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cynettic · 3 years

Text

Stay with Me pt.3

Summary - You manage to escape from Scaramouche, if only for a moment before you realize there’s no escape. It only takes until you’re sitting back in your regular spot that you know what you need to do.

Pairings - Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Suggestive content, mentions of death, swearing, slight gore / blood

A/N - Its really hard to make this depressing while I’m vibing to Rasputin. Like no joke- I have it on one of the 1 hour playlists :D

Here you’ll find - pt.1 and pt.2

He’d left a key.

Scaramouche didnt make mistakes, not while he had you captive in the vicinity of his bedroom. He didnt have room for mistakes, not when you were watching his every movement while he was in your line of sight.

Sure, he mightve killed a person or two in front of you, but those were necessary mistakes. There was a sign on the door, it specified not to enter. You’d understand that, right?

Thats what he thought at least, lulling himself into belief after belief that you’d be there waiting for him every time. That you’d welcome him with open arms, even if there were chains ensnaring your wrists. That you’d accept your fate at his hands and submit yourself to him.

The Balladeer was a fool.

He’d kept you there for too long, and while you searched for an easy way to escape, time sent your head spinning. Into a spiral that begged only for the wind against your face, back laying on dirt with the familiar chirping up birds waking you up in the morning.

You wanted to go outside.

And when push comes to shove, you had to risk a little more to make it happen. Lure him into bed with kisses while your hands unbuttoned his vest. But what he believed to be alluring contacts was just your way of finding the keys hidden in the back pocket of his shorts.

It wasnt hard to find the one to your cuffs while he was asleep, cuddled in your chest with both arms around your waist as if to get you to stay put. You took the key, hiding them back in his clothing and hoping he didnt notice.

He didnt say anything the next day.

You werent going to wait any longer.

“Oh for fucks sake, why won't the goddamn door open?”

The room was left in tatters behind you, a little gift for Scaramouche once he got back. Turns out a pair of chains can smash up a lot of things, and rage can be used as a great source of strength when contained for such a long time.

But you’d done more than throw the blankets around, cut up the drawers and smash open the windows. Because your fists had bled red when you punched through the glass, puncturing your skin. Your knuckles were an ugly red, bruising already.

Ah, Scaramouche deserved a much better gift.

Gruesome as it was, you rubbed your knuckles against the pale walls. Till the blood stopped coming, till there was a nice little message for the boy which you held so dearly to your heart.

‘Balladeer.’

The first time you’d found out about him being a harbinger he’d told you not to call him by that name. You weren’t someone he associated with by work, you were a treasure to him. That’s why you continued to call him as he pleased, although the temptation always arose.

You were no longer his.

Shoving the door with your hand again, palm fiddling with the handle and groaning when it hardly budged. “Stupid,” you grumbled when the knob began to loosen. Backing up, you charged with your shoulder to the door, full force as the momentum broke the hinges. The door fell down with you along with it.

It was expected, you’d been stuck in the room for a long time, and thats considering you’d sat on the ground for decades. Your body was slight numb, muscles sore and unused for so long.

“You a-arent supposed to leave your room!”

A young man stood in the hallway along with a woman who looked relatively the same age. The two were wearing uniforms, flinching when you stood up from the debris and off the door. “Excuse me?” You asked, voice unnecessarily icy and stern. But you couldnt care less, you were going to get out of this house, damn anyone who stood in your way.

They both continued to shake when you walked towards them, staggering from side to side. The woman stepped up in front of the man, presenting a brave face. “If you leave the mansion, the harbinger will kill us all!”

“Well then I expect you should be on your way then. Actually…” you gestured to the maze of hallways. “You can lead the way.”

“What…?”

Your hand went limp to your side, an exasperated looking momentarily crossing your face before you sighed. “Im not staying trapped in that room, I’m sorry if that ruins your life, but frankly you're not the one stuck in there are you?” You took an extra step just to intimidate them, eyes wide to make the appearance of crazy. “It would be a great help if you showed me where he hid my vision too.”

“We can show you to the door…” The man began, “But the whereabouts of your vision are unknown, he wouldnt tell us something like that.”

A gift bestowed from the gods, a piece to help me thrive with my ambitions and pursue my goals.

Gone.

You really wished you’d taken to clawing out Scaramouche’s face instead, but you’d take what you got. Right now your main priority was getting out of this place, even if it meant leaving a piece of you behind.

“Door.” Your voice was raspy and there was a terrible feeling that crawled up to your throat, but you didnt have time to be emotional. “Show me where the door is… please.”

The conflict in their eyes dissipates by the time they lead you along, mumbling words between themselves. You didnt bother to try eavesdropping, you were so, so tired. You wanted to go home.

Anywhere. Anywhere but here.

It took a few minutes until you were standing in front of a grand door, almost twice the size of you and just as wide. You then began to notice the decorational plants and furniture that filled the empty space, there wasn't an inch of dust. Even though you could tell none of it was used.

“Hurry,” the man warned when you paused. “I dont know when our master is coming back, but if its soon, we’ll all be screwed.”

You couldnt feel your head as you numbly nodded, hand clenching the knob and flinging the set of doors open. “Thank you,” you merely mumbled, taking your first step out of the house in what felt like forever.

The days after that were a blur, the area around Scaramouche’s house were nothing but void. Empty and filled with forests and vast plains. You knew he didnt like people or socializing in general, but to this extent?

Your only option was to run.

Let your feet take you somewhere, anywhere. It was a constant pattern of running and taking breaks, leaning on a tree and gasping in a few breaths before you were again scurrying through the forest.

And yet you felt better than you’d felt in past months that you’d been stuck with Scaramouche.

Food became any boar you came across, the claws you’d spent so long hiding with Scaramouche coming to unleash a wrath beyond your comprehension. Till the animal was cut to shreds and no meat was left even to eat. You’d slaughtered it, without intention to eat or benefit for it, you’d killed it just to kill.

“I’m sorry,” you’d sobbed into the ground where you’d buried the harmless animal. Forehead pressed into the dirt as you pleaded for forgiveness to whatever archons would accept it. You couldn't even remember what archons you were supposed to pray to. “Forgive me- forgive me…”

But eventually you found your way around to somewhere you knew. Territory of Inazuma where you could find your way back, back home.

Where was home?

You’d been on the run from the vision hunt decree, abandoning your post for the Kitsune Saiguu for such a thing. Even now that you could return without a vision and as no threat under the decree…

You’d sacrificed everything for your vision.

