#(which these pants are just cursed bc the first time i wore them I also fell and scraped my knees so hard they bled)

[pumpkin-n-mc]

self reminder to look up comfort fics tonight :]

[seita]

in-game | kenma kozume (m.)

pairing: kenma/reader genre: angst, fluff, smut wordcount: 𝟸𝟼𝟶𝟸 tags: established relationship, gamer!kenma cw: neglectful behavior, crying, hurt/comfort, cuddling, riding, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, praise kink, dom!kenma.

+ note: self indulgent bc im a hurt/comfort whore and i was going thru some KENMA FEELINGS when i wrote this.

˖˖ summary: kenma’s been awfully neglectful lately, preoccupied with his video games. you eventually get fed up and he has to comfort you and fix the hurt he caused you.

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© all content belongs to seita 2020. do not repost or modify.

Your lovely boyfriend had been playing video games nonstop for days. It had gotten to the point that even your personal time together, curled up in bed before sleeping, had been infringed upon. Instead of him coming to bed with you to cuddle and talk, he was staying up and coming to bed after you fell asleep. You’d wake up to him already sitting in front of his computer or the TV resuming his gameplay when you woke up.

You got it was his job and he loved to play with every fiber of his being but you couldn’t help but feel...neglected. You tried to ignore the aching feeling in the pit of your chest when you greeted him good morning and only sometimes received a grunt in response. 

It was weighing heavily on you and you were saddened that he didn’t even notice your downed state. He also didn’t seem to miss your presence when you began to hide in different rooms away from him. 

It all came to a head one evening when you found yourself craving him. Craving like having his touch on your body, making you feel good and loved like you knew he did so well. Kenma didn’t have the biggest sex drive around and as a result it sort of caused your own to dim as well. But when either of you had the urge you usually had no problems going to the other to have it sorted. 

This time, however, you found yourself hesitating. 

There was no way he’d choose you over that video game right now.

So with a heavy heart you laid back in bed and slid your hand down your panties, shuddering when you felt your wet folds beneath your fingertips. 

You could hear Kenma’s video game through the thin walls of your shared apartment. It was distracting, knowing he was out there so close yet so far. It had been a long time since you had to get yourself off; you never needed to when you had the sweetest boyfriend ever living with you. 

After touching yourself for what felt like ages, you realized you were nowhere near orgasm and promptly gave up. The frustrations of being stuck horny mixed with your hurt over being neglected by your boyfriend finally bubbled over and you felt tears pricking at your eyes. You rolled over, stuffing your face into his pillow as you cried. It muffled your whimpers and wails, not that your boyfriend would notice anyway. 

Suddenly, you sat up and sniffled a bit. Something dawned on you as you sat there, listening to your boyfriend’s video game blast explosions through the walls. 

There was no reason for you to be made to feel like this. You had to step up and talk to him. Communication was always the most important thing in your relationship with Kenma. He was a quiet, introverted guy who kept 99% to himself. When you first started dating back in high school, you both made it completely clear that you needed to talk to  each other. 

Yet there you were, ignoring that rule you’d made with him. 

You crawled out of bed and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand as you stumbled out of the bedroom. 

Kenma was sitting on the couch, feet propped up on the wooden coffee table as he slouched back. His hair was in a messy bun, a bored expression on his face as he slammed his thumbs against the controller buttons. 

“Kenma,” you said, pausing in the doorway to the living room. 

He didn’t reply, making you huff and try again. You called his name louder, stepping into the room. Finally, he tore his eyes from the screen to cast a glance at you before immediately looking back to the screen. However, it only lasted a second before his head was jerking to look back at you with wide eyes. 

He sat up straighter, hitting pause on his game as he frowned up at you, “Have you been crying?”

You sigh and nod, stepping closer to him, fidgeting nervously with the hem of your shirt.

“Why?” he asked, the sincerity in his voice making your eyes tear up again.

Your bottom lip trembled as all the feelings you’ve been holding back flooded forth; “I just...really miss you lately, Kenma. You’ve been so...busy and I...just feel like you’ve forgotten me.”

His gaze softened as your words sunk in. He uttered your name, soft and sympathetic before reaching his hand out for you. You quickly slipped your fingers into his palm, letting him tug you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cupping the back of your head as he pulled your face into his shoulder. You felt the tears you’d been holding back come forth as you heard him whisper soft apologies in your ear.

You didn’t say anything more, feeling yourself begin to doze, nestled in his lap as he rubbed his hand down your back. You sighed happily snuggling into him. The music to his game played in the background and you found yourself speaking; “you can play again.”

“A-Are you sure?” he asked, skeptical though he knew you were bound to doze off.

You nodded and closed your eyes, relaxing against him. You felt him shift as he grabbed the controller once more, settling back into the couch cushions before resuming his game. You quickly fell asleep to the feeling of the occasional kiss against your temple from him. 

When you woke up, it was from being gently jostled. Kenma quickly noticed you had awoken and he frowned, reaching over to tuck some hair behind your ear.

“Sorry…” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s okay,” you reply, sitting up, “How long was I out?”

He shook his head, “Like an hour or so.”

You rolled over and got out of bed, making Kenma frown before you disappeared into the bathroom. He went back to the living room to resume his game, sitting on the couch with his controller in his lap. When you came back from going pee, you paused to take a look at him. 

His bun was loose, hair falling prettily around his face. He had changed into a loose t-shirt that was too big so it fell off his shoulder, revealing his collarbones and an expanse of unmarked, pale skin. He wore a pair of soft sweatpants that he owned several colors of; they were his favorites. 

He looked up at you when you came in, patting his lap before holding his hand out for you.

“You’re tired, why don’t you go to sleep?” he asked, thumbing beneath your eyes, which were still a bit red from crying earlier.

“Wanna be with you,” you whisper, leaning forward to rest your head against his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers resting his hand on your back before pressing a kiss to your head, “Take all the time you need.”

You smile, relishing in having his attention, even as you heard the game play on in the background. He occasionally pressed a kiss against you. 

Suddenly, the arousal you had been feeling came back to the forefront of your mind and you found yourself squirming in his lap. He grunted, brows coming together.

“Settle down, baby,” he mumbled, kissing your shoulder, eyes glued to the TV.

“Kenma…” you whimper, leaning back a bit, making sure to stay out of his way of the TV, “Can I…” he hummed, glancing at you for a second before looking back at the TV, “I really wanna ride you.”

He shuddered, nodding his head, “Go ahead, baby. Get me hard.”

You grin gleefully, and reach down to palm him, finding he’s already rapidly growing harder. Tugging at the elastic band of his sweats, he shifts a bit so you can pull his cock free, tucking the band beneath his balls. He sighs at the feeling of your hand wrapping around him to give his length a few squeezes. 

You pucker your lips and spit down on the head, using it to slick up his shaft to aid in your movements. Before long, hot puffs were coming from his lips and he was at full hardness. 

You sat up and yanked your panties down before tugging your shirt over your head. Completely, naked, Kenma sat back to admire your body with a low curse. 

Reaching beneath you, you gripped his cock to line him up at your entrance.

“Don’t hurt yourself, baby,” he whispered, glancing up at your through messy bangs, “Run and get the lube.”

“D-Don’t need it,” you whine, running the head between your folds. 

He hisses but hits pause, gripping your hip to stop you from sinking down with a pointed look, “Go get the lube, now.”

You pout but do as you’re told, crawling off his lap to rush to the bedroom. The bottle sits inside the bedside table on his side and you grab it quickly. 

When you return to the living room, he’s sitting as you left him, cock resting against his t-shirt, leaving a wet spot from where it steadily drools precum. 

“Here,” you grunt, crawling back into his lap, “I really don’t need it.”

“Why do you say that?” he asks, putting his controller down to take the bottle from your hands.

You watch, mouth open as he pours some into the palm of his hand. His hands were always so pretty; lithe fingers and prominent veins. He wraps his fist around his length and coats the smooth skin in the liquid. Using what was left on his fingers, he slides two fingers into your cunt. You grunt and grip his shoulders as he scissors his digits.

“You are wet,” he hummed, crooking his fingers to find your g-spot easily.

“T-Told you,” you pant, “I’ve been...wet for hours…”

“Why didn’t you just come and ask me?” he mumbled, frowning as he focuses on your fingers swallowing his fingers before he slowly adds a third.

“D-Didn’t think...oh, that you’d care,” you confess.

He shakes his head and pulls his fingers free, wiping them clean on his sweats before grabbing his controller.

“Don’t be stupid,” he mumbled, but you can hear the hurt in his voice at your words, “I’m always here, even if it doesn’t seem like I don’t because I’m being an ass.”

“Can I ride you now?” you ask, kissing your forehead.

“Take what you need, baby, I’m all yours,” his breathing stutters as you line him up with your entrance and begin sinking down, “That’s it...it’s all for you, make yourself feel good.”

You let out a slow breath as you sink down, taking his cock into your dripping walls. The stretch burns just a bit but it only feels pleasurable. Kenma sighs, biting his lip as his grip on the controller tightens as you squeeze him so perfectly. 

You do your best not to jostle him too much as you ride him, grinding against him so stimulate your clit. After being unable to cum earlier, you feel yourself getting closer to your first orgasm. Your movements stutter and you press your cheek to his shoulder, panting and whining as you work yourself over the edge.

“That’s it, use my cock, baby,” Kenma pants, throbbing within your spasming walls, “Cum for me.”

And you do. It’s a calm, slowly cresending orgasm that fades almost as quickly as it arrived. But still, it left you trembling in his lap. Taking a breather, you sit quietly with your eyes closed, his cock still buried inside you while you waited for the oversensitivity to pass. 

He let you, kissing your cheek and head as you came down, patiently waiting for you to do as you needed -- just as he promised. He was there for you right now, even though his eyes were on his game, his mind was concentrated on you and your sweet cunt wrapped around him. 

Before long, you were moving again, but this time you began bouncing. 

He groaned, leaning back as you expertly worked your hips so the tip prodded every sweet spot in your walls. You were dripping down his length, making a mess of his sweats but he truly couldn’t care less in that moment. He cursed under his breath, accidentally pressing a wrong button on his controller. 

“I’m cumming again!” you squeal, nails biting into his shoulders as you toss your head back and shudder, soaking his length in your cum. He hisses, hitting pause and tossing the controller to the other end of the couch. He grabs your hips and plants his feel on the floor, jackhammering his hips up while holding you stationary, “K-Kenma!”

“Cum again,” he groans, his own eyes rolling back. 

“F-Fuck!” you toss your arms around his shoulders and hug him tight as you cum again. Perhaps you never even came down from your second one. Regardless, you’re hurled into a third -- this one messier than before. 

You squirt, soaking his shirt and abdomen, “Good fucking girl, good girl.”

“Th-Thought you’d let me take what I need…” you pant, trembling as he moves your hips under his strong grip, working you through the aftershocks. 

He huffs out a laugh, head resting against the back of the couch, “Why let you take when I can give?”

You moan, head falling back when you ride him once more. Your body trembles in overstimulation but you just can’t get enough. He cups your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers as he stares up at you as if you were a goddess. Hell, to him, you were one. 

“I love you so much,” he confesses, gaze soft.

You meet his eyes and feel an overwhelming sense of love overcoming you. Leaning forward, you press your lips to his and pull him in for a deep, sweet kiss. 

He reciprocates naturally, cupping the back of your head.

“I love you more,” you reply, resting your forehead against his, “I love you more than anything, Kenma.”

“Shh, baby,” he coos, hearing the raw emotion bleeding into your voice, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You whimper, burying your face in his neck as you resume riding him. He holds you close, caressing your skin and whispering words of encouragement as you crest once again. This time, you take him with you. 

He spills into you, a heavy groan in your ear as he pumps his hot load into your spasming cunt. You both relax, your body trembling as tears trickle down your cheeks and you sniffle. He pulls you back so he can look at your face. He cups your cheeks and presses a kiss to your nose.

“I’m sorry, _____,” he whispers sincerely, “I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t care about you.”

“It’s okay now,” you whimper, snuggling into him, neither of you caring about his cum dripping from you cunt. His cock is soft now, but still sheathed within you and you have no plans of separating.

He reaches over to grab his controller again, feeling you sag against him as you begin to doze off. His thumbs work over the buttons and he relishes in the feeling of having you close, wondering how he had missed it for so long without realizing. 

The sight of you crying because you felt neglected still rang in his mind and he made a mental promise to the two of you that he would never make that mistake again -- no matter how into his games he became. 

[tsumucore]

LUCID DREAMS

✎ … Miya Atsumu

word count: 5.2k

warnings: NSFW, pwp, daddy kink, a lot of degradation, spanking, choking, sexting, overstimulation, masturbation, he kinda spits in your mouth, just rough sex overall

All characters are 18+ !!!!

A/N: this is my first nsfw fic, so pls bear with me 🥺  I’m also dedicating this to @starboybokuto and @strawbericream for inspiring me and also bc they’re literally smut icons in the fandom and after writing this, I’m realizing just how hard it it to do and I just wanna appreciate them for all the effort they put in <3

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

His moans were like honey, pouring from his sweet lips and into your ears, as his thrusts became erratic. He was close. The sounds of your own pleasure filled the room before he swallowed them up completely with his beautiful mouth. You were close. This space that was inhabited by you two was the only dimension where time didn’t exist. Nothing else mattered in this moment, except for each other. You were so, so, so, so, so clo-

“Wake up!”

Your roommate’s exclamation breaks you out of your lust-filled slumber with a jolt. You groan and silently curse her as details of the dream gradually come back to you; she’d have to make a run for it if she valued her life, or at least avoiding getting smacked in the face by the pillow you throw at her with impressive force.

“Y/N, what did I do? she whines. “You told me to wake you up. I only did what you said!”

“Literally fuck you, I was having a good dream,” you fire back.

“MAN if you don’t… anyway shouldn’t you be in class by now?” Your eyes widen as you fumble for your phone to check the time.

“Shit!” Usually, you wouldn’t have bothered showing up if you were running late, but this class took attendance, and you were already on the cusp between two letter grades. A menial attendance point could be the difference between maintaining your GPA or tarnishing it.

You wash up in record time, throw on some clothes, and shove your necessary belongings in your backpack before slinging it on your back. You don’t even have time to fill up your water bottle; you’d just have to purchase one on campus later. You pop in your earbuds, select a random playlist, and fly out the door.

You don’t stop until you reach the lecture hall. You try not to cringe as you push open the door, slinking your way in the back to find an open seat; luckily, there was one near the door so your humiliation was short-lived. When you finally sit down and situate yourself, you take a deep breath for the first time that morning and collect your thoughts.

As your mind wanders, memories of your erotic dream come back to you. The faintest of color tints your cheeks, and you shift slightly in your seat as you subtly cross your legs. You pull out your phone, preparing to fire a text at lightning speed. You need your boyfriend.

Y/N: i miss you

Atsumu: :))

Y/N: im not trying to gas ur big head up even more than it already is i’m just whore knee

Atsumu: OH????? aren’t you in class rn?

Y/N: i’d rather be choking on your fat cock tbh

Atsumu: naughty girl, why are you saying such things in the middle of class?

Y/N: what are you gonna do about it... choke me? spank me? make me cum over and over and over again?

Atsumu: Watch your mouth, baby...

Y/N: Ok...

Y/N: ...daddy.

Fighting the smile tugging at your lips, you set your phone on ‘do not disturb’ and refocus your attention on the professor’s droning voice. By the time lecture was over, you scramble out of the building, eager to make a quick call to your boyfriend so you could describe to him in specific detail everything you wanted him to do to you.

Alas, you heard the voices of your friends calling out to you, so you’re forced to sit through idle chit-chat until your next class starts. Of course, today was also a full day, so you would have to endure the rest of your classes, your position as a TA, and the study session your classmates were pulling together at the library for your next exam - which just so happened to be in two days, meaning you couldn’t opt out. At this rate, you wouldn’t be leaving campus until dark. And it was only 10 in the morning.

While you daydream in your next class, you’re broken out of your reverie by the realization that you had neglected to check your phone after effectively ending the conversation with Atsumu the way that you had. You unlock your phone, seeing that you have just one unread message from him - a photo. 

You know what’s coming before you even open it, so you’re careful to ensure that your screen isn’t in anyone’s line of sight - luckily, you were sitting in the back again, so there aren’t any prying eyes over your shoulder. You turn down the brightness and open the conversation before practically salivating on the spot.

You have an idea of what exactly the photo was going to be of, but nothing could prepare you for the effect it had on you.

It’s evident that he had propped up his phone on something and taken the photo on self-timer. Bleached tufts of hair fell over his forehead as he winked back at you through the screen with his lips pursed as if he was going to kiss someone. The only thing he wore was a gold chain around his neck. He was flashing a peace sign with one hand, while the other was wrapped around a good sized erection.

You feel your mouth dry up and your thighs subconsciously squeeze together. The way this photo was triggering a physiological reaction from your body was astounding. You need this man, and you need him now. You whisper to your friend that you had to use the bathroom, that you might be gone for a while - it must have been the iced coffee going straight through you - and to let you know if you missed anything. You try not to trip over anyone’s legs in your haste to get to the restroom.

Since this was a fairly large building, there were multiple restrooms, and so you locate the one you know is always empty and secluded - the one below the main floor. Once you enter, you do a quick check in each stall to make sure you’re alone before locking the door. You go into the biggest stall and commence with your plan of action.

You take off your shirt and bra and neatly hang them on the hooks behind the stall door. The sudden exposure to the chilly air makes you shiver as your nipples harden in response. You then bring your phone up to your chest, so that your face isn't in frame and begin to record yourself lightly massaging your breasts. You make sure to softly moan Atsumu’s name when you pinch your nipple, rolling it between your thumb and index finger. After about thirty seconds, you promptly send the footage to your boyfriend.

He immediately starts facetiming you which causes your thighs to squeeze together expectantly. When you answer the call, you’re greeted with dark, lustful eyes and a shit-eating grin.

“I heard someone missed me today.” His tone is slightly mocking, indicative of something deeper underneath.

“I had a dream about you,” you inform him as you slowly begin to massage your breasts the way you had before.

“Yeah? What happened in your dream?” His eyes darken as he shrewdly observes the way you sigh as your fingers glide over your nipples. God, he wished he could just take them in between his teeth.

You bite your lip in response to his tone becoming increasingly huskier. “I dreamed about you… fucking me.” Your voice falters a bit as you suddenly feel a wave of shyness rush over you. Atsumu often had this effect on you - sure, there was no limit to the amount of things you had done together; however, he was still able to make you feel flustered, as if it was the first time all over again.

“How naughty,” he scoffs. “You love actin’ so innocent, but what would people say if they really knew what was goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours? What would they say if they saw what you were tellin’ me in the middle of class? Do ya know what they would say, dollface?”

You can’t bring yourself to respond, only managing a feeble shaking of your head.

“They would call you a whore. A filthy, depraved slut. And do ya know what sluts get?”

Again, another feeble shake.

“Nothing. Sluts get nothing,” he laughs mockingly as he angles his phone until you have an adequate view of the way he’s been stroking himself this entire time. “And now, dollface, you’re gonna have to watch me get myself off. I want your hands off of yourself entirely... If I catch you touchin’ yourself even once, you get nothing. But if you’re good, I might just play with ya later.”

You whimper at his order, but you have no choice; you had brought this upon yourself by getting him riled up with those texts in the first place. As you swallow thickly, he begins to jerk himself off - slowly at first, torturing you with each stroke as he looks directly through the camera and into your eyes. He then begins to pick up the pace as heavy pants and the occasional moan escapes from his mouth.

“See what ya did to me, baby? This is all because of you.” His breathing grows erratic as he edges closer and closer to his release. “And now look at you. Watchin’ a man jerk off in a public restroom, with your tits out, when you’re supposed to be in class like a good girl. Now tell me, does that sound like a good girl?”

You merely whimper in response.

“Answer me,” he practically growls. “Does. That. Sound. Like. A. Good. Girl.”

“No,” you whisper as you feel a surge of arousal rush to your core. You knew your panties would be suffering thoroughly by the time you returned to class.

“Then tell me, dollface. What. Are. You.” Each enunciation is emphasized with a hard stroke to his cock - the same way he would be thrusting into you. It takes absolutely everything in you not to sneak your hand down to your throbbing clit; he’d know if you did, he always did. The prospect of not being touched by him later was unthinkable, so you continue to helplessly watch him fuck his own hand.

“I’m a filthy whore, your filthy whore,” you whine in compliance as you watch him thrust into his hand a few more times before letting out a long, drawn out moan and spilling his release all over himself. You can’t help the moan that escapes your own lips as you take in the sight of his flushed face and heavy rising and falling of his chest.

“You actually listened to me for once? This is a surprise,” he chuckles once he recovers from his orgasm. “Hurry up and come over… I’ll fuck ya ‘til you can’t even remember your own name.”

•.｡.༺✩༻.｡.•

For the rest of the day, you hoped you were doing a relatively adequate job of hiding your arousal as you went about your responsibilities. You were literally counting down the seconds until you were finished with everything so you could meet up with Atsumu and let him fuck you like he promised. At one point, you caught yourself almost drooling during your group study session at the library. You took this as your cue to leave, so you politely excused yourself by letting the others know that it was time for you to leave as you had to get up early the next morning.

After what felt like the longest and, thanks to Atsumu, the most torturous day ever, you felt completely ravenous. From the second you had woken up, you had been straight up horny, and the fact that you hadn't been able to take care of it was driving you insane. You had been rushed all day, never having a moment to yourself, and when you did, Atsumu had specifically instructed you not to satisfy yourself the way you needed to be satisfied. It was unfair.

To make matters worse, you missed the train that would take you to Atsumu’s apartment as he lived quite a while away from your campus. The next train would be leaving in an hour, which was just too much for you at this point. Delay after delay. You grit your teeth in frustration as you weigh your options: you could wait another painstaking hour for the train that would inevitably take you to your dick appointment or you could spend a fortune by calling for a taxi and getting there right now. While you mentally calculate your finances, your clit throbs just slightly when you cross your legs, which causes you to throw all thoughts of being a penniless college student out the window in favor of getting fucked mercilessly as soon as possible.

•.｡.༺✩༻.｡.•

Of course the elevator in Atsumu’s apartment building was currently out of order at that moment, leaving you with no other choice but to climb the seven flights of stairs to his apartment. At this point, you feel like you’re running on some sort of primal instinct as you sprint up the stairs with the vigor possessed by only someone who’s about to be dicked down. By the time you reach his door, you’re already huffing and puffing, but your own exhaustion escapes your mind as you ring his doorbell impatiently. Once the door swings open, you’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend smirking back at you.

The motherfucker wore nothing but loose gray sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips and the same gold chain around his neck from earlier. You chuck your backpack on the floor and throw yourself onto him, pressing your lips against his (minty?) ones. The kiss is sloppy and intense as you try to make him feel the desperation you had been forced to endure all day long. 

Somehow, your clothes find themselves on the ground in a matter of seconds. He lightly slaps at your thigh, a signal for you to jump into his arms. When you do, your hands immediately find themselves tangled in his hair, and you tug at the roots lightly, earning a growl from him. You gasp and moan into his mouth when you feel his hands give your ass a good squeeze. He manages to carry you like this into his bedroom before gently dropping you onto his bed, where he palms himself above you as he gazes at your nude form. On god, you can literally see his dick print through his sweats, and it only fuels the wetness forming between your thighs.

“Atsumu, I’ve been waiting all fucking day long. Stop being an asshole and fuck me already like you promised,” you whine as you reach your hands up to rub them along his abdomen, relishing in the feeling of his abs beneath your fingertips. You were hoping that this would coax him into giving you what you want, but he merely ceases his actions and raises an eyebrow at you.

“Who do you think you are, talkin’ to me like that?” His eyes narrow, and he leans down so that he’s hovering directly above you. “Is my baby so goddamn horny that she actually forgot her manners?” His hand comes up to wrap around your throat, gradually squeezing it harder as he glares at you. “Looks like I’ll have to remind ya how to properly speak to me. Turn over - I want that ass up in the air.” 

You pout as you obey his command and flip over on your knees so that your face is shoved into the pillow and your ass is sticking straight up for him, bracing yourself for what you know is about to come.

“You know the drill, since you wanna be such a goddamn slut - count for daddy.” Before you can respond, his hand collides with your left asscheek, causing you to yelp and moan, “One,” weakly into the pillow. The sting doesn’t last for very long, but you know better - by tomorrow, you won’t be able to sit properly.

He continues delivering powerful slaps to your ass and admires the way it jiggles with every smack and the redness blooming across the soft flesh. Every so often, he plunges two fingers into your now sopping heat, without warning. He removes them as quickly as he puts them in, causing you to whine in frustration. By the time you reach ten spanks, you’re babbling incoherently as you wiggle your hips in the air, clenching around nothing and desperate for anything to fill you up.

He flips you back over on your back and scoffs at your desperation. “Have you learned your lesson, whore?” It’s not a question - it’s a demand.

As much as you want to do or say whatever he wants so that he can fuck you already, it’s always more fun to see what happens when you piss him off. You jut out your lower lip in a pout and stare up at him defiantly. “No.”

Before you know it, you’re being flipped back onto your stomach. Another round of brutal spankings are delivered to your asscheeks, causing tears to prick your eyes as the burning pain sets in. You’re going to be sore for the next week.

“Leave it to a whore to be so mouthy,” he growls as he flips you over on your back again and thrusts two fingers into your cunt. “But you like this, don’t ya? You like pissin’ me off, because you like getting your pretty little ass spanked and you like being choked, whether it’s by my hand or on my cock. I should shut you up with my cock, since you wanna be so mouthy. Tell me, do ya like choking on cock, whore?”

“Yes, daddy,” you moan quite loudly. The combination of his degrading words and consistent thrusting of his fingers in and out of your pussy was sending you into a haze.

