#ESSENTIALLY. send in shit! please!!!!!!!!!

[bobabep]

taking drawing reqs btw.... for the fandoms in my intro...

u can also just. send asks/questions in. thats nice too

[nyanbinary-zack-foster]

"fiction doesn't effect reality!"

Me who was abused using fiction, the person refused to acknowledge how they hurt me for 7 fucking years, and only realized how bad it was this year because I kept telling myself it wasn't that bad because it didn't actually happen:

[mahgyu]

Choso smut + N$FW audio

• minors do not interact! 

──── Choso was feeling so strange about receiving a blowjob for the first time in his life.

And even though it was a new sensation for him, it was surprising. Choso had restless hands, unsure where to put them, his tongue came out of his mouth, wetting his dry thin lips. Choso's cock felt heavy on your tongue, spreading the drops of pre-cum that gathered above the slit, his skin was hot, essentially burning at your touch. He let out a short moan as he felt your wet silky tongue moving slightly under the head of his penis. You used your hands to anchor yourself, your nails leaving crescent moons on the surface of his thick muscular thighs as you gripped him.

On impulse, Choso entered your flexible mouth with more force, the sudden act causing you to gag, which immediately made Choso concerned when he noticed.

But you were quick to reassure him, smiling wickedly at him while still holding him in your mouth. You then moved your fingers down to his heavy balls, caressing them firmly, eliciting a sudden moan from Choso.

"So you're the type who enjoys choking games, Cho? What a dirty boy you're proving to be, huh?" You tease, smiling even wider when you notice him shrinking back shyly. You resume sucking him, this time faster and squeezing him harder.

"N-no, I didn't mean to do t-that, shit, please, slower" He tries to explain as he struggles not to reach his limit yet. The uncomfortable sensation from the beginning was barely present now as pleasure took over.

"Ah, baby, it's okay. You can fuck my throat if you want" Your voice, sounding so velvety while saying such promiscuous things, left Choso mesmerized.

He murmurs softly and you feel the blockage in your throat open up as Choso's cock reaches deeper, but this time slowly. Your mouth gradually closes around Choso's penis, getting tighter for him with each second as he settles shakily into you.

And Choso settled into your little mouth, moaning louder as he felt your throat around him, pushing himself into you until your nose bumped against his pelvis. His head tilted back and eyes tightly shut, his shoulders rising and falling erratically as he frantically tried to control his breathing.

"A-ah, that's it, so deep" Choso says hoarsely, now allowing himself to stroke your hair. You murmured in acknowledgment, running your nails along his thighs, sending shivers down his skin. Choso's breath caught when your throat vibrated around him, causing you to shift position as your pussy became uncomfortably wet, craving touch.

Choso's grip on your hair tightened, now using it to guide your head down rather than having to push into you. His brows furrowed, lips parting in a soft moan as he guided your mouth up and down along his shaft. Your tongue tracing the veins that slightly protruded on his skin, the salty taste of pre-cum coating your mouth entirely. Drool accumulated at the back of your throat and dribbled from the corners of your mouth each time Choso entered or withdrew. You sucked the saliva and pre-cum that flooded your mouth, causing him to feel your throat tighten around his cock every time you swallowed.

"I knew you liked this, you pervert " You tease again, amused and breathless, while Choso, in turn, has his lips curling into a small satisfied smile as he drifts further into his own pleasure.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Finally, Choso's version!! (I think this needs to be turned up a bit more to be heard better)

Which one do you suggest should be next?

Your interaction is very important to me, reblogs and comments are always welcome 🫶🏻💕

[hitomisuzuya]

Husband!scaramouche helping treat his wife’s pregnancy cravings (him)!!

Also I hope you’re doing okay, sometimes your captions are a bit on the sadder side but i want u to know plenty of people love ur work.

husband!scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. breeding kink.

aww thank you very much 🥺 i appreciate that. i am a little tired but doing okay❤️

the moment you felt your husband's cock start to stretch your weeping pussy apart, you wrap a leg around his waist and squeeze. a satisfied shiver curls up your spine as his cock sank inside you almost all at once.

"fuck, you are insatiable," scaramouche groans shakily. he certainly wasn't complaining. your earliest pregnancy craving wasn't any kind of food. it was him, and his cock. you crave it like you need air, twice as much as already did.

what kind of man would he be if he didn't help his delicate wife's pregnancy cravings?

he salivates over your developing pregnancy body. the swelling of your stomach, the engorging of your breasts. your body is awfully busy preparing for the birth of his child.

and he couldn't get enough of it.

"i can't help it," you moan, tilting your head up as he settles himself on top of you. "i crave you. i crave your cock. inside of me," you said, giving his lips quick kisses in between your words, "all the time."

his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head as you drop your leg and rock your hips up. pregnancy has made you twice as sensitive. it didn't take much for your pussy to suck him in and clutch tight around his cock.

"shit," he hisses, angling his hips, and bringing his cock to nudge into your soft, spongy spot, "i am not complaining," it didn't matter what time it was, if his wife wants his cock inside her, then damn it he would be a fool not to deliver.

"ah gods, fuck me, please," you moan, hungry desperation welling in your eyes, "hard, and deep," your pleas make his cock pulse harder inside you, feeling every rub as he drags it between your sensitive walls.

scaramouche is already setting a pace as he sits up, his fingers slippery on your throbbing clit. he practically sees your body melt into the mattress the deeper he sheathes himself inside you. "i gotta keep his pretty pussy bred," he gives your clit a few taps, sending a volley of moans to sound from you.

he chuckles hearing you begin to whimper. "look at you, you are shaking," he drinks in the sight of your body twitching in pleasure, your legs spread wide for him.

he knows his day of consistent fucking are essentially numbered by 9 months and then some. he certainly was going to make them fucking count.

"feeling good, little wifey?" he teases, smirking as sees the shy blush dust your cheeks. he gives your clit a calculated pinch, making you squeeze extra tight on his cock.

you writhe on the bed, drooling as your orgasm built up tighter. his fingers on your swollen clit quake your thighs. "yes! yes it feels so good!" drool trickles from the corner of your mouth as your eyes haze over. "let me give you more babies," you start to babble, your sensitive body is becoming fast overwhelmed. "lots and lots of babies."

his cock empties inside you at your words. "don't you worry, as soon as i can fuck another one into you, i will," he said this with such a purpose that it made your pussy throb.

his fingers on your clit strokes your orgasm into washing over you. "that's my good girl, cum nice and hard, so you can take all of mine inside you," he groans, stroking your thigh encouragingly.

you look up at him with a cloudy, fucked out expression in your eyes as he pulls out. "again, please," you insist.

[spockiguess]

Same anon as before, with the fic idea

This feels like a younger doctor thing (so John Carter) to me, but it could work for Robby too

Rubber gloves. The rubber gloves that medical staff put on before touching patients? Those. John/Robby just teasing/fingering you over and over again while wearing those

Thoughts?

The Gloved Beast

Summary: While helping a patient, you and John get into some workplace flirting. You don't exactly realize just how much your seemingly innocent comments would set the new doctor off.

Pairing: Dr. John Carter x FEM!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Overstimulation, Mentions of Injuries/Gore

A/N: So, literally like fifteen minutes after I received this request, I got to work on this fic. I wrote the first 1,500~ words last night, got too tired to continue, then wrote the other 1,300~ words this morning. This request was so effing good, it got me so effing excited, I was like, "Holy shit!!!!! I need to do this right effing meow!!" Thank you so much Anon for this request, and please, if anyone else has a request for any Noah Wyle characters, send it!!!!! I'm so excited!!!! Also, sorry for the stupid title, I'm going back to my roots.

It–your current situation, that is–started with a simple, clean conversation. Nothing more. The conversation would have originally been classified as wholesome, even. What happened, though, was that Dr. John Carter, your boyfriend of about a month, had sustained a gratefully shallow cut while helping an overwhelmed father who found himself pushed through a window’s toy display just a week out from Christmas. The father was desperately searching for the season’s newest Super Soaker, a bright neon orange and chartreuse, just as the rest of Chicago was that evening. Apparently, no one had thought to check the store’s displays until the father snuck past a disgruntled worker and set off a whole tragic event that actually landed a couple of other parents in Cook County General Hospital, as well. 

What happened then, to credit the father’s recollection, is blurry. All he can remember from then on is ending up on an ambulance’s gurney with a thousand or so pieces of glass sticking out of his puckered skin, give or take. Once he arrived at Cook County, it was your job as one of the hospital’s essential nurses to painstakingly pick out every little shard. Dr. Carter had come in and out of Exam Room One through the entire process, checking in on your progress, and not so subtly trying to spend as much time with you as he could. Since your relationship was so new and shiny, you acted like lovestruck teenagers around each other. 

Eventually, it was time to stitch up the dedicated father, him and his thousand cuts. Luckily for you, Dr. Carter had just finished up with a hectic shootout in Trauma One and Two, so he was able to graciously extend his hand, literally, and patch the parent up. Carter had gone so far as to lay said hands over-top yours, in an equally unsubtle attempt to coach you through the procedure. You were somewhat ashamed to admit that the maneuver actually worked on you, forcing an embarrassing giggle out of you. 

John asked what got you so giggly, rich coming from him in the awkward position John took up just to be near you, but even then, you quietly admitted, “Well, you’ve got nice hands, John.”

The confession took the newfound doctor off guard, which earned you a slightly higher-pitched, “Well, thank you,” before he continued with a choked-off cough, “Is that–is that a thing?”

You snorted, handling the needle with ease despite John’s stubbornness to keep his hands on yours, “What do you mean ‘is that a thing?’”

John shrugged, “I’ve heard it from the other nurses. That women like hands, or something.” Then, John muttered out a lame excuse for a teaching moment with the particular stitch you just pulled. 

“Ah, the cat’s out of the bag, I guess,” donning a vaguely wizard-like voice, you continued, “Our greatest secret revealed! Curses!” 

Carter snorted, too, before his voice suddenly deepened and he leaned in closer, his lips just a few inches away from your ear, “So, you like my hands?” Just to be a problem, Carter flexed the muscles in his hands, showing off the various veins through the thin layer of his crisp, latex gloves. This is when the conversation veered off of the nearest cliff into the dangerous waters of workplace flirting.

Trying to retain an air of neutrality, you confirmed John’s suspicions, “Oh, sure. They’re strong, and quite large, too.”

John huffed out a haughty ‘heh,’ your answer only further fueling his undoubtedly enormous ego, but you didn’t mind. No, you were stuck in this fast sinking car, so why not plunge yourself deeper into unprofessionalism?

“The gloves only make them look better, too.” John’s breath caught in his throat, momentarily causing him to choke as his head struggled to reel from your brazen teasing. 

Unfortunately, your poor bedside manner was now too much for the poor father you were attempting to help. He groaned, palming his face with a free hand, “I get that you’re kids, but shuddup, for the love of God.”  That all but ended the conversation in its tracks, the car now being towed out of the ocean and back onto unforgiving land. 

The father’s plea didn’t necessarily end your situation, though. No, it was only the beginning of a cruel test of fate set upon you by the higher beings of this world, because once John Carter found himself struck with a stupid idea, he was determined to see it through. 

So, that’s how you ended up locked in a storage closet with one Dr. John Carter, who was eager to find out more about this secret, shared female obsession. 

With your back against an entire case of medical supplies, John’s closeness nearly suffocated you in the tight space, but the way he was holding the back of your head while you shared a steamy kiss made you care a little less. His mouth was slow, but aggressive, like you had all the time in the world. The kiss was full of passion and drew your breath from you even more, while Carter’s hands on your hips forced your plain, white panties to be just that more soaked from the sweet friction they provided to your balmy skin. It made you hot, unbearably so. 

You had to take a short moment to separate–to gather your breath and yank your similarly plain, baby pink tee over your head while Carter’s hands devoured your body further, a single bead of saliva still keeping the two of your mouths connected. Once his hands made contact with the soft lace of your matching, white bra, your mouths met again. 

This time, you allowed yourself to moan into the kiss, now past the point of caring for whoever might hear you outside of these tight walls. Carter met you in tandem, moaning too when your tongue pressed against his. The shared moment was wet and heavy, making the air feel like weighted lead in your chest whenever you dared to steal another breath. It was perfect, this little evening rendezvous, you didn’t think it could get much better. 

But then, Carter parted from you and this wicked smile dawned on his face, wholly unlike the usually adorable demeanor he had on most days. You had seen this smile before, though, it only crossed his complexion when he wanted to get into trouble. A very wicked smile, indeed. 

“Do you want me to put some gloves on?” John asked with nothing but a whisper. You stalled, undeniably shocked at his words.

Still, the idea excited you greatly, “Really? You’d do that?” 

John nodded, already teetering forward to attack a box of gloves just behind your head, ripping the contents out onto the shelf and floor. While John grabbed a pair, you laughed, now aware of the sound you two were producing.

You shushed your boyfriend, trying to urge him to be a little quieter, but he was solely focused on getting the pair of rubbery gloves on his perspiring hands, which proved to be a difficult feat. Carter ripped the first glove attempting to yank the garment on, and he lost the other due to pure excitement coursing through his veins. 

It took an extended period of time for him to finally win the battle against another pair of slippery, combative gloves, but it didn’t dull your shared anticipation as you finally got to gawk at his covered hands. The rubber shone under the bright, fluorescent bulb that hung above your heads, and you took the opportunity to grasp one of Carter’s hands in yours, your fingers exploring the material in a new light. 

Again, John flexed his hands, obviously preening under the close attention. You didn't mind one bit, you were happy to finally indulge this fantasy with a guy you were totally head over heels for. And John seemed happy to indulge, too, with public sex being a not-so-secret fantasy of his. This was the perfect combination of time and place, something you hadn't seen quite yet with the doctor.

Most of these meetings hadn't even gone past some heavy petting in empty exam rooms, but the deciding forces that be turned your fate to a destination most unknown. It made you a little giddy, to say the least. 

Especially when Carter brought his hands to your breasts, again, feeling the mounds of plush flesh through another, added layer. The cold latex stuck against your chest every time his hands moved from one spot to the other, forcing a shiver to run down the base of your spine. Goosebumps prickled on your skin from the touch, which John bravely tamped down with warm kisses, in reality only reigniting the bumps further. 

Soon, Dr. Carter worked his way downwards, stoking a great fire with every kiss he planted on your skin. When he found himself kneeling before you, he anchored his fingers in the belt loops of your pants and tugged. Your simple, cerulean blue jeans came down easily, as you decided against a belt that morning. John smacked kisses against the expanse of skin just below your navel while he helped you out of your pants, his hands immediately flying to the swell of your ass when they finally came off. 

There, he groped and squeezed, the off-white material of the gloves still cool to the touch and awakening embarrassing reactions out of you. You moaned as John moved his hands from your ass to the front of your midsection, ghosting his palms along the peaks and valleys of your body. Now, you were getting hotter by the minute, and Carter’s reluctance to help quench that flame only stoked the heat more. It was when Carter hooked a finger on either side of your underwear that you became antsy. 

You whined when John didn’t move even a single inch from those spots, just keeping his fingers firmly in place while he continued to kiss all over the front of your body. “C’mon, John, we don’t have much time,” you said, out of breath. 

Carter removed his face from the enveloping heat of your upper thighs to say, “I’m just trying to commit all of this to memory. You can’t fault me for wanting that.” 

When John got in a teasing mood, you knew you’d stay on the precipice of pure pleasure for a long time, your nerves building and building until they couldn’t hold out much longer. “But what if someone tries coming in? This’ll be over before anything actually happens.” 

Carter looked up at you, his big, brown eyes reflecting the white light from above while he sports a sly smile, “Are you saying that nothing is happening right now?” 

You huff, threading your hands through John’s hair and itching his scalp, a sure-fire way to get the young doctor riled up, “No, of course not, I just…”

“‘You just’ what? Tell me what you need,’ Carter breathed against your lower stomach, massaging your thighs. 

Your stomach flip-flopped with arousal, you were too far gone to worry about being honest or not, “I need you, John. I need you to touch me more.”

John continued to press white-hot kisses to your skin, “Where exactly do you need me to touch you? Gotta use your words.” 

Again, you whined, the sound high and reedy in your throat, “Aw, John, don’t do that to me.” 

“I’m not doing anything, just asking you to be clear with what you want.” John could be a real cocky shit sometimes, but it always got you worked up. Maybe that’s why Carter only acted like this when he was with you in these intimate moments, he knows how much it affects you. 

You couldn’t work up the nerve to say what you really wanted, but you could show John. So, you grabbed John’s hands and led them to your clothed cunt, bucking your hips when you finally felt the cool rubber situate itself there. Carter gazed up at you again, awestruck, before finally leaning in and touching along the fabric of your panties. 

Carter’s thumb swept along the curves of your cunt, right along the middle of your folds, before pressing against the bud your clit, hidden beneath the fabric. Your hips bucked again, entirely of their own volition, and you tried to keep any wanton noises from escaping you in this particularly vulnerable moment. 

John kept this up for a couple of minutes, just teasing you through the layers of fabric and latex, the sensation wholly new to you. Unfortunately, you couldn’t keep the noises down for long when a loud, shrill whine escaped the confines of your throat. John only laughed, now hooking his free hand back under the waistband of your panties while his thumb continued to alternate between pressing against your clit and sweeping along your folds. 

You didn’t know if John could feel how wet you were through the gloves, or if he just hadn’t mentioned it yet, but you were beginning to sport a puddle in the gusset of your underwear and you were begging God for John to do something about it. 

God had seemingly heard your prayers because Carter began to inch off your panties, carefully sliding them down past the curve of your hips and thighs. Once your panties were fully off, you shuddered at the feel of Carter’s gloved hands swiping at your pubic mound, just above where you needed them to be. 

The icy latex stuck to your skin, making a clacking noise every time Carter moved his hands everywhere but where they should be most. You didn’t have to see Carter’s smug smile to know that it was there while your body bucked wildly at his movements. You even began to beg Carter to do more, to help release the growing tension that was building at the base of your gut. 

“John, please. I need more. I need you,” you said, your voice a couple octaves higher than where it usually sat in your vocal register. 

“Since you asked so nicely, I guess I’ll help you out,” John said, his own voice low and full of want, which utterly betrayed the cool persona he was trying to wear now. 

Finally, John gathered a heap of wetness from your core and circled your clit with his gloved fingers, the fevered way he touched you now crumbling your willpower and reducing you to nothing. 

You keened, your hips moving in line with John’s ministrations as he applied full pressure to your clit, his other hand snaking its way up your thigh. Once his other hand found your core, two fingers began to prod at your seeping entrance, your cunt wet enough to take them both at once. John still kept up with his movements at your clit, having forgone the teasing for now. 

After a couple of moments, Carter finally pushed his two fingers into your cunt, curling them inwards as his thumb sped up at your clit. The material of the gloves was cold and smooth against the warm, spongy walls of your core, providing a contrast that made your toes curl in the confines of your Converse. You could see from this angle that John had a determined look in his eyes that would rival many of the other residents at Cook County. 

You nearly screamed with pleasure, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter with the continued movements from your boyfriend below. Your release was so close now, especially as Carter kept moving his fingers and thumb in tandem. 

Eventually, your release came in the form of a rush of wetness from your cunt and a barely hidden scream behind your hand. John was fully satisfied with himself, but he didn’t let up with his movements. 

No, John kept fingering you, even well past your release. The sensations began to creep into overstimulating territory, almost painful now. Still, the pleasure you felt was unparalleled, and you bucked into John’s hand again and again. 

Tearing away from his work, John looked up at your heaving form with self-satisfied eyes, “You’ve got another one for me, don’t you?” 

You nodded yes, feeling another orgasm quickly approaching as Carter pushed past your feelings of overstimulation, the pain finally subsiding. 

After a couple of moments of Carter’s gloved hands working your cunt, another orgasm barreled through you, taking you completely by surprise and nearly alerting everyone in the near vicinity to what exactly you and your boyfriend were getting up to. 

Another rush of wetness escaped you and completely coated John’s hands, surges of electricity shocking your entire being like you were a live wire. John didn’t seem to mind though, he was thoroughly entranced by your orgasm and couldn’t find it within himself to look away. 

Even as you were coming down from this second release, John cocked his head to the side and asked, “You got another one in you?” You didn’t realize earlier just how much your comments would set John off, so you were really in for it.

[popcornpoppypop]

I'm Fine

A/N: I don't know what to call this, a companion piece maybe to Butterfly. It is a oneshot with the same OC essentially. I also can't seem to keep things short and sweet, this one got away from me again.

Warnings: Medical inaccuracies, vomiting, illness, mentions of death, mentions of cancer. I have no beta so, this is edited by my tired butt. Sorry.

Summary: Callie is sick and stubborn. Jack is doing his best to get her to let him take care of her.

Word Count: 3,563

Callie was dying. Callie felt like she was dying. Day four of a flu that would not let up and she was warming up to the idea of eternal rest. She was currently laying in bed, bucket next to her, silently crying as her head pounded a relentless beat against her sinuses.

She let out a whine when she found her water bottle was empty, knowing getting up would make everything worse. She crawled out of bed and onto her feet and attempted to make her way to the kitchen. She made it to the doorway before she had to stop, the room was spinning too fast and her coordination was already not great.

The door swung open and Jack walked in, putting his bag down. His headphones blaring Sufjan Stevens causing him to not notice the pale, wobbly Callie.

“Jack!!” Callie’s voice broke through the music and made him jump slightly.

“What? Oh hell. You look-“

“Do not finish that sentence.” Callie scolded as she hung onto the door frame for dear life. Jack ran over and helped her sit down at the kitchen table.

“Baby, how long have you been this bad?” Jack said looking her over, pulling his stethoscope from his bag.

“It got worse around 1am I think. That’s when the spins started at least.” Callie groaned as he shown a light in her eyes.

“Any vomiting?”

“Don’t say vomiting.” She groaned. Jack nodded and pulled a thermometer out.

“Put it under your tongue please.” He shoved it in her mouth without hesitation.

“Jack-” Callie tried to mumble but was cut off when Jack shook his head.

“I wish you would have called, I could have come home early.” He sighed as he felt her lymph nodes.

“didn’t want to bother.” Callie mumbled. The thermometer beeped and Jack took it out, letting out a sigh that was more worry than exasperation.

“You have a fever, 102.7. Callie that is a bad fever.” Jack said zipping up his bag.

“I just need some Motrin and fluids.” She said squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to keep herself from getting dizzy.

“No. You need to go to the hospital for IV fluid therapy. You’re massively dehydrated. We gotta get that fever down or bad shit is going to happen.” Jack said massaging the back of her neck.

“I hate going to the hospital.” Callie started crying.

“I know, but I can’t take care of this here.” Jack sighed as he got up. He grabbed her sweatshirt and wrapped it around her. He packed her back with her kiddle and ipad and her now filled water bottle.