Where were you to go now…?

Rain patted down, the trees providing only a slight cover as stray drops fell into your matted dirty hair. You didnt mind, it hid the tears that slid down your lifeless face, feet taking you into the far meadows of your hometown. Till you plopped down underneath a tree, knees curled to your chest and arms hugging them close. You were crying.

You were home.

____________________

“Awh,” a ginger haired murmured, elbow resting on the cool wood of the tabletop. “Is little Mouchie sad? I heard your kitty cat escaped~”

A death wish, even fatui that idly minded themselves around the bar knew it. Sipping cold drinks and swirling their cups, the soft chatter was nothing but a distraction from the main course of events. That being the smaller Harbinger who sat sulking in his seat, hunched over with a drink in hand. He’d drank far more than what was on the counter, but everytime he finished a glass, he’d smash it on the ground, watching the fragile glass shatter into pieces.

“I dont have a cat,'' was his only response, tone daring Childe to pursue further. To give him a reason to start throwing the glass in his face instead.

And Childe was an idiot when it came to challenging someone.

“No cat?” The rest of the drink in the taller harbinger’s glass was gone when he threw his head back. “Hmmm, I cant think of what else could’ve had you so enraptured in returning home then~!”

Scaramouche didnt respond, uneven bangs shadowing the bags under his eyes. “Stronger,” he said instead, elbow on the counter and hand outstretched for something. When there was no movement from the man managing the wine, the harbinger looked up. “I need something stronger to drink,” he repeated, voice seething.

“Of c-course!”

The glass was nestled in Scaramouche’s palm in no time, fingers curling around the circular form to down it in seconds. The drink merely slid down his throat in one movement, alcohol burning his senses. It didn’t matter, he was numbed by the growing rage inside of him.

Finally, he turned to the ginger haired boy, eyes hazily dancing along the counter till it reached his fingertips. Up his hand and along his arm, till Scaramouche was staring right into Childe’s eyes. “They escaped,” he admitted softly. “But it’s alright, because I sent something that’ll bring them back.”

Childe paused, raising his drink up away from his lips to pose a question. Hesitation danced along his features before he brought the glass back, he’d rather not provoke the shorter male any further. Wasn’t like he could interfere anyway.

____________________

“That… that…”

It was preposterous, having returned to that same spot for a day or two and heading back to the hometown you’d once lived in. The one Scaramouche had lived in. There shouldn’t have been an issue, you were solely gathering supplies for the sake of it, ambition driving you to travel far far away.

Out of Inazuma.

It was your new beginning, convincing yourself that you didn't need a vision. Finding some sort of purpose before Scaramouche shattered the vision and your life along with it. You’d seen how people had reacted when it had been ingrained in the statue, neutralized and broken. They lost hope, purpose and aspirations for anything new.

It’s not like the Raiden Shogun took my vision.

But you’d taken that fact for granted, expecting some sort of new start without Scaramouche. A victory, getting away from him just for a split second and getting out of Inazuma altogether, you’d never see him again.

Until you got his message.

“How the hell…” You crushed the note until it was just crumbled paper in your hand, slowly leaning on the stone wall. “Piece of shit… what kind of person even…”

Not only did he manage to find you, but without making his presence known, he’d tugged at your one weakness with an ease that had you down on your knees.

You threw the paper to the ground, deliberate as you stared past the alleyway. Pensive as you considered your options. Damn, what options did you even have? You’d been an idiot to underestimate Scaramouche, he wasn’t a child, you knew that… but archons he seemed like one when he was with you. Shown you a vulnerability he wanted only you to see. But maybe that had been part of his plan all along, until all you believed was his soft demeanor.

He may act like a child, but he’s a harbinger.

You stared down at the crumbled piece of paper in disgust.

Not only that, but he has no regard for human life.

Either way, you’d lived decades more than him. You could face him, you would present yourself to him just as he expected you to. Even when everything in you rejected the idea, sobbed at the thought of returning to that house, those chains. Being locked up and confined only for the purpose of coddling a small boy, a selfish boy, a cruel boy.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You’d figure out a way, and this time you wouldn’t rule out the option of his death.

———————

Oh darling Y/n, how have you been?

I hope this letter reaches you rather soon, we both have much to discuss, no? About me, about you, and much more. You see, I’ve taken up quite a distaste to your little friends. Stone statues in Inazuma as small as Kitsunes truly hold no purpose, what will they do, come back to life? Haha, I should think not. I’ve already arranged to have them demolished, who knows what kind of material they might possess. Ah, and of course I’d show you the finishing product, unless you’re willing to come and have a chat with me once more? Under the Sakura tree like we used to, you’ve waited years, I believe you can wait for me?

I hope this letter reaches you in best interests. I’m always looking out for you after all.

Sincerely, your Balladeer

——————

It was raining.

Beautiful weather as you lay sitting there, feet crossed and tucked in the same you’d often do. After all, there was no need to fear the vision hunt decree or the Raiden Shogun. Let them come, let them take care of you before Scaramouche did.

You werent cold, not when the cold drops dampened your clothing, slipping down the length of your spine and drenching your face. Despite having lived in a luxury residency for such a long time, this was where you were most comfortable, enduring whatever the weather had for you, taking it with a smile. Because you were waiting…

The Kitsune Saiguu was a distant memory.

You were waiting for Scaramouche, the young boy that often bound into the field in lengthy strides, childlike wonder in his eyes. The one who’d cried when the other kids pushed him away, the one that just wanted to be praised. You’d held him in your arms, and now, even knowing the results, you wouldnt have done differently.

He was just a boy.

Just a boy when he joined the fatui, looking for praise that he was given. He created chaos and bellowed orders with a cruelty that was highly looked upon. Told that he was doing well, so he continued to do so.

He’s just a boy.

You wished you’d held him in your arms, if not only for a tad longer. Shield him away from the wrongness of the world, if only for one last time.

Banishing away your hatred for him was hard.

But you found it under the tree, rain soon dimming down to a clouded cold breeze that swept through the meadow. You’d hated him while stuck in the mansion, but you could now see it from a larger point of view. What he did was wrong of course, but you could remember him so vividly now. His small form giggling, tiny arms around your neck.

“Play with me!”

Was it your fault?

For not holding him tighter? For trying to rectify his bad doings and teach him what was wrong and right? Maybe if your grip was firmer, if you’d spoken to him about the warmth he’d given you that day when playing cards...