“Of course you fucking do,” he spits. “You told me so yourself when you were sitting all innocent in class. In fact, what else did ya tell me?” His thumb was now brushing vigorously against your clit during each thrust, causing your legs to shake violently. The whimpers falling from your lips grow louder as you focus on the buildup slowly forming in the pit of your stomach. However, your lack of response doesn’t impress him. He immediately pulls his fingers out and slaps your pussy, eliciting a jerk from your entire body and a drawn-out moan from the surprising sensation.

“Answer me, fuckdoll. Or you get nothing.” He literally shoves his fingers back in and continues his relentless thrusting, filling the room with the squelching sounds of your sloppy cunt. You scramble to remember the contents of the lewd texts you had sent him earlier that day, but your brain is so hazy from the orgasm you know is about to hit you, that you’re stumbling through your words.

“I-I said something about w-wanting to choke on your cock-” your sentence is cut off with a long moan as he applies direct pressure on your clit with his thumb.

“We established that already, dollface,” he scoffs. “What. Else.”

“I d-don’t remember,” you wail and thrash your head side to side against the pillow. Your release is so close, you can taste it. “Daddy, please let me cum - I’m going to cum!”

“Don’t remember? That’s a shame,” he remarks as he completely stops his actions and pulls his fingers out, yet again. You let out a scream of frustration at the fact that your orgasm was just cruelly ripped away from you. “Let’s see, maybe we need a refresher.” To your disbelief, he pulls out his phone and scrolls to the conversation from that morning. “Hmm, you told me to choke and spank you… Well, I’ve already done both of those, so what else?” His eyes narrow down at your quivering form and, to your relief, he puts his fingers back in you and continues thrusting. What was the last thing you told me, whore?”

“I-I told you to m-make me cum over and over a-again,” you gasp out as one final sharp thrust sends you completely over the edge. Before you know it, you’re screaming his name as you crash down from your high.

You moan in bliss as you feel the utter fucking release of the tension that had been building up inside you all day long. However, you barely have time to relax before you realize Atsumu’s still going at it in your now sensitive pussy.

“Tsumu,” you gasp as you feel your body jerking in response to the oversensitivity. “It’s s-so much… I-I c-can’t-”

The motherfucker literally laughs as he watches your face contort from the sheer overwhelming pleasure. “What? You asked for it. You’re droolin’ already and all I’ve given you are my fingers.” His jeering words ignite the fire building up for the second time as tears stream down your face from the overstimulation. “You tellin’ me you want me to stop?” He stuffs a third finger inside, stretching you even further and eliciting even more delicious cries from your lips. It felt like his fingers were thrusting even harder and faster, if that was possible.

“N-no, keep g-going,” you wail before you’re hit with your second orgasm of the night. All that you’re able to get out is a blubbering combination of “daddy” and “Tsumu” as your vision goes white and you hear the roaring of your own blood in your ears.

Atsumu finally slides his fingers out of your drenched pussy, eyes fixating on the string from your fluids attached to them. He takes advantage of your still panting mouth to stuff his fingers in between your lips. “You know what to do.” His eyes darken as he watches you desperately suck on his fingers, tasting your own essence on them. After he feels that you’ve effectively done a thorough job of cleaning them off for him, he smirks and pulls them out before leaning down so that he’s hovering above you.

“Good girl. Open wide for your reward.” Once you comply, he works up a good amount of saliva and lets it fall in your mouth, directly on your tongue. You moan as you relish the taste of his spit and swallow it all. “Thank you daddy,” you beam up at him.

He draws himself back in satisfaction as he pulls his sweatpants off, freeing his rock hard length and letting it slap against his abdomen. As spent as you are from your previous orgasms, there’s nothing you’re craving more than for him to be balls deep in your tight pussy. He just remains where he is, stroking himself as he watches you grow impatient for him to do something already.

 “Tsumu,” you plead in the calmest tone you can muster. “Please fuck me already.”

He merely continues to pump his cock, much to your dismay. “How much do you want my big cock, whore?” Again, it isn’t a question.

“I want it more than anything in the whole wide world,” you beg. Each stroke to his cock only serves to increase your frustration.

“Prove it.”

You let out a groan and proceed to rub your tits, squeezing them together and rolling your nipples in between your fingers. In your attempt to please him, you notice the way Atsumu slightly picks up the pace of his strokes as he watches you play with your tits.

But it still isn’t enough for him.

“You can do better than that.”

Fucking hell. You let go of your breasts and spread your legs, hooking your hands behind your knees so that he has a perfect view of your pretty, spoiled pussy. Your cheeks burn as you bring your hand down to spread your lips, offering him access to your slick hole. “C’mon, Tsumuuuuu… I’m all good and ready for you.”

Atsumu swallows thickly and finally relents. He grabs your thighs and holds them open as he positions himself at your entrance and pushes into you. You’re so wet from your previous orgasms that he slides in easily, burying himself to the brim as he loses himself in the feeling of being fully sheathed inside you and lets out a long moan. It feels like your pussy is literally swallowing him up as he bottoms out. Your eyes roll back as you feel yourself being deliciously, oh so wonderfully, stretched. His fingers were heavenly on their own, but nothing in the world could compare to the feeling of his thick cock hitting all the right spots in you.

“Fuck, yeahhh. You’re so tight, fuck. How are ya so tight?” Atsumu’s breathing is heavy as he squeezes his eyes shut, relishing the sensation of your walls clenching around him. He starts thrusting slowly, checking your face for any signs of discomfort. However, you grow impatient and start wiggling your hips, urging him to go faster. He scoffs and slaps your breast in response. “Be patient, dollface. You’ll take what I give ya.” You whimper, but cease your actions. Atsumu must have apparently decided that was enough for him as well, because he picks up his speed. 

His hips slap against you from the brutal way he fucks you into oblivion. His strokes are deep and hard, causing you to turn into a sobbing mess. The room is filled with the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass and your cries begging him to not stop and go even harder. The way he pounds into you has your entire body rocking back and forth as you moan at the feeling of his pelvis meeting you with each movement. 

“M-more, daddy!” Drool is seeping out of the corners of your open mouth and your eyes are glazed over from the sheer feeling of him being balls deep in you.

“You love being fucked like this, don’t ya?” Atsumu’s grunts fill your ears and you clench even tighter at his words. “An’ it’s never enough for you. Insatiable whore.” He delivers a particularly sharp thrust at the word “whore” which makes you blubber nonsensically. You want to tell him that you’re his insatiable whore, but your words are jumbling together as all your senses are devoted to the way his cock is slamming in and out of your cunt.

At this rate, you’re about to cum again in no time. Atsumu picks up on this and makes you wrap your legs around him so he can pound into you even deeper from this new angle. The tip of his dick now hits your g spot with each brutal thrust, making you literally scream in delirium. He’s more than pleased at your response, which is why he suddenly halts his movements and tilts his head at you in the cockiest manner. You want to scream and swear at him in every language possible, but you’re in such disbelief that all you can muster is the dirtiest glare at him. He laughs at the way your hips involuntarily move around him.

“Look at ya, you’re so fuckin’ cockhungry. I’m not even doing anything and your pussy’s tryna suck me in.” Before you can protest, he suddenly pulls out so that just the tip of his dick is inside you and slams back in with no warning. He’s back to thrusting into you, hitting your g spot with immense force. 

Before you know it, the knot that had been forming in your stomach completely snaps. His eyes train on the way your tongue lolls out of your mouth and your eyes cross together as your mind goes completely blank when you cum yet again. Your pussy clenches around him, causing him to swear profusely, and your fluids gush out involuntarily. Your cheeks are flushed and your chest is covered in the sheen from your sweat. He lets go of your thighs and leans over to meet your lips with his, never stopping the steady rhythm of his thrusts. You pant into his mouth as the sound of your heartbeat pounds in your ears and the cool metal of his chain dangles against your skin. 

“C’mon, make that face again for me.” Atsumu begins to rub your clit harshly, eliciting a high-pitched mewl from you as your entire body shudders.

“I-I-I…” Your teeth are clenched and your eyes are squeezed shut as pressure fills your head from the overwhelming sensation spreading throughout your body. It’s all too much, and you’re not sure you can cum again.

“Give it to me one more time, pretty girl. I know you can do it, I gotcha.” Atsumu starts sucking on the sweet spot behind your ear and continues to fuck you with the vigor of a possessed man. The bedframe shakes uncontrollably from the way he pummels into you. His thumb rubbing furiously at your clit sends shock waves of pleasure throughout your overly sensitive body and before you know it, the familiar pressure is building up in your stomach again. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my go-,” you chant as your eyes roll back in your head and you scream out his name while your vision goes completely white. Atsumu groans at the feeling of your tight walls milking his cock for everything he has. Your whole body is shaking, and you’re so wracked with pleasure that you can scarcely process the way his thrusts grow sloppy as he gets closer and closer to his own release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His groans fill the room as he erratically pummels into you to chase his high. 

“Cum inside me, daddy. Want you to fill me all the way up.” Your words are slurring together at this point due to the heady arousal clouding your mind, but they’re enough to tip Atsumu over the edge. He lets out a moan and his hips stutter to a stop as you’re overcome with the feeling of his cock twitching inside you and suddenly filling you to the brim with his cum.

Atsumu collapses on top of you and pants heavily in an attempt to catch his breath. The two of you are silent for a good few minutes before he gathers whatever strength is left in him to pull out of you. He remains somewhat on top of your utterly spent body and peppers kisses all over your face. “You good?”

“Never better,” you reach a hand up to stroke his hair, and he hums contentedly in response before rolling over to your side. He throws an arm over you, hugging you to his body and just stares at you lovingly.

“I wasn’t too rough on ya, was I?” His hand reaches down to your ass to rub soothingly at the marks left by him.  

“You were perfect, babe.” You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his own. “I’m sleeping good tonight, thanks to you.” He smiles at this and positions himself so that his head is tucked in the crook of your neck. He closes his eyes for a while as he savors the feeling of you stroking his hair and planting kisses on the top of his head.

“Babe?”

“Hm?”

“Ya wanna order food?” His eyes are still shut and you chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Who’s callin’?” He snuggles a bit further into you.

“Not it.” His eyes open and he looks up at you before literally pouting. You can’t believe this is the same man you were calling “daddy” just a few minutes ago.

“Why do I hafta do it,” he grumbles.

“Sorry that my phone’s out there and yours is literally at your feet because you wanted to be theatrical and ‘teach me a lesson.’” You smile as he continues to grumble under his breath, but pushes himself up to grab his phone and dial the number of your favorite takeout place. “Love youuuuuu,” you sing-song and flash a toothy grin at him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I love ya too.” He rolls his eyes and lies back down next to you as he speaks to the worker on the phone. The entire time he absentmindedly plays with your hands as you sigh contentedly and bask in the feeling of being with him.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

masterlist ｡･:*:･ﾟ rules

[spikesbimbo]

Their kinks/ Turn ons

- Gao, Hirugami, Suna

Cw: Harassment, pet play furry shit, *!degradation!*, *slight* cnc

a/n: i wrote a lot for suna bc we’re the same person

18+ Minors DNI

Gao:

Doesn't have a specific one so its usually a combo of them.

And as confident as he is that doesn't necessarily mean he's also intense/rough. (tbh its gnna be rough no matter what taking his dick but he doesn't mean it, okay?)

Size kink, duh.

He also likes to see your face.

To be more specific seeing the way its twists and turns, sweat dripping down it, your baby hairs sticking to your forehead, the way your eyes can't stay open while he fucks you. 

Also lovesss kissing all over you because it gets you wet enough to take him.

-

“Shhh baby I got you, look at me” he cooed coming up to kiss your lips, lingering on them for what feels like forever. 

He started kissing down your neck, all the way down your body until he reached your core, slightly pushing his fingers in, making you let out a deprived moan. Your arms immediately reaching out for him, grabbing onto whatever they could get their hands on, them ultimately landing on his arms and wrists. 

“You gotta let go if you want me to make you feel good honey” he softly said, pausing his movement, his fingers now resting on your needy cunt. “Its gonna hurt without prep” 

You whined, not being able to voice your wants, instead just dragging his hands away, to which he let you, and scooting yourself up under him under you were pressed against his erection.

“You want it now baby?” he asked, already knowing how drenched you were just from kissing him. The effect he had on you made him gleam, just praising you could turn you into a puddle.

You quickly nodded, with him listening, steadily spreading your legs apart, inching himself inside you. After a few minutes he was almost fully in, you were a sobbing mess, already crying from overstimulation while he told you how much of a good girl you were being.

He started thrusting after you started rocking you hips against his, getting faster with each thrust. He was going insane looking down below him, you tiny little body accommodating his fat cock inside you, fuck.

 You couldn’t focus just hearing him whimper and moan “ah fuck” getting to you, hiding the embarssing look on your face with your hands, letting you feel special that you were making him feel this good.

He dragged your hands away from your face finally letting him see those oh so cute expressions you made while he was fucking you, making him get a little too excited as he fucked your harder until he came, him already doing the same to you multiple times. He went limp on your body, cum still in you, you wrapping your arms around him playing with his hair before he muttered  “fuck baby you drive me insane.”

Hirugami: 

PET PLAY

Pls, put on some animal ears and watch this boy go crazyyy. pls why do you tolerate his furry shit

You can use it to your advantage too

Let's say you did something bad, and now hes upset :(

Go up to him in your little outfit with some puppy ears on accompanied by puppy eyes and boy will forgive you right then and there.

Not without having a little fun first tho ;)

-

“Your such a little greedy slut” he said, tugging on the tail in your ass making you squirm. Your ass was still sore, littered by his handprints. “You want some one else to fuck you huh? Fuck you with me?” 

“N-no daddy.” you cried.  “j-just want you, only you” you whimpered trying to prove your innocence, and that the guy you were talking to was just your classmate and nothing more.

“Really puppy?” He said now tugging on your leash pulling you off all fours until your face was eye to eye with his crotch. Did he already know you were telling the truth since the beginning, yes. But he also loved to play with you, getting a high out of the way you were acting.

“Mhmm” you said, nuzzling your check into his thigh, ready to do whatever it takes to make him happy again.

“I only want you daddy, you’re the only one I ever think of.” You said looking up at him with your big eyes, red from crying earlier. God you were too cute, always being his good girl, trying your best to not to disappoint him.

You were such a shy thing behind closed doors, dressing in baggy pants and jackets outside but as soon as you were home all you wore was little frilly dresses, barely covering your ass, cute little aprons, tiny tops with equally tiny booty shorts; striving for his attention in the most roundabout ways.

He turned you around, still on all fours, until your ass was facing him again. Sliding his finger down your slit before shoving them inside you, making you squeal, rocking your hips back into them.

He wasn’t afraid to show you that he was wrapped around your finger, he loved taking care of you just as much as you did him. He continued fingering you, roughly thrusting his fingers in and out of you, while tugging on your tail, suddenly hitting your g spot bringing you to an unexpected orgasm. 

Your arms gave out, him grabbing you before you fell, whispering praise into your ear while dragging you into his lap, not caring about the mess all over you.

“L-love you gami.” you muttered curling your head into his arms. One of your puppy ears falling off, the other one sliding down your hair.

“Love you too puppy.” he responded, kissing your forehead, slightly laughing at the state you were in, before taking you two to the bathroom to wash you up.

Is it obvs im a gami fucker?

Suna: 

Ok bby boy is most likely into everything, but doesnt care enough/ too tired to try it out

Sooooo, you have to bring it up

And hell glady follow

But deep down he just wants to get his dick wet most of the time.

So idk bout yall but that screams vanilla sex

Just sliding it in you in the morning and rocking you back and forth>>>>> some intense ass long freaky session

But this post is about their kinks so vanilla isn't enough…. sooo restraining if def one of them that you two frequently use. 

He’ll either tie up your hands, legs, etc., with whatever he can find or he’ll use his hands.

But dont think his attitude will leave with it. *!degradation!*

-

“rin” you sleepily groaned, not wanting to be awake at the crack of dawn, his hands working their way up your shirt grabbing your boobs. “Lemme fuck” he whispers into your ear, his chest to your back with his erection poking your ass.

“Rin” you say this time, letting out more of a moan than a groan, him sliding one of his hands down your shorts, resting his fingers on your embarrassingly wet cunt, smirking at the way he made you.

“You have a wet dream bout me princess?” he teased, his breath in your ear. No you didn't have a wet dream about him, you were just… always needy. 

You'd hate to admit it, but your boyfriend was quite the sight. You always took pictures of him instead of staring, not wanting him to “bully” you any more. In fact you've even got off to his pictures, but you'd never tell a soul, especially not him.

“Fuck off.” you quickly said, slapping his hands away while scooting away from him, hiding your now flushed face.

He doesn't take that well and moves to grab your wrists above your head with one hand while shoving his fingers in your mouth with the other to get you to shut up, not wanting to hear any more shit come out of that pretty mouth of yours.

“You gonna let me fuck you right now?” he questions, cupping your jaw with the hand that still has his fingers in your mouth, already knowing he was gonna get what he wanted. 

You couldn't respond, getting embarrassed again that this was getting you so wet, you only open your legs more letting him slide in, the burning feeling still happening even though you were dripping.

“Fuck, youre so tight.” he groaned rocking back and forth in you, his hand gripping your wrists even tighter making your whine, pushing your self back into him.

“Fuck, you’re such a little slut, arent you doll?” he said catching your movement, shoving his face into your neck. “Oh that's right, you can't talk because you were being a bad little whore earlier.” he continued shoving his fingers more down your throat making you gag, tears running down your face, your cunt swallowing him whole, being on the brink of cumming.

You body freezes, locking up as he continues fucking you, your cunt tightening around him making him groaning out a mantra of your name and curses. The both of you cum, his grip loosening around your wrists setting them free and his fingers coming out of your mouth wrapping his hands around your torso, borderline hugging you. 

You two lay there, seeing that the clock still says 6:35 am, both of you simultaneously deciding that you'll clean yourselves later, and the only thing you two want to do now is go back to sleep.

[teklarn]

𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾 (𝓹𝓽. 2)

 character(s): katsuki bakugou x gn!reader 

a/n: ok so i just started writing on tumblr and honestly in my opinion for my first time posting smth on this the first part did really well thank u for all the likes :) (told from second pov; e.g you, your) reblogs are greatly appreciated :))

summary: bakugou x gn!reader. they have feelings for one another but have no idea how to express them, however y/n has someone pining for their attention. 

genre: a lil bit angsty 

warnings: cursing, jealousy, mutual pining, slow burn romance, aged-up to third year, love triangle (square?), physical injuries, kirishima gets a little toxic, also shirtless bakugou (awooga), a crap ton of time skips bc i can’t write action scenes for shit, bakugou is a flirt (lowkey but yeah), mentions of blood 

word count: 2112

pt 1 , pt 3

- - - 

kirishima had broken the skin on his lower lip with how hard he was biting it. he stood in the bathroom, rinsing his mouth, ignoring the slight sting the water brought. 

y/n was currently being blasted by bakugou, and they were fighting back. 

jealousy panged in his chest. 

bakugou had never let him know about how he felt about you, however kirishima was sure he felt something for them. you and bakugou were both a jumble of prideful and longing stares towards each other from across every room. the tension was thick enough to slice through. and while kirishima would never make a move in fear of ruining the friendship between him and bakugou, as well as him and y/n, gosh it didn’t stop him from wanting to. 

he’d stood on the side, cheering you on to no end. the sports festival last year, the year before that, training exercises, he was always there. kirishima was always there. 

whenever you needed him, whenever you wanted his company. so what did bakugou have over him? sure, the blond was strong and had bigger goals than kirishima, but why should that matter? 

what did bakugou have? why would you want him more when he was never near you? never made an effort to see you to be there when you asked for help. 

it was popular belief that bakugou was a noisy idiot, but he was actually quite a quiet boy. he didn’t bother to raise his hand in class, however he always knew the answer. he spoke rarely and only made conversation with those he was close with if they were the ones to make the effort to converse with him first. 

jealousy, jealousy, jealousy. kirishima despised it. 

whenever did he begin wanting to beat bakugou at something? 

the cloud of guilt welling up in his chest was going to become unbearable, and soon everything he ever wanted to say was going to come up like word vomit at the worst possible time. 

- 

you swiped at your cheek, brushing off the crumbling dirt. your timing had been off, and their flip backwards had landed you in an awkward position. a vulnerable one. 

honestly, though, it wasn’t like it really mattered. bakugou was a bit transparent himself. he wore a smug look like a golden medal, and held back his power just enough to keep you on your feet. 

his cocky attitude was irritating and it drew you in like a moth drawn to a lamp. 

sweat was beading down your temple. the day was exceptionally hot, the sun beaming down on your back like a proud child. 

you and bakugou had been at it for a while. with anyone else, you would have quit by now. it’s not that you gave up easily. no, not ever. but fights could get boring, especially if you were just smashing away at them with your quirk and they were acting like they could take it. 

perhaps you were being cocky. 

this fight, though. this was interesting. not only because it was bakugou; also because you knew so little about him. 

it was likely he never shared anything important to anyone. he was quite introverted. 

it was interesting for another reason. 

it was hot, bakugou sweats a lot. gosh, he looked delicious without a shirt on. he had a built figure accompanied by strong arms and a broad chest. 

he’d filled out quite nicely the past few years. you hadn’t noticed until now how much he’d grown. 

“don’t get distracted.” 

your eyes snapped up from his chest to his eyes. bakugou became a blur, shooting himself off the ground and flipping once in the air before propelling himself back down. 

before you could do anything, bakugou had you pinned, one leg pinning yours, both his hands wrapped around your wrists. he’d ditched his gauntlets, leaving the metal assistants in the sweltering heat, claiming he wanted to give you an equal fight. 

he panted atop you, hands tightening. 

tokage didn’t bother to leave her dorm today, thank goodness. it had just been the three of you. you, bakugou, and kirishima. 

the red head had suspiciously vanished halfway through the fight, though.

bakugou’s crimson eyes bored into yours. neither of you blinked for a moment. perhaps just a small eternity each of you silently reveled in. 

his erratic breaths slowed, and so did yours, although you stayed the same. unmoving, faces neutral but eyes giving away long-held secrets. 

your ears flushed, and butterflies came rising up uncontrollably. you should have pushed him off. instead you gave him a wicked grin, which earned a look from him and you couldn’t tell if he was confused or annoyed. 

“your big ass forehead is blocking the bright-as-hell sun. stay like this,” you mocked, wrenching your wrists from his grasp and snaking your arms around his neck. 

his cheeks burned red. “w-what?” 

“you heard me.” 

he scoffed, tugging you off his neck and standing. “shut up, shitface. we aren’t even done yet.” he readied himself in a fighting stance once more. 

“i thought you said you wanted to stop when you won?” you brushed yourself off as you stood. 

“i know what i said. you probably weren’t even giving it your all.” 

“’course i was.” you cocked your head. “why wouldn’t i?” 

“you’re strong, damn idiot.” 

you feigned surprise, pressed a hand to your fluttering chest. “the bakugou, dynamight himself, complimenting a humble soul like me? oh, i really must be good, then.” 

“not as good as me.” his face dropped from a smile. bakugou never got enough training no matter how early or late he stayed up, or how many hours on the weekends were spent kicking a bag or sparring with friends. hard workers did all of the work there was a still wondered if they were doing enough. the number one spot wasn’t empty, but it was still reserved for dynamight. 

- 

y/n had collapsed on their bed. kirishima was itching to tell them how he felt, however he was stuck at the doorway. 

they weren’t even dressed for bed, nor were they showered. 

he settled with leaving his friend alone, and shut the door softly to find bakugou standing right behind him. 

kirishima jumped back, closing his eyes in relief. “bakugou. what the heck man?” 

“you’re creepy as shit.” 

“i- what? you were the one staring at me while i-” 

“while you peeped in on y/n?” 

“i wasn’t peeping. i walked them back after the fight and they just collapsed. you were off doing something else and you worked them too hard.” 

it wasn’t a shock that bakugou was still riled up from the duel. this boy had the energy of a mad man. 

when bakugou didn’t say anything, kirishima said once again, “you overworked them.” 

bakugou swat away the comment. “only because they’re not working hard enough.” 

kirishima raised an eyebrow. “they work hard. they’re perfectly fine.” 

“fine?” 

“they’re amazing.”

“i know that, shitty hair. you think i’m blind?” 

“everyone can make improvements at their own pace.” kirishima’s voice dropped. 

“you train with me.” 

“it’s an hour before curfew.” 

bakugou jut a thumb in the direction of the door. “so? maybe you need some more practice, too,” he joked. 

“you’re an ass, bakugou,” kirishima released a breathy chuckle. 

the two wandered off to one of the training grounds. it was open, a wide court where they’d both kicked someone else’s ass. 

the sun was just setting, a new cool breeze coming to fill the spot of the violent sun rays. 

it was routine to fight each other out of nowhere. kirishima was usually quite playful, spewing jokes once in a while and taunting his friend. 

this fight was different. his face was stone-cold. kirishima often took the defensive role, as his quirk didn’t allow him to project any direct attacks to bakugou.

it wasn’t like kirishima was angry at bakugou, but as soon as they started charging towards one another, he couldn’t hold back. his chest tightened, arms hardening and joints becoming strong and stiff. 

with one clean sweep of his arm, bakugou was backing away from kirishima, propelling himself to the edge of the arena with a small blast. he’d always been up for a challenge. kirishima was willing to give him one. 

his sudden competitive demeanor seemed to be egging on bakugou’s. the blond tongued the inside of his cheek, grunting as he shot forth, hair flying wildly. 

swiftly, kirishima dodged, just barely missing a blast. his torso wasn’t hardened, so if he’d dodged any later, his stomach would have been scorched. 

bakugou always took their fights seriously. he knew better than to underestimate the boy who had put together his very own rescue mission. 

kirishima’s opponent stumbled from the momentum. he took his chance and brought a hardened elbow down on bakugou’s back, hearing a satisfying crack. 

bakugou was crushed to the ground with the hit. his face smashed into the sandy ground. he coughed, turning over and spitting dirt to the side. 

it took a moment for him to register what he did, but kirishima was at bakugou’s side within seconds. the sun was nearly gone, a pale blue sky flickering with the first sights of stars. 

it was hard to make it out at first, but not impossible. kirishima saw the blood dripping and smeared just above bakugou’s lip. he groaned, cupping his face in both hands as he sat upright. 

