out in relief as they move together, foreheads resting against each other and their eyes locked as she flexes her hips forward and back, pleasure taking away all the hurt and pain.

When she closes her eyes to focus on the sensations, he brings his mouth to her ear, teasing at the lobe with his tongue and whispering to her, his thumb appearing against her clit and sending shockwaves down her legs.

“I love you so much. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, okay? You’re the only thing that matters.” His affirmations flood her with dopamine and she comes hard around him, the feeling extending to the tips of her fingers and turning her joints to jelly. He clutches her to him, finding his own release as he continues to make grand declarations of forever.

As they come down, he peppers her with kisses in the same way he’d started, desperation replaced with contentment. He pulls back a little to look at her.

“Will you come home?” he asks hopefully, and she nods with a soft smile.

“Don’t ever tell Missy we had sex on her couch,” she says, and they both laugh.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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iflostreturntosteverogers · 3 years

Text

If You Love Her

Characters: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader, EraserMic, Ejiriou Kirishima, Hitoshi Shinsou, Kazuya Yamazaki (OMC), Hanta Sero (Mentioned), Mina Ashido (Mentioned), Denki Kaminari (Mentioned), Izuku Midoriya (Mentioned), Shouto Todoroki (Mentioned)

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Grief, Little Smidge of Fluff

Word Count: 2278

Beta: @sorenmarie87

A/N: Lyrics used from the song If You Love Her by Forest Blakk

Masterlist

Katsuki hums as he prepares breakfast for the two of you. You lean against the doorframe admiring him in his hero costume. “Just gonna stand there, Firework? Or are you going to come kiss me good morning?” He smirks over his shoulder at you. You push off the door frame and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He sits his knife down and turns in your arms, cupping your face and kissing you. “You know you could’ve slept in right? UA is on holiday.” You shrug.

“I couldn’t sleep. I’m a little anxious this morning for some reason. Plus, I wanted to see you before you left for patrol.” Katsuki squeezes you hard before letting you go and turning back to his task. You grab your favorite mug and start to pour yourself a cup of coffee when his voice stops you.

“Don’t drink coffee if you’re anxious. You know it makes your heart race. There’s tea in the cabinet. Do you want me to stay home with you today?”

“Thank you. No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine, Kat, I promise.” You reach up on your tiptoes for the tea on the top shelf. You had a sneaking suspicion that Katsuki liked to place things you used regularly up out of your reach so he could grab it for you. He chuckles and grabs the tin, placing it in your hands. “Thanks.”

“Welcome, babe. Breakfast is ready, but I’ve gotta take mine to go. I’m running late for a meeting with Deku, Shouto, and Kirishima before our patrols.”

“Be safe, Kat. Come home to me.” He leans down to kiss you and presses your foreheads together.

“I will. I promise.”

“Love you more.”

“Love you most, Firework. I’ll be home for dinner.”

The envelope in his pocket feels like lead as he sits through the shitty meeting Deku is leading. The truth is he’d woken up with anxiety too. Terrified about the future and what would happen to you if he was gone and wasn’t there to protect and love you anymore. It’s not like hero work was exactly safe. There was always that risk. They had already lost friends and comforted significant others at burials. Kirishima nudges his leg. “Hey, man. You good?” Katsuki looks around and realizes the meeting room has emptied, leaving him and his best friend alone.

“Just thinking about Denki and Shinsou. And Sero and Mina.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s been what about a year since Sero was killed?”

“Mhm and only a few months since Denki. Fuck, man. Feels like forever ago and yesterday at the same time.” Kirishima’s eyes fill with sadness thinking about their fallen friends.

“Yeah. Listen, Kiri. I need you to do something for me.” He pulls the envelope from his pocket and holds it out to him. “If I- if I ever die, I need you to take care of her for me. Make sure she lives her life, man. Don’t let her shut down and her light die. She’s too bright for that, man. You protect her. You have to help her keep going. Make sure she falls in love again. And when she does, you give him this.” Katsuki’s voice cracks, thick with emotion.

“Katsuki, I-”

“Promise me, Ejiriou.” Katsuki shoves it at him. Eyes desperate and pleading.

“Of course, Katsuki. I promise.” He pulls Katsuki into a hug, a move that would’ve earned him an explosion to the face years ago. They stay like that until Katsuki’s calm and in control again.

“Let’s get out of here. I need to blow something up.” They both let out watery laughs and stand.

“You know everything’s gonna be fine, right?” Kirishima places his hand on Katsuki’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I just can’t stop thinking about how wrecked Mina and Shinsou were. Hell, they still are. We’ve done our best to be there for them but Shinsou shut down and pushed us away completely. He blocked everyone’s numbers, except Y/N, but she’s his sister. Mina tries, but we all know she can’t even look at us anymore, because she just sees the one who’s missing. I have to make sure someone takes care of her. For my peace of mind.”

“That makes sense.” They slip their comms in their ears and leave the conference room. Kirishima stops by his desk to store the letter while Katsuki texts you. “Ready?”

“Yep.”

Their patrol goes slowly. Katsuki just wants to get home to you. It’s hot as hell and quiet on the villain front. The only thing they’d done was rescue that dumb cat from a tree. “Dude, one more quiet block and I’m calling it a day.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I think we can let the sidekicks handle the last couple hours without us.”

You stand at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables for stir fry. The news drones on in the background as you make dinner. Katsuki had checked in multiple times and said his day was boring and long, so you figured you’d make his favorite food and you guys could have a movie night. Your phone starts buzzing in your pocket, but as you reach for it someone bangs on the door. “Good grief.” You lay the knife aside and wipe your hands on a towel. “I’m coming.” The banging continues, growing more frantic. “Jesus, I’m coming. Chill.”

Time slows in that moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Katsuki’s picture on the news screen and turn. The doorknob jiggles as the person gives up on knocking and resorts to their key or picking the lock you don’t know. “Pro Hero Dynamight was killed moments ago in an attack. He and his partner, Red Riot, were on their way back to their agency when they were ambushed by a group of villains.” You stop dead in your tracks. The door opens. “Dynamight was dead by the time sidekicks and backup arrived. Red Riot has been rushed to the hospital. Dynamight was ranked number two behind Pro Hero Deku and leaves behind a wife. Japan thanks you for your sacrifice.” Your knees buckle, but arms wrap around you, keeping you from collapsing completely. Katsuki was dead.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” A familiar deep voice rumbles in your ear. Aizawa holds you close as you sob into his chest.

“Daddy, he’s gone. Katsuki’s gone. I can’t do this without him. I can’t!” You cry and scream on the floor in your father’s arms. Hizashi arrives moments later, hitting his knees and wrapping you both up.

Everything is a blur after that. People are in and out of your house. Arms hold you, but they’re the wrong ones. Someone shoved a cup of tea into your hands that went cold a long time ago. You shiver at the cold emptiness that has seeped into your bones. Hizashi wraps a blanket around your shoulders and kisses your forehead. You don’t acknowledge him nor Aizawa when he tries to coax you into eating some food. “Baby, please just drink some water then.”

You fall asleep on the couch late into the night, because you can’t bear to sleep in your bed without him. Your dads sleep on the couch opposite you. They’re curled protectively around each other, having been reminded once again that time is short and how lucky they’ve been.

Katsuki’s service is beautiful. People from all over the country come to say goodbye. Your dads hold your hands, while Kirishima, Deku, and Todoroki speak about their friend. It takes all your strength to stand at that podium. “Most of Japan knows Katsuki as Pro Hero Dynamight. The explosive, sometimes crass hero who never backed down whether in battle or simply in the way he spoke. I knew him as the love of my life. He never held back in loving me. He put things on top shelves that I couldn’t reach just so he could get them down and then kiss me. He loved to cook and has made breakfast for me every single morning since we began dating our second year. Katsuki was incredibly caring, even if he wouldn’t show anyone. I love you more, Katsuki. I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without you.” You break down as you address your lost love. Hizashi realizes you won’t be able to move on your own and walks up to you.

“Come on, baby. Come back and sit down. You did so well.” He places his hands on your shoulders.

“I can’t, Papa. I can’t do this.” Tears flow freely down your face as you grip the podium.

“You can. One step at a time.” You let go and lean against him as he leads you back to your seat. The service concludes just after sunset. Fireworks fill the sky as tribute to the explosive hero.

Kirishima sits at a table in the cafe, enjoying the beautiful weather and cherry blossoms. You make your way over to him. “Thanks for coming, Kiri.” He stands and pulls you into a crushing hug.

“Of course I came! How are you? You look great!”

“Thank you. I’m doing good.” You smile and he pulls your chair out for you. “I actually asked you here for a reason. I-uh, I’ve met someone. His name is Kazuya. Kazuya Yamazaki. He works at UA teaching Hero Ethics. He’s incredibly sweet and caring. He’s compassionate and understanding. He’s not Katsuki, but I love him. I miss Katsuki so much, Kiri. I still love him. I’ll never stop loving him.” Tears come to your eyes when you mention your late husband. Kirishima smiles.

“Sweetheart, that’s awesome. Katsuki wanted you to live life after he was gone. He wanted you to find love again and be happy. He made me promise that I’d take care of you and make sure you lived and moved on. He’d be so proud of you.” He hands you a napkin to wipe your tears away and chuckles. “Do I get to meet him?”

“That makes me feel better. And yes, you can. We can do dinner at my house this week and I’ll introduce the two of you. Until then, let’s order some food. I’m starving.”

You order and catch up with each other. When you start to leave he hands you an envelope. “Give this to him.” You look down at it. Written on the front is “To the Extra that loves her after I’m gone” in Katsuki’s handwriting. You hug it to you.

“I will.”

You close your car door and take a deep breath. Kazuya makes his way over to you and the two of you walk silently to Katsuki’s monument. “I wanted you to come here for a reason. Today at lunch Kirishima gave me this.” You show him the letter in your hands. “It only felt appropriate for it to be read here.” He takes the letter from you and you both sit in the grass with your backs against the cold marble. You lean your head over onto his shoulder as he reads.

“To the Extra that loves her after I’m gone. Extra?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “that’s just how Katsuki was. Keep going.”

“If you’re reading this shit then I must be gone, but it also means that she’s found happiness and love again. That’s all I want for her. She deserves the world. But if you’re going to love her there’s some things you should know. If she gives you her heart, don't you break it. Let your arms be a place she feels safe in. She's the best thing that you'll ever have. She always has trouble falling asleep, and she likes to cuddle while under the sheets. She loves Pop songs and dancing and bad trash TV. There's still a few other things. She loves love notes and babies. And likes giving gifts. Has a hard time accepting a good compliment. She loves her whole family and all of her friends. On days when it feels like the whole world might cave in, stand side by side and you'll make it. She's the best thing that you'll ever have. She'll love you if you love her like that. Kiss her with passion as much as you can. Run your hands through her hair whenever she's sad. And when she doesn't notice how pretty she is. Tell her over and over, so she never forgets. Make her breakfast every morning, because she hates mornings and it makes her happy. Don’t let her drink coffee, it just makes her anxious. Buy her flowers and candy and those dumb stuffed animals she loves so much. Make her smile every chance you get because it is the most beautiful thing in the world. Love her. Love her more than anything else in the world. Don’t let her be sad over me. Make sure she shines. Her light is so bright and warm. Take care of her for me. -Katsuki Bakugou”

You wipe tears from your cheeks. “Oh, Katsuki.” Kazuya wraps his arm around you and lets you cry on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No, sweetheart. There’s no reason to be sorry. He was your first love, your husband. You are allowed to still love him and to still be grieving him. I know there’s room in your heart for both of us.”

“Thank you. Even after ten years, it still hurts and I still miss him.”

“And that’s okay. Why don’t we go to the market and buy some flowers, so we can freshen up his arrangement? And then we can go home and you can tell me more about him.”

“That sounds great.”

Tags: @fictionalabyss, @leave-me-2-rot-among-the-flowers

#bnha katsuki x reader #Katsuki Bakugou #Angst #my hero academia #fluff #sad #kirishima

47 notes · View notes

lettrespromises · 4 years

Text

> LettresPromises informs you : You have one notification.

> Letter object : the heart’s warmth and the body’s flames.

> Todoroki Shouto and Bakugou Katsuki sent you a letter, would you like to read it?

@bruised-cherry sent a letter : ❝Hiya, Nikki! Can I request a one-shot(if you're down) where Todoroki and Bakugou's(poly relationship) s/o got into a little argument with each other and now their s/o is rejecting them and ignoring them. Since it's summer, TodoBaku turned off the air conditioning, AC, etc, knowing their s/o would need them soon. And just, kinky, dirty ass s m U t :) (and lana spelled backwards if you're down with that, if not that's cool). Sorry I'm a kinky hoe 👉😅👈❞

Author’s letter :

❝ dear bruised-cherry,

first and foremost, i would like to apologize for taking so long to write your promised letter! nonetheless, i had a lot of fun writing it, hopefully it will reach your expectations!! it’s 4:05am as i am writing this and my brain is unable to write proper words i’m sorry—

sealed with a kiss,

nikki.❞

Genre : Pure smut, angst if you squint.

Warnings : Cursing, sex, vaginal sex, blow-job, cunnilingus, anal sex, daddy kink. (Please consider that the characters are aged up.)

Word count : 5.8K.

This day seemed to counterbalance the already established rules of time and space, you were secretly convinced that minutes were hours and each time you would lay your eyes upon any item with the sole purpose of indicating the current hour, you felt as if time had stopped. It was a long, long day. Truthfully, you wished you could have had the opportunity to meet someone whose quirk was time control to ask them to skip the remaining hours of the day.

The root of the problem was deeply imbedded with the increasing attacks committed by the villains in town, you were on a mission with both Bakugou and Todoroki- a clear lack of communication and coordination signed a burning defeat for the three of you. A mission built and perfected during several months had just blown into pieces, your efforts, tears, blood and energy were the combustibles to the pain fueled by this defeat. Each one of you attempted to exude this loss in your own way while making your way back home. Todoroki, sat on the passenger seat, found the cure to his own inner built-up anger by digging his pearly whites into the flesh of his thumb while observing the passing scenery before his eyes. Bakugou, unexpectedly, made a martyr of the steering wheel by squeezing the non-existent life out of it, causing his fingers to turn white in the process. You, on the other one hand, kept on reminiscing the earlier events of today, your mind roaming over and over again to find what went wrong, you weren’t exactly angry : disappointed in yourself was a more precise way to describe the matter.

The silence was deafening, almost agonizing. Truthfully, silence was even more intimidating than noise- a noisy ride would have included the repertoire of Bakugou’s insults flowing freely from his mouth, it was expected. But silence, on Bakugou’s end, echoed to a level of anger rarely ever reached, metaphorically speaking, Katsuki was a living and breathing ticking bomb at this very moment.

The sound of the car door smashing broke the silence as you arrived home, Bakugou was already inside, his hands shoved in his pockets as expected. You freed a sigh you ignored you were holding from your lips, an early sign that you knew there was little to no seconds left on the ticking bomb. Todoroki sent an apologetic glance in your way, you knew he didn’t mean no harm, if anything, it was a silent sign to encourage you before facing the aftermath caused by the explosion of the bomb.

Flower vases left shattered on the floor, a door handle scarred by the scorching hot imprints of Bakugou’s unforgiving hold and a continuous flow of insults as background noise- those were the said aftermath of the explosion. Bakugou’s body language radiated off pure anger, like you or Todoroki had barely seen before, his rage was exuding from the pores of his palms through a dangerous marriage of small explosions and smoke. He was roaming back and forth in the living room, his stare was focused on the explosions emanating from his hands as a way to convince himself that the more explosions would be set free, the less he would feel angry.

« Fuck, fuck, fuck… Goddamnit, fuck! What the fuck went wrong, hah?! We planned this shit entirely, from start to fucking finish. What the fuck went wrong?! You tell me instead of staring at me, do fucking something for once! » The words echoed and morphed into a roar sent directly your way, anger lacing his every word.

« Bakugou, don’t say things you don’t mean. » Todoroki stated, the pseudo comfort embedded in his voice radically clashed with the heat of Bakugou’s words.

« Don’t say shit I don’t mean? Who the fuck are you to tell others what to do when you couldn’t even do shit when we were facing those bastards?! You didn’t do shit, you fucking left us on our own and arrived at the very last second. So tell me, give me one good fucking reason as to why I should take shit from you! Fucking say it to my face, because I’m dying to know what’s your excuse. » The sounds of Bakugou’s explosions slowly adopted the structure of a crescendo, but Todoroki remained unfazed, his facial expression didn’t betray his pseudo serenity. « I was evacuating the civilians, you knew that, I don’t understand why you act so confused. We prepared this plan together, the three of us, you knew what my role was. »

You were stuck in the middle of a battlefield, torn between two sides but the tragic twist of this scene was that you couldn’t find the strength to defend one of them. You needed to remain objective and impartial, something obviously easier said than done. Your eyes darted from one figure to another each time you heard the sound of either Todoroki or Bakugou’s words, truthfully, you felt paralyzed under the lack of options in this crucial situation- on one hand, Katsuki was nothing short of acerbic when anger consumed him, on the other one hand, Shouto’s calm attitude hid a dangerous amount of anger building inside of him ready to explode if Bakugou’s venom stung too hard to Todoroki’s liking.

« Oh yeah, yeah. You were on you own, hah? Evacuating civilians and shit, am I supposed to feel fucking sorry for you when Y/N were busting our fucking asses out there to take down those bastards? You’re trying to play it solo like your old man? You know what, the more I think about it, the more you start to act like him-… »

« Katsuki! That’s enough, shut up! »

It was your turn to let anger lace your words in such a way that they developed their own toxins, purposefully made to sting Bakugou hard enough to cut his rambling. Endeavor was a touchy topic to Shouto, and as soon as Katsuki pronounced the words ‘old man’, a hint of flames appeared on Todoroki’s collarbone- it was only a matter of second before an inferno invaded the living room.

« You never know when to stop, do you? Do you have any idea of how ridiculous this is? You, Bakugou, you should know out of all people that his father his a sensitive topic, and yet you let your anger get the best of you every damn time. Todoroki, were you really ready to blast your flames at him? Aren’t the both of your grown men, or am I mistaken? How disappointing, how fucking disappointing. » You dropped every last ounce of energy in your tirade, every last bit of emotion in the process too. You felt so numb, deprived from your own vigor.

Both Todoroki and Bakugou’s eyes fell on you as soon as your roaring words broke their mutual verbal assaults, their mouths were set agape- they did have words on the tip of their tongue, but they couldn’t find the strength to give life to them. There it was again, the deafening and agonizing silence.

You couldn’t bare standing in the same vicinity as them, disappointment clouded your vision and the more you looked at them, the more your vision became foggy- but it still remained unclear as to whether it was due to the disappointment or the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. Without wasting yet another second, you went upstairs and locked yourself in your room, giving yourself some privacy to wipe away your tears.

