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after-witch · 2 years

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Treat You Better [Homelander x Reader]

Title: Treat You Better [Homelander x Reader]

Synopsis: Homelander catches you talking to another man before your next session, and he doesn’t like it. Milky White Follow up.

Word count: 4094

notes: yandere & possessive behavior, reader is an escort, adult breastfeeding and breastplay, unhealthy relationship

“Shit!”

Ashley practically spits onto her phone as she thumbs the screen, rapidly texting whoever-it-was that was on the receiving end of her furrowed brow and pursed lips. She turns to you, smile tight and prim, and her voice raises an octave in faux pleasantry.

“Sorry about that. Emergency. You know how it is. This’ll just take as sec… wait here for me, ‘kay? ‘Kay.”

She’s gone before you can even answer, but it’s not like she was genuinely giving you a choice. You’re standing in one of what you’re sure are many elevator lobbies at Vought, waiting to be taken up to Homelander’s penthouse for your… services.

Services that you’ve rendered for some time now. It’s strange how as the meetings piled up, it got easier to do; easier to not think about how strange it was to have the strongest hero in the world sucking at your nipples, eager for the milk inside. And eager for something else, too… but you’ve never been brave enough to vocalize it, even to yourself. Warmth, maybe. Affection.

There’s nowhere to sit properly in the lobby, so you find yourself leaning against one of the tall pillars and hoping Ashley doesn’t take too long. You don’t want to be late. Homelander is many things--to the public, and to you--but he’s not the most patient of men. You were late a few weeks ago, thanks to a nasty traffic jam, and you swear he was practically pouting like a child when you finally made it up to his suite.

His attitude for that particular session wasn’t the best, and you convinced Ashley to have the driver pick you up half an hour early every time, just in case. Whenever you gave the slightest hint that Homelander wasn’t happy with something, all you had to do was mention it to Ashley and she usually fixed it right up. This was no exception. Besides, you could always wait in the car if you got there early, which is exactly what you did today.

Except now… well. You fight the urge to glance down at your phone and check the time. But maybe you should just go up yourself? Would Ashley be mad? Would Homelander be mad? Did you even remember what floor he was on?

”Are you lost?”

Your thoughts are broken up by a voice you’ve never heard, and you jump reflexively at the sudden intrusion into your space.

You get your bearings and let out a shaky laugh. It’s a man in a casual suit, no name tag. His soft brown hair is combed in a side part, and he’s carrying a tablet of his own. A Vought employee, maybe a bit lower on the ladder than Ashley, but an employee nonetheless.

“No,” you say, offering a thin smile. “Just waiting for someone.”

The man leans back a little on his heels. “Ah,” he says. “I was hoping you were lost. Then I could help you find your way.” He flashes you a smile, white and charming, so bright they are probably veneers.

And then it hits you.

Oh, he’s flirting. You can’t help the little laugh-scoff that escapes your lips, or the way you break into your own grin. You’re flattered, in a way. It’s not like you got a lot of opportunity to meet new men, what with a newborn and your current job taking up much of your free time. Both were exhausting, and exhaustion left no room for flings or nights out at restaurants or clubs, hoping to catch someone’s eye.

“Who are you waiting for?” He asks, looking you up and down in a way that he probably thinks is subtle--but really isn’t.

You don’t know if you’re supposed to say; Ashley did tell you that everything you did here was under a very strict NDA. Would telling this man that you’re waiting for Ashley violate that agreement, somehow? It might, and you err on the side of caution.

“I’m not sure, I was just told to wait here until they came to get me.” You pause.. Maybe you should throw him a false bone, just in case he decides to remember your face later on. “It’s for an interview.”

At your words, the man smiles wider. The elevator door behind you dings and opens, and you internally curse when the sound is not followed by Ashley’s clicking heels. If only she would hurry up--or if only this guy would be on his way. ”Interviewing for Vought? Congratulations.” He leans in closer, and the subtle musk of his cologne tickles your nose. “I hope you get the job. I’d like to see you around--”

“Well, this is a surprise.”

All the muscles in your body tense for one terrible moment, and then you turn towards the sound of the voice--Homelander.

Fuck.

The man immediately swerves, just as jumpy as you—and you wonder if, being an apparent long term employee for Vought, he has more to worry about if Homelander catches him slacking off on the job. Because when you glance at his face, you see, for just a moment, a split second of fear before it smooths over into a pleasant, strained smile.

“Homelander, sir,” the man says, smoothing out his hair. “It’s a pleasure—an honor.” He extends his hand and Homelander looks down at it for a few moments too long not to be awkward before taking it. You see the man’s muscles strain under the apparent weight of Homelander’s grip, before the moment is over.

“And who is this lovely lady?” Homelander turns to you, and you catch on in an instant that you’re not supposed to know him.

“Ah, well,” the man says, offering you a tight smile. “I actually didn’t catch her name. Miss…?”

You give it, feeling breathless, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble.

“She’s here for an interview,” the man offers, sensing awkwardness and anxiety in your tone, though he completely misunderstands the reasons for it. “I was just—”

“An interview!” Homelander’s smile is big and plastic and his voice matches it completely. You’ve never seen this side of Homelander up close, the side that’s full of fake pleasantries and falsehoods. It’s a sight you’ve only caught in front of the cameras, though you’ve only dared to question his publicly chipper attitude recently, being privy to something softer and more intimate and raw in your sessions with him. After all, how many people watching news clips of Homelander can say he’s been at their breast?

“You know what?” Homelander turns his smile towards you, and isn’t there something in his eyes, something you’re not quite catching? “I’d love to do the honors and take you up. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

It takes you a moment to realize that you should be shocked and grateful and happy, and the words spill out of your shaking lips.

“Thank you—thank you, Homelander, sir. It’s, um, an honor, really, I—”

His arm is around your shoulder, steering you away from the man without another word.

“Don’t mention it. Happy to help! And hey, buddy?” He turns his head back towards the man, who is standing, looking slightly stupefied, by the pillar. “Remember—you’re the real hero.”

It’s the most unpleasant elevator ride of your life, and you’ve ridden the elevator countless times with Ashley. Even after Homelander pulls his arm from around your shoulder, you can feel the weight of it on you.

Tension fills the small space so heavily that you swear you can taste it. Your mouth opens and closes a few times, but you’re unable to make the right words come out.

Then you finally splutter, “I’m sorry for being late, but Ashley—”

Homelander’s look cuts you off before you finish.

“You think I’m mad because you’re 5 minutes late?”

Well, you did. Not so much anymore.

“I don’t… know,” you admit, offering up a shrug, a pathetic smile. What else did you do? A mental checklist pops up in your head, trying to go over the ways you might have offended him, but nothing comes to mind. The elevator opens and he ushers you out.

He talks as he walks, not looking behind him.

“Who was that guy?”

“Guy?” You say, then feel stupid immediately after when he glances back at you. “He was just—I mean, Ashley went—”

Homelander finally turns to face you, and there’s something deep and impatient in his tone. Like you should know what your transgression was, and be apologizing for it already, but instead he’s having to explain it to you like a child.

“I’m not asking about Ashley. I’m asking about the guy you were talking to. The guy who looked like he wanted to fuck you right in the elevator lobby.” He practically spits out the last words, looking disgusted, looking…

Oh.

Homelander isn’t mad because you were late or because you were wasting his time.

Homelander is pissed because he’s jealous.

“I don’t know him,” you say slowly, thinking over every word. “He just came up to me while I was waiting, so I…”

It’s only a few steps between you and Homelander, and he strides through them in no time. He doesn’t grab you, but he’s close, as close as the man in the lobby was. But the two of you are alone, and there’s something new between you that you didn’t see before. Something that Homelander must be feeling, to act like this.

“I don’t want you talking to him.” It’s not a request, nor a demand—but a fact. One he expects you to accept, as if his word is law. And considering that he pays your bills, maybe it is. “You’re not here for him. Who are you here for? Say it.”

Your chest feels tight. There’s an uncomfortable feeling blooming there, and not the type of uncomfortable you feel when Homelander cuddles up to your breasts. A different kind, one more prickly, one more tinged with anxiety.

“I said,” he repeats, and for a moment you think he will grab you, but he doesn’t. “Who are you here for?’

“You,” you blurt, not sure how to say it, not sure how to take any of this.

He takes a short breath to steady himself. “Then say it. So I know you understand. Say, ‘I’m here to see Homelander.’”

You swallow, thick. You think about your nice apartment and the way you don’t skip meals to pay for diapers anymore.

“I’m here to see Homelander.” Your voice is almost a whisper. The anxiety bubbling in your chest gets pushed down, firm, insistently. You’re not afraid. You can’t be. He hasn’t hurt you. He’s just… jealous. He was preparing for a session and saw you with some guy. It would be weird if he wasn’t attached to you in some way after all this time, after the intimacy you’ve shared—paid intimacy, but still. Wouldn’t it?

The tight tension in his face seems to melt at your words, as he mulls them over, takes them in.

“Okay,” he says, half-sighing. “Okay. Good.” He smiles, and it’s not the tight smile from before; it’s the smile you’re usually greeted with when you enter his suite. Something between relief and pleasantry.

You smile, too, and if he notices the strained edges of it, it doesn’t bother him.

And just like that, everything is back to normal. Or as normal as it gets when he gestures towards the plush sofas in his living area and your hands automatically begin peeling off your shirt and undoing the clasp of your bra. You’ve taken to buying nicer maternity bras now; maybe he appreciates them, maybe he doesn’t. There’s no denying that you feel far less self-conscious in something with a bit of lace and style to it.

Sometimes you swear that the couch fits your grooves now. Maybe it does. Because it feels right—it feels comfortable—to sit down and snuggle yourself in. It doesn’t feel as awkward when Homelander shakes his wrists and sighs, forcing his body to relax, before he lays down with his head in your lap.

Today, he doesn’t go right for your breasts, though they’re waiting and primed. You’ve taken to timing your feedings and pumpings just right; it makes it easier. Otherwise, it tends to hurt, feeling forced and strained.

But now, he simply stares up at you. He’s not mad anymore. But he’s thinking. You can tell, even before he opens his mouth, that he’s not going to drop things entirely.

“You really didn’t know that guy?”

You tilt your head just a little as you look down at him. Somehow, when he’s in your lap, you don’t feel as much tension and fear as you might otherwise. Your hands stroke the side of his head, smoothing down his hair. It feels like a natural gesture at this point.

“I really didn’t know him.” And it’s the truth.

He smiles, a little childish smile, as if he was doubting you up until that moment.

“Good,” he says. “Because I… well.” He’s eyeing your breasts now, your rigid nipples, which move slightly as your chest rises and falls with your breath. “We’ll get to that later, okay? Later…”

He sighs and you take a breath, preparing yourself for the sensations that you can never entirely steel yourself to take. His mouth on your nipple, insistent, sucking. The motions are too strong, too controlled, especially now that he’s had weeks of practice. It’s better that you can’t get completely used to it, though, because it keeps your mind occupied. You don’t want to freely think about what just transpired; about what it means, or could mean. Hopefully, Homelander will be satiated with your session—with your breasts and milk and the way your hands gingerly stroke his head—and forget all about it.

“Mine.” The word is murmured around your leaking nipple so softly that you almost don’t hear it. But your mind jolts when it registers.

“Mine,” he says again, insistent, almost moaning it around your breast. “Right?”

You don’t want to think about that word, or what he’s saying, or the way his mouth movements have become more lurid. Something closer to what he’d be doing if he had fucked you the way you assumed he wanted that first day. You think about anything else. The tacky decor on the wall across from you. The cologne of the man from before. Homelander himself. His hair is soft. His skin is soft. He probably gets professional facial treatments, and God knows how much his haircare costs.

Then there’s a sharp low pain around your breast, and you gasp, jerking away just enough that his arm snakes around your back and holds you there. When you look down, you see a slight ring of red around your skin. He nipped you, he actually nipped you—

“Right?” He says again, eyes holding your own, breath panting shallow on your wet, sore nipple.

“Right,” you repeat, voice hoarse. “Of course.” You go back to petting him. Your voice is strained. “But remember? No biting.”

“Mm,” he mutters, before licking the skin he bit with surprising tenderness. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t seem all that sorry, but you’re too focused on the man, his grip around your shoulder as he led you into the elevator, his insistence on you saying you’re only here for him; the way he claimed you and bit you, and you have no recourse but to take it, admonishing him without any real authority.

It’s a lot to take in. Is it so bad that Homelander apparently wants you? You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive. But you were an escort. One that didn’t actually have sex with him—he hasn’t touched you in any way except your breasts, and it’s always been within the context of him nursing from you.

And yet.. You’d been seeing each other for months now. If he was growing attached to you, it wasn’t surprising, sure--and maybe it was even a good thing?

Before you know it, his alarm goes off. He doesn’t groan childishly like he normally does. Instead, he gives your breasts one last gentle suckle. It feels like an apology for his earlier harshness, and the softness of his mouth does feel soothing--both to your breast and your ego.

He gets up, like always.

You redress, like always.

But instead of waiting by the elevator, Homelander is standing close to you. Watching. Waiting. Patiently, which is rather unlike him, and it sets the first nervous sparks off in your mind.

When you’re dressed, he smiles--a bit too thinly, a bit too forced--and gestures for you to come closer. You do. Because he has given you no reason to avoid doing so. And he is paying you, after all, for your time.

You don’t know what you expect him to do.

But you don’t expect him to suddenly press both hands gently on either side of your face, stroking, almost a mimicry of what you do to him when he’s in your lap.

“Sir?” You ask, feeling your feet shuffle in place, feeling heat rise in your cheeks, feeling something nervous prickle in your chest.

He lets his hands fall away, and something feels like it’s stuck in your throat as you look up at him.

“You’re pretty, you know that? No--I meant to say, you’re beautiful.” He corrects himself, and you almost get the sense that he’s practiced what he’s about to say. “That’s what they say, isn’t it? It gives you a…” He gestures towards you, all of you, head to toe. “Glow.”

The rug underneath the coffee table is suddenly very interesting, because it’s all you want to look at .

“I think that’s for when you’re actually pregnant,” you correct. Then you realize that you’ve just rebuffed his compliment, and you add, swiftly. “But um, thank you.”

He snorts a little out of his nose. It’s a surprisingly natural gesture, one that is far more welcome than rehearsed speeches or prim smiles.

“So.” He clicks his tongue, and takes a breath. He steps closer to you, reaches out, and for a moment you think he’ll touch your face again. But instead he puts his arm around the small of your back. It’s intimate, far more intimate, somehow, than anything he’s done before.

“We’ve been seeing each other for a while now, haven’t we?”

You have. But you get the feeling he isn’t talking about your booked-and-paid-for-sessions, exactly. At least not in the same way that you view them.

“Mmhm,” you hum, trying to keep your voice light. Being this close to him in a new situation is strange. Is it bad? You can’t deny the feelings of anxiety in your chest, but it’s not because you’re afraid of him. It’s because you don’t know what’s going to happen, don’t know if saying or doing the wrong thing will end with you losing the best source of income you’ve ever had in your life. “It’s been nice,” you add, when you’ve paused for too long.

“Nice,” he repeats, softer than you said it. And now one of his hands does come back up to your face, gently holding your chin.

“It’s coming up on our… I guess you could call it our six month anniversary, isn’t it?”

You nod, though you didn’t know that nor did you ever view it as an anniversary, and he tilts your head slightly. He’s looking at you so carefully, but you don’t know why--or what he’s searching for. His fingers spread until one of them rests on your pulse.

“You’re so nervous,” he murmurs. “Your heart is pounding. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you breathe out, and it’s the truth. It feels strange to talk with his hand on your throat, on your chin, holding your face so delicately. “I’m not sure we… I don’t know if this is…”

You don’t know what to say or how to say it. None of your chats with the other women in the agency prepared you for this type of dynamic shift, and Ashley certainly didn’t, either.

“C’mon,” he chides, and his face gets just a little closer. “Don’t tell me you don’t like me.”

“Of course I like you,” you say, quick, and you don’t mean it to sound defensive but it probably does. “I’m just confused?” And it’s the truth again. You don’t know why but you’ve always sensed that he prefers the truth above all.

“Well, let me clear up some of the confusion.” There’s humor in his clipped tone, and at least your heart calms down a little. You haven’t stepped on any hidden mines so far, and maybe you wouldn’t ever, as long as you kept yourself clear-headed about things.

“I like you…” He emphasizes the words by removing his hand from your face and gesturing from his chest to yours. “And you like me…” And then back again. “And what do two people who like each other do?” His lips quirk up in a smile, expectant, even a little charming. When you don’t answer, he starts for you. “They…” He spins his wrist, laying his palm flat in front of you, enticing you to finish his thought.

“They kiss?” You suggest. Because what else might you suggest, given his proximity, given the way he was holding your face, given the way his body is close in a way so different than all the times you’ve seen him before?

“Right,” he says, half-laughing, and his hand grips your chin as he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips.

Your heart thuds inside your chest as your mind catches up to your body--to his body, and his mouth, and his hands on you. You murmur something against his lips, but you don’t know if it’s dissenting or not.

The kiss is warm and chaste, at first. Tentative and soft. And then his mouth opens against yours, enveloping your lips, and you don’t really think as you return the gesture, as the kiss deepens. There’s a buzzing underneath your skin, and you can’t decide if it’s good or bad. You feel electric. You feel naughty. You feel conflicted.

Should you be doing this? It was what you expected all this months ago, wasn’t it? How far will this go? Will he take you into the bedroom before you leave and--

He suddenly pulls away and his eyebrows furrow in annoyance, and there’s the brief fear that you did something wrong, before you hear the elevator door ding harsh and loud.

His face scrunches up in pure irritation.

“Hello, Ashley,” he says, voice biting, hard.

Ashley, for her part, is wearing a painted on smile.

“Hello, Homelander, sir.” She waves to you with painted nails waggling. “I’ve just come to collect--”

“I know why you’re here, Ashley. I’m not a moron. Christ.”

The electrical tension that was in the air has all but evaporated, replaced with an uncomfortable irritation that makes you feel slightly ill. You snatch your discarded jacket from the sofa and begin to fully button it up, offering an apologetic smile to Homelander as you whisk yourself towards Ashley.

Homelander starts to say something, but stops himself.

Ashley looks at you, then back at Homelander, then back to you. She looks like she might say something too, but her lips close and she taps the parking garage floor and simply stares ahead, eyes slightly widened, as they shut on Homelander.

Before they do, you offer a wave. It feels dumb. But in the split second before the door closes, you see him return it, and maybe that means things will be okay.

Ashley’s phone is dinging before the elevator reaches the bottom floor.

“Oh, okay,” she says, confusion clear in her voice.

Your stomach twists. You blew it, didn’t you? He’s telling her to have you fuck off and never come back, or telling her that he wants someone else from the agency, someone who won’t scamper out of his sight like a mouse the moment she gets kissed.

You finally can’t take it anymore, and you force yourself to ask: “Is everything okay?”

Ashley nods a little too quickly for you liking.

“Oh, of course. It’s just--well.” She gives a sly grin in your direction. “Homelander just told me to book you two reservations at the nicest restaurant in town for tomorrow night. Exciting, huh?”

You wish you could blame the drop in your stomach on the elevator thudding to a stop.

“Yeah,” you reply, thinking about his lips against your own. “Exciting.”

#yandere homelander #homelander x reader #yandere the boys #yandere #afterwitch writes #I'd say it's in between yandere and not #but gonna tag it cause.. kinda!

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yonduismarrypoppins · 9 months

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‘Mother May I Sleep With Danger, Please'.....

Summary: Bucky and the reader have gone undercover.

Photos aren't mine, credit to the og owners

Tiltle from ‘Mother May I Sleep With Danger?’ By Joy Crookes

Warnings: reader is black, reader is wearing a dress and has a back tattoo, she/her pronouns, Bucky drinks a glass of whiskey, the longest fic I've ever written, no y/n used, weird nicknames, google translate Russian, ending is abrupt bc I couldn't think of any ending that wasn't me stealing from someone else, speaking of which; inspired by @buckyalpine ‘s fic

A/N: thanks to @webinurcloset for proofreading

I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO REPOST OR TRANSLATE AND REPOST, THIS IS MY WRITING!

I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG MAKING THIS 18+ CONTENT. MOVE ON MINOR.

You were the newest addition to the avengers, quiet, solemn but hardworking nonetheless. You had been living in the tower for a month now, not a soul but you had seen the inside of your apartments. Every dinner, meeting and mission you stayed silent save for the occasional ‘hello’ ‘thank you’ and ‘goodnight’. The other Avengers didn't make a big deal of it, knowing how anxiety can affect a person especially a newly appointed avenger.

You had not yet been approved for missions so you spent most of your time in your room, but the few times you were spotted around the tower or the compound you wore loose black sweats and a scarf around your hair. The only visible parts of you being your face and part of your neck, the parts of you they could see they appreciated. They weren't very concerned about the rest of your body, knowing most of them were covered in scars, some more inclined to hide them than others.

Everyone expected that to change, especially once you were approved for missions. The week had finally come. They were given the option to watch from the balcony as you were examined in the training gym. As Tony hadn't finished your ‘Hero Suit’ as he called it, you were given a SHIELD issue suit. Unsurprisingly it covered more of your body than your sweats did, with a high neck, gloves and a hood. Though your silhouette was certainly visible, Steve's blush made that clear. You had undeniable skill easily mastering each and every weapon handed to you, easily defeating over a dozen SHIELD agents.

You were called into a meeting shortly after your approval, along with Sam, Natasha and Bucky. You walked in to see the three spy’s spread about, sat around the long metal table. You were surprised at Steve's absence, deducing that this mission was to be more covert than usual. You were told by Maria Hill the nature of the mission, surveillance, which came as no surprise to you.

After a long silence caused by one of Sam's ‘jokes’, you wondered if you all would be sitting in a van together for hours. Maria quickly began to discuss the details of the mission. You and Bucky would be infiltrating a gala, set to happen the next day hosted by a man named Anatoli Volkov at his private residence in New Hampshire, one of his many properties.

He had been suspected of human trafficking and many other dirty dealings by the FBI for years, only falling under SHIELDS radar after one of the girls he had ‘allegedly’ kidnaped was found in a Hydra facility barely breathing 3 years later. She thankfully survived and was able to give some information on how she ended up there, including Volkov’s name.

Maria gave you the files on yours and Bucky's undercover identities; Ukraine and American born spies, respectively, over a dozen confirmed kills, married in 2015... You stopped for a moment, eyes reverting back to that last phrase, a couple, a married couple. Feeling Bucky's eyes on you, you kept your expression as neutral as possible before continuing to read on. After the briefing you briskly made your way to your room, grabbing a bottle of your favorite drink from your fridge.

You thanked whoever designed this building for allowing everyone to have their own apartments, two to a floor with the only exception being Wanda and Vision.

Their apartments have been merged so they now have the floor to themselves.

The moderately sized units were outfitted with a kitchen with a small dining table, a small living room along with a television, bathroom, small walk in closet and bedroom. As well as the F.R.I.D.A.Y. ai wired throughout the building.

You had put more time into decorating than you originally planned but overall, you made a home for yourself. You only had to leave when you ran out of food, for training or for laundry and other chores. After a few hours sitting in your bed, memorizing the blueprints for Volkov's house and every given detail of your new identity F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s startled you out of your focus, notifying you that someone was at your door.