“argh” bakugou gasped. “shit, kirishima. what the hell?” 

“i...i’m sorry dude, i didn’t mean to.” i wanted to, but i didn’t mean to. 

bakugou raised an eyebrow and let a smile seep through his pain. “you’re improving, though.” 

“are you alright?” kirishima traced the small cut on his lip from earlier with the tip of his tongue. 

“i’m fine, i’m fine.” bakugou swatted his hand away. he struggled to get up, refusing kirishima’s help. 

“we should head back before this gets any worse.” 

bakugou kept his large hands hovering under his chin to catch the dripping and occasional chunks of blood.  

although he wanted the duel to continue (it was finally interesting) bakugou wasn’t stubborn enough to keep going. so he nodded, once again denying kirishima’s efforts to help him out. 

- 

you were in the common area, fiddling with a rubik’s cube. it was just you, as everyone else was spending the night among each other. ashido had invited you to her dorm a while ago, but you’d denied, wanting to spend a few more giddy moments to yourself. 

the door rattled, and in came your two friends, one with furrowed brows and the other with blood drenching the front of his shirt. 

bakugou’s head was tilted up in an attempt to stop the blood from flowing down. his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the blood trailing down the back of his throat. 

“oh my gosh,” you gasped out, racing to the bathroom. you came back with sanitary wipes in one hand and tissue in the other. “what happened?” 

“we were training,” kirishima started, taking a few tissues from the box and handing them to his friend, “and i accidentally hit him too hard.” 

“you didn’t hit me that hard. you barely did any damage!” bakugou objected. you approached him, and through his fingers, bakugou peered down at you. 

you asked him with your eyes, and he gave you silent permission to pry his arms away from his face. “are you okay?” 

“i’m just dandy,” he scoffed. 

“dude, i’m really sorry—” 

“shut the hell up kirishima. i don’t want your pity. i swear this is the only time i’ll surrender to you, you asswipe.”

you didn’t laugh, not even a chuckle. “bakugou, you need to see recovery girl.” 

“what the hell? no way. all she’s gonna do is give me one of those shitty slobbery kisses and scold me for being careless.” 

“your nose is broken,” you said gently. 

“so? can’t you fix it?” 

you raised a questioning brow. “you want me to help you?” 

“can you or can you not?” 

“i can try to set it but you’re better off going to recovery girl instead of settling with―” 

“all i need is possible. i don’t want to deal with that old lady’s shit right now.” using the tissues kirishima had stuffed into his hand, he caught the remaining blood dripping down his nose. “let’s go.” 

you were more than unsure. he would end up with a crooked nose if you made any small mistake, but he didn’t think twice as he grabbed your shoulder and led you in the direction of your dorm. 

- 

kirishima wished he hadn’t broken bakugou’s nose. not because he felt bad, though. 

[theyscreamjade]

Mkay, since I’ve seen you do big butt and small boobs or big boobs and small butt, let’s go the extra mile bc I KNOW I’m not the only one with big boobs (and I’m talkin DD’s) AND a big butt. Can you do this w/ Bakugo, Todoroki, Shinsou, and Kirishima?

The Double Whammy

WE ARE ENTERING SOME DEEEP SHIT! I mean deep! Extremely deep, please put your big girl pants on because I'm gonna get into the subject as deep as I possibly can because I can relate to this on a thousand levels. Let's go.

DISCLAIMER: NSFW AND CURSING.

——————————————

Eijiro Kirishima

* (I swear, I simp this man too hard.)

* Please acknowledge the fact that he’s a firm believer in respect, manliness, and more. So regardless, he’s going to love you for you and respect you as well, even with that disrespectful body god blessed you with.

* He’s the ultimate simp for you honey and you just don’t know. You see him for more than his insecurities as well and that’s more of a fuel within the relationship.

* Now, Don’t expect him to just let anyone say anything about your body, this includes even his Bakubro. You’re his pebble, he’s gotta protect you.

* Those guys who randomly try to ask you out at parties, restaurants, or even when you’re just inside the store and you’re just grabbing a few things, Kirishima will quickly shut that down.

* The only thing I’d worry about with him is his insecurities getting the way, the mere fact that he might not be enough for you. I mean, look at you. Can you blame him?

* This Red Riot isn’t as innocent as you think though, he loves it when you’re as close to him as possible. For example, when you’re hugging him and you’re breasts are pressed against his chest. It drives him insane while he can admire that gorgeous smile of yours.

* Strapless outfits are his go-to favorites on you, why? That chest is on full display yet your neck is open where those bites he creates a few days ago are being seen as well.

* Speaking of bites..you think they’re not going to be included? When it comes to samwiches, he isn’t picky but the fact that you have the best of both worlds just makes everything so much better.

* Just expect a lot of biting, the constant changing of positions, and more. You’ll be in a missionary first and then you’re somehow on the floor, getting carpet burn on one side of your elbows and knees while he’s holding your other legs, pounding you from behind.

* His favorite place for you two to do the nasty? His gym..but that’s for another headcanon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shoto Todoroki

* This might be the first time I go the left with Shoto. Trust me, He loves you. He really really does.

* He loves you for you and everything but he might be a bit hesitant about the relationship at first. Why? Because you’re wanted all the time by many guys.

* I know he’s wanted by thousands of girls everytime he simply walks into a room but you’re a real eye candy. With that, his father did the same thing with his mother. (Besides the fact that she was crazy powerful.)

* The another issue you two would have to face is basically him letting you handle yourself. Remember, he doesn’t want to push his boundaries and pause your independence because he knows you can handle yourself.

* That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t step in if he has to for a guy who doesn’t know when to take no for a answer, just hope he doesn’t commit a full blown murder in front of you.

* His favorite thing on you will still be tights, but remember you have a double whammy now. Top wise? V-Necks or really low shorts. Like the ones that are still sexy yet professional that makes you look like as if you’re Jessica Rabbit in a teacher’s uniform.

* If you want to kill him, during the next winter trip you two take, wear a pair of tights and a top that shows your cleavage. As soon as you attempt to put on your winter boots, you’ll be pulled right back in.

* IcyHot is still a fucking boob guy, don’t think he’ll ignore that junk you got though. He’s going to grip each part of your body while trying to control himself.

* Everyone’s going to wonder why he’s covered in scratches and hickeys.

* While you’re over here with frostbite and slight burns, covered with hickeys and lastly can barely sit down, all because of what you wore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hitoshi Shinso

* (They seriously need to use this guy more, he’s fucking great.)

* Please understand another fact here, he’s going to be skeptical about the relationship at first. You’re talking to a man who was told his quirk would be perfect if he was a villain.

* That’s insulting enough, but you know he was constantly judged and tormented as a child because of it. That and you’re an absolute pleasure to eyes.

* So, when the relationship first starts, he’s skeptical about your feelings and how you truly feel, don’t let that hurt you.

* Just reassure him that your feelings are genuine and true, then he’ll start to fully believe you.

* Of course, he’s going to defend you, but there’s going to be times where he might have to use his quirk.

* Which are for the guys who don’t know how to take no for an answer.

* Off-Shoulder shirts or sweaters. He loves it when it hangs off your shoulders but with those shirts, you’re often wearing a tank top underneath? That’s the true prize to him.

* Another thing he loves to see you in? Fishnets and stockings. He honestly prefers you to wear those instead of thigh high socks, the turn on of ripping them apart before he can have you begging for mercy with him.

* Samwiches with Shinso is every brats dream..

* He’s not stopping until you’re shaking uncontrollably, unable to say anything other than his name or pet name, and sweat is coating your body. That mattress will be SOAKED.

* I see that scarf of his being put to good use withholding those arms over your head and blinding you. He’s a trailer and not the park. He’s leaving his mark all over you, trailing all over your body.

* I mean everywhere too, from your thighs to your neck.

* That pretty neck of yours will be gripped while your ass is slapping against him from his hard thrusts.

* While the neighbors are wondering is this man killing you and where can they get one too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katsuki Bakugo

* This Silent Simp here is enamored by your personality..but was reeled in by that body afterward.

* Please also understand, when he’s supposedly ‘jealous’, it’s not because of you or even them. He’s just skeptical of those guys.

* You have his heart and he wouldn’t want anyone to woo you away from him, it’s one thing he doesn’t want.

* This also includes friends as well, meaning guy friends. He’s a guy and he knows how some will do to get to you. There’s no limit.

* Enough Angst though, let’s get to the good parts, Remember how I said booty shorts are something he loves? That and jeans. Skinny jeans to be exact. The way your ass looks phenomenal in them and yet there’s a little tiny slot of air right around you waist. Oof!

* Tank-tops! TANKTOPS! HONEY! I DOUBLE DARE YOU TO ATTEMPT TO WALK OUT THAT DOOR WEARING JEANS AND A TANK TOP, YOU WON’T EVEN MAKE IT OUT THE ROOM.

* Lastly....fight me on this, I’m ready for it. I’ll say it. *claps* leotards, like lounging bodysuits. You know the ones you usually wear under a pair of shorts but you just decided to stay home and wear socks with them?

* That’s gonna be your funeral. That’s it.

* Now, Samwiches with him..is like a combination of Hitoshi and Shoto as one.

* He love to bring you to your limits and go beyond. (I immediately thought of All Might and I’m disgusted.)

* While caring at the same time, one thing he’d never want to do is hurt you..but..he wants you to remember just who the hell he is.

* I hope you have soundproof walls because that clapping noise is staying like that until he’s done with you.

* And you’ve got five more rounds to go.

[bopbopstyles]

if u expanded on the cum in the mustache dream i think i would die

you ask and you shall receive. as always, i am here to please the people (but also myself bc whOoWeE this is hot). note: in this concept y/n and h are not in italy/france bc nobody should be travelling rn :) 

You had grown used to the sight of Harry with a beard during quarantine. At first you were a bit unsure of your feelings, not being used to the feeling of his longer whiskers against your cheeks, but with time you discovered that the feeling sent shocks through your body. And obviously the minute Harry discovered how hot you found it, he decided he wouldn’t be shaving any time soon. 

On a relaxed Wednesday night, you laid in bed, curled up reading a True Crime novel that your mom had sent you to read during quarantine. Harry was in the bathroom taking a bath and doing his nightly skincare routine, which rivaled yours in complexity. Your shared nighttime playlist played through the speaker in the bedroom, your body completely calm in an oversized shirt of Harry’s you were wearing to sleep. 

You looked over at the clock. It was nearly eleven, and you wanted Harry to come into bed and cuddle with you. He’d spent nearly forty-five minutes in the bathroom, and while he definitely took his time, this was absurd. “H?” You turned off the playlist and put a bookmark in your book to hold your place. “Almost done?”

You waited for his reply, but got none. Unusual. So you got up, padding over to the closed bathroom door. He loved steaming up the room when he took hot baths, despite your annoyance. You were about to open the door when you heard a low buzz coming from inside the room. 

He was fucking shaving.

That bastard. 

“Harry, I swear to God if you are shaving--” You swung the door open, and found a fully naked Harry, clad in just a towel around his waist, staring at you in the mirror. 

And in one hand, low and behold, was his electric razor. That sneaky, sneaky man. “Hi love,” he had the audacity to quip, keeping his eyes steady with you as he raised the razor back to his face.

Only then did your eyes actually fall to his mouth, to where his beard was. That was when you saw what he had done: he had shaved off most of the beard you had grown to adore, and left just a mustache on his upper lip. “Did you...shave off your beard...and leave just a mustache?”

“Mhm,” he murmured, unable to speak as he swiped the razor down his soapy skin. 

You were leaning against the doorjamb, taking in the sight in front of you. Quite frankly, you weren’t quite sure how you felt about it. You had never seen Harry like this and it wasn’t bad, per se, just not at all what you were expecting. At first, it honestly reminded you of a 70s porno mustache, but the more you studied him the more you softened to the idea. 

And began considering how it would feel against you. 

You shifted, and closed the distance between yourself and your boyfriend, your hands moving around to his chest so you could tweak his nipples slightly. He stiffened in your hold at the feeling and you grinned cheekily, knowing how quickly it got him going. “Almost done?”

Harry nodded ever so slightly, and you leaned your chin on his shoulder, watching him finish up in the mirror. With a few more swipes of the razor, he flicked it off and set it on the counter. His face was all soapy and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it all off. So you did, grabbing a washcloth, wetting it, and motioning for him to turn. 

He followed your directions immediately because let’s face it, he was wrapped around your finger. You brushed the cloth to his skin, the soap disintegrating under your touch and leaving his clean skin behind. “I kind of like it,” you said, and the corner of Harry’s lips turned up at that. 

“Yeah? Was scared you’d hate it.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

He shrugged. “Always wanted to and I never have it this long. Thought if you hated it that much I could always just shave it all off and start over.”

You hummed at the prospect before wiping off the last bit of soap. You studied his new mustache and decided that it definitely had some interesting plus-sides. “I want to try one thing before I’m completely decided.”

Harry’s hands rested on your waist as you set down the cloth, rucking up his shirt on your body so that he could feel your bare skin. “And what’s that?”

You ran your forefinger down Harry’s chest, watching his skin prickle at your touch. “I’d like to feel it between my legs,” you murmured. “Against my pussy,” you added, words barely a whisper between you two.

The reaction from Harry’s body was immediate. His grip tightened on your hips, knuckles turning nearly white, a heavy groan falling from his lips. “Think I can do that,” he mumbled, words tripping over each other. He licked a tongue across his bottom lip and you watched in rapture, desire pooling in your center.

Harry pushed at his towel and in an instant was pulling your legs up and around his waist, carrying you to the bed. Your lips found his, desperate to know what the new mustache felt like against your face. It was a bit rough, since he hadn’t had time to moisturize, but you didn’t mind it. Liked knowing he’d leave a bit of irritation behind, something to remember him by in between kisses. 

When he dropped you to the bed, you scooted back immediately and Harry followed you like a cat on the prowl. However, when he reached you, he flopped to the side, back hitting the duvet. His hands grabbed at your skin and then he said, “Come sit on my face, darlin’.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. Your legs swung over his chest, his hands fastening to your thighs, and helping you inch up his body until your center sat directly over his lips, just an inch or so between your lips and his. “Haven’t done this in a while,” you reminded him. You’d missed it too.

“Because I cum everytime I do and then I can’t be inside your sweet, sweet, pussy,” he replied, ending each sweet with an open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. 

You were squirming in his grasp, knees pressing against his temples in desperation for him to move. And when he did, you spat out a curse mixed with his name. “Fuck, Harry, fuck.”

He pulled you flush against him as he licked against your center, and that was when you finally felt his mustache against your skin. It brushed against your clit and you keened, head tipping back as he moved his tongue over you. Your hands were in his wet curls, holding his head to your center and without even thinking about it, you were moving your hips against his lips, unable to stop yourself. 

You were chasing his mustache, the way it nudged at your skin and set it on fire. That combined with his tongue darting inside of you and curling had you a blubbering mess above him. “Harry, please, please, please...” You could do nothing but pant, mumble nonsense as he made pleasure roll through you like a storm. 

Overwhelmed by his touch, your fingers pulled on his hair and he moaned--the combination of the vibrations against your skin and the roughness of his mustache left your spine arching. His hands left your thighs and move upwards, pushing up the shirt of his you wore in search of your breasts. You helped him, tugging at the fabric until it was on the ground, and Harry found what he was searching for, rolling and tweaking your nipples and leaving you moaning in response. 

His mustache was going to be the death of you, you thought as he tilted his chin ever so slightly and it rubbed against your clit. It was almost simulating the brush of fingers, delicate, coming and going with no rhythm. It continued to surprise you and you were panting his name, telling him to Please don’t stop--fuck--don’t stop--yes--H--please.

You could feel the tension tightening in your belly, the way your legs started to shake on either side of his head. Your wetness was pooling, you knew, all over him. You didn’t know if you had been this wet in a while, the combination of his saliva on your skin and your own juices making a mess on him. 

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” You felt the vibrations of his words and heard them, despite the fact that your hips were flush to his face. 

And fuck yes, you were going to cum. It was hurtling towards you like a freight train and each time his head tilted and his ‘stache brushed another fraction of your skin it was like a shock of lightening. Harry had always been good using his tongue, skilled beyond belief, so the feeling of his tongue licking in and out of you, lapping at you without abandon, combined with his mustache was a recipe for an orgasm like no other. 

“Yes,” you moaned out for him, pulling hard on his hair when he sucked at your clit. 

“Want it,” he said, words muffled but not intelligible, “give it to me, yeah? Want it all over my face. All over me, baby.”

That was all you needed. Your whole body shook in his grasp, back arching and falling, spine curving as you supported yourself ever so slightly on your knees. But mostly, your entire weight was balanced on Harry. He was holding you steady on his face and in his hands, and you were perfectly happy to never move. The crest of your orgasm had you coming harder than you had in the past few days, the feeling leaving you unable to even think. 

And then he turned his head from side to side, just slightly, and your sensitivity mixed with his whiskers directly moving across your clit had you buckling, body convulsing above him. 

You heaved a breath and slipped your hands from his hair to the bed. Pushing your weight into your hands, you were able to clamor off of him, moving down so your center sat on his hips, not his face. And what you encountered there was just as you expected.

“You came too,” you said in an exhale. 

“Course I did.” And then your eyes lifted from the ropes of cum on his stomach to his face. His lips were glistening, set in a wide, fucked out smile as he looked at you. But your gaze was caught specifically on the slick in his mustache, and you realized he had your cum in his ‘stache. 

“You’ve got my cum in your mustache.”

What he did next had you breathless. His tongue darted out and ran across his mustache, collecting your juices and then slipping his tongue back into his mouth. You watched as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Tastes delicious.”

You pressed your lips to his and you collected the rest of your cum when you licked your tongue into his mouth, his hands gripping your hips as you kissed him. You could taste yourself on his tongue, smell yourself as you kissed him, remnants of your juices still on his mustache. And you fucking loved it. 

“So,” he said when you pulled away, hovering above him, eyes on his. “What do you say? Like the ‘stache?”

“Hate you,” you mumbled and Harry let out a laugh before caging you in his arms and holding you close, just as you had wanted all night. 

literally send me straight to fucking hell

[jadeee]

Zero - aka "Mavis"

She eventually joins @the-red-avocado Roma's coven but this is her backstory and all that.

Warnings: Angst + Violence + Slight Swearing

p.s.: i wrote a really long 'short' story but it's top tier

Zero (aka "Mavis")

nicknames: z or may, pronouns: she/her, age: 20

Appearance + Clothing

The witch hunter’s uniform is mostly black and gray but more importantly magnetic. Although certain parts of the uniform, like the breastplates, are magnetic they get the job done bc they attract the metallics of the witches. Witches are known to charge their energy by wearing jewelry {if i remember correctly}. After they’re caught, the witch hunters take their jewelry and melt them down to form even more weapons.

The uniforms also have a mask for the hunter to pull down which fully covers their face. Since windows are the eyes to the soul, they do this to protect themselves from certain spells.

On the soles of the shoes, there are symbols that have been suspected to keep witches at bay. Ironically, the witch hunters use spells against the witches {who would’ve thought? 🤷🏾‍♀️}

Z has a scar on her left arm. She got it when she was in the v early stages of training after suggesting witches might not be evil/bad after all. The trainer went to strike her and said that even though she refused to fight she knew how to block.

Ofc, like all my other ocs, she’s black :) {deal with it} and she’s about 20 years old. She’s always had short, black, curly hair but it isn’t until after she gets powers that she lets it grow out. Her hair started to turn gray afterward, for several reasons, and now sits above her shoulder.

She’s never had long hair before so she doesn’t know what to do with it. She prefers to let it hang out in an afro but soon realized how vulnerable that leaves her in fights. So when she’s out in public she’ll tie it up into a puff or put it in a bun.

After she becomes a witch she knows that she has to charge her energy. Ofc from her background, she knows one of the ways to do this is to wear jewelry. She doesn’t like the idea of earrings bc someone can rip them out. She got a nose piercing instead and wears a necklace {which is linked to her powers} and a few rings, from time to time. She’s never thought about getting a tattoo and prob wouldn’t bc she has no idea what to get.

Takes a long time to get used to not wearing her witch hunter’s clothes, since that’s all she’s known. When she first wore a dress/skirt, she complained about how odd it felt then took it off. But the next day she wore it for a bit and got used to it after a while. She prefers to wears pants when out in public in case she finds herself in a fight. Although she has practiced fighting in a dress/skirt before {ofc when she’s alone bc she doesn’t want ppl staring at her}.

Style is v much dark academia. Loves black, gray, burgundy, emerald, violet. All those dark, rich colors. One of the first things she got after becoming a witch was a cloak that is made out of dark blue wool. She wears it as a housecoat sometimes.

Background

No legit name bc her parents didn’t think it was that important. Her purpose was to hunt witches so a name didn’t matter. They called her “Zero” and it just stuck. She likes to go by ‘Z’ though.

She wasn’t raised in a usual home but more of a camp base or headquarters. Sure she had her own room but it wasn’t really hers. She slept in a shared room with the other children her age. As they grew older, they continued to share rooms. They trained together and fought together. They were practically inseparable, like family.

Z was taught that witches were the real evil. Legend has it that they were the reason the town went to hell in a handbasket. So the townspeople took an oath to find the witch responsible and spare no one in their way.

Soon they found Eudora, who they believe is responsible for the supposed curse on the town. Naturally, Z is dragged along against her wishes but she encounters Eudora first. She had her mask down in an effort to breathe and collect her thoughts but when she turned around there she was.

Z couldn’t even say ‘wait’ before Eudora uttered a spell. Her life flashed before her eyes… or was it someone else’s? When she came to, her comrade had Eudora stupefied, bound, blindfolded, and gagged.

Z couldn’t sleep that night. She went to the holding cells and found Eudora.

“It was us, wasn’t it?”

Eudora glanced at her, “It was always you.”

Her heart was in her throat.

Kill the witch!

She blinked away their faces.

Don’t forget the talisman!

She could taste the blood in her mouth from biting her tongue so hard.

‘That’s my mother! Stop!’

Z wiped the snot from her nose.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

Z looked at Eudora with a newfound fire.

“How fast can you run?”

Eudora raised a brow.

I like to think Eudora used the energy from Z’s weapons to break out of the cell. Also, Eudora would want to let all the other witches out and Z would agree. She’d have a hard time convincing Eudora, and everyone else, that this isn’t a trick but she’d prove it to them.

Eudora and Z don’t make it v far but Eudora is willing to sacrifice herself only if Z will inherit her powers. Eudora never had any children but her powers are the last of her kind. She can’t explain everything bc the hunters are getting closer by the second. Every time Z blinks she sees those innocent faces.

“I’ll do it. What do I-”

“Give me your knife.” Eudora unclasped the necklace Z gave back to her before they escaped.

“What?!” Z stared at Eudora.

“The knife!”

The flames of the witch hunter’s torches grew as Z pulled out her knife.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Eudora put the necklace onto Z then took the knife. “Hold still.”

Z gasped when Eudora cut at the skin where the ruby gem rested.

She could feel beads of blood forming at the spot.

“Repeat after me,” Eudora pressed her forehead against Z’s.

“I grant-”

Z’s eyes bounced back and forth between the growing flames of the torches and Eudora.

“Look at me!” Eudora hissed.

Z’s brown eyes focused on her emerald ones.

“I grant you my soul and mind,”

“I grant you my soul and mind,” as Z repeated the phrase her skin became hot.

“Now climb higher than I ever climbed.”

“Now climb higher than I ever climbed.”

“Ilicet.” Eudora let go of Z. She immediately hit the ground.

The fever had spread throughout her entire body and managed to find its way to her insides.

Eudora sank to her level as she screamed in agony.

“Over here!” A witch hunter yelled in the distance.

Eudora held onto Z’s shoulders as they ran towards them.

She spoke but Z could only make out a few words.

“You must … Minerva … Roma ...”

“Get back!” A hunter had finally caught up to them.

Eudora backed away from Z who was face down in the dirt.

“What’d you do to her?” The witch hunter held a knife at Eudora’s throat.

She simply stared at him.

“Answer me, wench!”

Z groaned as she rolled over. She opened her eyes wider to see what was going on.

Eudora spat at his shoes.

The hunter drew back his hand.

Z gripped onto his ankle and yanked.

He yelped as he hit the dirt.

Z took his sword from him and stood to her feet.

She held the tip of the metal at his throat.

“You,” he rolled over and gazed up at her with hatred.

“Don’t move.” Z pressed it against the base of his neck.

The voices of Z’s soon-to-be ex-comrades grew louder.

Eudora glanced back at the incoming crowd “You need to transform into him.”

“I shoulda known.” The hunter never took his eyes off of Z.

She stared at him without even blinking.

“You’re weak.”

She tightened her grip on the hilt and pressed the sword gently against his neck.

“You’re the one who’s weak. Slaughtering the innocent? Damn cowards.”

Eudora peered into Z’s eyes, ‘you don’t have time for this.’

Z glanced at Eudora who just nodded her head, ‘transform. now!’

“She’s twisted your mind!” The hunter lifted himself up slightly.

Z cast her eyes back onto him and sliced his neck gently until it bled.

“That’s enough.” She said through gritted teeth.

“You can’t hide!” The crowd shouted.

‘just think about it. feel it.’

Z studied the hunter’s face. The man she’d spent her whole life with. A friend. Or so she thought.

He gasped as her face twisted and became a mirror.

“Witch! WITCH!”

She drew back his sword and aimed for his neck.

“Hey!” One of the witch hunters yelled while aiming a smoke bomb at them.

Z and Eudora faced the crowd.

“It’s me! I’m Castillo!” The hunter pleaded from the ground.