“Maybe just urgent care?” Callie shivered.

“They’ll just send you to the ER anyway. Come on. You know they’ll take good care of you.” He said holding out his hand.

“I don’t doubt that. I just hate making people work.” She sighed, taking his hand and slowly standing. Jack wrapped an arm around her waist to help keep her steady.

“What if I told you, all those people worked really hard so they can take care of you and they liked doing it?” He said helping her into his truck.

“I’d call you a fibber.” She said.

“Well, it’s sort of true.” Jack chuckled.

“Can you turn the AC on?” She whined.

“It’s like 50 outside. Sure.” He nodded, knowing the fever was probably getting worse by the minute. Jack drove as smooth as he could, every bump sending a wave of nausea crashing over Callie. When they arrived Callie slowly climbed out of the truck.

“I’ll get you a wheelchair.” Jack said.

“No! Don’t take a chair from someone who needs it.” Callie grumbled.

“Baby. You need it. You’re leaning on the truck right now because you can’t stand up on your own!” Jack threw his hands in the air.

“Here ya go Dr. Abbot.” A cheery young man came up to them with a wheelchair.

“Thank you Jamie. Will you park the truck for me?”

“I’m a valet Jack. That’s my whole job.” He chuckled taking the keys from him.

“You have to get in the wheelchair now or you’ll be impeding Jamie from doing his job.” Jack smiled. Callie scowled as she climbed into the chair.

“You did that on purpose.” She growled.

“I’m just taking care of you, you stubborn woman.” He kissed her temple. They rolled into the ER waiting and were both surprised by the lack of patients.

“Was it this, ya know, when you were here?” Callie asked, superstition preventing her from using the word slow.

“It was dwindling, but no. Robby always gets the good shifts. Lucky bastard.” Jack growled as he rolled forward.

“Dr. Abbot, Callie! What’s going on?” Lupe smiled.

“This one has a raging fever from the flu. Can you get her signed in?” Jack said.

“Lupe, is there a law about forcing a patient to get care against their wishes?” Callie hummed.

“Oh, um…”

“Callie, you’re fever is too high to pull this shit.” Jack barked.

“I’ll just buzz you two in.” Lupe laughed. Jack wheeled Callie through the doors and into the ER.

“Dana what’s open?” Jack asked as they approached the Hub.

“Hey, Sweetheart! Oh man, you look rough. Bay 2” She said walking them over.

“That’s how every girl wants to be greeted.” Callie groaned.

“Who is available right now?” Jack said as he put the brakes on the wheelchair.

“Anyone you want. I was going to grab Robby, assumed you’d want him.” Dana said helping Jack get Callie into the bed.

“I think a flu case is below the chief attending, surely.” Callie scoffed.

“I think the chief attending can make that call himself.” Robby laughed as he came around the corner.

“She’s got the flu, fever, vomiting, sweating, dizziness and severe dehydration. She can’t stand on her feet.” Jack stated.

“Right, let’s get another set of vitals. I want to know what the core temp is and get her started on fluid therapy and get lab work going.” Robby ordered.

“You got it Cap.” Dana disappeared.

“I’m fine.” Callie crossed her arms.

“Oh, I don’t buy that for a second.” Robby laughed.

“Baby, when I came home you were sliding down the damn doorframe.” Jack ran a hand over his face.

“I hate this. I hate being taken care of like this.” She snapped.

“Callie, we’re just going to make sure you’re not in danger. Once we know that and your fluids are set up, we’ll leave you alone. Deal?” Robby asked.

“Okay. Fine.” Callie wiped the frustrated tears from her eyes.

“Okay. I’ll take it. I’ll be back in a bit.” Robby left.

“I’ll be quick, Sweetheart.” Dana said as she came back in.

“You know I wouldn’t make you come in if I could treat you at home.” Jack said as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear.  Callie just nodded, not trusting her voice. “I don’t know why I’m being so stubborn.” Callie sighed.

“You’re scared.” Jack said.

“Maybe.” She sighed.

“I’m going to get your blood, ok?” Dana asked. Callie nodded and turned away. Jack took her hand, rubbing soft circles on the space between her thumb and pointer.

“Can you have Robby sign off on some Zofran for her.” Jack ordered.

“Yeah of course. Blood’s all done sweetheart and we got that catheter placed. No more needles. Let me get another temp on ya.” Dana put the thermometer in her mouth and brushed the hair from her face.

“VIP treatment, I don’t remember the last time I saw Dana get blood.” Jack smiled.

“Only for you, Sweetheart.” Dana chuckled. “What was the last temp again?”

“102.7. Is it higher?” Jack asked, his body tensing.

“She’s at 103.” Dana nodded.

“Let’s get the fluids hooked up and bring some cold juice, her blood sugar might be dipping too.” Jack stated.

“I’m going to do all that because I know that needs to happen. You have to remember that you can’t be the one making orders for her.” Dana pointed. “I’ll let Robby know.” Dana ran off to get started.

“Jack…Jack I’m going to throw up.” Callie whined, her breathing becoming rapid and her forehead sweating as she fought the nausea. Jack jumped up, grabbing the emesis bag and holding it up to her face as her body lurched and vomited into it.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Jack held her hair out of her face. She gagged and spit the bile in her mouth.

“Sorry.” Callie coughed and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Nothing to apologize for.” Jack said rubbing the back of her neck.

“That’s so gross.”

“I’ve seen worse. I’ll be back.” He smiled. He tossed the bag into a trash can and went up to Robby.

“Hey, I put in the Zofran order, Princess is getting it ready with her fluids.” Robby said.

“Good, she just vomited. We gotta get that fever down.” Jack sighed leaning on the counter.

“We will. You would not be this worried if it was anyone else. Let me do my job and you just sit with her. Okay? I got her.” Robby patted Jack’s back.

“You suck at pep talks.”  Jack grumbled as he went back to Bay 2.

“You might taste it in the back of your throat, just so you know. Kind of a chemical taste.” Princess warned as she hooked up the IV.

“Thanks for the heads up.”

“Did you push the Zofran?” Jack sat next to Callie, a hand rubbing up and down her thigh.

“Yes, did that first so the fluids didn’t upset her stomach. I got this, Dr. Abbot.” Princess smiled.

“Sorry, he’s a worrier when It comes to me. Just ignore him. He’s not here as a doctor.” Callie shot Jack a look.

“It’s okay. We’re used to him.” Princess chuckled. “Do you need anything?” She put a hand on Callie’s shoulder.

“Another blanket would be nice, it’s freezing.” Callie shivered. Princess nodded and scurried off.

“Feeling any better?” Jack asked.

“Not really, the immediate need to vomit has subsided.” Callie sighed as she got comfortable.

“Good. You tell me if anything changes, okay? I mean it.” He scolded.

“Sir, yes, sir.” Callie smiled.

“Here you go, fresh out of the warmer.” Princess said tucking a warm blanket around Callie.

“Thank you, you’re an angel.” Callie smiled as Princess left.

“You want your ipad or something?” Jack asked.

“I want you.”

“Callie. No.”

“Not like that! No, I meant I want you to hold me. Pervert.” She smiled.

“Likely story.” Jack winked as he got up and crawled into the bed with her.

“What would I do without you?” Callie rested her head on his chest.

“Die, probably.” He snorted.

“Yeah, probably.” She chuckled.

The fluids made Callie shiver, cold in her veins. Jack held her close letting his body heat warm her skin. Dana came in to check on things a few times, smirking and winking when she saw him. He was definitely getting shit later. Callie had fallen asleep finally, her head heavy on his shoulder.

“Jack, labs are back.” Robby whispered. Jack carefully unwrapped himself from Callie and went out to the nurses station.

“What’s it look like?”

“Like she’s got an infection. White blood cell count is high, but I’ve seen worse. We’ll get her on some antibiotics and as soon as her temp normalizes she can go home.” Robby said.

“Okay. I’m trying to be hands off.��� Jack sighed, his fingers fidgeting with his shirt.

“Yeah, okay.” Robby chuckled. Jack shot him a glare as he went back to the bay.

“Jack..” Callie groaned.

“Hey baby. You got an infection, they’re going to get you on some antibiotics. Once that fever breaks we’ll get you home.” He told her.

“My neck hurts.” She sighed.

“Yeah, these beds suck.” Jack brushed the hair from her face.

“Jack, you’re not one.” Callie mumbled.

“What? What did you say?” Jack looked at her confused.

“You can’t be up and down.” She stumbled over her words.

“Callie, can you tell me where you are?” His brows knitted together in concern.

“Somewhere over there at things.” Her words falling from her lips with haphazard effort.

“Robby!” Jack yelled as he hit the call button.

“I’m not in that…” Callie’s head lolled from side to side.

“Callie, baby, can you focus on me. Can you tell me who I am?”

“What’s going on?” Robby and Dana came running over.

“I’m just…you in down…” Her eye unfocused.

“She’s not making any sense, lost all awareness of her surrounding. Fuck! She said her neck hurt!” Jack ran a hand through his hair.

“Get me the ampicillin and cefotaxime now, I want 50 mg per kg of both. Start the corticosteroid. Whats the core temp?” Robby snapped his gloves on as he examined Callie, shining lights in her eyes.

“Temp is at 104.2, pressure is tanked.” Dana barked.

“Get the cooling blankets out. We have to bring this temp down. I want the lab checking for bacterial meningitis.” Robby shouted.

“Stop, I want…Stop!” Callie whined.

“Callie, it’s Dr. Robby. I know you’re confused, but we’re going to help you.” Robby tried to console. Callie pushed his hands away.

“No! No!” She couldn’t understand what was happening.

“Callie, baby, you gotta let them work! You need to let them help you.” Jack held her face in his hands. Callie looked up at him, confused, before she started crying.

“It’s okay, I’m not letting anything happen to you.” Jack said kissing her forehead.

“Robby, Lab says it’s positive for meningitis.” Princess said.

“Okay, move forward with the antibiotics and steroids. We need to focus on breaking this fever.” He said.

“It’s going to be okay.” Jack kept saying over and over. Callie kept reaching out to him, unaware of herself or who else was there. Jack did his best to keep her calm.

“Jack…” She cried.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here.” He said, his voice strained. Her hand fell from his and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as her body started to convulse.

“She’s seizing!” Dana shouted.

“No! Callie!” Jack was out of his mind, he couldn’t do this again.

“Donnie! Get him out of here!” Robby barked.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Jack growled.

“Brother, we need to work on her, you don’t need to see this okay? I’ve got her! I swear!” Robby said pushing him out of the room.

Donnie dragged Jack to the family room.  Sitting him down and putting a hand on his shoulder. Jack let his head fall into his hands.

“We’ve got her, man. We aren’t going to let you or her down.” Donnie said before running back out to help.

Jack paced back and forth the length of the family room like a lion at the zoo. His body vibrating with adrenaline needing to be released and emotions needing to be felt.

“Will you tell me about her one day?” Callie asked, her head resting on her propped up hand as they finished dinner. Jack looked up at her like she had just turned into a ghost.

“What?” He mumbled, his throat suddenly feeling tight.

“You don’t have to. I just…I would like to know the person I’m sharing you with.” She gave a soft smile.

“You aren’t sharing me with anyone.” He said looking down at his plate.

“Jack. I know better than that and so do you. It’s okay. I signed up for this.” She ran her hand up and down his bicep.

“I don’t want to scare you away.” He whispered.

“You won’t. It doesn’t have to be today or next week. Just, eventually.” Callie rubbed his shoulder where she knew he always held his emotional tension. He let himself lean into the touch as his mind whirled. He looked up at her, those big, bright eyes that made the world seem right. She wouldn’t run, he knew it.

“Her name was Jackie. She was a social worker. We met at the VA when I first got out.” He cleared his throat.

“So you have thing for girls trying to make the world better.” Callie smiled.

“I have a thing for girls that make the world better by being badass and have a smile that melts icebergs.” He snorted.

“What did she look like?”

“She was Mexican. Long, dark brown hair that had hints of red in it if the sun hit it just right. Big doe eyes that always had a hint of mischief in them,” he smiled at the memories he usually tried to ignore bubbling up. “She liked having her nails done, every three weeks like clockwork. Never the same color twice in a row. She said the designs made people open up just enough that she could wedge herself in. She was great at her job.” He didn’t realize the tears were falling down his cheek until Callie carefully wiped them away.

“She sounds amazing.”

“She was. She had the worst jokes, but they made her so happy. She loved telling people even if they groaned at how corny they were. She would play pranks on everyone she liked. That was how you knew you were in, she would lovingly fuck with you.” He laughed.

“How’d she die?” Callie’s voice was tight.

“Oh, ya know, cancer. She was fine and then she got a fever out of nowhere. Went into her regular doctor and they found lymphoma. She fought like hell. But it was just too aggressive. I remember she had been fighting falling asleep and I told her it was okay, just  go to sleep and I’d be there when she woke up. And something in my gut knew and she knew that she wasn’t going to. She didn’t.” Jack rubbed his hands over his face.  “I just can never shake the feeling that I should have noticed sooner. That I could have done something.” He shook his head. Callie leapt from her seat and pulled him to her chest.

“No, Jack. This isn’t your blame to carry. You were there for her, that was what she needed from you.” Callie told him.

“My therapist says that too.” He sighs.

“Weird, the professional who is a specialist on grief and guilt is right about grief and guilt. That never happens.” Callie chuckled.

“I love you.” He murmured as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you too. Thank you.”

The door to the family room opened and Robby walked in. Jack didn’t stop pacing, he felt like he would break if he did.

“Jack she’s stable. Seizing has stopped. Fever is still high but it’s going down, she’s okay.” Robby said, trying to calm his friend down.

“How long was she seizing?”

“just under three minutes.”

“Okay. Okay, her fever is going down?” Jack repeated.

“She’s at 102.8 right now. She’s going to be okay.” Robby stopped him and put his hands on his shoulders.

“Her white cells were elevated-”

“From the meningitis, it’s not cancer Jack.” Robby consoled.

“You don’t fucking know that. We should run more tests, maybe do a PET Scan.” Jack rambled.

“You know I can’t just run invasive tests without her consent. Besides she has no indications that would have us do a PET, that’s too much radiation to be using without cause. She’s young and it would effect her reproductive health.” Robby said.

“But…fuck I can’t do this again. I won’t survive it, I barely did last time.” Jack broke.

“She’s okay! She’s stable, it was just bad luck that she got bacterial meningitis in her thirties. That never happens. She’s going to make a full recovery, you aren’t losing her.” Robby pulled him into a tight hug. They both jumped at the sound of knocking.

“She’s awake. She’s asking for you Dr. Abbot.” Donnie said.

“Okay. I’ll be right there.” Jack took a deep breath, wiping his face on his sleeve.

“I’m putting you in for a few days off.” Robby told him.

“I’m fine.”

“You aren’t. Besides she’s going to need looking after. You’re mind is going to be focused on her and nothing else anyway. As it should be.” Robby gave his shoulder a pat and left.

Jack made a B-line to bay 2. Pulling the curtain back and seeing Callie awake made his chest loosen just a touch.

“Hey, baby. You fucking scared the shit out of me.” Jack smiled.

“Got to keep you on your toes.” Callie croaked, her voice hoarse.

“You’re going to be okay.” He said, brushing the hair from her face.

“Yeah, you can’t get rid of me that easy.” She smiled.

“Never leave me. I can’t breathe without you now.” He leaned his forehead against hers.

“As long as it’s up to me, I’m staying right here with you.” She caressed his cheek.

“Sorry to interrupt, but they are coming down to bring you upstairs for overnight monitoring.” Robby smiled.

“Overnight? Oh man.” Callie sighed.

“You had a seizure Callie, we don’t take those lightly. It’s just for one night. Jack can stay with you the whole time. They’ll do repeat labs and if the fever is gone you’ll be out of here tomorrow.”

“Thank you for taking care of me, Robby.” Callie smiled.

“Of course. It’s our pleasure.” He smiled.

“I told you we like this shit.” Jack said.

“Oh please.” Callie chuckled.

[rueclfer]

Fake Dating // Bakugou

a/n: hi all, i am back from the dead with this shit that took me DAYS to finish bc my brain is def not used to writing anymore. pls enjoy and maybe keep a look out for PART 2 if people want it !

You stare at your phone in disbelief. The audacity he had to tell you where to go, how to dress, and to essentially perform in front of everyone for him. Of course this was a mutually beneficial agreement, but at least you only dragged him along to your family functions sparingly.

You two had come to this agreement early last Winter when family members kept pestering you about potentially finding a love interest at your new University, and for him when he couldn't shake off all of the romantic confessions from the students in the other classes.

No one else knew about your arrangement. What made it so much more unbearable was the fact that you shared the same cohort and friend group, so it was a constant facade whenever you're in each other's presence with the others around.

You felt a bit awkward coming to the party alone, and a few hours late. You could hear the bass thumping through the door from the front yard, and from the looks of it, there were far more people than you expected, but on the bright side, it'll be easier to be invisible within the crowd than have to hold up this facade all night.

You approached the front to see Jirou catching a breath of fresh air. She had a drink in one hand and her other interlocked with Momo's

"Are you guys already tapping out?" You asked, taking the steps up the porch.

"Y/N!! For a second I thought you weren't going to make it!" Jirou says, releasing Momo from her grasp and giving you a big hug. "I'm so happy you're here."

"Can't blame me for always being fashionably late” You embrace her back.

"Better now than never." She drunkenly chuckles “Bakugo’s been a moody bitch all night please go contain him”

“Are we surprised?” You roll your eyes and laugh. “Where are you two off to?”

"I'm gonna take Momo out for some air and to maybe vomit, but go inside and I'll find you later!"

“I love you Y/N!! Take a shot for me!!” Momo slurs and blows you a kiss as Jirou drags her away.

"I love you too, Mo! I'll catch you guys inside."

Once you stepped foot inside, it felt like the air from your lungs were instantly replaced with the thick fog of weed and cigarette smoke. It was suffocating, but all too familiar at the same time. You recognized many of the faces around from campus, but none of which were your close friends.

Before anything else, you decided to stop by the kitchen to pour yourself something to drink. To be honest, you weren't picky with your liquor. As long as it did its job, you weren't going to complain. You grabbed a red solo cup off of the stack and poured in a shot and some change worth of cheap vodka.

Mina has to have some red bull somewhere around here…

You quickly down it and refill another cup to carry around while you look for your ball and chain, Katsuki. You wander around the crowd for a few moments, waiting for someone you knew to catch your attention, but no one did. You decide to take a break to lean against a wall and to send Katsuki a text to see where he was hiding. Before you could even get your phone unlocked, you received a notification from him.

After he sent the last message, you looked up and searched for his meeting eyes. He said he was looking right at you, but for some reason you couldn't find those fiery eyes.

“Looking for someone?” A low voice breaks you from your search.

You turn to see Katsuki leaning up against the wall right beside you, almost shoulder to shoulder.

“Hmmm yeah I am, actually. Have you seen my boyfriend?” You turn to him fully. “He’s tall, messy blonde hair, kind of has a stupid look to his face, really hot though, trust me, and also like a medium build?”

You catch a glimpse of the smallest smirk on his face.

“Yeah? Well I’ll be sure to keep a lookout for him. In the meantime though, can you keep an eye out for my girlfriend? Angel faced, toothy smile, obnoxious ass laugh though, like if you hear honking, it's probably them.” He retaliates.

You both stare at each other in silence before you break character and playfully punch him in the arm. “Shut up, idiot. I don't honk.”

“You do. Like a goose.”

"You're so good at this flirting thing, Katsuki. Keep it up." You say sarcastically.

"It is my job, after all."

He stealthily wraps his arms around your shoulder, bringing himself in closer to you. He damn near was caging you in against the wall, blocking out the rest of the party with his back.

“So what's the game plan for tonight?” You peered up at his towering figure.

“Hang out for a couple hours, do all that lovey bullshit and then I’ll take you home. Don't get too messy tonight either. I’m not trying to babysit.”

“Worry about yourself, lightweight.” You roll your eyes.

“And is this straight vodka?" He looks into your cup with disgust. "Are you mentally ill?"

“I couldn't find the red bull.” You shrug.

“So it's either that or straight vodka?”

“Yeah and? You have a problem with that?”

“Yeah I actually do. It's fucking insan-” He starts.

“Bakugou!” A voice interrupts behind him. “There you are!”

You two lock eyes for a brief second. Just when you were actually starting to enjoy yourself with annoying Katsuki, you remember that you were only here for one reason. Katsuki's jaw clenched as he turned over to lean back against the wall beside you.

“Oh. Y/N you’re here too.” They say in a deflated tone. “I was just wondering if you could give us a second to chat?” They bat their eyelashes.

“I'm not in the mood to chat.” He says, pulling you closer by the waist.

“We’re actually about to go meet up with the others. Catch him next time.” You smile sweetly, interlocking your fingers with his and dragging him towards the backyard.

To your surprise, your friends were actually all there surrounding the firepit.

Denki was the first to spot you. He gasps and jumps up from his seat.

"You're here!" He nearly trips over his own feet trying to get over to you. He pulls you in a big hug, sweeping you off your feet. "Oh my god Y/N I missed you so much I could cry right now."

He was clearly a drink or two over his limit. His cheeks were bright red and he was already starting to sweat through his shirt.

���I missed you too, Denks.” You let yourself get twirled around by him.

“Finally you're back, I’m tired of holding onto your nasty drink.” Kirishima says, passing a red solo cup to Katsuki once he sat down.

You tried to take the empty seat next to him, but he immediately grabbed your wrist to pull you to share his chair. Your eyes widen at his own, as if you could telepathically curse him out. You clench your jaw as you feel a hot flash across your face.

“It’s cold. Stay close.” He simply says.

You nervously chuckle. “There's a fire right there, babe.”

“Do it for me then.” He smirks.

You silently groan to yourself as you lean back into his chest in defeat. Luckily, the chair had enough width to allow you to not have to fully sit on his lap, moreso just a leg slung over his own.

“Try this.” He lifts the solo cup to your lips.

You peer down at the dark red liquid in his cup. The smell burnt your nose. You shot him a weary glance before you downed his concoction, having to pinch your nose right after to subdue the burn. The shock of spicy and tangy residue left your throat burning with every inhale.

"What the fuck is that?" You choke out, continuing to pinch your nose.

"Fireball, lemon juice, and OJ." He smiled mischievously. "Thoughts?"

"The nerve you have to comment on my drink after sipping on this bullshit all night? It tastes like piss.”

He shrugs, wearing a lazy smile as he grips the softness of your inner thigh, with his other arm wrapped around your shoulder, fiddling with a lock of your hair.

You were internally screaming. Usually, there would be a hand holding or an arm around the waist or shoulder, but he was never this touchy whenever you had to act like a couple in front of your friends or even in front of the people trying to get at him.