Downstairs, the silence was still suffocating both Bakugou and Todoroki, their stare were still laying upon the spot where you used to be just a few seconds earlier, they just hadn’t processed your sudden disappearance. They blinked once, then twice, and a third time to make sure they weren’t dreaming and once they were convinced it was very much real, they looked at each other and sighed as if they were, too, deprived of their own energy.

« Bak-… Katsuki, it was my mistake to threaten you with my flames, I apologize. » Todoroki’s tone was soft in comparison to his last statement, a sense of compassion replaced the anger laced in his words.

« I shouldn’t have talked about your shitty dad. » A sentence, which, in Bakugou’s vocabulary echoed to an apology, but with the cruel exception of the forbidden word which begins with an ’s’ and ends with ‘-orry’.

« I assume Y/N is not going to talk to us for a while, and, don’t take it personally but her presence is very much needed. » Bakugou frowned as Todoroki’s words connected to his eardrums, needless to say, he knew he was right but didn’t care enough to admit it and grant him this silent victory.

« I might have an idea, half-and-half, use your shitty quirk to lower the temperature of the house, you know how much she fucking hates cold temperatures. That’s gonna make her move her ass out of the bedroom. » Todoroki only quirked his eyebrows in response while Bakugou was adorning his most victorious grin, he knew this plan meant an automatic win- both of them could handle cold temperatures thanks to their quirks, you on the other one hand, were more fond of warmer temperatures.

Todoroki sighed, perhaps already regretting his choice to follow Bakugou’s antics, but if it meant that he had to play dirty to get you, he was ready to deem himself as the dirtier player in the game. Soon enough, a frigid fog invaded mercilessly the first floor, and your bedroom was the first victim of the unforgiving coldness. Little did you know, this was the beginning of a series of crushing defeats on your end : seeking warmth underneath your blankets? Didn’t work. Blow air on your hands? A total fail. Looking through your boyfriends’ closets to find one of their thick hoodies and wear it? Not the solution you needed to cure the problem.

You were running out of solutions, and that’s when your unconsciousness crept in and murmured suave temptations to your ear : the welcoming warmth of Bakugou and Todoroki’s bodies, their arms wrapped around you like a human cocoon to protect you from the cold temperature. It sounded like a dream, and you had the means to make it real- but at what cost? You roamed around the room, not only to create body warmth by moving, but also to accelerate the train of your thoughts. What was more important? Freezing yourself to death with your pride as an inexistent shield from the cold, or embrace the agonizingly tempting warmth radiating from both of your boyfriends?

The answer to your rhetorical question manifested itself rather quickly- in the blink of an eye, you had already wrapped your hand around the doorknob and raced downstairs towards the personifications of your very own personal heaters under Shouto’s puzzled expression and, in contrast, Katsuki’s triumphing grin.

« Hah? Have you finally decided to show up, princess? » Anyone could have noticed the more-than-obvious obnoxious tone dripping from Bakugou’s words, he glanced over at Todoroki who grinned at him in response, silently thanking him.

« Just keep me warm. » You found a perfect spot right between Katsuki and Shouto on the couch, your knees were brought to your chest, your arms were encompassing your legs- if anything, you were pretty close to looking like a sphere, but you were ready to contort yourself in any position to gather some precious warmth. Eventually, you let out a silent sigh as soon as you felt their respective warmth hit the surface of your skin as a sign of satisfaction.

« I think you forgot the magic word, love. » Shouto teased, his warm index gracing the cold flesh on your shoulder, such a tease.

« Ugh, fine! Keep me warm, please. » You emphasized the pleading word, just enough to make them grin even wider in victory.

« ‘Wasn’t so hard, was it, princess? » You couldn’t exactly tell if you hated or were absolutely enamored with the teasing tone of his voice, but once thing was certain- the grin plastered upon his face was a thing of beauty.

Bakugou, as expected of him, took the lead, or rather, sent a silent challenge in Todoroki’s way which dared him to take the upper hand of the situation. He wrapped his arms around your waist in a lion-like manner, ready to protect what’s his, with the help of his strength you were now sitting on his lap. The grip around your frame didn’t move one bit, not only did he want to provide you as much warmth as his quirk allowed, but he also wanted to maintain control. Your head was laying upon the surface of his shoulder, your face was facing Todoroki who admired you as if he had witnessed the renaissance of Venus under your traits.

« I will help you feel a bit more warm, alright, love? » You hummed in response to Todoroki’s one-sided interrogation.

Another source of warmth was more than welcome. Thus, Shouto wasted no time and placed his hand upon the surface of your cheek, daring to cross Bakugou’s self-claimed territory in the process without any ounce of shame. The amount of space between the two of you had dangerously reduced until totally disappearing which cleared Todoroki’s path on his way to show you just how much he could warm you up. His lids fluttered shut in anticipation, and there it was, the oh so fabulous source of warmth- he planted his lips on yours in perfect harmony. After all, a promise was a promise, correct? Regardless of how it’s executed, correct? That was exactly Shouto’s mindset as his tongue grazed your bottom lip to beg for access to the inside of your mouth, a wish quickly granted which allowed him to spread the warmth of his tongue inside your mouth as his pink muscle met yours which only announced the beginning of the dance of pleasure. Your actions corresponded to his, and his initiatives echoed to yours— soon enough, your tongues were melting in each other’s touch. As much as he wanted to keep this going forever, the way you grabbed his wrist was an indicator that you were starting to lack oxygen. Of course he ended the kiss, but not before he dug his teeth into your lower lip to which you responded with a semi silent whimper.

Bakugou observed the scene from the side with the same smirk gracing his facial features, he would be the worst liar on Earth if he were to say that seeing your mouths collide in harmony wasn’t the epitome of poetry in motion. But who was he to let Shouto get the best of you? Who was he to let Shouto make you whimper first? He craved, no, he needed to make you melt under his touch.

« Want us to make you feel hot, princess? Be careful what you wish for. » This sentence was his final warning before flipping you over on your back, offering him the best position to physically tale the upper hand under Shouto’s amused stare. You looked so pure and yet so sinful at once, a paradox which drove of them crazy as they imagined the most unholy deeds they were going to do to you. Katsuki’s index hooked the fabric of your hoodie (more like his, but it’s just a slight detail which turnt him on even more) before to pull it over your head.

Oh, and what a gorgeous sight to behold— your naked upper body, in all its glory, a body worthy of the most descriptive pages of a novel. He couldn’t help but snicker at the ethereal scenery before his eyes, he knew he was going to devour you and make you his, no matter what.

« Don’t give me those eyes, woman, I fucking told you I was gonna make you feel real hot. You won’t need this shitty hoodie to keep you warm. »

The assault was given once his pearly whites dug into the soft flesh of your neck, reflex kicked, you titled your head to the side to give him more room to play with. It was a succession of biting, licking, biting again until your skin adopted a purplish tone which echoed to a mark of both domination and belonging. Of course, you belonged to him… And Todoroki. Once he was satisfied with his artwork, he licked the abused flesh one last time before smirking to himself as a sign of victory.

You couldn’t expect Todoroki to be left out of the party, after all, you did belong to him too. He pushed Bakugou to the side just enough to bask in the glory of your half-naked form. The gleam in his eyes reflected nothing but pure adoration, he was torn between the will to worship each inch of your body and the tempting option to make your legs weak until you can’t form proper words anymore. Oh, well, both were bound to happen.

« Oi! If you wanna touch her, don’t fucking push me! » Bakugou’s rambling was cut short as soon as Todoroki’s lips crashed on his, the blonde eye’s widened in surprise but he eventually allowed himself to crave to the passion.

« I don’t need your permission to touch what’s mine. » Todoroki whispered against the flesh of your breasts, emphasizing the very last word strategically.

The sight of your hardened nipples caused him to lick his bottom lip in anticipation, just a way to warm up his lips before devouring your flesh. Todoroki wasted no time and took this opportunity to let his tongue grace your left bud, the motions were repetitive and hypnotizing— from circular motions right around your nipple, from vertical licks to sucking motions, each deed was designed for your own pleasure while your whimpers falling free from your lips and the hand stuck at the root of his hair encouraged his actions. Your whimpers were cut short once Bakugou’s lips found yours and dragged you in a tongue-led kiss, and to no one’s surprise, you followed his already established rhythm, but goodness, it was deliciously intoxicating, letting you crave for more. And somehow, the sound of your hushed whimpers created an even more attractive melody.

Now, it was Todoroki’s turn to take advantage of the vacant place left by Bakugou who was now bent on your side which meant that your whole body to discover for the umpteenth time. A trail of kisses left from the valley of your breasts to your lower belly indicated which dangerous way Shouto was bound to take. He took a glance at the liplock share with Katsuki who offered you no rest no matter if you craved for oxygen or not, the same amused grin still plastered upon his facial features, and augmented the temperature just a bit more.

His finger drew an invisible line along the edge of your underwear, a pre-meditated deed which only announced in advance what he was bound to do, he was just one step closer to make your legs crumble under his touch. In a swift motion, fueled by his own personal hunger to satisfy his fantasies, Todoroki got rid of your pants and he could already discern the wet patch adorning the cotton surface of your underwear, what a sight to see. A new trail of kiss was left upon your skin by Shouto, this time, he focused on the inside of your thighs and followed a vertical pattern until reaching the climax of his journey : your already dripping heat.

« Are you already this wet for us, love? How kind of you. » The amused tone which embedded his voice hid a hidden sinful tone, such a contrast, but only Bakugou and you could catch the double-tone.

Bakugou, on the other one hand, mimicked Todoroki’s earlier antics (only to outdo him, his own ego was his sole motivation) and made a victim of your breasts. One lovebite on your neck wasn’t enough, he craved to make you his even more, on every inch of your body. This thought was the reason behind his will to bite the generous flesh of your left breast, which clearly isn’t abused enough to his liking. And so it began once more— biting, licking, biting once more just hard enough to make you whimper in response, suck on your flesh until it becomes purple and has his name written all over it. From the love bite, Katsuki kissed his way until your nipple, the motions of his mouth were strategically chosen to make pure sounds of pleasure fall free from mouth mouth, while his thumb and index were twisting your nipple while following the circular motions of his tongue. The harsh grasp you held onto his blonde hair was only one of the first hints that you were on your way to reach a state of pure bliss, the moans echoing in his head were his favorite hint though.

The sensation of a sharp lick across the fabric of your underwear awakened a new whimper on your end, this time, it was higher which only echoed to a higher level of pleasure. Todoroki’s lips curved into a grin at the sound of it, what a marvel to hear. The fabric which separated your core from Shouto’s lips was seen as a taunt to the latter, but fret not, said taunt was quickly taken care of as soon as he got rid of your underwear, throwing them who-knows-where in the room.

And so the temperature augmented yet again— an experimental lick caused you to bite your lower lip to refrain any moan to escape from your mouth as you closed your eyes in anticipation for pure bliss. Your reaction was the best indicator to Shouto who had found yet another motivation to make you come undone— getting to hear your agonizingly breathtaking whimpers and moans fall in cascade from your lips. Your core was wet, much to Todoroki’s delight, and he could almost hear you calling his name, begging him to eat you as if you were his last dinner on Earth.

His mouth married the shape of your core, his tongue danced beautifully against your folds as if your core had been specifically created to welcome the wonders of his mouth. The licks left by his pink muscle were executed differently in several ways— vertical licks, circular shapes, he based his actions on the sound of your shameless moans and whimpers to predict his next move.

« Shouto, S-Shouto! » Your first begging, which didn’t go unnoticed to both of the protagonists of your very own pleasure.

« So eager, aren’t you, love? » He kissed these words into your skin, words embedded with adoration and love in the process.

Well, there was someone whose name hadn’t been begged, and truth be told, it was getting on his nerves. How dare Shouto have the honor of being begged and not him? Oh, well, he was about to change that right away.

« Open wide, princess, I’ll give you something to fucking beg about. » The same usual smirk accompanied his words, he already knew what was bound to happen, and the knew what effect it would leave on you.

By the time you were busy with Shouto, Bakugou had already taken care of his own clothing by… taking everything off. Isn’t it easier that way? His genetically given large hand stroked tentatively his length, just enough to cause a layer of pre-cum to cover his tip, once he was satisfied with the result, he wasted no time to shove his entire member in your mouth in a swift motion. The warmth of your lips was the most delicate welcome he could’ve asked for, regardless if you were to choke or not, he’d find a way to make you beg his name until it becomes the only thing you’re able to say. Your throat grazed the sensitive tip of his grit, earning you a hushed grunt as a reaction which was a rarity coming from Bakugou. Both of his hands held a harsh grip on your hair, and he used said grip as a level of pressure to thrust himself into your mouth under the mesmerizing sounds of your choked whimpers. It was a scenery of beauty, he was the sole holder of all your attention— you were looking at him through your lashes with pleading eyes, silently begging him to keep going until you were to choke on his member. A silent sign he didn’t miss, he knew you like the back of his hand, after all.

Eventually, Shouto complied to your begs, you wanted more? Oh, you were bound to get more, more precisely, you were bound to have exactly what you deserved. Todoroki and tease were very close to being synonymous, hence why he purposefully used the pad of his thumb to create circulate motions on your sweet bundle of nerves which was the key to make you come undone, and, of course, two of his fingers which had already found a shelter inside your folds while pumping in and out, over and over again, until bringing you to the brim of ecstasy.

Under this new pressure, the need to express your pleasure through moans was almost impossible given the fact that each sound coming out of your mouth was rendered hushed by Bakugou’s length. Your wrapped your hand around his phallus to not only catch some cruelly needed oxygen but also set free all the sounds of pleasure trapped inside you, as soon as your mouth was set free, a pure sound of bliss fell free from your lips. A sound so sinful and addicting at once that both Bakugou and Todoroki couldn’t help but repeat said sound in their head over and over again.

« Oi, princess, I didn’t fucking tell you to stop so keep sucking until I say otherwise, did you fucking get that? » It was a one-sided question, your answer wouldn’t matter anyway.

And there he went again, shoving his member inside your mouth as Bakugou began chasing his own pleasure— if he was careful enough, he could picture the shape of heaven when his lids fluttered shut. This time, his thrusts were harsher, clearly designed to attain his climax. But he wasn’t the only one who was close to reach the seventh sky— the addition of Shouto’s fingers pumping in and out, the oh so right pressure on your sweet of nerves and the precise licks left on your wet folds was nothing short of divine, that divine that it was going to make you reach your orgasm sooner than you thought.

Reflex kicked, your grip on Shouto’s hair became gradually tighter as you felt the knot in your stomach grow more and more until it became out of your control, you rolled your eyes back in ecstasy and the pearls of tears on the corner of your eyes were now rolling down the surface of your cheeks. Through choked sounds, you encouraged Shouto to keep going and going until you could touch heaven by the tip of your fingers. And then heaven came to you, the liberating sensation of floating on a cloud overwhelmed you as you reached your orgasm, manifesting the pure sounds of bliss through the hushed sounds caused by Bakugou’s intrusive length.

« You’re such a good girl, love, you came undone for us. Such a good girl… » The end of his sentence was whispered in marvel against your core, it was a sight he could never get bored of.

His tongue found once more its way to your folds, licking each and every drop of your juices to satisfy his own pleasure. Your taste was his favorite, it was addicting as hell, so addicting that before to swallow said juices, he would always make a mental note of how your cum feels on his tastebuds.

« Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, god-fucking-damnit! » Bakugou’s grunts followed the structure of a crescendo, he threw his head back in pure pleasure— he was so close, so fucking close, he wanted to reach the seventh sky as well.

Todoroki grabbed him by the nape of his neck, his fingers digging right in Katsuki’s flesh, and planted his lips still coated with your juices right upon his. Bakugou could taste your sweet nectar on Shouto’s lips, and perhaps it was the last thing necessary for him to come undone— your taste always had the ability to bring him over the edge, and once more, this time was no exception. Bakugou groaned against Shouto’s lips before breaking the contact between them to share a pure sound of ecstasy of his own and eventually, come undone right in your mouth. A string of the blonde’s cum dripped down from the corner of your mouth, and observing you use your tongue to collect the remaining cum on your chin made Bakugou if he wasn’t going to come undone twice in a row at the sight of this.

« Come on, love, we’re not done yet. » This was the final chapter of all of Shouto’s fantasies, a chapter which was finally bound to take form.

Todoroki snaked his arms around your form to place you right on his lap, once the position was comfortable for the both of you, he placed his length right against your twitching core which was already begging for him to fill you.

« Please, j-just fuck me already… Please… » Another auditive wonder— the sound of you begging was worthy of the most beautiful symphony.

« You asked so nicely, love, who am I to refuse? » A rhetorical question, as expected of Shouto when he led the teasing game.

Shouto filled you instantly, shoving his entire length inside you which caused the unexpected appearance of a moan which you could hardly suppress even by biting your lower lip. An initiative quickly ended by Bakugou’s intervention who tilted your head just enough so he could plant a rough kiss upon your lips in order to prevent you from hushing those sounds of pleasure any longer.

« Don’t be fucking shy, let us hear what you gotta’ say, baby girl. » You looked at Katsuki with pleading eyes, you knew that you were not going to be able to suppress or refrain any of your moans or whimpers, you knew you were bound to become a vocal mess.

Shouto’s hands held a strong grip on your waist, so strong that the tip of his fingers turnt white under the pressure. His rhythm was frantic from the beginning, using the combination of his hips bucking upwards and his arms wrapped around your middle to clash against his testicles. You had the best spot to hear up close and personal the ravishing sounds of bliss coming out of Shouto’s mouth like a broken record. Your arms were wrapped around his neck as a desperate cry for support as his hips were pounding deep inside you until reaching your cervix.

Behind you, Bakugou had already made sure to wet his fingers to prep you. Prep you for what exactly? Oh, well, we all know Bakugou doesn’t handle well being left alone, especially when Todoroki has the advantage of him. The tip of his fingers brushed against your rectum until two of them entered your second hole, he expected this reaction but your moans were ethereal, especially when he was the cause of them. His fingers pumped into your rectum just enough for you to get used to the stretch and to the knew (and double) sensation.

« Be a good fucking girl for daddy and let him fuck you from behind, yeah? » He studied your facial expression and the irregular pattern of your breaths to know whether or not you were fond of his new antics, to which you confirmed his doubts by whispering an almost inaudible « Y-Yes, daddy… »

Nonetheless, the elongated moan you let out in his favor once his fingers reached a bit deeper in your rectum was enough for him to get the clue and replace the feeling of his index and middle finger with the width of his length. A pure sound of pleasure with his name written all over it, if you were to ask Bakugou, he would tell you right away that this is what heaven felt like.

« I-I’m going to cum, I can’t-… » Shouto’s hot breath crashed against your equally as hot skin, it became impossible for him to suppress his grunts any longer.