You opened your door to Bucky holding a black garment bag and a medium sized shopping bag in his right hand with a large black box in his left.

“Hill wanted me to give you these” he handed you the two bags, “and Tony finished your suit”

You weren't necessarily surprised at his arrival, considering you two shared a floor it made sense for him to be the one to deliver the items to you.

You thanked him quietly, reaching out to grab the box. It was heavier than expected. You gave him a small smile before closing the door. The heat in your cheeks suddenly became quite noticeable. You hoped quietly that the melanin you were so grateful for covered any hypothetical redness.

As you passed the windows on the way to your bedroom you noticed the dark night sky, you hadn't realized how late it was. You hung up the garment bag on the hook you had placed outside of your closet door, placing the bag and your new suit on the bed. You made your way to the bathroom to take a shower, the warm water calming you as you reflected on the events of the day.

You had been trying to befriend your fellow Avengers but your anxieties prevented you from being outgoing. You had grown closest with Bruce, as he could relate to your fears. You stepped out of the shower commencing your skincare and body care routine. After you finished you went to grab the garment bag, trying on the gown to ensure it fit with the black heels they'd given you to go along with it.

You quite liked the ensemble, but you weren't quite thrilled to wear it in front of the rest of the Avengers. You took it off returning the items to their previous packaging before putting on your night clothes and getting in your bed. You fell asleep searching for hairstyles to wear to the gala on Pinterest.

You dreamt of Bucky that night, how he might touch you with his large hands, one warm flesh, one cool metal , how he might look at you with gorgeous and piercing blue eyes, how he might love you with all of that and everything in between.

__________________

The Next Morning

You awoke earlier than normal, 4:56, a habit you'd had since adolescence when you were anxious. You changed into your workout clothes, black sports bra, leggings and the lulu lemon jacket Natasha had gifted to you when you first arrived. You made your way to the restroom where you pulled your hair back into a ponytail. Putting on your favorite pair of red sneakers before leaving.

Making your way to the elevator, Bucky's apartment door opened. You stopped in front of the elevator doors, turning to watch him. He turned around and made eye contact with you, after a few minutes of still silence you spoke, “going down?” he shut his door and answered with a smile, “yea”.

He stood beside you as the doors opened, he raised his hand allowing you to enter first pressing the gym floor button as he turned facing the closing the doors. You smiled down at the elevator buttons as Bucky adjusted his position so he wouldn't crowd you, something he often did unintentionally due to his large stature.

10, 9, 8.. The small screen changed as you descended the floors. “Thank you for bringing me the stuff for the mission.'' Bucky smiled, the most he'd ever heard you speak.

6, 5… “Of course, how'd you like your suit?” your suit, you'd forgotten to try it on last night. You didn't even open the box, “I haven't put it on yet” “no rush, I was just curious” he shrugged “its ok, I would be too” you both smiled.

4, 3. The doors slid open, you exited first heading for the women's locker room so you could use the bathroom. Glad to find it empty, you were in and out spending most of your time at the sink washing your hands and examining everything that just happened in the elevator. After finding one too many reasons to be embarrassed you left the bathroom and entered the gym, heading right for the open floor to stretch.

The gym was just as empty as the locker room, save for Bucky, you decided to go light today. Loosen yourself up before the mission just to avoid being sore. You finished before Bucky did, he was on the pull up bar as he had been for the 7 minutes before then, you'd spent that time admiring his muscular back looking away when you began to feel a gathering wetness in your underwear.

You left just before the morning gym rush arrived, taking another shower in your room and putting on your usual sweats and scarf before getting some fruit to eat in front of the tv where you sat for the next few hours.

You looked at the clock, 5:00. You were set to leave at 6:30.

You quickly got up, making sure you packed everything you needed to style your hair and do your makeup. You grabbed the garment and shoe bag along with a black purse with hardware that matched your chosen jewelry and a black scarf made with the same material of the dress to cover your shoulders. You made sure you had everything you needed before running to the elevator, heading to the top floor to board the quinjet.

You arrived first, much to your surprise, allowing the SHIELD agent piloting to pack your things into the built in storage compartments. As you sat down, Sam, Nat and Bucky arrived with their clothes and other supplies in tow. You looked back down over your thighs to make sure you put your seatbelt into the right clip. When you looked back up they were walking to their seats Bucky choosing to sit next to you

“Hey doll” he said with a small smile, “hello” you replied quietly. Sam and Nat sat across from you both. Suddenly a SHIELD agent, who appeared to be quite out of breath ran up the ramp. He stopped in front of you handing you a small black box, “the wedding rings mam” he said exasperatedly. You thanked him before he nodded and ran back out. You opened the box to two simple wedding bands, one thicker than the other and a diamond ring, one you might have chosen for yourself if this was real. You held out the box to Bucky before he reached for the thicker band, placing it on his ring finger before you did the same.

You noticed the rings were not new, with small nicks and marks. An important detail, especially if you were going to be surrounded by people as observant as you. You made a mental note to fake a tan line on yours and Bucky’s fingers later. The pilot cut through the silence on the intercom, announcing the beginning of the flight.

You landed in the SHIELD port shortly after as the flight was only 15 minutes. You were taken to the car port by another agent along with your bags where Natasha was given keys to a black cadillac escalade. You all stood against the grey concrete wall for a second, watching as the agent packed your things into the trunk of the car you looked at Bucky to your right, admiring how his jawline was accentuated by his man bun. You were sure you might have gaged at the bundle of hair on anyone else but on him you couldn't help but fawn over it. He looked down at you with a grin, making you look forward again embarrassed, glad to see the agent was finished.

Nat drove to the hotel where you would be staying, pleasantly surprised that it was an actual hotel and not a dirty highway motel like some of the other Avengers had been made to stay in. You and Nat packed all of your things onto a luggage cart while Sam and Bucky checked you all in.

“You should tell him you like him, you know, he likes you just as much.” Natasha says suddenly, you look up at her with shocked eyes “what?” you ask quickly, voice wavering. She flashes a grin at you, “Nothing, sorry”

You pushed the luggage cart into the lobby where Bucky and Sam were waiting by the elevator, you struggled slightly to push the cart into the elevator, Natasha and Sam attempting to help you on the other side. “I'll help you doll”. He moved behind you, placing his hands just above yours. You felt his warm body push into yours as you stumbled in with the cart. You turned to face him as the doors closed looking into his eyes for a moment, you cleared your throat, breaking eye contact and speaking quietly to ask “which floor?” he smirked “penthouse, doll” you clicked the button watching as it lit up and feeling the elevator begin to move.

Bucky was too preoccupied watching you avoid looking at his face to notice the look Sam and Nat exchanged, one of pride and cunning, it was only a matter of time.

Nat and Sam left your coms on the desk before going across the hall to their room. You used the master bathroom to get ready while Bucky used the half bath. You had finished your hair and makeup but were struggling to close the dress, the satin buttons proving hard to reach. You stepped out of the bathroom calling for Bucky, “what's up doll” he stepped out of the bathroom fixing his suit cuff, you were pulled into a trance admiring how he looked in the black suit, his bun making him look even more mysterious.

“Doll?” you snapped out of it. Not realizing he had moved closer to you, “what do you need, sweet girl?” he spoke softly, you swore that his pet names would make you spontaneously combust. “I need help with my dress, I can't get it closed.” You turned your back to him so he could start closing the buttons. He quietly admired the art tattooed on your back, it was beautiful, elongating your back with its elegant design. With every brush of his hands on your skin you became more and more flustered thanking whatever deity was looking down on you when he announced he was done, you turned to face him again “You look great doll.” Bucky said with a smile, your eyes flashing in between his eyes and chest a few times before you spoke up, “I'll just grab my bag and we can go”

You made sure you had on all of your jewelry, including your wedding rings, your bag, your scarf and your com before you told Bucky you were ready to go. You stepped out just as Natasha and Sam did, donning their driver and bodyguard outfits respectively. The elevator trip was much less awkward, Sam even managing to make a joke that you all laughed at.

You all walked to the car, you and Sam moving to the right and Nat and Bucky moving to the left. Nat and Sam got in the front seats of the car while Bucky opened the door for you, you slid to the seat on the other end so he wouldn't have to circle the car to enter. Sam pulled off just as he shut the door. You had been staring absentmindedly out of the window when you felt Bucky grip your hand and pull it towards his chest. You turned your head toward him, making no movements as you had no intention of pulling your hand away. As he turned the wedding rings on your finger you wondered again what it would be like to be loved by Bucky.

The drive was short, you arrived ‘fashionably late’ as Sam called it at 8:15. The estate was gorgeous, elegant and large but not overbearing. It rested on a large piece of land surrounded by forests and greenery.

“Ladies and gents we have arrived. I'll circle to the entrance to drop you two off and we'll park a few blocks away.” Sam said, while his tone was gleeful you heard the underlying worry in his voice. Bucky walked out and around to your door, reaching his hand around to help you step out. “Don't forget to turn on your coms.” Nat added quickly as you Bucky closed the car door.

Bucky moved his arm around your waist to guide you up the stairs of the extravagant mansion, the doors opened to a gorgeous ballroom, warm lighting, brown tones and old school jazz music coming from the live band in the corner. Just quiet enough to feel like a background song to a memory. There were plenty of people, criminals you assumed. All well dressed in browns, blacks and creams.

You admired the dress of one woman while Bucky walked you to the bar, keeping you close. He ordered himself a whiskey neat. One of the perks that come from being a super soldier on missions, he can drink normal alcohol with no consequences because it has no effect on his body. Discovering his inability to get drunk has given Bucky the opportunity to drink whiskey for the flavor, he has become a bit of a connoisseur post freedom, his current favorite being Bushmills Black Bush Whiskey. You ordered a ‘Shirley Temple’, not necessarily feeling like drinking alcohol. You moved to sit on the bar stool facing away from the bar while Bucky stayed standing on your right side waiting for your drinks.

The bartender handed Bucky your drinks when suddenly you felt a clammy hand on your shoulder, “ну что тут у нас? экзотическая красавица?” (well what do we have here? an exotic beauty?) You looked up at the person touching him, and immediately recognized him as Anatoli Volkov. You wanted to pull his hand off of you and break it but you couldn't do anything to make him suspicious, thankfully Bucky spoke before you did.

“моя жена великолепна, не так ли?” (my wife is gorgeous, isn't she?) he said, putting some obvious emphasis on the word wife. He then wrapped one of his arms around your neck. You reached up to grasp his hand floating hand, pulling it down slightly. Volkov smirked, “I meant you no offense, Mr.?” he said in an amused tone, highlighting his thick accent.

“Joseph Smith and my wife Iris”. Your thumb swiped across his hand as he spoke, your head leaning back into his chest. Anatoli reached his hand out towards Bucky to shake, “it's nice to meet you Joseph, i hope to see you both again” Volkov looked down at you with a sly smirk, Bucky diverted his attention when he reciprocated his handshake, Anatoli's eyes shooting back up to him. “I hope to see you again too” Bucky smiled but his grip tightened, Volkov shook out his hand as he turned and walked away from the both of you. You turned to face the bar taking a sip of your drink, the sweet liquid refreshing your parched throat.

Bucky's arm moved off of you to take a sip of his drink. You turned back to the crowd after downing half of your drink, taking a moment to see how much security was in the building. Eventually you noticed at least 8 men in all black suits, all of whom had repeatedly talked to the same man in a dark blue suit. He had been shadowing Volkov since you arrived, you noted.

Suddenly Bucky grabbed your knees, pulling you to face him and moving your legs around his waist, with one hand you gripped his wrist and with the other you stabilized yourself on his shoulder. Your hand slowly moved up his arm as he pushed his hand up into your dress clutching and rubbing at your ass and thighs. “gray suit 2:00, he might have made us, i'm not sure.” you barely brought yourself to tear your eyes away from his face to look at the man in question. He was standing in a corner watching the two of you, finally looking away to reach into his pocket to answer his phone. You tried to read his lips but were quickly distracted when Bucky pushed his head into your neck, your hand flying to his neck carefully holding his head.

“Think we should go?” he said into your ear, you cleared your throat “we don't have anything on Volkov yet, we should wait.” he grunted in response before pulling his head out from your shoulder, only moving one of his hands to reach for his glass of whiskey again. You looked up at him, wondering how he can manage to make butterflies turn in your stomach while staying completely calm, you hoped that your flustered behavior wasn't tipping off the other people in the ballroom. You looked back at the jazz band when the music ended, quietly clapping before Anatoli walked on stage. You immediately rolled your eyes, wanting to zone out but knowing that if you did you'd likely regret it. You reached to take a sip of your drink, reminding yourself as to why you hadn't ordered something alcoholic when Anatoli began to speak.

The whole speech was in Russian, he thanked his guests, boasted and bragged but still delivered no useful information. Fake laughter coming from all sides of the room. You had zoned out a bit, listening to the heavenly jazz band on stage once again until you felt a hand on your neck. Bucky grasped both sides of your face with both of his hands, tilting your head up to look at him, he chucked when you hesitated to look him in the eye.

He held his forehead against yours brushing your lips against each other before speaking again, “Somebodys watching us, doll.” He smirked when he finished using his hands to push your head in the direction of the man in the gray suit once again. You looked back at Bucky before aiming your head down.

You took your hands, taping the inside of yours and Bucky’s ears discreetly before moving them around his neck. You spoke quietly, “Nat, do you copy?” there were a few seconds of static before a response came “Copy kitty-girl, what's going on in there?” you smiled at the nickname, reminded of the night you and Nat had snuck Alpine out from Bucky’s room to put her in the animal Falcon costume. “We're all good but maybe not for long, we’re being watched.” “Alright, get out of there. We'll be at the front waiting.” You heard her call for Sam to start the car before you looked at Bucky in the eye again, nodding subtly.

He moved his hands from your face, grabbing your bag from the bar before lifting you off of the stool, you let a small gasp escape you. Before you could process the action he was pulling you across the room to the entrance, when you reached the stairs he placed an arm under your shoulders and the other under your knee, the action made you squeal and you in turn made him laugh. You felt like a princess, or at the very least a main character in a rom com that was not deemed relevant enough to have Bucky watch yet.

You were sure that anyone witnessing the interaction would simply think you two were a happy couple eager to get home after a long night of tension.

He placed you down to open the door to the large van, lifting you into your seat before sliding in himself. Sam begins to open his mouth to speak when you put a finger over your mouth in an effort to quiet him. You look through your purse finding a bug in the open interior pocket and a tracker handing them to Natasha, she hands you a bug detector. You took Bucky's hands to make sure there were no other devices before doing a quick sweep over his body and yours, after finding nothing you say “alright, we're clear”. Natasha smiles when you hand the bug detector back to her, noticing that Bucky hasn't taken his eyes off of you and you haven't let go of Bucky's hand.

It's done, I'm done, sorry if this sucks.

Taglist:

@floriidakilos @zendayassimp @itsyagirljaz

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes concept #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x black reader #bucky barnes x fem reader #leo writes again

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tavern-aa · 2 years

Note

Hello! Could I request the prompts 64 and 38 (Maybe also 22) with Bakugou x M! Reader who has just broken up with his slightly toxic boyfriend and went to Bakugou for comfort? (And ended up getting a lot more then he barged in for- not like he’s complaining.) Thank you! :>

AN: Here we go back on that smut stuff, let's have some fun. LET'S GET IT!!!!! -Teddy

Word Count: 2310 words

Smut Prompts 64: “You’re not taking me to bed. ever.” “Who said it had to be on the bed?”

Smut Prompt 38: “Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

Smut Prompt 22: "Mine"

You hated being wrong. It is a fact. You hated admitting your mistake and facing whoever advised you against whatever decision you probably made out of stubbornness. It is absolutely one of your least favorite situations to be in.

And yet that is the very situation you find yourself in right now. Bounding down the old steps of your boyfriend's apartment walking out into the rain. If you weren't so furious at your situation you would be freaking out over stepping your new sneakers into a puddle after saving up for weeks to buy them. You stomped over to your car, even though you were sure you heard the bastard's voice calling out your name. But if anyone asks you can't hear it over the storm. Slamming your car door and speeding out of the parking lot you try not to think of all the times all your friends told you not to date that jerk.

You zoomed down the road to the only place you could think of being right now. Another thing you hated was breaking down in front of others, but there was one person in your life who you knew would support you in a way that didn't make you feel like shit. You drove your car down a route you had taken thousand times before pulling up to a familiar upscale apartment in the city.

Still not minding how soaked you were from the rain and how crazy you probably looked dripping water onto the marble floors of the lobby. If the front desk wasn't so used to seeing you they probably would have given you a problem going in. Luckily, the nice lady who was always generous with the complimentary mints was working tonight. She took one look at your drenched clothes and furious expression and decidedly looked away for deniability.

You hardly remembered walking into the elevator and riding up to one of the upper floors and knocking on a familiar door.

"Whatever it is you want, don't" a voice called from the other side of the door angrily.

"Bakugo it's me you jerk!"

The door swung open to reveal a large muscular figure. Bakugo Katsuki was a very good friend of yours. Yeah, he's rough around the edges. Yeah, he drives you up the wall. But he is also someone who will give it to you straight and that is what you need right now.

The blonde looked down on you with a surprisingly blank stare for someone so usually expressive.

"You look like shit."

You rolled your eyes in response, "thanks for noticing captain obvious, now can I come in now?"

Bakugo moved aside and let you track water into his apartment. Your familiarity with Bakugo's space led you to the blonde's bedroom and then into his bathroom. You weren't sure if you had full range of his clothes but you were too tired to care and the cold from your wet clothes was making you shiver. After a quick shower, you pulled on the oversized t-shirt that you retrieved out of Bakugo's room and made your way back out into the living room.

The shirt you grabbed was a bit loose on the pro hero, and since you didn't share his heavily muscular physique, the top came well down your thighs. Your boxers only peeked out when you turned your body the right way and if you were in a better mood you would laugh at how small you looked drowning in one of the nation's most eligible pro heroes clothes.

Following the smell of spice, you wandered into the living room to find the aforementioned bachelor sitting on his couch wearing just a pair of sweatpants. He was sipping on a steaming mug lazily but he turned his head towards you when he noticed you approaching. His vermilion eyes trailed up and down your figure for a moment before he opened his arms motioning you to sit in the spot beside him.

“Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

He brought his fingers to toy at the collar of his shirt that had fallen down your shoulder exposing the smooth flesh to him. You leaned into the touch subconsciously while scoffing. " I'm a dumbass, but you know that by now."

Bakugo tilted his head to fully face you and furrowed his brow, "the hell happened to you?" That was the million dollar question, isn't it? "I broke up with my boyfriend tonight" you started. The anger you had been feeling up until this point had vanished leaving behind only shame and regret. Bakugo kept quiet but moved the hand at your collar to your opposite shoulder bringing you further into his chest. This comforting gesture seemed to open the flood gates on your emotions leaving an opening for you to vent out all that had happened to you that night.

"We were fighting about nothing really which was the usual lately. When he brings up you and I am just confused about what he's talking about, but then he brings up Denki and Kirishima too. He was saying that he wasn't comfortable with me having guy friends, especially ones in your guys' career. He basically implied that I was whoring myself out or was being exploited. He wanted all this control, like full access to my phone and who I talked to. The bastard even tried to give me a curfew!" Your body started shaking so you wrapped your hand into Bakugo's to ground yourself. "It just got toxic, so I left him."

It was silent for a moment as you calmed your breathing down and Bakugo tightened his grip on your hand.

"Good on ya, that guy was a piece of shit from the start." You snorted and looked up at him, "yeah he was, wasn't he? Damn, how did you let me stay with a guy like that?"

Bakugo whipped his head to gawk at you, "me? The rain must have flooded your damn brain cause I didn't let you do shit!" His anger only served to make you laugh and you leaned back a bit to escape his ire.

"It was your fault, you know I make poor decisions when I haven't had dick in a while! And when we started dating I was going through a major dry spell." Bakugo brought one of his hands to your waist and the other on your thigh then pulled you back into his side. You couldn't help but gasp when you felt his large calloused hands on your skin. His warmth chased away any lingering cold from the rain.

You looked up at him and noticed his expression had changed into something more complicated that you couldn't quite decipher. He leaned his body over you trapping you between his body and the couch. Your breath started becoming more labored as you were overwhelmed by the faint sweet smell on his skin.

"Now tell me if I'm wrong, but didn't I offered to help your horny ass before you dated that shit stain?"

You remembered that. You were sitting around his apartment drinking and complaining about how unlucky you were when it came to romance and how lonely you were. Bakugo had been cuddled into the couch with a beer in his hand and looked a bit out of it when he said he could fix that. You had just laughed. You both were drinking heavily and you had never gotten the vibe that he was into you before so you just brushed it off as the alcohol. Then not long after you started to date your ex.

Looking up at Bakugo now you noticed the look of desire in his eyes as he started gliding his hand up and down your thigh. Dick wasn't what you were expecting when you came over tonight, heavy drinking and swearing, sure. But not this. But that isn't to say you were upset by the development. Bakugo was your friend, yes but you were not so blind as to not notice how much of a hunk he was.

His bulging muscles and bright piercing eyes distracted you on a good day. But when they had you in this position you couldn't really refuse. You stretched your arms out and wrapped them around his neck to bring his head closer.

"And if I remember right, you were so drunk that you propositioned me like some gentlemen from the last century. So for the record, You’re not taking me to bed. Ever."

“Who said it had to be on the bed?"

Your body unconsciously shivered and your lips curled into a smirk. "Now that's more like it" you started, bringing your lips to his ear.

"Don't be gentle with me Bakugo."

The feral grin on the blonde's face sent tingles down your spine. You quickly slammed your lips into his starting a heated battle for dominance. You both grabbed at each other's clothes and whatever flesh you can find. Bakugo moved his mouth from your lips to your neck breathing deeply before placing kisses along the column leading towards your shoulder. Occasionally he bit down harshly undoubtedly leaving dark hickeys behind. You couldn't help but moan when at his ministrations. It didn't help that one of his hands was gripping at your waist while the other was gliding down to your ass.

But you weren't one to be a pillow princess so you started leading your hands down his torso. You took extra care to get a handful of his pecks enjoying the feel of muscle under your fingers. When you pinched one of his nipples you were rewarded by a deep groan that went straight to your dick.

The sound sent you on a bit of a power trip that left you wanting more. So you brought both of your hands to that alluring bulge pressing against your thigh. Contact with his dick seemed to distract Bakugo from ravishing your neck as he brought his face back to yours. The slightly embarrassed but aroused look on his face only served to extend your power trip so you grinned back at him. He furrowed his brow back at you and brought your body closer suddenly leaving you straddling the blonde's lap.

You gasped when you felt yourself over his powerful thighs and both of your lengths made contact through your clothes. Bakugo leaned his face into yours with a predatory grin as he put his hand back on your ass while the other gripped the back of your neck.

"Let's get one thing straight baby" as he spoke you couldn't help but be enchanted with the deep rumble of his voice.

Bakugo put his hand on the waistband of your boxers to free your cock from its confines. You only hoped he didn't notice the wet stain on the front of your shorts that Bakugo's large shirt had concealed.

"Tonight, and any other night this happens I'm in charge understand?" You nodded helplessly as he then gripped your cock running his hand along your slit.

"Yes, I understand" he chuckled in response.

"Do you really? Or are you just wanting to have your dick played with after that dumbass left you unsatisfied for so long?"