“Don’t believe him. He’s the witch!” Z kept her sword raised in the sky.

“That’s the witch, right there!” He pointed at Eudora.

“Just what a wench would say. I saw her put a spell on our comrade. They switched bodies!”

The crowd stood glancing at the trio.

“Alright, let’s settle this. Z?”

She tried not to react to the familiar voice.

Father.

Eudora remained calm despite Z’s unintentional message.

I’m sorry but I have to do this.

Z kept her eyes on Castillo and tried to stop the tears welling in her eyes.

“Why did your mother and I name you ‘Zero’?”

A tear rolled down Z’s face. Luckily, it was hard to see in the shadows but Eudora felt it deep down.

Eudora clenched her jaw before she spoke.

“Because you said names don’t matter. I only had one job and that was to follow orders.”

The man studied her face then glanced at the other two.

“Kill both of them.”

Eudora and Castillo gasped as the men approached them.

“She’s mine! Both of them!” Z shouted.

“Castillo, stand down. That’s an order.”

“But fa- sir!”

The man turned on his heels and approached Z slowly.

‘you need to teleport.’

‘i- i can’t.’

He held the torch to Z’s face.

‘think of home or somewhere safe.’

‘i don’t know anywhere safe.’

He sneered as Z’s face contorted from Castillo’s to its true nature.

‘where would you rather be?’

“My own flesh and blood.”

The crowd fell silent.

Tears fell from her eyes “Father, I-”

“You lied to me!” He gripped her by the arm.

“After everything I’ve done for you?”

He pulled her closer to him.

“You lied to me first.”

She held his gaze. Even though her voice was small, her words cut like a knife.

He tossed her to the ground “Kill them all!”

Z wheezed from the impact she made with the ground. As she lay looking up at the sky she thought about the time she was out with her comrades. They were gazing at stars before a raid. That was the first time she saw someone die right in front of her. She held back tears, ‘if i could take it back, i would.’

Castillo flailed out of the hunter’s hands “No, I’m innocent!”

His shrill voice went in and out of Z’s ears as she lay on the ground.

‘you can take it back.’

Eudora clawed at the hunters until she got her hands on the smoke bomb they had out earlier.

Z thought of how the stars twinkled in the dim light. She tried to remember the tune she sang that night. Everyone was gathered around the fire waiting for the new song she’d promised.

‘i need you to survive’, Eudora threw the bomb down and a cloud of smoke swallowed everyone whole.

“Hey ho, nobody home” Z played the lute as she walked around the circle. “Meat nor bread nor money have I none” a few people started to clap along and Z nodded her head. “Yet I will be mer-eh-ehrry” she repeated the lyrics again and picked up the pace once everyone started to sing along.

‘i’m ready now.’ Z opened her eyes expecting the angry face of her father but saw an empty field. She sat up and frantically looked around for the torches, Eudora, her father. Anyone or anything that was just there a second ago. Her eyes landed on several burned, decaying buildings instead.

‘i’m counting on you.’

Z clutched to Eudora’s necklace as she studied the very spot she was just thinking of.

Personality + Behavior

Before Z became a witch she was v outgoing among her witch hunter family. She was known to crack a few jokes, do a nice thing or two, sing songs. In combat though, she was v different. She hated to use excessive force but wouldn’t hold back on her peers in hand-to-hand combat. She never tried too hard but made sure to do just enough not to be called out.

Bc Z is skeptical about the witch hunters being the good guys she would gravitate towards domestic hobbies like cooking. She’d often find a reason not to go out into the field but as she grew older she was dragged along.

She loves to spend time outside and just look at the sky. She has this fear of birds though. She’s dreamt of a flock, swooping down and pecking at her. Soon it became recurring and when she had a day off she went to a seer. She could hear her comrades in her head but her gut told her to go. She was at the foot of the cave but she never went in.

Turns out the dream was a kind of premonition. She noticed a bird that was following her not too long before she met Eudora. After she became a witch, it followed her more often. When it first swooped down she screamed and ran. She warmed up to them eventually and began carrying snacks. She named them “Mouse” bc she could never hear them coming in the beginning. I like to think Mouse would get into the habit of swooping down when Z walks outside and lands on her shoulder or arm when she’s comfortable enough ofc.

Z eventually got tired of her name, seeing as it wasn’t even a name to begin with, and named herself “Mavis”. Her hobbies include sitting outside, cooking, baking, gardening, and playing the lute. She’s really into music since she would sing a lot at the base and would like to get her hands on a harp, but she’s not sure where to find one.

Mavis has never had a home before but it would def have a lot of living things {to make up for all the death she took part in}. Even though she never killed anyone with her own hands she feels just as guilty. Since she and Eudora opened their souls and minds to each other, I like to think her dreams are sometimes Eudora’s memories. To atone for her sins, Mavis plans to burn down her old camp but she’ll need some help. She goes on a journey to gather witches for her mission... Oh and she has to find Minerva Roma.. wtv that is.

Powers

Whenever she goes full force her eyes will glow. At first she had a lot of nose bleeds but those stopped. I like to think her fingertips glow too, so sometimes she'll wear gloves if she has to use magic discreetly.

Really good at getting into ppl's heads {i legit looked up a site for this, thanks 'charmed'} aura manipulation, clairaudience, audience manipulation, empathy, and cloaking.

[supportivespaceforsurvivors]

tw: potential (c)sa, parental abuse, sex ment

[also: i sent this ask to the old advice blog but it was not recovered ig. i took 5 screenshots of my ask before i sent it but have been unable to fully extract the text from them. however i have now done so and added a tiny bit more. this is my biggest concern, and i checked the old blog every few hours at least for 2 weeks anxiously awaiting a response. it's ok if y'all can't get to this obv, but i feel like saying that i would really really prefer that this be answered sooner rather than later as i have been wanting a response to this since the moment i first sent it a month ago...]

i'm wondering if some things my dad did when i was a teen was actually csa. and am wondering if i have repressed memories of other contact csa from him because... around that time, i also started having the worst nightmares in which he would physically sexually abuse me, and have had them ever since- they have reoccurred for years and have been my only reoccurring dreams. i have wondered if he'd done something i couldn't remember... I started racking my brain for memories of that age recently (im 20 now), and realized some other non contact things he did could've actually been csa.

- when i was 15, me (afab) and my afab boyfriend would have sex in my room when he'd come over now and again. we'd sometimes lock my door but usually not as my parents would think that meant we were doing stuff (and i thought my dad would get mad)... it was still kinda obvious, but at least not that blatant ig... anyways. my dad would always knock on my door when we'd be doing stuff, for various reasons, and every single time he'd open the door and look directly at us in the eye. we'd rarely have time to get ourselves decent again, so we usually kept tops on. sometimes though we didn't and he even would do this when we were under the blanket with no clothes. it was obvious what we were doing but he still fucking did that. i had no privacy. now just the thought of looking him in the eyes, of even seeing his face, makes me want to scream and do violent things to him. [also nobody bothered to tell me how to do sexual things safely, which i'm now realizing was probably also neglect and maybe also SA. I was 15 and knew nothing...]

- he also drove me home from school everyday and shout/curse at me the entire car ride. my stepmom always came home hours later than we did, so he and i were alone then. everyday i'd run straight to my room as i was under an unbelievable amount of anxiety/distress constantly back then every moment of my life and needed time to be alone etc... he would every time follow me and come up to my door and start shouting again and bang on my door. eventually/soon he'd get too angry at talking to a door with no response ig and force his way in. i couldnt lock it bc he'd get that much worse if i did. when i did start locking it though, i'd sit there and always listen to him work it open for 30-60 sec. i didnt want him to fucking come in, so sometimes i would say "dont come in, im changing!!!" to stop him, but he almost always came in anyways. sometimes i would actually be changing then, bc it was after school and i wore a binder and pants etc... I always did so in my closet out of his sight because my privacy was never guaranteed. he never asked to come in just forced his way in without my consent. even if i said i was changing, even if i actually was changing. again, i was a small teen and he was an adult man and nobody else was around to stop him from doing literally anything he desired.

- he would constantly make a point of violating my personal space around then just bc he could bc he was the adult i was the kid and "you dont tell me what to fuckin do. ill do what i fuckin want." he'd stick his bare dirty feet inches from me on the couch when i had nowhere else to sit and he still chose to lay down flat, and when i sat on the chair next to the couch he'd put his feet up on the sides of the chair in my face. he also stuck his elbow far onto my side of the car everyday always, despite me asking him to move it so i didnt have to fear him touching my arm. [i'm also autistic and have an extreme touch aversion, even before he knew i was autistic he knew this was an issue i had and greatly distressed me. he knew i had anxiety, ptsd, and depression and was in therapy for years.] [also it may be worth mentioning that i am more averse to touching him than any other human being ever. i haven't been able to hug him or say "ily" or aaaanything since before he took me in 7 years ago. he makes fun of me for yelping, screeching, etc whenever his arm brushes up against me for example. and fucking STILL touches me occasionally on purpose to get a rise out of me and then make fun of me. or touches me and pretends like it was "on accident" when i think he just wanted any excuse to touch his child, who has been utterly disgusted by him for nearly a decade...]

i still live with him (although am currently staying with a friend because i needed to get away from him; im terrified to go back tbh...). hes slightly better now but i still am extremely traumatized by him (he did MUCH MUCH more but this is just the personal space/potential SA things). i hate this. anyway. i know this is all not ok and was abuse. i also know i could Not be repressing more csa memories, i don't need to be told that. (nor do i want advice on how to cope with any of this.) my main concern is that: was any of this csa? could i have also been sexually abused in a contact sense and repressing it too? the nightmares affected me so much and were so vivid always. they could just be symbolic of him invading my privacy but its fucking weird that its always specifically sexual (contact) and again reoccurring for years.

Hey anon. I'm sorry it took so long for us to answer this. Originally a different mod claimed it and then everyone's lives got super busy and by then they realized they didn't really know how to.

What your dad did definitely sounds like a violation of your privacy and emotional and verbal abuse.

When it comes to your bolded question: It's possible that some of his behavior had sexual connotations to it, but we weren't there and without having been there it's really hard to tell you if it was abuse or not, because these things aren't as cut and dry as we sometimes hope they are.

It's possible that you were sexually abused by him and are repressing it, but ultimately there's no way to know for sure if you are repressing something unless you remember it, and we aren't in a position where we can tell if you are repressing something.

I would highly suggest you talk to a professional about this if you are able.

Good luck,

Mod Devyn

[mybiasisexo]

Reverent

Genre: Angst | Fallen Angel!au

Pairing: Suho x Reader

Length: 1.8k

Warning: Religion (?) | Blasphamy (?)

Summary: Suho’s dull life takes quite the turn when he stumbles across a beautiful demon

Author’s Note: @byunfirstlady here is the roughest of rough drafts of the angel!suho fic I promised like 2 years ago smh. I really need to give it the attention it deserves bc it could really, truly, be something great. Until then, here is what I have for now. Mind you it is not edited and I plan on changing a lot of things about it, but I really like the narration, idk, its kinda beautiful???  Title is also a WIP

MASTERLIST

credit

What do you miss?

That was the question Suho thought constantly. It repeatedly flowed through his brain. Oh, so many answers to the question! But, undeniably, being in good grace was the most regretful.

He made his choices, fair enough. Some would say he shouldn’t had been able to do that much, he knew all too well, free will wasn’t of his domain. Yet, look where it got him.

Trapped. Stranded on an insignificant sphere that twirled around mockingly as a cruel reminder of all that he had lost.

Time to him meant absolutely nothing. It was yet another thing out of his domain, but some years such as this, he dreaded the slowness of it. Dreaded the reminder that he was stuck in this vacuum they called Earth, waiting for a day that will never come.

For him to finally be forgiven.

His eyes squinted as he took in the corn yellow sun. It was almost blindingly white, as if life itself had sucked away all of the vibrant hue. This part of the world was like that: dreary. Filled with washed out blues and browns, dusty and dry. It wasn’t a place he preferred, he found himself more at home in large metropolises, surrounded by people too busy to recognize such a raw entity, although they could still tell when around his presence that something was…off.

It was a blessing and a curse, Suho supposed, his soul. If he even had one. If he could even call it that. That was the one thing that reminded him of who he truly was. After being stripped of everything, that was all He left him with. Naked, shaking in humility, bleeding for the first time, and radiant.

He could leave the holy place, but it would always reside within him.

Lately, he felt lonely.

That’s what had brought him here—the loneliness. Being imprisoned upon the Earth for as long as he had, you grew to become lonesome. There were many ways to try to compete with it, but as long as he was an outcast, he would forever be lost in his isolation.

His closest friend throughout it all was the sun. The bright mass of energy that warmed his hard skin always reminded him of the love he once had—that he still had. The sun kept his faith alive. And as it rose in the morning, it brought with it the start of a new beginning.

He could never turn back time.

That was probably why he disdained the word so much.

His attention was pulled away from the hovering orb, brought to the young man of which he came for. The boy with the brazen skin.

He was beautiful, this could not be denied. As he rushed out of his house, keys clanking in his awkwardly large hand. He was late again. Suho tisked, but his eyes widened with what followed after the boy.

An unfamiliar woman trailed behind him, not nearly in as much a hurry as the one before her. Her face was otherworldly beautiful, built to invite, built to seduce.

The boy was in the car in no time, speeding away in a hurry, leaving dust in his wake.

The woman stopped, not taking after him. Instead, she lifted her head and locked eyes solidly with Suho.

He gasped as she smiled angelically and then the dust lifted, barricading her from view.

Once it settled again, she was gone.

~*~

Suho could barely recall the last time he saw another one of the Fallen. About fifty years, give or take. A demon? It had been a bit longer. There were fewer of them, although some of the fallen seek refuge under the dark wings of the under lord. It was why they were created after all, to follow, to serve. If not to Him than to his enemy. The two of them were more similar than they thought, although Suho would never dream of telling either one—not like he would ever get the chance to. Lucifer terrified him and God… well, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

Even though it had been a while, he recognized a demon when he saw one. What did she want with the boy? Puzzled, Suho pondered what drew the creature to him in the first place.

Speaking of places, this wasn’t Suho’s at all. He never considered himself a vigilante, as many other Fallen do. Their sense of purpose and protection overwhelming them to do right. That was mostly those who were guardians in the past. Suho was not in that field. No. This foreign sense of concern drew from something else entirely. He bit his lip, curling the warm mug in his hands closer to himself as he fought off the strange feeling fogging his mind.

The demon, right.

Demons were sent to Earth from the Under Lord to do his biddings. Simply, to coerce as many humans as they could. Drag them back to hell so that He could mourn the loss of yet another of his fragile creatures. Suho understood enough to know Lucifer took great pride in hurting Him however he could. Another lost soul was a victory to him.

She must have saw something within that boy to make her decide to latch. Suho had been watching him for a while now, and this was the first he had seen of the dark entity. Maybe she felt it…. No, there was no way. Suho was being careful, meticulously so. There was no room for error as far as his involvement and he meant to keep it that way.

He was that boy’s protector, now more than ever, he had a duty to him.

It felt good, having a purpose again. He had lost it centuries ago—a real duty, a call to be good.

Maybe after all of this was done, he would again be in His good grace. But it was still a wistful wish, one he refused to humor until it happened.

“Would you like another one, Sir?”

Suho lifted his head to the waitress and despite being a regular at this point, she still stuttered at his beauty.

He smiled, white teeth on display and her breath caught in her throat. “Please.”

~*~

A week had gone by without any sight of the demon. Suho tried to mask his disappointment with relief. It wasn’t as though he wanted anything to come to the boy, but it had been so long since he had been in contact with one of his own, demon or not. She had to have some sort of connection to their shared past.

He knew how demons worked.

Once they found a person to leech off of, they attached until their job was done, or the person fought them off. Suho watched an exorcism once. It was one of the hardest things he ever had to witness. That was a long time ago, using different methods, different practices. All the same, it was a memory that, to this day, gave him chills.

The boy was a religious man, oddly enough. Suho didn’t understand how, but every Sunday, he found himself at the local church, sitting in the back, listening to the spoken word.

He used to pray, but hadn’t in years. He wondered if it were his place too, if God ever listened to him or others like him. Or, like everything else, if it were only for them.

He was running late this Sunday. It was well into mass when he rushed towards the small, yet still elegant tan bricked church.

His quick steps came to a stop when he saw someone leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand. She wore torn leather pants that hung dangerously low on her wide hips, an equally as torn black wife beater that appeared more of a well-used rag than anything else as it barely covered the swell of her breasts, though her toned stomach was exposed. Her belly botton was pierced and a faded tattoo splayed over her abdomen. He couldn’t make out the word from this distance and the ink blended into her skin. A small black denim vest sat on her shoulders, leaving her arms exposed, tattoos dotted the limbs as well. Her jet black straight hair hung loosly. It was time for her to wash it. Her face, again, was angelic, despite her best efforts to be anything but. Big stunning round eyes surrounded by long eyelashes that brushed her chiseled cheeks whenever she blinked. Nose a button on the center of her face, lips full and pink, cheeks rosy, and skin flawless, not a blemish in sight.

He had her full attention as well. She took him in with a pleased smile, holding the cigarette up. “You think this will kill me?”

Her voice was just as attractive as her face, and the way she tilted her head left Suho breathless. He couldn’t seem to find his voice, struck dumb by her large presence. It had been a moment since he saw one of his kind, but he never felt a presence as strong as hers.

She noticed.

Never breaking eye contact, she dropped the small stick, putting it out with the heel of her boot. Than she motioned her thumb towards the building she currently leaned against where he could faintly make out singing.

“They won’t let me in. I thought this place welcomed all.”

“Why are you here?” He worked up the courage to ask. He knew why, but wanted her to say it.

She shrugged. “Thought our old man would be happy to see me.” She shoved her hands into the pocket of her jeans. “Guess not.”

“Do… Do I know you?” Suho pressed. There were hundreds of angels, all with a specific role/job. It was impossible to know them all, especially if this were someone who fell after him, but her energy was strong—too strong to be newer than him.

She shrugged again. “Maybe. When did you fall?”

“When did you?”

“Oh, so you’re the one in charge here I see.” She laughed, pushing herself off the building to come closer. “What’s your name, tough guy?”

Her breath smelled sweet. He hadn’t been this close to a demon before, refusing to have anything to do with them. They were everything He hated, everything He feared. He wanted nothing against those who had turned their backs completely from Him.

All the same, he felt complied to answer. “This land refers to me as Suho.”

“Suho,” she repeated, letting the word swirl around her wet tongue. “Korean, correct? Makes sense, that’s where we are.”

“It means—”

“Guardian.” She interrupted. “Fitting. You must’ve been one in your past life.”

His jaw clenched and she noticed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

[kayliemusing]

30

1: Name - Kaylie

2: Age - 23

3: 3 Fears - Spiders, failure, loss

4: 3 things I love - Reading, writing, Taylor Swift

5: 4 turns on - Kindness, nice hands, humor, someone who has a really warm heart.

6: 4 turns off - Arrogance, moustaches lmao, narcissism, basket ball shorts *shudders*

7: My best friend - Her name is Megan (but also my mom lmao)

8: Sexual orientation - Heterosexual

9: My best first date - I have never been on a date.

10: How tall am I - 5'2

11: What do I miss - My childhood mostly

12: What time were I born - 2:45 pm

13: Favorite color - Red, but sometimes a nice summery, pastel yellow

14: Do I have a crush - no

15: Favorite quote - I have so many that I can't say my utmost favourite, but one that I always think about is from Richard Siken "He was pointing at the moon but I was looking at his hand." I'm not even sure how this is supposed to be interpreted, but I just love the detail of this. Of someone looking at the moon and pointing at it, but you're looking at their hand because you're that consumed by them and also they're like your moon. anyway-

16: Favorite place - My house lol

17: Favorite food - Cheesecake

18: Do I use sarcasm - Yes, but very dryly

19: What am I listening to right now - Nothing actually. I'm just sitting in the quiet.

20: First thing I notice in new person - I used to think it was physical, like eyes or their smile, but I think it's actually their demeanor. i.e., confidence, if they're laid back, talkative or quiet, etc. Or even just how they handle things. Like when I'm at work and I meet a new co-worker I'm always noticing how they are with people.

21: Shoe size - 6.5 US but I can manage a 7 US too.

22: Eye color - Grey

23: Hair color - Ashy blonde, but I usually get it highlighted to be a brighter blonde

24: Favorite style of clothing - I'm super into the French girl vibe right now (elegany, classy, ribbed sweaters tucked into high waisted jeans or dress pants, a blazer thrown over and a nice gold necklace) but I'm also really into a summery boho look (flowy maxi dresses and skirts)

25: Ever done a prank call? No

27: Meaning behind my URL - On this account, it's just my name and then 'muses' because this account is just me talking to myself tbh. My main account is called autumnsletters which is just a combo of my fav things: autumn and handwritten love letters, and finally, my embarrassing taylor swift account is called sixteenavenue which is a lyric from her song I Think He Knows where she mentions her heart skipping down sixteenth avenue.

28: Favorite movie - I feel like i don't have one answer bc I always have a different answer to this question lmao. I think it's called A Christmas Carol (the 2009 version w/ Jim Carrey). It just makes me feel cozy and warm inside. Also: Clueless.

29: Favorite song - All Too Well by Taylor Swift I think.

30: Favorite band - Of Monsters and Men

31: How I feel right now - I actually feel really happy today, which is a change lol. I had an awful week last week, but over the last couple of days I've just felt more creative and happier.

32: Someone I love - My mom

33: My current relationship status - Single

34: My relationship with my parents - Excellent.

35: Favorite holiday - Christmas

36: Tattoos and piercing i have -0 :'(

37: Tattoos and piercing i want - I want to get my ears pierced again bc the holes grew over. Low key want a nose piericing and low key want a tattoo on my collarbone (or somewhere around there)

38: The reason I joined Tumblr - Because everyone else had it and I felt left out LOL

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other? - I don't have an ex

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts? - No

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted? - No i've never been kissed rip

42: When did I last hold hands? - never but it's ok bc i can hold my own hand

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning? - Depending on what I'm doing. If I showered the night before and I'm just doing a very low-maintenance look, roughly 15-20 mins. On a normal day in which I shower in the morning and am trying to actually be presentable, roughly an hour.

44: Have I shaved your legs in the past three days? - Have YOU shaved MY legs? No. Have I shaved my own? Yes

45: Where am I right now? - My room

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me? - Most likely I'm not drunk, but IF I WAS, it would be my friend, my mom, or my sister (my sister would probs make fun of me and film me tho tbh)

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level? - Loud if I'm jamming with nothing else to do but sing along. If I'm trying to do something, I'll turn it down bc I can't focus with loud music (especially if I'm trying to write something/talk to someone/text someone)

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad? - My mom bc my dads dead

49: Am I excited for anything? - My sister and I are going to Banff in about three weeks so I'm excited for a getaway.

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to? - No

51: How often do I wear a fake smile? - I work in retail so

52: When was the last time I hugged someone? - I don't know. I think I hugged my mom at some point this week lol

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me? - Bye bye babyyyy

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not? - my cat

55: What is something I disliked about today? - I had to go to work

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? - Taylor Alison Swift baby

57: What do I think about most? - Probably Taylor Swift.

58: What’s my strangest talent? - I can make stomach gurgling noises with my mouth closed.

59: Do I have any strange phobias? - Nah, pretty generic ones

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? - Behind the camera

61: What was the last lie I told? - Some lady asked if a product was good and I said yes so I wouldn't have to help her find another one

62: Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? - Neither what the hell

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens? - Neither

64: Do I believe in magic? - No

65: Do I believe in luck? - No

66: What's the weather like right now? - It's calm, but a little cloudy. It was really warm and sunny earlier, but it's gotten a little grey.

67: What was the last book I've read? - I just finished this series called The Winner's Curse by Marie Rutkoski and it was so good but so stressful omg. Still 5/5 stars.

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline? - Yes

69: Do I have any nicknames? - Not really, but sometimes my coworkers call my Kayls

70: What was the worst injury I've ever had? - Oh my god when I was like 10 I fell during grounders and the bar hit me right on the cooch. Most painful event of my entire life.

71: Do I spend money or save it? - Spend it bitch

72: Can I touch my nose with a tongue? - No

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feet from me? - yes!! my blanket!!

74: Favorite animal? - I love hippos and I don't know why.

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM? - Reading on my phone to avoid sleeping so I could prolong not going to work

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is? - Devil. Kind of like Satan The Devil is his full name

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it? - Shake It Off

78: How can you win my heart? - Learning Taylor Swift's entire discography for my sake

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone? - tbh I really don't know

80: What is my favorite word? - Wonderstruck

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr - n/a

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say? - stream fearless taylor's version

83: Do I have any relatives in jail? - no

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power? - Healing

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on? - N/A

86: What is my current desktop picture? - it's a misty forest

87: Had sex? - no

88: Bought condoms? - no

89: Gotten pregnant? - no

90: Failed a class? - yes

91: Kissed a boy? - no

92: Kissed a girl? - no

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain? - no but it's a dream

94: Had a job? - I've had two so far

95: Left the house without my wallet? - Yes, sometimes I do it on purpose so I can make my mom pay for something lmao (chill i'm talking something small like candy)

96: Bullied someone on the internet? - no

97: Had sex in public? - no

98: Played on a sports team? - no

99: Smoked weed? - no

100: Did drugs? - no

101: Smoked cigarettes? - no

102: Drank alcohol? - yes

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan? - no

104: Been overweight? - I feel overweight, but technically no

105: Been underweight? - No

106: Been to a wedding? - Yes

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight? - Yes, but not since I was younger. I'm mostly on my phone now.

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight? - Oh yeah lmao

109: Been outside my home country? - No

110: Gotten my heart broken? - Yes

111: Been to a professional sports game? - No

112: Broken a bone? - No

113: Cut myself? - Yes

114: Been to prom? - Sort of. I'm Canadian so I had grad.