Bakugou mirrored his pace which had suddenly quickened under the pressure erupting in his lower belly, he could already touch the clouds of the seventh sky, and you were the key to unlocking the divine skies of heaven.

« Fuck… Fuck, I’m close too. » Their grunts matched in unison under the melody of your repetitive moans caused by the double pressure.

With one last thrust from both protagonist, you felt two rushes of hot liquids invade your insides as a moan signed their orgasm. That was it, they came undone and touched heaven as they came inside of you, all the pent up pressure in their abdomen had been set free for your greatest pleasure. You rolled your head back on Katsuki’s shoulder, oxygen had become a rarity under the frantic thrusts of the two newfound victims of passion. Once your lungs felt full again, you released an elongated sigh which drained all of your strength in the process.

Bakugou pulled out first, causing you to whimper at the sudden sensation of vacuity replacing the ever so addictive sensation of being filled by the man who held the keys to your heart. As he pulled out, his arms snaked around your middle and he dragged you with him, hot breaths crashing against your blazing skin. Katsuki put your head over his chest while you mustered up the last bits of vigor you could invoke to find shelter in his comforting embrace.

As soon as Shouto evened his breathing pattern, he felt the urge to join you and Katsuki— laying by your side, his arms draped over your waist, he felt at peace with the two most important people in his life, the true definition of perfection to him. Silence came back again, but this time it was comforting, a silence which held all the fierceness of your feelings for one another. A few kisses were planted here and there on your skin as a silent way to show gratitude, but all three of you were absolutely drained because of passion.

« If you’re still feeling cold, I know a fucking way or two to fix this shitty problem, princess. »

#shoto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todobaku #todoroki x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #shouto x katsuki #todoroki x bakugou #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #todobaku x reader

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

“How Did All This Happen?”- A Memoire by one Marinette Dupain-Cheng 2

wow. okay. so first off i dont have an update schedule but im on winter break starting next monday so i just have a lot of time on my hands. if this progresses into next year updates wont be as frequent. hell updates probably wont be as frequent next week either. who knows not me. Also i have a few spots left open on the tag list for those who were wondering.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

without further ado

People Fucked Up and Now It’s All Marinette’s Mess to Clean Up II

Marinette knew how she ruined the eastern coastline, but for all that is magical she could not fathom how that team of hero proteges managed to completely decimate the western side. She knew they were capable of it though, Constantine had warned her that they had an interesting habit of bending, if not outright breaking, the rules and legislation of the UN. He had also warned her that the group of Justice League mini-me’s had a unique calling card. The symphony of everything going to total shit in the background was the declaration of their presence on the island. She hasn’t even seen them from her new cliffside perch but she knew they were there by the distinct sounds of explosions. God, she hoped that super son wasn’t there. And she really hoped he didn’t get his indestructible hands on the magical dagger and destroyed it. It was one thing to return from this mission empty handed. It was an entirely different kettle of fish to return and join her grandfather in having “Broken a magical artifact” added to her list of crimes against the universe. Adrien would never let her live it down. No, Chloe would never let her live that down. She probably would put it on her headstone or something.

Deciding she has wasted enough time, Marinette began enacting one of her contingency plans in hopes of salvaging this night. She had brought the Tiger, the Horse and the Cat miraculouses for this mission, fearing that a Ladybug Cure would bring too much attention to her and her family. She was right in that fear because reconstructing two coastlines would not fly under international radar.

She called upon the magic of the Tiger, camouflaging with the scenery as she made her descent back to where Kobra himself hopefully still was.

She found him making his escape from the hellfest that was once their base of operation, followed by two other members. Marinette begrudgingly gives her thanks for the intruding hero team who distracted the cult from her presence and created enough wreckage that forced the cult members into separating. Sneaking up from behind, she jumped on the shoulders of the one furthest back. A swift jab to his throat, and Marinette was using his falling body as a springboard to kick the second cultist. At this point Kobra was aware of her presence and tried to attack her. Keeping the magical dagger on his person, he moved to grab Marinette by her hair. Extending the claws from her panja bracelet, Marinette slashed Kobra by his outstretched hands and used her semi-sentient tiger’s tail to retrieve the dagger. Before Kobra could regain his bearings, Marinette merged the Tiger and the Horse and made a hasty escape to her hideout.

She was greeted to the sight of her grandfather who Marinette believed was entirely too relaxed, enjoying some mint tea as he watched the night sky be curtained by smoke mushrooms from the nearby island. He was reclined in one of the couches in their AirBnB back in Trinidad. She dropped her transformations, Roaar and Kaalki flying to the kitchenette. Plagg slowly came out of Marinette’s purse and pointedly avoided her gaze. So the hellcat did have a guilty conscience, she lamented. Who knew? Apparently accidentally sneezing from the sand on the beach of Santa Prisca, and leaving behind a new cliff, was not one of the Destruction god’s finer moments. If he had any.

“Don’t tell Tikki,” he began. And look, actual names, he must have been really embarrassed if that’s how he’s referring to his counterpart.

“Don’t tell me what?” The answering scream Plagg released was actually comical and Marinette decided to be merciful. “Don’t worry Tiks, just a hiccup in the mission but all is well now.” Plagg looked at Marinette like he was about to lay worship to her for not selling him out. He took it in stride and joined the other Kwamis on the counter, already with a cheese wedge in hand.

“You did well, Mei,” her grandfather began. “I will report to Constantine and we will discuss further in the morning. For now get some sleep.” That was a dismissal if Marinette ever heard one so she placed the panja bracelet and the glasses, the tiger and horse miraculouses, back in the box and retreated to her room. A quick shower and a call to her parents later, Marinette was left awake in her room. Bored.

Plagg soon joined her, and despite his earlier reservations, he was brimming with chaotic energy. He had an idea and nothing spelt trouble faster than Plagg’s ideas. Apparently Plagg was curious about what the other young heroes were even doing on the island and wanted to know more. Now Marinette had half a mind to tell him to go by himself and leave her out of it. But she was kind of curious too. They weren’t after the dagger, that much she figured, or else Constantine would have had them go for it instead. So why were they there? A voice that sounded painfully like Kagami in her head told her not to be bullheaded and leave well enough alone.

Ignoring that advice, Marinette went to the den to retrieve the Tiger and the Horse again, the two most suitable for reconnaissance missions. Plagg, of course, would still be accompanying her for it was his shitty idea anyways.

“Going somewhere?”

The two turned to come face to face with Wayzz, Tikki and Master Fu, all wearing matching faces of disappointment but not surprise.

“We were just going to stake out the island again, figure out what the other hero team were up to.” Marinette was not going to quiver under their gazes. No. Nope. Her maman may not have been an assassin, but she still didn’t raise a weak bitch. Hell, she shadowed one of the most feared assassins for her more formative years. She. Would. Not. Break.

“Why?”

“It was Plagg’s idea.” She broke.

“HEY!” No offense to Plagg, but he was the only one out of the two of them that was immortal, he could survive Tikki’s ire.

“It’s not a bad idea, Master,” bless Kaalki and all their endeavors. “If the hero team were not after the dagger, but still after the Cult of the Kobra, investigating would provide valuable insight to what plans the cult had for the dagger in the first place. And perhaps, allow us to put in cautionary measures to prevent the cult from finding other magical means to meet their ends.”

“Yeah, what they said.” Marinette wasn’t all in favor of extending the mission if they did find anything concerning, but she committed to this idea and she’s going to see it through. Logical rational and self-preservation be damned.

Taglist:

@deathwishy @neakco @ virtualreading @f-rget-lt @your-resident-chicken-nugget @nathleigh @toodaloo-kangaroo @irontimetravelflower @trippingovermyfeet @t1dwarrior-of-earth @tip-tap-tired @fidget-eep @thenillabean @officiallydarkgeek

#badass!marinette dupain cheng #maribat #marinette x damian #daminette #damimari #guess im back #idk what to tag this as #hdath #almost forgot that one

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misslynn99 · 3 years

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Epicenter: Chapter Two

Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Link on AO3: Epicenter

Link to Chapter 1

Author: misslynn_99 (Me!)

The next morning, the café regulars buzzed around the TV monitors, excitedly chatting about the news. Official footage of the attack had finally been aired. Concrete flew everywhere as the villain lashed out against heroes, sending distraught civilians fleeing from the scene. The scene that every news station had on repeat, however, was that of several tons of concrete on a direct collision course for a young family, until Ground Zero put himself between the two. He squared back one shoulder to pulverize the rubble with a blast, and in that moment, his wild eyes were molten flames, the fine cascade of dust casting a hazy halo around his form.

It was such a harsh contrast to the villain swinging a pillar of concrete immediately after, colliding directly with the hero’s chest and sending him hurtling back against the harsh exterior of another building, slumping bonelessly on the ground.

“He saved them.” You whispered to yourself. Icy needles twisted in your chest. Eijirou had trusted you to care for his closest friend at his most vulnerable. The café was much closer than any hospital to the scene, but your heart skipped a beat, fluttering in astonishment. “He could have died. It’s a wonder he didn’t.” Just how close had Ground Zero been to death’s door when he showed up here?

“Blasty is lucky he’s got a rad, manly partner like me.” Eijirou’s voice startled you, suddenly far too close to your ear.

“Hi!” You squeaked. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“You think I’d let my best girl go un-thanked after saving my partner’s ass yesterday?” His arms swept you into a tight bear hug, twirling your feet off of the floor. Eijirou’s easy smile seemed to smooth over the awkward tension from the day before, as if it were no more than an insignificant blight of an otherwise sunny day.

“Quit harassing the woman, Shitty Hair. We’re here on business.”

“She likes it.” Eijirou had the gall to stick out his tongue. “Isn’t that right?”

“I, I don’t mind.” You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, dropping your head forward, and you prayed that no one would notice. This crush was spiraling out of control, as the sturdy muscles that could shatter any obstacle and strong enough to lift cars supported you easily in his embrace.

“ ‘Don’t mind’ isn’t the same as ‘like’.” Ground Zero’s mouth turned even further downward into a scowl. Reluctantly, Eijirou set you down, and you felt cold at the absence of his touch. The tension settled again like a thick cloud, choking out whatever embers of affection you felt for the red haired hero.

“I didn’t mean to impose.” The red-head’s own face was dusted with faint pink, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s no problem.” You tried your best to smile kindly, wincing internally at the memory of his flinch. “Why don’t I get you both some coffee on the house? It’s the least I can do for everything you two do to protect the city.”

“One black coffee it is then!” Eijirou perked back up.

“So, I take it you’ll have the latte, extra heavy cream with two pumps caramel, two pumps cinnamon, and cinnamon-brown sugar mix dusted on top?”

Ground Zero’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to say that so loud.”

“No shame.” You chuckled despite yourself. “Plenty of people take their coffee sweet, too.”

“Don’t spare Blasty’s feelings!” Eijirou laughed. “Even Mr. ‘Nothing is spicy enough’ likes sweets on occasion.”

“You better shut your mouth!” Ground Zero snapped, his tone climbing with each word. Curiously, Eijirou kept laughing, and tapped at his own ear.

“Right, got it.” The blonde grumbled. “Too loud.”

“Here you go, boys.”

“I have a name, you know.” The blonde held the cup up, scowling. “I��m off work, damn it. You called Shitty hair by his name on the cup.”

“It’s not like you introduced yourself between eating shit against the building and going in for surgery.” Eijirou scoffed.

“And you did?”

“Kiri stayed with me while they gave me IV fluids.” You supplied bashfully. “And I wanted to know when you made it out okay.”

“Call me Bakugou then.” He made a strangled noise. “When I’m not in suit tearing shit up, I don’t wanna hear ‘Ground Zero’ from you, got it?

“Not your given name?” Eijirou seemed to take a savage joy in goading on the explosive hero. “That’s awful cold, Katsuki. She did save you from a hospital stay and a month off of hero work.”

“Or Katsuki, whatever.” If looks could kill, Eijirou would have dropped dead in his tracks. Bakugou’s eye twitched and small firework-pops crackled off of his palms, clenched into fists at his side. You hoped that the café regulars were too enamored with the news and their own conversations to notice the sparks flying.

“I can call you Bakugou, if that’s what make you more comfortable. Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.” You chuckled, carefully watching his expression for his reaction to the playful jab.

“Kacchan’s bark is worse than his bite, at least off of the battlefield.” A new voice drifted in from the door. The emerald curls, gelled up from his undercut, were unmistakable. “I’m afraid that we didn’t get introduced last night. I’m Deku, but you can call me Midoriya if you’d like.”

“Kacchan?” You grinned wickedly. “Isn’t that so cute!”

Bakugou bristled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you fucking nerd!” He whipped around to snarl at the green-haired hero that had just walked in. For someone who was effectively co-workers with the number one hero, Bakugou acted like he despised the man.

“Aw, pump the breaks Kacchan.” Midoriya scrunched his freckled nose in a wide grin. “I’m just here to say hello to the woman who saved your life last night. So, this is where Kiri has been getting your coffee from? It’s such a nice little café, I think I’ll have stop by more often.”

“Like hell you will! We found it first!” Bakugou growled, stepping between you and Deku, while Eijirou chimed in the background, “I think you mean that I found it first.”

“Boys, boys, you’re all very pretty.” You ducked around the pro hero’s side, attempting to soothe the bickering. “I have plenty of coffee to go around. “

“You’re not keeping her as your personal barista and healer, Kacchan.”

“What happened to keeping this on the down-low?” Bakugou suddenly stiffened, whispering harshly.

“I think someone is feeling a bit embarrassed.” Eijirou rolled his eyes.

“I got my shit rocked on national television, of fucking course I feel embarrassed.” The blonde snapped. “But for her safety, I thought we agreed to keep any rescue shit-talk out of the public eye.”

Wincing, you looked up at him. “I think they’re calling you saving that family the rescue of the year though. And lots of people have minor healing quirks.”

Whipping his head back and forth, he snagged the strings of your apron and tugged you behind the coffee bar, through the doorway into the kitchen.

“Wait!” The two other heroes followed suit, chasing you as Bakugou dragged you out of the public eye.

“You don’t have a ‘minor healing quirk.’ “ He scowled, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, hands trembling as if he were resisting the urge to shake you. You could feel the residual heat of his calloused palms, the threat of an explosion ghosting along your skin and sending shivers up your spine.

“You have a self-destructive healing quirk that has major potential to get you kidnapped. Do you know the League of Villains would do to get their hands on you? Or fuck it, the Hero Commission? They’d keep you caged up like some animal to fix up their toys as they broke so that they could be sent out scot-free again.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Midoriya and Eijirou recoil, especially as the blonde hero turned his ire towards them once again. “Is some kind of joke to you two? Kirishima, if you could take two minutes to keep it in your pants, and Deku, if you could be serious, we need to come up with a plan.”

“Yes, Kacchan.” Midoriya and Eijirou nodded.

“Where do you live?” His burning eyes narrowed in your direction once again.

Swallowing thickly, you met his gaze. “In the loft above the café.”

“Hmm. Who all knows about the full extent of your quirk?”

“Just my parents, and my best friend from middle school, who moved to the states while we were in college.”

“Maybe she should stay with one of us?” Midoriya offered. “Just to see if anyone’s decided to target her?”

Panic froze your feet to the floor. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” You laughed nervously, fiddling with the apron strings tied at your hip. “I mean, you’re all very nice, but I could never ask that of anyone. I’m up at 4 in the morning to get the café ready to open at five, and walking alone in the dark is not my forte.” Especially if I might as well have a big target painted on my forehead now.

“The League definitely keeps an eye on our flats. They might not have made the connection that she’s done anything yet, but moving her in would be a surefire way to draw their attention. Also, there’s no way the Commission would just ignore someone else hanging out all the time.” Eijirou argued. “I think it would be better to set up surveillance on the café and her loft, and maybe get her a panic button or something.”

“A panic button.” Bakugou snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but there are these novel things called ‘cellphones.’ “

“And if she can’t call?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow.

“Brave words for someone who dropped his location to Icy-Hot, with literally no context, in the middle of an alleyway, and he magically appeared anyways.”

Sighing and stepping between the two bickering men, Eijirou held his hand out expectantly. “Here, I’ll put our numbers in your phone. We should probably scope out your apartment later.”

“I close at five tonight.” You offered, passing your cell to him, contacts open. “I’ll probably be done cleaning up by six, but you’re free to drop by whenever you get the chance after that. All of this feels pretty crazy though. It’s not like I did anything out in the open.”

Turning on the full force of his overwhelming intensity, Bakugou rounded on you once again, having caught the tail of your conversation. “There’s a couple articles floating around. You’re in the pictures, being floated to the hospital, and some low life bloggers are wondering how I was fine so soon afterwards, when Recovery Girl was on the other side of the country for some other case.” Venom dripped from his words, as if this were your fault somehow.

“It’s not my fault that I helped you!” Anger leaked into your voice. You couldn’t believe that he had the audacityto blame you for this. “Don’t talk to me like it is. I couldn’t not do anything. It’s a wonder that hit didn’t do worse, and I am certainly not responsible for them taking me to the hospital with you.”

In frustration, you stormed out of the kitchen, straightening your apron and apologizing to the handful of customers who were waiting by the cash register. A friendly smile and a few discounted coffees later, they sat down at a booth. The heroes were still in your kitchen, and you felt your resolve to ignore them crumbling. “I did give Kiri and Bakugou free coffee earlier.” You mumbled to yourself, a mischievous idea taking root; Bakugou’s buttons were so easy to press.

Leaning around the corner, you poked your head back through the kitchen doorway. The heroes froze, their argument in low tones evaporating with your return. “Midoriya!” You grinned, drawing out the syllables playfully and deliberately ignoring the blonde hero’s angry stare. “How do you like your coffee? Sweet as you are?”

“Uh, umm” He stuttered and his eyes darted between you and the door. “With oat milk, white chocolate and toffee, and iced please.”

“Coming right up! On the house.” The sound of sparks dancing off of Bakugou’s palms eased your flare of anger, taking a little bit of satisfaction in riling up the blonde in return, and you set about making the drink.

The trio must have finally decided to drop their discussion, and shortly followed you out to wait by the coffee bar. Bakugo turned his back to you, eyeing the door and clutching his coffee while Midoriya and Eijirou resigned themselves to facing you, their awkward expressions apologetic. The other café patrons were thankfully still transfixed by the TVs, oblivious to the situation at hand.

“Here’s your phone back.” Eijirou mumbled, setting your phone on the counter. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s just frustrated and annoyed, nothing against you personally. It’s just kinda how he is, ya know? He takes it out on everyone. He’s been this way since he was a teenager, but he doesn’t blame you. Promise.”

“Hmm. I suppose I can accept your apology on his behalf, just this once.” You whispered back, sliding a coffee cup to Midoriya, who sipped it gratefully.

“We’ll be back later. Come on, nerds.” Bakugo’s voice was gruff as he called over his shoulder. “We have a meeting and a patrol shift soon.”