“Lazy ass.”

Burying down that pile of worry and insecurities, you took a deep breath in to relax. The edge of your lip perked up, only slightly. “Still terrible with your social skills arent you?”

Slowly securing a dry space under the three with you, Scaramouche sat down. His features were the same ones you’d grown accustomed to at his mansion. Rich clothes, sharp eyes, and the baby face that refused to go away. His movements were soft as he pulled out a deck of cards. The two of you didnt speak as he distributed them between you both. It was tense… no, it felt too much like the warmth form long ago to be tense. You only wished the situation to be different.

“I love you.”

But you could only offer a bitter smile to his words. “I love my vision,” you replied. “I love the Kitsune Saiguu, and I love my friends.”

His touch was gentle when his fingers came to gently cradle your cheek. Holding your face dearly as he peered into your eyes, his were soft. Different from the cruelty he held within, the hatred that burned and destruction that seeked to explode.

You saw a little boy.

Your hand came to press his hand further against your cheek, till you slid his palm to your lips. He appeared so calm when you pressed the first kiss, lips tracing the lines along his palm with all the care in the world.

But you needed to change your view, see him as the man he now was. As the man he had become.

“I love you,” he repeated, and you let go of his hand. It fell limp by his side, cards all but forgotten. There was a much more pressing matter at hand, because you truly needed to see him as he was.

It was necessary if you planned to kill him.

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sainadazai · 3 years

Text

When your crush is angry all the time

Ch.6

"A red haired bitch that glows"

2nd person pov

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You weren't sure how things could even possibly move so quick, but as fire burned and terrifying creatures tormented citizens, all You could do was stand. Nomus, is what endeavour called them. Some gross being that seemed to have multiple quirks, you'd never seen anything like them.

Even with all of the times you'd been beaten and interrogated and harassed by villains, nothing like this ever happened. It could have been the fact that you spent most of your young life hiding away in a castel in the middle of nowhere, but seeing all this destruction froze you in place.

"Kid, help get the citizens out of here! Do not engage in combat, understand? Hey! L/n!"

You broke the terrified stare that was burning into the ruined city streets to meet eyes with your boss. He seemed so calm, even though everything was going wrong. The world was quite literally burning. Those monsters were hurting people. There were screams of horror, and still his calm demeanor was all you could focus on. How was he so calm?

"Now!"

His yell broke You from your trance and you scrambled around, eyes searching for someone, anyone to get the hell out of here. However there wasn't just one, there were hundreds. Some under building scraps, trapped behind fire burning the streets. Too many people, too much noise, it was never this loud back home. Why could you just focus?!

One of those boys from earlier today let our scream. You only recognized it because it was the same as how he'd screamed at bakugou earlier. You whipped your head around looking for his sound, body, anything. Spinning in circles until you caught that little red shirt cowering beneath one of those things.

"Hold on, i'm coming!" You didn't know if he could hear you, the statement was more a confirmation to yourself. You wouldn't stand there cowering. You didnt wanna be the helpless princess waiting to be saved. You were going to save others, it was like an instinct, like you had to.

Being unsure of your abilities with vines and plants, you opted to use a power long ago mastered. Twirling your pointer finger in a circle to slowly collect wind into a tiny ciclone and build it up bigger and bigger. This action disrupted the wind in the area, some of the bystanders' hair began flowing with the force of it, getting shivers from the chill.

Then with all the focus you could muster you let your eyes bored right into the head of that nomu aiming with your mind and following the action with your finger. Then, with a snap, the ciclone flew off towards it, lifting it into the air and growing larger the more he struggled.

You felt the pressure of all that wind, and its body on your back. Hundreds of pounds of pressure on your spine, but adrenaline forced you forward. Sprinting to the boy in the red shirt, crouching down under all that weight to wipe away his tears. You completely ignored how underdressed you were and brought his small form into a tight embrace, whispering sweet nothings to which you didn't know you could say.

It all felt so wrong, so opposite to what you wanted, but you couldn't help it. Grazing the lasso on your thigh an idea sprouted in your mind as to how you could get this crushing weight off of your back. You let the boy down telling him to stay behind you.

Don't engage in combat.

Do not engage.

Get them out of here.

Ignoring your mentors words, you snatched the lasso off of your thigh, doing as you were taught and lighting it ablaze, if your mother was thinking straight, she'd have it made of mineral wool- fire retardant and easily manipulated. The flames would not be actually catching on anything but the air, therefore saving her from an uncontrollably fire.

As it lit up your hair not only changed, but shined a bright red. It was so brilliant that it lit up the area around you, the boy behind you shocked and the people in the vicinity scared.

However, you had a hero suit on. That meant to them, that you were trustworthy.

You swing the lasso all but twice above your head before releasing the ciclone, and the pressure on your back, and whipping it towards the monster.

It had activated some sort of electricity quirk once free from the wind and as the lasso made contact, rather than burning and bringing the nomu to the ground, it sent a high-powered electrical current through your already spent body.

You should have stopped there, tossed the kid out of the way and called for help. Yet, for some reason you couldn't. Being shocked only numbed the pain on your spine more, and upped your adrenaline. Bad news for mr.nomu, huh?

"Whew, that's one way to boost your energy huh, kid?"

You smirked back at the worried boy behind you, hoping a joke would lighting the mood now. Similar to how you would joke in class yo avoid any real emotions or connections.

Only, now, it held the benefit of an adorable smirk appearing on his face and a little giggle exciting his mouth.

"Watch this!"

Despite being electrocuted your lasso was still intact, so you took to attacking it around the monster's leg and pulling back towards you. Once it was too close for your liking, you shot a roundhouse kick into the empty space in front of you. It seemed like a fruitless action, until the surrounding citizens noticed how the wind around them mirrored your actions with equal force.

The nomu went flying out of the city, likely landing somewhere around hosu (😏Yes, hosu) and you released the pressure on your leg.

As soon as you took the time to inhale, your back gave out, and you fell to the ground.

However you hadn't given up, using the little burst you could make with your fingers, you shot several people away from the mess with winds. Then, after what you counted to be person number 34, you gave out and the world went black.

The heroes in the area who were not distracted by nomus had been paying close attention to your actions, surprised they haven't seen you in the sports festival, or anywhere for that matter.

Mr. Woods was disappointed at the initiative you took, knowing how injured you must be from being out of practice with most parts of your quirk. However when endeavour informed the other pros of some sort of incident in hosu, he was forced to leave you there. Limp body cold against the concrete.