115: Been in airplane? - No

116: Fly by helicopter? - No

117: What concerts have I been to? - Jonas Brothers when I was about 10 lmao and Marianas Trench when I was 15

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex? - No

119: Learned another language? - Tried to

120: Wore make up? - Yes. I do work at a makeup store.

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18? - no

122: Had oral sex? - no

123: Dyed my hair? - not a funky color, no

124: Voted in a presidential election? - Sort of; I voted for a prime minister

125: Rode in an ambulance? - Yes

126: Had a surgery? - No

127: Met someone famous? - No

128: Stalked someone on a social network? - No

129: Peed outside? - No

130: Been fishing? - No

131: Helped with charity? - Yes

132: Been rejected by a crush? - No bc I never fessed up to any crush lol

133: Broken a mirror? - No

134: What do I want for birthday? - A jewelry box

[encouleurdevie]

maybe you should do a timmy x tall!reader?? just a suggestion!!!

High Heels, Red Dress

a/n: here’s a lil blurb thing bc i loved this request. if u are tall u are hot. that’s all.

word count: 990

If one thing was certain, it was that the flats killed your outfit. A fiery red dress hugged you in all the right places, and made your legs look absolutely incredible, but the pair of flats instantly dimmed the flame, as if you hadn’t quite unlocked the potential of the dress. They made it look like you were hesitant, a bit unsure of yourself. You yanked your flats off your feet and flung them back into the closet, scanning the row of shoes in an attempt to find something that would ignite the look. Flats, sandals, Vans… nothing was standing out to you. 

Then your eyes landed on them: the heels you had shoved in the back of your closet ages ago. Black suede with a skinny strap, the hottest pair of shoes you had never gotten to show off. Every time you had planned on wearing them, the night had ended up with you feeling self-conscious. It wasn’t that you didn’t look good, it was just that you towered over nearly every girl and a lot of guys as well without them on. The shoes added a couple extra inches that didn’t go unnoticed. The curse of the tall girl: admiring heels from afar while remembering the last thing you needed was extra height. 

It had been the same growing up. Always standing in the back for group pictures, always having to look in seven different stores to find jeans that were long enough, and always having to awkwardly respond to family members who “just couldn’t get over how tall you were.” 

Your height made you feel like you stuck out, especially when you started dating people, most of whom were little bit shorter than you. It didn’t matter to you how tall a guy was; it was always how the guy made you feel that created the hesitation. Some were appreciative, but others were hesitant to let things go further, under the stupid guise that having a tall girlfriend was socially taboo. 

However, you’d been seeing a boy named Timothee lately. He was initially surprised at your height the first time he met you, but hadn’t said much else. A little part of you remained nervous that he didn’t like the fact that the two of you were eye level and a bigger part of you worried that if you wore your heels, leaving you a few inches taller than him, he wouldn’t want to see you anymore.

It was irrational. You knew it shouldn’t matter, but the little voice in your head refused to relent. Timothee was someone you enjoyed spending time with. You wanted to impress him, but you also didn’t want to scare him off. He seemed so genuine and passionate compared to the other men you had only seen for a few dates before realizing their personalities were essentially nonexistent. He was someone you wanted to see more of, in more ways than one. 

You gazed at the black heels, mulling over the potential reactions you might receive. 

“Fuck it.” you said to your reflection in the mirror. You were going to wear the heels. And you were gonna look hot as hell. You carefully placed them on your feet, feeling a little bit like Cinderella putting on her glass slippers. And it was like your fairy godmother had come to you in the form of stilettos, sprinkling the last bit of magic on your appearance.

The girl that looked back at you in the mirror was fierce, hot, and tall. And you felt damn good.

A few minutes later the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of your date and the beginning of your rapid heartbeat. You took one last glance at yourself, channeling some inner confidence, and walked down the hallway to answer the door. You took a moment to focus on the satisfying click of your heels on the floor, which made you feel sophisticated and self-assured.

You swung open the door, revealing a sharply dressed Timothee. He wore a loose black shirt dotted with big read hearts and black pants, coupled with a pair of lace-up black shoes that made the outfit go from formal to edgy. You silently thanked yourself for choosing your red dress, which his jacket complemented perfectly.

As you absorbed the striking image of him, you realized he was gaping at you. Instinctively, you went into self-conscious mode, leaning into one hip to make yourself appear a bit shorter. You were clearly an inch or two taller than him with the heels on. 

“Hi, Timothee.. um, I-”

“Holy shit,” he cut you off, “You look fucking incredible.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that lit up your face and he couldn’t stop his eyes from looking you up and down, drinking in the beautiful girl in front of him. 

“You know, I was nervous to wear these,” you admitted.

“Nervous?” he questioned, “No way. You were made to wear those shoes.”

He held your gaze for a second. “You’re so beautiful.”

All thoughts and hesitations were immediately expelled from your head. You were taller than your date, and you felt good. Those ideas coexisted, and you felt so relieved.

You leaned in and placed a quick kiss on his lips, savoring the moment.

He smiled. “Let’s get going.”

The rest of the night was even better. Timothee took you to a local club, filled with fancy socialites and budding celebrities. He proudly kept his arm around your waist as he introduced you to friends, and didn’t hide the amount of times his eyes were glued to your legs, long and lean. The two of you danced, drank, and had an unbelievably fun evening. 

And in a poetic finish, the night ended back in your apartment where you started, this time with your red dress on the floor, a beautiful boy in your bed, and your heels standing tall by the door. 

[maxe-mini]

Pretty Blue Eyes

A/N- Hey there! So this is my first ever full written fanfic, atleast one I’m going to post on tumblr. I had a lot of fun writing this, in fact, I finished it in a d a y sjgjsdb so yeah. This is gonna be an OC x Bakugou oneshot(?) Im not sure if its a oneshot bc I might make a follow up in thhe future, it depends. Anywayyyy, yeah! If you want details on who my OC is, her name is Kano Amaya(Last name, first name). I’ve posted plenty of art I’ve made of her on this blog, which can be found on my pinned post, which also happens to have the link to her wiki on Amino. Give it a read if you’d like! Now onto the fanfic! :DD 

Taglist: @deephasoceanmagic​ @kuroshin15​

Warning: Lots of cursing(I mean it has Bakugou in it), small mentions of blood and nosebleeds, overworking, passing out 

A/N- dw this is actually just soft and ‘angry pomeranian is angry bc he has feelings lmaoooo’

This wasn’t the first time it’s happened, but that didn’t mean it pissed him off any less. For the sixth time these past few days, his eyes had managed to wander right back to her. Dark blue hair tied into two low pig tails that seemed to always flow through the air just the right way as she moved. Cold yet mystical blue eyes that he could constantly feel himself drowning in. Fair skin dusted with soft freckles that he craved to touch. F u c k. He was absolutely smitten by this girl and he did not like it one bit. Those goddamn pretty blue pupils suddenly met his, and he stared back-even that was a competition to him now-forcing a scowl on his face. The girl merely raised an eyebrow before returning back to quietly eating her food, the chatter around her seeming to be uninteresting.

Bakugou scoffed, finally returning his own crimson eyes to his curry, practically stabbing a piece of meat with his fork as if it had personally wronged him, earning a few concerned glances from his- he did NOT want to call them friends- classmates. Only the sound of utensils clattering with plates could be heard around their table, which surprisingly only served to piss off the ash-blonde haired boy even more. “What?” He spat out, looking up to see Kirishima, Sero, and Kaminari staring at him, their eyes practically answering his question.

“You doing alright man? You seem… more angry than usual.” Kirishima was the first one to speak up, his small eyebrows furrowing up in worry. “Did Kano do something?” Sero followed. Turns out that was a big mistake. Just hearing her name sent a jolt of electricity through his spine, and for a second he thought Kaminari had a death wish.

Bakugou growled. “That’s none of your fucking business.” He didn’t shout, he didn’t scream, he didn’t even let a single small explosion go off on his palm like he usually did as a threat. The ash-blonde boy only returned to his food, and it seemed his words were enough to stop any more questions from his peers. Good. Atleast they knew what was good for them.

 It hadn’t always been like this.

Bakugou stared at the ground, the angriest, most frustrated frown anyone had ever seen on his face. His classmates stared at him in concern, knowing exactly why he was so full of rage, yet none of them knew how to help. He’s always been difficult to deal with. None of them wanted to risk trying to comfort him, knowing that would possibly make him even more upset.

He was silent, his hands shoved into his pockets and his posture slouched. He had failed the Provisional Licensing Exams, and he was feeling no less than pissed about it. He knew it was because of his ‘harsh language’  towards the victims- if you could even call them that, they were all actors after all. Just thinking about it made him grit his teeth in frustration.

Before he could mope around even more, a delicate, dainty hand suddenly wrapped around his arm and forced him away from his thoughts as they pulled him to the back of the bus. People were apparently still collecting their things and everyone had time to chat with each other before having to eventually get back to school- not that he himself was interested in doing that. His frown faded away to surprise before he noticed who it was. Kano. 

The scowl edged itself back onto Bakugou’s face as he stared at her, yet for some reason, he didn’t move. He let her bring himself here, and for some god forsaken reason, he wanted to hear what she had to say. 

Those blue eyes pierced through his soul, as if analyzing every bit and piece of who he was. It took a fair amount of his will power not to back away, only staring back, hoping his gaze was as intense as hers. 

“Bakugou.” Her voice was firm. It always was, whenever she talked, which was a rare occasion. The boy in question didn’t answer, only raising his eyebrow in response. 

“I know you’re upset about the Licensing Exam.” She continued, her expression unchanging, staring at him in stoic honesty, and he could not-for the life of him- pinpoint what she was feeling at the moment. 

“No shit. I don’t want your pity.” Bakugou spat back, his words laced with venom. If anything made him angry, it was pity from other people. He didn’t need anyone’s fucking help. He wasn’t weak. 

“I don’t pity you. In fact, I look up to you, and I whole heartedly believe that you will receive your Hero License after the training course with ease.” Kano wasn’t startled at all by his profanity. She only stared at him through those unreadable eyes which he always managed to get lost in. 

Bakugou’s own crimson eyes widened slightly in surprise. That wasn’t what he expected. He didn’t answer. He didn’t know HOW to answer. This was not something he expected from someone like her, especially when he considered her competition, along with Half and Half and Ponytail. 

“So stop moping around. You know you’re strong. You know you’ll be fine, so go kick some ass at that training course.” For the first time since he’d seen her in the entrance exam, she sweared. Not only that, the corners of her lips curled up into a soft, confident smile, her faintly freckled cheeks glowing an equally soft pink along with it. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her with any other expression except for the one she always wore, unchanging and unreadable. She had her hands to her hips and looked so uncharacteristically bold. 

Bakugou could only stare. He’s been doing that way too much now, but he had nothing to say. He didn’t expect ANY of this from Kano. The ash-blonde haired boy was thoroughly taken by surprise. 

'That smile looks nice on her.' 

The thought made him blink rapidly, startled by his own mind. What the fuck? What the fuck was he thinking about? 

After a few seconds of silence, possibly as Kano patiently waited for his response, he formulated a reply. 

“You’re goddamn right I will.” He grinned. The same confident grin that brought terror onto those who were up against him. 

Seeing him back to his normal state seemed to have made Kano much more glad, as her smile only widened. F u c k. That smile could kill people. Bakugou barely managed to hold back incoming heat that was threatening to expose itself on his face, and he hoped to god that the girl in question couldn’t hear his rapid heartbeat. 

Before any of the two could say something, a voice pulled both of them right out of their thoughts. “Hey, where’s Kano and Bakugou?” It was Shitty Hair. Of course it would be Shitty Hair. 

The ash-blonde haired boy walked away, not waiting for whatever Kano was going to say next, assuming she had any. The glimmer of wild confidence had intensified in his eyes, and he was feeling pumped up. He would never admit it, but what she said helped. 

The ride back home was a blur after that. Thoughts of the upcoming training course flashed through his mind, interrupted by a few images of Kano’s smile. It irritated him to the core.

Bakugou grimaced at the memory, knowing that that was the start of when he started thinking of Kano as more than just a rival, and let himself scream a battle cry as he released a massive explosion onto an equally massive boulder, resulting in it having a big gaping hole in the middle, the little bits and pieces of rubble all but strewn about behind it. 

The ash-blonde haired boy huffed. Class 1-A had been given time to train in Gym Gamma, and he’d been releasing all his frustrations on these rocks. It was working atleast, but now he was tired and his wrists has a dull ache in them. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been destroying these stones, but he assumed it must’ve been a little over an hour. A few of his classmates had already gone back to the dorms, presumably to rest. He scoffed at the thought. 

One of the students who hadn’t gone back though, was one of the sources of his frustrations. Kano was currently heaving up an ungodly amount of water, her expression visibly strained, yet it was still stoic. It reminded him of Half-and-Half in a way, but he shook away the thought before he angered himself even more.

He jumped off the concrete platforms to get himself a bottle of water, panting as he noticed he was a little out of breathe. His crimson eyes followed her dark blue figure as her wrists flicked the other way and the liquid which she was floating in the air instantly formed into large icicles. Bakugou’s vision narrowed. 'She’s gotten faster at doing that.' 

A part of him was threatened and annoyed at her rapid improvement, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride for his classmate. He shoved the thought away, continuing to watch her movements closely. Her back was to him, so he didn’t notice the blood that was flowing down her nose. 

Kano threw her torso forward, following her arms, causing the large icicles to pierce through the boulder infront of her, the force of her control and the amount of ice she had enough to absolutely decimate the huge rock. As soon as the icicles went through, they melted back into water, and the girl immediately put the liquid right back into its containers which were from god knows where- Bakugou assumed it had been provided to her earlier before they all started training. 

Suddenly, Kano’s knees buckled, and soon she was on the ground. The ash-blonde boy blinked in shock, not quite registering what had happened yet before his legs led him right to her. Her eyes were closed, and he saw the blood that was coming from her nose slowly pool down onto the concrete. Once again, for the first time, Bakugou saw her with different expression on her face. She was in pain. 

Before he could think about what he was doing, he wrapped his toned arms around her body, carrying her bridal style. She didn’t move or resist, and Bakugou concluded she had passed out. What the fuck happened? One moment she was destroying rocks left and right, her strength shining through even when she was just training, the next she was unconscious and experiencing a nosebleed? Did the dumbass overwork herself?

 Aizawa had been watching from a distance, his tired eyes twitching in irritation. He had heard about how Kano’s bad habit of overtaxing herself in her training, but he didn’t expect her to do it now, not in UA of all places. The teacher pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out an annoyed sigh, walking over to his students- he’d have to talk to her about this later- before he noticed the Bakugou had already gotten to her. Huh. That’s unusual. 

“Bakugou. Bring Kano to Recovery Girl. That’s enough for the day for all of you. It’s getting late.” He instructed, his hands in his pockets as he looked around at the few others who were still training. His voice was loud enough to hear for the ones nearby, and the ones from afar seemed to get the message as they saw their peers suddenly stop what they were doing. Good. They’d gotten better at listening. 

He expected his ill-tempered student to put up atleast a little bit of a fight. Tell him it wasn’t his responsibility if his dumbass classmate worked themselves past the point of consciousness, but he got none of that. Bakugou merely nodded- although the teacher caught that his mouth was stretched into a thin line and his eyebrows were formed into a near v-shape- and ran to the front door. 

Aizawa was a bit surprised, although he didn’t let it show on his face. It seemed this problem child had changed much more than he thought he had. 

Bakugou’s arms were stiff against Kano’s body, effortlessly carrying her to the infirmary, which was a good distance away. He should never have decided to carry her when he saw she passed out. If he hadn’t, Aizawa wouldn’t have told him to bring her to Recovery Girl.

He was thoroughly annoyed, his teeth grating against each other as he forced himself not to pop a few small explosions on his palms, not wanting to harm his classmate accidentally.

The ash-blonde boy wasn’t angry because he had to bring his classmate to the infirmary. No. He was angry because of the goddamn heat in his cheeks that just won’t go away. He was angry because of the annoying ass beating in his heart that was pumping at a rate that couldn’t be explained by adrenaline. It was far too fast for that. Bakugou bit back a growl caused by his own frustrations, afraid he’d wake up the girl that was unconscious in his arms. Turns out he didn’t have to do that.

“…Bakugou?” That wasn’t firm. This was, again, the first time he’s heard her voice sound so… vulnerable. The ash-blonde boy met his gaze with hers, and he saw that her eyes were cloudy. Unfocused.

“Yeah, it’s me. You passed out while you were training.” He wasn’t sure why he was answering. The words just left his mouth on their own.

“Mm.” She only hummed in response, nuzzling her face onto his chest. She obviously wasn’t thinking clearly now. Bakugou felt his heart beating at higher speeds than he’d ever thought possible, and he was sure she’d definitely heard it by now. Yet, she didn’t say anything, and he presumed she must’ve passed out again.

After a few minutes more of running, they arrived at Recovery Girl’s. Bakugou let himself catch his breath before he opened the door with his knee, and he was met by the old nurse’s startled gaze.

“Oh dear. What happened?” Recovery Girl shuffled over to them, wordlessly gesturing towards a hospital bed for Bakugou to lay Kano on.

“She passed out while training. Aizawa told me to bring her here.” He watched as his school nurse got to work, checking her temperature and observing her complexion. Now that he could look at her properly, she was a lot paler. What the fuck had this dumbass doing?

A soft whimper pulled him away from his thoughts, and he watched as the girl in question slowly fluttered her eyes open, looking around in a haze. Her hand instantly went to her head, and she groaned in pain. A headache?

Recovery Girl looked worried, but only silently reached for a few pills and a glass of water. “Here, drink this. It should help with the headache for a while.” He was right.

Kano didn’t say anything more, only drinking her medicine. The pain in her expression dulled, and she looked a lot more relaxed. Bakugou wasn’t sure if it was that obvious, or if he’d been observing her long enough to notice these things. He hoped the latter was wrong. That would be extremely embarrassing, maybe even creepy, on his part.

A few beats of silence passed through the mostly empty infirmary, and was only interrupted by the soft tap of glass against wood as Kano set down her glass of water on the small table next to her bed.

“I’ll have you rest here for a while. I apologize for this, but I can’t trust you to go back to the dorms yet, not after what Aizawa told me.” Recovery Girl spoke first, her tone edging on strict. “What?” Her voice wasn’t firm again, and Bakugou felt his chest constrict at its softness. What was wrong with him?

“You’ve had multiple records of passing out from overworking from your previous schools. Kano, I know you want to be the best hero you can be, but this type of behaviour will not be tolerated in UA. You have to let yourself rest every once in a while. Everyone has their own limits, and you need to know yours.” The nurse scolded, which was met by visible surprise on the girl’s face, before she nodded slowly. “I understand.” Kano answered, her pitch soft, yet somehow strong. She was back.

“Good. Now rest, or do I have to tell Bakugou to hold you like earlier so you can do that?” Recovery Girl teased, her tone once again upbeat. Bakugou’s eyes widened slightly as he almost choked, shoving back down the heat that was threatening to expose itself on his cheeks. He did not miss the way Kano did the same, except she wasn’t as successful at hiding her blush, her cheeks flushing a soft pink.

The nurse only chuckled before she went back to her desk, beginning to work on whatever documents were on there. “I’ll tell you when you can leave. You can go to sleep if you want.”

A few beats of silence, then their eyes met. The clarity finally returned back to Kano’s pretty blue pupils as she gazed at him, seeming to be searching for words to say. Bakugou silently stepped closer to the bed, waiting.

“Thank you. I wasn’t expecting you to be the one to bring me here, but it’s a welcome surprise nonetheless.” She finally said, and the ash-blonde boy was left to analyze what she meant by 'welcome surprise.’

“You better be grateful. Why’d your dumbass pass out anyway? You can’t be that weak.” Bakugou responded, and he internally winced at how harsh his words sounded, but he couldn’t help it. Thankfully she didn’t seem to mind, nodding solemnly in response. “It seems I went a bit overboard there again. Recovery Girl was right about me having records for constantly overworking. Sometimes I can’t help it.”

Bakugou grimaced. “Well, that’s stupid.” He didn’t miss Kano’s sigh before he continued. “You don’t even need to do that. You’re already strong regardless.” That caught her by surprise, her head turning to look at him so fast he was afraid her headache would come back. “What? Didn’t expect that either?”

Her eyes were wide. “No. I didn’t but-” That smile. That fucking smile again. “Thank you, again. I appreciate it.” Bakugou wasn’t sure if her cheeks were flushed because she was flustered, or if it just came with her smile. Either way, he liked it.

“You better.” The ash-blonde haired boy let his own soft smile form on his lips, and the two gazed at each other in comfortable silence.

Maybe he won’t be that angry about this after all. 

[reachfortheskiespeeps]

The Meeting

FANFICTION BY: ''You know who you are ; ))'' AU: #actorAU PAIRING: MIKHAIL x ARCHER (aka HS!AU Adult Emilio's actor and HS!AU Adult Abel's actor)

⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛

((A/N: I ended up writing this before the one I initially thought to do, I swear this is much tamer than the other 😂 Sorry to disappoint, no spicy scenes, maybe next time XD Thank you Eszii for your spicy art, I just about burst into flames from it 💞

It’s this ship again, Mikhail x Archer, bc I am currently in love with them. I don’t think I’ll get over them for a while. I wanna write about them going through classic shoujo tropes, like, idk, beach episode? xmas episode? kabedon? ‘A got sick so B took care of A’? Gimme ideas y'all. I wanna keep writing while I have the motivation to do so, since I’ve had a dry spell for a year now 😂

One thing to note before getting started, Idk how to phrase it, but basically this fic is not in chronological order–but also yes bc it’s in the order i wrote it–I hope it’s not too confusing. Aight happy reading!))

——

Mikhail loves leaving butterfly kisses and hickeys all over Archer’s soft and fair body. He has his favorite areas, which are evident from how many and how deep they are, so Archer can’t even look at his reflection without blushing. Mikhail likes the sight of his lover covered in marks he made, knowing it was he who made them. While he does want to make it known that Archer is his, he doesn’t cause trouble by leaving marks on areas impossible to cover. On days when Archer isn’t busy, Mikhail is given free reign to kiss wherever he wished. He doesn’t want Archer getting hurt, so he rarely makes blatant bite marks, and the only times he did that was because Archer was being naughty and had to be taught a 'lesson’. (Although Archer didn’t seem very hurt by them, and instead….)

Archer, on the other hand, likes biting Mikhail’s hard body. He bites, he scratches, he licks. He did it the first time because he was being pouty and petty–it’s tough being the receiver ya know? And Mikhail just lets him because he’s cute and it’s kinda hot to feel his fangs sinking in like that. But then Archer got used to doing it and eventually did it because Archer noticed that Mikhail seemed to like being bitten (by none other than him, of course). He once caught Mikhail looking at his body on the mirror with a happy little tug on the corner of his lips, looking very much like a content Big Bad Wolf. Archer could almost see an imaginary tail wagging. He loves Mikhail’s body for all its glory and imperfections, even if the man himself didn’t, so leaving those marks on him was one of Archer’s many ways to show affection.

So one day when Mikhail shows up to work without bothering to cover up (it wasn’t noticeable anyway, his dark skin, tattoos and intimidating aura was enough for people not to look long enough to notice anything), Logan, who was beside Mikhail getting prepared for a scene, saw a small portion of scratch marks on his chest, the rest hidden by the v-neck shirt Mikhail wore.

And before he could stop his mouth, Logan found himself asking, “You have a cat, Mikhail?” Yuki, who was in the room with them too, looked up from reading his script upon hearing the brave attempt of Logan to converse with Mikhail. He didn’t join them, but he sat there, just listening in on their conversation. He didn’t have the guts that Logan had, but he was still interested to see how their conversation would go.

Mikhail looked at him–it was an ordinary glance but Logan still almost flinched. “Oh?”

'It was a gentler reply than I expected,’ Yuki thought. 'He is in a good mood?’

Logan seemed to think that as well, so he carried on the conversation. “Since when did you have it? Did you get it vaccinated yet? Some cats are just really playful, they don’t mean to be naughty, so it’s better to be patient and discipline them when–”

“Why do you think I have a cat?” Mikhail interrupted.

“Hm? Ah, I saw the scratch on your chest. What does your cat look like, by the way?”

Mikhail thought about it before he answered. “Pretty, soft, round, and pure white, got some claws, but never intends to hurt me. It’s cute.”

“And the eyes?” Logan eagerly asked.

“Hypnotic.” Mikhail unconsciously smiled, though Logan didn’t seem to notice, too happy to talk to the man in a pleasant manner. “Makes the cutest sounds too.”

But Yuki did.

“You must really love your cat huh?” Logan, as well as the silent Yuki, was surprised to know that Mikhail had a soft side. Well, not so surprised. He’s only ever truly obedient to Archer, whether the two of them noticed it or not.

Mikhail thought back to the man resting at home. Archer’s next scene was scheduled for tomorrow, so he had enough time to recover the energy he lost.

Mikhail played with his 'cat’ a bit too much last night. His clothes hid the many marks all over his chest and back made by his oh so cute little cat who grew resentful of Mikhail’s stamina, yet still unable to withstand mewling to his irresistible charm.

With a mischievous smile, Mikhail said, “I do.”

—-

Bonus:

After the shoot, in the shower rooms.

Yuki’s reaction when he saw Mikhail’s back: やっぱりね~ [Yappari ne~] Not a ネコ [neko], but a こいびと [koibito]…. Well, maybe both.

((A/N: Fun fact, neko in Japanese slang can also mean the “bottom” in a relationship. The more you know~

Can you guys recommend some sexy songs? I need background music for when I write stuff like this lol))

——

The first time Mikhail 'met’ Archer, it was on the radio. He was in his car, driving alone to a destination that no upright citizen should have any business with. He wasn’t in a good mood. Everything ticked him off–the traffic that he’d already passed, the voices on the radio who thought they were being funny, the sun blazing high up in the cloudless sky. He turned the radio off because it was annoying, but the goddamn silence left him with too much space to think. He needed a distraction. So he turned it back on and chose a random station.