The heroes left and an unease settled in your gut at their absence, acutely missing their larger than life presence. Even as the customers milled about, coming up for refills and pastries, their words weighed on your mind. Villains and Heroes had never been a major point of contention in your life; a quirk like yours wasn’t suited for the spotlight, and like thousands of others, accepted your fate as a civilian.

The coffee shop felt like a homage to another era, before quirks existed. The small planters bloomed in the window display under your mindful care, without any sparks of magic to enhance their color or growth. The coffee beans that arrived each week were roasted delicately by hand, and each new drink was born from trial and error; no surprising powers of charm or persuasion lured customers to your door. It was an honest life that you were proud of, built with hard work and love.

Ringing up another customer and brewing the earl grey tea for a London Fog, it felt like your head was ringing. Your quirk had never been an active threat to your well-being. You had gained some control over the years, having only been able to tend minor scratches and bruises as a child, but never showed enough promise to be recruited into the medical field as a young teen. Even now, the drawbacks were too great. Healing left you exhausted, and the more extensive the injury, the greater the fatigue.

It wasn’t like you came from a family of fantastic heroes either. Your mother worked as a doctor in a wound care and surgical center because she could clean infected tissue at the expense of the patient’s energy. Your father’s quirk was completely unrelated to your own, allowing him to sculpt metal by heating his hands, albeit without flames. It was hard to believe that the arguably worse version of your mother’s quirk made you a target, but the underlying assumptions behind it sent shivers of fear down your spine. If there was no regard for your well-being, your quirk could be indispensable, could be used to patch anyone up at the expense of draining you dry.

Nevertheless, the hours ticked by, dread worrying the pit of your stomach. Bile rose in the back of your throat the longer your anxious thoughts raced. Without the grace of someone with a more offensive quirk, there was little you could do to defend yourself.

Maybe Bakugou was right to be annoyed, but he didn’t have the right to be such an ass about it. Closing time was only half an hour away, and the customers had dwindled in the shop. The pleasant humming of customers faded, exposing every raw nerve that you had. The last person was out, and at 5:06,

... there was a knock.

Snapping to attention, you jerked towards the doors, feeling a strange mixture of relief and annoyance upon seeing Bakugou waiting by the door. Sighing, you called out, “It’s still unlocked.”

He didn’t enter though. He leaned partially against the window with one hand, the other shoved deep into the pocket of his white jeans. He had the hood up on his black and gold hoodie, but not enough to conceal his distinctive blonde hair and you could have sworn his red eyes could burn a hole through anything as he peered in the window. He must not have heard you, and you steeled your resolve to go and let him in.

“Shitty Hair sent me.” He grumbled.

“Hmm.” You hummed in response, wandering back behind the counter to tuck away the extra bottles of syrup and take down the pastry display. “Make yourself at home then.”

The hero looked even more uncomfortable, his shifting gaze never lingering on anything for too long, before he spotted the bottle of disinfectant. To your surprise, he started wiping off tables, but you don’t breath a word, afraid to break the uncanny silence.

At 5:45, Eijirou, Midoriya, and a woman you could only assume was Uravity knocked, and Bakugou dropped the supplies as if he had been burned. Midoriya was the first to heckle him, teasing “Kacchan, I didn’t know that you could be helpful!”

“I was bored, you damn nerd. That’s all.”

The heroes were almost unrecognizably causal. Uravity and Midoriya were in matching letterman jackets, sky blue and patterned with delicate pink cherry blossoms falling from slender black branches, with Shouto written across the back in a beautiful script. Eijirou was also devastatingly casual, wearing baggy, low-rise black jeans and a white v-neck that dipped dangerously below his collar bones. His long red hair was up in his trademark loose ponytail, spilling over his shoulders and down his back.

“So nice to see you again! I’m Uraraka.” Her smile glowed as she bounced forward to greet you. “It’s nice to really see the place that Kirishima and Bakugo talk so much about.”

A frown creased your features. “I think I would have remembered Bakugou coming in for coffee. Doesn’t Kiri just get his?” You mumbled, panicking as you realized it was out loud.

Thankfully, Uraraka giggled. “No, he just won’t let Kiri get coffee from anywhere else now. I think the whole agency knows his order by now.”

“It’s just the least shitty.” Bakugou growled. “But whatever. I have shit to do, so let’s get this over with.”

“Lead the way.” Midoriya smiled kindly.

The stairs to the flat were in the kitchen, the door tucked out of sight next to a supply closet. Butterflies fluttered in your chest, and a sudden self-consciousness that almost froze you in place. The apartment was an intimate insight into your life and personality. Your reading was on the living room table, and cherished photos hung on the walls. Is my laundry hanging up to dry? You winced at the thought.

“Welcome!” You forced a smile and led them to the kitchen table. “So, what do you need to check out?”

“We’re not trying to invade your privacy more than necessary.” Midoriya looked solemn, glancing at you shyly from underneath his lashes. “I was thinking we should put a camera right in the stairway that faces the entrance, another on the fire escape, and one on the outside of each of your windows. Then, we can just set up a bunch around the café.”

“Oh,” You relaxed into your seat. “That’s not as bad as I was expecting.”

Midoriya and Uraraka were sitting ram-rod straight at your table, posture stiff and schooled. Eijirou was examining your end table in the living room, carefully turning your favorite candle in his hands, while Bakugou trailed behind like a sullen shadow.

“We just want to make sure you’re safe.” Uraraka reassured. “We’ll probably change the patrol route to make sure that we stop by here, but we won’t be in the shop every time. If nothing is weird, we’ll leave you be after a while.”

“I’m glad.” The remaining tension left your shoulders, and you let out a sigh of relief. “I really don’t want to put my life on pause. I’ve worked really hard for what I have here. “

“Of course!” Eijirou looked over his shoulder, now surveying the sliding glass door that led to the fire escape. “This is the best place in town, and I don’t think I’ll ever stay awake through another Commission meeting without my usual again. Plus, we owe you big time. It’s our fault that you’re starting to get some media attention.”

“Do the cameras need plug-ins or batteries?” You asked cautiously.

“Nah, they’re the special surveillance ones Chargebolt rigged, and we’ll get a notification if the battery is less than 25%. We’ve just gotta get them set up. Uraraka can up to stick them, then make ‘em weightless so they don’t fall down.”

At Eijirou’s words, you could see Uraraka tapping her fingers, jumping up to stick the device to the ceiling. With a frown of concentration, she pulled out her phone, checking the feed and fiddling with the camera until it was angled to her satisfaction before drifting back to the floor.

“We can take it from here. Feel free to go back to closing, or what you usually do in the evening. Don’t be afraid to let us know if you need anything.” Midoriya nodded before excitedly leaning in closer, eyes sparkling with the enthusiasm of a little kid. “Also, at some point, can I study your quirk? I keep notebooks of all different quirks I encounter, and yours is so interesting.”

“Shut your trap, nerd!” Bakugou growled from behind Eijirou, who jumped and clutched his partner’s arm. “Stop acting like we’re at the damn zoo. Save it for later.”

“Am not, Kacchan!” Midoriya whined. Turning to you, he put up his hands in a peace gesture. “I think we better get going, though. I think today’s probably been quite the day for you. Uraraka will set those up outside, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Snagging Bakugou’s sleeve, Midoriya pulled him unwillingly down the stairs, with Uraraka having already moved on to install the security cameras in the café. Despite his tough front, the blonde didn’t fight too much, only grimacing and batting away the other hero’s hand as they left.

“Hey Kiri,” You said nervously, before the hero had the chance to follow his teammates out of your apartment. “Thanks for having Bakugou come over to be there while I was closing. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you guys said this morning. I just feel so uneasy, like every stranger could be dangerous and I can’t do anything to save myself. It really set my mind at ease to have someone else there.”

“I bet.” He winced with sympathy. “But I didn’t ship Bakugou out here. He volunteered, and you didn't hear that from me.”

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #reader insert #bakugou katuski x reader #female reader #she/her pronouns #pro hero bakugou #aged up characters #pro hero au #coffee shop au #angst with a happy ending #reader has a healing quirk #canon typical violence #somewhat graphic description of wounds #slow burn #no beta we die like men #Ground zero Au

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progressivedreamings · 3 years

Note

Roommates au for Kiribaku

It ended up being longer than I assumed but I hope you’ll like it!

"Yo!"

It's 5:48 AM on a Tuesday, and Kirishima is waving with an energetic grin at his doorstep, with a big red suitcase right next to him.

"What the fuck?" Bakugou reacts expectedly, glaring daggers into his best friends face while the offending redhead does not deter at all, walking past him into his house.

"What the fuck?" Bakugou repeats again, with less venom but more shock, as he watches the other drag his suitcase into the middle of his living room and yawn. The door closes itself.

Kirishima Eijirou, Red Riot, a hero who sits number 7 at the Hero Charts. Surprisingly the only hero in the charts who works in Kansai, even though he's not from there.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Despite his angry appearance, Bakugou doesn't have any actual power behind his words, already surrendered to whatever Kirishima had decided before showing up here.

Kirishima explains that he's in Tokyo for a long term job, one that they needed his defensive skills. He adds a bit shyly that he doesn't think he can be that much help, and if they wanted defence, there are other heroes who could do just as much if not more.

Bakugou grunts. Number 7, and yet he still laughs as he speaks such non-fucking-sense. "That doesn't answer my question." He decides to say instead - he'll beat it into Kirishima's head later that he's one of the best out there. "Why are you /here/?" He asks again instead.

Kirishima laughs embarrassedly. Bakugou feels his chest tighten. He had forgotten how bright Kirishima was.

"I don't have another place to go so I thought I'd crash at yours. It's fine, right?"

Of-fucking-course it's fine, even if Bakugou initially seemed against the idea, it's not like he didn't miss Kirishima. It's been two years since the other moved to Osaka after the Osaka-Incident, an appearance of a villain gang that the Kansai heroes had a tough time restraining. Red Riot volunteered himself to help, as "There are already many top heroes in Tokyo. I want to be where I'm needed."

It actually inspired more heroes to work in smaller cities, at the same time, villain activity increased in those places. Something about balance, Bakugou guessed. Still, he hated that it took away his best friend from him, not that he ever said anything about it.

And now, said best friend stood not that far away from him, stretching his back and already making himself at home. "So, where's my room? I'm beat."

Just like that, they begin to live together, already used to each other's routines from their dorm days.

Bakugou wakes up at 7 am, has the bathroom to himself until 8 am while Kirishima is still asleep enjoying his dreamland. He wakes up around the same time the door bangs close.

9 AM Kirishima wakes up with the sound of Bakugou leaving home, in the kitchen, there's already breakfast waiting for him.

They begin to send more texts to each other. "What time will you be home?" "I'll eat out tonight." "I'm shopping, need anything?"

Kirishima comes home early and takes over the cleaning duties. He can't cook well, so the first few attempts of him taking over the dinner are met with a highly unimpressed gaze.

Kirishima blushes and mutters "We can order pizza or something." Bakugou bites into his tasteless katsu-curry (how do you make curry with no taste). "It's fine, let's eat."

Bakugou, on the other hand, makes food like a 5-star restaurant. Kirishima always asks for seconds and looks like he's in heaven.

More often than not, Bakugou finds himself staring at Kirishima those times. He has a soft smile on his lips, his eyes curved gently and a low appreciating hum that makes Bakugou's heart beat faster. He won't ever admit it, but he wants to see that expression more often.

Happiness looks good on Kirishima.

There are times where one of them come home with injuries.

A secret understanding between them helps create a new routine that mends them physically and mentally, a silent agreement for what the other needs.

Kirishima needs validation. That he did his best. That he'll be fine. He needs Bakugou to be softer around the edges, so that's what he does. "I saw on the news. They're fucking lucky you were there." Bakugou says nonchalantly, but Kirishima knows the feeling behind those words and feels warmth embrace his broken heart and begin to heal slowly.

Bakugou, on the other hand, needs confirmation. He needs to know everything is fine, that he managed to protect and save. He needs to see that nothing changed. Kirishima welcomes him home and becomes his anchor with eased practice. Puts on a movie and lets Bakugou stare at him the whole time, so the other can make sure Kirishima is safe.

They both dance around the fact that they need each other the most.

Bakugou goes to bed early, even on nights where Kirishima asks him to join when they go out with the "Bakusquad". For good old times, he says, and Bakugou rejects.

He thinks with him there, the 'old friends' won't be as comfortable. After all, all he does is yell and get angry and insult. His only redeeming quality lately is that he's a fucking good hero. One of the best, even if he's only number two.

So Kirishima calls them over instead. Texts Bakugou: "I called the squad over so make sure we have enough food for 6, thanks!"

It's a text so Bakugou's curse words as a reply aren't as effective.

Still, when they arrive, there's enough food for 6 and a dejected-looking explosive murder god.

Despite all his worries, the others are just as friendly as they were in high-school, teasing him for his grumpiness. Kaminari scolds Bakugou for never calling him. "Don't make us miss you, man. At least answer my calls from time to time."

They all know Bakugou yells when he's embarrassed so his expected "Shut up idiot face!" doesn't faze anyone. Kirishima looks at Bakugou warmly.

Bakugou catches his gaze and feels his heart skip a beat.

Why he looked at him so softly, like he's seeing through him (he probably is), like he appreciates him (he probably does). Bakugou doesn't think he deserves Kirishima, but he'll take it selfishly anyway.

The others brought alcohol, because what's better than drinking and reminiscing on a weekend with old friends- especially now that Kirishima is back with them.

That's smart, getting drunk.

The previous sentence was sarcasm, because the more Bakugou drinks, the more he finds he can't control his gaze away from the red-haired menace.

Who by the way looked brighter and brighter the more he looked at him, with an attractive blush on his cheeks. His eyes had a certain spark in them that Bakugou knew which meant Kirishima was having fun. His smile and laughter loud.

The alcohol made it much harder to chain down the route his thoughts inclined to go. His heart acted individually, opposed to all the self rules he's inflicted on himself.

'Ah,' Bakugou thought. 'I want to kiss him.'

Their eyes met. In the background, Sero is arguing with Kaminari while Jirou is filming their pseudo fight about which retro hero would be number one if they were working at their best now.

Ashido is loud, but Bakugou can't make out what she's yelling about. Something about 'Deku can win against them anyway!'. It's probably a good thing he's not paying any attention.

Kirishima looks surprised for a second but then flashes him /that/ smile. Which makes Bakugou sick to his stomach, because that's his best friend.

If he knew what Bakugou was thinking, he'd probably want to move out immediately, wouldn't he?

And so Bakugou learns to keep his feelings secret, while it grows within his walls of self-protection. Kirishima, oblivious to Bakugou's inner turmoil, continues to be himself, supportive and kind.

Until...

"What the fuck are you doing, shitty hair?" "Oh! I think I found a good apartment near the agency."

There's good news and bad news. Good news is that Kirishima decides to move back to Tokyo. The villain gang in Osaka is already defeated. There is actually a hero team rising in the charts that he can depend on to take care of Kansai instead. He will go back if necessary but after these few months in Tokyo, he's assigned a much more important role, and the issue doesn't seem like it will go away soon.

The bad news is that because he's thinking of permanently moving back, "I don't want to impose any longer! I'm sure you want your old lifestyle back!"

The idiot couldn't be more wrong, but it's not like Bakugou can confess to it.

Still, it doesn't stop him from angrily leaving the house by exclaiming he has work to do. "Do whatever the fuck you want."

The week Kirishima is house hunting, he's also facing many backlashes from Bakugou, and he can't figure out why the hell his best friend is so angry.

And he should, right? He's his best friend. Even if they weren't near each other for these past two years, they managed to pick up from where they left, see through each other's lies and pain. Kirishima couldn't ask anyone for any advice because he should know Bakugou the best. He should be able to understand why Bakugou is suddenly so angry with him to the point that he hardly speaks at dinner anymore.

Then strange things begin to happen. Every house he manages to somewhat find, calls him back to say they received a better offer, or they changed their mind. Suddenly he can't find a place to move into.

Kaminari has a friend who's renting out his apartment, so he offers to help Kirishima out. "That'll be great, thanks!"

That night he talks to Bakugou, "I think I finally found a place." He laughs. Bakugou frowns deeper.

Ah, this is bad. He can't hold it back anymore.

"Do you want to leave that much?" He asks angrily as if he's blaming Kirishima, and perhaps he is. It's definitely his fault that his heart aches in ways that he's never felt pain.

"Katsuki... Do you... not want me to leave?" Kirishima finally sees through the mask of indifference. Bakugou hates the expression on his face, can tell his friend is already understanding more than Bakugou was willing to let him know.

"Took you long enough to figure it out, you fucking idiot," he yells instead, voice just as explosive as his quirk.

And there's the question waiting to be asked, at the tip of Kirishima's tongue. Because he'd want to know, wouldn't he? Why wouldn't Bakugou want Kirishima out, even if they were best friends, he'd want his freedom back, wouldn't he? Shouldn't he?

There's silence and neither of them wants to break it. Bakugou because he knows he'll say too much if he opens his mouth. Kirishima because he knows Bakugou will close up if he's the first one to speak. And out of the two of them, one had much less patience than the other.

So he breaks.

"Because I fucking need you here."

Need.

"Because I'm fucking lonely when you're not here."

Want.

"Because even if it's impossible for you to feel the same way, I..."

He, what?

Bakugou is red with fury, embarrassment and something deeper that Kirishima can't put a finger on. His heartbeat is loud in his ears that every other noise other than Bakugou's is irrelevant.

"Feel what way?" Kirishima asks, demanding, his hands shaking. There's that light in his eyes again, hopeful and determined. Bakugou can't take his eyes away.

The silence stretches. Bakugou's anger slowly dies out the longer he meets Kirishima's gaze. Finally, they are honest with each other.

"I'm not going to fucking confess."

"You can kiss me though, right?"

Another grunt and Bakugou pulls Kirishima in, the spark in his hand meeting the instinctively hardening skin on his neck. Another type of explosion that Bakugou never knew takes over the fluttering in his chest, taking over his heart as their lips meet. Forceful, demanding, daring.

"You're not fucking going anywhere."

It's not like the living room didn't already have figurines of Crimson Riot, a punching bag, the bathroom already dominated by both their presence. The guest room already decorated by all Kirishima's furniture. It was already 'their' house, in every small place Kirishima left his impact on.

"In that case, I'll leave the rent to you." Kirishima jokes breathlessly after their kiss - as manly as kisses go, he had to give the first prize to Bakugou- the blonde knew how to kiss. Then again he was biased.

"No fucking way, in fact, you're paying half the bills from now on."

With a smirk, he waves to Kirishima, turning his back on him to go to the kitchen to clean the dishes or something.

"Eeeeehhhhhh." Kirishima whines, but there's a soft smile on his face.

After all, he's always known he loved Bakugou. And if it took them more than 7 years to come here, 2 of which they were separated... He'd just have to make up for all the lost years where Bakugou had to get in contact with his own feelings.