You look around the firepit to see that all of your friends were in loud conversation with one another- laughing, arguing, and definitely not paying you two any attention.

“What are you doing?” You say low enough that only he could hear. “You're like, all up in my shit."

“5 o’clock, babe.” He simply says.

You slightly turn your head to your right to see the person from earlier, trying to not-so-obviously stare at you both.

“Tryna give them a show or something? You roll your eyes.

“Only if you'd let me.” He whispers.

You felt a chill crawl up your spine. God he's being gross. But you liked it. When you first made your little arrangement, you swore to yourself to not to catch any type of feelings for him, but the more time you spent charading around as a couple, the deeper you fell into this infatuation despite how hard you fought against it or played it off as a part of the bit.

“Don’t kill me, okay?” You whisper, meeting his eyes and forcing a smile.

You turned your head to fullyface his own and leaned in. Both of you were caught by surprise- his eyes widening right before you made contact. You two had never crossed this line before, let alone talked about it. It was only ever the unspoken rule of “don't catch feelings” and “no couple shit when we’re alone.”

His lips were soft and swollen as if he spent the last hour biting down on them. Once your lips crashed into his, it felt like your stomach was turning inside out, and a fire lit within.

It's fine, it's for show. It’s fine, you agreed to this. It’s fine, it’s not real.

You were fucked. You hated him, but you liked him. Maybe it was more than like. Maybe like isn't even the right word at all, but all you knew was that you needed to stop and take a second to reevaluate what you were doing with Katsuki.

In reality, the kiss lasted no more than 10 seconds, but it felt like you had fallen into the fire pit and laid in it for hours. Your body was on fire.

Once you broke away, you two stared at each other blankly, blinking away the realization of what had just happened. You didn't know whether to laugh and slap him on the shoulder, or start crying.

“I-I'm gonna go get another drink!” You suddenly exclaim, getting up and leaving him in his chair.

I'm so FUCKED.

You quickly snake your way through the large crowd that had filtered their way to the backyard. You stop by the kitchen to pour yourself a heaping cup of whatever liquor bottle was closest to you, down a large gulp, and take the rest with you to the bathroom.

Your head was starting to feel a bit hazy from the mix of second hand smoke as well as your drinks from earlier starting to settle in your stomach. Did you even eat anything before drinking like this? You weren't really expecting to have anything more than one drink, but after your kiss with Katsuki, you suddenly feel the need to forget it all.

You were sitting up against the bathtub, wallowing in your complicated mass of feelings, and now fully intoxicated. You let your head rest on top of your knees while you replayed every single interaction you've had with him tonight.

Your phone started buzzing on the floor next to you. You opened the screen, eyes squinting to adjust to the brightness.

Of course it was Katsuki.

You sat and stared at your feet for a few minutes until you heard pounding on the door. Judging from the force of it, it was either a fucking SWAT team or Katsuki.

You grab a hold of the side of the bathtub to hoist yourself up, stumbling a bit while doing so and unlocked the door. Of course behind it was the latter.

He lets himself in and shuts the door behind him, leaning back on it.

You were wildly embarrassed for a multitude of things. You were on the verge of messy drunk, your face was stupidly hot and flushed, you kissed your fake boyfriend and ran away, you're swallowing down your feelings, and now here he is to reprimand you for all of it.

"Water as per requested." He pops open the cap of a fresh water bottle and hands it over to you.

"Thanks." You mutter and drink the water in silence.

"So are you upset at me?" He finally asks.

"Yes."

"And why is that?" He cocks his head to the side.

You were drunk, no doubt about it, but this unserious playful tone in his voice that pissed you off was clear as day. Why were you the only one freaking out? Did he not care? It surely confirmed that he does not and never have felt the same as you and truly did think of your "relationship" as nothing more but a transaction.

You purse your lips and remained silent.

"Because... you kissed me?"

You nodded.

"So you're upset at ME... because YOU kissed ME..." He states once more.

You were on the verge of tears. He loved making you look stupid but this was tenfold now. Not that he was wrong, but you weren't in the mood for it.

"So what if I am?" You choke out, tears now brimming over.

Katsuki's eyes widened, clearly not expecting you to break down so easily after a couple of harmless questions. You steps towards you and grabs your shoulders, not quite sure what to do or how to react.

"Hey hey hey, what the fuck? Why are you crying all of the sudden? Seriously, Y/N it's not a big deal."

"It is." You whine. "It is and you don't even care!"

He finally pulls you into him, letting you sob into his shoulder. His hand caressing your back in comfort.

"You idiot." He says after a moment of silence. "You're such an emotional drunk. This is why I told you not to get messy." He scolds. "I do care. But I won't if you don't want me to."

"I do want you to care. I want you to like me. Not just like me, but like-like me." You confess.

You feel him stiffen under you. Clearly your drunken state had forced you to say the wrong thing, but you didn't care.

"But do you like-like me?" He asked back, pulling you back to look at your tear stained face. "Drink some more water and sober up a bit before you answer okay?" He brings the water up to your face.

"I don't want anymore water!" You push his hand away. "I like-like you and I hate being your fake girlfriend and lying to everyone and myself about it!"

His smile grew, but he shook his head. "Okay angel face, let's talk about it then." He moves his thumb up to your cheek to wipe away stray tears.

"You're so wasted, you may not even remember this for tomorrow. But I think you're the coolest person on this fucking block, okay? And I like being around you even though you annoy the shit out of me sometimes. So stop crying and feeling bad. We're fine."

"But we're not! I don't want you to be my fake boyfriend anymore. I think you're cool too and you make me laugh and feel stupid in the heart and I fucking hate you for that, so that's why we shouldn't do any of this anymore."

He doesn't reply, but instead looks down at your sad face, lip still quivering, makeup smudged around your eyes. His hand continued to cup you cheek, forcing you to look back up at him.

Katsuki leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, letting it linger for a second longer.

"That's okay. We can do something about that when you're sober. If you even remember any of this, anyways. Let's get you home."

He grabs your hand and swiftly leads you out of the bathroom. You wonder what you had just done, whether it was going to blow up in your face (if you even remember the next day) or work itself out? Would it even matter?

[thepagemistress]

Thinking half-thoughts but like... what if, in order to pull Cas out of the Empty, Jack had to leave the vessel behind? I've seen theories on getting Cas out by leaving the grace behind (which does make more sense lore-wise) but stick with me...

They can't get the vessel back or create a new one whilst it still exists (whatever, the logistics aren't the point) and obviously Claire is the only other bloodline vessel which isn't even worth entertaining. So essentially Cas is stuck in Heaven in his true form. And in the beginning, he did try and check in on Dean but it hurt too much to see him so listless and spiralling and not being able to do anything about it so he just went cold turkey and threw himself into helping Jack rebuild Heaven.

Until he feels a barrage of emotions so strongly that it would have brought him to his knees were he to still have any. Pain, regret, sadness, acceptance, hope... a cacophony of chaos and he knows the source immediately. And he knows the reason. Dean is dying. It's barely been the blink of his many eyes and Dean's already dying. And there's nothing he can do about it.

But he could at least be there for him, even if Dean can't see him or know he's there. So he flies down to some decrepit barn to find Dean and Sam. Immediately, he is overcome with the need to FIX-IT. Why should he accept this? Why are any of them just accepting this?? If only he could...

And then an awareness shakes him to his core. The vessel is willing. The vessel has given permission. And Cas doesn't give himself time to talk himself out of it. He'll beg forgiveness later, just as long as Dean is alive.

And so he possesses him. Sam's still cradling his face and crying when Cas speaks through Dean's voice. "Pull him down."

Sam sniffs. Blinks. Frowns. It takes him longer than it usually would to connect the dots. Too long. "Sam!"

Sam starts and makes a grab for a weapon he doesn't have. "Who are you?"

"It's me," Cas says, also not thinking too straight through his own panic and the sudden onslaught of Dean's emotions battering him from the inside. "I can't heal him with the rebar still in. Hurry!"

Sam isn't hurrying. "Cas?"

"Sam, please!"

In a display of trust that Cas will be grateful for later, Sam finally bursts into action, pulling Dean from the beam, marvelling at how Cas keeps him upright. Then he begins to heal him from the inside, pouring his renewed grace into the wound and the rest of his body just because why not when he's already there?

Blinking Dean's eyes open, he finds Sam waiting, anxious. A nod from Cas has Sam sucking in a breath and launching himself forward to hug Dean. Or Cas. Or both.

It's nice. He wishes he could stay but he's done what he needed to and it was time to leave them to it. Shrugging out of Sam's grip, he offers a sad smile as he says, "I'll be waiting for you both. Just take your time about it, please."

It's clear Sam wants to argue but he needs to leave, now. And so he does.

Or...doesn't?

With a frown, he tries again. But still he remains. And Sam is now arguing but Cas can't focus, he's too busy panicking. And Dean is hammering on the little door in his mind that Cas put up to dull the unpleasant feeling of being possessed and Cas tries sending him reassuring pulses that yes, he's trying, he'll be out soon. But strangely that just increases the pounding which take on an edge of desperation until Cas has no choice but to open the door and-

"DON'T YOU FUCKING LEAVE ME AGAIN."

Everything stops. The pounding in his head, the tether on his grace, the desire to flee. The only thing that remains is an overwhelming sense of anticipation. And Sam still rambling about something that is probably very heartfelt and that Cas absolutely could not give a shit about right now.

To test a theory, Cas tries again to exit the vessel, only to have what he now realises is Dean's soul clamp down on his grace, keeping it rooted, nestled inside him.

"You ain't going anywhere, sunshine," comes Dean's shaky voice from inside his head. "We got some shit to talk about, you and me."

And so talk they do. And when Cas says that he's without a vessel and that's why he hasn't been by, Dean tells him that now he does. Just like that. As if he hasn't spent the entire time Cas has known him trying to avoid being a meat suit for an angel. But Cas can hear the eye roll as Dean says that Cas has been the exception to that rule for awhile. He made his peace with that fact years ago. Which explained the open permission he seemed to have.

"So, listen. We'll try to figure out how to get your body back. But, if we can't? Don't be using that as an excuse to not visit, yeah?"

If Cas had the choice, he'd never leave.

A flash of warmth roll through him, reminding Cas that he's not alone with his thoughts right now.

"Well. That'd be OK with me, too."

Cas smiles with Dean's lips. But that's OK because Dean's smiling too.

"...Have you listened to anything I just said?" Sam asks.

[rafey-baby]

hidden 4

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, mentions of murder & violence, a surprise in the grocery store, smut: dubcon, fingering, p-in-v, size kink, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.6k

it’s here! (one more part left!!) hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

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

“A picture provided by a passer-by has led us to believe that Rafe Cameron, the suspect for the murder of a police officer is still on the island and has possibly been in contact with the witness who now wants to withdraw his statement, not wanting to testify in court due to personal reasons. However, the investigation is still ongoing and Cameron remains the main suspect, which means that if you have any information about his whereabouts, please do not hesitate—” 

Rafe twists the car radio off with a scoff.  

“The fuck they’re gonna do with a blurry photo? Unless they find another witness or some real proof, they don’t have shit on me,” he mutters more to himself than her as he yanks open the door and lets it slam closed—leaving her to scramble after his exasperated steps through the grocery store parking lot.  

She doesn’t know how Rafe managed to discover the name of the witness or why a few days ago she sat in his truck parked outside the poor guy’s home keeping watch, but at this point, she’s decided that the universe simply must have something against her peace of mind.  

When she asked him about his visit, he simply shrugged it off with a ‘don’t worry ‘bout it, just had a little talk with him’ which honestly made unease settle into the bottom of her stomach because it was most definitely not the entire truth. Therefore, for the following days, she tried her very best to avoid his intimidating presence as to not give him a reason to get mad at her while he made several phone calls and ‘took care of business’.

However, acting as if he wasn’t there wasn’t the easiest task since her house, despite the cozy atmosphere (before Rafe), wasn’t very grand. Whenever she’d try to find sleep in her soft sheets, his heavy presence in the next room would send a shiver up her spine and erase any prospects of getting any actual rest. And when she’d try to cook dinner, he’d be looming way too close for comfort and make her accidentally drop a plate on the floor. Therefore, she’s not exactly feeling her best. 

As they step through the sliding doors, Rafe is hiding behind black sunglasses and an old baseball cap he borrowed (stole) from her; trying to keep a low profile and appear as ordinary as any casual customer shopping for essentials since he’s practically emptied her fridge at this point. 

“Do you want red or green grapes?” she inquires as she peers down at the fruit. 

“Don’t really give a shit. Jus’ get both,” he grumbles out, seemingly all too aware of his surroundings—antsy to get out of the store already. 

“That’s not very helpful,” she complains quietly, deciding on the green ones before pushing the shopping cart forward with Rafe close behind.  

And she’s all too preoccupied with picking out what she wants for breakfast when all of a sudden, he grabs her face in his big palms and presses his lips against hers.  

It causes her to let out a surprised noise that gets swallowed up by him as he slots their mouths together—her entire body tensing up in response to him pushing her against the shelves that display different types of bagels. 

Momentarily, she’s disconcerted, doesn’t remember the last time she’s been kissed like this; all rough and inconsiderate. And maybe that’s why she’s beginning to feel light-headed—every coherent thought wiped away because him kissing her makes absolutely no sense. Therefore, she doesn’t even realize she’s reciprocating the kiss before her distracted mind stirs awake and soon enough, she’s pulling away with creased brows. 

“What the—”  

However, she’s interrupted by the hollow of his hand plastering over her mouth.  

“Shut up,” he hisses lowly, eyes alarmed and shoulders tense.  

And she’s about to protest before he nods towards a couple of officers a few feet away from them, apparently having just passed them. They’re strolling through the aisle leisurely, chatting freely and not paying them any mind because why would they do anything except roll their eyes at a lovey-dovey couple making out next to the organic whole wheat toast?  

Oh. She can’t believe she didn’t notice them—coming to the conclusion that if she was the one running from the cops, she wouldn’t last a day. Before her brain has the chance to catch up and command her to scream for help though, she feels the barrel of his gun poking at her chest, forcing the desperate pleads to die out on her tongue.  

She stares into threatening larimar and blinks—far too frightened to even inhale too loud. Neither of them move until the policemen have rounded the corner, leaving her and Rafe the only people standing in the bread aisle. 

And he doesn’t think too much of the kiss, simply a means for him to stay under the radar. However, her head turns into a blank piece of paper, not able to say a word until they’re walking the grass-covered steps to her threshold.

“Why would you do that?” she’s fuming while he locks the front door. 

“Was just tryin’ not to blow my cover, calm down,” he grumbles, setting down the grocery bags.  

“By kissing me?” she snaps in exasperation.  

“Yeah, well there wasn’t exactly time to think about anythin’ else,” he seems so nonchalant about all of this, as if he doesn’t care one bit. And she figures he doesn’t because it seems that for him it’s the most tedious thing in the world to consider other people’s feelings for even one second.  

Maybe she didn’t want him to kiss her, of all things—didn’t want him to make the muddy thoughts brewing beneath the surface of her sanity any louder than they already were. Because despite how hard she’s trying to convince herself that him shoving her around and walking around her house as if he owns it doesn’t affect her, it wouldn’t change the fact that something about his dominating presence is slowly but surely making her grow curious.  

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she drops her keys to the ceramic bowl in the hallway before walking towards the living room—wanting to put as much distance between them as possible in order to have some space to think.  

“I mean, s’not like you seemed to mind too much, you kissed me back, remember?” he points out, his heavy footsteps following her.  

“I was just…in shock, okay?” she turns around, voice loud and frustrated. 

“Don’t fuckin’ raise your voice at me,” he warns her, low and gravelly, making her shiver.  

“And if you were just in shock, then why are you blushing right now, hm?” he takes a step closer, too close. 

“I’m— I’m not blushing,” she tries to deny.

“You’re a shit liar, you know that?” he chuckles, seemingly amused. “Bet you liked me kissin’ you, hm? Just bein’ too much of a stubborn bitch to admit that.”  

Her dumbfounded eyes stare at him in silence because she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say to that.  

“Usually not into whiny pups but should just fuck some sense into you so you’d wipe that stupid pout off your face, yeah?” he chuckles, looking at her with something devilish glimmering in the aquamarine of his eyes.  

“You’re a fucking psycho!” the accusation escapes her before she has the chance to stop it. She regrets it immediately when he harshly grabs her jaw between rough fingertips—mushing her cheeks together and making her teeth bite into the gummy walls of her mouth.  

“What did you just call me?”    

“Didn’t— didn’t mean to, m’sorry,” her frightened eyes widen.  

“Yeah? You’re sorry?” he dryly laughs in her face, finding entertainment in her torment. She’s about to apologize again when he speaks up once more. “You, uh, you gon’ make it up to me then?” 

The words refuse to form in her mouth.

“Cause you know what I think? I think this fuckin’ psycho orderin’ you around like a puppy gets you wet, huh? You don’t think I’ve seen the way you look at me?” he finally lets go of her jaw, tall frame towering over her. 

“I—what’re you…” she’s unable to move, trepidation creeping up her spine along with an odd form of intrigue making her respiration grow labored because he’s not exactly wrong.  

“Should we check?” he raises his brows.

“What— what are you doing?” she tries to take a hesitant step back, albeit uselessly when her back bumps against the wall. 

“That’s not a no,” he tilts his head, mocking her. And then he’s pushing his hand into her pants, past the waistband of her panties and feeling her out—fingertips finding the stickiness already there, causing her to let out a surprised gasp at the sudden pressure.

“Huh, look at that. Should’ve known you were a horny fuckin’ bitch when I first saw those stupid fake scared eyes, talking ’bout some ‘Rafe m’sorry please don’t hurt me I’ll do anything’ shit,” he raises his pitch to an overly girlish squeak, meant to patronize her—yet somehow, she can’t contain the whimper when he swipes a thumb over her clit.  

“Bet you’d like that though, wouldn’t you? If I hurt you, roughed you up a little, hm?” his heady breaths tickle her lips and it kindles a blaze deep in her tummy—arousing something novel, strange, unfamiliar. 

“Rafe…” she manages out, head spinning.  

“Tha’s right, say my fuckin’ name,” he’s chuckling as a digit slips down to prod at her opening before slowly pushing in—causing a faint whine to leave the gaps of her teeth. 

“So fuckin’ tight—been a while, huh? Not gonna lie been a while for me too…with all this shit with the cops haven’t exactly had the time to get my cock wet, you know? S’getting a bit frustrating, if m’being honest,” he rumbles mindlessly, too lost in inspecting her reactions to his fingers playing with her cunt to care about what he’s saying.  

She doesn’t respond—doesn’t think she’s physically able to when his thumbs over her swollen clit, leaving her dazed because she knows this is wrong, it’s so wrong yet she can’t deny how good it feels to have him touch her like this.  

“Now that m’thinkin’ about it, don’t think I’ve tried pogue pussy before, you wanna help with that?” his low drawl is nearly hypnotizing—turning her morals more and more hazy by the second before they evaporate into the tension-filled air surrounding them.  

“Rafe…I don’t—” 

“You’re soaked. When’s the last time you got fucked good?” he interrupts her.  

“I don’t...remember,” she mumbles out.  

“Don’t remember? Shit, puppy, no wonder you’re so wound up,” there’s a condescending lilt to his pity, making her whine when he drags his finger out before nudging it back in.  

“The guy I was with wasn’t, um, the best so…didn’t really wanna do it again and stuff,” she timidly admits.  

“You lettin’ a guy who can’t make you come between your legs? Such a shame, but not really surprised those pogue boys don’t know how to fuck—I’ll take care of it though, make you feel good, yeah?” his breathy promises try to coax her to give in. 

“Rafe, I don’t know…”  

“Listen, m’just sayin’…m’probably gonna be here for some time until everythin’ settles ‘n we gotta kill the time somehow, no?”  

“But this is wrong, you—you threatened to kill me,” she reminds him and herself with the remnants of her determination.  

“Yeah, yeah, that wasn’t very…nice, was it? But don’t act like you don’t want this. All m’sayin’ is that you’re the one dripping down my hand right now ‘n really, I’d be doin’ you a favor,” his crooked logic goes unnoticed by her when she slowly blinks up at him. 

“We really shouldn’t—” she’s interrupted by another digit squeezing into her achy cunt, making her moan out at the sudden stretch. 

“Don’t worry your little head over what we should ‘n shouldn’t do, alright? If you’re worried what your pathetic pogue friends might think, I don’t kiss ‘n tell. Can be our little secret, yeah?”

“Rafe, I don’t think we should…” she tries again. 

“Shh. What did I just tell you, hm?” he hushes her with the expanse of his palm pressing against her clit, making her suppress another whimper.  

“Promise to go slow?” she asks without a clue as to why she’s not trying to prevent this. What’s wrong with her?

“Of course,” his conformation doesn’t sound all too veracious when something hungry glints in his eyes.  

“You gon’ let a kook show you what you’re missin’ hm?” he rumbles before he’s pushing her onto the couch and following soon after—mouth sloppy as it molds over her own and tongue warm when it intrudes her mouth, before quick fingers fumble with his belt until he’s tugging on the zipper of his pants, making her eyes flicker down when he takes himself out. 

“You’re so big,” her rounded eyes stare at his cock, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip when she notices how it twitches in his hand in response.  

“Shit, you think it’ll fit?” he wonders out loud before he’s grabbing her hips and dragging her closer with strong arms. 

“I don’t know…” she trails off when he pulls down her shorts by the belt loops before the drippy tip is nudging at her entrance. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” he murmurs, and then he’s tucking himself right into her weepy cunt.

She cries out at the overwhelming stretch as she tries to accommodate to his size—thankful he’s not pushing all the way in yet because she already feels so full she’s not sure how she’s supposed to take any more of him.  

“Fuck, you really are a tight little thing, huh? Relax, yeah?” he grunts before his mouth meets her neck, pasting wet kisses and letting the flat of his tongue lave over the sensitive skin there in an attempt to loosen her up. Then, he’s moving lower while his fingers pluck at the straps of her flimsy top—letting her tits out and taking a puffy nipple between his lips.

“Rafe…” 

“What? You want more?” there’s almost a primal urge in the way he pushes in deeper—forcing a loud noise to tumble from the back of her throat when he begins to fill her up to the hilt. 

“There you go, takin’ it like a good fuckin’ puppy, yeah?” he groans against her neck when her nails sink into his back, scratching downwards, sure to leave marks. Then he’s flipping her over onto her stomach with one swift movement before pushing all the way in once more—fitting snugly inside while her walls flutter around him. 

Because of the new angle, his cock is now poking at her insides as he shoves her face into the couch cushions with each jostle of his hips. And he’s not gentle, she’s not even sure he knows what the word means as he keeps stuffing her full over and over again—making her see stars when she can almost feel her orgasm on the tips of her fingers. She feels so good she thinks she’s going to pass out. 