“–by Archer Charles,” after the introduction, a pleasant-sounding voice thanked and began to sing live.

When Mikhail heard that voice, he sharply inhaled through his nose, his slightly dry lips parting.

Mikhail was not very good at describing. He could only say what he felt upon listening to Archer’s voice. Mikhail, who had been irate, was awestruck. He had never heard a voice so…. erotic. It’s not that the song itself was sexy or whatever, but there was something about that voice that made him….

'Ah.’

“Damn.” Mikhail cursed when he looked down to check his pants. “Almost.”

Mikhail heaved a deep breath to calm himself down.

'Charles Archer, was it?’

Ever since then, he became a fan of Archer. He kept this interest a secret from his colleagues; he didn’t want to hear their ribbing. He supported the singer the best he could and eventually, an opportunity arised for him to meet Archer at last.

He took a day off and even disguised himself to look as normal and harmless as possible for a man of his stature. Of course, he got his hands on a backstage pass. It wasn’t difficult to get for someone like him. He asked the staff if it was possible for him to meet the singer before the concert, because despite having taken a day off for today, Mikhail was concerned he would have to cut his holiday short. What if there was an emergency at work halfway through the concert? No, he’ll make use of this backstage pass, he would make sure he wouldn’t leave this place without meeting Archer.

At least, that’s what he thought before hearing his voice.

They were separated by the door he was about to open, but he could clearly hear an angel from behind this flimsy slab of wood. Mikhail knew from Archer’s instagram story yesterday that he was singing a song from an animated movie he just watched and he really loved it. Archer sung the song slowly, gently, as if lulling a child to sleep, and yet it did not lose its cheer.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas With never a fear of drowning And gladly ride the waves of life If you would marry me,

"No scorching sun nor freezing cold Will stop me on my journey If you will promise me your heart And love me for eternity,”

Oh. Oh. Mikhail covered his mouth with his hand, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. The staff were buzzing around in preparation for the concert, but all he could hear was Archer’s voice.

“I have no use for rings of gold I care not for your poetry I only want your hand to hold I only want you near me,”

His hands were trembling–from what, he wasn’t sure. It was as if he had no control over his body. He felt parched, but at the same time, while listening to Archer, he felt so good. The best ever, after all these years. Like he was floating, higher and higher, Archer leading him by the hands, and Mikhail did not feel a shred of fear of falling.

“To love and kiss to sweetly hold For the dancing and the dreaming Through all life’s sorrows and delights I’ll keep your laugh beside me,

"I’ll swim and sail on savage seas With never a fear of drowning I’d gladly ride the waves so white If you will marry me!”

The heart he thought that had gone cold was reminding Mikhail of its presence when he heard the loud beating, as if his heart were right next his ears. His body seemed to throb achingly along with every beat.

Mikhail was brought back to earth when he felt the vibrating of his phone. It was the right decision to use the backstage pass early. He had to go back now.

'Meeting Archer will have to be moved. Again.’ Mikhail thought, changing out of the disguise in his car.

He was pissed that his work disturbed his time with Archer. Mikhail knew that after today, it wouldn’t be enough for him to just listen to his voice from a recording. He was being greedy, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. After hearing his voice in real life, after almost seeing those mesmerizing scarlet eyes for himself, after being so close to meeting the reason he’s been sleeping well these past few months,

How could it be held against him to want more?

Mikhail had been mulling over this for a long time, but now he finally had the resolve to do so. He had enough power, he could do it.

Mikhail wanted to be with Archer.

But first, he had to go to Archer’s world.

—–

“I only want one person to play Abel.” Mikhail demanded.

The director raised an eyebrow, meeting Mikhail’s glare with a steady gaze. “I chose you because you’re a perfect fit for the role of Emilio, even though you’re a complete rookie.” Milo went back to looking at applicants for the role. “You’re in no place to make demands.” Milo retorted, disregarding the fact that Mikhail was the drama’s biggest sponsor. From the short time he’s known the man, he knew Mikhail wasn’t so unreasonable that he thought the world should bow to his whims because of money. However, he did have no qualms in using to his advantage the fear of people towards him due to the rumors of his ties to a gang.

“Archer. Archer Charles.” Mikhail took a drag of his cigarette, rudely blowing smoke to Milo’s direction, although they were on either ends of a long table so Milo didn’t mind.

Milo paused. The name that Mikhail said just so happened to be the one he was currently looking at. 'He looks…. good. A singer? Hmm.’ Archer was the one who had everything Milo was looking for in Abel. But he didn’t want to indulge that brat. He wouldn’t admit out loud that the one Mikhail recommended looked fit for the role.

“We’ll see in the auditions,” is what Milo finally said. “let them all act out a scene with you. The chosen actor for Abel should have good chemistry with Emilio’s actor.”

In contrast to what Milo predicted, Mikhail’s eyes gleamed, a slight smirk on his lips as he scoffed, “Chemistry? I’ll show you chemistry. Careful not to burn your pretty boy face,”

Milo smiled sweetly. “My my, how thoughtful of you.”

Mikhail held his cigarette in one hand, using the other to flip the director off. Milo mentally laughed at his juvenile response.

After three candidates, it was finally Archer’s turn. From the moment he entered the room, he brought with him a soothing aura and such a genuine smile that they couldn’t help but return the smile, easing the atmosphere in the room. From the corner of his eyes, Milo knew that Mikhail’s gaze never left the singer.

“You’re not being very subtle, you know?” Milo teased lowly.

“Mind your own damn business, pretty boy.” Mikhail would have snarled, but his eyes were still trained on the angelic singer in front of them, and he didn’t seem to be capable of showing a bad face in the presence of Abel. There was no way Archer couldn’t notice it, so Milo admired the way Archer didn’t seem to mind. That in itself already won him plus points; despite Mikhail’s unconcealed disinterest, the other candidates were still visibly nervous because of him. Regardless of what Archer thought of Mikhail, he didn’t outwardly show it.

Milo asked them to do two scenes–the first was a very short, simple scene compared to the others: Emilio coming home after two days and Abel comforting his touch-starved husband.

The scriptwriter was already losing her mind, soundlessly slapping the producer beside her. She spoke in a tone that was between a whisper and a squeal, “Oh my god, oh my god. They’re so perf I cannot even. They’re like, they’re like, so good together. Archer looks so soft and warm and white like rice, Mikhail is a mouth-watering dish, and together they make a complete meal!”

The second scene was not so innocent. To see how well they’d work together ad lib, they were not given any lines, just a scenario.

Abel in heat, in need of his alpha.

The judges watched, engrossed in the scene played out by the two. Archer’s wet, glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, panting and whimpering as he stared up at Mikhail, wordlessly pleading to be held. Mikhail, rigid for all but three seconds, scooped him into his arms, his unveiled desire lacing his husky voice and the almost feral look in his eyes. “I got you, babe.”

Archer went limp in his embrace, letting his whole weight be carried by Mikhail, arms reaching up to hug his neck. He rubbed his cheek against Mikhail’s neck, bare skin on bare skin, and let the words breathily escape from his mouth: “Please, dear, please, hmmm….”

At this point, the scriptwriter couldn’t hold her shrieking anymore, and so the spell was broken; Archer moved five steps away from Mikhail, who looked terribly displeased at the disturbance. “You got it! Oh honey, you’re perfect!” She stood up from her seat and enthusiastically gushed about the chemistry between the two.

The producer tugged her sleeve and reminded, “We have yet to discuss it together, keep your crazy down.” It is notable though, that the producer did not refute her words.

“Fine, let’s talk about it now. What does director think?” she turned to ask Milo.

Milo didn’t reply to her. Instead, he looked at Archer with a welcoming smile. “We start shooting next month, please call your manager in and we’ll discuss in more detail.”

The moment the cameras were rolling–no, even if they were off, sparks would still fly, that much the judges could tell. They were so perfect for the roles, they even pulled off not being cringy or awkward despite being relatively new to the acting business. It was because they complemented each other, both as themselves and the characters they portray.

Granted, Mikhail played favorites and didn’t do his best with the others trying out for the role, but what he had with Archer…. was unique. Together they were like a flame. They made anyone watching them feel like moths unable to look away from the bright and warm light, and anyone who gets too close will burn. Milo knew he struck gold with these two.

Milo looked at the innocent Archer and the devilish Mikhail. 'Poor kid. He’s not letting you go.’ Milo mentally smiled mischievously. 'Oh well, this will be fun to watch.’

—–

Bonus:

Archer, alone in a room: w h y, he was so cool, I was so flustered I couldn’t even look him in the eye, I’m so lame aaaaaahhhhh

—–

“I love it when you sing for me,” Mikhail says, his fingers tracing random patterns on his wife’s chest. “Even better when I make you sing.”

Archer shot an amused glance at his fiance, catching the man’s wandering hand on his chest because it was starting to tickle and make him shiver, and he was not about to be led into another round. Archer is determined to stand his ground this time, not to be affected by Mikhail’s seduction. It was his own stubbornness really, because it was so frustrating that he was the only one who always got flustered and unraveled.

But he has yet to learn his lesson, since he naively asked, “What’s the difference?”

Mikhail softly nips at Archer’s exposed collarbone, and Archer all but melts into a puddle when his irritatingly charming husband-to-be whispers, Mikhail’s lips against the helix of his ear: “Let’s find out, hm?”

Archer thinks to himself, 'Whatever, it’s not like he’s bad at it.’ When Archer has these kinds of thoughts, he feels even more embarrassed, and takes it out on Mikhail, the bad influence, by biting whatever part of his body Archer can reach at the moment.

And years after, as Archer reads a book on the large sofa while Mikhail naps with his head on Archer’s thicc lap, he realizes something about his husband.

Mikhail had the power to make Archer’s knees tremble in the most delightful way. He could make Archer reach the limits of his vocal range as they exercised. He could crumble Archer with a single, rare smile–a genuine smile, not a teasing grin or a provocative smirk, not that they don’t make him feel butterflies all the same.

But Archer, it belatedly dawned on him who made Mikhail that way. Archer roused the fire in Mikhail, made it hungry for him, made it want him. Archer didn’t just see it–he heard it, he felt it. Everyday, Mikhail would kiss him. He was not shy to say 'I love you’ contrary to everyone else’s expectations; he would hug Archer’s waist, bury his head on the crook of Archer’s neck, and mutter, 'I missed you’ or 'Come home soon’ when either of them became bogged with a packed schedule. Archer didn’t even know if Mikhail was conscious that he makes puppy dog eyes when doing those gestures.

Archer makes Mikhail melt.

He was notorious in the industry for the rumors of his ties to the yakuza, and it didn’t help that he looked the part and always answered ambiguously when asked. There was no media coverage about their tying the knot, perhaps thanks to Mikhail’s interference, but the people in their industry know. Most, who have never seen or worked with them together, didn’t believe it would last. They had even been worried about Archer getting hurt.

Hurt? By this defenseless, naughty, loving man?

Archer’s nails dug into the skin of his hands and assured them that his husband was not that kind of man. He smiled, but deep inside he was angry. Angry at them, but also at himself. Because once upon a time, he was scared of Mikhail too. Scared of him because of the rumors, scared of him because of his daunting build, scared of how easily Mikhail could break him, scared of how, despite all that, Mikhail was still so attractive in his eyes.

But Mikhail was gentle. Yes he was teasing and lewd, but he was always so sweet, so caring. Mikhail would cup his hands on Archer’s cheeks, staring in entertainment at how he made him blush, then kiss his pouting lips several times. And then, Mikhail would smile. His eyes curved, whatever harshness on his face melted away.

Archer still remembers the day he said yes.

Mikhail had never looked as nervous, then dumbfounded, then jubilant in a span of a minute. Mikhail grabbed him into a hug and spun him around, bursting with an unrestrained, happy laugh. If others saw Mikhail then, they would probably be weirded out and think he’s on some sort of drugs. He was never so positively expressive outside of acting out his role, and even then, most of them were directed at Archer. For Archer, it wasn’t strange at all. Mikhail slowly opens up to him for each day they are together, in the more frequent smiles, in the stories of his tattoos and the scars underneath. He knew Mikhail was only like that in front of him, and he felt so childish for feeling proud of it.

Mikhail put him back on his feet, arms still around his waist. They were forehead to forehead, eyes focused on the other pair, and Mikhail swore, “I’ll be good to you forever,”

Archer smiled. He had half the mind to think, 'Oh, he was a forever man. Such a romantic.’ He said, “I know. I’ll be good to you forever too,”

Archer ingrained in his memories the look of absolute joy and love on Mikhail.

Mikhail stirred from his nap. “Um…. hey.” the man blinked a couple of times. “Did you eat yet? Sorry, just wake me up next time.”

“It’s too early to eat, dear, it’s only been an hour. You came home in the morning, you should catch up on your sleep.” Mikhail always rushed home after an out of town job, unmindful of the jetlag and exhaustion that would follow.

“Yeah,” there was still sleep in Mikhail’s tone. Archer knew he would go back to sleep if he just closed his eyes.

“Why don’t you close your eyes?” At this point in their relationship, Archer was aware that Mikhail liked being spoiled, and he liked it even more when he could flirt like this with Archer.

“I want my goodnight kiss.” Mikhail said righteously.

Archer chuckled and bent down to place a chaste kiss on his husband’s lips.

He put a hand on Mikhail’s forehead, brushing away the stray strands of hair. “There, now go to sleep, dear.”

Mikhail hummed, evidently pleased, and obediently followed his wife’s demand.

As for whether Archer stole a kiss from his handsome sleeping husband, and whether Mikhail was actually asleep, that would be a secret they’d keep to themselves.

——

((A/N:

Q: If Mikhail is so tired since he rushed home, why are they resting on the sofa? Isn’t the bed more comfy?

A: The bed is broken. They have yet to buy a new bed because Abel wants Mikhail to learn to be more restrained. Mikhail is okay with it, since this time, he is thinking of testing the durability of the sofa, the table, the bathtub….))

Bonus:

Preparing for the wedding.

Archer: Dear, do you think I should wear a suit, or a gown?

Mikhail: Doesn’t matter.

Archer: ( • ^ • ) ?

Mikhail: I’ll be taking it off anway. ( =-= ) ✧

Archer: *sighs* I should’ve known. (〃 - 〃)

Mikhail: Wear whatever’s comfortable for you. You look beautiful in anything, even in nothing. Especially in nothing.

Archer: Mikhail! (⁄ ⁄>⁄ꇴ⁄<⁄ ⁄) … . *whispers* You too.

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (20)

A/N: BIG YEEHAW HOURS TODAY Y’ALL ITS BALL TIME!!!!!!! AND WE CAN’T HAVE A BALL WITHOUT A PRINCE *stars bawling*

costumes will come in another post bc i. got really excited and then drew them all like, last month (most of them, some were finished last night y e e et)

WARNINGS: remus mention, heist details, wound descriptions, sword mention, scar descriptions, threats of violence, thoughts of dying — alright, im pretty sure that's it, but this chapter has thicc details so if i missed anything pls pls pls lmk

Words: 4550

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing!

enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3 ,3 <3 

Deceit really was right, Patton thought while he looked around at the town. His arm was linked around Logan’s as they walked down one of the town’s side streets, from Dr. Picani’s office, and he was taking the time to admire how intricate all of the architecture had gotten. It was intricate and worn and every building seemed unique now, something that he hadn’t realized was missing during their first pass through. 

There were arch ways, bridges between doors on the third floors of buildings. There were seemingly hand-woven canvases shielding some of the streets from the sun and, if Patton squinted hard enough, he could see actual detailed stitching and some stains of age. They passed buildings that had scratches and chisel marks, and Patton could clearly see that it was made from stone bricks that had been painted over. Twice, actually. Once with a very old and faded blue, then with a lighter cream that still let the blue show through in spots where the paint was gone. 

He wondered a little what had caused those spots. Was it because you weren’t supposed to layer house paint? The spots were different sizes — how many memories were made here? 

Patton stumbled, tripping over his thoughts and heels, and leaned more into Logan’s side.

Logan tugged at his arm. “Don’t ponder too hard, Patton,” his voice was soft, hushed to not draw attention.

They’d figured that the best thing to do was to not think about the world around them. Thinking too much about the world and specifically the things that they would affect about it made their focus wander onto fixing those things. Logan would get a headache, Patton would space out, and Deceit would….well, okay, Deceit hadn’t disclosed how and if he’d been affected. But Patton noticed he’d been sweating like a sinner in church, and how his fist would clench every so often, so it was clear that something was happening with Deceit. He didn’t want to force him to talk; honesty wasn’t Deceit’s strong suit.

The four Romans had agreed that that was the smartest decision; none of them nor all of them together were able to limit the Imagination enough. The Playwright had argued that, had Dragon and Damsel known that it was hurting the other Sides, then they would probably all have a unified thought enough to close up the unused worlds. But that would require discussing the entire matter with them, which, as the Thief pointed out, is “pretty fucking useless where they are now.” 

So the focus thing was their current strategy. Patton grinned at Logan. “Thanks for the reminder, Octo-cutie-pie,” he smiled wider as Logan blushed. 

“I–I’m–Octopi is the plural for octopus and there is only one of me,” Logan bit his lip, then patted Patton’s hand gently, “Thank you.”

Patton giggled, snuggling against Logan’s side briefly as they kept walking. They hadn’t actually talked about the whole love thing, hadn’t really established boundaries, but that seemed like a problem for tomorrow. 

Right now, they were all going across town, invitations in hand, to the ball. And, at the very specific right now, Patton was admiring the Playwright and the Artist’s handiwork. They’d worked together to make everyone’s outfits and he’d be a liar if he said they weren’t handsome and beautiful.

Patton himself was themed after a cat — a grey cat, but a cat nonetheless! His dress had a long train for a tail, made of shimmering silver tulle, the same as his poofy sleeves. The skirt went from his waist to the ground, with a built in flair in his corset at the waist. Like, all of it was sparkling, all three tiers of his skirt, which went from grey to black with an inner layer gradient of blue to grey. His favorite part were his gloves, though. Silver for the most part, but with soft circles on his palms and the tips of all his fingers. His own lil’ toe beans! 

Logan’s outfit was one of Patton’s favorites. His was themed after an octopus (“Known for their intelligence,” the Playwright had explained, face bright red as he tied Logan’s necktie into an Eldritch knot) with a dark blue blazer and slacks. He wore a vest that shimmered royal blue, with a white button down underneath. There was a piece of coral in his lapel where a flower would usually go, and his coat tails seemed to spiral in shapes that resembled an octopus’ arms. There were even rhinestone bubble decals on his shoulders, or suckers, if you wanted to interpret it that way. The Artist and the Playwright had a small argument about that.

He was dashing, in summation. Patton leaned his head against Logan’s shoulder. “Who knew the town was so big!” he said. 

“That’s actually on purpose,” the Playwright said from behind them, “It’s actually not so big as the castle is small, using the same foreshortening techniques used at the Disney theme parks to make Cinderella’s castle, or Sleeping Beauty’s castle depending on which park you’re at—”

“I think he means how far Picani’s office is from the castle, God Mod,” the Thief responded.

The Thief and Deceit were walking in front, swords drawn on the chance that they ran into any guards, and so that the Thief could critique Deceit’s sword fighting skills. Surprisingly, he’d taken to the weapon, something about it being good to have at his disposal while dealing with the Others. The Thief offered to make him one once this escapade was over. 

Or maybe it was an excuse for the Thief to keep touching Deceit’s hand. Because that was happening every so often. A lot more often than would be considered normal. 

It wasn’t like Deceit was complaining about the touching. It was more the other way around. The yearning for physical contact was frustrating, but neither of them were going to admit that they wanted to hold hands. Even though they’d confessed to at least caring about each other. 

“Oh,” the Playwright hummed.

“Cheer up, butter cup, I love hearin’ bout the forced perspective! The Disney parks are so~o~o fun,” the Bard sang out. “When’s the next time we get to go to California? Are we making a trip down to Anaheim? Can we PLEASE take a trip down to Anaheim!”

One of his arms was looped around the Playwright’s, while the other was looped around the Artist’s. They had settled on outfits that complemented each other’s, pulling from the same red and black color palette.

The Artist was the only of the trio in a suit, though his outfit could be considered the loudest. Buttoned down the middle with a high collar, half of his shirt was a solid black, while the other half was a diamond checkered pattern. All of the accents were gold, and his pants were half solid red and half checkered as well. Tonight, the Artist would be a jester. 

An improvement on his self-esteem, the Bard had thought. The Artist had said so, too, saying he’d be dressing like a joke. It...was nice to hear.

The Playwright had also gone with a more light-hearted outfit, pun completely intended. He was dressed as the queen of hearts, with an A-line skirt that skimmed the ground and was almost entirely a replica of the skirt worn by the Queen of Hearts in Disney’s Alice in Wonderland animated movie. His corset had a low scoop neckline with a long heart that stretched down from the neckline to the bottom of the waist. His sleeves were poofy, black with red stripes between. 

It was a deck of cards theme between the three of them. Honestly, they took a bit of solace in their three Musketeers situation. The Bard was dressed like a harlequin in a ball-dancing dress. His entire dress was checkered, a stiff corset traded for a looser fit bodice that was sinched at the waist by a thick black belt with a heart clip. Bits of tulle were attached to his wrists, ideal for dancing in, which was perfect for the plan. He and the Playwright had matching heart chokers, too. 

As he’d said earlier, “We cute.”

Neither the Artist nor the Playwright had argued, and they had yet to pull away from him holding their arms. Maybe they didn’t hate him. 

They didn’t! They were moving beyond all that! 

Because they had to get the Child back, and Virgil back, and save the Damsel and they had a plan. Actually, they should run through the plan again, because the Bard had already forgotten most of it. 

“Thief?” he called ahead. 

“Mhm?” 

“Can we run through the, uh,” they had a code word for it, shoot, what was it? Oh! Oh, right, “The waltz again?”

“Great Mona Lisa, Bard, how the fuck did you forget how to waltz?” the Artist groaned. “We’re going to a ball.”

“No, no, no, THE waltz,” the Bard nudged the Artist’s side with his elbow. 

The Artist shot him a small confused glare, but realization struck his face quick after. “Oh. Oh, that waltz. Yeah, uh,” he turned to the Playwright, who also seemed confused, then to the front again, “Before we get in, we should go over the waltz again.” 

The Thief and Deceit both stopped as well, fingers brushing once again. The Bard saw the motion and chuckled to himself. Sweet Chopin, they needed to just hold hands already. He could envision the love birds flying around their heads. 

He felt a smidge bad, though. After all, he was the lucky Roman who got to kiss Patton. 

Logan and Patton both turned back to them. Patton let go of Logan, then looked around. They weren’t quite at the castle yet; a side alley, wide enough for all of them to stand in and with ample trees, barrels, and an open door beside it would provide good cover. 

“Let’s go over there,” Patton grabbed Logan’s arm again and led them all into the alley. 

They grouped up into a small but tight circle, the Thief pulling them together. He was in a suit, and an ironic one at that. Originally his costume was intended for Deceit, but he suggested switching them, so that the Dragon would think he were Deceit while being less suspicious. He was themed after a snake, though the theming was less noticeable than the color palette; there were yellow sequins arranged in scale patterns across his black blazer’s forearms, and his vest was black as well, undershirt yellow, and bowtie black. It looked a little like a snazzed-up version of Deceit’s lawyer suit and, though he’d tell no one, the Thief loved the look.

Deceit had said it looked nice on him, too. The bowtie, specifically, but also the entire outfit, and also the Thief simply looked good — yeah, they were both kind of messes. Gone was the ability to seamlessly flirt, apparently.

Still, it was nice to see Deceit in something other than yellow for a change, too. He was dressed as a peacock, with no blazer but a side-cape that shimmered iridescent purple and green. Part of it had blue and green rhinestones inching up the shoulder, and his vest beneath was teal, while his undershirt was mint green. There were bands on his upper arms, keeping his shirt bunched back, that were dark blue. Even his ascot was an iridescent purple and blue. 

They leaned against each other in the huddle. Brown eyes trailed all around the group, meeting similar expressions of steely determination. 

They could do this. 

“Alright,” the Thief started, “For the first hour, we’re gonna scope out the room and surrounding rooms. Meet wherever the snacks are in pairs, alternating pairs, and spread details. Patton and I will go twice.”

“Because you and I are gonna peel off after the first hour to go get Virgil and the Child,” Patton said, meeting the Thief’s eyes.

The Thief nodded. He looked around at everyone — Deceit and the Bard had both been fairly defensive about that choice, but he argued that they needed people who were good at causing distractions on the floor. Patton would be the best at comforting both Virgil and the Child, and the Thief was the only one who had any inkling of what the inside of the castle looked like. 

He continued. “Right. We’re gonna try to get out and—”

“Say, what d’ya think that’d make us?” Patton asked, a tiny grin on his face. 

“Oh, no,” Logan groaned, “Not—”

“Cat burglars!” Patton exclaimed with a giggle. 

The Bard immediately broke out into a fit of giggles, leaning into Deceit a little as he did so. Deceit just rolled his eyes and patted the Bard’s back, letting him cling to his side. 

The Artist stifled some chuckles of his own, and the Playwright grinned. Oh. Oh, no, not the idea grin. 

“I think Dragon will be hard pressed to find flaws in our purr-fect plan,” he said, eyes shining as Patton laughed as well. “We’re just gonna have to distract him with our adorable kitty-Pat.”

Logan groaned again, in good humor this time. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side, Playwright,” he grumbled. 

The Playwright immediately sobered up, mouth pressing into a line. “Ah, Logan, darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Hey, but,” the Bard raised a finger at the Playwright, smile wide and mischievous, “If he catches wind of anything, you, Artist, and I can pull a wild card and deck him.”

That got the Artist and Patton to both laugh aloud, and even Logan smiled a tiny bit at the Playwright, if only to reassure him that his frustration was not directed at him.  