It will be worth the wait.

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izukuwus · 4 years

Text

Picks and Locks

A/N: Izumonth day 16! For the rest of the lineup, head over here!

Summary: You stumble across a suspicious student from another course, apparently trying to break into a random lock. Might as well help him out, right? (support course!Izuku x reader)

Warnings: uhhhh there’s a handcuff at one point and implied bullying but that’s bout it

Word Count: 2100+

"What are you doing?"

The question is simple—no accusations, no hostility, nothing but pure curiosity—but it still causes the boy in front of you to flinch violently, his quiet muttering cutting off in a quiet 'eep!'. His hands freeze on the padlock he's working with, and if you're not mistaken, that's a makeshift shim he's trying to wriggle into the lock.

"Are you… trying to pick that lock?"

You'd been wandering the halls of UA after classes finished for the day, having no cause to stay but not quite wanting to go home yet, only to stumble across what appears to you to be a fellow first year trying to break open the lock on a toolbox.

"I-it's not what it looks like!" he yelps, turning around with a clatter as the toolbox slips from his lap. "T-this is my toolbox, I just... Someone stole the key to the lock, so I was trying to get it open..."

The boy before you at least has the presence to look ashamed at his actions. "Sorry, I'll get out of your way."

You frown. "You're going to cut your hand using a shitty shim like that. Have you ever picked a lock before?"

His mouth hangs open, and eventually, he shakes his head. "Uh, no, I was—"

You click your tongue, sitting on the floor beside him and rifling through your bag for something. "Let me help you." When your hand closes around the leather casing, you rejoice silently, laying your lockpicking kit out beside you and pulling out a proper shim. As you begin to work it into the lock, you give the boy a solid once-over out of the corner of your eye.

He's kinda cute, in a weird, plain way. Freckles dance among the pink painting his cheeks—either he's naturally flushed, or he's blushing, you're not sure which—and unruly green curls sit atop his head. He leans in to inspect the work you're doing on his lock, brilliant green eyes taking in every movement of your hands.

You wiggle the shim as best you can, but the lock doesn't want to give. "Maybe it needs two...?" you mumble, reaching for another and sliding it down the other side of the lock. With just a bit more work, the padlock clicks open, the contents of the toolbox freed.

"Ha! Success!" you cheer, turning to hand the opened lock over to the nervously silent boy. The moment you do, you're startled by the feeling of something clicking in place around your wrist and jerking you towards him. His own wrist is jerked into place, followed by another click, and it takes you a very long moment to realize that some guy just handcuffed you to this poor, shy stranger.

"...um."

The perpetrator bolts, laughing and shouting something over his shoulder about having fun. The boy you're now attached to flinches, remaining silent; you'd be concerned for him if you weren't still processing the sudden errant handcuffing. He doesn't even seem surprised.

You wave your free hand in front of the boy's face. "Hey, are you okay? Are you used to random assholes handcuffing you to strangers?"

He flushes, flinching. The motion jerks your wrist a little. Fucker definitely cuffed you too tight. "N-no, I—sorry, you were just trying to help and—" Tears pool in the corners of his eyes.

"Woah, hey. You're okay. It's not that big a deal, right?" You flash him a reassuring smile, slowly dropping your cuffed hand to rest between the two of you. "Seriously, does that kind of stuff happen to you a lot? Do you want me to come with you to talk to a teacher? I'm sure someone will—"

"I-it's okay, really! Sorry for worrying you. H-here, I can help you carry your stuff to one of the support labs and work on getting that cuff off of you."

You work on packing up your lockpicking tools one-handed, keeping your smile present as the boy wipes his eyes. "It's no big deal! My quirk lets me manipulate metal with enough concentration. I can take a look at it real fast." You concentrate on the metal at hand (or wrist, in this case), trying to morph it enough to release your wrist...

...

.....

"Um. So that's an issue."

"W-what is?"

"Either these aren't metal, or my quirk's broken."

He peers at the handcuffs again, face going pale. "Oh no. I recognize these..."

You tilt your head, finally managing to get your lockpicking kit into your bookbag. "Elaborate?"

"I made them," he admits, though he doesn't look too pleased. "They're quirk-reducing cuffs. A prototype. Come on, I'm going to have to disassemble them if Saionji-kun still has the keys."

"'Quirk-reducing'?" you question as he leads you to an unfamiliar part of the school. "Not quirk-cancelling?"

"N-no, um, so... Some people have quirks that severely alter their bodies, right? In some cases, they just look different from normal. But some quirks cause their users to produce stuff that could be really harmful to them if their quirk got completely cancelled, like if they naturally have glass in their body, or maybe they naturally produce a chemical that's normally dangerous to other people. I-I'm trying to develop cuffs that restrain the wearer without potentially severely harming them if they have a quirk like that."

Your eyes light up. "I see! That's a really good point! How far along are these, compared to what you're going for?"

"Well... I'm still fine-tuning them," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right now, I've managed to find an alternate method of quirk cancellation than the cuffs already on the market, and I'm trying to see how much I can scale it back while still effectively subduing a villain."

He stops and maneuvers the door to the lab open, sparing you a glance. "I-it might be a little loud, Hatsume-san's inventions tend to be a bit... explosive."

The teacher, a shirtless man with some weird fucking helmet on his head, spares the two of you a questioning look as you enter. The boy leads you over. "U-um, I know I haven't put in a request to use the lab after hours today, b-b-but, um, it's kind of an emergency..." He bows, raising your linked wrists.

The teacher scoffs. "How'd you end up cuffed like that?"

The boy stiffens. "Um! Y-y-you see, it was an accident, a-and I lost the k-key, and—"

You raise an eyebrow, but for now, you remain silent. Maybe he's just shy, and that dude really was his friend playing a prank. "I'm really clumsy, Sensei," you lie, bowing as best you can while your wrist is still cuffed to his. "I was helping him with a broken lock and I messed with his cuffs without asking and tripped, and we have no idea where the key is."

"Well, I can't very well let you kids be stuck together. Have at it, just don't blow anything up or touch anything, even if it doesn't look like it'll explode."

You nod, and the boy leads you by the hand to a free workbench. You set his toolbox on the table in front of you, and he somehow managed to wrangle his arm around until you're stretched across the table. Helpfully, you push the toolbox within his reach.

The boy sets to work immediately, lower lip sticking out in a pout as he begins searching for the right tools. "I-I'm sorry again, about all this."

"Don't be. So, you're a support course student?"

He nods, something like pain in his eyes. "Yeah."

"You don't seem very happy about it," you observe. Maybe you're more alike than you thought.

The boy doesn't respond for a moment. When he does, it's so quiet you almost don't hear it over the noises of... Whatever the hell that pink-haired girl is doing in the background.

"I guess I'm not."

You frown. He looks wounded at his own words, intently focusing on unscrewing the cuff on his wrist as though his eyes aren't shining at the admission.

"I know I'm a total stranger, but you've got my wrist, you know. I can lend an ear, too, if you ever wanna talk."

He flinches like he's wounded at your offer, the motion jerking your wrist and torso unfairly. You wince as your chest hits the bench. "Ah! S-sorry, sorry! I just... I'm not used to people offering stuff like that. I wouldn't want to trouble you."

"I won't force you, but I think we might be similar. I'm not where I want to be either."

His eyes flicker to study your face before concentrating on the cuffs. "You're not?"

"Nah. I hurt my wrist pretty bad the day of the entrance exam and didn't perform half as well as I could have. I don't even know if I would have made it into the hero course if I were at my best, but now I'll never know, y'know?"

He swallows, nods. "What course are you in now?"

"I ended up in General Studies," you admit sheepishly. "I'm going to try to transfer into the hero course if I can, but in the meantime I feel like I'm missing out on so much. It fucking sucks."

He flinches, the screwdriver slipping from its drive from the motion. "I couldn't make it into the hero course either," he admits quietly. "It's always been my dream, but..." The boy falls silent, re-slotting his screwdriver and finally managing to unscrew the piece of his cuff that he was working on.

You frown. "I'm sorry to hear that. Are you going to try to transfer, or...?"

He shakes his head. "I should have given up years ago."

"Hey, don't say that! I'm sure you'd be a great hero. I think people who can build stuff like these cuffs are pretty amazing too, though. I don't have the mind for this stuff. Pretty much all I'm good at is fighting."

He shoots you a pained smile as he finally frees his wrist from the cuff, moving to disassemble the cuff on your wrist now that both his hands are freed. "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew me. Thanks, though. For trying to be nice."

You frown. "I'm serious! You're kinda timid, but you seem really nice. You can train to fight, but you can't teach someone compassion."

"It doesn't matter," he insists, and you swear you see a stray tear slip down his cheek. "I'm quirkless. E-even... Everyone's always said I can't be a hero like that, and they're right."

"What the fuck" leaves your mouth before you can even think about it. "That's so shitty! Who the hell's going around saying rude shit like that?"

He blinks in shock. "It's... not that big of a deal. I'm used to that sort of thing, so..."

"You shouldn't be," you frown. "It's not right or fair."

Your words don't seem to help the boy at all. He simply turns back to working on your cuff in silence with a sad look on his face.

"If you ever decide you want to try to transfer, I could use a training buddy?" you offer, angling yourself awkwardly to pull out your phone and slide an empty contact over to him. "Or, you know, if you just want to talk. I don't really have a lot of friends in general studies, or at all, so, um."

The boy's face flushes. "Y-you, um, yeah! Sure! Sounds great, let me, um—" He pops off the piece holding the cuff in place on your wrist, allowing it to finally come loose and free your wrist. Just as fast, he's shakily entering his name and number into your phone. "—I uh, I never got your name," he admits quietly, words almost lost beneath the noise of the support lab.

You flush. "Oh! I'm so sorry, god, no wonder I struggle to make friends. [full name], it's good to meet you! Thanks for helping get the cuff off me, and uh. If you want, I can tell off that guy who stole your key and stuff for you?"

"Oh, no, that's r-really okay!" the boy yelps, sliding your phone back over to you. "M-My name's Midoriya Izuku. Thanks for helping me with my lock earlier."

"No, don't mention it! I should be getting home soon, but I'll text you, alright?" You roll your wrist, rubbing at where the cuff had dug into the skin slightly. Now that you're free, you slip your bookbag back onto your back, grab your phone, and give the Midoriya boy a little wave on your way out.

He watches you go, rubbing his own wrist with flushed cheeks.

Maybe it's worth giving transferring at least one shot, he thinks. If for no other reason than to have an excuse to train with you.

Tags: @tooloudarts @sapid-rose @xxangelpridexx @birds-have-teeth @icythotsenpai @warmchoccymilk @wesparklebitch @izoodles @fujimoribaby @my-bnha-things @denise-the-death-goddess @themerpenguin @sincerebubbles @fudobaby

#midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #bnha x reader #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert #mha x reader #support course!izuku #izumonth server collab #my fics

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tartagliaxx · 3 years

Text

hi. i only got to play in inazuma today so here's me live reacting to the archon quest. it's a lil out of context tho so have fun trying to figure out which parts im talking abt. also, this is the only time i'm going to be talking abt spoilers for at least one week so... 🤷‍♀️

swordfish ii? cute.

Jesus Christ. and here i thought it was my lowest settings that made his hair grey… this poor kid. teppei i admire your determination but no… just no...

SCARAMOUCHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

IF EVIL WHY SO HOT

you know.... scaramouche could stand still and the air would get electrified. and yknow,,, that's p... that's p attractive

ugh im disgusting myself. and here i thought i still had an inch of sanity left in me.

of all people it had to be this little jerk

scaramouche is so fucking evil. i’d like ten of him, please.

man,, they expect me to dodge this shit? that’s the biggest l i’ve heard today. none of that shit. i’m bringing out my zhong and my sweet madames skrrt

sayu is adorable… i remember when i had hopes of growing up too… alas, it has come to this.

OH MY GOD AYATO CRUMBS. I AM LICKING THAT SHIT UP. PLEASE— HE HAS A SECRET UNIT. THATS SO HOT WTF. AYATO MY DEAR, PLEASE DONT BE A REGULAR ICKY NPC BUT WHITE HAIRED…

SNEAKY SNEAK. SNEAKY SNEAK.

THOMA OH MY GOD MY MALEWIFE. HOW HAVE YOU BEEN? also, sayu’s sleeping again. this girl’s got talent. is her circadian rhythm okay?

pains me to be the bearer of all bad news and no good news…

WAIT THOMA IS LEAVING NO DONT LEAVE YET I WANT TO LOOK AT YOU MORE

oh nvm he’s still in the background.

EYY WHATS UP AYAKA. YOU’RE AS FINE AS EVER.

i… i don’t like where this is going… i refuse to be the bait. i’m too hot for that. so spicy they’ll spit me right out

DONT VOLUNTEER YOURSELF LUMINE— GIVE ME AN OPTION OR AT LEAST AN ‘OH SHIT HERE WE GO AGAIN’ LINE

YES FIREWORKS THAT WOULD WORK RIGHT? PLEASE TELL ME THAT WOULD WORK-

oh thank god… wait... they… they wouldn’t ask me to be the one to set off the fireworks right?

UNFORTUNATELY NO. AFTER YOU BECOME A FREE MAN, YOU’RE IMMEDIATELY MARRYING ME THOMA ANJKFHAIGHLANGKLAHOFJLKAB

oh crap… i’m… i’m in deep.

HE’S BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING US AGAIN EVERY DAY SINCE HE GOT THERE ANFLaglvbajlfblabvljabefva;bfalLJBLJDABVBAALSNADL tumblr user @tartagliaxx is broken. she is now irreparable. she has no regrets. goodbye.

ehem… what if… you and i… and hotsprings… together?? JUST KIDDING. PG-13 OVER HERE. NOTHING INDECENT WHATSOEVER MOVE ALONG NOW

poor thoma,,,

oh come on ayaka… cut us some slack… i just watched lumine wheeze bc of evil purple mist only to be dragged into 2 timeskips and an entire training arc. dont let her be yet another traumatized shounen manga protagonist… altho, it might be uh… too late for that…

oh dear… is thoma going to get another round of diarrhea?

OF COURSE. OF COURSE IT’S ME DOING ALL THE WORK. OF COURSE IT’S ME WHO’S RISKING MY LIFE ALL OVER AGAIN. GOD! GIVE LUMINE A BREAK. BEING A TRAVELER DOES NOT MEAN IT’S FREE REAL ESTATE.

hello yoimiya… still looking as bomb as ever i see……… mhm… gonna see myself out rn…

HELP MY SHITTY GRAPHICS COMPLETELY ERADICATED HER BROWS

oh god… are we dying because of fireworks? forget getting caught by the patrol… we’re about to light up an untested firework that was made to be a billion times more explosive….

NO. SHE SAID IT. SHE SAID THE CURSED SENTENCE. WHATS THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN? IDK YOU TELL ME. YOU JUST SENTENCED US TO DEATH YOIMIYA GREAT GOING still love you tho.

man… these patrol guards aint shit… i literally walked an inch behind their backs and they did nothing… its a surprise the rebellion still hasn’t won when they place guards like this in their ranks………. ok that was kinda mean i’ll apologize in a bit.

SAYU OMG… DONT WORRY I’LL SNEAK YOU OUT AND RISK MY LIFE willingly JUST TO RESCUE YOU. ILYSM HONEY YOU’RE DOING SO WELL

no, paimon. it’s not but we’re doing it anyway 🤡

NO ONE TOLD ME WE’RE GOING TO RUN. I WENT COMPLETELY OFF COURSE. first try tho 😏

HELLO THOMA. HELLO AYAKA.

HELLO SAYU. HOW DID IT GO? IM GUESSING IT WENT WELL BC YOU’RE STILL ALIVE?

oh no….. she’s worn herself out…. man,,, this is why you dont make convicts out of kids….

WE ASKED SAYU FOR AN INCH AND SHE GAVE AS TEN THOUSAND MILES. SAYU MY CHILD YOU EXCEED EXPECTATIONS

god, don’t remind me. as hot as the shogun trying to kill us w her blade was, i don’t appreciate almost getting murdered on screen (even if we most certainly have plot armor)

awwww is thoma worried about me uwu owo? dw i have like… a lumine w 6% crit rate by my side

sigh… i dont want to leave yet… cant i just stay by thoma’s side and not go to war for a change?

it was at this moment that tumblr user lei saw the wonders of being a housewife.

oh sara… my stars… i’m so sorry. i feel so bad for you but at the same time… this oddly makes me want to write a song for you ABJFJKABJABCABVABVKA I KNOW JACK SHIT ABT SONGWRITING WHY AM I THINKING LIKE THIS

well… there she goes…

oh…. oh….. yae is stealing my heart. WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I DO (i have an alt for a reason heehee)

DEAR LORD. PLEASE STEP ON MY NECK SARA.

these guys got guts to say ‘i’m sorry ma’am’ to THE kujou sara.

oh old man… you’re dead. you’re so dead.

man… this old man is a simp? sheesh.

YES. GO TELL EM PAIMON. PREACH THAT SHIT LOUD AND CLEAR.

oh my god… is that dude dead? i probably should’ve uh apologized b4 he flopped down to the ground ig…

MAN,, SARA’S DOWN FOR THE COUNT?? tbf i didnt expect much but…. also, AYE SIGNORA’S SO ICY.

she’s calling me out for being a simp ;-; heart been broke so many times or smth

OH SHIT LUMINE SPOKE. MAN,, WHY IS SHE SO COOL.

oh… i love this part of the vow… im suddenly inspired to write… how about a wedding au? an angsty wedding au?

goddamn… it’s been nice knowing you all…. i dont think i’ll come out of this alive if signora went out like that…

WHATS HAPPENING? ARE YOU SAYING KAZUHA WENT THROUGH THIS BS? IS LUMINE OKAY-

DID THEY REALLY JUST STORM THE ENTIRE FUCKING CAPITAL?? THEY HAVE SOME NERVE.

FUCK OMG KAZUHA AHHAHFHAFHAHGKJABKASBGA IM TEARING UP WTF WHY AM I GETTING EMOTIONAL- HONEY BUN THATS SO HOT OF YOU TO DO

oh… oh it’s time for round two? haha… time to… say my goodbyes….

yo… there are actual tears in my eyes… like… idk why… but that cutscene? shit man… that hit me…

hm… i feel bad for the shogun… ultimately, there is reason behind every act no matter how horrid. no matter how unreasonable, the reason one thinks of is always justified on their end. whatever everyone else thinks pay little effect on whether the act is fulfilled or not. also, her little laugh? i’m extra deceased.

the animation's fire as always wtf

oh but my kokoro... oof... my kokoro... ugh...

I’M SO FUCKING DONE AJKFHAKJBVAK- WE BEAT A HARBINGER AND FOR WHAT? she should’ve just tossed that gnosis into the ocean or smth...