When doctors and healers arrived, you were one of the first in an ambulance and on the road to the hospital, and the news reports of your body being wheeled off were matched with that of your battle with the nomu. Streaming across all platforms and displaying on one particular tv screen, in the hotel room of one fire quirked boy.

A boy who truly was noticing he had no idea what you were capable of. A boy who was angry you'd been holding it back in class. One who had been thinking of the way you spoke of fire to that little boy all day, and above all a boy who was entranced by the glow of your hair when it turned red.

Bakugou wasn't sure how to process these overwhelming feelings towards you, the stalker girl who said dumb shit about his eyes. Still, after seeing that video, the feeling your own eyes held, staring up at that devilish creature. He could no longer say he didn't know what you meant by being obsessed with the look in his eyes. He was now too.

A six year old girl struggled against her restraints tirelessly. She has a power that she doesn't know how to use, and yet these men want to take it from her. There is one door exit, it's blocked by tall men in black suits. The whole room echoes with screams from children. It crashes against the walls and her little ears, and she cant get it to stop.

Why was this happening to her? Why couldn't she do anything to stop it?

"Please, just let my brother go! Please I'll do anything. Im sorry. Im sorry. Plea-"

Her words are stopped by a suffocating hand, larger than her whole face, it reeks of bleach. Her little eyes can only release so many tears before they are running over the hands knuckles, wetting his skin with her despair. The man doesn't care, though. The men never seem to care.

Her brother, only two years old, cries in a stranger's arms. The stranger showed her how he could completely disassemble any object, or put it back together. What a horrible powerful quirk. With something like that, she really couldn't tell why he needed hers too. Still, he did.

So the tiny boy whined in his firm hold, terrified, but not sure why. They both just wanted their Mommy. Mommy always comes to save them, she and her friends will take them home. To the castle, with the comfy beds, the pillowy blankets that their small bodies float on like clouds.

Not this rough metal wall, with arms chained, and bruises forming from their so-called interrogation. Why didn't they understand?

She doesn't know how to give her quirk away. She is only six, after all.

Mommy told her that men are greedy. Men like these have all they want and still need more. They take things, without asking. They took her and her brother without asking, so where was Mommy? To tell these men that you aren't supposed to take things, or hit people.

Where are their mommies? Did no one tell them hitting people is bad? Especially smaller people. Is that why the men are bad? Because they didn't have a Mommy or daddy to tell them how to be good? The little girl is lost in a pit of sympathy. Sympathy that she does not owe these horrible men, yet she can't help it.

"I don't give a shit princess, your brother can go home when you give us the quirk."

"Mommy never told me how! I'm sorry míster that you don't have a mo-mommy!" She sobre through the rough palm over her mouth. At the response he removed his grip, though. Opting to allow the girl her voice.

"P-please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry no one told you not to be mean. It's okay though! My Mommy will come, she'll tell you, okay! Please j-just-" though her words held great meaning to those men in suits-bad men- she couldn't finish. Her sobs were too loud and violent. Her little arms shook, because though she was such a sweet little girl,she was terrified.

Her cheeks hurt from screaming and tensing to release tears. Her arms hurt from being suspended at her sides. Her little legs had lost all feeling, gone numb under the pressure of standing for so long. She just wanted to go home, to keep her brother safe.

Even being only six, she felt so stupid for being so helpless. It was her job to protect their family quirk, but she wanted to give it up. More so, even though she wanted to give it away, she didn't even know how.

A small, weak girl, helpless really. She never wanted to be helpless like that again.

"Now!" His hand collided with her cheek. Hard, swinging, jaw snapping pressure. It rang through her ears, like her baby brothers sobs, til she shot up from her bed.

Sweat covered by/ns face as she jolted awake in her bed. Around her were some unrecognizable faces, or that's what she thought at first. Except, in truth, they were simply blurred in her eyes.

As she was taught when she was little, she began recounting things to herself that might make her come back to reality. Might help ease the fear of her dream.

- I am not 6 years old

-my brother is at home in the castle

-im not in a warehouse

-those men are in prison

-i am alive

As she was repeating each of those truths in her head, her eyesight began to come back so that she could recognize the faces of those around her. Three boys: todoroki, midoriya, and iida.

Midoriya was furthest from her, as she now noticed she was on a bed. Then iida, and closest was todoroki. The familiarity of his stone face gave y/n great comfort. However, he looked troubled.

The three boys in the hospital room with her were truthfully at a loss. This girl who had been at their school for one week, had proved more honest and heroic than them. After being scolded by the chief of police, they were each confronting their own feelings about the events.

However, each came to the conclusion that y/n was the only participating hero-in-training that followed the rules and fought earnestly. Little did they know, she had been breaking rules too, except her wouldn't be hid so easily.

What were the police meant to do, a teenage girl-princess no less- save countless lives, that heroes were neglecting, and its broadcast all over japan. Unlike in the boys' case, where the media didn't even have to know, everyone had already seen her heroism, but they had no idea where she came from.

Some viewers pointed out her position as a princess, but no one expected to see her in a hero outfit anytime soon. They knew what happened was illegal, but what backlash would they face for arresting her. Could they even arrest her?

Still, all y/n knew was that she was scared, and she needed to hide it as deep within her as it could reach. No one likes a cry baby, anyway.

"Oh..uh, hey guys?"

The first to look up was the green haired, face widening in surprise and worry.

"Y/n! Y-you're up!? Wait, don't sit up yet..um they said your bac-"

"You left damage on all your thoracic vertebrae. You could have killed yourself with that amount of pressure!"

Todoroki interrupted. Face still void of emotion, but his voice held anger.

Making sure to agnowledged how touched she was that he cared at all, y/n then quickly brushed it off. In the mood for jokes, not fights. She just finished fighting, why would she wanna argue some more about it?

"Aww~todoroki, were you worried about me?"

"Yes. It was stupid of you to use your quirk like that, out of practice and such."

"Um-"

"There's no um. he is right y/n, i didn't know your quirk could do that, but you obviously haven't been keeping it in practice during class, that was really risky..." midoriya added on in a ramble.

Feeling a bit cornered she settled for sighing and staring up at the ceiling.

"Can I walk?"

"No"

"Why not?"

"Did you not here the whole vertebrae thing, i-"

"No, I did, but I don't feel any pain...is it not healed?"

"I'm not really sure, we can ask.."