The Thief seemed actually annoyed, though. He snapped his fingers in the center of the circle. “C’mon, focus here. Patton and I are going to get Virgil and the Child, then we’re going to come back up to the ball room at the second hour. At that point, Deceit—”

“I’ll be dancing with Dragon and, once you’re back, I’ll be distracting him enough for you to get out,” Deceit waved his hand, also slightly exasperated. He wanted Virgil back immediately and, as the time to pull off their hest approached, he grew more nervous.

“Right. Then, Playwright will take you backstage once everyone else has filed out,” the Playwright nodded to the Thief regarding his involvement, and the Thief looked around the group once more, “All of that sound good? Everyone else, be on the look out for Damsel. We don’t know where he’s gonna be. If he’s out on the ball floor, Logan, you—”

“I will approach him and explain that we are here to get him out,” Logan grimaced, “If he is not on the ball floor….”

“Then I’ll be on standby to head into the dungeons,” the Artist said, smile deflated, brow furrowed in thought.

“Good,” the Thief patted his shoulder, gripping reassuringly, “And if Remus is there, then Bard is going into the dungeons with Patton and I’m staying in the ball room to kick his ass.”

“This all sounds like a plan, Thief,” the Bard said, smiling at him, “Logan, thoughts?”

Logan huffed, frowning at the ground. He’d rolled the details over in his mind a few times, so he’d already worked out some of the issues, such as the irrationality of the original plan’s “jump out the dungeon’s windows, really, how large are the windows, and how do we know it’s not underground.” For right now, it seemed as though the plan were efficacious, but they couldn’t be certain until it was enacted. 

But at that point, it’d be too late to change the plan to any degree of impeccability. They would have to wing it. And Logan wasn’t a fan of that. 

But what choice did they have?

“It is as detailed and as faultless as we can arrange for it to be currently,” he said.

The Thief’s mouth twitched into a slight grimace, but he nodded all the same. That was as optimistic as he would be. “Once this is all over, we meet at the tree as fast as we all can get there,” the Thief said, casting one more look around, “If we pull this off right, no one’ll be leaving alone. If your partner gets injured, you carry them to the tree.”

“I don’t think….” the Artist said, frowning a tiny bit as his voice trailed off. 

The possibility of injury was very high, actually. Death for the Romans, at least. And they didn’t know if the Dragon had injured Virgil or the Child. To be honest, they didn’t know if the Child was alive. Oh, goodness, what if Dragon had killed him? 

“It’s gonna work,” the Bard said, “It’s gonna.” 

He squeezed the Artist’s arm and gave him a nod. It was going to be okay. Roman was optimistic by nature, and the Artist did crave that sort of positivity. 

“It must,” Deceit affirmed none too positively. 

“It will,” Patton said, smiling at them all again before clapping, “And break!”

Everyone stood up on instinct. Then, they all shared slight laughs, small smiles.

The Bard leaned over and hugged Deceit with an arm, reciprocated a little. Patton leaned against the Artist, who didn’t hug back, but also didn’t flinch finally. 

They were getting somewhere. It was going to be okay. 

It was going to be okay. 

….Without Virgil, they all felt as though their optimism was naively placed. But that was why they were going to get him back! 

Once he was back, Deceit thought, he was never letting go again. If he was back. No, no, once he was back. He was coming back soon. 

“Let’s go,” the Thief pulled his mask out from his coat, a black half-face mask covered in yellow sequins arranged like scales.

Everyone shared looks, nodding to each other as they slid on their own masks. Logan, Patton, the Artist, and the Playwright all had special masks that mimicked their glasses prescriptions so they wouldn’t need contacts, too. With faces obscured, they nodded once more, squeezing arms in reassurance and patting backs and giving smiles, and hurried out of the alley. 

The Playwright walked at the front of the group, the only one not paired to any Side. He looked up at the sky. A storm had grown, clouds angry and grey above the castle, which was only a few blocks away now. Perhaps it would thunder during the ball. 

He wondered vaguely what had caused the sudden shift in weather. During their week alone, it was all sunny skies. 

Was it….

No. No, no part of Roman was that desperate, to have gone to Remus. Right? He’d been telling himself that ever since they’d begun this game, but the darker their future seemed, the more he worried about the Duke’s involvement. 

The Thief seemed to think it was very real, enough to have a back-up written into the plan. C’est la vie. Such was life, he thought, the show must go on.

They walked quietly for only a few minutes. The closer they got to the castle, the more Imagination inhabitants they saw walking around them, some in pairs, some in groups, some alone. Everyone was in costume, most intricate. Good. This would be good, for coverage. The Thief had been a little worried that the ball would be sparsely attended, but this was good. 

It was going to be okay. 

They approached the drawbridge. Patton leaned against the Artist, gripping his arm tighter as the wind picked up. The Thief and Deceit were stoic behind them, and Logan and the Bard were simply quiet, though their hands were interlaced tight. It was going to be okay.

A line had formed on the bridge, in front of one man in a suit, perhaps the medieval equivalent of a bouncer. The group shuffled into the line, looking around at the castle, at the moat (“I think it’s filled with alligators,” the Bard murmured to Logan, who shook his head and was about to respond that that didn’t make sense, until an alligator’s maw jumped up and snatched a low-flying bird) and at the sky. 

Angry, angry clouds. 

It took an excruciatingly long eleven minutes for the Playwright to finally reach the front of the line, but when he did, he immediately grinned. He had to hand it to the Dragon. 

“May I see your invitation?” Zac Efron asked, dressed in a black butler’s outfit.

Bless the Imagination’s castings. The Playwright handed over his invitation, and Zac looked over a list in his other hand before handing back the invitation and checking off a name. “You may enter to the ball room,” he motioned to the door. 

The Playwright curtsied and hurried in. Behind him was the Artist and Patton, both of whom gasped a little, becau se holy shit, it’s Zac Efron. 

The Dragon was really out here casting Thomas’ celebrity crushes as butlers. It was the first thing that the Artist had wholly agreed with the Dragon on, actually. Once they were Roman, they were going to have to look into that as a possibility. 

One by one, each entered, walking down a grand hall with a ceiling so high and so vaulted that there seemed to be a sky inside. But, then again, there probably was. This was the Imagination. It looked somewhat like the Great Hall from the Harry Potter movies, this time shining with stars and constellations. 

Logan could identify Aries and Pieces. That was actually accurate for the season and hour, so he gave a mental kudos to Roman for his design, then considered if it were his knowledge that had been used to perfect the stars. Well. That was inconsequential, I guess?

The hall was also lined with suits of armor, and bannisters adorned with Roman’s full crest. Though, Deceit noticed while he walked through, the entire crest was outlined in gold and the castle in the center was colored with grey and brown and black. He thought the Dragon was only supposed to be the outer tower and walls. If the Dragon called all of the shots around here, then why was the center tower also colored?

The walk was long, heels clacking against the stone. They turned with the carpet to the left and entered through a pair of double doors that had to be at least two floors high. 

Inside was life. The room was massive, stretching almost the size of a football field. There was a stage near the entrance door where there were musicians (with undetailed faces, Deceit noticed) were playing loud enough to echo across the room. The dance floor seemed to take up about half the room. 

Farther away from the entrance were some circle tables, arranged around with some citizens already sitting down. Further back were some long tables, food stacked atop them, and even further….

The throne was elevated so the Dragon could see across the hall to the dance floor. The Thief’s fists clenched immediately upon seeing him wearing the Prince’s attire, white uniform a stark contrast to the black he was typically adorned with. It was a jarring difference. 

He was taunting them. By Doc Holliday’s pistol, they were gonna take him down.

Beside his throne was a large Ottoman seat, where there was another figure. The Damsel, most likely, though his face was obscured by a sheer red veil and distance. He was wearing a large dress, which had a triple-tiered skirt that seemed to flare out orange, then red, then black. His corset was decorated with red and orange and yellow rhinestones, and raised behind his head. It almost looked like flames. 

Burned. The Damsel’s scars were also entirely visible, scabs on his arms angry and red, clearly not fully healed. They weren’t openly bleeding, but the Playwright could tell that they would start bleeding at some point in the night. 

His nose scrunched as he examined the pair. They didn’t seem to notice him, the Damsel leaning against the throne’s side and not moving, the Dragon stroking his chin and looking across the hall absently. He had a sword sheathed beside the throne, too, with its handle sticking up in an easily accessible manner. 

He was waiting for them, he realized. Of course he was, this was a trap, you fool. You knew this. You’d planned. It was going to be okay.

The Playwright turned back to the group just as the last pair, Logan and the Bard, entered. 

“Okay. I am going to move toward the snack table,” he nodded toward the thrones, “Octopus, would you like to join me?”

Logan let go of the Bard, who curtsied and stepped back, and then offered a hand to the Playwright. “It would be my pleasure,” he said, “How about we acquire a table, Hearts?”

The Playwright nodded, then shot the Thief a look. “Snake,” he said, a promise, a warning, “Let’s waltz.” 

“Let’s,” the Thief responded, squeezing Deceit’s arm. 

The Bard and Patton had already taken each other onto the dance floor, hoping to not be conspicuously waiting in a group by the door way, and the Artist was meandering around — nope, no, he just asked an Imagination citizen to dance. Blending in well. 

Operation save Virgil and the Child was a go. 

Virgil could hear the faint music from above. He squinted up, then closed his eyes and exhaled. What’d that matter? 

His side was throbbing. It seemed that just wrapping a bandage around a wound did fuck all to stop it from hurting, or bleeding, especially if it was just wrapped once and around the front. Virgil would have to remember that for the next time he got stabbed by an evil Dragon, he thought snidely. 

He and the Child had relocated themselves to the bed. Pretending to not be panicking was tiring, but luckily for him, the Child had fallen asleep. 

He sniffed quietly, rubbing his eye with the butt of his palm. For the past half an hour, ever sine the Child fell asleep, Virgil had been silently crying. And there was no Damsel to conjure him a glass of water or tell him it’d be okay. Because he knew it wasn’t going to be okay. 

Even if he didn’t die in the Imagination, he’d be exiting it alone. And that was fine! 

The Child snuggled closer to his chest, tiny arms wrapped around him. Virgil sniffed again and hugged him tight. 

If he did nothing else, he’d at least protect this Roman. 

He wished he’d at least told Roman how he felt. 

Maybe he’d never get the chance. 

Gosh, this was really fatalistic, even for him. It wasn’t like he was gonna die in the Imagination. 

Virgil shielded his eyes with an arm and, as illogical as it was, wished that he could use that one arm motion to block out the sounds of the ball going on above. Shit, he was gonna die in the Imagination. 

….Usually that’d freak him out a bit more. Maybe he’d bled out to the point where he was too tired to be worried. And, maybe it was childish, but he really did want to dance with Roman. 

taglists!

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil @theobsessor1 @ninja-wizard101 @fandomsofrandom

general taglist: @jemthebookworm @okay-finne

[bopbopstyles]

3. More Than a Song

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 9.7k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | ASK

Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

a/n: prepare for ANGST! and dunkirk premiere harry aka one of his best looks ever :) also thank u to @havethetimeofyourstyles for making my line breaks bc i’m inept at making things xoxo

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

“Baby,” Harry said, turning to her from where he stood in his closet. “Can you help me with my collar? I can’t get it.”

Y/N set down her phone—she was ready first, which wasn’t surprising considering it took Harry ages to get ready, partially because he kept getting distracted with her. He’d touch her, run his hands all over her, ask if he could get her out of her lingerie, and she’d have to remind him that she’d barely even had it on and they had an important event. “Sure.”

Harry looked dashing—he always did. After much debate, they had decided on a simple white silk short-sleeved button down and a pair of flared black pants, cool enough for May in LA, but still perfectly Harry. Y/N had painted his nails last night a pastel purple while they had watched a documentary about sheep—which Harry had selected—and the color popped against the neutrals of the rest of the outfit. Shoes were still up in the air, but Y/N was trying to get him to wear the yellow loafers he’d gotten recently, the ones she was so obsessed with she was considering stealing for herself.

Somehow Harry always managed to mess up his collars before big nights, the nerves probably getting to him. Y/N smoothed the material on his shoulders to relax him before popping up his collar and folding it back down crisply. “There you go.” In the mirror in front of Harry, her eyes trailed down his body, from his sweet curls she had labored over styling in the bathroom, to the recently tailored pants he wore. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, a smile dancing onto Harry’s face at the action. “Nervous, bubs?”

He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Bit. More for you to hear it than anyone else.”

The honesty of his statement brought butterflies to her tummy. Harry had been in and out of meetings for the past few months getting together the release of his debut album and putting the final touches on it, but at no point had he let her hear it. She suspected it was because he was scared she’d hate it, but when she asked her dad about it, he told her to think about it as his journal. His journal of a past that Y/N hadn’t been a part of. That had made Y/N understand a bit better, the prospect of being nervous of what she’d think of him more the worry than a worry of what she’d think of the music. So she nuzzled her nose into his shoulder, careful not to get lipstick on the fabric, and told him, “I’m going to love it. It’ll be perfect, just like you.”

Harry’s arms wrapped backwards so he could hold her to him and they stood there, holding one another, basking in each other’s presence before everyone else arrived. It had been a busy couple months for them to start a relationship—Y/N was swamped at work, her boss having left so she had to take on extra work, and Harry was releasing his album, Dunkirk was coming out in the summer, and his tour started in the fall. It was a lot to say the least, and Y/N tried not to think about it too often because she’d get all in her head and ignore Harry’s texts for hours until he called her and asked her if she wanted gummy worms or Hershey’s for movie night. Then, she’d remind herself that they were doing good—really good, even. Better than other relationships that she had been in for this long. Usually this was when she got bored, but with Harry she kept falling for him more and more every day they spent with each other.

He was like a drug, and she was addicted.

“We should head down,” Y/N said, brushing back from him. “Wear the yellow ones, yeah?”

He mumbled something under his breath about her being bossy and coming for Lambert’s job and she snorted, leaving him in the walk-in closet to straighten himself out. Her phone in her hand, she slipped on her heels, a summer sandal with a platform so her feet didn’t hurt, the perfect compliment to her flowing sundress she’d selected for the release party. When Harry had seen it he’d promptly asked if she could take it off so he could ravish her, so she decided it was a good choice. It emphasized her curves in a way that made her feel confident and she’d pinned her hair over one shoulder, the earrings Harry had gotten her for their three-month anniversary on display.

Re-emerging, Harry rolled his eyes over her body and she gave him a soft smile at the way his eyes screamed with desire. “See something you like?”

“Fuck yes,” he cursed. “Can’t wait to have you all to myself later.” Hands in hers, he pressed a searing kiss to her lips, the kind that made her toes curl, before pulling back. “C’mon, Azoff is yelling at me over text about being late to my own party.”

“It’s literally downstairs,” she pointed out. “He’s just mad he can’t embarrass you in front of your friends.”

Harry laughed, arm tucked around her waist as they descended the stairs of his house. He’d bought it at the end of February, a birthday gift to himself, and Y/N had thought to herself at the time that it wasn’t about her, it was about him. But it was kind of hard whenever he had her help him pick out all the furniture, making sure she approved of the colors he painted the walls and the patio furniture.

Downstairs, the party was in full force. Harry hadn’t invited too many people, mostly the same crowd as his birthday. Since it was at his house, he was hesitant to give the address out to too many people, but ultimately he wanted to be able to do whatever the fuck he wanted to celebrate, no paps around. Also, it was hot and he had a pool, so he had told everyone to bring a swimsuit just in case they wanted to take a dip. Y/N had persuaded him to keep it simple and they’d ordered pizza from his favorite place and she made some a ton of margaritas for everyone to help themselves to. Jeff was left in charge of the door when Harry was late finishing getting dressed, and she could tell that he had done a fine job. The tunes were going, people were drinking, and everyone seemed happy. He had even put the album countdown that Y/N had spent two hours making that morning on the TV.

“Stay close to me, please?” Harry asked her, bending his head to whisper in her ear when they reached the group.

Y/N nodded, and Harry began happily talking to Jeff. Y/N started up a conversation with another one of the Full Stop employees who had come who she’d met at a brunch a few weeks ago, plucking some details from her brain about her boyfriend to check-in about. Then, a familiar face flashed in the crowd. “Hanna!”

Harry had suggested the idea of inviting her best friends to the party and Y/N had leapt at the idea. The prospect of having her two favorite people be there with her to celebrate her boyfriend was her idea of a perfect night. Hanna’s red hair popped up, her smile giddy from seeing Y/N. Cutting through the crowd, she quickly made it to Y/N, who wrapped her best friend up in a tight hug.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” she said. “Find it okay?”

Hanna nodded. “Security at the gate did not want to let me in though. Jamie is on his way—Cole called while he was walking out the door.” Jamie and Cole had been together for years and Y/N decided the first time she met Cole that there wasn’t anyone better for Jamie, and Jamie seemed to agree. “How are you?”

“Amazing,” Y/N replied and she truly was. She felt like she was on cloud nine right now, the energy bouncing off of Harry absorbing into every one of her pores. “Excited to finally hear it.”

“You should be.” Hanna leaned over and tapped Harry on the shoulder.

His attention shifted from some work-related conversation with Jeff quickly over to his girlfriend’s best friend. “Oh, hello Hanna,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“No place I’d rather be,” Hanna replied. “Now can I steal Y/N?”

Harry’s eyes lingered on Y/N, but he gave her a warm smile. “‘Course.”

Y/N followed her best friend out onto the patio, giving hugs and saying hello to the friends of Harry’s she’d met during the past few months of them being together. Harry watched her with awe at how well she had fit into his life, she’d succeeded faster than any other girl he’d ever dated. The tidbits of information she remembered and the way she made an effort to be present in the conversations, her deep knowledge of music and the industry coming in handy. He loved having a girl at her side who knew what all of his team did without him having to explain it to her. It was small, but it made a difference to him.

“H,” Mitch said, pulling his gaze from his girlfriend back to the conversation he’d been having with Mitch, Adam, and Sarah. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking a sip of the margaritas Y/N had made for the party. She’d slaved over them all day while he was on calls and doing interviews and he appreciated it so much. He reminded himself to tell her later when he had her alone and could tell her properly.

Sarah smiled at him knowingly. “He’s just looking at Y/N, as usual.”

Mitch and Adam chuckled, but Harry frowned. “Am I not allowed to look at my girl?”

“You are,” Adam said, “just be careful, mate. You told us about the rule, remember?”

The Rule. The goddamn rule that controlled this relationship more than he felt like he did, sometimes. He didn’t know how much Y/N thought about it at this point in their relationship, but then again it was still technically pretty early in the grand scheme of things. But for him, it was a constant reminder than their time together was fleeting, that at any point she might want to leave him, his lifestyle too hard. And it’s not that he blamed her. He just hated that it was a possibility. “I know.”

“How’s it going?” Adam pressed. Harry had been distant these past few weeks, holing himself up in the house with Y/N every chance he got when they weren’t rehearsing and he wasn’t on a call. It was hectic and he knew that his friends worried about him.

Harry took another sip of his margarita, eyes finding Y/N out on the patio laughing with Hanna, hair blowing in the wind. “Been good. She seems really happy,” he continued at the sight of her smile. “Bit nervous about tonight, if I’m being honest though.” He’d told Y/N the same thing, but the pit in his stomach still lingered. She had said she was excited, but he didn’t know how she would react to him releasing an album full of songs about his exes and flings.

They all got it though. “About which song?”

“All of ‘em,” he said nervously, and it was true. Y/N came into his life after the album was done, the idea of adding a song about her impossible. Even though he could’ve written dozens—he already had, the voice memos on his phone to prove it. Sometimes he’d sneak away to the bathroom while she slept to sing something that popped into his head, and the few that he’d shown the band they liked. It was all material for the next album, they told him. Some of them had even become full-fledged songs after a few hours locked in his office, but he hadn’t shared them yet. They still felt too raw.

Sarah reached out a hand and squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “She’ll get it, H. Her dad’s a musician, you know? If there was anyone who would understand, it would be her.”

And she was probably right. But there was a feeling in his gut that Harry couldn’t shake—that tonight wouldn’t end well for them. He’d felt it when he had woken up this morning and no matter how many time he kissed Y/N to make it go away, it lingered and it was making his brain go wild.

He hoped it was just the nerves.

The night passed quickly. There were speeches, a cake, Jeff pulled out a bottle of champagne, and Y/N had rejoined Harry at his side for the most part. And at this party, there was no question as to who she was—to everyone she was “Y/N, my girlfriend,” and Harry loved it. Particularly the look on her face that she would get every once in a while when her eyes caught his. He didn’t know what to call it, but he just knew that he felt the same way.

Before he knew it, it was 11:59 and everyone had gathered in the living room. The TV had the countdown on that Y/N had designed, the album cover with the numerical countdown over it, another bottle of champagne in Harry’s hand, ready to pop. Y/N stood a few people away from him, watching him with that look in her eyes that she’d been giving him all night that made him weak in the knees and made him curious what she would do to him when they were upstairs. He knew why Y/N was keeping her distance right now—she had mentioned it once before when they were curled up in bed after Harry asked her to be put down as a co-host for the party, that this success was his and his alone. That she was here at the end and she wanted it to be all his. She was here to support him and give him kisses after, but it was all his.

“10, 9, 8.” This was it. It was Harry’s debut album, his first solo record. It was weird for the rest of the guys to not be here when an album dropped. Usually, they were all standing together with bottles of champagne, ready to celebrate with one another.

“7, 6, 5, 4.” And Harry didn’t know which one was worse and which was better. Maybe they were both equally as wonderful, because he had other friends here to stand by his side. Jeff, Sarah, Mitch, Adam. James, floating around somewhere. His mum and sister tried to be here but Gemma got sick and Anna wanted to stay behind to take care of her.  

“3, 2,” He had Y/N. He had Y/N’s excited expression, her wide eyes and flushed cheeks, the look of pride on her face that he treasured.

“1!” But this was his, his success, his win. With the first notes of the album playing in the room, he popped the bottle of champagne and with the bubbles running down the side of the bottle, he took a long swig.

Cheers went up around him, his best friends celebrating his biggest success of his career thus far, one he’d fought long and hard for. One he was immensely proud of and he hoped he would always look back on fondly. And the sound of his album blaring in his house’s sound system—the sound of Meet Me in the Hallway, it brought him to tears.

“Aww, man,” Adam brought him into a hug, patting Harry softly on his back. “Y/N! Come here!”

Y/N was there in an instant, wrapping Harry up in her arms, his head falling onto her shoulder, sobs wracking his body as they stood there. He didn’t even care that his friends were all there witnessing him crying into his girlfriend’s shoulder, he was just so overwhelmed.

“You okay, bubs?” Y/N asked, petting the back of his head softly.

“It’s a lot,” he replied softly, trying to find the words. “Happy. But also just…”

Her hands ran up and down his back, rubbing circles. “I know, baby. You don’t need to explain, okay?”

Harry didn’t reply, just tried to find his breath and stop the tears that were welling in his eyes. And when he did, he lifted his head and his lips met Y/N’s, the sound of whoops and cat-calls breaking out around them. The middle finger that Harry raised to them all did nothing to stifle them either. “Thank you,” he said into her hair when they broke.

The feeling of her lips on his neck, a soft kiss, brought him to his knees. “Always.”

And Harry hoped it was true.

While the rest of the party swirled around her—dancing had broke out, James had started making themed drinks, his favorite being the Sign of the Times one—Y/N sat right in front of the speaker, listening to every word of the album. It was her first time hearing it and she knew Harry would probably play it for her later, but she wanted to hear it now. She wanted to hear his pride and joy, the thing that had him beaming and laughing with his friends, belting out the lyrics with Mitch and Adam in a conga line that was worming its way through the room.

And what she heard broke her heart in so many ways.

Y/N knew that music, and much of art, stemmed from pain and hurt. A good amount of it was also about love, but the songs that were some of the rawest, the ones that hit home for most people, were the ones about our darkest moments. Harry’s album was full of them. Heartbreak, heartache, regrets, addiction to people and things. It was chock full of every one of his deepest darkest secrets, especially the women who he had loved before he met her. There was a part of her that knew that he would tell her in his own time about the stories of some of these women—he had mentioned a few when she’d asked about them—and that she didn’t need to push, but there was this disgusting, self-sabotaging part of her that wanted to know every sordid detail, even though she knew it would hurt her.

This was one of the many reasons she had always told herself she would never date a musician, but more importantly that she would never fall for one. Because their relationship, their joys and pitfalls, heartache and brightest moments, it was all fodder for a song, an album, a career. It wasn’t the artist’s fault, that’s how it worked, but that didn’t make it any easier to be the person they were writing about.

Was that all she was? Another girl for Harry to write a song about?

She wanted to be happy for him, to be glowing and beaming for him, but the part of her that she hated, the part that conjured the worst possible parts of people, it was crawling out of her head. It was twisting Harry and she knew it, but that didn’t mean she didn’t believe it.

The album only lasted 40 minutes, but in those 40 minutes the party died down. People had jumped in the pool while Y/N sat by the speaker, they had finished their drinks, they had said their goodbyes, the object of the event passed. Hanna and Jamie came over and gave her hugs, concerned looks on their faces, and told her to call them if she needed anything. When she looked up, the last notes of From the Dining Table fading, it was just her left.

A light from the patio twinkled and she could see the water rippling under the moonlight. Harry.

She left the stereo silent, not cuing up another playlist, and tugged off her shoes, then her dress. Following the pull of the man who had written such a beautiful, heartbreaking, hopeful record, she walked to the patio.

“There you are.” He was floating on his back in just his boxers, which didn’t surprise Y/N in the slightest. The fairy lights they had strung up together were dim in the nighttime darkness, but just bright enough so she could see Harry and all his beauty. “Look bloody gorgeous, love.”

Y/N tucked her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, knotting the hair so it stayed. “Finished the album,” she said, walking to the water’s edge.

“Yeah?” Harry swam over to her, leaning his head on her thighs that rested on the concrete that lined the pool. “What’d you think?”