HAH OMG SCARAMOUCHE. WHAT A MAN. I’M- I WAS RIGHT OMG. I HAD A LIL THEORY AND ITS JUST SMTH I HAD IN THE BACK OF MY MIND. I NEVER THOUGHT IT’LL ACTUALLY COME TRUE DEAR LORD. so now ig i have to admit i think abt him a lot and he has a soft spot in my heart 🥺 he’s evil you see and you know what my type is? evil men or at the very least, men with the potential to be evil. ugh so annoying.

scaramouche banner when

bc i sold everything worthy of money in me (read as my organs) for albedo, i'll sell my soul for him how about that?

EYE- makoto huh… well… fuck…

it’s day 400 of being ayato less even if he’s like… teased a million of times (jk it’s like… a grand total of seven but thats still p high)

im so… sigh…

i wonder if i’m still alive by the time sumeru releases… at the very least, i know my brain wouldn’t be.

....we were literally a captain for like... one second. that is so sad.

#˗ˋˏ°• afternoon tea rambles •°ˎˊ˗#inazuma spoilers

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madhyanas · 3 years

Text

a crack; a chasm

When the factory blows to all hell, the first thing Rex feels is relief.

Then he can’t find Commander Tano anywhere, and that relief curdles into something else.

Read this on AO3!

Characters: CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano

Rating: T/PG-13

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Ratings: Spoilers for s2ep6 of Star Wars: The Clone Wars - ‘Weapons Factory’. POV Rex. Missing scene, internal monologue. Mentions of explosions and building collapse. Descriptions of post-explosion wreckage, but no gore/claustrophobia. Platonic relationship. Mild angst. Mild character bashing [Luminara Unduli, from the narrator’s perspective.]

Notes: was rewatching this episode recently and aaaaAAAAAAA rex's body language after the factory explosion got to me. also i adore luminara so so so much do not associate me w luminara h8 i will curbstomp you <3 rex just. doesn’t agree w her very much in this. he’s valid.

masterlist

———

When the factory blows to all hell, the first thing Rex feels is relief. A minor dust storm billows out in the wake of the blast. As he and the men get down for cover, it’s a weight off his shoulders that this battle is almost won.

Then he can’t find Commander Tano anywhere, and that relief curdles into something else.

General Skywalker comms him immediately, ordering for half a dozen tank-lifters. It isn’t the order so much as how he gives it that sets the gears in motion. How many times has the man sounded worried?

This was a bad idea. They sent two Commanders into the catacombs armed with nothing but a memorised map, a handful of explosives, and their lightsabers. Jedi powers or no, it’s risky.

They’re commanders, Rex attempts to reason. Capable. But they are also young — so, so young — and he tries very hard not to think of the words suicide mission.

There are days when he’s grateful for his helmet; this is one of them. Stops the boys in the transport carrier from seeing his clenched jaw, the worry he feels for the girl trapped under a collapsed fortress.

A girl. A child. Adiik.

When the General tells him to start shifting the rubble, Rex is almost offended that he had to ask.

———

The conversation he overhears between the Generals is one he’d rather forget.

Eavesdropping isn’t something he makes a habit of either. Even with his brothers, Rex sticks to his own business unless someone else drags him into it.

But then the words drift over the scorched battlefield — “I won’t let Ahsoka die!” — and Rex has to wonder who the kriff had the gall to suggest otherwise. General Luminara Unduli, as it turns out. The only other person who should have as much at stake in getting to the commanders as Skywalker.

But Rex sees the Mirialan Jedi talk about mourning the commanders as if the debris is just a grave, as if they’re dead beneath her feet already. He doesn’t feel it when he bares his teeth. A silent snarl without a witness.

She was standing with her commander just hours ago. And now she’s offering eulogies like the galaxy could go on as normal. Like the war would ever really mean anything to Rex or General Skywalker without the kid. The procedural instinct in him sets off a slew of warning bells; that kind of defeatist talk has no place in war, before or after the battle.

Someone behind him calls his name, asking for assistance with the debris removal. He pauses for a second, staring at the backs of two generals that should never be so opposed on something as simple as this. Being under General Skywalker’s command is a small mercy sometimes. At least someone can fight for what they should be doing.

General Unduli’s shoulders are too relaxed for two missing children.

He’s this close to telling her as much. Probably for the best that we turns away. It’d be walking the line of insubordination, and his balance isn’t what it used to be.

Rex is grateful for the helmet, but not much else.

———

The General’s comm pings. The voice that filters through is faint, and though she’s far weaker than she ought to sound, it’s Ahsoka.

Speaking, breathing, living Ahsoka.

The pressure on his chest lets up at the sound. His ribs creak, his breathing becomes easier. Alive.

Rex is quick to offer the heavy-duty machinery. If she’s there then they should go get her. But the generals decide on the best move they’ve made all day — bypassing the lifters and opting to levitate the slabs of wreckage themselves.

It’s a marvel, watching two people float an entire wall of duracrete and steel with nothing but concentration. Rex still isn’t sure how it works. He doesn’t need to be.

Because after a handful of tense seconds, drawing the sweat from his brow and the throb in his temple, he sees it. A flash of familiar blue and white, covered in rusty Geonosian dust. A chain of beads glints in the sun; spindly limbs clamber out from under the rock.

Ahsoka’s smile is tired. It is blinding.

And suddenly Rex is grateful for something else, too.

———

He can’t hang around to greet her immediately. That’s always been a job for General Skywalker. Bringing each other back from the brink of death is a regular habit.

Not everyone is so lucky. Rex watches the stretchers dart past, knowing how slim a fraction will be saved. If in one piece, physically or otherwise. So many dead, so little ground gained. His next deployment will be soon. His shoulders ache.

“Hey, Rex.”

He turns at the voice. “Commander,” he greets. It sounds hollow, so he clears his throat. “Good to have you back.”

The kid beams. “Good to be back. Never thought I’d miss the weather up here.”

As Ahsoka glances up to the sky, she wrinkles her nose with distaste. A familiar expression. It cracks through his mind that she might never have done it again.

Again, procedure. Hypotheticals like that don’t help anyone but the Seppies.

A medic’s coming to look her over, he’ll be here in a while. There’s some time till then.

“Listen,” Rex starts, sounding so out of sorts that Ahsoka visibly straightens to attention. He winces.

“What’s wrong?”

Osik, Rex could laugh. What’s wrong, like he was the one inside the factory when it exploded. What’s wrong, like he was the one trapped under rubble for hours, running out of air. What’s wrong like she hadn’t nearly suffocated to death in a war she shouldn’t be anywhere near—

She’s older than him, he realises. Technically, if you go by standard years.

In my book, experience outranks everything.

She barely comes up to his shoulder.

Ahsoka blinks, then frowns. Her brow furrows into a crinkled, concerned splotch of white.

“Nothing,” Rex amends quickly, before realising he must sound like a fool. “It’s just—”

“Rex.”

Ahsoka’s giving him a look. The look, if he remembers Cody’s advice correctly. And now Rex is the one straightening, because even though her eyes are a little sunken and she might be swaying on her feet, that’s almost certainly one she learnt from General Kenobi.

He sighs. Then his arms drift upwards, and he swipes the helmet off.

It takes a few blinks for his eyes to adjust. This dust really gets everywhere.

The kid’s mouth has flattened into an awkward, patient line. But she’s not left yet.

The hand that wavers before him is awkward too. On instinct, it reaches out to hover over her head momentarily — she doesn’t like her montrals being touched — before landing with a gentle thud on her shoulder.

Adiik doesn’t so much as flinch, waiting for him to continue.

“It really is good to have you back,” Rex insists. “We thought you’d—” The word remains stuck on the back of his tongue. “Well. The war wouldn’t… be the same without you.”

He makes a face. What a shitty holocard that would be.

“Thanks, Rexster.” Her eyes crinkle. “Right back at you.”

When the medic eventually comes around, Rex takes it as his cue to leave.

As always, the commander doesn’t agree.

“Stay,” she blurts, one hand darting out to grab his elbow. “Please? Anakin’s still busy with…” She waves her other hadn’t around vaguely. “Jedi Master things.”

The words are blithe. Carefully constructed to be cheerful. Her fingers tighten around his elbow, digging in like hooks. She doesn’t blink as she waits for his answer.

“Sure thing, Commander.”

So he stays. Quiet settles over; the whole battlefield seems to comply, grating machinery tracks and whistling wind muffling to a soft hum in the background. The medic works in silence, offering a sharp nod in return to Rex’s own.

Until Ahsoka speaks up. “The war wouldn’t be the same without you. Some holocard that’d make, huh?”

Rex does a double take as Ahsoka grins, baring teeth. He wonders if she did that Jedi mind-reading… thing. Just for kicks.

Then again, probably not. She’s never needed it anyway.

———

#star wars #star wars fic #star wars: the clone wars #sw: tcw #ahsoka tano #captain rex #ct-7567 #rex star wars #gen fic #no ship #star wars: the clone wars fic #my writing #sw #teaofpeach #a crack; a chasm #sw: tcw s2ep6

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soysaucevictim · 3 years

Text

Taste The Heat

Summary: Remus has many reasons he enjoys doing exercise. It’s healthy. It’s distracting… let’s just say, there’s “self care” and then there’s self care. (Sanders Sides, Gym Rat AU. One-shot. Ao3 link.)

Genres: Slice of Life, PWP (?), Character Study (???)

Characters: Remus-centric. Roman, Patton, Logan, and Janus mentioned.

Relationships: Background Creativitwins (familial)

Warnings: S3xual content, masturbation, AFAB anatomy, frot, exhibitionism, omo (not emphasized), BDSM (mentioned), vomit (mentioned), monsterfucking (mentioned), Remus Being Remus, Trans Masc / Nonbinary Remus

It was a realization he had a couple years into this whole fitness journey or whatever his friends would call it.

Like, he wasn’t naive about basic anatomy.

He thought he knew some tried and true tricks to get the motor running. He’s seen himself some delights in the BDSM scene and he’s yawned about the more vanilla approaches to getting the rocks off. Don’t get him STARTED on all the kudos he dropped on monsterfucker fics. (Okay, actually, he’d love that. Please do.)

Padre and Microsoft Turd would happily tell him he was just making the old ticker good and strong. Which he’d grant them that, it’s nice not being as easily winded as he used to be as a bored-out-of-his-mind couch potato.

Anyways, unlike his brother’s over-achieving ass. He didn’t really walk into his workouts with much of a plan. He just loved how it all felt, loving the stimulation – to melt his stress and restless energy.

Feeling like you’re thirsty for air. Feeling like your body is on fire. Feeling like you’re about to puke your guts out.

Oh, but that’s not the FUN part. (Shocker, I know. Get it? You know “two in the pink...” well, he’d definitely snicker at that thought.)

He was pretty sure those guys or Jannie would happily prattle on about all the benefits of exercise. They’d probably enjoy educating him on the whys and the hows. But all Remus gave a shit about was that it felt awesome.

There were many exercises he loved to experience. Some because they looked silly and were fun to exaggerate.

Like there’s one where he gets to look like a donkey, kicking backwards. Blah blah, good for the hams, blah. He totally brayed just to see the look of embarrassment from his brother.

Or one that looks like a dog taking a leak. Something about hip flexors, or something. He even squeezed his eyes shut and made an excessively long “Ssss…” noise for effect.

Garnering an exasperated, “I hereby disown you as my brother. I do not know you. Good day, sir.”

(After everything the two of them had been through, he knew Roman was never serious about that.)

Or one that looks like you’re literally humping the air! (Not going to lie, that one hits the spot sometimes too. A perk to working out – no one knows if those stray grunts and moans were from exertion or something hornier.)

But there was one type of maneuver that really got him starry eyed.

Jumping jacks.

Why did elementary and high school PE class fail him so hard (hah) that he hadn’t known of their sorcery!? One could go on a tirade about how shitty the state of sex education is and was.

He wasn’t really fond of all the flowery euphemistic shit directed at half the class about the subject. He saw “Carrie”, he knew what to expect. Well, mostly. Granted, having telekinesis as part of the puberty package would have kicked ass. Why’d he have to be in one of the boring universes where that wasn’t a thing?

Anyways, he was in the zone, during one of these workout sessions.

10. 20. 30...

He had a small amount of stiffness in the Achilles while they got all warmed up. Slowly, his calves got to a lovely burn. Being a certain glutton for punishment made that part so satisfying already. But this stage was merely the hors d'oeuvres.

40. 50...

How satisfying it was to bounce to the beat of his music, feeling like all his systems started to tick in time like a metronome. It was already approaching a state of Zen – which his constantly restless brain always appreciated.

60. 69 - pffft. Nonono. Keep going! You’ve barely gotten started!

70. Almost… the blood flow and the way the seam of his shorts rhythmically rubbed against him was starting to feel good.

80. Almost there… the endorphins and happy chemicals had to be kicking in now. The burn falling away from focus.

90. Come on… he knew it was coming. He believed his own sweat and other fluids helped in letting the hood press and slide against his now awake clit.

100. The pressure of his thighs and pelvic floor clenching for every rep and the friction of it all started to make him tingle.

110. Just a little more...

120. Stars. It was like an electric shock that sent a shiver up his spine. He wondered if he pissed himself. He wanted to stop right there and take his hand down to keep that stimulation going to a fever-pitch. But, no, not yet.

He wanted to make this last for as many sets as he could. And his calves needed to recover.

He gave himself 2 minutes tops.

After shaking himself loose, it was time for round two! (FIGHT.)

130. 140. 150…

Anticipation and arousal were already speeding up.

150. He was sweating buckets.

160. 170…

He felt himself start to quiver.

180… BAM. Another explosion. He was certain he was wet now. He wanted to crumple and go manual and moan loudly and ugly. But what eked out of his mouth was a giddy shudder.

He took a few deep breathes and rested another minute or so.

His mouth getting dry on him, he had the presence of mind to chug down some water.

Again! AGAIN!

190. 200. 210…

He was hyper-aware of the feeling of engorgement. He was about to keen again, feeling how sensitized he had become.

220. 230…

Sheer bliss stole his breath. He felt like he was practically floating. He could barely feel his arms anymore.

240. Woof. Words and thoughts started falling apart in his mind, at that point.

He had to to say it was one of the perks of having a "front hole" – multiple climaxes.

Or to put in another way, the savage lands held many adventures. If he was feeling particularly eloquent, which he wasn’t at that point.

Sometimes it was too easy to forget how many sets he managed to get through in a session – often only stopping because his shoulders and calves stopped working anymore.

Oh gods, was he going to be sore for days after this. He was going to hobble around like an old person. Moving around was going to be painful and hilarious. He already felt them start to ache – faintly wondering if he overdid it again and pulverized the hell out of them.

That didn’t stop him from releasing an exhausted cackle, “WORTH IT.”

“What?”

“Man, if working out doesn’t get you hard, I don’t know WHAT you’re doing with your life.”

“Aaand I immediately regret asking the question. Thanks.”

Remus cackled some more and sauntered, okay it was more like he limped, over to the bathroom to finish himself off. He forgot just how much water he guzzled to stay hydrated, so he needed to relieve himself anyways. To be sure, that added to the fun.

Most people would think it disgusting to do in a public bathroom, but that’s a fuck he could never give. No one else was in there anyways.

Being able to just sigh in complete contentment after it all, was enough.

This didn’t happen every day, because he was only human. Regrettably. And he was no stranger to biting off more than he could chew. (Hey, at least it was still only 1-2 with Roman for hospital visits… in recent memory. From workouts, anyways.)

He took that experience to be even more curious about where he can rediscover that piece of euphoria in as many sessions he possibly could, going forward. Besides occasionally rubbing his brother’s nose in beating his records – the only PB he gave a shit about was how many covert jollies he could squeeze out of himself.

If he ever decided to clue people in... the regulars at the gym have eventually learned it best not to ask him to elaborate on what that was about.

Especially not Steve.

#spilled musing #sanders sides #remus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #not safe for sanders #(don't wanna softblock young-ins on this one but i will if i gotta)#(i don't write a lot of this kind of stuff so yeah)#(if no one follows my fandom blog they might be wondering where the hell this came from)#(more info on this one on ao3)#(remus just loves embarrassing his bro - as sibs are wont to do)#adventures with fitness #(sort of... grief is balls)#(but it was a lot of fun to write!)#gymrat au

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seeaddywrite · 4 years

Text

not a place, but a feeling

a/n: written for alex manes appreciation week 2020, day 1. i used the theme ‘home can be a person,’ but took a lot of liberties, whoops? thanks as always to @soberqueerinthewild for catching all of my repetition, wacky tenses, & holding my hand through the last 5k words of this fic, haha.

warnings: starts with forlex, but this is very clearly a malex fic & forrest does not end up particularly happy. angst with a happy ending, as per usual. 8k+ wordcount.

________

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Alex mutters to himself, turning the key in his SUV’s ignition for the third time and hoping for a miracle. The engine wheezes, sputters a few times, and finally settles into a high-pitched whine that sets Alex’s teeth on edge. Apparently, the ‘check engine’ light on his dash that morning had been more urgent than he’d expected -- and now, he’s stuck somewhere between Jim Valenti’s old hunting cabin and town. Fantastic. He’d already been running late to meet Forrest thanks to taking way too long to pick an outfit for their first official date, and now he’s over half an hour late.

As if it read his mind, Alex’s phone starts to ring, Forrest’s name flashing across the display. Groaning, Alex accepts the call and tries to crank the engine one more time. The attempt results in a screech and an alarming puff of smoke emerging from beneath the hood. With a bitten-off curse, Alex yanks the key from the ignition and throws the car door open, hastily putting a safe distance between himself and the smoking vehicle. Logic tells him that the smoke isn’t necessarily a precursor to an explosion, or even a fire, but years of military training and instinct are impossible to ignore.

“Hello? Hello? Alex, are you there?”

Alex glances from the still-smoking SUV to the phone in his palm, the source of the tinny-sounding voice calling his name. Frustrated with himself, he smacks a hand against his face and answers, hoping Forrest hasn’t already hung up on him. “Hey, yeah, I’m here. Sorry -- my car doesn’t want to start, and I guess I cranked it one too many times, because the engine just started smoking.”

For a moment, the only thing Alex hears on the other end of the line is blaring music. “I should probably not be relieved that your car blew up, huh?” Forrest asks, a self-deprecating laugh clear even through the pounding bass in the background. “I was starting to think you were standing me up.”

“What? Why would you think that?” Alex asks, putting the call on speaker so he could pull up Guerin’s contact information and start a new text while he listens. There’s no one else he could call at this hour, and he needs to be able to get to base on Monday, one way or the other. Michael would probably be able to fix the SUV, and even if he couldn’t do it overnight, he’d at least get Alex a loaner car for a few days while he did. And, after that, Alex wouldn’t have to worry about something like this happening again anytime soon; he could trust that Michael would actually fix the problem entirely, unlike any other mechanics in Roswell -- or in general, honestly.