Gid, how were you supposed to focus on an answer as he kept a steady rhythm rubbing along your length. You didn't think you weren't being satisfied but how could you argue when Bakugo just giving you a handjob felt better than anything you had done with your ex.

You panted desperately as you bucked forward into his grip. But every time you tried to speed up his pace Bakugo would hold you still by your waist.

"Answer me baby, or we're stopping" he let out in a patronizing tone.

You usually prided yourself on your wit and stubbornness, but in the face of all this pleasure, you felt your mind clouded. The thought of this ending sent panic through your body.

"No! No, please don't stop!"

"Shouldn't I though? Cause I only pleasure good obedient boys" Bakugo leaned his face closer to yours so his vibrant eyes meet yours. "Are you being a good boy (y/n)?"

"I am, I'm a good boy!"

This answer seemed to please him as he sped up the pace of his hand on your cock. The spike in pleasure caught you off guard and only sent you hurtling forward towards your orgasm faster.

"Yeah, you gonna be my good boy babe?"

You started humping into his hand while pushing your ass further back into his powerful hand.

"Yes I'm your good boy, oh fuck" you felt your mind blurring further as your orgasm inched closer. "Oh fuck Bakugo I'm gonna cum!"

Bakugo licked at your open mouth, "yeah? Then come for me, baby."

His command had such authority behind it that it left you breathless. This was closer to the voice he used to order around his sidekicks in tense situations. The contrast to his usual tone plus his words sent you over the edge as you bucked one last time before cumming into Bakugo's hand. You watched your cum land on his sculpted chest and fuck did it look delicious.

As you came down from your high you leaned into Bakugo's chest and tried to regain a few of your brain cells. At the same time, the blonde ran his hand along your back lulling you into a state of exhausted bliss.

Bakugo brought his head closer to yours and whispered into your ear the same time he slipped his hand into your boxers and trailed his fingers towards your hole.

"Mine."

#my hero academia #bnha #bnha x male reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x male reader #teddy

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ddejavvu · 2 years

Note

Hellooo!! Can I request a Remus x muggle!Reader where it’s in the first wizarding war (james and lily don’t die tho omg) and she doesn’t know about magic or anything but she gets kidnapped by the death eaters and is fucking terrified and Remus and the order save her? Happy ending pls :) ILY

ILY TOO BABY - omg remus my hero <3

Light floods into the dingy, freezing dungeons you'd been thrown in, illuminating your cell faster than when the door was thrown open by any of your captors. At first you're afraid that they're coming to kill you, because whoever's footsteps and angry shouting you can hear sounds like they mean business, but then one of the voices says your name, and it all clicks.

"Y/N! Y/N, dove, are you down here?"

You swear your heart has never swelled more than at the first sight of Remus after a week of brutal torture. You've been cut, you've been hit, you've been pushed, you've been stabbed, but none of your pain seems to fester as soon as Remus steps into view.

Relief floods his eyes at the sight of you, and you're pressed up against the door of your cell in seconds. Your wounded leg, oozing fresh blood and bent strangely, is the last thing on your mind as you reach out desperately for him, tugging him into a long-awaited hug through the bars.

"Remus," You sob, your sticky, dirt-smeared face shoved hastily between the bars to be closer to his, "Remus, please, please get me out of here!"

"I know, love." His response doesn't answer your desperate pleas, though he's already waving his wand at the lock. Instead it speaks to the unsaid, comforts the pain you didn't have to tell him you were in.

He has the door wrenched open in seconds, and you don't bother politely greeting any of his friends behind him. You're familiar with most of them, hell, you've even sat in on a few of their meetings, but all that matters to you now is Remus, being in his arms after being so long without him.

"Remus it hurts," You whimper into his shoulder, "I thought- I thought they were going to kill me!"

"Don't say that," Remus cries, his voice far more shaky than he'd have preferred it, "You're safe, dove, I've got you now."

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gotstabbedbyapen · 4 months

Text

A Welcome Letter

Greetings to whoever is reading this,

I am known as The Pen, death by being Caesar'd with pens, and the owner of this Tumblr blog. Yes, “The Pen” is not my real name - it was just one of my pseudonyms. But nobody needs to know my real name and my other pseudonyms :)

Anyway, now that you have stumbled upon here and wanted to know what to expect from me, here are some things you can jot down!

1. I am an everything enthusiast.

This is a fancy way to say that my content is very inconsistent. Most of the time, I brainrot over Greek gods and heroes and everything in between, especially Apollo and Hyacinthus. I'm also interested in other mythology or non-mythology topics, which you'll come to see.

Yes, I am a certified weird kid in real life. I always pay attention to the wrong things and want a place to scream about what I've learned. You might be side-glancing me right now, but I can't see you through the screen, so that's fine!

But my hyperfixation of something does not make me an expert. Everything you see on my blog should only prompt you to learn more about the “new thing” I just discovered, not accept it as a fact right away. I might be wrong. I might be missing something. I have a lot to dig through, and so do you.

2. I am a professional shitposter.

If the discoveries are too complicated and must be written in an essay with the 1000 words minimum to fully explain them, fear not!

I cannot write lengthy analyses without my pea-size brain exploding, so I will make them into memes to be more digestible. Please don't judge me! I am very uncultured and have a cringy taste.

Other than that, I will be writing incorrect quotes, doodling fanarts, and cooking other shitposts and shenanigans for no reason at all!

3. I am an amateur writer.

If the incorrect quotes are too long, I will write them into oneshots, long stories, or even series. English is not my first language, so my grammar and wording can be weird. I'm trying to improve them, but I guarantee nothing.

All my works are on Archive Of Our Own, and my account is GotStabbedByAPen. If you are interested, here are some of my Greek Mythology works!

Spin The Wheel - What are we having today? [ALWAYS ONGOING] A collection of oneshots I wrote about my favorite characters and relationships.

I'm Starving For Hyapollo Content [ALWAYS ONGOING] A collection series of my Apollo x Hyacinthus works, ranging from oneshots to longfics.

To Do What Is Right [COMPLETED] A Blood Of Zeus fanfiction, told from the perspective of Iris, goddess of rainbows and Hera's messenger.

Have A Word [COMPLETED] A oneshot featuring Zeus and Persephone, where the father and daughter talk things out about her marriage.

Hyacinthus Appreciation Week [ONGOING] I wrote seven short stories in seven days as an appreciation act for our Spartan prince and his loved ones.

You Charmed A God - And He Fell [COMPLETED] A Poseidon x Nerites fanfiction I wrote in English and Vietnamese. You can find both versions in here.

That is all you need to know for now. Whether my blog is educational or entertaining or neither is up to you to decide. I still hope you have a good time here!

Thanks for sticking to the end. Don't forget to stay safe, stay sane, and keep making the good stuff!

Love you all,

The Pen

#a welcome letter #blog intro #masterpost

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imagine--if · 2 years

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Riddler x Vigilante!reader where the reader is really good at fighting and Edward gets heart eyes when she takes down others *cough* batman *cough*. (Can they also help when he kills people with experience in fighting as well?) I love your writing and stuff ok thank you🧍🏻‍♀️

I’m days away from properly releasing my Dano!Riddler x Super/Vigilante fic 😄👏 the first part will be up very soon, so it’ll definitely answer the many requests for it 💚 I've just finished off all my art coursework for final exams, so I've got more time to focus on full fics like this now 😅 It actually took me ages to come up with a hero name and traits for the reader, but I'm settled on Hope... I don't know, I think it's pretty cool, but you sorta have to read the fic to get it and not judge its simplicity lmao 😌 Here’s a preview of the beginning!! Enjoy 🥰 Can I just say that the font I found to do this is so cool

To My Hope; Preview Words: 1689

Thursday, October 31st.

You usually take the 'day shift', as Vengeance is always the shadows of Gotham's streets under the cover of the night's darkness. The people of Gotham know who you both are, as vigilantes, but in slightly different lights. There's The Batman, a dark and mysterious character you never see coming, someone who can scare off the toughest of thugs just by seeing his symbol highlighting the sky with a hollow circle, a bat in its centre. He's Vengeance, something fitting that he identifies himself as too, prepared to fight whatever and whoever persists in disturbing the peace, causing chaos, causing violence.

Of course, the violence and chaos still run rampant, but with Batman around, there are very few who dare to carry on through the night. He has terror on his side. You, on the other hand, have odd admiration and support.

Maybe it's the way you go about things, with your pure white suit outlined in gold, the hood that covers your head and goes perfectly over the top half of your face not quite as menacing as Vengeance's darkness and destruction. You're out in pure daylight most of the time, on rooftops, too high to be noticed, ready to jump down and stop the threats and attacks. Fight off the gang who's messing with a vulnerable older woman, then give her a hand up and get her home safely, smiling and waving at the stunned faces who see you leaving the scene with a friendly grin.

They called you Hope after just a few weeks. And that fits perfectly. That's what you want to be, Hope, because without hope, there's no strength to carry on persevering and believing in better. But no one knows who you truly are as a normal citizen of Gotham, the same as them not knowing who Vengeance is under his mask.

It's a surprise to everyone that you and The Batman get along. Truthfully, you and he made the decision to be vigilantes together. Bruce Wayne and yourself have had a brother-sister relationship for as long as you can remember. You share similar pains and understand each other without too many words. He's exactly like a fiercely protective and trustworthy brother, and you're the positive and determined sibling, practically opposites, but it works for you, always had.

But it's Halloween today, which means a lot more petty crimes and daring attempts of disorder and fighting. So you're both out tonight, stopping a gang from the subway from beating down a random man who got off the train at the wrong time. A younger boy is the last one left in the end, staring up at you and Batman with wide brown eyes, and you give him a small, sympathetic smile, as if to say, "This isn't the way to live your life, is it, really?" He seems to get it, and stumbles backwards onto his feet before sprinting off. You watch after him with an unfocused gaze, and The Batman nudges you from your side.

"What's wrong?"

You frown, shaking your head. "Nothing. It was just something I did yesterday. Well, someone I helped out."

"You saved their life," he assumed. "They were probably starstruck that they got to meet Hope."

But you shake your head again. "No, it wasn't like that."

It really wasn't. It was an incident similar to the one you had just come across tonight: you were just finishing up, ready to get back home and call it a day in the late afternoon, when a man walking with his head down was suddenly yanked from the main street into an alleyway. You were quick to spot the action, easily overpowering the young, drunk thugs demanding money, and the man you had saved watched in complete awe the whole time.

You just can't seem to forget that look.

Round green eyes behind clear-rimmed glasses, neat, soft bronze locks, simple clothes under his jacket. But he had stared at you while you fought in absolute wonder, his mouth open in disbelief. You had smiled at him warmly, taking his hand and pulling him up.

"You alright?"

And he'd simply stared at you for another long moment, before nodding slowly, stunned.

"I'm alright," he breathed, his eyes wandering your hidden face, a smile tugging at his lips that grew with the next comment. "You're Hope."

"That's me," you'd agreed with a smirk. "And you're a bit hurt, aren't you? If it's not too serious, you should probably go home and patch anything up. So, it was nice meeting you...?"

"Edward," the man had responded instantly. "I'm Edward."

"Nice meeting you, then, Edward," you replied with a smile. "I love your glasses."

Edward's cheeks dusted pink, and his smile twitched in shyness as he looked down. "Thanks."

"I should get going," you told him with a nod. "See you around!"

And Edward had looked back up with a mixed, unreadable, intense look in his eye, his smile matching it almost unsettlingly.

"You will, Hope."

And that was it. Why what he'd said and how he said it is confusing you at this point seems stupid to you now, and you brush it off, giving a reassuring smile to Batman.

"Whatever. I guess I'm still getting used to things."

Batman nodded, not entirely convinced, but deciding not to push it. Instead, his dark eyes glide up to the skies to take in the warning sign.

"Come on," he says, and you nod, following him to the rooftop, where James Gordon was waiting impatiently.

"Hope," he addresses you with a weary smile. "Batman. I need you to see something."

That something leads you to the Mayor's house. Or, the late Mayor's house. Because, as you and The Batman walk through the hallways, the FBI and GCPD crowding the rooms and flashing photos make it clear that Don Mitchell is, in fact, dead. Murdered.

You and Batman receive the usual questioning stares from the officers, though some who meet your eye nod approvingly at you. The officer guarding the door to the main room gives you a hesitant glance when Gordon leads the way, but shakes his head and puts a hand out to stop Batman from going any further.

"Woah, woah, woah," he stops him. "Police action."

"He's with me, Officer," Gordon assures him. "So's she."

"Are you kidding me, sir? You're gonna let him in here?"

Vengeance stares at the officer silently, and you watch with an uncertain, halfhearted smile.

"Martinez," James insists, "let them through."

Martinez sighs as he lowers his hand, and they carry on walking into the room. You smile properly at the officer in an attempt of calming him down, and he nods at you in slight approval before glaring at Batman.

"Goddamn freak," you hear him mutter, but you walk on, into the scene.

And, quite frankly, you've never seen anything like this.

It's the Mayor, one of his hands in a paper bag, his head wrapped in silver duct tape, with the red, bloody lettering of 'NO MORE LIES' written on the front.

"What do we know?" Gordon asks one of the detectives, his torch aimed at the once Mayor of Gotham as he snaps his notebook shut. His eyes follow Batman and then you, as you both get a better angle, your brows furrowing and face screwing up in disgust. All over the walls, the same writing of 'LIES' is scribbled

"Detective?" Gordon regains his attention.

"Sorry, Lieutenant," he starts, "we got blunt force trauma. Lacerations on the head. He got hit a lot of times. And hard."

Gordon examined the head with his own torch. "All this blood is from his head?"

"No," the detective continues, stopping abruptly before he bumps into Batman. "Excuse me. Most of it's from his hand." He pulls the paper bag away to reveal Mitchell's cold hand.

"Thumb was severed. Killer may have taken it as a trophy."

"He was alive when it was cut off," Batman observes, and the men look back at him. "Ecchymosis... around the wound."

Cameras flash and snap while you look around, spellbound at the sight. There'd never been anything as bad as this in Gotham. Never like this.

"Security detail downstairs said the family was out trick-or-treating," the lead detective says, "the Mayor was up here alone. Killer may have come through the skylight."

"You said there were two cards," Gordon asked, and the detective agreed, pulling out two green envelopes.

To The Batman

To My Hope

He opens the first one, where a cartoon image of a skeleton and an owl are on the card.

"From your secret friend," Gordon reads, "Whoo? Haven't a clue? Let's play a game, just me and you. What does a liar do when he's dead?"

"There's a cypher, too," the detective points out, handing him a sheet of paper with an odd type of code written on it in a plastic covering. Gordon hands you the second one when you reach for it, the one addressed to you, and he and the detective watch as you open it, Batman behind you with a focused glare.

It's a card similar to the one for The Batman, but there's a cartoon picture of a girl with a shining halo above her head, hands clasped innocently, big eyes staring. The title reads 'YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN MY ANGEL!'

Your brows twitch in confusion as you open it up, and identical writing to the other card is written inside, this time with a much sweeter riddle, messy hearts scribbled inside.

"Made by God in pairs, separated at birth on Earth, found after years of search, inseparable for the rest of the time. What are we?" you read quietly, and you feel Batman tense from behind you.

"Soulmates," he says under his breath, and you look up at the disturbed, equally confused stares from the detectives. You look back down with a short sigh, studying the writing and looking back at the envelope.

To My Hope...

This killer, whoever they are, might just be making everything a whole lot more difficult. Because this killer, whoever he is... likes you.

Taglist:

@deadlights-darling @tianotfound @mortem-muse @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

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bobparkhurst · 6 months

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writing pattern game

tagged by the lovely @mercurygray

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

The wind feels like needles against his face, already red-raw from the over-zealous shave he had undertaken that morning, some furious and undoubtedly futile effort to keep his mother’s tongue from tutting over his appearance. (untitled paddy mayne x mat tierney, sas rogue heroes)

Paddy knows as soon as the door opens that he’s completely, utterly and absolutely fucked. (though i will not tell him this for now, paddy mayne x eoin mcgonigal, sas rogue heroes)

Don rarely sleeps through the night. (untitled don malarkey x kitty beck, band of brothers)

David doesn’t know how he gets himself into these situations. (untitled david stirling, sas rogue heroes/star trek crossover)

Kitty knows it’s a mistake as soon as they turn the corner. (untitled don malarkey x kitty beck, band of brothers)

Mike is almost out the door and already congratulating himself on a job well done when the upstairs window flies open and a loud voice rings out into the evening. (untitled mike sadler x christine basset, sas rogue heroes)

In the low dusk-breeze of evening, the smoke wisps to almost nothing as Mike exhales, catching the ember glimmer of the end of his cigarette like the final fading note of a daydream. (breath., mike sadler x bill fraser, sas rogue heroes)

It is not a luxury Mike allows himself often, and certainly not outside these relatively private hotel walls. (silk, mike sadler, sas rogue heroes)

There’s a perfume in the air in these rooms, something light and spiced that has always meant Eve. (you can come back another day, mike sadler x eve mansour x tristan travers, sas rogue heroes)

Mike hears the sound of boots approach the truck, though, situated as he is with most of his body underneath it, he isn’t entirely sure who it is until the metal clangs with a series of thumps, he feels his ankle being kicked in a small, but insistent manner and he is forced to slide himself back out to glare at whoever it is who has unwisely decided to interrupt him while he is in the middle of one of a hundred jobs he has for himself today. (interlude, mike sadler x reg seekings, sas rogue heroes)

patterns:

so it's interesting, aside from the paddy x mat, my dashed off quick ficlets seem to start with someone's name. in fact, looks like i'm super person first and i do think that's probably a trend of my writing that i want to investigate, 'cause i bet i've been doing that since forever.

ok it's not a first line pattern but would you believe i barely wrote any mike sadler before october? most of this is bc i wrote eight mike fics for sas kink heroes just because i could (three of these are sas kink heroes fics and five are for @almost-a-class-act's war is helloween prompts, which was my oc-challenge to myself and then i didn't write much of anything in the last few weeks)

i do enjoy starting with something sensory when i'm writing, often weather related. i looked back at a few other fics, and quite a few start with scents or the feeling of sun or breeze or something similar. i'm constantly writing about how things smell, which i think i personally find evocative of setting.

tagging: @almost-a-class-act, @latibvles, @multifandomlover01, @davidstirlings, @roseszirnheld, @eoinmcgonigal, @revolutionarybillfraser if you'd like.

#writing meme #sas rogue heroes #band of brothers

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tare-anime · 2 years

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The second time, it is still a 'Grilled Bear'.

Notes: TwiYor week second edition prompts day 4: Nostalgia (AO3)

So many time skips in this, I apologize.

--------------------------------------------

The food does give Roland the energy to walk back to camp. Before any of the scouts spot him, however, he makes sure to discard all evidence of him ever getting help from an Ostanian citizen.

Limping all the rest of the way, as calculated, the scout finds him and immediately takes him to the infirmary barrack.

There, he gets treated and interrogated for surviving an Ostanian army ambush all by himself.

Roland manages to make his supervisor and all of the other people surrounding him at the infirmary believe his story of an aggressive beast wreaking havoc during the ambush, thus making him able to run and hide, though not unscathed.

The only person who raises a brow upon hearing the story is the medical officer, who obviously found inconsistencies upon inspecting his wounds. Roland's heart thumps inside his chest as his mind already makes up hundreds of excuses when he sees the doctor's face which is clearly questioning him about how he managed to treat his wounds that are impossible to reach by himself.

But in the end, the medical officer does not inquire about any such questions.

After taking care of all the wounds, the doctor dismisses him from the infirmary, prohibiting him from going to the front lines, and assigns him to the kitchen. Which Roland accepts without hesitation.

While stationed in front of the kitchen with his crutch, diligently peeling potatoes, Roland hears several of the soldiers sneer, "So, getting injured is your ticket to escape the front line, huh Roland?"

"Must be very nice, huh? You're lucky!"

They laugh mockingly.

He frowns when words from not long ago echo in his mind.

War is the most pointless thing.

They said the bombing of Luwen was part of a false operation.

Isn't it stupid if this war was the result of a diplomatic fiasco?

"Well, obviously he missed the chance to slaughter those Ostanian bastards, eh?"

"Missing the chance to carve his name as one of the heroes too. I mean, whoever remembers the name of the person who peels potatoes, eh?"

Have you seen the Ostanian evil deeds all by yourself?

I lost my parents to the war.

Roland just glares at the soldiers that are still jeering while departing for their spots at the front lines. At the same time, his mind starts to question his belief in truth or false, good or bad, heroes or villains.

"Aaahh… Don't listen to those young snobs." He turns his head to the right to see an older soldier whose leg has been replaced by a peg. The condition that makes him the appointed head chef of the barrack.

"After relying on survival rations for months, they'll be crying over a hot potato soup. Even simple ingredients like onions taste a whole lot better than those lead canned food, don't you think??" The older man grins at him, and Roland's memories fly back to the grilled bear and the overwhelming feelings he felt.

He clenches his jaw and nods.

The older man guffaws. "Enough with that gloomy face. Take pride in making these food with love, that carve the same smiles from those ungrateful bastards as well as the enemy troops. Their mouths wouldn't admit it, but their bodies understand the universal language anyway."

The younger boy blinks.

A universal language, huh?

Then his memories return to his encounter with the girl.

It's not poisonous. You'll need all your strength to return to your camp.

Apparently, he’s already experienced exactly what the chef told him just a moment before.

Roland frowns as he peels the potatoes faster.

Later that week, Roland finds out that the bombing of his hometown hadn’t killed his friends. As a matter of fact, the reckless plans of his own country are the ones that end up killing them.

In his grief, Roland peels and cuts the onions for the day's menu. The curly haired Ostanian's words keep echoing in his mind, forcing him to see events from different perspectives.

In the east, they say the west started the war. In the west, they say the east started the war.

In the experiment, they didn't know whether they were told the truth. But once the idea is in their head, they'll do what was told.

They tell us to hate each other. So we fight. So we die. Isn't it pointless?

Roland continues to peel and dice the onions.

All these years, he has directed his anger towards the Ostanians. He’d thought he had done the right thing.

But what if he is the one doing the wrong things? Isn’t that what it looks like from the other side?

What am I actually doing?

I don't know anything. I never did. I never know why the war started.

I hate the enemy, so I pick up a gun, and kill without knowing why.

As he peels and dices more onions, Roland comes to a conclusion.

This is ignorance.

Ignorance isn't bliss. This is a sin.

The blond boy grits his teeth in frustration as he puts the diced onions into the stockpot.

The chance to gain power, that is knowledge, comes in the form of an invitation to enter military intelligence. And he, who has lost everything; including his life purpose; decides to take a chance and see whether he still can do something.

Anything that makes him able to still feel something.

And so, he endures all the harsh training thrown at him. His Handler drills into his mind a very important lesson: "Remember, lives may hinge on any little scrap of information. Don't view everything in black and white. Don't try to make everything fit into your preconceived notions. And don't rationalize!!"

The training helps to shape him into Westalia's best agent.

Throughout his journey, [Redacted] or now known as Twilight, has seen the world from different points of view.

Little by little he starts to see the bigger picture.

He knows by then that the most important matter is peace.

The peace that will protect the smiles of children so that they can grow up and not need to endure the same unfortunate situation as him.

A decade later, Twilight accepts the most complicated mission of his entire career: Establishing a fake family that involves two innocent civilians to accomplish the mission.