“Such a dirty bitch, aren’t ya? Lettin’ a complete stranger fuck you like this in your own house?” a low chuckle rumbles from his chest as he keeps nudging at the spongy spot inside her while her loud moans echo around the room.

“Should stay here for longer, yeah? Jus’ fuck this tight little cunt whenever I get bored, hm?” he pants, mouthing at her neck while his thrusts begin to grow lazy.

And she has half the mind to agree.

[madschiavelique]

miguel must have some severe neck pain due him being 6’9 and needing to bend to speak with everyone. so i suggest reader to lay him on his back and ride the shit out of his face till his neck is properly straightened and he is drunk dumb on your juices 😇

oMG anon you're a genius !?!? this is SO creative i'm kissing ur brain

summary : you ride miguel's face until it fixes his neck

content warning : SMUT (18+) minors dni, oral sex (reader receiving), miguel eats you out, overstimulation, no use of Y/N, fem!reader, miguel is pussy drunk word count : 888

Miguel's days always seemed to end with a particularly unpleasant muscle ache forming in the back of his neck. The cause and sole reason for this? His height.

It's quite simple, Miguel was huge, 6'9 to be exact, and few people in the Spider Society were anywhere near his height nor width.

He lowered his neck to look at everyone, feeling like a tower trying to talk to passers-by in the street. He couldn't shake off this feeling, but he was always standing up, rare were the moments of his day where he was sitting anywhere.

One minute he was talking to a smaller spider, making him bend his head to maintain conversation politely enough. In another, he had to whisper to discuss confidential matters in public, making him bend the rest of his body as well. And now he'd just come back from a meeting where he'd spent most of his time talking to members smaller than himself.

And he'd already tried so many things to fix his situation: putting essential oil on the back of his neck and massaging it until he relaxed, putting a hot water bottle under his pillow when he was lying on his bed, or even putting on a neck brace, even though he felt profoundly ridiculous when he was wearing it and kept it on just for when he was in his quarters. He'd even asked you to massage the back of his neck at times, but you weren't always available to help him with that.

It was then, as he was returning once again to his quarters where you were staying, complaining and massaging his neck from his long day, that you came up with a little idea. You told him what you had in mind, and he raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

And that's how you found yourself on top of him, his head on the mattress revelling in your cunt while his face was pressed against your thighs. His saliva mixed with the succulent juices you were spilling for him dripped down his cheeks, and you were breathless.

"Miguel," you protested, "please-" your breath was ragged, your thighs trembling around his face, "it's too much."

Four, Miguel had given you four orgasms in this position alone by now, returning each time, never, oh never, tiring of your taste and warmth. At first you'd ridden him proudly, your pelvis undulating fluidly against his mouth and clutching your fingers in his hair. But now it was he who held your pelvis, preventing you from withdrawing from him as your own hands rested on his.

He seemed unstoppable, but on your side, every sensation seemed to be heightened tenfold as his fingers ran gently over your thigh sending an extra wave of heat through your lower belly. He was parting your folds with his toungue, fucking you with it relentlessly.

"Once more, por favor, nena," he mumbled, the sensation of his voice vibrating against you like that sending electric shocks through your body, a cry escaping you as you tilted your head to the side, disorientated, hoping you'd even be able to stand until your next orgasm.

You were always worried that you'd suffocate him, that your whole weight resting on his face would make him choke or that your thighs pressing against his cheeks would hurt, but to be honest, that's all Miguel wanted.

He wanted to cram himself between your thighs, you crushing him made him feel light after all, so he gripped your thighs and hips, holding you firmly against him as he nestled himself further against you.

He was drunk on you, drunk on your essence, your skin that he could grip, and he was proud to make you come so many times. Your weight was pressing down on his head superbly, and he didn't care if he ended up smothered under you.

His tongue worked wonders, his lips sometimes sucking on your clit, wrapping it in saliva and then kissing it afterwards. Sometimes you could even feel him graze your flesh with the tip of his fang. He hardened his tongue, stretching it out to penetrate you as far as he could, kissing your lips from time to time, and all these gestures again began to tighten the knot that had formed in your lower stomach.

"Miguel-" you whimpered, feeling as if all the words you wanted to say were going to come out pre-chewed and unintelligible.

Your fingers snaked through his hair, gripping it hard to anchor yourself, and he let out a moan against your pussy that vibrated through your entire being. He was pulling the strings of your body and you were singing for him.

The orgasm swept through you and fireworks went off inside you like a supernova, your whole body shaking as your moan rippled through your throat. You suddenly folded in half like a wilting flower, jolting as Miguel laid you back against him, stroking your hair and gently kissing your forehead as he whispered soft, tender words of praise.

However, your suggestion had indeed worked, because just after this pleasant experience, there was no longer any pain in the back of his neck. And from now on, when the accumulation of pain and aches began to make him feel too exhausted, he knew what he had to do.

[b1eedthefreak]

hi im super duper shy and it’s 100% okay if u dont wanna but lowk is it okay if you make a short daryl dixon fic and reader is humping his biceps and being talked thru it like GAWDDAMNNNNN like who doesnt want his sexc biceps ok bai lauf ur fics 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Use You

⌇daryl dixon x reader

summary⌇essentially you’re just riding daryl’s biceps

warnings⌇smut, arm riding??? bicep riding what’s the difference

word count⌇0.6k

a/n⌇i think im starting to lose it but anyways i loved this request and i’m glad you were brave enough to send this anon! love his arms nom nom nom also as i’m writing his an i just realized i didn’t write the talking you through it part anon i’m so sorry plz feel free to send another request anyways i love ya bai

You don’t mean to start it. Not really.

Okay—maybe you do. A little.

You’d been watching him all day, the way his sleeves bunched around those arms, sweat gleaming in the dips of his muscle, and every time he lifted something—God. You could’ve cried. He knew the way your eyes dragged, how you bit your lip every time he stretched. He’d mutter a, “Quit starin’.” but he never actually told you to stop.

So now you’re sitting on your shared bed, somewhere between wound up and unwell, watching as Daryl peels off his overshirt with a grunt. .

“Can I…” you start, your voice quiet, “Can I use your arm?”

He freezes mid-movement, turns to you slow with one brow raised. “Use it?”

Your cheeks burn. Your thighs clench. “Like. Your bicep. Just for a second. I promise I won’t—uh, never mind.”

Daryl just stares. Blinks. Then his mouth curls into the most sinful half-smirk you’ve ever seen.

“Ain’t never heard that one before,” he mutters, voice thick with disbelief—and maybe curiosity. “Y’wanna rub up on my arm?”

You nod. Quiet. Desperate.

He stared at the floor for a second, breathing slow. Then he sat down on the cot, resting his arm across his lap. Bicep angled up. He didn’t look at you, just mumbled:

“C’mere, then. ‘Fore I change my damn mind.”

You climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs, your panties already damp. He didn’t move, didn’t talk—just tensed his arm a little when your thighs bracketed it. The hard curve of his muscle met your soaked heat perfectly. You whimpered.

“Daryl flinched. “Shit. You really—? Jesus.”

You started moving. Soft, slow grinds. Nothing dramatic, just slick fabric dragging against thick muscle while his body sat tense and frozen.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “You don’t have to do anything—just let me—”

The first grind makes you gasp—his bicep thick and firm between your legs, pressing up perfectly into the throbbing mess of your cunt.

You moaned when he flexed beneath you—unintentionally or not, it made your hips buck. Your clit throbbed against the pressure. It was too good. Too much.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, hips stuttering.

Daryl’s hands gripped your waist before he even realized he was touching you. His voice was ragged. “You’re… leakin’ through. So fuckin’ wet. That all for me?”

Daryl groans low. “Shit. That feel good, baby?”

You nod frantically. Didn’t even try to hide your whimper, rocking harder now—dragging your soaked core over that thick swell of muscle, your arousal soaking through the fabric. His bicep flexes beneath you. On purpose this time.

You moan.

“Y’like that?” he mutters, mouth against your neck. “Jus’ rubbin’ yourself on me?”

Your hips roll. Hump. Grind. You’re practically dripping, rubbing yourself raw on the edge of release, gasping every time he tenses just to make it worse.

“You gonna make a mess on me?” he growls. “That what y’want? Gonna soak my fuckin’ arm, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes—please—”

“Dirty lil’ thing ain’t ya baby?” he murmurs. “Get it hen. Get off on me. Use me.”

You do. You can’t stop. You’re moaning his name, shaking, thighs clenching tight around his arm as you chase that high, so wet and desperate it’s obscene.

And when you came, you shattered. Hips jerking, breath caught in your throat, Daryl murmuring “That’s it, baby, let go for me” while you grind out every last wave of it.

You collapse forward, panting, still trembling.

He licked his lips. “Didn’t know I could do that for ya.”

You’re breathless. “Your arms are—wow.”

His smirk grows. “Good thing y’ain’t seen what else I can do with ‘em.”

daryl i’m ready to see what else you can do with em lmk call me

[moralisist]

I read the one where Nanami spoils his spoiled wife more. Can we please get a version of him spoiling a hyperindependent(pathological atp) wife? She's all "I can do this on my own, you go do your work" and shit like that. But our Kento isn't having it because he lives to take care of us?

nanami can’t stand it when you refuse his help. he believes a husband should always stand right beside his wife when she needs him. he’s willing to drop anything at anytime just for you, all you need to do is ask! but you don’t, so what’s a husband to do?

nanami has you studied by now. whenever you’re cooking dinner, he’ll begin making conversation and then slowly easing into helping you chop vegetables, and setting the table. he knows as soon as he’d try to visibly help you, you’d send him right back to his office against his protests.

he appreciates everything you do for him, don’t get him wrong, but he so badly wants to reciprocate that energy.

you guys have had deep conversations and he knows why you are the way you are. you were raised to depend on yourself and not need others, essentially developing a hyper independence. you always feel so bad when someone has to help you with something but it’s comedic that u got with a man who desperately craves taking care of you and all that you are.

“whyre you picking that box up baby? it’s heavy.” kento catches you in the garage trying to bring in the kitchen plates into your new house and starts to walk towards you.

“i got it ken! don’t come any closer!” you’re struggling to hold the box up but you were determined. how hard could it be to bring it to the kitchen?

“come on honey, just give it to me.” nanami reaches for the box and you jerk it away from him. “i told you i got it!” you borderline whine.

“i’m not asking.” he suddenly deadpans and takes the box from u swiftly and you can’t help but give him an attitude as you watch him bring in the boxes so he can unpack. you know he means well but you knew you had it!

nanami likes to show acts of service and he does it as easy as breathing, only if you let him.

“when’s your doctors appointment? it’s this tuesday right?” you both just finished dinner and nanami takes both of your plates up to the sink to clean them.

“yeah, you wanna come with?” you subtly take the plates and begin hand washing them.

nanami eyes you. “yes my love, that’s why i was asking.” he takes the plates and drys them for you, putting them on the rack to let it air dry some more. actions like these were unspoken but common within the nanami household.

he had to learn to navigate your independence and it’s been a journey. he relates heavily which is what attracted you both to each other, but it was in his blood to take care of you.

he didn’t care how difficult you’d be after he handled things, he just wanted to make sure it was handled. he loves his independent wife but he loves making your life easier even more.

[mi-co-uk]

⍣ ೋ MUTE READER X YAPPER CHRIS

BLURB: mute reader / dotty is too overwhelmed and needs chris to calm her down.

WARNINGS: toxic and yelling alcoholic parental figure, arguments, crying, panic attacks.

"she's making shit up again!" her fathers voice pierced through her ears, his tone harsh.

she instantly reached to cup her hands over her ears, the argument showing no signs of calming down.

"leave her the fuck alone! she doesn't have to talk to you! if you payed attention for once in your life you'd know this wasn't fucking new!"

her sister positioned herself in between dotty and their father.

"it's not real! she needs to grow up! its bullshit!"

the need to protect her ears wouldn't relent, but with the flowing of tears from humiliation and the overwhelming conflict, her priorities switched. she wiped at her face, repeating over and over with increasing force as if it would wipe away the embarrassment or even herself.

her sister was persistent, closing the gap and getting closer to their father in an attempt to get him out the room. he grew tired eventually, slamming the door of her room yelling senseless profanities as he stormed away.

dot crumbled closer in on herself, pushing back against the wall to close herself into the space in the corner. her sister was muttering panicked supportive phrases in an attempt to shut down the panic attack - all of which were tuned out from the loudness of her own mind and the sound of her own sobs. she recognised a single key word to break herself somewhat out of it -

"..chris?... call chris?" dotty nodded repetitively.

chris unashamedly rushed into her house, only in luck due to the fact her father was knocked out on the couch, too wasted to be of any threat. chris held himself back enough to calmly open dotty's bedroom door, heart twitching in both anger and sympathy upon hearing her pained sobs.

situations like this weren't new. for dot especially. but after a day of consistent triggers to be greeted by her father spitting lines of pure hatred was too much. she didn't get a single chance to breathe and it had become unbearable.

chris slowly approached her, dottys hands still clammy and pressed against her own face. chris swallowed down his anxieties to focus on the matter at hand.

"dotty?" he whispered, for once essentially speechless. he didn't want to mess up, greatful that he was the one she wanted when she was so vulnerable. but also desperate to do it all right so she wouldn't regret her decision.

upon recognising his voice, dot reached up to wrap her arms around the back his neck, pulling him in tightly as her cries become louder and less restrained. she felt as if her own emotions were dramatic, but once she let herself start sobbing she couldn't stop. she cried for everytime she'd been called weak, a liar, and for everytime she called herself those things.

chris pulled dotty onto his lap cradling her. she rested her head in the crook of his neck and held herself tightly against him.

"'s okay.. let it out.." he whispered before pressing kisses atop her hair.

her cries grew tired, her breaths stuttering as the ache in her chest began to fade. they both held each other close.

chris began gently swaying her, the sounds of her sobs became much more gentle and exhausted as her body relaxed into him.

"I know.. 's okay.."

her body gave out one last struggled breath as the tension in her entire body had been drained completely, allowing herself to give in to sleep.

chris allowed himself to relax aswell, sniffing and processing the feeling of his own tears on his cheeks, the sight of her pain had been gut wrenching. the only ease he felt was from the knowledge that dottys suffering for the moment passed.

a/n why did I do that

I hope yall liked the first blurb I'm gonna go sob in the corner but please send me more asks and requests !

inspired by these two asks:

[compress1repress]

patrick loses a bet w art and ends up wearing a cute lil tennis skirt for a practice match, but it backfires horribly bc patrick is feeling his oats and art cant fucking focus for shit. like hes WHITE KNUCKLING the racket

"patrick. please stop"

"what? this is so breathable i should wear this every time 😋"

[the most deliriously horny hes ever been in his life] "please for the love of god STOP"

tashi walks by appreciatively and is like hey zweig. good form [nice ass]. maybe it gives her ideas and she goes online lingerie shopping. idk i just think his thighs would look good in garters. smudge some eyeliner on him while youre there idk. im just spitballin here boss

Woah. Clearly this got to me bc i received this five days ago and now I've written a 12k word fic that is only a part one. Like this doesn't even get into the eyeliner and garters of it all yet. I took some liberties but hopefully got the essentials :D hope it's okay!!

thank you for this ask <3 the part 2 will be started soon

-> AO3 VERSION -> PART TWO

cw: nsfw, mdni, i think you can tell from the ask what might come up, just general filth, light feminisation, 12k word count

im sure I'll have more to say tomorrow but for now here it is:

“She won’t be back until this evening,” Art calls out to Patrick after hanging up the phone.

“Why not?” Patrick’s laid flat on his back along the length of the couch, taking up a very unnecessary amount of space.

“Lily wanted to sleep over so Tashi’s going to stay for dinner before she comes back,” he explains, joining Patrick in the sitting room.

Tashi had taken Lily to her cousin’s, she had two children, one Lily’s age and one a little older. Usually Art would go too, and he’d sometimes have to play with Lily because she got too shy. They’d send her off with the other kids but she’d come back ten minutes later, pulling at Art’s sleeve and he couldn’t say no. That’s probably why Tashi had even agreed to this last minute sleepover, it’s a pretty big deal that Lily actually wanted to stay over. It’s also why she’s staying for dinner, just in case Lily changes her mind.

Art hadn’t gone because Uniqlo was sending over some outfits for their brand deal, and he had to sign for the delivery. That was the reasoning they gave Patrick at least. Really it was because it felt strange leaving him in their house alone, not because they didn’t trust him there.

They couldn’t exactly drag Patrick along with them to every event, they knew that, and he must know that too, but every time he’s left alone for a while he gets weird. He gets sad. Art and Tashi don’t explicitly talk about it, but there’s a shared understanding between them.

“So, we’ve got like four hours of an empty house?” Patrick muses, clearly trying very hard to keep his face neutral. 

“We’re not fucking,” Art smiles down at him.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything,” Patrick tries but Art raises an eyebrow at him, “alright, why not?”

“Tashi said so,” and she’d been very clear on the phone to Art about it.

“Okay, no fucking,” Patrick nods, a smirk growing on his face, “but she didn’t say anything a-”

“No blowjobs, no hand stuff, and no touching under clothes,” Art cuts him off, moving to sit on the armchair since Patrick is taking up all the space on the couch.

“Well, we don’t have to take our clothes off to have a good time,” Patrick sits up, looking at Art with a hopeful grin.

“No dry humping either,” Art can’t help but snort at the disappointment on his face.

“Jesus, she really thought this through,” he flops back down, sighing, a look of both frustration and admiration on his face. 

“I think she just knows that you’ll be trying to find any possible loophole,” Art snorts, and he can tell Patrick is still brainstorming solutions, “c’mon, she just wants us to wait until she gets back.”

“Fine,” Patrick relents, “but if I do come up with an ingenious loophole, we’re taking it.”

If Art’s being honest he had also hoped Patrick would find a way around it, then he could probably get off now and just blame it on Patrick later. That way Tashi would probably punish Patrick and he’d get to fuck her while Patrick watches.

Instead he decides to exercise some restraint, because he wants to be good for Tashi. It’s not like she was being mean, she just didn't want them to use up all their energy before she got home. Plus, he’s not that manipulative, not all the time. 

Although, really, if he knew for a fact that Tashi would believe that it wasn’t his fault, he’d start riling Patrick up now, get him to think he was the one seducing Art into breaking rules. 

Unfortunately, he’s pretty sure both Tashi and Patrick would see right through him. 

“Sure, but how about we just watch a movie for now?” Art suggests.

“Yeah, alright, movie mashup?” Patrick asks.

It’s this thing they used to do when they were young, a tradition that had come back now they lived together again. If they wanted to watch a movie they’d both just name the first one that came to mind then try to find a middle ground between the two. It was their way of assuring they didn’t have a fight because technically they’d both equally chosen the movie. Some days it worked better than others, and occasionally they named the same film anyway. 

Although, once when they were fourteen, Art had picked A Bug’s Life while Patrick had wanted Weird Science; they decided The Fly sounded like a mashup of the two (insects + eighties science? They never said the method was flawless), which ended up being a little traumatising. Art still has a slight fear of fingernails.  

“Okay, I’ll count down,” Art waits for Patrick’s nod, “3…2…1…”

Art says, “E.T.” at the same time Patrick yells, “Sharknado.”

“Sharknado?” Art questions through a laugh.

“It’s fun,” Patrick defends.

“What’s the mashup, then?” Art asks.

It only takes a few seconds, because they had so much practice, and because this one is easy. Spielberg and sharks, duh.

They smile at each other, both getting it at the same time, “Jaws.”

“That might be the most satisfying mashup yet,” Patrick grins, “but are you sure it’s not too scary?”

“We’ve both seen it before,” Art rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying, maybe we should sit as close as possible, just in case,” Patrick is so obvious.

“Patrick, we’re not fucking,” he warns, again half-wanting Patrick to keep pushing. 

“Fine,” he groans, “just innocent cuddling then, for old time’s sake?”

He guesses that is what they used to do on movie mashup nights, pressed up against each other in one of their single beds. Sometimes one of them would have an arm around the other, because it was comfier that way, and neither of them ever really thought twice about it. It was hardly the height of their physical affection with each other, they’d done more on tennis courts in front of everyone.

Art hasn’t answered so Patrick adds, “seriously, I don’t have a sexual ulterior motive.”

“I know, but now I have a feeling you’re trying to lure me out of the comfy armchair so you can take it for yourself,” Art’s lying, he just wants to see what Patrick will do.

“You’re so cynical,” he gets up walking over, “guess we’ll just have to share.”

“You won’t fit,” Art shakes his head, letting him try anyway.

Patrick attempts to sit in Art's lap but he’s so tall, and the armchair is pretty small. He sits on one of Art’s thighs, his legs curled up the best they can.

“There we go,” Patrick reaches an arm around the back of the chair to keep himself steady. 

“You do realise your entire body weight is on my left leg,” Art complains.

“You want a more even weight distribution? I can do that,” he shuffles, bringing himself to sit directly on his lap, his back against Art’s chest.

Art’s hands immediately wrap around Patrick's torso without even thinking, “I’m not watching this entire movie with your ass directly on my dick.”

“It’s not my fault if you can’t control yourself,” Patrick shrugs, not so subtly pressing himself further against Art.

“I’m not worried about myself,” he bites lightly at Patrick’s shoulder, “but also, I won’t be able to see the screen with you sitting like this.”

“Okay, final offer,” Patrick moves again, attempting to find a position that is less compromising and also doesn’t involve crushing Art with his body weight.

Patrick's legs now hang uncomfortably over the edge of the chair, and when he tries to adjust by resting his feet on the arm, he practically knees Art in the face. 

"Maybe if I try the other side," Patrick shuffles again, on his way to switch sides, he swings one leg over Art's thighs, facing him as he straddles him.

"This isn't working," Art grabs Patrick's waist to hold him there, "your legs are too fucking long." 

Patrick can't hide his grin at the position they're in but he tilts his head towards the couch, "yeah, we're gonna need a bigger boat."

Art laughs, "you know that's one of those misquotes, like it's actually 'you're gonna need a bigger boat' not we're."

"Who fucking cares," Patrick teases, "and if you're going to correct me, you should at least be right."

"It's true," Art says with a little more passion than necessary.

"No, you're thinking of the Star Wars quote," Patrick's also getting genuinely into it, "where Darth Vader doesn't actually say Luke, I am your father or whatever."

"Yeah, that's another famous misquote, doesn't mean I'm wrong about the Jaws one," Art's hands squeeze tighter.

"Alright, let's bet on it," Patrick suggests.

"I'm not betting about a stupid movie quote," Art snorts. 

"Because you know you're wrong," Patrick's got this smug look on his face that always works on Art.