My car gave up on me halfway to town. Any chance of some help?

It only occurs to Alex after the message has gone through that he should probably be a little more apprehensive about texting Guerin out of nowhere, but he’s really not. The two of them make a hell of a team, and after spending so much time together unravelling the mysteries of Nora and Tripp, and everything that came after, Alex is more confident than ever that Michael will always be part of his life -- even if it’s not in the way he’d initially hoped it would be. They’re family, whether or not they’re sleeping together, and Alex doesn’t doubt that anymore.

“Well, you weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea of going to Planet 7,” Forrest is saying, answering Alex’s question about why he would stand him up, and Alex feels guilty for not giving him his full attention. “And I kind of pressured you into it. I thought maybe you changed your mind.”

It’s a fair assumption, Alex supposes. He hadn’t been thrilled with the suggestion of going to Roswell’s only gay bar, even after finding the courage to push his father’s hateful words and judgements out of his mind for long enough to pull Forrest into a kiss in the middle of the Wild Pony. But he’s not the kind of guy to agree to something he really doesn’t want to do for a date, and he’d assumed Forrest would know that -- like Guerin would have. But Forrest is different from Michael; he has no reason to take Alex at his word, lacks the intimate knowledge of who Alex is that Michael has somehow managed to collect through ten years of hook-ups, break ups, and hurt feelings. And that’s not Forrest’s fault -- so Alex needs to learn to communicate better, somehow, if this has any chance of working out.

“I’m still planning on coming,” he promises, looking out at the darkened horizon, visible only because of the moonlight. “Seriously, I would’ve been there already if it weren’t for the fact that my car decided that tonight was the night it was giving up on me. I’m really looking forward to seeing you.”

There’s an audible smile in Forrest’s voice as he responds, and Alex feels vaguely proud of himself for managing to put it there, despite everything. “Okay, awesome. Want me to come get you? It’s late, so I doubt anyone’s going to be able to tow you before morning. And trust me, you don’t need to rough it in the desert overnight to prove what a badass you are. I already know.”

Alex laughs, and opens his mouth to retort -- but his phone dings, signalling an incoming barrage of messages, and Alex opens them with a swipe of his thumb, once again distracted from the phone conversation.

Let me guess. You decided to ignore your check engine light again.

Or was it an oil change you put off for six months?

You realize routine maintenance isn’t actually a suggestion, right? You either get it done, or you end up stranded in the middle of the desert begging for a ride.

On my way now with the tow now. Can you give me anything more specific than halfway to town, or am I supposed to just drive and hope for the best?

Alex snaps a picture of the nearest mile marker with the flash on, and sends it to Guerin with a quick, I plead the 5th. See you soon.

“Hello? Alex! Alex, are you --”

Alex winces guiltily and puts the phone hurriedly back to his ear. “Sorry, sorry, I’m still here. What were you saying?”

Again, all Alex hears for a long moment is the thudding of the bass from whatever stupid pop song the DJ is playing, and he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. He already basically missed their date, and now he’s only half paying attention while Forrest is kind and understanding about it. Alex doesn’t deserve his patience.

“I was asking you where you are. I’ll come get you, and we can still get in a few hours of shitty music and half-off beer,” Forrest reiterates patiently, though Alex can tell he’s starting to reach the end of his reserves of understanding. And, considering the circumstances, Alex doesn’t blame him.

“No, don’t worry about it! That’s pretty far out of your way. I already have a tow truck coming, so I’ll just have them give me a ride into town, and I’ll meet you like we planned.” Alex pauses, reflecting on his words and wondering when, exactly, he’d decided to avoid using Michael’s name… and why. It’s not like Forrest didn’t already know that the two of them were good friends. It’s not like it meant anything, that Alex called Michael to help -- his car broke down, and Michael is a mechanic. None of that added up to anything that he needed to lie to Forrest about.

And yet.

“You found a garage open at this hour in Roswell?” Forrest asked incredulously. “I can’t even get fast food past eight, so you’re going to have to share some of your black market contacts.”

The expectation of a laugh is pretty obvious, so Alex manages a slightly strained chuckle. “Uh, well, I can probably hook you up with a burger at the Crashdown after hours, but that’s about it,” he retorts, even though Liz is long-gone, and the chances of after-hours snacks at the diner are a lot lower without her. “I just called Guerin, tonight. He pretty much runs Sanders’ garage these days, and lives out back, so it’s no big deal for him to come get me.”

Alex opts to ignore the fact that he knows Michael doesn’t usually drop whatever he’s doing to rescue stranded motorists who aren’t smart enough to get their vehicle to a garage when the ‘check engine’ light comes on when he’s not working. That’s just what friends do for each other, and Alex would do the same, if their positions were reversed.

“Oh.” Alex doesn’t know Forrest well enough to read the emotion in the short syllable, but he’s not naive enough to think he sounds pleased. “You two must be pretty good friends if he’s giving up his Friday night plans to come pick you up, huh?”

It seems like a loaded question, so Alex just says, “We’ve known each other a long time,” in response, and glances up as a set of slowing headlights wash over him. Sanders’ tow truck pulls off to the side of the road in front of Alex’s SUV, and Michael waves from the window, familiar curls bouncing from the motion. Alex waves back with a grin.

“He’s pulling up now, actually, so I’m going to get off of here. I’ll give you a call and let you know when I’m five minutes out, if you still want to try to spend some time together tonight?”

Alex watches as Michael hops out of the truck and starts toward him with the usual swagger in his stride. It’s hard to tell what he was doing before he got Alex’s text, because he’s wearing the same ragged jeans and worn jacket that Alex has seen him in a hundred times, but there’s enough volume in his curls to suggest he put some effort into his hair. A date with Maria, maybe? Or hanging out with Isobel, who loved to make fun of his hair if he didn’t put the effort in?

“Yeah, okay,” Forrest says, recapturing Alex’s attention for a minute. “I’ll stay and have a few drinks, and I’ll see you when you get here. Tell Michael I said ‘hey.’”

“Will do,” Alex says, and ends the call just as Michael reaches him, hand extended for the keys.

“So?” he asks, and despite the darkness, Alex knows exactly what the teasing expression on Michael’s face looks like. It’s always the same -- a furrowed brow, a mischievous glint in his eyes, even as he manages to keep his lips from turning up in a too-obvious smile. It’s a look that never ceases to make Alex’s heartbeat speed up, even now, when they’ve moved past any real chance of romantic reconciliation. “Which one was it? Check engine light or skipped oil change?”

Alex rolls his eyes, but tosses his keys into Michael’s open palm. “Look, it’s not my fault that the check engine light comes on when you need an oil change -- who wouldn’t assume that’s the problem and keep driving?” They’ve had this argument before; Alex always takes his car to Michael when something goes wrong, and Michael always has to point out that Alex sucks at taking care of an engine. At this point, Alex would almost be disappointed if the mocking stopped.

Michael shakes his head in faux disappointment and disappears to pop the hood, leaving Alex to follow behind and watch. Another wave of smoke wafts into the night sky when the hood opens, and Michael sends Alex a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “Seriously? How many times did you try to start it when it made the grinding noise? A hundred? This would’ve taken me two minutes to fix if you hadn’t kept pushing it.” He’s pulled a flashlight from somewhere and is shining the beam down into the guts of the SUV, staring at what, to Alex, looks like a bunch of hoses, wires, and smoke.

“Sorry,” Alex says sheepishly. “Don’t worry about it tonight if it’s going to take a while -- I’m sure you had plans. We can just tow it back to town and worry about it again on Monday, during actual working hours.”

There’s a clank and a thud, and another plume of smoke curls up from the engine. Michael groans, and straightens up to slam the hood closed. “Yeah, okay, I give up. Let’s just get it on the truck and I’ll figure out what you did to it when I can actually see what I’m doing.” They both take a few steps back, and Michael turns, looking down the silent road for a minute before glancing back at Alex. “I’m going to cheat, since there’s no one else around. You can just get in the truck if you want. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Michael doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s staring intensely at the SUV. After a moment, with a slide of gravel and the squeal of tires, the SUV moves up the ramp on its own. There’s a thud as the connections fasten under the guidance of Michael’s metaphysical hands, and a few minutes later, they’re on their way back into Roswell.

For once, the silence between them isn’t loaded with things they should have said. Alex is reclined in the seat, relaxed and comfortable with someone he trusts driving -- but the ease of the atmosphere evaporates quickly when Michael asks, “So where am I dropping you? Do you need a ride back out to your place?”

It shouldn’t be this hard to tell Michael that he’s meeting Forrest. They haven’t been together in a long time, if they ever really even were -- and Michael has Maria. It’s not like he’s going to be upset. But the words feel stuck in Alex’s throat as he opens his mouth to answer, and his stomach squirms unpleasantly. “Uh, no,” he says. “I’m actually … meeting someone. At Planet 7.” His eyes are locked on the road straight ahead, but Alex can’t help himself; he glances at Michael through his periphery to check for a reaction.

Michael’s shoulders have lost their comfortable slouch, and his spine is rigid. He obviously still cares about who Alex is spending his time with -- but Alex isn’t going to apologize. They’re both moving on, and they need to remember that.

“Yeah,” Michael says finally. “I kind of guessed. You’re pretty dressed up for a night of snacks in front of the TV.”

Alex glances down at himself, taking in the dark-wash jeans and button-up shirt he’d selected for the occasion. “I guess so,” he agrees, sighing. “Uh, what were you doing with your night, before you were rudely interrupted by my smoking engine?” It’s not the most graceful subject change, but Alex doesn’t really care as long as they’re away from the topic of Forrest.

Michael snorts. “Trust me, I was relieved you called -- it’s my night to babysit Max and make sure he doesn’t take off after Liz. Towing a car is way more exciting than watching him boohoo into his beer.”

“I’m surprised you’re not glued to Maria’s side, since she just got out of the hospital.” Alex had only been trying to keep the conversation moving steadily away from his own date that night; he doesn’t expect Michael to go rigid in response. He blinks, turning in the passenger seat to get a better look at Michael’s expression, but he’s gone blank.

“Maria and I are over.” The answer, when it comes, is terse and definitely over-simplified, but Alex knows better than to ask for details. If Michael wanted to share, he would have already, and while friends might have license to pry into each other’s personal life, Alex doesn’t want Michael doing the same in return, so he stays quiet aside from a soft, “I’m sorry.”

The drive loses the easy sense of camaraderie after that. Alex spends the next twenty minutes into town fighting with a small, cruel voice in the back of his head that keeps whispering celebratory words about Michael’s break-up. They’re friends now. Friends don’t think like that, but even after a decade of separation, it’s hard not to think of Michael as more than a friend. Alex hopes that he just needs some practice; otherwise, none of this is going to end well.

Planet 7 isn’t exactly in the middle of town, but Michael finds it without any direction. Alex slides out of the passenger seat when he sees Forrest coming toward them, smiling, and glances back at Michael. “Thanks for the help, Guerin,” he says earnestly. “I really appreciate it.”

Michael nods, his expression still tense, though Alex thinks that’s less about his break-up and more about Forrest, now. “No problem. If you need a ride home, just let me know.”

Forrest has reached them by this point; one of his arms falls over Alex’s shoulders, and Alex only startles for a moment before relaxing again when he realizes who’s touching him. Michael’s eyes narrow slightly, but not enough to be noticeable to someone who isn’t really looking.

“That won’t be necessary,” Forrest tells Michael pleasantly, though he’s standing closer than he ever has before when they aren’t joined at the mouth. Alex sighs inwardly -- this is what he’d been trying to avoid. He doesn’t want Forrest thinking he needs to compete with Michael. Competition and jealousy in a relationship never ends well, and Alex wants one good thing in his life. Surely that’s not too much to ask? “I’ll make sure he gets home in one piece. Thanks for bringing him though, Alien Dude!”

Michael nods at Forrest, then glances back at Alex, an unreadable expression in his dark gaze. “I’ll call you tomorrow about the SUV,” he promises. “It might take me a couple of hours, but I’ll get it up and running for you by Monday. You need to be on base by six, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Guerin -- I owe you one.” Really, he’s lost track of who’s one-upping who when it comes to favors, but Alex isn’t interested in keeping score, and he doesn’t think Michael cares much, either.

Michael nods at them one more time, his eyes lingering on Alex’s face for long enough to make him start to squirm, and then he’s gone, disappearing in a plume of exhaust and the groan of overworked machinery, leaving Alex and Forrest staring after his his taillights and Alex feeling strangely bereft.

“All right,” Forrest says, his voice twice as cheerful as it had been only a moment ago. “Let’s get the night started, shall we? You missed out on Happy Hour, but I scored you a feather boa anyway.”

Alex laughs, letting the teasing ease him back from thinking about Michael and into focusing on Forrest and their plans. This is the path he’d chosen, the person he’d chosen. He’s never going to give up on being a part of Michael’s life, and he’ll protect the aliens and their secret with everything he has in him to make up for what his family did to theirs. But Michael can be his family without being his lover, and Alex needs to stop confusing the two before he winds up heartbroken and alone all over again.

Sometimes, love just isn’t enough. Cosmic doesn’t mean much without commitment, without trust, and there are too many complicated feelings between Alex and Michael to make a go of it. So he smiles, leans into Forrest’s side, and allows himself to be led into Planet 7 with a warm arm draped over his shoulders.

*******

Despite the anxiety leading up to their first few dates, being with Forrest turns out to be surprisingly easy. He’s smart and funny, quick with a witty comment or self-deprecating joke, and never pushes Alex further than he’s willing to be pushed. He understands Alex’s service background and love of writing, even if music isn’t his preferred medium, and encourages Alex to dress and act in a way that makes him feel true to himself. Alex smiles a lot around him, and laughs, and starting their relationship feels like sliding into an old, worn jacket -- soft and comfortable, without any real friction.

“So, basically, you’re bored,” Maria summarizes, after Alex finishes telling her about how smoothly things are going. They’re in the Wild Pony just after opening, Maria in her usual position behind the bar, Alex sitting on a stool opposite. She’s only been back to work for a few weeks after her stint in the hospital, but there’s no sign of weakness in the way she runs her business -- or the way she’s looking at him now.

“What? No! That’s not what I mean,” Alex argues, shaking his head quickly. “I said things are comfortable between us. That doesn’t mean I’m bored!”

Maria raised an eyebrow, her brightly-painted fingernails tapping against the bar. She’s dressed fairly conservatively tonigh in a flannel shirt and a pair of form-fitting jeans, but her nails are painted in pastels, a minor homage to her usual style. “Sweetie, you’ve been dating for what, two weeks? Relationships that new aren’t supposed to be easy, and definitely not comfortable. Two weeks in is like the honeymoon! You’re supposed to want to spend every waking moment together, to have to fight to keep your hands off of each other -- and instead of telling me about how hot he makes you, you’re comparing him to an old coat.” Skepticism drips from her words, and Alex crosses his arms over his chest and stares back at her in return annoyance.

“We’re taking things slow,” he says, and winces inwardly at the defensive tone.

While it’s true that Alex hasn’t exactly had to fight to keep his hands off of Forrest, he hasn’t been fully honest about them agreeing to take their sexual relationship slowly. Alex isn’t a prude, and it’s not that Forrest isn’t exactly his type. He’s just been unsure about taking that next step. Every time their dates end up at Forrest’s place -- and it’s honestly just a coincidence that Forrest has never stayed at Alex’s. It’s just always worked out that way; Alex isn’t trying to keep him out of his personal space -- and their goodbye turns into a little more than kiss, there’s always something holding Alex back from letting the moment continue. Forrest is great about it, and smiles when Alex pulls away, but after four dates and four attempts at moving onto second base, Alex can tell he’s starting to get frustrated.

Honestly, so is Alex. He doesn’t know why he’s so reticent to sleep with his boyfriend. Forrest has always been embarrassingly up front about finding Alex sexy, and he’s never so much as blinked at the realities of Alex’s amputation or scars -- but even so, Alex can’t do it. He’s just not ready.

But he’ll be damned if he admits any of that to Maria. Alex has no desire to know how she’d read into that information whatsoever.

“Uh-huh, right. Slow.” Maria pours a shot of whiskey into two glasses and slides one across the bartop to him, eyebrows raised in challenge, and Alex makes a face, but clinks his shot glass against Maria’s and knocks it back. “Okay, great. Are you drunk enough to tell me the truth now, or --”

“Whoa, shots before the sun goes down? And here I thought I was the town drunk.”

When Alex turns, he finds himself face-to-face with a smirking Michael Guerin. He’s wearing his usual jeans and open-collared shirt, black cowboy hat tipped forward on his head, and he’s obviously trying to act nonchalant. But Alex knows that he’s been avoiding Maria ever since she broke up with him -- Maria had been complaining about it half an hour ago. With that in mind, he looks at Michael again, and sees the tense lines around his eyes and the sharp edges of his smile.

“I think I’ve got a ways to go before I’m even tipsy,” Alex retorts, shaking his head in bemusement. “But you’re welcome to join us and see how many shots it takes.” In the weeks since their last meeting, it’s gotten easier to be around Michael without worrying about saying or doing the wrong thing. They’ve relaxed back into their usual banter, supported by genuine care for each other, and Alex isn’t spending every second of every interaction analyzing microexpressions anymore. It’s a nice change, and he’s planning on doing whatever he can to make sure it sticks around this time.

“You have no idea how much I wish I could,” Michael groans, and gestures over one shoulder with his thumb. Alex follows the movement and finds Isobel and Max Evans settling into a table at the back of the bar. Isobel’s perfectly-lined eyes are rolling in what can only be exasperation, and Max just looks miserable. There are bags beneath his eyes, and his hair and beard have seen better days, while Isobel is her usual immaculate self in floral dress with a flowing skirt and an updo. “Iz decided she’s had enough of Max’s moping and wants to get him laid.”

The disbelieving noise that escapes from Alex’s throat really isn’t a reflection on Max’s looks -- he has no doubt that, if his heart were in it, the defacto leader of Michael’s little family could find someone to take home with him. But the guy is clearly miserable and heartbroken over Liz’s departure, still. There’s no way Isobel’s going to convince him to pick anyone up tonight, no matter how many beautiful women she parades past the table.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Michael says, shaking his head. “I told her she’s crazy. Max has been pining over Liz for longer than he’s known how to speak in complete sentences. There’s no way he’s moving on that easy -- but you know how Isobel is.” He shrugs, a what can you do? sort of gesture, and Alex is stopped from answering by Maria clearing her throat pointedly from behind the bar.

Michael glances her way, his shoulders tensing for a second, but his smile is only slightly strained. “‘Sup, Deluca?” he asks. “I need three of whatever you’ve got on tap.” The interaction is wholly impersonal, and Alex almost winces for Maria, who definitely didn’t miss the cool tone in Michael’s voice as he spoke to her. Obviously, he’s still upset about the break-up, or at least holding onto some hard feelings. It’s not like Alex can blame him either, as much as he wants to be able to take Maria’s side, or at least understand her perspective. But Alex knows what it’s like to love Michael Guerin, and he knows what it’s like to lose him, and he can’t understand why Maria would put herself through that if she didn’t have to. She hasn’t really explained herself, either, to Michael or to Alex, so it’s almost impossible to empathize.