What he never expects to discover is how by being involved with his family on a daily basis, he finds the missing piece he didn't know he needed to become a whole human.

And throughout the process, a saying from before rings true in his mind.

Food is a universal language. More specifically: Food is a love language.

And he finds it makes him happy to be able to crave the smiles of the two individuals that have inevitably snagged his heart and become the most important people in his life.

They make him have a new purpose in his life.

That is why, after the unexpected reveal that the two innocent civilians aren't actually 'innocent', Twilight chooses to keep his family intact; now hiding secrets from his own agency instead while working on his latest mission.

Days go by, and Operation Strix is still moving at a snail's pace. The amount of Stella stars that Anya has to achieve and the Tornitrus bolts she has to avoid is somehow neck to neck. It's as if they were competing against each other, making him always be on the edge of his seat.

And of course, there are also side missions that get thrown his way relentlessly. Many times, these side missions hinder him from coming home on time, and it makes him unable to cook for his family. An activity that he has found to be relaxing.

During times like these, he is grateful that he doesn't have to lie to his family any longer, and that they understand. Yor will always take care of the things around the house. And it feels nice to know that he can rely on her in tackling the most difficult mission in the world. Raising a family.

Loid is delighted that Yor’s been trying to learn how to cook, and as of late, has become his Boucher, sort of. Her skills with knives is not to be questioned. But, she still failed when it came to many other different aspects of cooking such as making a decent, edible, dish.

Nevertheless, Twilight greatly appreciates her efforts, and never forgets to always compliment every one of her victories, however small.

Tonight, the side missions have been especially harsh. Handler really threw 3 side missions at him in one go, huh?

Twilight is tired to the bone as he drags his feet home, and feels really glad when the apartment's door is finally within arm's reach.

Opening and closing the door silently, he doesn't expect to find his nostrils being attacked with a familiar ominous smell. It is the smell of Yor's special herbs mixture. The one she usually makes if she needs its effect of relaxation and, to a certain level, effects of pain killing as well.

Suddenly Loid remembers that he isn’t the only person who’s been through a mission today. But apparently, Yor has finished earlier than him.

Speaking of her, he sees Yor peek from their kitchen "Welcome home, Loid!"

He smiles as he hangs his coat and hat, "Rough mission at your end too?"

She chuckles breathily, "Oh well, the client hired warriors from the far east as their bodyguards. I needed time to understand how they moved. Anyway, Anya told me that you’ll come home late and sore. So, I already prepared two servings of this."

Loid tries to keep his face neutral, despite shuddering when recalling that even though the remedy always works wonders, the taste is; to put it politely; horrible; because the aftertaste tends to stick till the end of the next day.

But of course, Yor is able to recognize the micro changes on his face as she chuckles and rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh come on! As long as it's effective, taste doesn’t matter! You’re a grownup, Loid!”

Loid laughs at that, and mockingly salutes her, "Yes, Ma’am."

The man then walks closer and observes his wife from head to toe.

One of the perks of them already knowing each other's identities is that Loid now has the right to worry about his wife's well being. And vice versa.

And of course, in turn, they can always ask the other for help as well. Be it during the job, or after. Even so, both of them are still adapting to these new circumstances, and more often than not, one of them has to confront the other because they are so used to working alone.

This time he notices that she is wearing a fluffy sweater that fully covers her body.

Loid's brows furrow.

Yor will only use that type of sweater during particularly cold days, or when she wants to cover her injuries that will be exposed should she wear the usual backless sweater she loves so much.

And today is nowhere near cold.

"Are you okay?"

He sees Yor wring her hand to dismiss his worries, "Nothing I can't handle." And then she continues to pour the remedy into their respective cups.

It is during the process that Loid, with his impeccable observational skills, notices a blotch of slightly damp red color on her sweater, below her right shoulder blade.

"You're hurt!"

Yor snaps her head at him, and tries to deny it. "I'm fi-..."

But Loid interferes by pointing at the blotch, "The blood is seeping."

Yor's eyes widen as her left hand immediately covers the place that is pointed.

Her facial journey makes Loid chuckle. It changes from wide-eyed astonishment to brows furrowing in recognition and finally eyes averting with a sigh of defeat.

Loid is always thankful that his wife is such a bad liar.

"Come, let me help. You cannot treat an injury properly by yourself." The man gently takes her hand and leads her to their living room.

Once they take a seat on the sofa, he asks gently, "Turn around, and remove the clothes over the wound."

Yor nods, and does as she’s told.

Once the clothes are removed, Loid immediately assesses the wounds: several bruises and shallow cuts litter her back. He is satisfied with the fact that none of them need gauze and have already been treated with her special zalf. Except for that one particular cut on her right shoulder blade. Loid can see that Yor has tried her best to dress the wound, but the gauze is slightly out of place, resulting in the blood to seep out.

"The hired bodyguards were using projectile weapons shaped like stars. One of the weapons bounced off the steel pillars of the warehouse, so I couldn't dodge it intime." Yor shyly explains.

Loid nods as he undoes the bandages, "Things like that sometimes happen. It’s not poisonous I hope?”

Yor tilts her head and puts one finger on her chin as if in deep thought. “I don’t feel anything is out of place, so I don’t think so?”

Loid chuckles, “That’s not convincing at all! I’ll have to observe your vital signs for the next 24 hours.”

“Preposterous!” Yor slightly turns her body so she can playfully slap his hand, “I’m totally fine!”

“Hey now, stay still, so I can properly-...” He abruptly stops when he sees scars on her back. Three consecutive parallel white lines that are so faint he’s never noticed before. “Oh? What happened here?” He asks in soft tones as he carefully caresses the scars.

“Hm?” Yor peers and then chuckles, “Oh! Courtesy of a bear, actually”

“A bear?!” His brows furrow when all of a sudden, a nostalgic moment from his teenage life resurfaces. As a matter of fact, they unfold in front of him right now: Yor's black hair and red eyes, him noticing the blood seeping through her clothes, her reactions, their sitting arrangements, him fixing her bandages.

He gulps while his hands continue their movement, while he listens to Yor's story that somehow he has a feeling that he already knows.

“Yeah. About 12 or 13 years ago, I fought a bear in the forest near my hometown that nearly mauled a poor injured soldier. Turns out the bear was attacking in rage due to its own injury. Thankfully I managed to step in on time and help the soldier. Oh! I also managed to secure bear meat for me and Yuri to eat during the winter.”

Loid’s heart beats faster as he secures the knot of his wife’s bandages. Because apparently, the world IS that small. And the universe has its own unique way of mocking him, that out of all odds, he meets again with the beautiful girl of his past.

And he isn't complaining.

Far from that.

He is actually thankful.

Deep down inside he suddenly realizes that maybe that's part of the reason why he blurts out how pretty she is during their first encounter at the tailor. How easy he took her hands in their fake marriage. How strong his will is to always put a smile on her face. And how reluctant he is to let her go when their dark secrets were revealed.

Loid returns from his daydreaming when he feels her nod her thanks and put on her clothes while continuing her story, “Too bad the soldier seemed to be in a very bad mood, that he didn’t even want to tell me his name, even after I took care and took the trouble to feed him.” Yor chuckles as she slides on her seat to face him. She shrugs, “But that was to be expected I guess. We were still at war during that time.” She then tilts her head, “I wonder whether he managed to return to his friends.”

“He did.” Loid blurts out. “And he owed you a long overdue apology for acting like a total jerk.”

When Yor looks at him questioningly and asks, “Oh? Is he one of your acquaintances?” Loid smiles and uses his left hand to move his hair to reveal a scar on top of his left eye, then angles his head so that his wife can see it clearly in their dimly lit living room.

The blond man hears his wife gasp in recognition. Soon after he feels her trembling fingers trace the scar and hears her whisper in awe, “That was you……”

Taking her hand that’s been tracing his scar, he kisses it lightly and answers her tenderly, “Yes. At that time my name was Roland. And I’m sorry for acting like an ungrateful barbarian.”

She smiles, “I’m just glad that you managed to return to your camp safely.”

“Your food helped.”

Suddenly she flusters, “Oh! Oh dear! I hope you didn’t get food poisoning!”

Loid laughs, “No!! As a matter of fact. That is the most delicious meal I’ve ever had.”

“You’re lying!”

“No! I was in tears because of how delicious it was. I unashamedly finished it all within seconds.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm….”

Suddenly something clicks in his mind and his eyes widen. All this time, Yor wasn’t being a terrible cook. She’s only been used to survival cooking and she's yet to grasp the concept of having the luxury of buying ingredients and preparing them accordingly. Loid has a hunch that she has never been exposed to the way of using and combining spices and flavors either.

Well, that is about to change now.

He is more than willing to share his knowledge with her.

“I think now I know how to teach you to cook!” he grips her hands in both of his, “I’m confident you’ll be able to create endless marvelous food in no time!” He catches himself and stops before drowning in the euphoria, “But of course, only if you want to.”

He sees his wife's smile brighten, “Of course, I’d love to!”

“Well then. Let’s start our cooking lesson tomorrow morning then, Mrs. Forger!”

“Yeah!” She pumps her fist in the air. “Now let’s drink our remedies, and get ready for bed!”

Loid fails to stop himself from groaning at the mention of the remedy, and that gets him a playful slap to the chest. “Come on! Be a man and gulp it down for your own good!”

Once again, Loid mockingly salutes his wife, “Yes, Ma’am!”

Starting that day and lasting for several months, the kitchen of the Forger household continues to produce goods. Loid soon finds that experimenting and creating so many different meals with his wife, or sometimes together with his daughter, be they edible or disastrous is very enjoyable.

And to his (and both Anya and Bond's) delight, giving instructions to Yor with the 'language' that she understands does help a lot.

She is improving.

Fast.

Nowadays, they’re starting to take turns in preparing dinner. And Southern Ostanian dishes become part of their vast menu that immediately becomes Yor's specialty. And of course, to be able to taste his wife's hometown meals means a lot to Loid.

Once again he is reminded that food is indeed a universal language meant to be understood by anyone.

For the past few weeks, Berlint General Hospital has been undergoing a healthcare standardization held by the Ostanian Ministry of Health. It is a new system developed by several countries in their region to ensure the patients receive the best of their healthcare providers. Being one of the best hospitals in Ostania, obviously, Berlint General becomes the very first to run a trial of the new system. And being one of their best doctors, Loid Forger is involved in all parts of the process.

For Twilight those weeks are hellish and even more tiring than obliterating a terrorist lair or stopping a nuke attack. And yet this has nothing to do with spy missions, but more of the administrative side of Loid Forger.

Scratch that.

As of late, Twilight sometimes forgets that maintaining the Loid Forger persona IS part of his spy mission.

He shakes his head in disbelief, as he flops into the chair of the hospital refreshment room in exhaustion that night. In all honesty, he is not regretting Twilight and (Redacted) being merged into a one and only Loid Forger.

"Glad it's finally done, huh?" Dr. Lehmann, one of his colleagues and a pediatrician, wearily opens the cold refreshment from the fridge.

"I never thought the assessment would be that detailed!! They ruthlessly monitored everything! How dare they say my department needs a lot of improvement?!" The short brown-haired doctor, Dr. Klein, a surgeon, angrily chomps down his complimentary cold sandwich.

"Because you really need to pay attention to the medical records Dr. Klein! I can barely understand what you are doing with the patients there! You really need to learn to be more like Dr. Forger and his filing system." The other one who's sitting silently at the corner, Dr. Richter, an anesthesiologist, calmly starts to eat his own sandwich.

"Oh, that's unfair! Forger here is still so young and has the stamina to do all that sorting!" Dr. Klein only humps angrily as he chews faster, "And goodness! Can at least director Gorey appreciate us more??? A cold grocery sandwich for dinner?? For real??"

Loid only chuckles tiredly as he eyes his share of sandwiches. Truth be told, Dr. Klein isn’t wrong. The sandwich hardly looks appetizing. He would rather gather his belongings, go home, and cook a meal in their kitchen. Or if by any chance Yor's been cooking something, any leftovers of her meals will be way more appetizing than the soggy bread sitting in front of him.

But he is still too tired to move. So he takes a deep breath and is about to bite down the sandwich when a call from the nurse stops him. "Ah!! Dr. Forger!! Your wife stopped by a few moments ago, and asked the front office to bring you this package."

From Yor?

"Thank you!" He nods his gratitude as a surge of giddy happiness swells in his chest upon receiving a thermos and a bundle that most likely are lunch boxes. And they are still warm too!

"Oh my!! Look at these young people still acting like newlyweds all the time!" Dr. Lehmann chuckles breathily as he teases Loid while the blond man hastily unpacks the package.

A small card with a familiar neat cursive greets him:

Thank you for the hard work!

Hope you enjoy the meal <3.

PS: It's not poisonous ;)

It makes a smile bloom on his face. The postscript though makes the man quirk his brow, trying to sort out any hidden meaning behind the message.

He first opens the thermos, pouring himself a cup of Yor's special herb remedy, that’s become delicious in recent times. Gone is the ominous smell, to be replaced with the relaxing scent of cinnamon and mint. Sipping its contents, his palette savors the sweetness and warm taste of ginger, sweet fennel, cloves, and honey. Sighing in satisfaction as the warm liquid enters his throat and relaxes his tense muscle, he then starts opening the lunch boxes.

As soon as the lid is opened, a mouth-watering aroma fills the refreshment room, gaining the attention of the other doctors.

"Holey smokes!! What is that wonderful smell, Forger?" Dr. Richter whistles his compliment.

"Aren't you a lucky bastard?" Dr. Klein grumpily gulps down the last bite of his sandwich.

"Woah, wish my wife could cook like that!" Dr. Lehmann laughs.

"Ah, these are…" Loid's head tilts at seeing the unusual arrangement of food in the box.

A cup of hot onion soup with garlic bread, skewered grilled veals on top of leaves, fresh balsamic salad at the corner, and mashed potatoes arranged to look like-...

Loid guffaws when he recognizes the meaning behind his special dinner of the day. He then addresses his colleagues as he takes big bites of the skewered meat. "This is my wife's grilled bear."

"Bear??!"

"What?! How does she even get the meat?!"

"What does bear meat taste like??"

Loid continues to gulp down his meal as he glances towards the curious (some envious) stares of his colleagues. And he answers happily, "It tastes absolutely amazing!"

------------------------------

<< PREVIOUS

Notes: The hidden meaning behind the special dish is “Hope this food will give you enough energy to come home to us <3”

Yes, I hc that one day when they already became a true family, Yor will show her mischievous and more sentimental side. And Loid will find it even more endearing.

And I also believe Yor’s ability to cook will continue to improve cause now she has a wonderful teacher, and a family to feed <3

As for how their Identity reveal happens, you can read these previous fics of mine (shameless self promotion, as usual XD): one, two, three, four

#spy x family #loid forger #yor forger #twiyor #character development #food and cooking #twiyorweek2022 #twiyorweek2022 second edition #nostalgia #fluff #canon compliant #headcanon

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bearmemesreviews · 3 months

Text

FotW: SDMI - Beware the Beast from Below

Welcome to Freak of the Week, where every Sunday I tackle something Non-Skylanders since that series has a billion characters I need to give their own individual reviews. Fotw is my way to get more content out on a decent schedule, tackling the Monsters, Villains, and Foes who take turns every week to harass the Hero of their specific media.

For these first few months we'll be covering a series dear to my heart, Scooby-Doo! Mystery Incorporated. Every episode covers a crook who, for reasons that will become known eventually, decides that the best way to successfully commit a crime is to dress up as a giant crab or Cthulhu while doing it. Luckily a gang of budding stoners and college dropouts are there to solve the mystery and do the job the police are too lazy to do themselves.

Points to realism.

Let's begin with our introduction episode, and first baddie, The Slime Mutant!

Backstory: Sewer Workers working underneath the town of Crystal Cove knock down a wall revealing a hidden cavern system that contains barrels of unknown, radioactive material. These caverns seem to run underneath the entire town and will come back in several episodes holding their own mysteries.

The Sewer Workers, playing into their roles as the pre-intro horror movie victims they are, decide to pop open one of these barrels to investigate further. This seemingly unleashes a mutant made of radioactive slime, who thanks their help by cocooning them in vibrant green goo.

Please appreciate how horrific these cocooned victims look and remember this when we get to the reveal.

Design: The Slime Mutant is a humanoid creature with exaggerated human anatomy whose skin is see-though. It's covered in a coating of iridescent green slime and has a muscular body type with a cinched waist. Its skull has needle-like fangs and glowing red pupils in its empty eye sockets.

While most of the anatomy we see through its slimy epidermis is bone, similar to a cartoon x-ray gag, some of its skeleton still retains muscle tissue around limbs, neck and lower jaw which gives the monster a really cool appearance reminiscent of someone who's been half-melted in cartoon acid. The muscles also seem to exist as a way to explain how the creature moves, as its body lacks the full viscous stretchability most slimes have. It instead lumbers around like a zombie, with muscle tissue remaining in places where they'd be needed for movement. This attention to detail is especially fun when you realize who the culprit is and why they'd include that detail.

Combined with the show's sharp art style, it turns a pretty simple creature concept into an iconic new monster. Its powers include the ability to petrify, and also mummify(?), victims in its green slime - which it blasts from its palms like a Dragonball character.

Reveal: Mystery Incorporated is hailed as one of the best interpretations of Scooby-Doo, taking the concept and allowing its characters to exist in a setting that changes every episode as it ditches the episodic formular of past series for a story-driven reboot with multiple arcs and an overarching mystery each season. It's still Scooby-Doo however, so every episode follows the same formula more or less.

You get two or three suspects (oftentimes just additional named side characters tied to the plot of this episode), whoever the gang settles on prematurely as the culprit is innocent, and the gang traps the crook and unmasks them at the end of the episode.

Our first suspect is Franklin Fruitmeir, a strange clown man who recently moved into town to sell his dessert product, which is neither ice cream nor gelatin, but something else entirely. Scooby ends up tasting the slime mutant's goo and discovers that its ooze is not radioactive waste, but radioactive frozen treats.

One can only imagine what it does to your insides if getting covered in the stuff turns you into a pickled corpse.

We never really get to see what happens to the sewer workers in this episode, so I assume they died.

Our first culprit is Professor Emmanuel Raffalo, who worked as a science teacher at the gang's school. Turns out that he was going to use the caverns to dig under Crystal Cover bank to rob it - framing Fruitmeir for the crime by using the dessert product in his scheme.

Yes, it is because a teacher's salary isn't cutting it anymore.

youtube

5/5 -Great Start with a unique execution of a classic monster, who doesn't love slimes?

#bmoreviews #bmoreviewsmysteryinc #mystery incorporated #scooby doo mystery incorporated #slime #slime mutant #cw body horror #scooby doo #bearmemesfotw

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tokiro07 · 1 year

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Cipher Academy ch.19 thoughts

[Heart of the Cards]

I’m in love with a woman, and her name is Yosaimura

...Oh, Anonymity? No, love has not ended with her, Anonymity is still my best girl, but I have two hands and Yosaimura is charming

Iroha seems to agree with me, not only blushing at Yosaimura’s chadly move of rearranging the chips in Iroha’s favor, but immediately determining that Yosaimura is the best fit amongst the group for having the moral backbone and the skill to pull off a move like that while also having the confidence that she’ll still win regardless

Which is why it pains me to say that she is going down, hard

No one gets built up to be this cool, capable and kind without being set up to fall, and with Anonymity’s entire character so far being centered around cheating and Yosaimura now being in her sights, it would only make sense for Anonymity to find a way to cheat Yosaimura out of the game entirely to enhance how despicable she is in comparison

And I’m going to fall for her even harder when she does, I just know it

Yosaimura also inspires Toshusai to take on the villain role she seemed like she was going to have in the beginning of the series, which creates an interesting dynamic for this match

With all of her talk about fairness and Iroha’s assessment of her, Yosaimura has become the Hero or the Champion, defending the weak and standing up to evil. Toshusai, making a strong show of force and intimidation, is the Villain. Anonymity, waiting to make her undoubtedly underhanded move, is set up to be a Usurper who will become the Villain later and take down the Hero. This just leaves Iroha, the underdog, who started from behind and only gained an advantage because of the efforts of the Hero, who will ultimately face the final Villain as the new Hero

I said a couple of weeks ago that I expect this match to come down to just Iroha and Anonymity, and this chapter has only further solidified that thought for me specifically because its taken all of the focus off of Iroha and Anonymity; kind of like how in Food Wars whoever went first was most likely to lose, we’re getting the doomed characters’ highlight moments out of the way now so that the final contenders’ moments can be elevated above them

I’m also reevaluating another thing I said in a past review- that Iroha represents Effort, Toshusai represents Friendship, Anonymity represents Victory and Yosaimura might represent a secret fourth thing

Yosaimura in this chapter specifically rearranges the distribution of the chips so that Iroha will be in the lead because she respects how much effort he’s been putting forth the entire series. She doesn’t feel right about having an advantage when she’s done nothing noteworthy up to now, but she also doesn’t feel bad about being at a disadvantage because she’s confident in her skills. This could be read as an Effort characterization since she wants to earn her spot, but I think it’s more indicative of Victory since she says she can enjoy the battle now. The battle itself is only fun if its fair, which is to say that she wants to be able to look back on the battle afterward with no ambiguity of why she won, which to me is a Victory-centric point of view. Much like the cards of Leaky Poker, though, this is just a matter of interpretation, and thus could go either way

Conversely, I think labeling Anonymity as simply a Victory character might have been a bit premature. While I do think ultimately she will be the Victory character for the main trifecta (I sadly don’t see Yosaimura staying the spotlight, hopefully I’m wrong), right now I think she’s meant to be a corruption or denial of all three values. She does put in Effort (cheating), it’s just Effort that others disagree with because it circumvents the intended experience; she explicitly denies Friendship, both by hiding all identifying information about herself to keep from opening up to anyone and by refusing to participate in group activities, thus establishing that if she became CLP that she’d view everyone else as tools first and people second; she does value Victory, clearly, but the Victory she strives for is one that completely eschews any sense of pride, which is usually a defining factor of Victory in Jump

To summarize Anonymity’s viewpoint: utilize the people available to you (Friendship) to quickly and efficiently (Effort) achieve an easy outcome (Victory). I still say that she’ll be a Victory character because her views on the other two values feed into her view on Victory, but right now she’s meant to be a mirror to everyone else as much as she’s meant to stand for something in particular

This is also why Yosaimura is a great foil to pit against Anonymity at this stage in the battle, as Yosaimura seems to represent the traditional view of Victory. Having Anonymity take out Yosaimura will be, in and of itself, a denial of that viewpoint and a reinforcement of the validity of Anonymity’s viewpoint. After that, she’ll dismantle Toshusai’s view on Friendship (which I imagine will be a necessary step in Toshusai’s development since there’s definitely something wrong with her relationship with Yugata and Omomuro), leaving only Iroha’s view on Effort, the central value of the series, as the last defense against Anonymity’s complete denial of Jump’s value system

On the note about Toshusai, her statement that she also put in Effort to improve thanks to her interactions with Iroha is peak Friendship. I also appreciate that the first puzzle for the CLP selection is still relevant to the final puzzle; “where do you stop solving a code?”