"Fine, I bet you $100 that it's you're not we're," he shrugs.

"I'm not betting $100 dollars."

"Exactly, because you know that you're wrong," Art grins, satisfied. 

"No, I'm not betting that because it's got no stakes for you," Patrick explains, then leans in a little closer "and it's boring." 

It successfully pisses Art off enough that he needs to prove a point. He can be creative and interesting.

Suddenly it hits him. 

"Give me a second," Art's reaching his hands around Patrick at his thighs, one hand below his ass and the other at the small of his back, standing up bringing Patrick up with him. 

He briefly lifts him up, turning around and then depositing Patrick back onto the armchair where he lands with a bounce.

Art watches the way his legs slightly spread as Patrick looks up at him, his eyes a little darker.

"What are you looking at?" Art asks, acting like he has no idea.

"Nothing," Patrick regains composure, smiling, "stop stalling. What's the bet?"

“I have the perfect thing,” Art walks to the corner of the room, where an opened package rests, “you know that delivery I signed for?”

“Yeah?” Patrick confirms, curious.

It was the Uniqlo delivery he had signed for earlier, and whether it was because they had just sent the whole new line, or if it had been intended for Tashi he wasn’t sure, but part of the order had been a tennis skirt. It was too big for Tashi, and not her style either way so he wasn’t sure what to do with it - until now.

“This came in it,” he holds up the skirt, it’s white and pleated so it flares out slightly, a tasteful logo embroidered at the hem.

“A skirt,” Patrick sits up, clearly Art’s got his attention, “what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that the loser has to wear this skirt while we play some tennis,” Art watches Patrick grin in response, he examines the skirt, “looks about your size.”

“Really, I think it’s more your size,” Patrick seems thoroughly amused, walking over to Art with a hand outstretched, “so, loser has to wear this the whole time, one set?”

Art shakes his hand, “deal.”

“Honestly, Art, I wouldn’t worry, your legs will look great in that,” Patrick points to the skirt.

“I don’t have to worry, because I am 100% certain that I’m right,” Art is actually probably 90% sure at this point, but no way is he backing down from a chance to get one over on Patrick.

“Alright, pull up the clip and prepare to eat your words,” Patrick grins, eager. 

They use Art’s phone, eyes glued to the little screen, skipping to the crucial moment. They watch him, terrified look, cigarette in mouth, turn to captain Quint and then: ‘You’re gonna need a bigger boat.’

“Fuck off,” Patrick knocks Art’s phone out of his hand, but Art doesn’t even care. Victory feels so sweet. 

Art musters up all the condescension he can, smiling at Patrick, “honestly, Patrick, I wouldn’t worry, your legs will look great in that.”

Patrick just flops down onto the couch groaning.

Art laughs again, “what do you think you’re doing? We’ve got tennis to play.”

Patrick looks up at him, eyebrows raised, “what? Right now?”

“When else are we going to have a free house?” Art shrugs.

"Fine," he gets up again, "bet I'll still beat you anyway."

"Not sure you're in a position to be making any more bets," Art grins

They both get changed, Art lets Patrick get dressed in the bathroom, joking about ‘giving him some privacy’. Patrick goes reluctantly, but he doesn’t complain, one thing about Patrick is he’s very loyal to the rules of a bet. Art is having too much fun, it’s maybe a little childish but it’s leftover from when Patrick would always win these type of things, so he thinks he’s allowed to gloat just a little. Patrick would be doing the same in his position. 

Art waits for him by the back door, both of their rackets in hand, eager to get going. When Patrick emerges, Art doesn’t even look, not properly, all he can concentrate on is teasing Patrick. 

“It’s actually pretty comfortable,” Patrick comments.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll get a nice breeze,” Art just jokes back, “c’mon.”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for Patrick to go out first.

Patrick slips past him out the door, snorting and grabbing the racket from Art’s hand on the way, “chivalry isn’t dead.”

“I pride myself on being a gentleman,” Art watches Patrick give an uneven curtsy.

“Or maybe you want to walk behind so you can look at my ass,” Patrick calls over his shoulder, walking towards the courts.

Art chuckles again but once Patrick has fully turned around and he’s not focusing on being as smug as possible about winning the bet, he finally actually looks. At first he just notices how mismatched the outfit is, the black sleeveless top not going at all with the white of the skirt.

Once his eyes reach the skirt though, he can’t stop looking. It’s something about the way the hem brushes against the back of his thighs, just barely long enough to keep everything covered. If there was a gust of wind or if Patrick bent over, even a little, he would probably be exposed. Something swirls in Art’s stomach.

Nope. This is not going to be a thing. It’s just because he knows they’re not supposed to fuck, and anything forbidden becomes instantly hotter. Or maybe it’s a power thing. Yeah. He’s just getting horny over Patrick losing a bet and being forced to do what Art said. Still, to be careful he avoids looking the rest of the walk down.

He’s concentrating so much on not thinking about it that once they get to the courts he obviously doesn’t hear Patrick asking him a question.

“Hello, Earth to Art,” Patrick’s waving his racket, then smirking, “anything in particular making you so distracted?” 

“Nothing, I was just wondering if I should take pity on you,” Art keeps his eyes firmly at Patrick’s face, “how about we just do one game instead?”

Patrick looks at him suspiciously, “oh no, a deal’s a deal, I’ll play the whole set.”

“It’s your funeral,” Art shrugs, mustering up the best performance he can but Patrick is still eyeing him. He forgot how good Patrick is at reading him. It’s really fucking annoying.

Art serves first which should be good because he plays better that way and his serve is a strong point. His first serve is strong, and Patrick has to move quick to hit it back, lunging sideways to reach it. The movement makes the muscles in his thighs tense, fully on show for Art to see.

“0:15,” Patrick calls out. 

Art has entirely missed his return. It’s so stupid and it doesn’t even make sense. He’s seen Patrick’s thighs before. He’s literally seen him naked. He’s always worn shorts whilst playing, often incredibly tiny shorts that showed just as much skin as this, and sure the sight of it sometimes turned Art on but never like this. 

It’s just new, that’s why, he hasn’t seen Patrick in this before so it’s a little distracting that’s all. It’s fine. This is meant to be Patrick’s punishment for losing.

Art ignores Patrick, just focusing on the ball in his hand and the service box. It works, he hits the ball hard and fast into the top left of the box and Patrick tries and fails to hit back. 

“Shit,” Patrick grumbles, swinging his racket in annoyance. He does a quick turn to head back to baseline and the speed makes the fabric of the skirt float up a little. What the fuck is that?

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he can’t help but yell.

“Um, do you have amnesia or something?” Patrick calls back.

“I don’t mean the skirt, I mean,” he gestures with his racket, “what’s underneath it?”

“Oh, yeah, well my boxers were longer than the skirt so I thought I’d just borrow some of your panties instead,” Patrick sways his hips, “much more fitting, don’t you think?”

“They’re not panties, they’re briefs,” he defends, “and you can’t just steal my underwear.”

He doesn’t care about that, he’s just mad about how much it’s getting to him and it’s not like he can yell at Patrick for being too fucking hot right now. No, that would give Patrick too much satisfaction. But really, it’s unfair. The skirt and now the underwear, Art’s underwear that look even tinier when Patrick’s wearing them.

“It’s not stealing, it’s sharing. We already share a toothbrush so I figured it wouldn’t matter,” Patrick shrugs.

“We don’t share a toothbrush,” he snaps but then Patrick’s got this amused look on his face, he’s messing with him, “fuck off.”

“Hey, if it bothers you this much I can always just take the underwear off,” Patrick suggests.

“No,” Art replies quickly, because he wants him to keep wearing the underwear or because he’s scared about what would happen to him if Patrick was fully naked under the skirt, “let’s just keep playing.”

They do keep playing, and Art loses the first game, badly. 15:40. He just can’t focus. His eyes drawn to Patrick, the way the skirt fits, the hem at his legs. This delicate floaty material, and the thick expanse of his thighs, the dark hair against the white of the skirt. He keeps looking, making sure that he’s still covered whilst also desperately hoping to get another glimpse underneath. The game is both slow torture and incredibly quick, he’s not sure he’s ever lost one so fast. 

It’s Patrick’s turn to serve now, which is even worse. He throws the ball too high so he has to jump to hit it, which is definitely on purpose. It makes the skirt float up, revealing the tight black underwear again, the bulge definitely bigger now, the fabric straining more. Or maybe Art’s just projecting. Either way he can’t react in time. 15:0.

“Art, you do know you’re supposed to hit the ball back, right?” Patrick mocks, “have you forgotten how to play or is there something on your mind?”

“I’m just tired,” Art gets back into ready position, “probably getting bored because you’re taking so long to serve.”

Patrick grins especially wide and Art gets the sense that he’s messed up, only encouraging Patrick further. 

Patrick throws the ball up to serve, but ‘accidentally’ throws it backwards so it lands behind him, rolling to the back of the court, “oops, I better go pick that up.”

For his own sanity Art should look away but he’s not thinking clearly anymore, just watching Patrick reach for the ball. As he bends over the hem rises, first just brushing lightly, exposing a few more inches of skin. Then a brief moment when he fully bends over that Art can see his entire ass, his own underwear against Patrick’s skin.

This is the problem, it’s the perfect in between. Showing enough skin that Art can’t help but be turned on, but also covered enough that Art has to use his imagination. Imagining standing behind him right now, Patrick trying to pull the material back over himself but Art would push it back up, ripping down the underwear and just fucking into him. 

“I hope I didn’t show too much, I’d be so embarrassed if you saw my ass just now,” Patrick’s laughing, and Art hadn’t even realised he was stood up again.

“I wasn’t looking,” Art insists and it just makes Patrick chuckle harder.

“Nice grip,” Patrick comments, looking at Art’s hands.

Art looks down himself, both hands on his racket, gripping so tight his knuckles have gone white. He loosens the grip, has to actually shake his hands with how stiff they are from holding that tight.

“Just serve,” Art orders, and Patrick does.

Art loses this game even worse. 40:0. Not a single point. 

Patrick tries to serve again, “it’s my fucking serve,” Art snaps, not wanting anything to prolong this stupid bet any longer than necessary. Maybe he should just give up, lose on purpose so it can just be over. 

“Oh, my bad, that game was so quick I didn’t realise I’d already won,” Patrick knows exactly what to say to keep Art playing, there’s no way he’s throwing a game against Patrick. 

Art tells himself that he’s going to play better this game, and he actually manages another point before he loses his concentration again. 

Patrick’s prancing around, enjoying himself too much, talking about how he has “so much more movement in this skirt,” or how it’s just “so breathable.”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This was supposed to be humiliating for Patrick. It should be him embarrassed, and distracted while Art won the set with ease. Patrick unable to hit back, spending the game self-consciously pulling the skirt down and begging Art to take mercy. 

Instead, Art’s the one stood all flushed and embarrassingly hard, unable to get more than a couple points. It’s 15:40, and Art’s just hit his first serve into the net. If he misses his second, Patrick will win yet another game.

Patrick is swaying his hips, twisting side to side so the skirt flies up a little, “honestly, I don’t know how people who wear skirts don’t spend the whole time twirling around.”

“I need to serve,” Art tries to say but Patrick either doesn’t hear or just ignores him.

“This is so great, only downside is I can’t tie my shoelaces without giving everyone a show,” he starts to bend down, as if testing out how much he can without the entire skirt riding up.

The side profile is just as bad as being behind, the skirt slowly slipping up, showing more and more of the meat of Patrick’s thigh. Before it can get any higher, Art cuts in.

“Patrick,” he’s aiming for stern but it comes out all pleading, a borderline whine as if begging him to stop. 

“Problem?” Patrick is so pleased with himself, but he stops bending over.

“Just get into position,” he just about manages to not add a please to it.

“Which position would you like?” Patrick asks, dripping his words in suggestiveness. 

It’s so stupid and so completely the opposite of subtle, even for Patrick’s standards, but it’s like opening Pandora’s box. Like giving permission for his imagination to run wild. 

Art can’t take it, all these thoughts rushing to flood his brain. He wants Patrick on his knees, skirt fanning out all pretty across his thighs, eyes all glassy as Art fucks into his mouth. He’d stroke at Patrick’s curls, he’d swipe a thumb under his eye collecting the tears that form when Art pushes down his throat and he starts gagging. Art smiling down at him repeating, ‘it’s okay, I know you can take it’.

Maybe he’ll order Patrick to bend over, hands on the net, and Patrick will be so smug about getting him to finally crack until Art spanks him with his racket, wiping that smirk off his face. The black of Art’s underwear on him, the white of the skirt pushed up, then the pink of his ass. The visual makes him a little dizzy.

Fuck, he could sit in the chair on the sidelines, have Patrick in his lap like earlier. Art would pull himself out of his shorts, push Patrick’s underwear to the side and split Patrick open on his dick. Art would keep a tight arm around him, Patrick’s back pressed tight to Art’s front, holding him up straight as Patrick’s body goes weak with pleasure. 

He wouldn’t even fuck him, not properly, he’d just keep him held there, tight and warm around him. The skirt would drape over them both, covering it all, so they could pretend like Patrick was just innocently sitting on his lap. Only they would know that Art’s cock was actually inside him, pressing up against that bundle of nerves. It wouldn’t fool Tashi, not for a second, but maybe she’d get so horny she’d forgive them for breaking her rules.

Or, most humiliating is the way Art kind of just wants to push him down on his back and kiss him all over. Especially his legs. He wants to lick all the way up them, he wants to bite at his thighs, he wants to savor it all. Because Patrick always pisses him off, and Art often gets the urge to shove him down and teach him a lesson. He’s still pissed off now, but this time he’s got this need to make him feel good. Make him moan all pretty as Art shows off his skills, and Patrick’s thighs would be right on either side of his head. 

It’s the least filthy idea he’s had this whole time and yet it feels the most embarrassing. This thought swirling in his head where he’s not even thinking about getting himself off. Not right away at least. Just focusing on having Patrick, skirt and all, underneath him, pink all over from pleasure and Art’s the one making him feel that good. 

Art’s at his breaking point, he doesn’t care if Patrick is actually ready, physically can’t look at him to check, instead he just serves. The energy thrumming throughout him makes him hit too hard, the ball soars past the service box and Art loses the third game.

“Double fault,” Patrick calls out, overjoyed, “I guess you are tired? Maybe we should take a break?”

“Perfect,” Art mumbles out, making a beeline for one of the chairs at the sidelines.

He slumps down, taking a sip of water and staring straight ahead. He’s aware of Patrick moving next to him but he doesn’t turn, not until he feels Patrick get to the floor out of the corner of his eyes. He’s too curious, and when he looks he sees that Patrick is on all fours. Of course he is.

Instead of sitting on his chair like he’s supposed to, Patrick’s on his hands and knees reaching underneath it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Art has to ask.

“Can’t find my water bottle,” Patrick reaches further under the chair, his back arching making his ass stick out further, skirt riding up. Art’s jaw clenches.

He’s pretty sure Patrick hadn’t even brought a water bottle, and either way, they can both clearly see that there is absolutely nothing under that chair. He can’t even bring himself to yell all this at Patrick.

“Just, take mine,” he snaps, holding it out, “and stop fucking doing that.”

“Thanks, I’m really thirsty,” he gets off all fours, leaning back to rest on his knees instead as he takes the bottle from Art. 

Art doesn’t know if this position is better or worse than the last. Patrick tilts his head back, holding the water bottle above himself and squirting it into his mouth. Art watches the movement of his throat as he swallows, and the way some of the water misses his open mouth, dripping past his lips and down his neck. Worse. Definitely worse.

“Can you just sit normally,” Art watches Patrick put down the bottle and start to change position, but Art dreads what would be next so he changes his order, “or actually, how about you don’t sit on the floor at all?”

Art had meant for Patrick to go sit on his own chair, so that Art can just stare ahead and not think about him, and then maybe he can actually calm down. That’s what Art had intended, so of course that’s not what Patrick does.

"Fine, I should stretch anyway," he gets up, walking over to Art and putting a foot up on his chair.

"Patrick," he warns, his hands clenched tight at his sides, trying to ignore how close Patrick’s thigh is to his face.

"I need to put my foot somewhere sturdy," he shrugs, "my hamstrings get tight if I don't stretch." 

"Nobody has ever stretched like that," Art's words are lost on Patrick, who ignores them, lunging deeper.

The expanse of his thigh is right next to him, Art’s practically drooling, he wants to get a mouth on him so badly, to just bite at his flesh. He can’t be the one to actually give in, he doesn’t want to give Patrick the satisfaction and he needs to be able to shift the blame for breaking Tashi’s rules.

From this angle it would be so easy to slip a hand up the skirt, feel at Patrick’s crotch, see if he’s as hard as Art is. 

Speaking of that, Patrick looks down, “Jesus, no wonder you were playing so bad, that thing looks painful,” he eyes the way Art’s dick strains in his shorts, “I could help with that.”

“You need to stop,” Art’s hanging onto his last threads of restraint.

“That’s another thing about this skirt, it’s great for hiding a boner,” Patrick removes his leg and Art, foolishly, thinks he might actually be relenting.

Instead he returns, this time a knee on either side of Art’s thighs, straddling him. He sits up, hovering above Art's crotch, nothing actually touching Art’s dick yet.

“No grinding, remember,” Art reminds Patrick, so that he can tell Tashi, ‘I told him the rules, he just didn’t care’.

“I’m not,” Patrick says, but he lowers himself so that their crotches are now definitely pressed together.

Art’s hands snap up to grab his waist, holding him still, “don’t.”

“I’m just helping you cover up, look,” he tilts his head down, his skirt draped across both their laps, “perfectly innocent now. Nobody would know any different unless…”

Patrick trails off, his hand reaching for the hem, slowly dragging the fabric of the skirt upwards. It reveals that underneath Patrick definitely is just as hard as Art is, both of them pressed up together.

“Considering breaking any rules yet?” Patrick teases and Art is officially finished.

He moves one hand to the back of Patrick’s upper thigh, just below his ass, and the other to his lower back. Standing up, he once again lifts Patrick with him, and his legs instinctively wrap around Art’s waist. 

“Where are we going?” he asks into Art’s ear.

The answer is: not very far. Art is beyond desperate, he makes it a few steps before lowering Patrick down onto the court on his back. Art drapes himself on top, hips fitting between Patrick’s open legs. He finally, finally, brings their mouths together, kissing sloppier than usual.

Patrick just follows, happily licking into Art’s mouth, pulling back briefly to ask, “are we allowed to kiss?”

“Yeah, kissing’s fine,” he says into his mouth.

“You could’ve told me that before,” Patrick bites at his lip.

“I knew you’d take advantage,” Art bites back, a hand slipping up the side of Patrick’s thigh, up under the skirt. Fuck. 

“Thought we weren't allowed to touch under clothes?” Patrick asks.

“It’s not like I’m trying to undress you, it’s not my fault if my hand accidentally slips underneath a little,” Art can’t help himself, his hips pressing forwards against Patrick.

“Fair enough,” Patrick chuckles, then adds, “but you definitely said no dry humping.”

“It’s fine as long as we don’t finish,” Art’s making it up as he goes and Patrick nods in agreement, happy to go with however Art wants to bend the rules, as long as he’s the one bending them. Patrick’s pretty much off the hook now and Art can’t even bring himself to care.

He only pulls back when he realises he’s already getting close, and he just said they couldn’t get off like that. It’s fine though, he has other plans. He moves down Patrick’s body, everything speeding up and his mouth is at his knee, licking up and up his leg, stopping before his crotch. He does the same at the other side, then goes for the inner thighs, biting at the flesh. Patrick takes in a sharp inhale.

“Surely that’s not part of the rules,” he comments, propping himself up on his elbows, looking down at Art.

“You’re still dressed aren’t you?” Art just raises an eyebrow at him like it’s an obvious point.

“Yeah, I guess it’s fine,” Patrick breathes out.

Art goes further up the thigh, his head now underneath Patrick’s skirt, those thighs either side of his ears. Exactly where he wanted to be. The fabric covers him so that Patrick can’t see when Art suddenly licks a stripe up his dick, over his underwear. 

Patrick gasps, “fuck,” then, “what about the no blowjobs rule?”

“It’s not a blowjob. As long as it’s through the underwear, technically my mouth isn’t actually touching you,” Art reasons, and it isn’t a particularly sound argument but neither of them care.

“Makes sense to me,” Patrick agrees.

Art licks again and he feels Patrick relax, laying flat against the court again. God, this is fucking ridiculous. His head up Patrick’s skirt, licking him over his (Art’s) briefs, on the fucking tennis court. 

He moves more vigorously, tonguing all over, from his balls up the shaft to the head. He lets himself drool, getting the underwear all wet so it slips against Patrick’s dick even smoother. Patrick’s moaning quietly, shifting his hips, trying to push himself more against Art’s face. He lets Patrick essentially hump his face, keeping up his tonguing movements, occasionally sucking instead.

Then Art sucks at his tip through the material and Patrick gasps again, “shit,” he props himself up, pulling the skirt back to look at Art all desperate, “can’t you just blow me for real?”

 “We’ve been following the rules so well, no point stopping now,” Art smiles.

“I know, but I need something more,” Patrick bargains, “c’mon, what about a little fingering? Just slip in one finger, she’ll never know.”

“She’ll be able to tell if we lie,” Art argues, “so if we behave now, then when she asks if we followed her rules we can say yes, and it will be true.”

Well, truer than if Art actually did suck Patrick off properly. 

“I know, I just-” Patrick cuts himself off with a moan as Art licks at him again.

“We’ve been so good,” Art keeps licking between speaking, “as long as you keep the underwear on it’s fine. You can finish like this, can’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick breathes out.

“Shouldn’t even be doing this, I just couldn’t help myself, you looked so good,” Art rambles, “the skirt was driving me fucking crazy.”

“Art, please,” not asking for anything in particular, just wanting more. 

Art starts sucking through the fabric again, close to the head but not quite. Patrick whines, his hips bucking up.

“You need to be good,” Art reminds him, “you can cum like this.”

This time it isn’t a question, it’s an order, and Patrick manages out an “okay.”

Art presses harder with his tongue, swirling it around the most sensitive part. Patrick’s groaning, breathing quickly.

“I’m close,” he gets out, strained.

Art’s about to praise him but he can feel Patrick bringing a hand down, trying to get into his own underwear and touch himself. Art intercepts it, grabbing it and holding it down against the court.

“What happened to being good?” Art asks.

“I’m almost there, I don’t know if I can,” he’s squirming, trying to get friction. 

“You can,” Art assures, sucking again, “tell me you can.”

“I can.” 

Art focuses on licking at the tip again, it has Patrick thrusting up against him uncontrollably, and moaning louder. He switches to sucking, hard, directly at the head and now Patrick whines.