“You should come hang out,” Michael invites, when Maria turns away to get his drinks. “There’s already a crowd, so she’s going to be too busy to chat soon.” He’s right; the Pony has filled up while Maria grilled him on Forrest, and there’s already a line forming at the bar. For now, the second bartender has it covered, but it won’t be long before Maria will have to devote her full attention to running drinks. “You get company, I have someone to buffer and maybe stop me from killing one of my siblings . . . it’s a win-win situation, really.”

Alex chuckles, and nods his easy agreement. He’s not entirely sure how he feels about Max Evans after what he did to Flint -- it’s not like he hadn’t had a good reason to want the man dead, considering what he’d done, but despite all of his sins, Flint is still Alex’s brother. But it’s hard to look at the guy moping in a bar full of people and see a cold-blooded killer, and Alex wants to like Max. Plus, Isobel is always good for a laugh and at least one ridiculous story, and Alex never needs much of an excuse to spend time with Michael. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “But I’m telling you, if Max starts crying into his cup, I’m out of there.”

“Deal,” Michael agrees with a laugh. He heads back to the table with Isobel and Max, his body language getting looser the further he gets from Maria. Alex wonders if he realizes how much more relaxed he seems as he rejoins Max and Isobel -- before Max’s death, that was the last word he would have used to describe Michael in his presence, but now, it’s like something has clicked between them, and Guerin is clearly most comfortable with his family.

Alex tries not to hope that extends to him.

“He’s still giving you the cold shoulder, huh?” Alex asks, once Michael is out of earshot. He’ll go join them in a minute, after he has a chance to say goodbye to Maria and try, one more time, to figure out why she’d ended a relationship that seemed to make her genuinely happy.

Sighing, Maria nods. “Guess so. I was hoping that it’d get better, once he finally started coming back to the Pony, but --” she waves a hand in Guerin’s vague direction, the golden bangles on her wrist clacking together. “I get a ‘hey, how are you?’ and a ‘I’ll take a beer, please,’ and that’s about it. He doesn’t even try to get out of paying anymore, and I never thought I’d be bummed about that.” Her nose wrinkles, and Maria hunches forward over her elbows on the bar, looking run down. “I miss him, you know?”

Alex knows. Intimately. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have broken up with him?” he suggests leadingly, hoping that he’ll get a reason without having to ask, explicitly, why Maria had ended things. The suggestion sends a brief shock of something through his chest, but Alex doesn’t let himself stop to analyze it.

Maria rolls her eyes, but there’s a lingering sadness in them that Alex could pick up from across town. He knows Maria too well to fall for the act she’s putting on, and they both know it. “I had to,” she says finally, the words slow enough that Alex can tell she’s thinking it through even as she answers. “I didn’t want to, but—“ The sentence hangs in the air between them, but Maria doesn’t finish; instead, she shrugs. “I didn’t doubt that he loved me, you know. That wasn’t it— I know he thinks it was. But when you went missing, he just... didn’t think. Didn’t stop to ask for help, or wonder what he was walking into. He just started off on this crusade to get you back, all on his own.”

Alex opens his mouth, ready to tell her that Michael would have done the same for her, and that kind of recklessness probably isn’t a healthy, positive trait in a stable relationship, but Maria silences him with a look.

“Every time I called, every time I needed him— it wasn’t like that. He was always there, he always showed up for me— I’m not complaining! But Michael never jumped without looking, without thinking first, when it came to me. He was never desperate, or past reason, you know? He always managed to keep his secrets, or protect his family while he was saving me. But he didn’t do that when it came to you. Michael thought you were in real, mortal danger, and his first instinct was to do whatever was necessary to save you, and screw whoever else it might hurt.”

What the hell is he supposed to say to that? He sees where Maria is going with her explanation, now, and he’s not proud of the small, smug feeling hiding beneath the incredulity growing under his breastbone. “Maria, that’s not --”

“And,” Maria interrupts, raising her voice as if determined to be heard, whether Alex wants to listen or not. “As stupid as it sounds, considering the sci-fi horror movie our lives have become, I want someone to be that desperate at the thought of losing me.” Maria laughs, then, a short, self-deprecating sound. “I don’t want to play second-fiddle to the one great love of his life, Alex. As much as I love him, as much as I believe he loves me, dating isn’t fair for either of us.”

Alex stares at her, his lips parted as he flounders for the right words. He’s torn between trying to convince her that she’s wrong, that he and Michael are doing well at being friends and that it’s enough, and telling her that maybe she’s right, that it was never going to work out, and he wants her to be happy.

“That’s not— he’s not—“ Alex can’t argue, really. He knows, deep down, in the same part of his subconscious that knows the sky is blue and the grass is green, that Michael would do anything for him, and Alex would do the same in return. Even when they couldn’t look at each other without wanting to scream or cry, they’d always done their best to protect one another, and Alex doesn’t think that’s ever going to change. He’d promised Michael, once, that he’d keep him safe from his family, from the government, and Alex isn’t going to go back on his word on the off-chance that Michael and Maria might manage to work things out.

“Look, Maria,” he says finally. “Helena asked him to build a weapon of mass destruction.” The words feel the words like they’re being torn from his throat, but Alex perseveres. “And he did it. If she’d wanted him to build a bomb that could kill everyone in town, or more— he really might have done it, no matter who got hurt, just like you said.” Another full shot glass appears in front of him when he pauses, and Alex throws it back without a second thought, hoping the liquor will ease the ache caused by reliving everything that’s gone wrong with Guerin. “And how am I supposed to live with that? Knowing what he might do? What I could do, if our roles got reversed?”

The question is as good as admitting that Alex still has feelings for Michael, and he knows it. Hiding things, especially feelings, from Maria DeLuca has always been all but impossible, and this time, she’d barely had to give him a nudge before he spilled his guts. Damn it. How is he supposed to go over and drink with Michael and his family now?

“See? The fact that you didn’t even try to deny it is pretty telling, Alex,” Maria says, her lips quirked at the corners. “Instead, you immediately jump to how dangerous the lengths you’d go to for each other are. And yeah, maybe it’s a bad idea for you to be together -- I don’t know. That’s for you two to figure out.” Soft hands tighten around his. “But I had to make a choice for myself, too, and now I’m sure I made the right one.”

The noises of the bar and growing crowd around them fill the silence until Alex squeezes Maria’s hands and moves to pull back to say goodbye, before Guerin comes back to ask what’s taking so long -- the last thing either of them need is for Michael to overhear this conversation. But Maria’s grip tightens instead of releasing, and when Alex glances up at her, eyebrow raised in question, she’s staring at him with a strange intensity that tells him he really, really doesn’t want to hear whatever she’s about to say next.

“Don’t you think that Forrest should have a chance to make that choice?” she asks, and Alex yanks his hands free as he slides down from the barstool, more than ready to tell Maria to have a good night and leave. “I know you don’t want to hear it, Alex, but dating him is no different than Michael dating me. And--”

“And what, Maria?” Alex demands sharply. “You want me to tell you that I’m not sure about Forrest? You want me to admit there are times when we’re together that I have to remind myself that he’s not Michael, and I can’t expect him to know stupid things like the fact that I never remember to get a freaking oil change? Yeah, okay! I’ve been in love with Michael since I was seventeen. I can’t just flip a switch and stop feeling that way, even if it’s the right thing to do!”

Flustered at the sudden deluge of feeling and irritated by Maria’s pushing, Alex barely registers when Maria’s gaze jerks to one side and widens. “Alex -”

But he’s been holding back for weeks, months, years of watching Michael with other people and trying to open himself up to dating, too, and Alex isn’t ready to stop talking now that he’s started. So he ploughs forward, ignoring her interruption. “But you can’t compare yourself with Forrest, either -- it’s not the same. We’re dating! It’s fun, but he’s not in love with me. It’s not --”

“Alex!”

“Oh, no, don’t interrupt him on my account.”

Fuck. Like he was free-falling from a plane without the guarantee of a parachute, Alex’s stomach sinks and flips.

Forrest.

Alex spins around to find the guy he’s supposed to be dating standing less than a foot away, back and to Alex’s right, just a little in front of the crowd that now stretches from the entrance to the bar itself. Horror and guilt bloom in his stomach, making him feel nauseous. Alex struggles to make his mouth form words, his mind spinning as he tries to put together an explanation for whatever Forrest had just heard -- and what had he heard? How long has he been standing there? Alex honestly has no fucking clue, and the horrified, apologetic expression on Maria’s face suggests that she doesn’t, either. “I --” Alex shakes his head and forces a smile on his face. He can only hope it doesn’t look too fake. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” he says, biting his lower lip.

Both of Forrest’s eyebrows lift high enough that they disappear into his hairline. “Yeah, I’d say that’s pretty obvious,” he drawls, arms crossed defensively over his chest. Alex’s heartbeat speeds as the uncomfortable moment stretches between them, and for once, he’s grateful when someone drops a quarter in the jukebox and starts blaring an old country song at top volume. It cuts through the awkwardness a little, at least. “I came to meet a couple of friends who wanted to talk about plans to expand Open Mic night -- so, imagine my surprise when I came over here and heard the guy I’m dating talking about still being in love with his ex.”

Alex grips the edge of the bar, hard, and looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he says quietly, the words barely audible over the din of the bar. “Can we maybe go somewhere to talk about this? I know I owe you an explanation, and I didn’t mean to --”

But Forrest shakes his head before he can even finish the sentence, lips thin and eyes hard. “Look,” he says, and the timbre of his voice matches the look in his eyes. “We haven’t been dating long, and you really don’t owe me an explanation. I’ve known you have history with Guerin since we met at the barn, and it’s not like I haven’t had plenty of clues since then that you’re not over him.” He runs fingers through his vibrantly blue hair, looking away from Alex while his jaw clenches and unclenches. When his gaze meets Alex’s again, the anger is still obvious, but this time, resignation is, too. “I mean, come on. You called him to come pick you up for our first date, when I could have come to get you just as easily after the car died. And last week, when you were talking to Liz in the car? You should have seen the way your face lit up when you started telling her about how he’s thinking about going to college or whatever. And that song -- fuck. How did I miss that the song was about him?”

Forrest paces in a small circuit around the barstools in their immediate area, and Alex remains silent, unable to say or do anything to defend himself or correct Forrest -- because everything he’s said is true. Alex may not have realized it, and he’d truly gone into this relationship with the best of intentions, but he’d never really wanted Forrest. He’d liked the way he felt with Forrest, enjoyed being flirted with and pushed out of the comfort zone he’d hidden within for so long, and Alex had mistaken liking Forrest’s company for romantic feelings. And all the while, he’d been trying to push away real romantic feelings for Guerin, like he’d been doing for the last decade of his life.

God, he’s such an asshole.

“So. Here it is. I’m going to go home, get drunk, and hate you for a while. You’re going to leave me alone. And then, in a few months when I can look at you without wanting to either yell or cry, we’re going to be friends. Because there aren’t enough gay guys in Roswell, and I think we could both use a friend who gets it.”

It’s such a Forrest way of breaking up with Alex that he almost laughs. It didn’t seem like anything could ruffle Forrest’s feathers -- it had been one of the things that drew Alex to him from the start. That constant calm, the feeling that no matter how chaotic and out of control Alex got, Forrest would be steady. But a desire for control, or something easy, isn’t a good enough reason to be with someone, not when Alex has always thrived in high-pressure situations, has always sought out the adrenaline rush. Maybe it’s a side effect of his ruined childhood, but Alex has always preferred the chaos of his time with Michael to anything else.

Alex swallows, his smile small and a little sad when he nods at Forrest. “Okay. I can do that. But seriously, I really am sorry. I really thought that I could move on, and I wanted to try with you because you always made me feel so brave.”

Forrest sucks in a breath, shakes his head again, and disappears into the crowd, headed toward the exit.

Alex doesn’t go after him.

******

It takes Michael about twenty minutes to find him after Alex leaves the Wild Pony. He’d considered sticking around and drinking until the shame and guilt melted away into an alcoholic haze, but ultimately, Alex has enough problems without adding alcoholism to the list. So he’d said goodnight to a still-apologetic Maria, avoided the stares and whispers that came from being dumped very publicly in a small, gossip-mongering town, and slipped out into the street.

He walks home, thankful for the house he bought that’s only a mile or so from the Wild Pony and the fact that he’s able to walk for a mile without the pinching and aching his old prosthetic had caused. He’ll be sore tomorrow, probably, but it’s worth the night air and the chance to clear his head. The confrontation with Forrest had been so public that Alex is feeling more embarrassed than guilty, at this point, but he knows that when that dies down, he’ll be angry with himself for hurting someone that way. No, Forrest hadn’t been in love with him, but that didn’t excuse the way Alex had treated him -- and he’s going to have to deal with that, somehow.

“You know, I’m pretty sure normal people don’t walk down abandoned alleys at this hour,” a familiar voice says from behind him, and instead of jumping at the unexpected presence, Alex lets go of the tension he hadn’t known he was carrying. Michael Guerin’s voice has always meant security, to Alex, even when it wasn’t guaranteed.

“Good thing neither of us are normal people,” Alex shoots back, stopping to wait for Michael to catch up. When they’re shoulder to shoulder, he starts forward again, falling into step with Guerin without even thinking about it. “I thought you’d still be at the Pony-- it’s awfully early, if you’re trying to keep that town drunk title.”

Michael huffs a laugh. “What do you mean? They ended the night with a floor show, so I figured the bar was closing.” He should probably be offended by the joke, Alex thinks, or at the very least embarrassed that Michael most likely overheard everything Forrest said, but he’s not. Instead, he’s just glad that Michael cared enough to chase after him, even now.

They walk in silence for a while longer before they arrive at the fence around Alex’s yard. He opens it with his key and gestures Michael inside -- he’s come this far, after all, and he isn’t trying to make an excuse to leave. Alex kills the security system and leads the way into the kitchen, kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his jacket as he goes. “You want coffee?” he asks, heading straight for the coffee pot that’s served him well for the last several years.

Michael shrugs. “Sure, if you’re making it anyway.” He leans against the wall of cabinets a foot or so away from where Alex is measuring out coffee grounds, one foot propped casually behind him, arms hanging loose at his sides, and Alex can feel the weight of his stare as he flips the power switch on the coffee pot. But neither of them say anything, and the anticipation of the moment when someone finally breaks is enough to make Alex’s pulse speed up.

“So, are we going to talk about this, or --?” Unsurprisingly, Guerin is the first one to give in and speak.

Alex turns to face him properly, fidgeting with the bottom of his henley as he does. “Do you want to?”

It’s a fair question. Every time Alex has tried to talk to Guerin about their relationship, about the chance of moving forward, Michael’s been the one to say ‘no,’ or to walk away, and Alex doesn’t know if he’s brave enough to try again without some reassurance that this time will be different. He doesn’t mind fighting for Michael, doesn’t mind protecting him and loving him from a distance, if that’s what he needs, but there’s a limit to the number of times he can put himself on the line and be vulnerable only to have it thrown back in his face.

There’s a beat of silence, but ultimately, Michael nods. “Last time we talked about this, I couldn’t unravel what your father did to my mother from you and me,” he says quietly, his grease-stained fingers drumming idly on his own arms. “And I needed to know if I could find something -- someone -- who didn’t have the same power over me that you always have. Being with you has always made me feel like I’m in free fall, and I couldn’t be sure there wasn’t about to be a fiery crash landing.”

It hurts more than Alex expected, to hear that, but he knows he’s given Michael reason to worry. “Yeah,” he sighs, flipping the coffee pot off when the light comes on, signalling that it’s done brewing. “Is that still how you feel now?” If the answer is ‘yes,’ Alex doesn’t know where this conversation will lead, but he needs to know either way.

“Alex, I’m pretty sure I’m always going to feel out of control when I’m around you,” Michael says bluntly, taking a step forward, his gaze intent on Alex’s face. “You and me, we’ve never been easy, and my bet is that if we try this, we’re going to have to put some effort in to make it work -- but my mom never got the chance to be with Tripp. She had a lot more reasons than I do to be afraid, or to run in the other direction, and she didn’t, because she knew that love was worth it.”

Reading Tripp’s journal had been an emotional experience for all involved, but Alex wonders if he missed Michael having this revelation that day. He’d been caught up in his own thoughts, his own regrets for himself and his father, and the people they might have been if Tripp survived, so he supposes it’s possible.

“I don’t want to spend any more time wondering if we can be happy together,” Michael continues, suddenly close enough that Alex can feel his breath against his face. As usual, his mere proximity makes Alex’s cheeks feel warm and his stomach feel tight. He couldn’t speak now, even if he wanted to interrupt. “I don’t want to wake up every day for the rest of my life with the same hollow feeling in my gut when I realize you’re not in bed beside me. I don’t want to watch you date anymore assholes who make you smile, and I -- fuck, I want to be able to remind you to get your damn car serviced so you don’t end up stranded on the side of the road!”

Alex’s laugh is a little wet, and he’s reaching out to touch Michael’s stubbled cheek before his mind registers the action. He’s utterly overwhelmed with Michael’s admission, blown away by the honesty and the affection and the care, and God, he wants. He aches for Michael in that moment like he’d spent the better part of a decade aching for him in another part of the world, homesick for a person who wasn’t his anymore, and Alex wants to reclaim that home now more than ever.

Michael swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively, and continues, “I still can’t look away, Alex. And it hasn’t been our time, but now -- now I think it could be. If you still want to try this with me.”

This time, Alex’s laugh is incredulous. “I thought you heard what Forrest said at the bar,” he says, his expression impossibly fond as he looks back at Michael. “I’m in love with you. And I’m done running.”

The impulse to do it again will come back, he knows. Alex’s spent his entire adult life running, in some way or another, and that’s not going to vanish overnight because he has Michael. But he wants to stay, now. He wants to make a home with the man in front of him, wants to tie their lives together in every conceivable way and spend the rest of his days protecting Michael and making him happy. And that’s a pretty solid foundation on which to build.

Michael’s smile is wide and earnest in a way Alex has so rarely seen, and he drinks it in, promising himself that he’s going to take every opportunity to make Michael smile that way in the future.

And then, without overthinking, without worrying about what happens next, Alex closes the remaining distance between their bodies and seals their lips together in a hard, affirming kiss. Michael’s arms close around him, and Alex allows himself to melt into the warm, strong chest in front of him, content in the knowledge that Michael won’t let him fall.

For the first time since he went to war at eighteen, Alex Manes is officially home.

#alexweek2020 #alexappreciation2020 #my fic #malex fic #not a place but a feeling

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