“Am I overthinking it?” “Am I underthinking it?” “Do I have all of the relevant information?” “Is this information a red-herring?” The questions themselves aren’t difficult, and if one had all of the cards in front of them at once, it’d just be a matter of finding the commonalities and differences between them (thank you @greengargouille for categorizing the cards we’ve seen so far), but seeing them piecemeal like this tests not only puzzle-solving, but memorization, strategic planning, levelheadedness, and various other qualities that are presumably expected of the CLP are put to the test here. Ultimately, it won’t be an accident who gets elected for the position; it will be whoever has the most and best of those qualities, even if the only difference between them turns out to be the willingness to take a risk and not back down in the face of adversity

Even if the majority of the game so far has just been the cast learning to read the cards and just passing chips back and forth, I’m really liking this game; the rules and psychology behind it are a clever twist on traditional poker, and the gameplay loop feels really believable. As Kogoe says, the addition of the Joker means that there’s an increased chance of having a winnable hand, so the dominant strategy is to ID the Joker first, determine if anyone has it, then worry about whether they have any other possible winners. If no one seems to have anything, then you might as well bet, cus you might just have something, and something always beats nothing

It’s also just sinking in that Kogoe drew all of the cards herself, and the knowledge that she drew little cartoons of all four contestants is so cute. I wonder what she would have done if any of the other girls had gotten to the finals; I imagine there’s wordplay in the actions being depicted, like Iroha falling or Anonymity throwing a rock, and the characters doing them are secondary?

Man I hope they make merch of this deck...

#cipher academy #fouryearsandananime #4y1a reviews

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pmitchell · 2 years

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everybody wants a happy ending | ch. 01

summary: It has been a year since Tony died as a hero defeating Thanos. While world slowly recovers from the repercussions, Y/N and her daughter is having a hard time moving on. Being Tony Stark’s daughter has its perks, though. Like access to a time machine that allows her to maybe save her father?

warnings: mentions of death, grieving, trauma, and spoilers of Avengers: Endgame if you haven’t watched it

pairings: Tony Stark x fem!reader x daughter Stark

word count: 1,554 (6 minutes reading time)

author’s notes: I’ve had this idea since watching Endgame and seeing Steve growing old with Peggy, but watching Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness reassured me of the plot and I’m so excited to finally write this. If you have any feedback, please let me know. My ask box is always open! I tried to keep the whole time machine mechanism as close to Endgame as possible, but because of the plot there’s gonna be a loophole on that part, I hope you don’t mind. I also thought of naming the daughter Morgan, but Morgan had more connections to Pepper. So I changed it to Adaline with Addie as nickname, you’ll find out why in the following chapters 😉

“Hey, kiddo!” Happy’s voice boomed across the spacious building. His arms were outstretched as if he owned the entire place, encouraging the six-year-old girl next to you to come and give him a hug. Though at the level of involvement Happy now has in Tony’s absence as you get back on your feet, he might as well be considered the owner of the current Avengers Facility you are in.

Addie let go of your hand and jumped into Happy’s arms, giggling and squeezing the man as if they hadn’t just seen each other yesterday.

“What did you learn in school today?” Happy asked.

“Adding and subtracting!” She answered enthusiastically.

“Well, that shouldn’t be too hard, right?” He asked, knowing well that the little girl must have inherited her father’s penchant for math and sciences.

You watched them with a smile, specifically observing the smile and radiance in your little girl’s eyes. The two of you had been having a hard time moving on after Tony’s death a year ago; constantly missing him around the house. So to see Addie in such good mood and maybe forgetting her own grief for a while brought you a smidgen of joy.

“Alright, sweetie, I have some things to discuss with Uncle Happy, so why don’t you go play for a while? After that we can go get lunch. What do you say?” you said to her, eager to start the meeting so you can get back home to the comforts of your little cabin.

“Cheeseburgers?” She quipped excitedly.

You chuckled, “Okay. But that’s it for this week, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy!” She hopped off Happy’s arms and ran off to leave the two of you.

“Stay in the lobby, Addie!” Happy called out, watching her skip away.

Addie Stark was born to two of the most ambitious, smart, and somewhat stubborn people. You and Tony had a love story worthy of a novel or a Netflix TV show where the two main characters were born into success and wealth; with you inheriting your parents’ company and Tony inheriting his. Initially, you hated each other’s guts.

Or at least, you hated Tony and his penchant for showing off, mouthing off, and sleeping his way across the world with any attractive women he could lay his eyes on. The main reason he vexed you was because he thought he could do to you what he did to those women. It showed you how low he thinks of you.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, Mr. Stark, but my self-esteem and dignity is priced higher than a glass of champagne and a bad pickup line,” you once said to him, causing his confidence to waver a little bit. That started his mission of persistently seducing you into bed and as a result your growing annoyance.

Addie strayed away and walked into a large room whose doors should probably have been closed to keep curiosities at bay, but whoever was in charge made the mistake of leaving it wide open.

“Wow,” she whispered in astonishment.

She was there when Tony built the time machine after sneaking off from bed and into his lab back at home, in hopes of getting another juice pop before bed. She saw the machine’s digital blueprint, so she knew what it roughly looks like, but she never imagined for it to be this huge.

She knew she was supposed to stay in the lobby, but it got boring really quick when there is only a sofa and some papers she could scribble on with a boring lead pencil. The little girl stepped onto the monitor and pushed a few buttons, giggling at the sounds. Something was starting to happen at the center of the time machine. Curious, Addie walked to the center and blinked. When she opened her eyes, she was no longer at the Avengers Facility, but rather standing on the sidewalk of…Manhattan?

She heard the familiar whooshing sound above her head and immediately looked up to see the red-gold Iron Man suit zipping between buildings. Everybody around her gasped and exclaimed at the sudden appearance of the Tony Stark.

“Daddy!” Addie shouted out, running past people to catch up with him, but he was gone in a blink of an eye. Addie pouted, reality dawning on her that it could not have been her father, because he was gone, and that her mother would be so angry to find out that she has strayed too far from the lobby.

Addie looked around, trying to find her way back, but she had only been in Manhattan a handful of times, and she was always sitting in a car. She didn’t know how to get back to the facility. That was when her eyes landed on a picture of her father on the front page of a newspaper. Addie picked it up and looked at the top right corner to see the date 23 Sep- Semptember? 2009. The last four digits seem to jump at her.

Uh oh.

“Can I help ya, kid?” The man at the newspaper stand asked grumpily. Addie looked up at him, teary-eyed and lips quivering. “Oh come on, now, don’t cry,” he softened. “Where’s your mom?” He asked.

“I don’t know. I’m lost,” Addie admitted. “Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. Do you know her?” You asked. You knew your parents were famous, of course, especially now that you saw your dad’s face plastered on most of the newspaper the man was selling.

“Whoa, Y/N Y/L/N has a kid? Wonder why none of these gossip tabloids wrote about it yet,” he chuckled. “Well, I don’t know her personally, but I do know that’s her office right there,” he pointed at a building across the street.

“That one with the door that is spinning around?” Addie asked.

“Yep. Saw her walk into it every morning. In fact, I saw her this morning too,” he shrugged as if it was no big deal that he sees someone famous every morning.

“Okay, thank you!” Addie turned around fast and ran towards the zebra cross a few feet away.

“Hey! Do ya need me to walk ya?” The man shouted from behind her.

“No, that’s okay!” Addie shouted back as the light turned red and she immediately ran across the street, way ahead of the other pedestrians.

Addie slipped into the large lobby and looked around. People were too engrossed in their own conversations or phone calls to notice the little girl still in her school uniform and backpack. No matter how many times Addie tried to tug or tap someone to ask them if they know where her mother was, she was constantly getting ignored.

“Another Tony Stark party? Honestly, does this man have nothing better to do?” 2009-you asked your assistant sarcastically. The urge to call him and tell him to stop sending you invitations is skyrocketing by now.

“Mommy!” Addie shouted, hugging your thighs because that was as far as she could reach with you wearing your high heels. Something present you never really wore anymore since you were pregnant with Addie.

You almost fell back, but thank goodness you had great balance.

“Uh…hi there. Who are you?” You asked, a little bit confused as you hugged the girl back with uncertainty. You looked around to check if someone looked like they were missing a kid.

“It’s Addie, Mommy,” she looked up at you.

Your brows furrowed, that’s twice that she has called you that now. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?” You asked gently as you squatted down to her level.

“I played with Daddy’s time machine and now I’m here. I don’t know how to get back,” she frowned, tears filling her brown eyes.

“A time machine?” You repeated, incredulous. You know that advanced science has been showing up ever since Tony Stark came back from Afghanistan and created his obnoxious red and gold suit, but a time machine still felt like science fiction to you.

“Yes, the really big one Uncle Happy showed me but he said I cannot touch,” Addie’s lips quivered.

“Happy? As in Happy Hogan, Tony Stark’s bodyguard?”

“Yes!” Addie lit up.

“Okay, is this some kind of joke Tony is trying to play with me? Did he pay you or buy you something?” You asked, careful not to hurt the little girl’s feelings but clearly fuming that Tony is even going through all these length to mess with you after you clearly insisted that he stop.

“No, Mommy. It’s really Addie,” the girl frowned again. “See?” She pulled out a necklace that was hidden behind her shirt collar and showed you the same dainty necklace that dangles on your neck right now. She then pulled the tag on her backpack and turned it to show you the writings on it.

Adaline Emeraude Stark

Daughter of Tony & Y/N Stark

Let me know if you would like to be tagged! Any feedback or comments would be greatly appreciated. Does this excite you for the next part?

I do not consent for my stories to be re-published or re-posted anywhere else. Only likes, reblogs, and replies are acceptable.

tag list: -

#tony stark fanfic #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x original character #tony stark imagine #tony stark #iron man fanfic #iron man fanfiction #iron man x y/n

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sarcasmco · 2 years

Text

—— it’s just another typical week in hawkins i guess — isn’t that right, erica sinclair? huh, guess they can’t hear me over kids in america by kim wilde playing on their walkman, but it looks like they’re headed to class at roane community college. did you know erica has been in hawkins for their entire life? yeah, they’ve been described as a bit blunt, but i suppose them also being supportive outweighs the negative. i’ve also heard people say they remind them of staying up all night to read ahead in their studies, a coffee order that gets its caffeine from the sheer amount of sugar that's in it. having friends in every crowd and clique, and never letting them know your next move… however, that could just be this weeks newest rumor.

this is the story of erica sinclair, a confident woman who’s finding herself and insistent on changing the future. a look into her life below.

Basics

full name: erica sinclair nickname: none (and she will hit you) pronouns: she/her age: twenty birthday: december 12 gender: cis female sexuality: she hates labels (and likes whoever she likes) hometown: hawkins, indiana education: majoring in mathematics occupation: student religion: atheist mannerisms: constantly looks judgmental

Physical

height: 5'6" weight: 155 lb eye color: brown hair color: black tattoos: none but wants them piercings: 2 (her lobes)

Personality

good traits: tbd bad traits: tbd sense of humor: sarcasm greatest strength: her honesty greatest vulnerability or weakness: her temper

Favorites

color: red music: multiple genres food: fruit mode of transportation: car hobbies: tbd sport: dodgeball childhood hero: amelia earhart

Relationships

mother: sue sinclair father: charles sinclair brother: lucas sinclair person(s) character feels responsible for or takes care of: lucas, anyone who gets picked on, the underdog

Headcanons

erica never lost her knack for math, being able to compute insane numbers in her head by the time she reached high school and into college. ideally she wanted to be a civil engineer, but her guidance counselor told her that she should consider taking a focus that could easily be used in a teaching capacity. erica chose mathematics and has plans to go full theoretical and solve some of life's toughest questions. it actually ended up being a better fit for her.

she's not inherently scary, though her confidence can shake up even the most popular of people. she knows what she wants and she goes for it, no one can tell her otherwise or get in her way.

she has a small identity crisis in middle school and found herself fully in high school. it was hard finding a balance between all the things she liked, and she did lose some friends along the way, but she's slowly coming to terms with the fact that it was for the better.

#walkie talkie #{ take on me | talk ;#{ dancing queen | visage ;#{ sweet dreams | aesthetic ;#{ walking on sunshine | musings ;#{ don’t stop believin | headcanons ;

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valleyrunearchives · 2 years

Text

Weightless (The Leap of a Jade Rabbit)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Pairings: Aizawa Shouta/Yamada Hizashi Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Chapters 4/?

Midoriya Izuku stopped believing in heroes when a tragedy occurred in his life. When at the tender age of 11, he lost everything that was everything dear to him, everything that was worth living for. Yet he doesn’t give up. He can’t give up. He decides to make a choice instead. No longer will he stand around and wait for the heroes to arrive while a crime goes down. He’ll be his own hero and a hero to those who are just like him. Those waiting for help that will never arrive. In order to do that, though, he’ll have to fight to survive and lie through his teeth. It won’t be so bad!

After all, it’s not like they can bring him in for vigilantism and Illegal Quirk Usage when he doesn’t even have a quirk, right?

<=Previous First Next=>

Click here to Read on AO3

Shouta looks up from his notes spread across the coffee table as the front door opens. He gives a wave as Hizashi comes into their home but doesn’t greet him verbally. Instead he turns back to his scattered notes and the phone cradled in his shoulder. He runs over the information in front of him then asks, “So you’ve seen nothing since then?”

“Nope, not a sign,” A female underground hero that goes by the name Blacklight confirms, voice gentle but hard at the same time, “I thought at first that they lived in the area. It seemed like the most likely choice. But after several weeks without even a glimpse, it was clear that my initial thought was off. I even tried to use my quirk to see if I could spot them that way but… it obviously didn’t work for a very good reason.”

“Oh?” He knows a bit of how her quirk works but not all of it.

“Yeah. I didn’t even consider what they were wearing until after I tried. As I’m sure you probably know since it’s the basics, my quirk works just like a black light does by turning my visional perspective into a literal black light. So that means brighter colors glow when I ‘turn it on’ for lack of better word. I’m lucky my quirk doesn’t stay on the whole time… I’d have a hell of a headache constantly! Anyway there’s a reason why this is important, I swear. The kid? They wear all black clothing with the exception of the vibrant neon green at the ends of their hoodie sleeves and their bright red shoes. They’re the only things that glow under my black light vision aside from those bright green eyes of theirs,” Blacklight makes a frustrated sigh, the sound crackling through the receiver of Aizawa’s phone, “Basically, unless they’re standing right in front of me, whether my quirk is active or not, I can’t really see them. Even when my quirk is active I can’t really spot them because the glows that they do give off are too small for me to take notice of when it matters.”

Shouta reigns in the disappointed sigh. Another dead end from another witness. “Alright, thanks for the info,” he says amicably, “Continue to keep an eye out for them if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing Eraser!” she agrees immediately, “Kid's obviously been through a lot. No one fights that good without a hell ton of practice at clawing at whoever gets too close. I’ll forward any new information I find or let you know if I happen to spot them again.”

He gives his thanks again and hangs up the phone. He puts it down onto the table on top of one of the stacks of paper. He then takes a page out of his husband’s book and turns to flop face down onto the couch long ways. He groans loud and long. Why is it so difficult to find one kid? Where could they possibly be hiding that several pro heroes and the police can’t find them?

“Oooh…” Hizashi says with a clear wince, “You only do that when things are rough. Still having trouble finding the kid from earlier this week?” A gentle hand cards through his messy hair. If he was a cat, he knows he’d be purring at the soft affection.

“They’re a problem child is what they are!” Shouta shouts in frustration into the couch cushion, not raising his head, “Any hero who meets them only sees them one time then they’re never seen again by that same hero! They’re still active because people still catch glimpses of them or report that they’ve helped them out at a distance. But honestly, that doesn’t make any sense! How does that work? Is it a part of their quirk somehow that you can only meet them once? How am I supposed to find them if so?”

“Maybe you should take a break, baby,” Hizashi scratches at his scalp lightly. Oh, that feels nice though. “I know I was frustrated with you for leaving them alone but I don’t want you to burn yourself out on a mad hunt for them either. Maybe taking a nap and having a snack will let you look at this evidence again with fresh eyes!”

Shouta peeks up at him and his soft smile. He then smiles as well and murmurs just loud enough for the other to hear, “I love you.”

“I love you too! And people are still shocked whenever I tell them that you say those words first a lot of the time!” Hizashi pats him on the back almost condescendingly. His blonde beauty then stands up and heads for the kitchen, “I’m making a cup of tea for me. Want me to make you some coffee? Or get you a jelly pack?”

He struggles back into a sitting position, aching all the way up. Stupid old bones and overworked muscles. He opens his mouth to respond when the shrill ring of his cell cuts him off. He scoops the phone back up off the coffee table and answers it without hesitation, not even checking the caller ID, “Eraserhead.”

“Hey Eraser, it’s Tsukauchi,” the detective’s voice comes through, “Listen, I know you took the night off tonight-”

“Nao, please, I told you I wasn’t working tonight so I could work on the Jade Rabbit sightings…” he sighs, knowing this was going to lead to him coming out for something.

“Would you let me finish?” The man says somewhat irritably then sighs to reign his anger back in, “I know you took the night off but I think I have something for your vigilante kid case thanks to something we found tonight.”

“What?” he asks loudly in shock, jumping up to stand. Hizashi pokes his head out around the corner of the kitchen. Shouta shares a quick look with him. Hizashi seems to get what he’s trying to get across and gives him a thumbs up with a smile, moving back into the kitchen to grab a jelly pack for him to take with him. Shouta returns his attention back to the phone, “What do you mean?”

“Had a call come in about a capture. Said they couldn’t stick around so they could chase after another criminal and left a note. The usual for you underground types. We arrived to find our villain heavily unconscious with quite severe bruising to his body and head. Guy was so out of it from whoever got him, he didn’t even need the suppression cuffs until we were towing him into the back of the squad car.”

So far he wasn’t impressed. But clearly Tsukauchi wouldn’t have called him for no reason. “So? Clearly whoever the agency called in to cover my patrol tonight made a swift albeit violent catch.”

“See that’s what I thought too. But Eraser… the note left with the criminal has YOUR specific ciphers on it. It could also pass for your handwriting too.”

That makes him freeze. Is Tsukauchi really implying what he thinks he is? The man continues when he doesn’t respond, “I’m taking your silence as understanding of the situation but if I’m somehow wrong, allow me to recap what I think is going on; I believe that this kid of yours used your specific message ciphers on a capture in the district you were supposed to patrol tonight. So you would get the credit for it.”

It dawns on him swiftly, “They’re tracking our movements. That’s how we’re not seeing them more than once. They’re taking notes of where we are on which night and using that to their advantage… But how are they getting that info? And we rotate patrol routes, so how are they figuring it out?”

Papers flip in the background as Tsukauchi checks his case notes, “The cipher notes started appearing more frequently around a month and a half ago. Before it was only used in more volatile cases where one or more criminals were attempting to escape and it was more of a danger to let them go than to leave the subdued one or ones unattended. If they were able to learn all of the ciphers of the regular undergrounds patrolling his haunts in a month and a half, I guarantee that they may have somehow managed to decode how your district rotations work.”

“Do you still have the coded note from tonight?” Shouta asks, pulling on his boots and taking the jelly pack Hizashi holds out for him. He grabs his goggles from the hook on the wall next to the door and slides them on to hang around his neck.

“In my hand right now. Coming to pick it up at the station in person then?” Tsukauchi rustles the paper in his hand as something of a confirmation that he’s telling the truth about the note.

“Yeah. I wanna see what it looks like for myself. I’ll be there in no more than twenty,” he gives a quick goodbye to the detective and slips his phone in his pocket. He then turns to his husband, “Gotta run. Got a lead on our bunny.”

A wide, cheerful smile stretches across Hizashi’s face at that, “I know. Be careful. If you see the little listener at all tonight, remember what I said okay? Small talk and be gentle. He’s basically a feral cat right now, if that helps you.”

“I'll remember, I will. If you’re tired, go to bed. Don’t wait up. I’ll join you when I get back.” The two share a quick kiss goodbye. Shouta grins and rolls his eyes as Hizashi nuzzles his cheek with his lips; His adorably stupid mustache tickling his cheek. He scoops his capture scarf up off the end of the couch and throws it around his neck. With a last wave at his loud blonde, he climbs out the window, using his scarf to swing up to the rooftops.

With his higher route of travel, he makes it to the police station in 15 minutes. He walks in, giving a quick wave to the secretary on duty before turning to head towards Tsukauchi's office. He schools his expression into one of careful neutrality then opens the door.

The detective looks up as he enters. He gives him a small smile, "That was fast."

"I was at home. I don't live too far from here, y'know." Shouta huffs.

Tsukauchi says nothing in response to that. Instead, he holds out the ciphered message to Shouta. When Shouta takes it and looks at it, his breath catches a bit. He knew it would be his message ciphers on the sheet of paper. But the level of detail is astonishing. If he hadn't known for a fact that he wasn't the one who wrote it, he would legitimately believe that he had written it and just forgot. The handwriting is nearly identical to his own too, just like Tsukauchi said.

“What about the criminal it was on? Did the ciphers match what we needed to know about them?” He glances at all of the marks on the page and makes a mental note on what the message is saying.

Tsukauchi nods, “To a perfect tee. Not a single one that wasn’t supposed to be there or a single one missing. That’s why most of the police crew on scene didn’t even bat an eye at it. I only did because I knew you had taken the night off at the last minute.”

This ran way deeper than Shouta originally thought. He sits heavily in the chair across from Tsukauchi’s desk, running a hand down his face in exhaustion. The detective says nothing to allow him to take a moment to catch his breath and regroup his thoughts. “My initial thoughts about this were off… way off,” he voices to him first.

“How so?” Tsukauchi encourages.

He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand, “I originally thought that this kid’s hits were random. That they were just criminals he was running into with them deciding to dip their toes into the fights with them for a thrill. But this note, and likely all the others from before, prove that it’s intentional. They’ve made their own patrol routes around ours by apparently memorizing our patterns and rotations.”

“You mentioned that on the phone. How do you think he’s getting the info?”

“Not through any kind of technology. If they did, they would’ve known I wasn’t going to be on patrol. My guess is that their interactions with us are how they figure it out. They note who’s going to be in what area on which day and then adapt accordingly,” He sighs softly, “By that I mean they change how they travel around the city. For those who stay on the ground, they move to the rooftops. Vice versa, if a hero travels via the rooftops or in the air, they stick to the ground mainly in the shadows of alleyways. They must watch us after we leave them or after they disappear from our sight to figure out where we go and what we do on our patrols; Easiest way to avoid us is to stay in our shadows right under our noses.”

“They must take very extensive mental notes,” Tsukauchi crosses his arm with furrowed brows, “Especially with how he was able to learn and memorize all of this in just a few months' time.”

Notes… notes! It hits him faster than he thought it would, “They take written notes! They must have a notebook or something that he uses to take notes down of each of us. How else would they have been able to copy our ciphers so easily? They could use it to note down our ciphers to be able to take time during the day to memorize them and what they mean or at least make a translation chart for them.”

“And also use it to take note of your quirks and what they do. They could actually note down anything about you guys. How your patrol routes run, who you interact with, where you go after the end of the night. The amount of stuff that could be in that notebook, or books, would give anyone an advantage, no matter how small,” Tsukauchi looks concerned now, “Oh god… what kind of intelligence quirk does this kid have? Do we have to worry about a second generation Nezu? What if they turn to villainy? How much trouble are we in then?”