“Fuck, Art, shit,” his hips trying to move away from the intense feeling at the same time they try to press further into it, “I’m so close, I’m there, I’m going to-”

“You gonna cum?” he asks, a little smug, “you gonna be good, and finish in your panties for me?”

“Yes, yeah,” Patrick nods furiously, “for you.”

“Good girl,” spills out of Art, and then he’s bringing the tip back in his mouth. He sucks and swirls his tongue around it, and Patrick is moaning, his hips stuttering as they thrust up in sudden shock and pleasure.

Art feels a wet warmth spread across the fabric as Patrick orgasms. 

He pulls back, observing his work. Patrick's chest rising up and down, quickly. He's flushed all pink, hair sticking to his forehead. He can see the way Patrick's underwear are damp with his own cum and Art's spit. 

The sight is almost enough to make him forget what he just said. Almost. He feels himself turn pink, hot all over. 

"What the fuck," Patrick flings an arm over his face, still breathing heavy, and Art's slightly worried he's crossed some sort of line. 

Then Art watches a smile spread across his face, Patrick peaks out from behind his arm, grinning, "so you admit they're panties?"

Art laughs in relief, "fuck off," then looks Patrick up and down, "they are when you wear them."

He lifts himself up to sit properly, staring at Art's lap, "want me to help you get off?"

Art considers for a second, but if he rambled that embarrassingly just from getting Patrick off, he's scared of what he'd say if he was about to come himself.

"I shouldn't," he decides, "and you should probably shower, get rid of the evidence."

"Why do I need to hide anything, I thought you said this was all above board?" Patrick smirks. 

"It was," Art defends, standing up and reaching a hand out to help Patrick, "but it's not going to look very innocent, that's all."

Patrick takes it, letting Art drag him into a standing position, laughing, "didn't feel very innocent either."

Art shrugs, feeling a little more relaxed now he's at least partially got it out of his system. He's still hard but once he has a cold shower he'll calm down.

They decide to use the shower in the clubhouse next to the court. It's a small building, basically an oversized shed, with a few lockers, a bench, and a smattering of spare tennis equipment. It only has one shower, and they usually just head back to the house to clean up. 

It feels more convenient to use it this time, to get Patrick cleaned up and Art calmed down before they grab all their stuff to head back to the house. 

Patrick tries to lure Art into the shower with him, "it's so much more efficient to do it together, and better for the environment. Do you even care about the polar bears at all?" but Art knows it's a test of temptation that he would definitely fail.

Maybe if he can go without an orgasm he'll be able to twist the blame on Patrick still. If the need arises. Hopefully they can head back to the house and be waiting innocently on the couch when Tashi returns, so neither of them will have to take the blame for anything. 

Patrick hasn't mentioned what Art said, maybe he didn't hear it and Art's certainly not going to ask him about it. 

He sits on the bench, facing away from Patrick showering because he's meant to be calming down. Except now he's thinking about it. Good girl. And Patrick coming right after. Where the fuck did that even come from?

Art had almost finished himself, his hips pressing against the rough of the court. It was kind of humiliating, that he got off on it so much. He hadn't even intended to say it. A familiar combination of shame and arousal swirl together in his stomach.

That fucking skirt. 

He never should've made that bet. 

It's just he didn't anticipate getting so worked up. He can't let Patrick wear that again. He also can't go without it. He got one thing out of his system but his head is still brimming with ideas. 

He's supposed to be calming down but his dick strains as hard as ever against his shorts. Jerking off should be fine right? If he has no contact with Patrick whilst he's doing it? It might be bad for his health to hold it in, Tashi can't be mad at him for caring about his health, right?

Yeah, it makes enough sense in his head that he's already bringing a hand over his crotch, sighing in relief. 

Patrick turns the water off, and Art hears him step out. 

Patrick could always help out as visual aid, as long as he doesn't touch Art. The skirt is still here, and really it's only fair Art gets to cum too. 

"Maybe I should get off," he voices, "it might be suspicious if I'm hornier than you are."

Patrick snorts like he knows it's bullshit, but he indulges nonetheless, "I wish you'd said this before I showered but sure, that sounds right to me. What can I do for you?"

"You can't touch me but maybe I can just look at you?" Art suggests, uncertain, still pressing himself over his shorts. 

"You want me to just stand here while you stare at me and jerk off?" Patrick laughs in amusement, "oh, Art, I'm flattered."

"Not just stand there, I thought maybe you could put it back on?" He asks, hopeful and trying to hide his shame. 

"Put what back on?" Patrick plays dumb.

Art groans, "the fucking skirt, and you know that's what I meant."

Patrick grins, reaching for the skirt where he'd chucked it on the floor unceremoniously.

"Well, I'm not putting those panties back on, so it will have to be commando this time," Patrick tells him, stepping into the skirt and pulling it up, zipping once it's around his waist.

"That's fine, that's, yeah, fine," Art struggles out, rubbing harder at himself and he needs more, "it's fine to touch ourselves, don't you think?"

"You know the rules, you do what feels right," Patrick just shrugs, not giving Art the easy way out. 

He tries to just keep touching himself over the fabric but Patrick is there, only in the skirt and it's setting him alight again. For some reason the skirt feels more scandalous than just staring at him fully naked.

Art finally pulls himself out of his shorts, precum dripping from his neglected dick. Patrick eyes it appreciatively. 

"Should I be posing for you?" Patrick asks, half joking. 

"Stand with your hands against the wall," Art says too quick, knowing exactly what he wants. 

Patrick looks delightfully surprised at how fast he answers, and about how specific he is. He follows the order with a grin, turning to the wall of lockers, resting his hands against them, slightly bent as he sticks his ass out. 

Fuck. That was a bad idea. 

Before his brain catches up, Art finds himself behind Patrick. 

"I'm still not touching," Art reassures, even though Patrick hadn't asked.

He stands an inch behind him, dick in hand, staring at the way the skirt falls over his ass. He strokes himself slowly, trying to keep his distance. God, he wants to push the skirt up and jerk off until he comes all over Patrick's skin and the skirt at the same time. 

He slides his hand up and down his shaft a little faster, “want to cum all over your ass like this.”

Patrick hums, “and that’s allowed?”

“It’s not like we’re doing anything to each other. You’re standing and I’m jerking off, two separate things,” Art explains, “if when I cum, it accidentally lands on you, we can’t blame ourselves. You want it don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Patrick breathes out, “still wish you hadn’t made me shower first.”

“Hmm, you are really clean right now,” Art looks him over, skin still damp from the spray of water.

“And you want to dirty me up again, right?” Patrick teases.

Art does. Badly. He wants to get him all filthy. He also wants something else. Art's mouth is watering again. And Patrick had just showered. He's so clean right now. 

He moves a little closer.

"You just said no touching," he smirks at Art over his shoulder.

"I won't," Art promises, "not with my hands."

He lowers himself to his knees, slowly. 

"What are you doing?" Patrick's breath hitches.

"It's fine, I'm only using my mouth, and you already came so you're not getting off," Art justifies, reaching a hand to push the skirt up.

"Right," Patrick nods, "except you are literally using your hands right now."

"It's fine as long as I'm not touching your dick or fingering you, and you've got the skirt on so you're basically dressed," Art's definitely waffling at this point. 

"I'm starting to think you might not actually understand these rules," Patrick teases, "the excuses are getting real flimsy, dude."

"Who fucking cares?" Art finally gives in, bringing one hand to his own dick as his other goes to Patrick's ass, spreading him open so he can get his tongue at Patrick's rim.

Patrick moans in shock, swearing under his breath. Art swirls his tongue around his hole, jerking himself off at the same time. He doesn't know what it is about the skirt, but it makes him have this crazy urge to get his mouth on Patrick any way he can. Suddenly becoming the hottest thing he can imagine, just pushing the skirt away as he rims Patrick underneath it. 

“Fuck, you never do this,” Patrick sighs.

“Yes, I do,” Art pulls back to reply, a little indignantly. 

“Not like this,” and Patrick’s sort of right.

Art has done this a few times, got his mouth on Patrick’s hole, but usually as a way to tease him. To get Patrick worked up before he fucks him, if he’s feeling like he wants to drag it out. If Tashi wants to make Patrick squirm, she’ll direct Art into it as she touches Patrick everywhere except where he really wants.

This is different. He doesn’t even have a goal in mind. It’s not like Patrick's going to get that desperate since he already finished recently. It’s just Art couldn’t fucking help himself. Without thought he just wanted to sink to his knees and taste him, make Patrick feel good just because. 

“You don’t have to,” Patrick tells him, “might be a while before I finish.”

“I know,” he does, and he doesn’t care, “I just want to, need to.”

He licks fervently, a circle around then presses in with the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck,” Patrick gasps out, not quite hard yet but Art’s sure he’s on his way. 

Art keeps going, tonguing in and out, pushing past the tight ring of muscle. 

“Art,” Patrick is shaky, “I don’t think we can justify this one to Tashi.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Art repeats, giving him a bite to the ass, “she won’t know.”

“I think that’s the wrong answer,” a voice calls out and Art falls backwards trying to move away from Patrick, tucking his dick back in his shorts even though it’s too late.

“Shit,” Patrick removes his hands from the wall, turning to the doorway, “Tashi.”

She’s standing there, hands on hips, looking fucking gorgeous, obviously. She’s got a navy dress on, it’s one of the more casual ones in her collection, it buttons down the front and the hem sits just below the knee. 

“Who’s responsible for all this then?” she glares between them both.

Patrick doesn’t say anything but Art immediately defends, “it was Patrick.”

He turns to look down at Art, “you fucking snake.”

He can’t feel too guilty, it’s not like Patrick had been silent out of loyalty to Art, it’s just that he was never as bothered about defending himself, never really trying that hard to get out of trouble. Often wanting to do the opposite, in fact. 

“Snake, yes,” Tashi speaks slow, looking at Art, “and a fucking liar too.”

“I’m not,” Art tries and it makes Tashi laugh.

“Really, because from where I was standing it seemed like Patrick was the one who had enough sense to think about the rules, even with your tongue in his ass,” Art can see Patrick grin a little at Tashi’s words, “meanwhile, you were the one saying ‘who fucking cares?’”

Shit. Had she been standing there that long?

Art can’t even say anything, just sitting there, boner tenting his shorts still.

“Although, I’m sure he’s not entirely innocent either,” Tashi walks over to Patrick, feeling at the skirt, “why are you wearing this?”

“I lost a bet,” Patrick shrugs at her, amused now that the surprise has worn off.

“Why do I get the feeling that you made a bet that you would purposely lose, because you knew he’d cave seeing you in a skirt?” Tashi says to Patrick.

He smirks, “no, I wish I'd thought of it but this was also all him.”

Tashi for a moment seems impressed, looking at him vaguely proudly before her face shifts back to stern.

“That’s two strikes, Art. You’re not doing very well today, are you?” she tilts her head at him, “what did you think you were going to achieve by intentionally sabotaging yourself?” 

“I didn’t mean to, I thought it would be funny, I didn’t realise it would make me so…” he trails off, “I just wanted to embarrass him.”

“Right, because Patrick is famously easy to embarrass,” she snorts, and she’s absolutely right, he doesn’t know what was going through his head to think that Patrick would actually feel any type of shame from wearing a skirt, “and you seriously thought you wouldn’t get turned on by it? Are you stupid or just lying again?”

Art just ducks his head, face flushed.

Patrick laughs, “I think he was genuinely surprised about how horny he got.”

She looks down at the skirt again, thumbing the fabric, “so, what exactly were the rules for this punishment?”

“Loser has to wear it for one full set,” Patrick informs, letting her play with the material.

“And how far did you get?” Tashi asks, knowing that there was no way they actually managed it.

“Three games before Art was shoving me down on the tennis court and having his way with me,” Patrick grins, and Tashi’s eyes light up too.

She eyes Art again, “so you can’t even follow your own rules, huh?”

Art still doesn’t know what to say other than, “I tried.”

Tashi ignores it, “and you’re telling me that you’d already disobeyed me by fucking before that little scene I walked in on.”

“We didn’t technically fuck,” Patrick starts.

“We were good, we followed the rules,” Art interjects.

Tashi looks to Patrick for confirmation, he nods, “yeah, we were fully clothed, no touching, just his mouth.”

“I’m pretty sure I banned blowjobs,” she raises an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t a blowjob, I had underwear on the whole time,” Patrick smiles wide, “and Art didn’t even cum.”

“Jesus Christ,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, and looks over at Art, “and you still haven’t cum yet?”

He shakes his head and she nods in approval.

“That’s good,” Tashi thinks for a moment, “I think you should both finish the bet.”

“What?” Art asks from the floor.

“A chance for you to redeem yourself, prove that you can stick to your word,” she watches his blank face, “c’mon get up.”

He scrambles up quickly, still uncertain, “are you sure?”

“Yep,” she says, curtly, turning to Patrick, “you get dressed, and then both of you get out there and finish playing the full set.”

Patrick grabs the shirt he’d been wearing earlier, putting it on immediately, “alright.”

Tashi eyes his skirt, “when I say ‘get dressed’, that includes underwear.”

“Well, mine are kind of ruined from earlier,” he looks way too pleased with himself, “I’m happy to go without.”

She shakes her head, biting her lip, “no, you really should wear underwear with a skirt like that.”

Then Tashi does something which makes Art’s entire brain short circuit. She reaches under her dress, pulling down her panties, stepping out of them gracefully as she takes them off. She holds them out to Patrick, “here, you can borrow mine.”

What the fuck.

Art gets at least some satisfaction from the way Patrick seems just as affected as he is, Patrick stumbling on his words, “I, how, what?”

“Go on, you put them on the same as any other pair of underwear,” she’s smiling big, extremely pleased with their reactions, slightly condescending in her tone.

“Are they going to fit?” Art asks, and it feels like his ears are ringing with how dizzy it’s making him.

“It doesn’t matter,” she faces Patrick, “you’ll make it work, yeah?”

He nods at her, still in a slight daze. Taking the pair and stepping into them, he’s not as graceful as Tashi, needing to put an arm against the wall for balance. He manages to get them on but the skirt covers them before Art can get a proper look. 

“Show us,” Art can’t stop himself saying.

“Not yet,” Tashi orders, and Art sighs.

He tries to imagine it. The pair isn’t Tashi’s tiniest or the most lacy in her collection, they’re what she would consider casual, but Art would still call sexy. They’re navy, matching her dress, the front is made of cotton which is a good thing, much more forgiving to stretch over Patrick’s cock. God, he must be straining against it still. The material covering his ass is lace, just about see through. Art can’t fucking do this.

Tashi is walking to the doorway, Patrick following, but Art just stays planted still. 

“Tashi,” he pleads, “I can’t.”

She looks back at him, not giving him any pity, just smiling at him, “you can, and you will.”

In other words: you made your bed, now lie in it.

Standing on the other side of the net from Patrick feels even worse than before. He was already horny beyond belief before even stepping foot on the court and now he’s got Tashi sat on the sidelines watching them both. Patrick seems to have recovered from the shock and is now back to moving around the court like he fucking owns it. Like he’s never felt hotter.

Art feels like he blacks out the entire first game, Patrick is serving and he’s trying to hit back but honestly he’s not sure he’s even on the planet anymore. He keeps getting glimpses of the blue lace under the skirt. It had felt impossible when it was Patrick wearing his briefs, but it being Tashi’s panties is infinitely worse. 

Again he needs to bend Patrick over, push the panties to the side and fuck him. He needs to get under Tashi’s dress and eat her out. He can’t work out the logistics of it, how he can fuck Patrick whilst also having Tashi in his mouth. Maybe if he lays down on his back, Patrick could ride him and Tashi could sit on his face? But then he wouldn’t be able to see Patrick in a skirt falling apart on his dick. He wants and needs and can’t have. 

Patrick in panties. Patrick in Tashi’s clothes. Patrick in lace. Tashi sat with nothing on under her dress. 

He can’t breathe. He needs to be put down.

The score is 40:0, and Patrick’s throwing the ball up to serve.  

Art tries, he really does, he actually manages to hit the ball but it sails right into the net. Patrick wins another game.

“Nice form,” Tashi is calling out at him.

“Thought you hated my serve,” Patrick raises an eyebrow at her.

“I do,” she very obviously rakes her eyes up and down Patrick’s body, biting her lip as part of her performance. It’s a stupid innuendo. Art’s dick twitches.

They both grin at each other. How can they be so playful about this while Art feels like he’s going to bite a hole through his cheek.

“You’re a real pervert, you know that?” Patrick points his racket at her in a joking accusation.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she shrugs, slouching back in the chair, spreading her legs wider, keeping her eyes on Patrick.

“See how she objectifies me,” Patrick’s addressing him, but Art can’t possibly respond, he just stands there looking between them like a deer in the headlights. It makes them both laugh.

“Woah, it really is that bad,” Tashi tilts her head at him in amusement, “it’s your serve, Art.”

He nods, taking a ball from his pocket. He can do this. He clings onto the guise of playing a tennis match like a lifeline. Just think about tennis. Nothing else.

He plays minutely better, but still loses, 30:40 this time. He probably only gets those points because now Patrick’s distracted too, trying to catch a glimpse up Tashi’s dress.

Patrick’s up to serve again, and if he wins this game it will all be over. Art will be put out of his misery. He’ll also lose to Patrick, six games to his zero.

Again he tries to pull it together, and Tashi’s been calling out to him too, encouraging him. Except it doesn’t work because everytime he looks over at her he just starts thinking about how she doesn’t have any panties on. Then when he looks away he’s got Patrick in front of him, making him think about how Patrick does have panties on. It’s honestly torturous. 

He manages to get it together for one second, remembering Patrick’s backhand is a little weaker than his forehand. He hits a ball to Patrick’s left, and it works because his backhand isn’t precise enough, and the ball flies out as he hits it too hard. 40:15.

Tashi must notice what he’s done, she gives him a little nod of approval. 

“Patrick, I want you to win on a backhand,” she calls out to him, “you’ll get a treat if you do.”

Fuck, okay. If Patrick wins the next point, he’s won the set. If he wins it with a backhand, he’ll also get a reward. Art has to at least try to stop it.

Patrick serves, and Art puts all the will he has left into hitting it back. It’s a powerful shot, it flies towards the back corner on Patrick’s right. He’d have to run pretty fast to get it anyway, and he’ll definitely have to be fast if he wants to make it a backhand.

Inexplicably, Patrick manages it, darting sideways quick enough to get on the other side of the ball, hitting a backhand. The speed of his movement and the force of him skidding to a stop makes the skirt fly up. Art is fucked. The ball soars towards him, just about making it over the net, landing in before bouncing right past Art. It’s over.

He watches Patrick drop his racket, turning to face Tashi, bowing to her. She grins, beckoning him with her finger. Art just watches.

Patrick stands in front of Tashi, she smiles at him, “give me a twirl.”

He snorts, but does it, spinning around so the skirt fans out, “cute,” Tashi comments.

Cute is one word for it. Art has the urge to start gnawing at Patrick’s leg.

“So what’s my treat?” Patrick asks, and Tashi spreads her legs wider, pulling up the material of her dress a little further. 

He gets the idea, lowering himself to his knees. Art watches Patrick kiss up Tashi’s legs, pressing his lips at the soft brown of her inner thigh. He doesn’t know who he wants to be more. To have his lips against Tashi or to have Patrick’s against his own thighs. Or maybe he wants a secret third thing (to plow into Patrick from behind and watch as he eats Tashi out).

Art grinds his teeth, making himself ask, “can I?”

He doesn’t ask for anything specific. Doesn’t know what he’s allowed. Just wants something.

“You can watch, for now,” Tashi gestures for him to come closer.

For now. He can work with that.

Art doesn’t know where to stand, next to Tashi so he can look down at the sight of Patrick on his knees? No. He moves behind, getting to look at Patrick’s ass, and to see Tashi’s face.

Patrick adjusts his position, leaning forward into Tashi so he’s more on all fours than just his knees, except his hands grab at her outer thighs pulling her cunt closer to his mouth. When he finally gets a tongue on her, her eyes flutter shut for a second, before opening to look at Art. Again he’s paralysed with making a decision. He can’t pick where to look.

He eyes Tashi’s face, relaxing with pleasure. Then trails down to Patrick’s head buried between her thighs, and then down again. The whole reason he’s in this predicament in the first place.

The skirt does nothing to cover him up now, and Art stares at the lace clothing his ass, also not doing much to keep Patrick’s skin hidden. From this angle he can see the way Patrick’s dick spills out of the fabric. 

Art’s fists clench at either side, not allowed to do anything but stare. He enjoys watching a bit, it’s an infuriatingly arousing view, but that’s the problem. His patience has already been worn down to knife’s edge, he’s spent all afternoon inundated with arousing views. 

Tashi must see the desperate look on his face but she doesn’t say anything, she just puts a leg over Patrick’s shoulder, and a hand on the back of his head. She sighs at the new angle.

It’s Patrick who takes pity on him, without even seeing his face. 

He pulls back from Tashi to ask, “can Art join?” and when she hums uncertainly he adds, “he did come up with the skirt idea.”

Tashi looks at Art, then down at the skirt, then up again, “yeah, alright, he can join.”

Art moves quick, getting to his knees behind Patrick. He’s about to pull his shorts down when Tashi stops him

“What are you doing?” she asks and he just stares at her blankly. He doesn’t really know, other than that he needs his dick to touch something right fucking now, “did you think you were going to fuck him? We don’t even have any lube. And did you think you’ve earned that?”

“I don’t know,” he sounds desperate but he’s given up caring.

“Keep it in your pants,” she orders, “you’re allowed to dry hump and that’s it.”

He furrows his eyebrows at her, and she gets stern, “don’t give me that look. You’re lucky I’m allowing anything.”

Fine. It’s something at least. And he can grab Patrick’s ass as much as he likes. He does just that, rubbing his hand over it, feeling the lace, and the warmth of his skin. He brings his hands to Patrick’s hips and presses his crotch against him. Sighing in relief at the pressure against his dick, imagining that he was actually sinking inside him right now. 

He can hear the sounds of Patrick’s tongue lapping at Tashi’s pussy, it makes him thrust his hips forward. The movement pushing Patrick forward too, and Art can’t stop thrusting against him.

“Art,” Tashi scolds, “stop that.”

“I can’t,” he scowls and she glares at him, he slows down, “fine.”

He grips Patrick’s hips tight, probably leaving fingerprints, keeping Patrick still as he rubs against him. Still thrusting but now Patrick doesn’t move with him.

He could probably cum like this, could do it very easily. It just doesn’t feel fair. Yes he broke some rules but he never even got to finish from any of it, so really, doesn’t he deserve a bit more than to pathetically hump at Patrick’s ass.

Tashi’s letting out more and more sighs, and he can hear Patrick moaning against her, trying to push back against Art, fighting against his strong grip.