So slowly but surely, the boys helped her sit up, and yes, she did feel an immense pain shoot through her. Additionally, she was compensated with shoto conspiracizing about his negativo afecta on peoples hands, getting to know these classmates better. They even let her in on why they were in the hospital to begin with.

She would have to admit, though these boys being around made her happy, she was still thinking about bakugou. Was he in the area during the fight? Is he okay? Why do I give a shit about that mean old fact face anyway? Oh, right. His eyes.

The rest of her time was spent ignoring the extreme trauma these events reminded her of, and fantasizing about those angry eyes.

Bakugou pov 😡

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There the bitch was, right on my hotel tv screen, fighting the same fight on replay. Those media bastards hasn't stopped talking about her all day. How even when she was barely alive on the ground, she kept saving people.

I know it wasn't about me, hell, I wasn't even there, but it feels like a taunt. Some karma cause I called her an entitled princess, or her purposefully saying "Look what I can do."

Well I fucking am. Looked like some sort of wind quirk, but I saw her use fire with those kids, and in class she makes that plant shit. So what the hell is she? She thinks having multiple quirks makes her better than me? Good enough she doesn't have to use them all just to beat me? Thats bullshit.

I'm just so fucking angry at her for it, but I have to be. Or else, the next time they show her shitty face on that shitty screen, looking

...shitty, i'll start to worry.

That maybe she has only been here for a week, but she is already gone. That the whole time at school she spent avoiding me, to make me happy. Worrying I'll never hear her say what she looks at in my eyes.

In her eyes, that night, I saw pure rage. It almost looked as if she couldn't control it. An impending anger that loomed over her, and controlled her; made her strong. Not stronger than me, but strong.

Still, I can't go "falling for'' every girl that I see with strength. If a dunce 's face hadn't told me that feeling I had at the festival was a crush, I could have spared myself a week worth of it, I don't even know what.

Stupid dunce face.

Now, though, that shitty princess, even if she is shitty. Well, she has at least my respect.

#mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakusquad #mha fluff #fanfic #mha todoroki #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #anime #romance #my hero acadamia #mha fanfiction

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hes-writer · 5 years

Text

A Cheat IV

How about when y/n is engaged with her boyfriend and how happy she is with her life but harry is still miserable. He misses her so much that he begs her to take him back, like literally begging. He tells her that he’ll do anything bc it hurts him to see her getting married with someone else. But y/n isn’t having any of it so she tells him “you already took my heart for granted and left me broken. But now i finally found my happiness again, you’re going to take that away from me too?”

Summary: Harry cheats, Y/N is happy

Warnings: angst

Word count: 3.6k

“That’s what I hoped and gee thanks, have fun with yours too if you ever get over me,” Harry smirk at her menacingly.

She rolls her eyes, burning from the tears she held back. She remains strong.

“Don’t worry, I will.”

Y/N couldn’t believe how well things have been going for her. In the past eight months after her and Harry’s horrid conclusion to their relationship, Y/N had finally graduated from university after four grueling years of late nights and caffeine coursing through her system. She had gotten a puppy—something that she’d always wanted, but never took the initiative to get one. After tossing her cap in the air during the ceremony with Alan beside her, she was offered a job at a well-known law firm only a few weeks after. Everything is going great.

Not a few days ago, Alan had proposed to her and the engagement ring on her pinky finger was proof of a powering relationship, glimmering against the light of her wooden work desk serving as a backdrop. She smiles to herself, thinking how things finally turned around for her. One of her coworkers passes by, noticing the jewelry adorning her finger and stops to eye her suspiciously, a smile stretching over her face before squealing as Y/N nods shyly. She congratulates Y/N before walking away to her own table.

Y/N’s phone ‘dings’.

Alan

“hey babe, im cooking dinner tonight

what do u want? :))))”

She sighs with satisfaction, having someone supporting her through everything made her feel wanted. Alan is the perfect match for her. Regardless of dating for only six months (they've known each other since high school), he’s been a sturdy shoulder to lean on during the past two where she altered between crying over Harry or being a strong, independent woman that has had enough of being treated like shit. When he asked her out, granted a bit timidly since he wasn’t exactly sure if she was ready to move on, she hesitated but she trusts Alan. She also told herself that not all men are like Harry.

-----

Irene and Harry’s relationship didn’t last long after Y/N caught them in the bathroom. Actually, it ended not too long after. Since Harry’s attention was focused solely on her, Irene took advantage of that and asked him to purchase her a bunch of things that she ‘probably didn’t need’, Harry thinks. I mean, did she honestly need four of the same bags in different colours? Or having Harry book five-star restaurants around the city to celebrate Irene's friend's brother-in-laws birthday? Ridiculous. The price didn’t bother him as he had enough money to buy an island, but hearing her talk his ear off about a new Versace handbag or the recent fall line of Jimmy Choo heels that she just had to get her hands on; he’s had enough. Before officially officially splitting from Y/N, Irene had asked him to buy her stuff, sure, but it used to be minute things like a new perfume or some brand-name makeup. But now, it’s as if she thought her name was titled to Harry’s earnings, threatening to break up with him if he didn’t comply.

At first, he gave in to everything, mistaking the fear of Irene leaving him as something he was deathly afraid of. But now, realizing that the feelings he held for were nothing but sexual infatuation, something exciting and thrilling in his life. Now that he had nothing to hide, his life was giving an off vibe–yearning for Y/N’s presence. Yes, Harry missed Y/N.

He first felt a twinge in his heart in that bathroom, slowly but surely, it kept coming back stronger and more frequently. It happened especially before bed, when Y/N would usually speak to him about her day or ask him about his, or even caress him with gentle touches to calm him before sleeping, he misses her gestures that he only thought of as pestering and nagging during the last few months, but really it was nothing more than actions of love and concern. Irene never gave him a second glance, she cuddled into his chest, manicured razor sharp nails scratching his chest as if to be done as a calming notion, but Harry feels it as a burning sensation that urged him to shift uncomfortably from the woman beside him.

Irene was different from Y/N, stating the obvious. Y/N cleaned the house routinely, cooked the most flavourful dishes, and stocked the kitchen and bathroom with supplies efficiently. Harry believes in splitting the workload and chores between people who lived in the house –which was both of them– but Y/N took special charge in the household activities, saying that Harry needs his rest after being busy the whole day. He feels like a jerk sometimes knowing that she was stressed too, yet she continues to work harder than anyone he’d ever met. Besides that, his comparison was that Irene was rather unforgiving with chores. She’d requested many times that Harry hire someone else to do the work for them, she didn’t even live with him! Saying that her nails were too expensive or that her hands were too precious to handle the pressure of cleaning anything in the house. And when Harry did hire someone, she looked down on the helper as if she had the right to do so. Harry powered through her attitude for the good—recently mediocre— sex and the company.