Shouta looks back at the coded message. Somehow, Shouta can tell by just those specific squiggles on the page that they don’t have to worry about villainy with the kid. He doesn’t know why exactly but they don’t. He took a deep, steadying breath, “I don’t have the answers to any of those questions. But I do know one thing.”

Tsukauchi sits up straight at that, listening intently. Shouta grins, “I know how to find them. Can you get me a list of which districts the most cipher notes have shown up on in the last month? I’ll also need a map of the underground patrol districts if you have one; preferably one I can write on.”

Tsukauchi doesn’t question him. Just gets what he asks and sets them down on the desk in front of him. Shouta picks up a nearby pen. He takes a quick run through of the list of known found cipher notes and the districts they were located. He marks x’s on any district on the map not listed. After that, he runs through the list again and marks the number of found notes on top of each district. When he’s finished, he sets the pen aside.

“They must live around here,” he draws a circle around three of the districts with the tip of his finger. They don’t have official names so they’re mostly referred to by the Greek alphabet. The three districts in the circle are Xi, Nu, and Eta. The other man gets up and moves around to stand behind him, looking at the map over his shoulder. His eyes widen as he realizes what Shouta is seeing. “Because those districts have the most amount of cipher notes,” he says quietly.

“Exactly. What’s an easier place to practice than around where they live? Do we know if there are any kinds of residential living spaces around these areas?”

“Couldn’t tell you off the top of my head unfortunately,” Tsukauchi murmurs sadly, “If I did, we could’ve just checked those locations and ruled out whichever ones don’t have our angry little bunny in it.”

“Hard way then. Plan C if you will,” Shouta responds, as he picks the pen back up to also make note of areas that have slightly higher numbers than the rest.

Tsukauchi blinks at him, “What happened to plans A and B?”

“Plan A was to get the kid down here on the night I met them, by force if I had to. Didn’t work. Plan B was to search around blindly where I saw the kid before and talk to them when I ran into them. Also didn’t work,” he uses his phone to snap a picture of the map, “So this is plan C.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Tsukauchi asks next.

“Trick the kid into still thinking they have the higher ground in terms of our information. Meanwhile I’ll start appearing on patrol routes in the high profile distracts on nights that I know street runners are active. Claim they called out or something. Can’t do it too many times in a row though because they’ll catch on. If this works, I should run into them quite a few times.”

“And then what? You bring them in for their vigilantism?”

He shakes his head, “No. Kid pointed out when I met them the first time that they didn’t use a quirk so we can’t bring them in. And considering I watched them fight that night, they’re right. As far as I’m aware they haven't used a quirk to take down any of the criminals yet. If that changes, only then will I bring them in for vigilantism.”

Tsukauchi has an odd relationship with vigilantes and what they stand for. Shouta knows that and knows that if this were a normal vigilante, he’d be wanting the kid dragged in kicking and screaming. This is not a normal vigilante. Tsukauchi breathes out a sigh of clear relief that he won’t have to interrogate a literal child about illegal quirk usage and vigilantism. He agrees with it. He’s glad he won’t have to do that too. He needs to get this kid to trust him.

And now he’s got a plan to do so.

#vigilante izuku #bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #naomasa tsukauchi

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sukirichi · 3 years

Text

— out of reach | gojo x reader

request: Girllllll I just read your jealous gojo fic and my heart went 📈📈📈📈💥💥💥 youre now one of my fav writers 🙏🧎‍♀️And the spicy parts 😫😫😫 💖 If your asks are still open, could I please request a fic where GOJO has a size kink 🥺🥺🥺 my 5’1 ass is obsessed with that shizzzz

pov: you’re gojo’s childhood friend and roommate – which leads to utter chaos – or perhaps utter bliss?

warnings: size kink, lots of teasing, lots of cursing, dirty talk, choking (probably not in the way you think), body worship, lots of size difference scenes, slight manhandling, overstimulation, thigh fucking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (don’t do this irl guys) + unedited fic :D

notes: idk what happened here LMAOOO but i loved writing this one because i’m short as hell too lol. thanks for this request anon, i hope you like it! <3

word count: 10.5k

masterlist !

If you’re going to be honest, having Gojo as a roommate is something completely unexpected.

Not only are you two from entirely different worlds – him as a jujutsu sorcerer and you as an average human who can’t see curses – but he’s also just someone who is entirely out of your league. He’s respected and looked up to in his field of work, while half of your co-workers don’t even know your name, much less notice you in function parties where you mostly just nibble on sushi before calling it a day and turning back home.

You and Gojo met in elementary school. You could tell from the way he’s surrounded by servants and stern looking adults, firm hands on his small shoulders, that he was different from everyone else.

Apparently, he comes from one of the three big clans in the jujutsu world or whatever. You honestly don’t care about any of that, because Gojo refuses to act maturely about his role in the clan. You still remember how quiet he was on the first day of school, never smiling and keeping to himself despite your persuasion to eat lunch with him or play with him after school in the courtyard.

You miss that Gojo Satoru – the quiet, serious kid who was far too gentle in his actions yet firm in his words and beliefs. When you were still a little girl, you admired how he seemed older than his age, a wistful look in those azure blue eyes of his that you’ve always loved.

To you, Gojo Satoru was your hero. You’ve always been one of the shortest kids in class, and it didn’t help that you really loved pigtails all the way until middle school that made you an easy target from immature people who’s being hit way too fast by puberty and growing each passing day. You never minded your short stature because really, it’s just height, but you couldn’t ignore how your confidence dwindled each day when they called you several array of nicknames.

Too shy to fight back, you’d laugh it off or force a smile.

Gojo wasn’t having any of it. He’d break his silence and immediately pull you to his side (which only made things worse because Gojo was one of the tallest kids in class, further emphasizing how small you are right next to him) before threatening to smack the kids right in the face.

The threat should be enough to land him detention, but because he’s Gojo Satoru, the golden kid everyone loved, they took his word seriously.

At the age of eleven, you started seeing your best friend as your knight in shining armour. Gojo basked in this, growing protective and always glaring at whoever snickered when you walked past them. Sometimes he even bared his teeth to hiss at them, which was honestly so ridiculous now that you think about, though the message – the threat – always came across loud and clear.

So yeah, you love Gojo, you still do.

Years flew by and the two of you grew apart due to work and also as a part of growing up. You still kept in contact, messaging each other once a month to ask the other how they’re doing. His work kept him extremely busy though, and Gojo didn’t want you involved in the dangers of what he’s doing, so he makes sure to keep a safe distance.

Until six months ago, you hear a banging on your door. You’re just about ready to throw hands because your former roommate moved out to live with her stoner boyfriend, leaving you to shoulder all the bills and responsibilities of maintaining a two man apartment.

A sneer forms on your lips as you swing the door open, a scowl already on your face. You assumed it was your roommate who returned to get the pair of lace panties they left in their room, but instead, your childhood friend stands before you, taller (seriously, how has he not stopped growing?) and definitely a lot hotter than the last time you saw him.

One thing leads to another, and now it feels like there was never such distance between the two of you with how easily you both fell back into a comfortable – yet chaotic – rhythm and routine of being each other’s roommate.

Not that you mind, of course. Gojo’s definitely changed a lot from when you were kids. He’s no longer that stiff or sensitive when it comes to others. In fact, it seems like he loosens up a lot more with age, because you can barely recognize the man living under the same roof with you now.

For one thing, Gojo is loud. Like really talkative, won’t shut the fuck up and speaks like he’s in a screaming contest with someone. It doesn’t matter if you’re taking an important phone call or sleepwalking at three in the morning to pee, Gojo is always creating some sort of ruckus.

You’d never admit it out loud, but you loved it. You love him.

He’s definitely a lot more enthusiastic and fun to be with now that both of you have grown up, or in Gojo’s case, simply aged. His maturity reversed backwards because it feels like you’re taking care of a little kid.

Not only does his body clock is practically non-existent, he’s also horrible when it comes to taking care of himself and being punctual with work.

Fortunately for him, you love him, and you both leave for work at the same time. You always wake up earlier to prepare breakfast so you’d both have energy to start the day – although you highly doubt there’s really anything that depletes his endless source of one.

Sleepily walking through the kitchen with your fist rubbing at your eyes, you rummage through the refrigerator for some eggs when you realize there’s none.

Huh, you think to yourself, scratching your scalp. You’re sure that Gojo went grocery shopping last week since it’s his chore to do the outside stuff like buying groceries and throwing thrash, so where did it go?

You open shelf by shelf, checking each corner and shoving cans aside to look for the tray. With a glare, you stand on your tiptoes to pull the pantry open, only to have your mouth fall aghast because it’s all there – right at the back where you can’t reach it!

Fucking Satoru, you grit your teeth while heaving your body up onto the counter. It’s a struggle because not only are your muscles still half asleep, but because the shelf is right in your face, and if you’re not careful enough, you could hit it right with your face and fall over. Of fucking course you know Satoru did this to make fun of you – and now you retract your statement over your best friend.

It’s all a lie.

He’s a pain in the ass. Why do you even bother cooking for him and letting him live literally just a room away when you know he won’t stop pulling shit like this?

Because, the nagging voice in your head tries to mock, he’s your best friend and you can’t really say no to him. This makes you huff as you carefully pull the tray towards you, hooking two fingers at the edge while your other palm grips at the end of the counter for support. No thanks to your short limbs, you’re practically hogging the shelf by now in an attempt to reach it. You look ridiculous, that’s for sure, and you make a mental note to keep Satoru’s windows open tonight so he freezes to death –

“Aw, cupcake,” a sing-song voice emerges from the other side of the room. “You look so adorable. You should’ve woke me up if you need my help.”

“Fuck off, Satoru,” you flip him off. The man only laughs, the rambunctious sound echoing off the walls. It’s way too early in the morning and he’s already so damn loud; something builds up at the back of your head out of frustration already. His grin only gets wider when you finally got the eggs and clutch it your chest, setting it down on the counter while wiping your sweat away from your face. “Freeloader,” you mutter under your breath, ignoring him when he happily skips over to you.

“Ouch,” he places a palm over his chest, although you both know he’s never really affected by anything. “So what’s for breakfast today? You?”

“You know, I can kick you out anytime I want. I’m being extremely nice even going as far to cook you breakfast before you leave for work, so don’t test my patience.”

“Exactly, my best friend is so kind,” Satoru grows the audacity to rest his arm on your head. This triggers a reflexive response from you; shoulders tensing up and hands curling into fists beside you. “I would totally date her if she wasn’t such a temperamental little devil,” you nearly stab him with a fork with his statement, which he thinks he’s being so sly for but you heard it, and you’re most definitely not pleased with it. “Okay, I’m kidding! I’m going to go shower now!”

You roll your eyes at him and heat the pan over with some oil, muttering under your breath that you’re really going to kick him out soon. As if things couldn’t get worse – as if Satoru couldn’t get any worse – he smacks your backside in the process before darting to the showers.

“Gojo Satoru!”

“Morning, best friend, love ya!”

You were right. He is a pain in the ass.

“You don’t always have to walk me to work.”

“I know.”

“So why’re you still here? I’m not a little kid anymore,” Contrary to your words, you stick closer to Satoru when the morning rush of workers and students begin to crowd the streets. Your best friend notices this with a small smile, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Don’t even try, Satoru.”

“I wasn’t saying anything.”

“I know that look on your face,” you fiddle with the buttons of your uniform, sighing when Satoru follows you inside the bus after tapping your phone for two seats. It’s not a surprise to you anymore that most of your expenses are spent by him, for him, and he lazily sprawls his long limbs across the seat before you pulling you down right next to him.

As much as you hate this man, especially because he smirks at the attention he’s receiving from women – even men – in the bus, you have to admit he’s warm and smells damn good. You bite the inside of your cheeks, looking around in slight self-consciousness before inching a little closer, just to feel his warmth. He’s comforting – irrationally so – so you set your bag between the both of you to keep your sanity. “If you keep doing this, Principal Yaga might fire your ass because you’re never on time.”

“Trust me, cupcake, he won’t. I’m too valuable for that.”

How you saw that coming – you can’t tell anymore. The bus ride is relatively quiet and eventless, with you dozing off every now and then because you’re never a morning person. Thankfully, Satoru is more respectful this time around, lolling your head until it drops to his shoulder. After that, he snakes his arm around your waist before resting it on your thigh as a way to say you don’t have to head bang every damn second and just sleep.

On any other occasion, you would’ve hated it. You always look so small whenever you’re in Satoru’s presence. It doesn’t help that he’s long and lanky, either, his slender fingers effortlessly caressing your thigh while almost your entire body is flushed next to him. But right now, he’s too warm, too soft, and you’re too tired that for just a little bit, you allow yourself to relax.

A beeping wakes you up a moment later. Opening your eyes, you push yourself off Satoru when you see an old lady reaching for the handles. No one gave up their seats for her even as the bus driver asked her to find a seat lest she’d fall.

“Grandma, here, take my seat—” You’re about to stand up and offer it to her when Satoru tugs you by the wrist. Because of your small, wobbly composure, pulling you to him takes little to no effort. You end up on his lap, sitting on him as if you’re nothing but a small, dainty schoolbag. Satoru is clearly enjoying this because you feel him breathily laugh on the back of your neck, charming – annoyingly so – as he gestures to the now empty spot beside him.

“It’s no worries, Grandma. She’ll be fine,” he gestures to you, patting your head like you’re some puppy. “Please, take a seat. The bus is already moving.”

“Satoru, get off me,” You wriggle yourself from his hold, which only ends up in wasted effort because this big oaf doesn’t even budge. He even bounces you on one of his thighs, and you dig your nails into his arms as a silent plead for him to stop. He ignores this, ignores your small whines and the apparent embarrassment that has you debating whether to punch him or hide yourself in the safety of his uniform.

“She’s a feisty little one, isn’t she?”

The old lady watches the two of you banter, giggling behind her wrinkled hands. “You’re an adorable couple.”

“I think so too!”

“You’re so going to pay for this, Satoru,” you grumble, face planted onto your palms. This is it – the worst day of your life. It’s even worse because despite your protests, you have to admit his lap is actually comfortable. You’ve already known this before after countless times of cuddling with Satoru during movie nights, but its different when you’re both out in public. It feels...oddly intimate and maybe even romantic when he rubs soothing circles at your back, almost as if apologizing for this event. Most of all, you just hate the way something pools beneath your stomach at having him so close to you like this. “This is so embarrassing. I’m practically crushing you with my weight.”

“Please, cupcake, you barely weigh anything. I could easily lift you off with just my finger,” when you elbow him in the chest, Satoru only laughs, raising both hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stop teasing.”

You give up. No one seems to be paying much attention to any of you anyway, so you sigh, letting yourself hide in the crook of his neck as you watch the city pass through the windows. Your body moves as his chest rises and falls from his breathing, the movement oddly comforting. It’s embarrassing – it really is – but at least the grandma was comfortable until Satoru drops you off near your building.

“You don’t have to walk me all the way there.”

“Why not? You don’t want people to see us together or something?”

“No,” you stare at him from the corner of your eye. It’s no secret Satoru is attractive. This bastard knows it too, judging from the way he confidently and arrogantly swaggers next to you, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he walked with no care in the world. “My co-workers keep asking me for your number every time I tell them we’re not dating. It’s getting annoying at this point how they go Satoru this and Satoru that.”

“Am I hearing it right? Is cupcake jealous?”

“I’m not jealous, I’m disgusted,” you correct, “They don’t know how much of a pain you are to have around. They’re so focused with your looks that they completely overlook the fact you can’t even wash your dirty underwear!”

Satoru frowns at this, pointing his finger to you as if you’ve accused him of a huge crime. “Hey, I wash my underwear.”

“Yeah and last time you did, you mixed it with whites! My work uniform turned a stupid shade of blue! Now I can’t picture the colour of your boxers out of my head and it’s giving me a headache!”

“Wow, Y/N,” the smirk on his face and the sudden drop of nicknames lets you know you’ve said something wrong. Even behind his blindfold, you could tell his eyes are just sparkling with amusement. He’s enjoying this way too much. “I never thought you’d ever picture my boxers. I mean, I don’t mind showing it to you if you ask nicely—”

“Ugh, you’re so hopeless. I’m going to work.”

Gojo laughs when you jog away from him. He catches up with you in a matter of seconds, only having to take a few steps forward before he’s right beside you again. You’re unsure if you should be annoyed it’s so easy for him to always be right next to you, and how he almost always is right next to you while you prefer running away. It muddles with your heart and mind so much you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to be swayed by the sickeningly sweet sound of his laughter. “I can’t pick you up later, okay? I might work overtime!” (that’s a lie since Gojo prefers shopping and sightseeing)

Both of you know that’s a lie. Gojo never works overtime. He’s going to work for a few hours and so and call playing around with his students as “on-hand learning” before he goes shopping for stupid souvenirs and wild-flavoured mochis, then end his day by sightseeing and coming back home.

“Wasn’t expecting you to,” you mumble, waving goodbye to him as the office doors close. Slowly, Satoru’s grin and enthusiastic farewell fades into view until nothing but the pale, silver walls of your office greets you.

Funny how you claim to hate this man so much, yet the moment he’s out of sight, everything becomes dull and pointless.

It’s an absolutely shitty day. Your equally shitty boss blames you for something you didn’t even do, all because his incompetent secretary – who you’re sure he’s sleeping with – lost this month’s report and claimed she handed it to you last week when you’re not involved in that kind of work. Logic doesn’t come by them because your boss publicly humiliates and scolds you, calling you all kinds of names until tears are streaming down your face.

You slam the door shut the moment you get home, kicking your shoes off as you head straight to your room. You don’t bother taking your makeup off anymore as you change into a loose shirt and floral cotton shirts, padding to the kitchen after seeing Satoru is well nestled into the couch.

At least someone’s had a good day.

Seeing as the sink is empty, he probably hasn’t eaten dinner. This makes you sigh, because when will he ever learn to look after himself? He’s literally like a child.

Satoru pauses whatever he’s watching before he hovers over you, head tilted to the side as he gazes at you with curiosity. You ignore him and begin to set down some bowls and chopsticks for dinner, all the while Satoru is studying every inch of your tightly pulled face. “Bad day?” he concludes.

“Hmm.”

“Bad day it is then,” he nods to himself. “I can cook dinner, if you want.”

“And have you burn my apartment? No thanks,” you scoff, pushing him aside to retrieve the pans when you see that he’s placed them above again, even after you’ve reminded countless times to just leave it near the holders in the sink. “Ugh, why do you keep putting the pans in this shelf? You know I can’t reach this. I’ve had enough with you pulling pranks on me, and don’t think I’ve forgotten you placed my shampoo above the shower head today, you idiot,” you snarl and hop over the counter again to get the pans, trying your best to fight back the tears that are threatening to fall. “You’re really bothersome, you know that?”

“Then why don’t you kick me out?” he challenges, completely oblivious to how you’re struggling – both physically and emotionally. “You always complain about me being a nuisance here, but you’re not really doing anything to keep me out.”

“Because where else would you go?”

“Technically, I have a room back at the Institute.”

“Yeah, but because you’re so stupid and reckless that you got kicked out of your own home,” you spat out, and you watch as Satoru raises a brow at your statement. Banter is common between the both of you, but something about the intensity of your gaze lets him know you’re serious this time around. “I don’t even know how Yuuji puts up with you. That poor Megumi is right when he says you’re insufferable. You’re good for nothing!”

Satoru scoffs, “Fine, if you hate me that much, why didn’t you just say so earlier? I could easily pack my bags and go since I’m just making everything harder—” Satoru doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying when your hand over the counter that acts as support slips under you, and you fall, legs bent awkwardly while you scream, preparing yourself for the impact. The pan is long forgotten, your only thought was oh my god, so this is how I die.

But it never came, and you keep your eyes shut tight even as warm hands cup your ass. Satoru is breathing hard under you. Finally gaining the courage to crack an eye open, your breath halts when you see that he’s sitting on the floor, with you safely nestled between him.

Satoru has always had pretty eyes, but it’s rare he takes off his blindfold off even when he’s home. This is one of those rare occurrences that he seems like a normal human, dressed in a gray sweatshirt that hands low from his collarbones and magnetic blue eyes staring right back at you. His touch is gentle, almost as if he’s afraid to hurt you, and his voice that is usually loud and teasing comes out breathy and hesitant.

“Are you okay?”

Your gaze drops down to his lips. He’s close, so close, that if you just lean a little closer you could – you snap out of your daze. “Get off me.”

“Cupcake, you’re the one who’s on top of me,” his voice falls an octave lower, eyes flitting down to your clothing – or rather the lack of it – before Satoru takes a deep breath. “Did you really have to wear that?”

“I have the right to wear whatever I want in the comfort of my own home.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” he raised a brow, this time completely in control of himself as he gazes back up at you with a burning gaze. You see nothing but the way one corner of his lips tilt up, almost teasing, and he looks so much like a shit-eater that you feel heat crawl down your spine.

You push yourself off him but your bent foot behind you slips, and you fall forward with your hands clutching his strong shoulders. Satoru catches your leg behind you, drags it forward until your knee is pressed in between one of your warmth, very much still enjoying the way you wriggle away from his hold. He knows his effect on you – but you deny this wholeheartedly.

“Careful, cupcake. This isn’t a slip and slide.”

“I hate you so much,” you bare your teeth at him, slapping his chest until he finally lets go of you. Turning your back to him, you pick up the pan and begin preparing your dinner, muttering curses under your breath as you heat up the stove. “I’m kicking you out tomorrow.”

“Why not now?”

“Eat your damn dinner first.”

Dinner after that is awkward. Although Gojo is someone who can wolf down his meal in three seconds, he takes his time in eating to start conversation with you. Sometimes he asks decent questions like how your day was or he’d talk about something stupid, but he’s quiet the whole time. He even volunteers to do the dishes before retreating to his room, coating the house in silence.

It almost feels like you’re all alone over again.

You’ve gotten so used to him being an utter mess everywhere that when he’s not trying to piss you off and actually giving you the much needed peace, you begin to hate it. Memories of the rude things you’ve said to him a while ago play and in your head, and you bang your head against the wall repeatedly.

How are you supposed to apologize to Satoru now?

The answer doesn’t come until you stare at your walls, wide awake at midnight. The house is still eerily silent and you don’t stop shuffling around your bed in discomfort. Many times, you wished that Satoru would shut up and leave you alone, but now that he’s actually done that, it feels weird. Uncomfortable. It feels wrong.

With a grunt, you kick off the sheets and carefully tread to his room, knocking lightly in case he’s already sleeping. “Satoru?” you call out, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Are you awake?”

You’ve seen Satoru angry as kids before, but what would he be like now? Would he still want to be your friend? Would he still annoy you by hiding your things somewhere you can’t reach? Or would he be the who is now out of reach? If he leaves...who’s going to walk you to work? Who’s going to complain he doesn’t want to do groceries but buys you things you don’t ask for but want anyway? Who’s going to keep teasing the living daylights out of you if not him?

All these thoughts claw at the back of your mind until your bottom lip trembles. You hate how weak you feel; how you’re never careful with your words.

You never meant it when you said all that.

Your train of thought is cut off when the door swings open, revealing an equally tired-looking Satoru. At the sight of you peering up at him with glossy eyes, he pushes the door wider and steps closer to you, his large hands cupping your face as he leans down in worry. “Cupcake,” his brows pinch together, “Did something happen? Is something wrong?”