“C’mon Tashi, he clearly wants me to fuck him,” Art pleads.

“And whose fault is it that you can't?” she asks with an arched brow, “if you had prepared then maybe you would’ve brought lube down here.”

“I’ll go and get some now,” he bargains, although he’s not sure he could pry himself away.

“No, you don’t deserve it, you broke the rules,” she smiles, mean, “if you had behaved then maybe you would be inside him right now.”

“If I had behaved, we wouldn’t even be in this position in the first place,” he snaps.

Tashi doesn’t say anything back because it’s sort of true. If Art had been good there would be no skirt. No tennis court sex at all tonight.

Patrick pulls back, “just one finger, I need something.”

“Fine,” Tashi relents, bringing his head back against her.

She gives Art the go ahead with her eyes, and he’s sucking at his own finger, wetting it. He stops humping to pull the blue panties to the side, circling the damp finger before pushing in. 

Patrick groans, and the vibration of it makes Tashi moan quietly too. Art keeps pumping the finger in and out, still humping at Patrick, but just more at his thigh now rather than his ass. It’s better than how he pictured it, Patrick dressed like this, clenching around his finger and moaning into Tashi’s cunt.

Patrick doubles his efforts, licking at her faster, and Art can tell she’s getting close. He’s just so good like this, taking Art and pleasing Tashi. He can tell that Patrick wants more from the way he’s pushing back on Art’s finger. Tashi’s eyes flutter shut from pleasure, and Art takes the opportunity to slip another finger into Patrick. He would've gotten away with it if Patrick didn't let out this loud, surprised, moan.

Tashi’s eyes open, first looking down at Patrick, then at Art. He smiles at her innocently, but she notices the two fingers now pumping inside Patrick.

“Did I say you were allowed to do that?” she asks, rhetorically.

“He just looks so good, he deserved it, I could tell he needed it,” Art defends, not stopping his fingering.

Art’s a little shocked when Tashi laughs. 

“God, what is it about this skirt? It’s got you misbehaving, and it’s got Patrick being good,” she strokes a hand through his curls. 

Art raises an eyebrow, because Patrick hasn’t exactly been good. Just better than Art.

Tashi smiles, correcting herself, “alright, well it makes you want to treat him like he’s good anyway.”

Yeah. Yeah that’s exactly it. 

Patrick must start sucking at her clit because she’s making these telltale signs that she’s close, her hand gripped tight in his hair. 

She grinds her hips up against his face, “fuck, makes you want to call him a good girl,” then she’s shoving Patrick’s face against her, trembling as she comes.

Oh fuck. It takes everything in him not to come too. Tashi breathes out, slumping against the chair, almost boneless.

Tashi pulls Patrick away from her before she gets overstimulated, resting his head against her thigh. Patrick grins, “you guys really are similar.”

“What?” Tashi looks between them both, this alert searching look she gets when she’s missing information, Art stays silent so she looks down at Patrick again, “I don’t get it.”

Art fucks his fingers into Patrick faster, hoping to stop him talking, he moans but carries on.

“Art called me that too,” he says all smug, “turned bright red after.”

Art flushes. 

“Yeah, he looks pretty red right now too,” Tashi gives him this delighted look, “this skirt thing really has you fucked, huh?” which is unfair considering she’d also said the same thing.

“Patrick’s the one who came immediately when I said it,” Art argues.

“That’s not a shock, I’m only human,” Patrick chuckles, “what’s interesting is how much the two of you apparently want me to be your good girl.”

He wonders if Tashi feels as embarrassed as he does. Probably not.

“Art you can take your dick out,” Tashi’s telling him, and he wastes no time removing his fingers from Patrick and pulling his shorts and underwear down at once.

“Look, I can take a lot, but there’s no way I can take Art’s dick right now without some lube or a hell of a lot more stretching,” Patrick jokes.

“He’s not going to fuck you, I  just want him to come on you,” both boys moan a little, “knew you’d like that.”

Art doesn’t know what to do with himself now he can actually touch his dick against Patrick, he just grabs his hips rubbing his length on him. Already so close.

“You can touch yourself too, Patrick,” Tashi strokes at his hair, and Art watches Patrick reach into his underwear, pulling himself out.

He starts stroking himself quickly, “I’m almost there, already.”

“That’s okay, you’ve been so good already,” Tashi says sweetly and it makes Art shiver when she says good, on edge and full of shame, “I think Art’s close too.”

She just keeps talking, “look how pretty Patrick is for you, how he presents himself for you,” she says to Art, “what else can he do to get you to come?”

“I don’t know,” Art can barely think, reaching a hand around himself now.

“Arch your back a little more, Patrick,” she orders, and Patrick does, sticking his ass out even more, “and do you want him to come at the same time as you?”

Art nods frantically, not really understanding why Tashi's giving him what he wants all of a sudden.

“C’mon Patrick, you’ve got to hurry up if you want to come at the same time,” she leans down to whisper, but Art can still hear, “I know Art’s the one losing his mind but don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you get off on it too.”

"I get off on the fact that me wearing a skirt and panties gets you both off so much," he insists.

"Right, you get nothing out of this," She smirks down at him, "doesn't affect you at all to think about Art coming on you while you're in my lacy underwear, and a fucking mini skirt." 

Patrick moans pressing his face into Tashi's thigh.

"I should buy you your own set, I think you'd like that, maybe get Art to pick it out" she then looks up at Art, "Patrick would wear it for you, he'd be so good." 

And Art gets what Tashi's doing. She's trying to get him to say it. Art's not going to, he has a different idea instead. 

"You guys are fucking obsessed with getting me in girls underwear," Patrick manages to say, "think Art would die if I had a whole outfit on."

"No, I'd be ready next time," Art keeps jerking himself, now determined, "I'd fuck you properly, and Tashi would get her strap and she'd fuck you too."

Patrick groans again and Tashi's eyes snap up to meet Art's, an understanding passing between them. 

"I think you're the one that's obsessed, Patrick," Tashi looks down at him, "we could do it just like this, except I'd shove my dick down your throat while Art takes you from behind."

Patrick bites at Tashi's thigh.

Art lets go of himself, reaching around to replace Patrick's hand with his own, jerking him off. He can't bite at her anymore, his mouth falling open. 

"We'd ruin you, ruin all your outfits and keep buying more," he leans himself over Patrick, jerking him off and grinding at his ass again, "and you'd let us, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," Patrick moans into Tashi's lap, "gonna come."

"Art are you close too?" Tashi checks.

"Yeah, just want him to finish first, won't come on him until he does," Art keeps stroking.

"Patrick, you want to come?" She asks him.

"Already fucking said I did," Patrick grumbles out.

"Come on, don't be rude, I know you want to be good," she strokes his hair, "say it to me."

Patrick keeps his mouth shut.

"Patrick I'm going to stop touching you if you don't say it," Art warns, slowing down his movements. 

"Want to be good," he mumbles into Tashi's thigh, it's a start but not quite what they want.

Art speeds up again, looking at Tashi, she whispers to Patrick, "a good what?" 

He groans, shaking his head as much as he can in this position. 

"C'mon Patrick, I know you want to finish, I can get you over the edge if you just tell us what you are," he squeezes Patrick's dick not moving his hand.

Patrick still doesn't speak, so Art swipes a thumb over his tip, it's too sensitive and Patrick moans but he won't come from it, not without Art jerking him at the same time. 

Tashi watches with a grin, as Art swipes again making him whine. It's too much.

"What are you?" Tashi asks, and Art thumbs the head once more.

Patrick whimpers, then "I'm a good girl," he gasps out, and Art immediately resumes jerking.

Patrick thrusts forwards, spurting all over Art's hands, drooling in Tashi's lap as he trembles with it.

Art brings the hand, covered in Patrick's fluid to his own dick. He pushes up the skirt a little, then it only takes a few swipes and he's coming. White ropes shooting over the skirt, the lace underwear, and Patrick's ass. 

"Fuck," Art gasps out, the sight of it all sending another wave of pleasure through him, a little more dripping out of him onto the blue panties.

Art falls back catching his breath, and Patrick just stays with his head against Tashi. Probably hiding his face. There are some things which still embarrass him. 

Him and Patrick both breathe deeply for a while, Tashi looking pleased with her work.

She eventually breaks the silence, "what was the bet even about?"

Patrick mumbles out, "I don't remember anymore."

Art laughs, "it was about Jaws."

"Movie mashup?" Tashi asks.

"Yeah," Art smiles, "honest to God, we were just going to watch a movie while we waited for you."

Tashi laughs too, "we should watch one now."

"Mashup on three?" Patrick lifts his head up finally, then counts down, "1...2...3..."

Patrick picks Rocky, Art goes for Little Shop of Horrors, and Tashi lands on Bride of Frankenstein. 

It's a weird selection, with a somewhat perfect mashup.

"Rocky Horror Picture Show?" Tashi suggests.

"It is on theme," Art snorts. 

"Yeah, maybe we can get some inspiration for Patrick's next outfit," Tashi teases and Patrick groans.

"This is unfair, does nobody remember how embarrassing it was that Art got so horny he forgot how to play tennis?" Patrick complains.

"No, all I remember is you calling yourself a good girl and drooling in my lap over a handjob," Tashi jokes.

Art enjoys the fact that the teasing is off him for now, even though he knows he's probably never going to be able to live down the worst set of tennis he's ever played in his life.

All because he thought it would be funny to force Patrick to wear a skirt. 

They put on the movie, but end up falling asleep on the couch before it's over. Patrick goes first and before Art drifts off himself he can practically see the cogs turning in Tashi's head, plotting something. 

He can't help but feel they've both given her a secret weapon, a cheat code to get them under her thumb. He smiles to himself as he's pulled into deep sleep.

----

an: um. idk what the hell just happened guys. sorry about this one, hope you enjoyed :) part 2 with tashi buying patrick some proper lingerie.... I will start working on that

[thebunnednun]

"EAT YER SOUP!"

Pairing: Aged up!ProHero!Husband!Katsuki Bakugou x Pro hero!Wife!Reader

Warning: MDNI!!! Extreme Flirting , Wc: Long like his truama+, No ageless blogs!

Synopsis: A snowball fight escalates into a dramatic battle for the icy throne between the, "Snow Empress," and the, "Demon King," of class 1a and ending with you becoming sick and Katsuki taking care of his sweet little Wife.

Tons of romantic flirting, promises of fun and sexy times awaits. Reader has a quirk.

Ya like Jane Austen? You'll love this.

Part 1 of 2.

It started as a perfectly normal winter day in Japan. 

The sky stretched in a crystal-clear blue, and sunlight sparkled against the untouched snow. Flakes glistened on branches like delicate diamonds, the world hushed in its frosted beauty. 

That kind of morning that invited peace.

A gentle hush blanketed the streets of Japan the night before, dusting the city with a sparkling white coat. The air was crisp, biting just enough to paint cheeks red and send puffs of visible breath floating upwards. 

It was the perfect snow day.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” 

Until it wasn’t.

“AAAAHHHH!” screamed Kaminari as he sprinted through the snow, his voice piercing the calm like an air raid siren. His arms flailed wildly, chunks of snow falling off his jacket from the barrage he’d just endured.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” Katsuki roared behind him, hurling an impressively compact snowball with the same intensity he brought to his explosive attacks. The snowball rocketed through the air, narrowly missing Kaminari’s head and splattering against a tree, sending icy fragments flying.

“NAH UAH!” Kaminari retorted, ducking behind a bench and scrambling to build his own ammunition.

Nearby, Midoriya stood knee-deep in snow, earnestly explaining to Iida and Uraraka, “Cold hands are actually a sign that your body is conserving heat by prioritizing your core temperature. So technically—”

“OOF!” Midoriya’s lecture was cut off as a snowball, courtesy of a snickering Ashido, struck him square in the face.

“LESS TALK MORE SNOW!” she cackled, darting away before he could retaliate.

A chorus of laughter and shouting filled the park, blending with the crunch of boots on snow and the occasional thud of snowballs finding their targets.

On the far end of the park, Sero's voice carried faintly over the chaos as he leaned against a tree next to you. He tilted his head slightly and murmured, “Let it go~ Let it goooo~” with the faintest hint of a smirk, his breath forming little clouds as he sang.

"I think that's a slur."

You snorted, burying your face in your scarf to muffle your laughter. Shoto's deadpan humor was one of your favorite things about him, and it was especially hilarious when contrasted against the madness unfolding below.

“Can I eat this?” Kirishima’s voice rang out as he held up what looked like a vaguely yellowish chunk of snow.

“DID YOU KNOW THAT THE ICICLES ON THE ROOF ARE ACTUALLY BIRD SHIT?” Danki yelled, pointing upward at a row of sparkling icicles hanging off a pavilion roof.

“Can we please go inside yet?” Jirou groaned from where she was crouched under the monkey bars, hugging her knees and shivering. Momo, who was hanging upside down, quickly dropped down and pulled the other girl into her large scarf before snuggling into her arms. 

“IMA MAKE A SNOWMAN!” Toru cheered, already gathering snow with surprising precision for someone who was completely invisible.

“DO A FLIP!” someone (C0ough Ojiro) shouted as Kaminari attempted to leap off a swing mid-arc. He landed in a heap, sending snow flying everywhere, but popped back up grinning like a maniac.

“Lemme see what you have?”

“AN ICE BALL!” Shoji declared, holding up what was essentially a solid block of ice.

“NO!” came multiple voices in unison as everyone collectively backed away from the six-armed giant.

The graduated class of 1-A, with the addition of Shinsou, had descended upon the local park after a public conference. It was supposed to be a quick reprieve—a moment to unwind after the formalities of hero work. Instead, it had turned into a full-blown festival of youthful chaos.

Even though you were technically pro heroes now, snow days were snow days. All your training, responsibilities, and public personas had been left behind at the press conference you’d attended earlier. 

Now, the entirety of Freedom Park was taken over and transformed into your personal winter wonderland.

From your hiding place on a small hill overlooking the park, you could see it all. Beside you, Shoto stands with his usual stoic expression, though his lips twitch slightly at the edges—a telltale sign he was enjoying himself more than he let on. His arms were crossed, and a small puff of steam rose from his cup of hot tea.

Your husband, however, was not enjoying a quiet moment. 

He was right in the thick of it. 

Katsuki had declared the snowball fight a competition, and chaos erupted the second the words left his mouth. He was now locked in a fierce battle with Kirishima and Kaminari, his explosions muted by the snow but still sending white powder flying in every direction.

“Think they’ll make it out alive?” you mused, your breath visible in the cold air.

“Unlikely,” Shoto replied dryly, taking a sip from his cup.

Katsuki was in full-on “competitive mode,” hurling snowballs with pinpoint accuracy and barking at anyone who dared challenge him. Midoriya, recovering from Ashido’s sneak attack, was now carefully constructing a snow fort with Iida and Uraraka, his freckled face glowing with determination.

Jirou and Momo had teamed up to create a meticulously designed igloo, complete with a functional entrance, while Dark Shadow—unsurprisingly—kept trying to sneak inside and was promptly shoved out each time by a disgruntled Tokoyami.

Down below, Toru and Ojiro had joined forces to create what looked like an impenetrable igloo wall, complete with a moat of shoveled snow. Tsu and Ochako were working together to stockpile snowballs inside, while Shinsou lazily leaned against the structure, occasionally lobbing snowballs with eerily good accuracy.

On the playground, Sero had finally managed to climb the slide and was now using his tape to lasso snowballs midair and fling them back toward their throwers. Mina retaliated by sliding down the other side, a trail of snow cascading behind her.

"Do you think we should join them?" you asked Shoto, brushing stray snow from your gloves.

"I’m perfectly content here," he replied, though his gaze lingered on the group with something that almost resembled longing.

“Come on, Sho,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “Where’s your sense of fun?”

He glanced at you, his mismatched eyes softening. “I think I left it down there.”

You laughed, the sound bright against the winter air. Below, Katsuki let out a triumphant roar as he finally tackled Kaminari into a snowdrift, only for Kirishima to leap on him a second later. The three dissolved into a pile of wrestling, laughing chaos.

“Alright,” you said, standing and brushing snow from your coat. “If you won’t come willingly, I guess I’ll just have to drag you into it.” Before Shoto could protest, you grabbed a handful of snow and flung it at him, hitting him square in the chest. He blinked in surprise, his tea sloshing slightly in its cup.

“Really?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Really,” you replied, already gathering another snowball.

With a flick of his wrist, Shoto melted the snow in your hand before it could leave your palm.

“Cheater!”

“You started it,” he said, setting his cup down and rolling up his sleeves.

Then, a soft crunch of snow behind you drew your attention. Turning your head, you saw three familiar figures trudging up the slope, snow clinging to their boots and the hems of their coats.

Sato, Aoyama, and Koda approached cautiously, their eyes darting to the chaos below as if they feared an ambush. Aoyama had a dramatic pout, and Koda’s wide-eyed expression screamed relief at finding refuge. Sato, meanwhile, was carrying what looked like a small stash of baked goods wrapped in foil.

“Is it safe here?” Aoyama asked dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as if the mere trek had been a perilous journey. You straightened up and waved your hands in an exaggerated gesture of benevolence. 

“I grant you sanctuary! You are safe here, under my protection.”

The three of them paused, exchanged looks, and then simultaneously bowed low, their motions filled with mock reverence. Shoto was back to cradling his cup of tea, steam curling upward as he quietly enjoyed the relative peace of your hiding spot. You, on the other hand, had your elbows resting on your knees, watching the battlefield with an amused grin as if it were the most entertaining show you'd ever seen.

“Thank you, our good queen, for granting us shelter in your realm,” Sato intoned, his voice deep and formal. “It is an honor to bask in your light,” Aoyama added, his usual sparkle exaggerated as he tossed imaginary stardust. Koda, always soft-spoken, simply bowed and nodded in agreement.

Beside you, Shoto muttered under his breath, “You’re lucky they indulge this,” as he raised his teacup again.Ignoring him, you turned back to the newcomers, gesturing for them to sit in the snowy clearing near you. 

“How fares the battlefield below, my loyal subjects?”

Aoyama huffed dramatically, brushing non-existent dirt from his coat. “Your husband, the Demon King Bakugou, is terrorizing the realm with his fiery wrath.” Sato chuckled and added, “He’s like a one-man army down there. Izuku’s holed up in the fort with everyone, trying to rally the troops into some kind of defense strategy with Momo.”

Koda nodded shyly. “It’s… chaotic. But Midoryia is trying his best.” Before you could respond, a new voice called out from behind.

“Is this the neutral party gathering place?”

Turning, you saw Iida climbing the hill, his hands chopping the air in his usual commanding way. His scarf flapped in the breeze, giving him an almost heroic silhouette against the snowy horizon.

“Yes, it is,” you replied with a playful flourish, gesturing to the group now gathered in your little haven.

Iida seemed pleased with the answer, nodding briskly before sitting down next to Sato, who offered him a pastry.

“We’ve got quite the party now,” Sato said, counting the group. “A priest,” he gestured to Iida, “a prince,” he motioned toward Shoto, who raised an eyebrow, “a pied piper,” he nodded at Koda, who blushed, “and of course, our queen.”

“And I’m more than happy to have a knight,” you said, pointing to Aoyama, who struck a dazzling pose, “and a baker’s man,” you finished with a grin toward Sato.

The group chuckled, settling into the cozy camaraderie of your impromptu sanctuary.

From the hill, you all looked down to see Bakugou standing alone in the center of the snowy battlefield. His scarf whipped behind him as he shouted at the rest of the class, who were safely ensconced in their snow-igloo “castle” that was once the playground.

“YOU COWARDS! I DON’T NEED HELP TO TAKE YOU SHIT HEADS DOWN!”

Kirishima stood a few feet behind him, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling nervously as he watched his best friend fume.

On the battlements of the “castle,” Izuku stood high, with Sero and Kaminari holding him up on their shoulders. His hands were cupped around his mouth as he called out, 

“Kacchan, you don’t have to do this! We can resolve this peacefully!”

“SHUT UP, IZUKU! I’M NOT NEGOTIATING WITH SNOWBALL-BUILDING WEAKLINGS!”

The entire group inside the fort shouted back at him, jeering and pelting snowballs from their windows.

Kirishima, glancing nervously between Katsuki and the fort, caught sight of you on the hill. He gave a small wave, his breath visible in the cold air. You returned the wave with an exaggerated beckoning motion, grinning as he hesitated, looking over his shoulder at Katsuki, who was now too focused on his ranting to notice.

Slowly, Kirishima began backing away, one step at a time, until he turned and jogged toward the wooded edge of the park. It took a minute, but eventually, he emerged through the trees and into your clearing. His face was flushed from the cold, his red hair dusted with snow.

“Welcome, gentle giant,” you said with a grin, spreading your arms in greeting.

Kirishima blinked, confused. “Gentle huh?”

“They’ve been speaking in medieval this whole time,” Shoto clarified, sipping his tea.

“Oh, got it,” Kirishima said, nodding along. Then, getting into the spirit of things, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Snow Empress, I have come to petition you. Please, you must put a stop to the war and end the tyranny of your Demon King husband!”

The group erupted into laughter, and you gave an exaggerated sigh, waving a hand over the battlefield below. “Rise, noble knight. Let us discuss how best to restore peace to this snowy realm.”

You leaned forward, your eyes flickering toward the tree line as a faint rustling sound reached your ears. The soft crunch of snow was almost inaudible against the backdrop of distant laughter and shouting, but your instincts told you someone was approaching. Squinting, you caught a glimpse of dark hair and a familiar, lanky frame blending into the shadows of a nearby tree.

“Shinsou,” you murmured, just loud enough for Shoto to catch.

He followed your gaze, his calm demeanor unchanging as he stood. Without a word, he picked up Sato’s hand and pressed the warm cup into it before standing. The shift in his posture was subtle but deliberate, his usually casual stance now sharp and ready. With a smooth motion, he conjured a spear of glimmering, jagged ice in his hand. It shimmered in the weak sunlight, its edges dangerously sharp.

Shoto leveled the spear toward the tree, his voice carrying the weight of playful authority. 

“Speak now, you unfaithful spy. Be ye friend or foe?”

There was a beat of silence, and then Shinsou stepped out from behind the tree with his hands raised in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Friend, obviously,” he drawled, his tone as dry as the winter air.

“Prove it,” Shoto demanded, his voice still even but with an edge of humor.

Shinsou rolled his eyes, stepping closer to the group. “What do you want me to do? Pledge my undying loyalty to the Snow Empress and her ragtag court?”

“That would be a start,” you chimed in, leaning back on your hands with a wide grin.

Shinsou sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he came to stand in front of you. 

“Fine. Your Majesty,” he said with exaggerated sarcasm, dropping into an over-the-top bow. “I, your humble servant, humbly request refuge in your domain. I swear my allegiance, provided I’m not dragged into whatever insanity your husband is stirring up down there.”