As things got worse, he didn’t know how much more of Irene he can handle. When he received the news that she was cheating on him with her boss, he snapped. He spoke to that guy in person about giving Irene a promotion and this was how they repaid him. Frankly, it didn’t hurt as much as he’d thought; it didn't hurt as much as his break up with Y/N. He was relieved that she wasn’t going to be around anymore. But all things have an equal and opposite reaction because now, Harry felt extra lonely.

The slight twinge in his heart built into something grander when he was left alone with his own thoughts. Replaying his memories with Y/N trying to see where it went wrong. And at that moment, Harry realizes that it was all his fault. He was the reason why they drifted, he was the reason why she packed her things and left their house with nothing but a few stacks of bills in her hands to last for a few months because he’d essentially kicked her out of his life. What was he thinking?

-----

Y/N was on her lunch break for the day, deciding to grab food at the cafe a few blocks from the firm. She was hastily carrying herself through crowds of people with somewhere to go. Once she arrived, she stands behind a lengthy line of customers waiting to state their order to the cashier. Although Y/N rarely strays from getting her regular items, she scans the menu briefly anyway.

Her turn comes, ordering and paying for her food, she was asked to wait on the left side. The main entrance bell chimes, indicating that someone new had either left or entered the café.

Harry walks in with his grandpa hat covering much of his hair and he hopes that it's doing a good job at disguising his face. His hands held tight in his pockets as his lanky legs move him to the line-up. He did not need to look at the menu since he always gets his coffee black. Instead, his eyes scan the area, looking for watchful eyes from people who have recognized him or casually inspecting his surroundings for the sake of it. His eyes land on a familiar head of hair that he has to blink thrice to make sure of what he was really seeing.

There stood Y/N clad in her matching pantsuit, hair in a ponytail and a bag clutched on her elbow. She looks sideways and he was blessed with a side profile of her face. Oh, how he misses her. He decides to take a detour from his usual escapades and makes a beeline towards her.

"Hey"

Y/N turns around, face visibly displaying a mixture of disappointment, confusion, and anger upon seeing Harry.

"Hi," she says curtly, before turning around as her name was called. She grabs her latte and croissant, turning around swiftly before lightly knocking shoulders with Harry's broad ones, make an escape route to the exit. Even though she still had an hour or so left on her break, she doesn't think that she could handle spending any more time with Harry in the vicinity. So she exits and makes it out on the street that has cleared some during her fifteen minutes indoors.

"Y/N! Y/N, wait. Please," Harry shouts from behind her, weaving his way around people blocking his way to Y/N.

"What do you want, Harry?" You.

"I saw you and wanted to say hi," he explains, eyes finding hers trying to find any kind of emotion that meant she was somehow glad to see him. H finds none.

"Well, you said hi. See you around," Y/N briskly tries to walk away once again but is stopped when he grabs her wrist. A chill makes its way up her spine, heart beating untimely. She gulps.

"Please, Y/N. Let's talk,"

She pretends to look at her watch, rolling her eyes before saying, "Fine. You've got ten minutes,"

The pair walk side-by-side towards a nearby park. The silence between them was uncomfortable for both. Sitting on a bench, Harry shifts his body facing her, clearing his throat.

"I want to apologize for-for what I did before," Y/N can tell that he's nervous by the way his body language breaks down in from of her.

"You mean when you cheated on me and I caught you fucking her brains out in the bathroom? Or was it when you knew that your feelings changed for me but you led me on anyway?" Y/N raises her brows accusingly.

He gulps in response.

"Y-yeah for that. Look, I thought about it and it turns out that I still love you, Y/N. I still have feelings for you,"

She takes a bite of her croissant, shifting her gaze somewhere else and further emphasizing how uncomfortable she was feeling right now.

"And if you'd let me, I want to give it another try. I promise I won't ever do it again. You deserve the world and I'm willing to give it to you. I'll do anything that it takes to have you forgive me," he pleads seriously. If he had to jump off of a bridge for another chance at Y/N's love, he would do it. He will do anything to have Y/N forgive him. Anything.

He was blind without her, lost without any guidance and navigating the world alone. He needed Y/N to tell him that it was gonna be okay when times go rough; he needed Y/N to love him like she did before, the way he does for her right at this very moment. He wants to relive the past where he didn't take her for granted--when they were happy. And if he can't, he might as well give it another shot, to experience the happiness she brought him once again by trying the circumstances. He was ready for it if she was.

"I'm engaged, Harry."

His eyes were like laser beams boring through her face; eyebrows furrowing, lips pursing open and closed and his chest felt crushed from the force of her words. She didn't say in a tone to spite him or make him jealous, it was soft and gentle–merely stating a fact that he obviously missed out on because What?

"Engaged? Y/N, what are you talking about," He spits out nervously, not wanting to accept the truth but wanting to learn more about her status. It’d only been eight months, surely she couldn’t have moved on that fast. You’re one to talk, Harry. He snickers to himself.

"Alan and I—we're getting married," She takes a sip of her beverage, ring glinting against Harry's green eyes and he swears that he just saw his life flash before his eyes.

There it is. The ring that bonded Alan and Y/N together, glistening in the sunlight, taunting him. It rested so gently on her pinky as if it was meant to be there. When Harry imagined this moment, she wore a ring that he had given her because he was the one who got down on a knee, declaring his undying love for her, praising her for her beauty and grace, and asking her the question he'd pictured himself repeat about a hundred times under his breath trying to find the best way to ask her to be his wife.

"Y-you're getting married? Tell me you're lying," He sounds angry, demanding, and in disbelief of what's unfolding right in from of his eyes and ears. "Tell me that you're pulling my leg, love," he says his second statement with great vulnerability, voice cracking in the middle of it to which Y/N retracts her neck, appalled.

"No, I'm not kidding. Why would I do that?" Y/N was confused about why Harry was reacting the way he is right now. Shouldn't he be happy for her? After all, he did break it off between the two of them so he had no right to feel hurt or pained. He had Irene.