“I just wanted to apologize for everything I said,” you blurt out, “I was just tired from work and my boss was being shitty, so I wasn’t totally myself that time and I’m really sorry I took my anger out on you. I didn’t mean it when I said you’re insufferable and that I’m kicking you out so – yeah,” you breathe out, trailing your gaze downwards to stare at your feet instead. It’s difficult to look him in the eye right now. When you finally gain courage to speak again, it barely comes out as a whimper, your hands delicately tugging at his shirt. “Please stay. I like having my best friend around here.”

Satoru doesn’t answer.

You’re about to look up at him just in case you’ve said something wrong, or worse, he refuses to forgive you, but then – “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t kick me out. You’re too much of a darling to say no to me.”

Sigh. Satoru laughs when he sees your shoulders deflate, absolutely shattered in exhaustion. Hiding your smile to now show him you’re relieved, you punch his chest that really feels like a fly had accidentally flew into him. “Way to ruin the mood, Satoru. And here I thought I could have a serious conversation with you for once.”

“Apology accepted,” he beams, tilting your chin upwards so you could look at him. Even in the darkness of his room, his eyes glow, leaving you hypnotized in its beauty. “Plus, I think I’m the one who should apologize. You’re right; I haven’t been the best roommate and I am a freeloader,” he scratches the side of his head in thought. “But I do buy you food all the time though.”

“Yeah, with my money,” you counter, but you don’t really care anymore at this point. You’re beyond elated you’re both fine now, and you shyly gesture to his big, warm bed that suddenly looks so comfortable. “Can I stay here for tonight?”

“You want Satoru’s bear hug?”

“Yes, I do.” There’s no hesitation in your words and you don’t complain anymore when he easily picks you up like a ragdoll using only one arm. He’s surprisingly gentle when he places you both down on the bed, sheets warm and soft as it blankets over you.

It would be perfect – except it’s so damn awkward.

Gojo’s long limbs are everywhere. Your face is pressed into his chest, both your legs tangled together. His arm is sprawled over the curve of your hip, his hand nearly grazing your ass that’s barely covered by the thin material of your shorts, but if he shifts, he’ll end up cupping the back of your thighs which is equally uncomfortable.

He seems to be stuck in the same position because you’re so small, and your knees are grazing his groin. Had he known you’re going to sleep with him, he would’ve worn underwear or even boxers under his sweatpants.

He’s never told you before, but he prefers to sleep in the nude. Satoru only picked up the nearest pair of pants when he heard you knock, and even then, he didn’t have the time to wear a shirt.

Your breath is hot on his skin and he’s so sensitive and aware of all your movements. Satoru clears his throat awkwardly, shifting until his arm lightly holds your back instead, but then he pulls away as if he’s touched fire when he’d unknowingly fiddled with your bra clasp instead. It’s so painfully awkward that Satoru chuckles above you, while you scrunch your nose, silently praying to the heavens above that he won’t hear how loud your heart is beating right now.

“Why is it so hot in your own room?”

“Maybe it’s time you get me an AC.”

“You wish, Satoru,” you mumble beneath him, making yourself as comfortable as you can with your cheek resting on his bicep. It’s not the softest pillow considering he’s pretty muscular, but he’s warm and smells like mint spice nevertheless. “You’re really not going to put on a shirt?”

Satoru sighs, a long and loud one that is extended for dramatic purposes. Suddenly, he pushes your knee off of him, grimacing and thanking the darkness that you can’t see how much he’s struggling right now. “Cupcake, this is hard for me as much as it is for you. You’re barely wearing anything.”

“Since when have you cared about what I wear?”

“I’m a man, Y/N,” is what he reasons with, “You’re lucky it’s me. Had it been someone else and you crawled into their bed wearing these—” Satoru pinches the waistband of your shorts, and you squeal in protest, only making him laugh afterwards before he lets it go and the material snaps back at your skin, “—poor excuse of what you call shorts, I can’t guarantee they’ll give you a peaceful night.”

You know exactly what he’s trying to hint at. Still, it’s hard to believe that Satoru is capable of seeing you that way.

It’s not that you feel you’re unattractive. You know you’re pretty and have been out on many dates, but it’s easy to feel that you’re not sexy when you have the height of a thirteen year old and you’ve been constantly chastised about it.

Satoru’s not-compliment compliment has your heart skipping a beat, and you scoff in response. “Shut up,” you warn lamely, “I want to sleep.”

“Then let’s sleep, cupcake.” You don’t know if it’s because you’re utterly exhausted that you doze off seconds later or if Satoru’s words just held power in them, but soon all thoughts of anything unwanted drifts out the window, his arms keeping you close, completely safe and sound until the worst nightmares couldn’t even come close.

Hot. It’s extremely hot.

You crack an eye open to try and find the source of this uncomfortable heat, but you freeze when you realize you can’t feel your muscles from the chin down. Panic rises in your throat once you see the current predicament you’re in, and a scream rips through your throat so loud that the birds outside scurry away in a flurry.

You’re wrapped in Satoru’s blanket and comforter, rendering you unable to move because of how he’d treated you like a burrito wrap. Even your toes are captured inside this hell, and only your head is able to wriggle side to side.

“Satoru!”

The culprit comes out of the shower a split second later, his hair dripping wet and only a towel hanging low from his lips. If you weren’t so hell-bent on killing him, you would’ve been speechless at the way water drips from his hair down to the curves of his abs, going down down down into a place only your darkest imaginations could take you.

Satoru bends over in laughter as he whips out his phone, jumping from angle to angle and side to side to take photos of you. “Fuck,” he howls, slapping his thigh while you snarl in an attempt to break free. “You’re a lot cuter than I thought you’d be.”

“Satoru! Get me out of here!”

“No, this is way too gold. I’m sending these to my students.”

“Satoru, I’m serious!” The devil incarnate himself falls deaf to your please.

Maybe it’s because the violent intent has coursed through your veins so strongly that a surge of energy and strength overcomes you, and soon, you’ve rolled out of the blanket. The fresh air nipping at your heated skin is most welcomed, but right now, you had a mission to fulfil: obliterate Gojo Satoru.

The platinum haired man is still laughing to himself, too distracted in scrolling through the best photos to send to his students that he doesn’t notice you escaping and zooming straight right at him.

The momentum is enough to catch him off guard until you end up on top of him, short arms clawing your way through to snatch his phone. Satoru yelps when his phone lands out into the living room and your hands come down to choke him. You don’t have plans to kill him, but you want to hurt him enough to remind him you’re not someone he can fuck with.

You’ve just about had enough of this man and you’re so sick of him!

Satoru yells out a “Hey!” when you let out a battle cry, using your legs to kick him back when he tries to sit up. Your plan backfires when your hands slip down his wet skin and you fall face forwards, hands barely touching the ground for support when your lips come crashing down on his.

He stills underneath you. It takes a moment for you to realize that holy shit, you’re kissing him and his lips are so soft that has you scrambling back, but Satoru doesn’t let you.

His large hand comes up at the back of your neck to pull you forward. The sudden movement makes you gasp, and Satoru slips his tongue inside when you do so. You no longer remember how you got here or try to make sense of what’s going on, because he feels so good, tastes so good that you bury your nails in his hair while he ravishes your mouth.

You’re so tiny that his hand cups your entire buttcheek almost possessively, a low growl emanating deep in his throat when your tongue eagerly intertwines with his. Satoru tastes like heaven and everything about the kiss is sloppy – tongue clashing with one another and teeth nibbling at the other’s lips. It’s clear both of you can’t get enough of one another as you moan in his mouth, shamelessly grinding on his crotch, suddenly thankful that you’re always wearing thin clothes when you feel him harden underneath you.

“Fuck, baby,” he pulls away to breathe, a string of saliva connecting the both of you. “Yeah, just like that,” There’s something empowering about the way he pants at your ministrations, especially when you roll your hips faster across his erection. “Keep going, baby, you’re doing – fuck – so well.”

You smirk at his praises, latching your teeth on his neck to suck marks on them. Satoru groans at the same time you muffle your moans through his skin, his hands sliding under your shirt to tug the cups of your bra down. You nearly lose it when he pinches your nipple, bolts of electricity running down your spine at the contact. A moan breaks through your lips just as you come right there and then, the wetness of your sudden orgasm barely hidden in your flimsy underwear.

“Feel good?” he teases and drags your shirt down to the other side, but the post-nut clarity hits. And when it does, it hits hard.

Fuck. You just came from Satoru’s simple touches, and he’s so unsatisfied, still painfully hard underneath you but nothing but panic and regret washes over you like a strong tidal wave. Suddenly, you grow lightheaded as you push yourself off him, fixing your bra while ignoring the confused and hurt look on his face.

“I gotta go to work,” you run out the room, feeling your body tremble as Satoru runs after you. “Make yourself breakfast. I’ll eat on the way out.”

“Y/N, wait!”

You know you’ve just ruined everything – that nothing will ever be the same after that – but you’re scared, utterly and remorsefully so, that you slam the door right in his face as if you don’t have any idea how much you broke him.

You’ll never forget the way Satoru’s face fell when you left.

Just as you thought, nothing is the same after that. The tension is so thick around the apartment you make an effort and go out of your way just to avoid him and the apartment completely.

It’s cowardly – you know this much – but do you ever try to fix the friendship you cherish but shattered completely? You don’t. You don’t because it only crashes down onto you now that maybe your feelings for him aren’t just platonic, after all. It’s even worse because you touch yourself at the thought of him filling you up when he’s asleep, all because you want him so bad and the mere presence of him has your brain malfunctioning.

It isn’t entirely sexual either. Yes, you want to fuck him badly, but it scares you down to the core even more because you want so much more than that.

Now you understand why you always say he’s a bother but never asked him to leave. It’s because you like him, actually romantically interested in him. It makes sense now why you always felt so annoyed whenever your co-workers asked for his number, or how you’re immediately pissed off when Satoru talks about this hot woman he saw at work. You always chalk it up to an excuse you just hate how he can’t keep in his pants, but it isn’t true at all.

It’s because you actually like him – and you’re at a loss on what to do or how to deal with it.

The next few days feels like hell. Satoru isn’t stupid; he knows you’re avoiding him. He stops teasing you eventually and even buys takeout all the time when you lock yourself up in your room right after work, refusing to cook dinner or even eat all so you’d be spared the torture of looking at him.

He’d knock at your door and ask you to eat, but other than that, he’s respected your distance.

You feel like the most terrible person on earth. You don’t miss the way dark circles line under his eyes or how he’s lost his spark, barely even speaking to you when you’ve come or about to leave for work.

You’re alone the whole ride, as well, and it only dawns on you how lonely you are when Satoru isn’t always annoying you all the time.

But it doesn’t make sense. Why is he so bothered by it? Didn’t he regret it? It’s painfully clear you’re not Satoru’s type. You’ve seen the women he dated before, and you’re not close to them so why does he seem like he’s struggling with this as well? Or maybe...he’s just sad that his friend is avoiding him.

Yeah, that has to be it.

Satoru is a man. He was probably turned on at that time, but after giving some thought about it, he probably wants to keep his distance too. He’d be insane if he ever actually wants to date you – his best friend out of all people – because he’s Gojo Satoru and he could literally have everyone else.

You don’t care that you’re a coward.

You don’t care that Satoru is sad to see you this way.

You don’t care because you know he’ll reject you, you know he’ll be weirded if you admit your feelings for him. To him, you’re like his little sister. There’s just no way you two would work out. For now, you have to get comfortable with the uncomfortable. You just need some time to get over your feelings for him, and when you’re confident you won’t fall for him again, you’ll mend your friendship.

You just need time.

“So, Y/N, you still don’t want to give us your friend’s number?”

“Yeah, Y/N, you should share it,” your co-worker encourages by jabbing her shoulder to yours. It’s a lazy Friday night and the staff went out for dinner. You don’t usually come to these hangouts since dinner with Satoru is always much more fun, but he’s the last person you want to think about now, so you happily join them. Now, though, you’re starting to regret ever coming here. “If he’s really single like you said, then it shouldn’t be a big deal to ask for it.”

“Well, since you want it so badly, why don’t you ask him directly for it instead?” you snap, feeling anger begin to trickle. All you wanted was just one day where you don’t have to think of him, but of course they had to bring him up. It’s also annoying how they can never seem to get the message across that you don’t want them dating him. “Why do I have to be the messenger?”

“We haven’t seen him much. Doesn’t he always walk you to work?”

“He’s been busy with his job, that’s all.” And also because I’m avoiding him – so now he’s avoiding me too.

“He’s a teacher, right?”

“Oh, come on, guys, don’t be so dense,” your senpai chugged her drink rather loudly, catching the attention of your nosy co-workers who wouldn’t stop pestering you for his number. “Look at how uncomfortable she looks. It’s obvious she doesn’t want you guys to be involved with her friend for a reason. Think of how weird it is for her too if ever her co-worker and best friend dated. She’s going to feel like a third wheel.”

“I’m not—”

“That makes sense,” your co-worker nodded beside you, “Are you sure you just don’t like him though?”

“Ew, why would I?” the food began to taste bitter through your lies, “He may be tall and attractive, but as his roommate, I’ve seen his ugly side. Satoru is a complete slob and can’t even cook to save his life.”

“I don’t mind cooking for him all the time if I were to be his little housewife.”

“That’s never gonna happen,” your words came out harsher than it was, and you laugh it off with a wave of your hand when your co-workers’ eyes widened. “I’ve been living with him for six months and he’s never brought anyone home or told me he’s going on a date. I told you already, he’s a no strings attached kind of guy. He’s nothing but a one night stand.”

“You have to admit he’s still sexy though.”

Right. You hide your groan through another shot because there’s no way of convincing them otherwise. As much as you hate to admit, you’re actually jealous on how freely they could talk about him like that, but then again, it’s not like you and Satoru were dating – or would ever date, for that matter.

They start to leave one by one when it starts to get late, leaving only you who’s still desperate to avoid Satoru. Nothing prepares you for when the sky darkens and a storm comes pouring just as you’ve left the closing shop, the rain drenching and soaking your clothes through and through. Running under the nearest tree for shelter, you shiver. It’s cold – way too cold – and curse yourself for not bringing a darned umbrella.

The nearest bus stop is like what, fifteen to twenty minutes away? Your teeth are chattering and your legs are shaking, and you fumble through your phone as you dial a number you know by heart before you even realize what you’re doing. “S-Satoru?”

“Y/N,” the surprise is unmasked in his voice, something shuffling in the background before it falls silent. “Is everything okay?”

“Uhm, are you busy right now? It’s fine if you are, I’m just—”

“I’m training with Yuuji, but what is it?”

“Listen, I,” you inhale sharply when coldness bursts through your body, making you shiver and press yourself closer to tree to get away from the rain. Above you, thunder crackles before the rain grows heavier and angrier. “I forgot to bring an umbrella and I’m absolutely soaked right now. The nearest bus stop is fifteen minutes away and all the buildings here look so shady—”

“I’ll be on my way. Text me where you are,” You nod and thank him, too cold and numb to realize you’ve just broken days of silence. You lose track of time under there, hugging yourself until your lips turn blue. It doesn’t take long before Satoru shows up minutes later, his hair equally drenched and sticking flat to his eyes free from his blindfold while he pants, hand on his knees. “Thank goodness you’re safe. I rushed here so fast I forgot to bring an umbrella.”

After seeing Satoru drenched like that, something snaps within you. He doesn’t seem bothered by the fact the rain is unforgiving as it slaps the pavement, and your heart breaks when you see that he’s more concerned for you – even after you’ve given him the silent treatment. “You idiot! Now you’re soaking wet too, you’re going to get sick!”

“Highly unlikely,” he shrugs. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“But what about—” Satoru suddenly carries you before draping his coat over your head, running until he found a cab to hail. He immediately asks the driver to turn up the heater while you tremble on top of him, not caring anymore that you’re sticking so close to him for heat.

Satoru doesn’t let you go all the way inside the apartment. He sets you down on the couch where you take off your wet clothes in haste, too cold with teeth chattering that you silently take the hoodie and boxers Satoru offers you, making sure to keep his gaze averted the whole time. Once fully dressed, you snuggle back into the sofa’s comfort, stiffening when the couch dips beside you.

Not a moment later, Satoru towel-dries your hair, leaving your mouth and throat dry with guilt. Even after you’ve unnecessarily been a bitch to him, he’s still so kind with you.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Satoru...” you twiddle with your thumbs just as he starts to ruffle the towel in your hair, making sure to squeeze water out of the strands as he dries it. “About what happened the other day—”

“It didn’t happen if you don’t want it to,” his voice is cold’ monotonous and so emotionless you’re rendered speechless. “You can forget about it.”

“I...”

“You regret it, right?” he’s done with drying your hair, and he stands up to place the wet towels in the sink as you watch him stride all the way there. He’s changed his clothes too; looking comfortable in a plain white shirt and some grey sweatpants, looking every bit the domestic boyfriend you’ve always wanted but can never have. “It’s fine. We can forget about it and go back to normal,” to emphasize his point, Satoru winks at you, though it does nothing but make your heart sink.

“What if I don’t want to forget it?” your voice is small; hesitant and wavering with fear. “What if...the only reason I pulled away is because I wanted more of you?”

Satoru’s back freezes as he sets the towel aside. At this point, your heart is pulsing on your tongue, and you dig your nails onto your thighs when Satoru sits down next to you, right next to you. He’s silent the whole time; eyes calculatedly piercing through yours. Your breath hitches when his hands that are burning hot against your cold skin cups your jaw before his thumb runs across your lips, his eyes turning dark at your reactions.

“And what if I said I felt the same way?”

“I,” you gasp, closing your eyes because it all feels so surreal. “I like you, Satoru. I like you a lot and I—” he doesn’t let you finish. Soon, you find yourself in his lap with his hands cupping your cheeks while he smashes his lips onto yours.

Satoru is absolutely feral. He’s breathing hard and almost angry, even, with the way his teeth are biting down to nibble on your lips. You moan when he drags you closer, your clothed centre rubbing on his thigh with delicious friction. “You have no idea,” he rasps down on your lips, “how much I’ve fucking liked you ever since we were kids,” Satoru pushes his hoodie aside, revealing your sweet neck to him, and he doesn’t waste his time in sucking and abusing the poor flesh so he can mark you as his. “I’ve always wanted you, Y/N, it’s always you, always you.”

You fist his hoodie when Satoru sinks his teeth down into the juncture of your neck, his hands curious and exploring every inch of your body. He knows you’re naked underneath his clothes, but it’s a different thing when he actually feels your breasts right on his palm. Satoru tweaks the hardened bud in his fingers, growling when you moan at the contact and use his thigh to get off.

“You—” you gasp as you expose your neck to him, wild and needy as you keep rubbing your heat over his thigh. “—talk way too fucking much,” you scold, finally pushing his lips away from your neck. Satoru chuckles at your eagerness but you silence him by flinging his boxers off of your body and somewhere far away, exposing your heat slick with arousal right in front of him. His pupils blow in excitement, hands coming up to grab at your hips, but his attention is taken away when you nibble on his ear to whisper, “Shut up and fuck me.”

The simple command is enough to make his patience snap. In a flash, you’re pinned underneath him, whining and moaning when his finger meets no resistance as he slips it inside. “You’re that needy, huh?” he laughs even louder when you lose it, humping yourself on his finger because it’s not enough.

“Satoru,” you beg, clutching his bicep when he adds another finger in. “More.”

His fingers are so long, hitting places that your small ones could never reach. He begins to scissor his way in, his fingers deliciously rubbing against your velvety walls while pumping them inside and out in a speed that causes you to squelch around him.

It’s absolutely lewd how you’re eagerly spread out before him, but your head is clouded with lust, no longer hindered by shyness out of your need to cum. Your chest is rising heavily, his thumb now rubbing against your clit as he coaxes you to cum. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he kisses your cheeks, eyelids, nose, anywhere but your lips, his voice so gentle and innocent as if he’s not knuckle deep inside you. “Tell me how you want me.”

“Inside,” you whine, gasping when he brushes against a really sensitive spot that has you clamping down on him. “‘Toru, fuck, just fuck me.”

“Beg for it,” he smiles against your skin, relentless and harsh as he keeps pushing inside you. You feel him everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Another finger adds in until you’re dripping enough on his palm and staining the couch, but neither of you care. “I said, beg for it.”

“No,” you hold back, nearly crying out when he pulls your fingers out of you. That sudden emptiness is back again, but you don’t want to beg. You’ve never begged another man before, and this won’t be the first time you’ll be doing so either. You refuse to let him have the upper hand despite the crystal clear fact you’re already soaking wet for him, but because you’re stubborn, you only fumble with his sweatpants to spring his cock free.

He’s already dripping with pre-cum from the slit, his cock hard and angry. Despite his arousal, Satoru stops you from going further, using only one hand to trap both your wrists. “Beg for it,” he demands again, his other fist already pumping down on his shaft.

You nearly cry at the sight. Both of you are aware that Satoru is capable of pleasuring himself, but it’s not that easy for you. Your small, dainty fingers will never be parallel to the pleasure his long cock could give you. All you had to do was beg for it. He’s right there, within reach, if only you’d just –

Impatient for your answer, Satoru takes you by the hips and discards your hoodie in the process, sinking you down his cock, inch by delicious inch. You don’t hold back from the sensual and high-pitched moan that leaves your lips. He’s long, and the tip of his cock just about brushes your cervix when he bottoms out. He feels so good, so warm and huge and filling you up right where you want him to be. Your head falls down on his shoulder as you begin to roll your hips, but Satoru has had enough.

“Fuck, look at you,” he presses on the bulge of his cock visible through your abdomen. “You’re so fucking small – how do you take me so well? I could ruin you. Do you want that? Do you want me to ruin you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck.”

“You think you can just leave me hanging like that, huh?” he slaps your ass, eliciting another moan from you and making you clench around his cock. Satoru falters for a moment. Before you can react, he stands up, your legs wrapped around his waist with nothing but his tip hitting inside you. “You’ve been so fucking mean – leaving me wanting you like that and ignoring me for days. Do you think you deserve this, huh?” Satoru kicks his door open at the same time he loosens his hold around your ass, making you slide down his length the next second.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out just as Satoru begins to bounce you, your breasts following the motion of him fucking deep into you. “Fuck, Toru, that’s too—”

He’s so eager to fuck you, to make a mess out of you and have you losing your mind over his cock that he doesn’t even wait until you’re both on the bed. You no longer register when your back hits the pillow, or how your arms are frozen when he pins it above your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he praises as he watches you clench around him. You’re so small and his eyes zero in on the way your abdomen bulges then flattens again every time he pounds into you, rolling his hips in a way that has you screaming and thighs quaking. “Beautiful, beautiful, perfect,” the moment his hands grip at your hips to pin you down, you know he’s not going to stop. And you don’t want him to.

Satoru latches his lips around your right breast, gently grazing his teeth over it while his other hand pinches and rolls the pebbled nipple between his fingers. He feels so good – and you’re crying already by the time you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer.

The room is filled with the smell of sex, the sound of skin slapping against skin combined with his breathy grunts and your moans like heaven on his ears. Satoru wants you to feel how much he loves you – how much he adores you – and the pace he sets is torturous. He snaps his hips against yours and presses down on the bulge of his cock through your belly, chuckling when you tighten more around him.

Your head lols to the side, tears falling down your pretty face because of how rough he’s being. But you don’t complain, not when he’s filling you in so deep and he’s kissing you everywhere, touching you everywhere, making you feel nothing else and nobody else but him.