She couldn’t help the heartbroken smile that graced her features, because she was too tired to lie to him. Exhausted from trying to pretend that she didn’t think about the fact that he could leave her at any moment, that the insecurities of who she was and who he was didn’t catch up to her sometimes. His fingertips brushed at her cheeks and Y/N realized she was crying.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” He hoisted himself out of the water and hooked one of his legs around her waist, pulling her into his wet skin. It was cold against the night air, but somehow Harry was still warm to her.

“I don’t know how to say this,” she said slowly, struggling to find her words.

Fingers drifted up and down her back. “Just do your best.”

She tried not to think about the fact that she was crying on his album release day, that they were having this conversation now. One that sat in the back of her mind when she was alone and Harry couldn’t banish it. “The album is beautiful, Harry,” she started, “but it’s about a past that I wasn’t a part of.” Harry was quiet, but his arms didn’t move from their place around her, so she forged on. “I know that artists write from their experience, and that this album was done before I met you, but there’s this part of me, this horrible part that I utterly despise, that is jealous of them. The women who you wrote about. And the fact that it’s them that you’re going to sing about on stage every night. Does that make sense?”

The brush of his chin against her spine showed her that yes, he understood.

“And,” she continued, voice breaking, “I can’t stop thinking about the fact that maybe I’m going to be a song.”

“Of course you’re going to be a song,” Harry said, his voice soft and sweet.

He didn’t get it. To him, being a song was an honor, but to her, it was a threat almost. “No—it’s that I’m going to be only a song.”

The man next to her didn’t say a word. The chirp of the crickets stretched between their bodies, which were still close on the concrete floor, not a muscle moved.

“I don’t want to only be a song.” Y/N’s voice was hoarse, sobs wracking her body she didn’t expect, didn’t want. She couldn’t have this conversation if she was crying, but she couldn’t hold them in either. It was her biggest fear, the one that festered below all of the others, threatening to consume the relationship she had with a man she was falling for. And falling was the only way to describe it—without any support, a free fall that was utterly terrifying but also blissful peaceful.

Suddenly, his fingers swept across her neck, brushing against her sensitive skin. “Y/N,” he whispered, “you could never be just a song. You’re—you’re like the stars and the moon to me. In that room I could always feel you, wherever you were, and I didn’t want to be anywhere where you weren’t. And maybe this is too fast and too soon, but what I feel for you, fuck Y/N how can you not see how much you are to me?”

He pulled her head so she faced him, his eyes teary to match her own. “Do you hear me? You’re so much more than a song. You’re an album. You’re my life’s work, my masterpiece, a symphony. A song can’t contain how I feel for you, it’s just a piece of a billion I could write.”

Soft as a feather, his lips pressed to her cheeks and then up and across her forehead, over her eyelids, barely leaving a mark but a searing fire in his wake that shook Y/N’s core. “And Y/N, you’re better than a song. You’re my life. You’re here, you’re real, you’re with me. Y/N, you will never be just a song to me. You never could be. Not to me.”

Y/N rested her forehead against his, inhaling his cologne and exhaling her feelings for him. He managed to rip down all her defenses, the ones she had spent years building up, and it was frightening. But then she looked at him, the way he smiled at her, the way he kissed her, the way he said her name, and it wasn’t quite as scary. She hoped he could feel how much she cared for him in the way she kissed him, their tears blending into one as they scrambled for each other. Lips breaking and meeting, desperate for more and more and more. Her fingers gripped the back of his head, holding him to her, wanting to have his whole body imprinted on hers.

“Y/N,” he breathed, “you heard me? You understand?”

“Yes,” she replied softly, “I hear you.” She brushed her fingers through his hair gently, curling the wet strands back. “You may need to remind me sometimes.”

“Always,” he whispered, catching her kiss with his own, tugging her into him, arms around her body in a vice grip.

She lost herself in Harry, him an ocean and her a boat lost at sea. Maybe it was their conversation or the night or the alcohol flowing through their veins, but it felt different. The way he kissed her felt heavier, her moans a prayer, his fingers on his back a weight she never wanted lifted. Her legs wrapped around his waist so she was firmly in his lap, arms thrown over his shoulders, their bare bodies except for their underwear pressed against each other without a molecule of air between them.

His lips drew a line across the top of her shoulder, a fire building in her belly as his fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra. It was a light pink she’d worn just for him and when he nudged at the strap with his nose, letting it slip from her shoulders, she didn’t care that he could barely see it. She’d show him tomorrow morning. He pulled the fabric away and bent his head, licking at one of her nipples and then the other, gasps falling from her mouth like poetry. Without meaning to, her hips rolled over his cock, the thin fabric of their underwear doing nothing to keep the heat of her center from touching his sensitive skin.

He moaned her name, the sound muffled against her neck as he sucked a love bite into the spot that made her keen every time he nipped into it. She rocked again on him, his fingers digging into her skin so hard it would leave marks tomorrow but she didn’t care. In fact, she wanted to have his marks on her tomorrow, she wanted to show the world that she wasn’t just a song, she was his, she was his girlfriend and she made him feel this way.

Hands on skin, he pressed her down onto the concrete so she was lying down, her ankles tucked around his hips, anchoring her to him. When his hips bucked into hers, she let out a sharp cry, the angle brushing her clit perfectly. “Right there?” He mumbled, nipping and tugging on her nipple, laving a circle that left her squirming against the concrete.

“Off,” she whispered, tugging at his boxers with her hands. “Wanna feel you.” With his help, they shimmied off his boxers without too much difficulty and Y/N let out a sigh of relief when she could feel his cock brush against her covered folds. Reaching a hand down, she brushed the pad of her thumb across his tip, a pained hiss flying from Harry’s throat. He was sensitive and Y/N loved it.

They didn’t have a condom, but she didn’t care. She’d been on birth control for years and she knew Harry hadn’t slept with anyone else since she found her way into his life. Plus, she needed him—she wanted to feel him, raw and bare inside of her.

They were going to have sex on the concrete next to his pool, but she didn’t care. They had had sex before and they would have sex again. She just needed him in a desperate, crawling way. When he nudged at her underwear she pressed into him, letting him pull them down her legs without a second thought.

“Condom,” Harry mumbled as she chased after his lips, open mouthed and heavy.

“It’s okay,” she said, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Want you like this.”

Harry’s head dropped to the space between her neck and shoulder, the groan that filled the air unlike anything she had heard before. “Gonna ruin me,” he whispered, brushing his cock against her folds. Y/N whimpered at the sensation, her fingers begging him for more, for anything she would give him. When his fingers brushed her clit, his name tumbled from her lips without abandon.

“Harry, please,” she panted, fingers deep in his hair.

That was all it took. She was so wet from the foreplay and just him that he didn’t even need to stretch her out. Her mouth fell open as he pushed inside, a mewl landing on his lips as he kissed her. Slowly, he pulled out and then back in, both of them groaning from the sensation of him being bare inside her. He felt impossibly close, every ridge and edge of him pressing against her in the most perfect way. She didn’t know if she could use condoms again, because holding Harry to her chest, arms around his shoulders as he fucked slowly, deeply, into her, her able to feel every inch of her, it was bliss on a new level. A sensation she didn’t know she was missing with him.

Her ankles hitched higher on his hips and when he pushed back in he hit a new angle, a groan ripping from his throat that set her on fire. “Can I go faster?” He said with a grunt. “I—I don’t know how much—“

“Yes,” she whimpered at his words.

He didn’t wait. He drew back and into her, pistoning his hips at a pace she couldn’t even describe, hitting that spot deep inside of her that made her eyes roll back over and over. How he managed to do that she didn’t know, but he deserved an award. Fingers grabbing at his skin in desperation for something to hold her together, Y/N gasped and exhaled his name, a plea and a beg and a prayer all in one. Her back hurt from the concrete but she didn’t care, she just wanted to finish, to feel him release deep inside of her.

Then he thumbed over her clit and she arched up, back leaving the concrete as the fire deep within her threatened to bubble over. When he start brushing circles there, Y/N gripped his shoulders like they would keep her anchored to Earth, her body possibly transcending. Harry bent his head and sucked a love bite on her breast, the puncture of skin forcing her head back, unable to keep it together.

“You close?” He asked, littering her chest with kisses, “Please tell me you are, I can’t, I can’t hold on…”

She mumbled a yes as he drove deep inside of her, swiveling his hips in a brutal way that left her hands squeezing his butt cheeks to get him to do it again. When he did, she swore she saw stars. “Gonna come,” she said, eyes searching for his lips in the low lighting. “Kiss?”

Without hesitation, he kissed her, open mouthed and dirty and sloppy and perfect. She wanted every rough-edged and sweet part of him, every kiss and press of his body against hers. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he chanted as he pressed into her again and again, her body drawing tighter and tighter. Then, he pinched her clit and she came, the ball in her tummy unravelling, hips bucking up against him as she rode out her high. Her eyes stayed trained on him as she did, not wanting to miss his face when he came inside of her.

His hips stuttered, release unloading inside of her in ropes that left him cursing like a sailor. Hair wet and sweaty, sticking to his forehead, and irises blown out, he looked beautiful. She held him close until his body settled, shaking as he came down from his high, forehead resting on the swell of her breasts.

Slowly, he rolled off of her, tugging her body into his so she wasn’t on the cold concrete anymore. He was fiery hot and it kept her warm in the cold air. “Can we never use a rubber again?” He asked softly, and she giggled, hiding her face in his neck.

“Don’t see any reason to,” she replied and he hummed with joy. Tucking her hands under her chin, she looked at him with a smile. “Congrats on your album, baby.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear tenderly. “I’m so happy I shared today with you.” She kissed him softly and let him hold her close, not wanting to move even to go to bed because it meant leaving his grasp. And as much as her head told her that it wasn’t forever, she couldn’t help but hope it would be.

It had been four days since Harry had texted her. Five since he called her. Six since they FaceTimed.

He was in London for the press junket for Dunkirk and Y/N was supposed to fly out for the July 13th premiere—it was decided a month ago, the tickets booked and her time off from work already approved. But as the days stretched on and the silence grew longer, she couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong. If she had done something wrong.

It wasn’t the first time he had been away from LA. They had a conversation about how they were going to handle distance when he travelled back in April, before the album came out and he had to fly around and do press for two weeks. That time, though, he handled it well—he called every night before she went to bed if he could, if not, he sent a long voice memo that she listened to when she woke up. They texted all day, him sending photos from dressing rooms and backstage at talk shows, even FaceTiming her so she could meet the stars he shared the nights with.

But this time was different. Since he left he had texted her just a handful of times and it was when he was at his mom’s house visiting home before press started. And then once press kicked into gear, he was gone, her texts ignored, calls not returned. She was trying not to seem desperate, but with the more time that passed the more anxious she got. It wasn’t how this was supposed to go, this wasn’t what they’d agreed on. He knew her fears, the dark thoughts that crowded in when she spent too much time worrying about their relationship, and yet he wasn’t taking the actions that helped her calm down. Even though she knew it wasn’t his responsibility to take care of her brain, it helped to know he thought about her, at the very least.

The morning before her flight was supposed to leave, she called Hanna in a panic. Her suitcases laid open on her bed, clothes scattered around her, tears streaming down her face. She had tried to call Harry again to confirm her arrival plans, only to be met with his voicemail, again.

Hi, you’ve reached Harry. I’ll give you a call back when I can!

Somehow, the sound of his voice made it worse.

“Han,” she choked out when her friend picked up, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Did he not answer?” Hanna had been counseling her through the whole thing, helping her stay calm and sane, as much as possible at least. From Y/N’s lack of response, just more sobs, Hanna knew immediately. “That prick.”

Y/N wiped a tear from her eye and looked at the ticket in her hand. Harry had forced her to accept his offer of first-class, booking her flight through his agent and everything. “Does he even want me there? Should I not go?”

Hanna was quiet, thoughts rolling through her head. “No,” she finally said. “You should go. Even if it’s just to talk to him in person. You deserve to hear it face-to-face, not by him ghosting you.”

“Even if that means I end up in London and he breaks up with me?”

“Yes,” Hanna replied softly. “But I really, really hope that is not what’s happening.”

At first it had been that he was busy, that he would text when he had time, but it had been six days. Now, both Y/N and Hanna were increasingly worried that it meant the end of their relationship and Y/N was simply not ready for that possibility. She had let Harry in—he had begged her to let him in—and he was going to end things like this? When things got hard with the distance he just…cut her out? “Can you take me to the airport?” Y/N asked, sniffling. “If you don’t I don’t think I’ll be able to force myself to go.”

“Was already planning on it,” Hanna replied. “I’ll bring snacks for the flight.”

“Love you,” Y/N told her. Hanna was her one constant, who knew Y/N better than she knew herself.

“Love you more. Now go finish packing and call me if you need me, okay?”

Y/N told her okay and hung up, her gaze shifting to her suitcase. If he was going to break up with her, then she was going to look so magnificent he would regret every second of it.

Eleven hours in the air meant plenty of time to run over her entire relationship with Harry. She had sat curled up in her seat scrolling through her camera roll and listening to Bon Iver, which was the sappiest thing possible and she didn’t care. Y/N didn’t want to break up with him and the photos and the texts and the memories proved it. Her time with Harry had been so beautifully bright, his presence in her life making so much better, from her confidence to her knowledge to her music taste. And she cared about him in a way she hadn’t let herself do—ever.

She had texted Jeff before she took off, telling him she couldn’t get a hold of Harry and asking where she should go when she landed. He replied with Harry’s Hampstead address and the door code, saying there was a key waiting for her, hidden in the garden, an apology on Harry’s behalf for how busy he had been. The words meant nothing, though, to Y/N. If Harry wanted to apologize he would have to do it in person, not through Jeff.

It was eleven by the time her Uber pulled up to Harry’s house and she thanked the driver as he tugged her luggage from the boot. She waited until he pulled away before she typed in the gate code, not wanting to reveal Harry’s security to anyone—she have been mad at him, but she still didn’t want anything happening to him. The door unlocked for her and she slid inside, shutting it quickly behind her. Pulling her suitcase behind her, she walked up the path, searching for the garden statue Jeff had told her the key was hiding under. When she found it, her fingers ran across the ridges as she made her way to the front door.

His house in LA was warm, it was the Harry she knew. But this house felt colder, the design modern, his personal affects not as visible. Although to his credit, he hadn’t been here for more than a few days in months. A few photos of Anne and Gemma were scattered through the front hall, some framed photos of his time in One Direction nestled between them.

“Harry?” She knew he wasn’t there, but the idea of walking into his house without checking felt too uncomfortable for her. She locked the door tightly behind her, typing in the security code Jeff had sent before re-arming it.

Y/N took her time exploring his house. She perused the main spaces, testing out the couches and peeking at his bookcases, studying the art lining the walls. Then she made her way upstairs to the bedrooms, running her fingers along the edges of his One Direction album plaques that lined the walls of his office, the ones from his debut still resting on the floor waiting to be hung. She found the guest bedrooms with ease and she spent a good five minutes standing on the landing deciding if she should go into his bedroom or set herself up in a guest one.

She settled on a guest bedroom. If he was going to break things off, she didn’t want to know what his bed felt like or smell his clothes or take a shower in his bathroom.

Instead, she showered in the guest bath, washing off the plane smell that lingered on her body. She dressed in shorts and a tank top, letting her hair air dry since she would have to just re-style it for the premiere later. Jeff hadn’t told her what time Harry would be back and she was ravenous, so she wandered downstairs to fix herself some lunch. To fill the silence in the house she turned on The 1975, playing the music from her laptop she had open on the counter as she cooked some pasta she had found in the cabinet. As she ate at his dining table, she tried not to think about the fact that this could be the last time she was in a space of Harry’s. The last time she sat on things he had picked out, the last time she rooted through his fridge, past his obnoxious green juices and leftovers since he hated eating out if he didn’t have to. Her fingers brushed at her eyes, trying to stop the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks.

Reaching down for her fork to take another bite, she suddenly heard the lock click in the front door and the security system begin to beep.

He was home.

She slid her bowl away from her and turned to look at the doorway, waiting to see his face for the first time in over a week. And when he appeared, she couldn’t the return the stretched across his face at the sight of her in his house. He looked the same and somehow that was worse. In a nice shirt from interviews this morning, his hair slightly tossed from running his fingers through it, the sheen on his upper lip from the heat outside. He looked like her Harry, but she didn’t know if he was hers anymore.

“Y/N!” His voice rebounded off the walls, filling her heart with a kind of hope that was crushing.

“Hi,” was all she could muster before looking back down at her pasta. An anger rose in her, replacing the hurt that had lingered for so many days. How could he pretend like everything was okay? How could he smile at her like he hadn’t been ignoring her for days, too busy to even check and see how her flight was?

His footsteps were heavy on the hardwood floors as he made his way over to her. “Baby? What is it?”

“Do you want to break up?” She asked, her question hard compared to his kind, gentle, tentative tone.

“What?” Harry dropped into the seat caddy-corner to the chair she sat in. “What are you talking about?”

She pushed away her bowl and looked him dead in the eye. “I haven’t heard from you in days, Harry. Days. I flew halfway across the world for you and you couldn’t even manage to check-in to see if I was alive?”

He flinched at her words, eyes dropping to the table they sat at. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, words barely audible above her heart beating a mile a minute, pulsing with anger.

“That’s not going to cut it,” she told him, standing up and taking her bowl to the sink. “You fucking ghosted me like I was a girl you’d just met. We’re about to celebrate six months together. And you know what this shit does to me.”

And he did. She could see in his eyes that he knew he was in the wrong, and yet he was quiet. “I was busy.”

“So was I! But I still found two seconds to text you asking how it was going, I found fifteen minutes before bed to call you, and I kept trying even though you couldn’t even manage to reply to me. You’re not that busy, Harry.”

He stood too, walking over to where she stood in his kitchen so that he was a few paces away from her. “I was in and out of interviews from morning to night and when I wasn’t, I was with the cast who I haven’t seen in almost a year. And when I wasn’t doing that Jeff was harassing me about tour details or I was sleeping. I’m sorry if my schedule didn’t allow me to talk to you at every second of the day, Y/N, but this is a huge moment for me and I had to focus on that.” His words were measured, but she could feel the tension rising between them, words unsaid bubbling over.

“And your career is more important than our relationship.” She nodded sarcastically, wiping her wet palms on the dish towel and turning to face him. “Got it, heard loud and clear.”

“Fuck—you know it’s not!” His hand ran through his locks and down his face, struggling to get a handle on his breathing.

“Harry,” she said, trying not to yell, “I’m not going to force you to stay in a relationship that you don’t want to put the time in for. But you know exactly what I need from you—I have been very clear. You know my fears and my insecurities, and you know what triggers them. We had a plan for how to deal with this, and you completely disregarded it!” Her voice rose at the end, the fact that he couldn’t even meet her eyes pushing all of her buttons. “Fucking look at me when I talk to you!”

His eyes met hers and she didn’t see the Harry she knew, the Harry who cared for her, the soft, gentle man. Instead, she saw someone who was pissed off and hurt and grasping at straws. “I can’t dance around your fears every moment of the day,” he said, voice spitting anger. “And I’m sorry if that breaks one of your rules,” the word hitting her in the face, “but you’re going to have to get over it because I can’t spend every second of the day wondering if something I did or said has made you think I don’t care about you! You should know that I don’t want to hurt you, that of course I want to be with you!”

“Well, how am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me!” His words stabbed her right where it hurt, hitting her fears right in the heart.

Harry turned, his body facing the counter, fingers gripping the edge of the marble. He sucked in breath after breath trying to calm himself down and Y/N tried to find it within herself to have sympathy for him, but she just…couldn’t. She was so pissed off at him she couldn’t think straight.

“I’m not some girl waiting around for Harry Styles to come home, begging him to never leave me,” Y/N said. She was done. She was done with this fight, with him expecting her to be someone she wasn’t. “I’m me and I’m waiting for Harry, the person I care for so deeply it hurts—you are held to the same standards as every other guy, no matter how busy your schedule is. I should not be expected to fit into your schedule all the time. It goes both ways and you operated this week as if it was entirely my job to stay in touch with you. And I am not going to stay in a relationship like that.”

Harry’s head whipped to hers, eyes boring straight into her. “Are you saying you want to break up?”

Y/N tried to keep her head high, tried to hold back the tears. “If you’re going to do this when you’re on tour, I’m done. You know what I want—it’s the same thing I wanted from this relationship the moment I met you. You’re the only one who seems to think things have changed.” And with that, she stormed out of the room, which was probably petty but she didn’t care. She was so mad at him for his actions and his words that she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him.

Harry didn’t follow her.

At 1 o’clock, a knock came on her door.

“If you still want to come, we have to leave for the premiere in an hour. It’s up to you.” And with that, he walked away, not even waiting for her to open the door.

She sat on the bed, considering her options. Did she go and support him anyway, pretend everything was fine? Or did she stay here—or maybe find a hotel—and leave him alone for the premiere?

He had told her how nervous he was about this. This was his first time on a movie red carpet as an actor and he was freaking out about it before he left, a ball of anxiety that she had to carefully untangle. The thought of him being up there alone pained her, despite how his hurtful words lingered in her head. That she had to get over it as if it was that simple.

The red dress she had bought for the premiere hung in the bathroom where she had left it while she showered so the wrinkles would leave the fabric. It was beautiful—a tiered taffeta skirt that cinched in at the waist, a caged bodice showing off her shoulders. When she had tried it on she had felt beautiful, powerful, as if she could take on anything and everything. She had spent a ton of money on the dress and she didn’t want to waste it.

So she got up, turning on BANKS and set about her hair and makeup in the bathroom, praising Hanna for teaching her how to do her makeup in college. She painted her lips red, in the shade that she adored wearing, and twisted up her hair into a chignon that emphasized her neck. Running her fingers along the skin she remembered when Harry had kissed it, but the love bite he had left behind was long healed. Was she asking too much of him? She wondered as she looked at herself in the mirror. Was he right, were her fears stifling him?

Then she remembered what Hanna had told her. That he wasn’t anyone different from other guys she had dated, and what she was asking from him wasn’t out of left field. Any guy she would date she would except to check in with her when he was traveling and Harry was no different, no matter what his job was.

Harry was waiting downstairs for her, probably having heard her rummaging around in the closet. When he heard her heels on the stairs, he looked up and his eyesight on her skin burned because he looked gorgeous. Maybe this was a horrible idea, she thought as she made her way towards him. She would have to touch him all night, look at him in his tailored suit, gaze into his green eyes as they were photographed on the red carpet.

“You look beautiful,” he said, words gravelly in his throat.

She stopped a few paces away from him. “Thanks.”

He fiddled with his keys, the silence stretching between them. “Thank you for coming with me. I know you have no reason to, but having you there…It means a lot.”

Instead of replying, because she didn’t have words for him, she just nodded. Because she did have a reason—even though she was mad at him, she still cared for him. Despite not wanting to, she still craved him giving her a kiss on the cheek as they walked out the door.

The drive to the red carpet was quiet, the radio playing softly in the background the only sound. They sat on either side of the backseat, Y/N staring out the window while Harry fiddled with his phone. She hadn’t been to London since she was 18 for her graduation present from her mom, and the city held warm memories for her. She wondered if that would change after today.

When they pulled up, an anxiety Y/N didn’t know she was holding started building, the sight of the photographers and the screams from the fans barricaded in. With all that had been happening, she had somehow forgotten what going to the premiere meant for her. Her eyes fell to Harry who was staring at her, trying to gauge her reaction. She had never done this before and he knew that.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he said, trying to calm her fears. “Promise.” It helped. At least she wouldn’t be completely alone. “Ready?” He stretched out a hand to her and she took it, letting him help her from the car.

The second her feet hit the pavement, the screams got louder. Fans with signs and their phones outstretched on either side of the wide red carpet, the word DUNKIRK in large white letters closest to the entrance to the theater. Harry’s hand gripped her as she stood, thankful for his body to help her keep balanced.

“Just smile as best you can,” he whispered in her ear as the car pulled away behind them. “And if your eyes start hurting from the flashes, just look at me, okay?”

Y/N nodded, and with his hand in hers, fingers entertained, they made their way down the carpet. He stopped a few times to take photos with fans and sign cards, but all that time he never strayed too far from Y/N’s side. With his arm securely wrapped around her waist, they stood for photos, Y/N trying to stand up as straight as she could and smile sweetly. Harry was a pro at this, a smile practiced for years, but she didn’t have the same experience. She was just a regular person who didn’t know which side was her bad side and had her eyes closed in half her photos.

The cameramen screamed questions at them, about their relationship, if they were married. They’d never quite publicly announced their relationship, Harry preferring to keep his private life private, so this was the first time they’d ever even publicly been out as a couple. And for it to be like this…Y/N hated it. She wanted to stand there and be utterly infatuated with Harry like she usually was, but this time her spine was rimrod straight, trying to keep her emotions in check. It was awkward, the way he tentatively touched her body, not wanting to overstep but also wanting to present the aura of normalcy.

Then they took a few steps and rotated to another set of cameras and Y/N understood what Harry had meant about her eyes hurting from the flashes. She turned her head to him and he found her eyes, giving her a wide smile meant just for her. Without thinking about it, her hand pressed to his suit right over his heart, the soft material of his suit jacket butter under her fingers. Then, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, softly and sweetly and to most it wouldn’t have meant much. But to Y/N, it was the first time he had kissed her since she’d seen him. And the feeling of his lips on her skin lingered, a tingle moving through her body. Her hand gripped his back a little tighter and he just kept smiling at her, utterly entranced by her eyes.

Their bodies had betrayed them. To anyone who looked, they would have seen perfectly fine, not that they had been fighting only two hours ago. But they knew the reality, and this moment, their bodies close together and emotions running through them without being able to stop it, it made it clear that neither of them wanted to break up. They would just have to find a way to move through it.

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NEXT CHAPTER COMING JULY 11TH @ NOON CST