"Because I wanted it to be me!" He all but yells at her face. Neck vein straining from the blood rushing to his brain, making him dizzy with the knowledge he just received. Palms sweating profusely forcing him to wipe it on his jeans before he takes hold of her empty hand, taking it in his own which she surprisingly lets him.

"I wanted it to be me. I want you to be mine and now I can't because he—he's the one you're going to marry," A lone tear falls down his eyes, nose starting to get runny from the emotions that overwhelm him. She tries to pull her hand back to herself, but he doesn't let her.

"Why are you crying? You wanted this, you wouldn’t have cheated on me if you didn't want me out of your life," She tries to reason and justifies with his previous actions. Everything was making sense until he spits out the bullshit of still loving her. And even so, why did he wait so long to find her and tell her?

"It was a mistake! I was stupid and a huge asshole, I didn't think of the consequences." He grasps tightly to her hand, fearing that this may be the absolute last time he'll be able to touch her like this. "I took advantage of you, of your love and I shouldn't have because you're the most amazing person in this world. You gave me chance after chance and I didn't deserve any of it b-but I just wished you'd give me another one,"

Harry brings her hand up to his lips, kissing it multiple times while looking in her eyes sincerely.

"I'm glad you know that you already took my heart for granted and left me broken. But now, I finally found my happiness again, you want to take that away from me too? Just so you'd feel satisfied with yourself for getting the girl again?" She pulls away.

"Thanks, I'm flattered but even if I was single, I wouldn't dare give you another chance regardless if you are Harry Styles. I don't care if you can give me the world or anything I want because all I needed was for you to love, trust, and be honest with me." She takes hold of her bag strap blindly, holding her coffee cup in hand and standing up. "You didn't give me any of those,"

Harry stands as well, not prepared to lose her once more. "But I can now! I'll love you so much and I will give every ounce of it out of my body. If that's what you want, I'll do it. Just please,"

"Can't you see, H? I'm happy with Alan now. I've moved on, forgotten about you. For god's sake, I'm getting married!"

Each word she darted out of her mouth was like a gunshot to Harry. Wounds getting deeper and his body feeling heavier than usual, the emotional toll it was giving him was too much for him to handle

"Please. Do the same for yourself. I may not love you the way I did before, but I still care about you," Y/N states gently to Harry. If anything she sees him as a friend, still cares for his well-being. From the short distance, she sees a few girls whispering to each other and pointing at him, obviously recognizing his stance and demeanor.

"But I love you, Y/N! Isn't that enough?"

She only smiles at him before shaking her head, "Sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes you have to act on it, and sometimes cheating isn’t a great way to prove that.”

“I hope she was worth it.”

And before he could fire back at a chance to defend himself, the group of girls approaches him suddenly, catching him off guard.

He could hear them requesting to sign their phone cases, could hear the shutter of their phone cameras capturing his dumbfounded face, could hear them chattering about his work and he could hear them praise him for all the things he wasn't. Even with the roar of his crowd performances echoing how much they loved him, nothing beats Y/N's soft voice voicing out an, "I love you, Harry" He feels one girl shake his arm, usually he'd politely ask them to not touch him but at the moment he felt numb.

Because a few meters away, he witnesses Alan and Y/N walking towards each other with the brightest smile on their faces. Greeting each other with a hug, everything about them screamed being in love. Like Harry was, except the girl he adored was loving another man. What hurts the most–when they kissed each others' lips tenderly and his mind plays tricks on him, envisioning that he was the guy that Y/N was with except it flicks back to reality much too soon than he’d like it to be.

His imagination is proof of what could've been him and Y/N spending the rest of their lives together but of course, he’d mess that future up. He stands there wishing he could turn back time, praying to whoever it is up there that could help him find love again. Because his heart continuously breaks seeing her be happy with somebody else.

——- If you like it, shoot me a message If you don’t, pretend you do requests are open!

#harry styles angst #harry #harrystyles #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles writing #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles cheating #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry writings #my writing #angst #cheating

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officialcarryonheadquarters · 7 years

Note

Snowbaz 1.4 please!

there was another anon who asked for this one too so i hope they see it here :D sorry it took a few days!! thank you so much for the prompt i hope you like it bc i freaking love soulmate aus and im so happy to have an excuse to write one

soulmate au: if you write/draw on your skin it shows up on your soulmate’s skin

words: 1.6k

warnings: lol none im an innocent

Baz hated soulmates. He hated all the couples walking around Watford with their cute little hearts scribbled on skin, mirrored on the other person. He hated that he knew who his soulmate was. And he hated most of all that he could never have him.

Baz had done extensive research trying to learn about the magic behind soulmate links. He couldn’t find out how to reverse it. He couldn’t find out how to reset it. But he did find a few old articles and papers of one-sided soulmates and Baz realized very quickly that once again he fell in with the less than one percent. The unfortunate ones.

When Baz was little, before his mum died, soulmates were his favorite thing. His mom and dad would write each other little messages on their arms and Baz dreamed of doing the same thing someday. He would doodle on his arm and write messages to his soulmate, but they never wrote back. His mum said that his soulmate must’ve just missed them.

Baz later found out in his third year of Watford that all of his embarrassing doodles and notes had ended up on the arm of none other than his sworn enemy (and roommate).

He’d decided to write a note on his arm, after 8 years of religiously keeping his skin clean. When it appeared on Snow, sleeping five feet away, Baz rubbed it off his skin until his arm was raw.

He never so much as traced a message on his arm again. Snow never found out.

~ Eighth Year ~

“Hey Baz?” Snow whispered into the dark.

Baz glanced at his alarm clock. 1 am. “Go to sleep, Snow,” he grumbled at the idiotic blonde on the opposite side of the room.

Baz could only make out his head and wild curls peeking out of the blankets in the faint moonlight of the fucking window Snow insisted they keep open year-round, even in the winter. Especially in the winter. As if Baz wasn’t already cold enough being a bloody fucking vampire.

“Who’s your soulmate?” Snow asked, persisting. As stubborn as a brick wall, with equivalent social skills. Baz tried to ignore the way his breath caught at the question.

“Excuse me?” Baz turned over to face Snow. He prayed the darkness would hide his eyes. They’d give him away in an instant. His trained apathy was useless at one in morning.

“Well, haven’t you ever written your soulmate?” He gestured at Baz’s arm.

“No.” Baz snapped, “have you?” he couldn’t help himself.

Snow stayed silent a moment and stared at the floor between them, “no… Agatha keeps asking me to try it. She wants to know whether we’re really meant to be together.”