“You’re amazing,” he rasps, watching the way your tight cunt sucks him in greedily as if you don’t want him to go anywhere else. “You take me in so well – you really want me to destroy you, huh?”

“Satoru, please,” you finally plead, “I-I’m cumming, I want you, I need you, oh,” you squeal when he finally lets your arms free. You look so precious, so innocent, and he doesn’t let up his pace. He plants his feet into the ground and his strokes begin to grow sloppy, your tight walls encouraging him to go faster, go deeper.

If possible, Satoru is only even more fuelled with the way you look so precious and innocent in that moment. His touch is gentle in comparison to the way he’s mercilessly plowing into you, using his thumb to wipe away the tears streaming down your cheeks. He knows he’s too big for you, that much is obvious from how much you’re already overstimulated just by his size, but your nails sink down on the flesh of his ass as a silent plead for more.

“Fuuuuck, I’m so close!”

“Yeah?” He fondled your clit, loving the sight of your small body creaming down on his cock. “Come for me, sweet girl. I want to feel you coming on my cock. Come on, tell me you’re mine. You’re made me for aren’t you?”

“Yes, Satoru, fuck,” you squeal, throwing your head back for a second when he keeps hitting your g-spot that has you seeing stars. Your toes curl and your hands fist the sheets behind you as he keeps impaling you with his cock right then and there.

You looked perfect; so perfect to him that he’s basically using you for his own pleasure at this moment. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, back arching and nipples brushing against his chest.

In that moment, you grow needy to have him even closer, tilting up to blindly search for his lips. Satoru complies; leaning down and leaving open mouthed breathy kisses that’s a mix of you moaning and crying around him, while he struggles to do so when he’s cursing at the feeling of you coating his cock with your juices. Satoru looks down at your tiny frame trapped in his arms, his voice husky as he groans once he saw both of your arousal absolutely leaking out of your wet cunt.

He’s so close but you’re already over the edge, scratching at his back at the overstimulation. You’re still so sensitive from when you came and Satoru doesn’t slow one down one bit. He loses his rhythm as his thrusts go sloppy, and Satoru buries his face in your neck as his cock twitches inside you until he bursts with his cum leaking out of your hole.

Satoru’s arms give out beneath you, his chest colliding with yours but not enough that he’s crushing you with his weight. You’re both breathing hard and panting, his dick softening inside you.

He pulls back a moment later to slide out his sensitive cock, wincing while he watches pools of cum gather in your pussy before it drips out. It isn’t until he’s witnessing the mess he’s made he realizes how you’ve been so good for him; taking him all the way in despite your quivering frame. It dawns on him now just how tiny you are when he pulls you close to him; you’re practically hanging off his chest with how small your body is.

He wonders how you’re able to fit all of him, but he’s grateful nevertheless. Satoru shows his appreciation by peppering kisses all over your face, his hand snaking down to caress your inner thighs.

“Hmm,” you moan into the kiss, jolting when his knuckles brush against your sensitive clit. “Satoru, no,” you whine while pushing his hand away, and he shushes you with another kiss. “’M too sensitive, please...”

“It’s fine, cupcake, it’s fine,” his nickname for you is back again, and you lean closer to him just as he begins to massage your sore legs. “You did so well for me, cupcake, you know that? You’re such a good girl for me,” too fucked out to have a comprehensive answer, you only nod in response, spreading your legs open again and ignoring the warm stickiness between your thighs as Satoru kneads your abused flesh. You feel him kiss your temple before he leaves to get a towel and cleans you up. Meanwhile, you’re so tired you’re about to doze out in his bed.

“Hey,” he soothes, bundling you up in his arms until you’re tucked in the safety of his body. So small, he coos inside his head, watching as you fold yourself even smaller while your eyes flutter. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you sigh into his shoulder, “I feel good. Thank you.”

Satoru doesn’t really know what you’re thanking him for. He feels like he’s the one who’s mostly indebted to you after everything you’ve done for him. You’ve already fallen asleep before he gets the chance to tell you how he feels, so Satoru only covers you both under his blanket, making sure there’s no more space between you out of fear you’ll distance yourself from him again.

But he doesn’t have to worry about that because you’re right next to him, and you’re never out of reach.

7K notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 2 years

Text

pretty boy | todoroki x reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Fem Reader

length: 4,100 words

summary: You have strong feelings about Shouto's scar. Shouto finds them...surprising.

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, pro hero shouto, makeup artist reader

warnings: aged up characters (no smut though!!)

note: Happy Valentine's Day! I don't really know what this is, I just wanted an outlet for my Shouto thirst, and to live vicariously through a reader who's allowed to get her hands on him. ✨ I hope you guys have a lovely day.

EDIT: Now with art by the love of my life @ofmermaidstories

As soon as you entered the studio that morning, you could tell a big name was coming.

No fewer than eight of your coworkers were crowded together in a tight knot at the end of the hall, discussing something in excited whispers. The hallway stank of a headache-inducing mixture of recently-applied perfumes—the florals, citruses, vanillas and musks all blending together combatively. Even all the way from the elevator door, you could see several freshly administered coats of lipstick, eye-catching smears of red. Some of the girls were even changing out of their office flats into their emergency heels, leaning on one another for support as they did.

Somebody really, really big then.

And probably very handsome.

The heels usually meant an actor, a pop star, or any of the younger, cuter heroes in the top fifty, and the sight of them set off a code red in your brain.

You suddenly wished you’d arrived a little earlier in case you wanted to primp for whoever it was today, too—but the siren song of your snooze button had lured you back to sleep this morning, and then a side trip for iced coffee had you arriving just before the floor manager called the morning meeting. Not that many of the celebrities you got in the studio paid that much attention to the support staff. But it was still nice to look your best if you were getting somebody extra cute, like pro hero Hawks, who was given to appreciative winking and the sorts of compliments that could make your entire week.

You sighed. Oh well.

At least you, as a makeup artist and hair stylist, always made sure that you were some form of presentable before entering the studio, if only to reassure guests that you knew what you were doing and weren’t about to massacre their image. Even if you might have picked cuter shoes or your butt-hugging slacks if you’d known.

“Who is it?” you asked one of the PAs, Hanako, as you made your way over to the primping pile of productionists.

“Pro hero Shouto,” she said, her mouth hanging open as she applied mascara in a hand mirror. “He’s doing some kind of thing with some charity or whatever—I heard his manager called the studio head directly so it’s probably a big PR push before the Awards next month.”

Despite yourself, your eyebrows went up.

Very big, then. And super rare.

As far as you knew, Shouto Todoroki had only graced Good Morning Tokyo once before—almost two years ago, before you were hired. In general he avoided media appearances like the industry was a bag of feces on fire—which it definitely was—but he seemed to avoid your studio more than others. New Day Japan had nabbed him three times in the interim, a fact that your producers often bemoaned over their ratings sheets.

Definitely high heel-worthy, and you cursed yourself for not dressing cuter.

“Y/N, can you please do the eyeliner thing you did on me when Hawks was here,” Mari, the production designer, pleaded, turning to you. “He told me it looked cute and I need Shouto to fall in love with me so I can become a rich, lazy housewife.”

You laughed, and she grinned, holding out an eye pencil.

You drew the corner of her eyes up into an elegant, catlike sweep that highlighted the dramatic curve of her cheekbones. Several of the other girls clamored for your input as well, and in the time it took the floor manager to wrangle his production staff out onto the floor, you’d gotten most of them in working order.

Todoroki would be walking out of here with a spate of housewives, if you had anything to say about it.

You made your way into the dressing room as the floor staff collected for their meeting. You went about tidying the vanity the way you did every morning—wiping down the counter and chair, replacing the brushes you’d washed and set out to dry last night, restocking the various q-tips, cotton rounds, and plastic applicators you used to keep things sanitary. You also snuck a quick spritz of a light, citrusy perfume, unwilling to be the only girl not up to par in front of Todoroki, though you knew there was really no point.

Guests weren’t here to matchmake, and Todoroki seemed one of the least likely to be browsing for a date. Plus, he probably already had a significant other. You didn’t just go around looking like that and manage to stay single for more than five minutes.

You were still getting things in order when a woman you didn’t know stepped through the door, dressed in a sharply-pressed, high-collared blouse and black slacks. Her hair was pulled into a low bun, and she wore the classic set of understated pearls preferred by business women everywhere. This far into your career, you could recognize a hero manager a mile off, and you realized this must have been Todoroki’s.

Amane, one of the studio’s producers, followed her in. You gestured them both to the vanity chairs, waving a hello.

“Y/N, this is Yue Suzuki, Shouto Todoroki’s manager,” Amane said, her professional smile in place as she took a seat. You’d never warmed to Amane, though you’d never really understood why. She was polite enough, but she had a more detached, businesslike manner than most of the other staff, and you thought it made her a little harder to connect with. She usually left you alone to do your own thing, though she sometimes liked to pop in to give her opinion on some of the bigger name guests.

Her input was rarely helpful.

“I’m sure you’ve been through this a million times,” Amane said to Suzuki, “But if you have any special requirements for Shouto’s appearance, please let Y/N know. She’s our stylist.”

Suzuki waved an unconcerned hand. “Shouto’s never cared and I’ve found it best to leave these things to the professionals. We’re in your hands, Y/N,” she said. You made cursory note of her features as she spoke, watching the curve of her mouth as she smiled, her warm brown eyes, the charming, slightly crooked angle of her nose.

You often itched to get your hands on people, and she was the kind of beautiful you liked to work with the most. A pleasant, average kind of beauty. It was saccharine to think so, but in your opinion, every face held its own charm, and you liked watching them, thinking about their features, considering how to highlight and draw out your favorite things about them.

“I had some thoughts, Y/N,” Amane said, like she always did when there was a big name guest involved. Her thoughts about Hawks had once filled the space of an entire five minute block, as though her opinion carried any professional weight.

Still, though, she was the one who signed your checks, so it was polite to listen. Even if you sometimes did impressions of her behind her back afterwards—“Ingenium is actually quite handsome, you know, you might consider getting rid of those god awful glasses, and doing something with that jawline—”

Her opinions on female guests were often worse.

“Shouto’s hair always hides most of his scar, which is what we want, but it hides the rest of his face,” Amane began.

Instantly, her statement set you on edge. Your hackles raised like a startled porcupine, and it took you a second to examine why.

You didn’t like the implication that anyone had anything to hide. Any makeup artist worth their salt could tell you the point of the job was to highlight, not to hide. Makeup was often thought of in terms of disguise, but you thought of it more as an art. Covering things up, like blemishes, was a mechanism to make other features shine, but not the objective of the work.

Todoroki’s scar seemed a defining characteristic of his, to you—pointless to cover up. Stupid, even.

“Perhaps concealer over the scar or something else to make it less noticeable,” Amane continued, pressing a finger to her lips. “I’d so like to see the rest of his face, and I’m sure our viewers would appreciate it. Although, maybe leaving his hair the way it is is the solution…”

Your skin prickled with irritation. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Suzuki bristle as well, and realized you were not the only person uncomfortable with the way Amane was approaching her ideas.

You hastily interrupted her. “Amane, I think it would be dishonest to cover his scar. I’ll come up with my own way, this time.”

Amane looked annoyed. You’d never questioned her to date, just politely let her ramble on about her ideas, and then executed on your own without taking hers into account.

This, though, seemed important to contest.

“Y/N, this is my show, and I am more in touch with what the viewers want than you are. So you will excuse me for making this simple request. Yoshida had no problem listening to what I wanted last time he was here, and the ratings came out very favorably,” Amane said tritely.

Yoshida had been the makeup artist you’d replaced. She’d been nice, quiet, unobtrusive. You didn’t doubt she’d done whatever Amane asked.

You, however, did not feel the same way. You didn't feel like this was an appropriate call for anyone other than Todoroki himself to be making. And the way Amane was blundering right past the out you were offering her just fanned the flickers of your temper. You proffered one more olive branch.

“I promise I’ll make him look good. In fact, I don’t think anyone could make him look bad,” you said politely, aware of the way your tone sounded a little tighter than usual. You willed yourself to subside. “I just think we shouldn’t concern ourselves with his scar in particular.”

Amane frowned, her thin eyebrows drawing further together. Her tone became even more brisk. “You’ve never spoken to me like this before, Y/N, and I can’t say I’m enjoying it now. It's contentious, perhaps, but a simple enough ask in my opinion—”

In the corner of your vision, you saw Suzuki’s shoulders draw up. You heard her soft, sharp intake of breath, clearly upset, and the words came tumbling out of you before you could stop them.

“Okay, there is nothing wrong with his scar,” you said quickly, cutting Amane off. “And I’m not going to cover it up. He’s Shouto Todoroki, everyone knows what he looks like, and everyone thinks he’s the most beautiful pro hero on earth anyway, so I don’t understand why this is a concern for you.”

Amane’s mouth opened and closed. She blinked, her throat working in surprised disbelief, and her expression made you well aware that there would be some consequence for speaking to her like this. But you suddenly couldn’t stop yourself. This was important.

“Now I agree that it would be nice if we styled his hair to show his face—I’m happy to do that part. But I won’t for a second consider covering up his scar. It’s part of his face, an essential part of his image, and while I’m sure he’s got some complex emotions attached to it, I think it makes him look more roguish and interesting. So if you want to cover it up, be my guest, but you’re going to have to do it yourself because I will walk right out this door if you ask me to do it again,” you said tightly. There was a snapping sound and something sharp bit into your fingers, and you realized you’d accidentally crushed an applicator in your palm, though you'd managed to keep your tone relatively even.

Amane’s expression twisted, and Suzuki's eyebrows raised, both gawking in your direction. You wondered if you’d overdone it just a bit—you could border on sanctimonious when it came to this kind of shit—but then you realized that while they were turned in your direction, both of their eyes were fixed on something just beyond your shoulder.

You heard the soft tread of a shoe at the doorway, and you whipped around to find the man in question, already watching you steadily.

“It sounds as though you have settled things on my account, then,” Shouto Todoroki said, his tone low and smooth.

Your face instantly heated, hot shame welling up inside of you. Caught red handed, discussing his scar, like a child discovered scribbling crayon on the wall.

“I didn’t mean, uh—” you floundered. “Um, hi.”

Todoroki stepped into the room, his expression politely blank. His proximity made it even harder to scrounge up the appropriate words, tripping over yourself in your haste to say the right thing, though you saw immediately that you’d been correct about one thing.

Shouto Todoroki was most definitely the most handsome hero you’d ever seen, and the scar only elevated that beauty, adding a point of interest to a set of features that otherwise looked too perfect. Everything about him was dichotomous in a way that crossed all the wires in your brain. Smooth, pale skin contrasted with the raised pink ridge of his scar. The deep, icy regard of one eye warred with the fiery blue of the other, hot on your face. More refined, feminine features blended with slender, masculine ones to create a beauty unlike any other.

He was also tall, maybe even more so than he looked on TV, and strapped with lean muscle, visible even through his pale linen shirt, belted into grey slacks. Very well-fitted grey slacks, you couldn’t help but notice.

He was unreal, way more gorgeous than you had anticipated.

Your palms itched with the need to get your hands on him. Although you suspected you wouldn’t ever get the chance to, now, considering how you and Amane had just been arguing about his scar for the entire studio to hear.

“Shouto, welcome—” Amane said quickly, getting to her feet and holding out her palm for him to shake.

With any luck, he hadn’t heard what she’d said to set you off, though there was no hope that he hadn’t heard what you had said.

He took her hand with customary politeness, although his gaze slid disinterestedly from her face to his manager’s, looking at her as if in question.

Suzuki got up from her chair at the vanity, gesturing him into it. “Shouto, this is Y/N. She’s the stylist, and she clearly already has some ideas.”

Your face burned even hotter, and you wished a hole would open up in the floor of the studio and swallow you alive.

“I’m in your care,” Todoroki said politely, which made things even worse.

Amane said a few quick parting words and darted out of the door, obviously eager to escape. You watched her retreat enviously.

“Um, right,” you said, once she’d disappeared. Your voice was too loud in the sudden quiet of the room, and the awkwardness was overwhelming.

You made yourself stop wringing your hands, hastily flinging the applicator you’d crushed into the trash, and took a couple of steps forward to Todoroki’s chair.

Cool, you could totally play it cool. And you could do your best, do as good a job as possible on what was probably your last studio client ever, just to make up for what an embarrassing display that had been. There was no way Todoroki wasn't going to have your job over this.

“I’m going to turn your chair around now, if that’s okay,” you said evenly. It was policy to tell the client before you physically touched or moved them. Todoroki just nodded his assent.

You grasped the back of the chair, trying not to notice the way the breadth of his shoulders filled it, the warmth of his skin through the back of his shirt. It was always startling to see a celebrity in the vanity mirror with you, especially one as handsome as Todoroki. He looked steady and solemn there, watching you in the reflection.

“So, um, I was thinking of something to…um, take your hair off your face,” you said. You watched his face cautiously for any sign of a reaction, given how he’d just heard you speak of this not moments before. He just nodded again, and the silence welled between you, deep and awkward.

You suddenly couldn’t take it. It would be impossible to dance around the subject of his scar while detailing how and why you were going to style him the way you wanted to, and he'd already heard you yelling about it.

The words bubbled up and out of you.

“Listen, I’m so sorry for what you walked in on. I’m sorry for talking about you while you weren’t there. I meant well, but obviously that’s super inappropriate, and if you’d rather someone else, there’s another artist on set a couple buildings over—I can see if she’ll switch with me?” you said.

For the first time, Todoroki looked surprised. Those heterochromatic eyes flicked up to yours.

“I’m unaware of why I should prefer that,” he said.

This floored you. He had to have heard you. The comment he’d made when he walked in had told you enough.

“But I—said—about your scar…”

“That it makes me look roguish and interesting,” he said lightly. Something like the slightest hint of a smile shadowed the edge of his mouth. In the back of the room, his manager let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like it was disguising a laugh.

You cringed.

“Okay I’m realizing how weird that sounds outside of my brain,” you said, wincing. The curve at the corner of his mouth deepened.

“It is the first time I’ve heard myself described that way…” he said. His eyes caught and held yours in the mirror again. You felt ensnared in his gaze, locked to the floor. “I’ve had plenty of comments since I became a pro hero. Your comment was…kind.”

Oh. Well that was good, at least.

Probably weird, too. But it was nice of him not to say so.

“Um, okay. Good, then,” you said, fidgeting under the intensity of his gaze. Silence descended over the room again, and you convulsively moved to fill it. “So, um, then if it’s okay with you. I was planning on parting your hair more to the right. Um, raking your hair back, getting a little bit of gel in there.” You studied him carefully in the mirror, fighting to keep your face neutral. “In terms of makeup, I don’t really see much of anything for you. Probably some powder to keep the studio lights from making you shiny. Um, nothing on your…nothing on your scar.”

Todoroki nodded.

You let out a relieved sigh. “Okay. Then I’m going to touch your hair now, if that’s okay. I need to dampen it and comb it out to get it parted where I want.”

He acquiesced, and you went to get the spray bottle of water. You always felt kind of like you were misting a particularly handsome houseplant, any time you had to do a celebrity’s hair, and Todoroki was no exception. Other guests, like Hawks, or Red Riot, or Uravity had all been cheerful, chattering on and asking questions. Todoroki just watched you quietly, however. He could have been a houseplant for all his silence, except for just how aware you were of him in front of you, those eyes tracking you closely in the mirror.

You loved finally getting your hands on his hair. His face was already far too perfect to be much fun to play up, but his hair would do nicely as a substitute. It was thick and soft—softer than it ought to be for someone with a quirk to do with extreme temperatures—and you combed it jealously. If only your own hair behaved like that.

It didn’t take long to get his hair the way you wanted, applying a little heat, raking a small amount of gel through the roots. You swept it up away from his face, tangling the white strands in with the red. You combed the sides back to create the illusion of shorter hair, fluffing the top up and into a rakish wave.

Then you dusted his face with powder, the work of less than a minute, and stepped back to admire your work.

“You’ll do,” you told him.

Another small indent pressed at the corner of his mouth. “Do I look roguish and interesting?” he asked in his placid tone.

Your face flamed. You wondered if changing your name and moving clear across the country would be enough to cleanse you of your utter mortification. "Aren't heroes supposed to rescue people from horrific situations, not exacerbate them?"

Something that might have been a smirk crossed Todoroki's features. "You look well enough to me," he said. His tone was carefully neutral, but you thought you registered something a little too much like delight in there.

Fucking hell. He'd seemed so quiet and intense. Who would have guessed that Shouto Todoroki was a teaser?

“This will actually be the death of me,” you muttered.

Todoroki considered you for a moment, then stood, turning to lean over you slightly. You’d done way too good a job with his hair—he looked artfully ruffled, as though he'd recently exerted himself, heroically or otherwise—and now he was even more overwhelming to look at, his appearance seizing your heart in a tight fist. You stepped back, slightly dazed.

“We wouldn’t want that,” he murmured, stepping closer.

Suddenly, you rather didn’t know what you wanted. None of the synapses in your brain were firing, and you thought absently that single-celled amoeba displayed more complex brain waves that you did right now. Every brain cell had ceased normal functionality, rerouting to the way Todoroki's face was much closer to yours, the way he smelled so good up close, like some light, expensive cologne. It was masculine and airy, and it went straight to your head.

Vaguely, you registered that he was saying something, that full mouth moving soundlessly, eyes flickering over you intently.

“Um, what?” you asked, a little breathlessly.

The corner of his mouth quirked up again. “I had asked if you had a card.”

It took way longer than it should have for you to work through the word card and what he could possibly mean by it. It was definitely an embarrassing amount of time later that you realized he meant business card. You hastily flung yourself away from him, digging through your purse for the errant spill of cards that were perpetually floating around somewhere in there.

You managed to find an intact one, handing it over to him, wondering what in the world he intended to do with it. He’d said he didn’t find your comments offensive—he wasn’t going to report you, was he?

“Is this a personal number?” he asked of the digits printed below your name.

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s my cell.”

He looked satisfied, tucking the card away into his shirt pocket, just over his heart. The sight did something weird to you, that made you feel like you suddenly needed to sit down.

“I’d like to call you,” he said, then, stepping closer to you again. Your heartbeat ticked up slightly.

“Like, for a job?” you asked, willing your mouth to produce coherent words.

A white eyebrow lifted slightly, and this time, a true smile touched his mouth. It was inhumanly disarming, so boyish and charming, and all the blood rushed straight out of your brain.

“For something roguish and interesting,” he said again. The blue of his left eye glinted in the bright studio lighting.

God, you were never going to live that down.

Todoroki's smile went a little wider, a little more sly as you gaped at him, struggling to process what he'd just said to you. Suzuki appeared at his elbow, reminding him that he had an appearance to make and now was not the time to flirt in the most nauseating way she had ever witnessed. His smile turned rueful, and he turned back to you, murmuring a goodbye. It was all you could do to nod dumbly, watching as Suzuki hustled him out of the room and down the hall.

It was only when Todoroki had disappeared that you realized he hadn’t answered you directly. And more alarming than that, his reply seemed to imply something far beyond a professional encounter.

Something roguish and interesting, he'd said.

Your heartbeat, which had begun to finally slow with his disappearance, kicked back into overdrive.

If you weren't mistaken...Shouto Todoroki had quite possibly just asked you on a date.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #bnha x reader

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