“Then just doodle on your goddamn skin, Snow.” Baz said, turning his back towards Snow again and hoping Snow would drop the conversation.

“I don’t want it to not work,” he whispered, “what if it doesn’t work?”

He sounded heartbroken. Baz’s lifeless heart lurched at the thought. He’d never let himself dream that Snow could ever be his soulmate back. Because Snow was straight. Because they were enemies. Because nothing ever really seemed to work out in Baz’s favor. So Snow had to be Wellbelove’s soulmate, and she had had to be Snow’s.

“Then she’s not your bloody soulmate. Write on your damn skin already, I’m sure she’s your soulmate. The golden couple of Watford, happily ever after.”

Snow’s face turned red at that, “shut up.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?” Baz snorted. Snow could never clapback. Talking wasn’t really his thing. Neither were spells. Or anything having to do with words, in general. Poor Bunce. Poor Wellbelove.

***

Baz wasn’t following Snow. Absolutely not. It was pure coincidence that Snow and Wellbelove didn’t notice Baz sitting a few feet behind them on the Great Lawn, reading his history assignment.

And Baz would’ve left, but he didn’t have the willpower.

“Agatha, I think I’m ready to try writing on my arm.”

“Fucking finally, Simon. You made such a big deal out of it for nothing.” Snow shrugged sheepishly at her words. He pulled a pen (Baz’s pen, his good pen, wanker must’ve stolen from his desk) and rolled up his sleeve.

He glanced up at Agatha, who rolled her eyes at his nervous expression. “Just do it, Simon.”

He reluctantly touched the pen to his arm and started writing slowly. Agatha didn’t roll up her sleeve. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

“Did it work? Lemme see it!” Snow reached out and turned over her wrist.

The whole world froze.

“It didn’t work, Simon. I think that means we’re not really meant to be.” Her voice sounded like ice. Baz could hear the blood pounding in Snow’s head. Or maybe it was his own, but he hadn’t been down to the catacombs in awhile.

“But—”

“You already knew it too, Simon.” She left him like that. Crumbled in the grass. Everything was silent, even the birds took a break from their incessant chirping, yielding to the golden boy broken in the grass.

“Fuck!” He shouted, finally. His green, smoky magic was coming off of him in rolling, nauseating waves. A first year twenty meters to Baz’s left threw up. A few third years scattered, trying to get out of Snow’s vicinity.

Baz left too. He knew he couldn’t watch Snow cry or go off, if he did he would lose it too. And if Snow caught Baz watching him, all of that lose magic would suddenly be concentrated on Baz and chances are it wouldn’t be friendly fire.

***

When Snow finally returned to the room that night, his cheeks were still stained with tears and the chicken-scratch on his arm was scrubbed raw, but still there.

Snow stopped next to Baz’s desk, foot tapping incessantly, “Well. You were wrong, you were wrong, Basilton. For the first time in your bloody perfect life.”

“You’ve still got a soulmate, somewhere. Just write them if you care so much.” Baz rolled his eyes. Snow was a damn mess.

Snow let out a clipped laugh, “Oh yeah? And why don’t you write your soulmate, then? Huh? What’s stopping you?” Snow hissed, throwing his school bag in the direction of his bed. He was burning up. The room was starting to smell like smoke.

“Because.”

“Because? Because?! Give me your fucking arm.” Snow snapped, reaching for Baz.

Baz recoiled from him. “Crowley Snow, calm down!”

“I’ll do it if you do.” Snow bargained, staring intensely at Baz.

“What?”

“I’ll write my soulmate if you write yours. We’re the only freaks in this school too scared to try it, for Christ’s sake.” Snow shrugged. He didn’t even bother to wipe away the tears rolling down his face. Baz was tempted to take it upon himself, but he let them fall to the uneven floorboards instead.

“Deal.” Baz didn’t really have anything left to lose at this point. Maybe Snow would finally take him out of his misery.

“Really?” Snow looked like someone slapped him and took a step back.

Baz smirked, “You’re going to back out of your own deal?”

“I, no—” he got flustered to easily.

“Then let’s get this over with.” Baz snagged a pen off his desk and turned over his wrist. Snow hopped up on Baz’s desk and did the same.

“On three.” Baz mumbled.

“One-”

“Two-”

“Three!” They exclaimed.

Baz drew a heart. He didn’t have anything to say to Snow. He watched Snow’s wrist as if he could see it forming under his sleeve.

Snow sat on Baz’s desk, staring at his opposite wrist intensely for a solid three minutes.

“Snow. Wake up.” Baz shoved him off his desk.

“When are they going to answer me?” He whined.

Baz shrugged, and made moves to exit the room. “I don’t bloody well know, Snow.”

“What did you write?” Baz blushed and held out his wrist.

“Oh, Merlin. That’s so much better than mine.” Snow mumbled. Baz grabbed Snow’s wrist, not surprised by the atrocious “HI” scrawled there.

Baz snorted as Snow shoved him the rest of the way out of the room.

***

Baz didn’t noticed it until he stepped into the shower. The atrocious, adorable, chicken-scratch “HI” scrawled on his wrist. His breath caught. It couldn’t be.

Or it could. The pounding on the bathroom door sounded like a fucking sledgehammer.

“Basilton fucking Pitch open the door! OPEN THE GODDAMNED DOOR!” Snow screamed. Baz scrambled out of the shower and tugged on his robe. He unlocked the door hesitantly and it creaked open painfully slowly, to reveal one very red, angry Simon Snow.

And then he charged.

“Anath-” Baz’s protests were silenced by Snow’s lips on his.

Snow backed Baz up against the sink, gripping Baz’s hips underneath white-knuckled fingers.

“Why did you keep it from me the whole time?” Snow panted, taking a half-step back, just enough to look up into Baz’s eyes. His hands were still tight on Baz’s hips and Baz’s hand dropped from Simon’s hair to his cheek.

“I didn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me Pitch, you knew this whole goddamned time.” Simon muttered, tracing circles on Baz’s stomach.

“I thought it was one sided. You were with Agatha four hours ago.”

“It’s not one sided. I just needed help figuring it out.” Simon mumbled, playing with them hem of Baz’s shirt. He wouldn’t look up, but Baz could see the blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Idiot.” Baz rolled his eyes, and Simon reached up for another kiss.

feedback welcome! ngl this is probably shit im sorry… sorry for any mistakes

~nat @thecruciblegavemeyou

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