The group burst into laughter, Shoto letting his ice spear dissipate into harmless mist.

“Accepted,” you declared, clapping your hands together. “Welcome to the court, Sir Shinsou.”

Kirishima grinned, clapping Shinsou on the shoulder. “Glad to have you, man. We’re building quite the crew up here.”

Shinsou smirked, crossing his arms as he glanced around the group. “I see that. You’ve got the whole medieval RPG party vibe going on. Who’s who?”

Iida adjusted his scarf, sitting up straighter. “I am the priest, of course.”

“And I’m the prince,” Shoto added flatly, picking his teacup back up from Sato’s hands.

“I’m the baker,” Sato said, holding up his stash of pastries as proof.

“A knight,” Aoyama declared with a dazzling pose.

“And I’m the gentle giant,” Kirishima said with a laugh, flexing one arm for emphasis.

Koda, ever the quiet one, raised a hand sheepishly. “Pied Piper,” he said softly.

Shinsou raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “And you?” he asked, nodding at you.

You sat up straighter, lifting an imaginary crown from your head and adjusting it with exaggerated elegance. “I, of course, am the Snow Empress. Ruler of this humble hill and keeper of peace… unless my husband starts throwing snow grenades again.”

The group chuckled, but Shinsou tilted his head, squinting down at the chaos below. Bakugou was still yelling, now aggressively chucking snowballs at the castle fort while Izuku continued shouting at him from the top.

“Speaking of him,” Shinsou muttered, “Should we be worried about whatever he’s planning? Because he looks like he’s about to storm the gates.”

Everyone turned to look, and sure enough, Bakugou was gathering what could only be described as a truly absurd number of snowballs into a pile. His face was alight with pure determination, Kirishima’s absence completely unnoticed as he muttered something under his breath.

“Oh no,” you said with a laugh, resting your chin on your hands. “That’s the face he makes when he’s about to go all out.”

“Should we intervene?” Kirishima asked, scratching the back of his neck.

Shoto sipped his tea, completely unbothered. “Why bother? This is clearly a battle he’s destined to lose. Let him tire himself out.”

Shinsou snorted. “You’re a great wife, Todoroki. Truly.”

“Thank you,” Shoto deadpanned, raising his cup slightly in acknowledgment.

The group laughed again, the tension breaking as the scene below unfolded in increasingly ridiculous fashion.

As the chaos raged on below, you watched from the hilltop, shaking your head in amusement. The snow was littered with fallen comrades—friends lying dramatically in the snow, groaning in mock agony after being taken out by Katsuki’s relentless barrage of snowballs. Only Momo and Izuku remained standing.

Momo stood near the castle fort, her shield gleaming with a fresh layer of ice as she crouched behind it. Beside her, two makeshift snowball launchers she had crafted were firing at irregular intervals, their mechanisms clicking rhythmically as they pelted Katsuki with precision shots.

Izuku, on the other hand, was darting around like a green blur, popping out from snowbanks and behind trees to lob snowballs at Bakugou, whose maniacal laughter echoed across the park. Katsuki was clearly in his element, his scarf trailing behind him like a warrior’s cape as he dodged and countered every attack.

“He’s… actually enjoying this,” Shinsou remarked, his voice dripping with disbelief.

“Of course, he is,” you sighed. “This is practically a sport to him.”

“Should we go down there and stop him before he actually hurts someone?” Kirishima asked, glancing nervously at the fort.

“Yes,” came the unanimous response from your little group.

You groaned, standing up and brushing snow off your coat. “Fine. Do me the honor of escorting me, would you?”

Shoto smirked faintly, already summoning a fresh array of glistening ice spears for the group. The sharp tips caught the light as he handed them out one by one. “Try not to poke yourselves,” he said dryly, tucking one under his arm before offering you his free hand.

You took it, looping your arm through his as if this was some kind of formal procession. Shinsou bowed mockingly in front of you, one hand sweeping across his chest in an exaggerated gesture.

“Allow me to go ahead, Your Majesty,” he said with a smirk. “As your loyal valet, of course.”

“Of course,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

And so, with your odd little court in tow, you began your descent down the hill. The snow crunched beneath your boots as your group trudged down the slope, trying their best to maintain some semblance of dignity while navigating the uneven terrain. It was difficult not to laugh at the sight of everyone’s exaggerated steps, their knees and hips moving far too much in their attempt not to slip.

“Make way, make way!” Sato bellowed, his voice booming as if he were announcing royalty.

You suppressed a laugh, glancing at Shinsou. “Do your job, or you’ll meet the business end of Shoto’s spear,” you teased.

Shinsou smirked and straightened his posture, raising his voice as he called out, 

“Behold! The Snow Empress has arrived to grant mercy and bring peace to the lands!”

The battlefield froze—literally and figuratively. Katsuki paused mid-throw, his arm cocked back with a snowball the size of a melon in his hand. Izuku stumbled out from behind a tree, his breath coming in puffs of steam as he blinked in confusion. Even Momo peeked out from behind her shield, her brow furrowing as she tried to process what was happening.

“THE EMPRESS!” 

Mina suddenly dropped to her knees in the snow, throwing her hands up dramatically. 

“All hail the Snow Empress!”

Denki immediately followed suit, kneeling beside her and clasping his hands together as if in prayer. “Long live the Empress!” he shouted, his voice filled with mock reverence. The two scrambled to get behind you, their voices overlapping as they began to sing your praises. 

“So wise! So powerful! So benevolent!”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep a straight face. The theatrics were absurd, but there was a certain charm to it all.

Before you could respond, you felt a tug on your arm. Turning, you saw Toru standing beside you, her usually invisible form now outlined by a layer of snow clinging to her jacket and pants. Her hands, however, were bare, and you noticed her fingers were an alarming ice cold.

Without hesitation, you slid off your gloves and gently pulled them onto her hands. “Here,” you said softly, tugging the cuffs to make sure they fit snugly. “Keep these on.”

“Thanks,” Toru murmured, her voice grateful as she flexed her fingers inside the gloves.

Behind you, Sero muttered something under his breath in Spanish, his tone exasperated. “Coño, esto es ridículo,” he said, shaking his head as he trudged through the snow to join the growing group behind you. Shinsou, undeterred by the growing absurdity of the situation, continued his proclamation. 

“The Snow Empress has arrived to bestow mercy upon you all! Bow before her, lest you face her icy wrath!”

The battlefield fell silent once more, all eyes turning to you. Katsuki’s face was a picture of disbelief, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at the spectacle. Izuku, still catching his breath, looked like he was torn between laughing and taking the situation seriously.

“What the hell is this?!” Katsuki finally exploded, his voice echoing across the park. “You’ve gotta be shitting me!”

Shoto leaned in close, his voice low and amused. “Your move, Empress.”

You straighten your posture, tilting your chin up as you surveyed the battlefield. “Enough,” you called out, your voice carrying over the snow. “This war has gone on long enough. Lay down your snowballs and return to your forts. Peace shall reign across these lands once more.”

Mina and Denki immediately burst into cheers, clapping and shouting in agreement. The rest of the class, however, seemed less convinced, their eyes darting between you and Katsuki.

“Like hell I’m stopping!” Katsuki roared, hurling his massive snowball straight into the sky. “This ain’t over until I say it’s over!”

The snowball came crashing down—right onto Katsuki’s own head, exploding in a puff of powder. The entire park erupted into laughter, and even you couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across your face.

“Well,” you said, turning to Shoto. “I guess that settles it.”

Shinsou smirked, “Peace restored, Empress.”

Another snowball came flying through the air in a graceful arc, landing squarely on Katsuki’s head and bursting into a puff of icy powder. The battlefield went quiet for a moment, stunned, before laughter erupted from all sides—except for Katsuki.

His head snapped toward Momo, whose snowball launchers were still smoking from their recent assault. Her chin was lifted, her expression regal and utterly unapologetic. 

“For disrespecting my Empress,” she declared, stepping forward with the grace of a knight sworn to protect her queen.

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“You’re dead, Ponytail.”

Before anyone could blink, Katsuki lunged forward, snatching Shinsou up by the scarf like a sack of potatoes. The poor boy let out a choked gasp, flailing slightly as Katsuki dragged him upward.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Izuku shouted, darting forward with surprising speed. He grabbed Shinsou by the arm and yanked him back with all his might, prying him out of Katsuki’s grip. 

“What the hell, Deku?!” Katsuki snarled, spinning around to face him.

Izuku held Shinsou protectively behind him, his freckled face scrunched in determination. “You can’t just attack people! We’re supposed to be having fun!”

“Fun?! This is fun!” Katsuki bellowed, gesturing wildly to the chaos around them.

Meanwhile, you strolled down the hill with all the grace of royalty, Shoto still at your side with his ice spear glinting in the sunlight. “Lady Yaoyorozu,” you greeted warmly, inclining your head toward Momo as if the chaos around you didn’t exist. Momo turned to you, lowering herself into an elegant curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice laced with pride.

Katsuki froze mid-rant, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward you and your entourage. His gaze darted between your serene expression, Shoto’s protective stance, and the full squad of Class 1-A members following in your wake. His lip curled into a sneer.

“What the hell are you all doing?” he demanded.

You tilted your head, offering him a faint, knowing smile. 

“Hello, Consort.”

The title clearly caught him off guard. Katsuki blinked, his mouth opening as if to respond, but no words came out. You didn’t give him the chance to recover, turning your attention back to Momo.

“Lady Yaoyorozu,” you said again, your tone warm but firm. “What troubles you so? Is it this unruly rogue disturbing the peace of our lands?” Katsuki’s eyes widened slightly, and he pointed an accusatory finger at you. 

“Oi! Are you ignoring me?!”

You didn’t even glance his way, your focus remaining solely on Momo. Behind you, Shoto leaned closer to Shinsou and Izuku, his voice low. “She’s decided she’s the Snow Empress,” he explained matter-of-factly.

Shinsou shrugged. “It just sort of… happened,” he added, his smirk growing wider.

Izuku blinked a few times, taking in the scene—the exaggerated bows, the medieval speech, the mock battle—and nodded with a small smile. “Got it,” he said simply, falling seamlessly into the act.

Just then, Kirishima emerged from behind a snowbank, jogging up to your group and skidding to a stop in front of you. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head deeply. “My Snow Empress,” he said dramatically, his voice tinged with desperation. “I cannot bear the cruel treatment of my master any longer. May I reside with you permanently instead?”

The rest of the class burst into laughter at his declaration, but Kirishima held his bow, waiting for your response.

“What the hell, Shitty Hair?!” Katsuki barked, his confusion and irritation growing by the second.

You raised a hand, gesturing for Kirishima to rise. “Gentle giant, you are always welcome in my court,” you said graciously, earning a grin and a playful wink from him.

Katsuki threw his hands in the air. “Okay, seriously, what the hell is going on?!”

You turned to him at last, your expression calm but commanding. “We are here to grant peace to these lands,” you said, your tone firm, “Or to destroy you, should you refuse to fall in line.”

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of snow crunching under Katsuki’s boots as he took a step forward. His lips twitched into a smirk. 

“Destroy me, huh?”

Katsuki tilted his head slightly, adopting a mockingly regal posture. “A queen,” he began, his voice suddenly shifting into Shakespearean tones, “Surrounding herself with such… characters of the court?” 

“Tch. How distasteful.”

Behind you, Denki leaned over to Mina, whispering, “Yo, who knew he’d be this good at this?”

“I know right?!”

You tugged Shoto and Shinsou closer, gesturing to them each in turn. “This is my assassin,” you said, nodding toward Shinsou, who grinned wickedly. “And this is the crown prince.”

Shoto gave a subtle nod, his expression cool and composed.

“And I,” Momo interjected, stepping forward proudly, “am the Countess, as well as your Empress’s blacksmith and weaponsmith.”

Katsuki snorted, crossing his arms. “Oh, so everyone’s got a role now, huh? Doesn’t matter.”

Without warning, he hurled a snowball at you. It soared through the air, fast and sharp—but it never reached its target. Shoto moved before you could react, a wave of heat rolling off him as he melted the snowball mid-flight, leaving nothing but a puff of steam in its place. You sighed, your expression hardening as you took a step forward. 

“Everyone,” you said calmly, your voice steady but firm, 

“Back up.”

Your entourage obeyed immediately, retreating to a safe distance. Only Katsuki remained, his fiery gaze locked onto yours.

“Now then,” you said, leveling him with a cool, unwavering stare. 

“Let’s settle this, shall we?”

The icy chill of the battlefield buzzed with anticipation as the royal drama unfolded. Iida, ever the voice of reason and order, stepped forward with Shoji at his side. Both carried an air of solemnity as they began organizing the chaotic mass of Class 1-A into spectators. Iida raised his hands dramatically, gesturing toward the abandoned benches and bleachers that bordered the snowy grounds.

“Citizens of this most noble kingdom!” Iida declared, his voice booming with authority. 

“Make haste to the arena’s viewing galleries, where you shall bear witness to history in the making. For this day shall determine the fate of the lands!”

Shoji nodded in agreement, his multiple arms gently guiding classmates toward their seats. As the crowd shuffled toward the bleachers, Sato emerged like an unexpected hero, carrying bags of freshly baked goods wrapped in foil. He moved through the gathered students like a medieval vendor at a festival, handing out warm treats to the eager onlookers.

“Bread for the people!” Kaminari called out gleefully, munching on a cookie.

“Enough sugar, Kami,” Jirou quipped, nudging him with her elbow. “You’ll get too hyper and end up in the lake again.”

The class settled in with murmurs of excitement, laughter, and nervous whispers about what was to come. Meanwhile, you stood proudly at the edge of the field, the snow crunching lightly under your light pink juicy couture snow boots as you surveyed the scene with the regal air of a ruler. Shoto and Shinsou flanked you on either side, their faces composed and determined, while Momo and Izuku stood a step behind you, ready to act as reinforcements.

Katsuki was a stark contrast, prowling like a tiger among his chosen knights. He yanked Kirishima forward, the red-haired boy wearing a theatrical expression of sorrow and betrayal.

“My Empress!” Kirishima called out mournfully, dropping to his knees as Katsuki tugged at the back of his scarf like a leash. “Forgive me, for I must serve this tyrant!”

You gave Kirishima a soft, reassuring smile. “Fear not, my gentle knight,” you said with unwavering confidence. ���I shall free you from his chains.”

Katsuki scoffed, rolling his eyes but clearly enjoying the absurdity of it all. “Shut up, Shit locks,” he barked, dragging Kirishima backward like a misbehaving dog.

To everyone’s surprise, Katsuki then turned and gestured for Tokoyami to join his ranks. The brooding bird-like student strode forward, his cape billowing behind him as if he were summoned by some ancient force.

“Darkness always sides with the Demon King,” Tokoyami intoned ominously, taking his place beside Katsuki.

“Bro, he probably just wants dark shadow!”

“SHH, let him have this!”

“And glitter too, apparently,” Jirou whispered as Aoyama sauntered forward next, blowing a dramatic kiss to the crowd. Mina followed closely behind, her usual bubbly energy subdued as she adopted a determined, warrior-like posture. Katsuki pulled his team into a tight huddle, whispering strategies with a ferocity that only he could muster. His hands moved animatedly, pointing to you and your entourage as he outlined his battle plan.

“Do you think he’s plotting something crazy?” Shinsou asked, raising a brow.

“Probably,” Izuku muttered, his green eyes narrowing in thought. “But we’ll be ready.”

You turned to face your team, gathering them into a huddle of your own. Momo adjusted the strap of her snowball launcher, Shoto stood tall with his ice spear at the ready, and Shinsou smirked as if the whole thing was a game he was destined to win. In his hands two very sharp ice daggers twirled between his fingers. 

“They’re formidable,” Shoto said, his tone even. “Are you confident we can win?”

You straightened your posture, meeting their gazes with unshakable resolve. “Of course. Katsuki may be my legal husband outside of this game, and within these snowy lands, he’s just another challenger. I have never backed down from a challenge.”

Momo smiled at your conviction, nodding firmly. “We’re with you, your Majesty.”

Before anyone could speak further, Iida’s commanding voice called your attention. He stood at the center of the field with Shoji, their figures outlined against the stark white snow.

“Attention, noble combatants!” Iida announced, his arms raised high. 

“The terms of this duel have been decided. There shall be three rounds: The initial fight between the seconds of the royal couple, an all-out brawl lasting five minutes, and then a three-minute duel between any remaining champions. Finally, the Demon King and the Heavenly Snow Empress shall face one another to decide the future of the kingdom of freedom!”

A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd, and you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the title Iida had bestowed upon you. Raising your hands to the spectators, you addressed them with a voice that carried authority and warmth. 

“My loyal subjects, do not fear. I have never failed you before, and I shall not start now. Today, we shall emerge victorious, and peace shall reign across these lands once more!”

The crowd erupted in cheers, though Katsuki’s sharp laugh cut through the noise like a blade. He stepped forward, his expression both mocking and strangely alluring as he spoke in flawless Shakespearean tones.

“A queen so bold, yet so blind to the strength of her adversary,” he said, his voice low and resonant. 

“Know this, my sweet Empress—thy reign shall end beneath my hand, and these lands shall bow to me.”

Your breath hitched for the briefest moment, not because of his words, but because of how dangerously captivating his voice sounded when laced with such romantic intensity. Yards away, someone let out a low whistle. 

“Get your lady back Bakugou!”

“Kaminari!” 

“What?! He’s like, roguishly charming!”

Iida stepped between you and Katsuki, raising his hands for silence. 

“Before this battle begins, let us seek absolution for our sins,” he said solemnly, scooping up powdered snow and tossing it over both parties like ceremonial dust. Shoji then folded his hands together in prayer. 

“May the heavens forgive ye for the carnage that is to come, and may the gates of paradise open should any noble soul perish this day.”

You dipped your head respectfully, bowing to him. “Thank you, kind Sir’s.”

Turning back to Katsuki, you met his fierce gaze with a calm, regal smile. “This is your final chance to surrender,” you said, your tone measured.

Katsuki smirked, a flicker of something polite—almost gentlemanly—crossing his features before his fiery resolve returned. 

“Not a chance, Empress.”

You shrugged with the elegance befitting your title, swishing your cape as you returned to your huddle. 

“Very well,” you said. “Let us give them a show they shall never forget.”

The air between the snowy battlefield and the bleachers seemed to grow colder as the first round of the duel began to take shape. You stood at the edge of your small gathering, Shinsou at your right, Momo adjusting her gloves, and Izuku scanning Katsuki's team like he was already calculating every possible move they could make.

You gestured to Shoto with a graceful wave of your hand, summoning him forward. "Shoto, you are my champion for this duel."

Shoto inclined his head, his expression stoic yet calm. "Understood."

Katsuki’s team shifted in the snow, and you expected Kirishima to step forward with his usual gusto. But instead, Katsuki raised a hand, silencing his team as he nodded toward Tokoyami.

The dark feathered avian boy emerged from the group with a theatrical flourish of his cape, his crimson eyes gleaming beneath his shadowed cowl. "The Demon King has chosen me as his sword for this battle," Tokoyami intoned, his voice deep and resonant.

You raised a brow in mild surprise, glancing back at Shinsou. He leaned toward you, his voice low and steady. "Want me to pull him out early? It’d be easy enough to get him to surrender with one word."

You shook your head, a small smile curling at your lips. "No, let Shoto handle this. He’s more than capable."

Though you were confident, you still decided to walk Shoto to the field. His calm presence beside you was a comfort, and you felt the eyes of everyone watching as the two of you descended the short incline to the center of the battlefield. The snow crunched lightly beneath your boots, and Shoto adjusted his spear as he awaited the start of the duel.

As you reached the middle, you turned your attention to Tokoyami. 

"A good morrow to you, noble knight," you greeted him warmly, your tone light yet regal.

Tokoyami dipped his head in acknowledgment, but before he could respond, Dark Shadow peeked out from beneath his cape, chirping an enthusiastic, "Good morning!"

You smiled softly, pulling the white muff from your hands and extending it toward them. "For you," you said, your voice gentle. "The winds are bitter today, and even the bravest shadows deserve warmth."

Tokoyami’s eyes widened slightly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He hesitated for a moment before accepting the muff with a small bow of his head. "You honor me, Your Grace," he murmured, his tone more reverent than usual.

Dark Shadow chirped again, clutching the muff with his tiny claws. "Thank you, Empress! So soft!"

You waved to the little shadow with a soft laugh, but the moment was interrupted by Katsuki’s loud, impatient snarl from the sidelines.

"Get on with it already!" he barked, his fiery glare fixed on you like a wolf eyeing its prey.

You turned your head slightly, meeting Katsuki’s scowl with a serene, knowing smile. Then, without a word, you turned back to Shoto and adjusted the scarf around his neck. Your fingers lingered for a moment, ensuring it was snug enough to block out the cold.

"Be careful," you murmured, your voice quiet enough that only he could hear.

Shoto’s mismatched eyes softened as he met your gaze. 

"I shall. I will always return home to you, my Empress."

Your heart gave a small flutter at the sincerity in his voice. You placed your hands on his shoulders for a brief moment before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Then go," you said softly. 

"And make me proud."

Shoto gave a small nod, his expression composed as he stepped forward to take his place on the field. He glanced back at you once, bowing his head in respect, before focusing his attention entirely on Tokoyami.

The snowy winds picked up slightly, carrying with them the faint murmur of the crowd. The atmosphere was electric, the tension palpable as the two combatants squared off, awaiting Iida’s signal to begin.

You stepped back to your side of the battlefield, your eyes never leaving Shoto as he readied himself for the duel. Katsuki’s snarling and Tokoyami’s calm resolve couldn’t shake your confidence in him.

From the bleachers, Kaminari’s voice rang out, breaking the tension for just a moment. "Man, this is better than any reality show I’ve ever watched!" "Shh!" Ochako hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

Iida raised his hand high, the signal for silence. 

"Champions of the court, prepare yourselves! May this duel be fought with honor and skill!"

The field fell silent as the match was about to begin. You clasped your hands together in front of you, your breath steady as you watched Shoto take his first step forward. The duel was about to begin, and the stakes had never felt higher.

The tension crackled like static as Shoto and Tokoyami squared off, the snowy expanse their battlefield. Shoto stepped forward, his ice trailing in sleek streaks beneath his boots, his breath visible in the biting air. Tokoyami's cape billowed behind him, and Dark Shadow hovered at his shoulder, glowing faintly with excitement.

Shoto opened with a swift strike, slamming his right hand to the ground as an intricate wave of jagged ice spread like wildfire. The ice surged toward Tokoyami, who leaped into the air, Dark Shadow carrying him higher before darting down with a spiraling lunge. Shoto sidestepped just in time, his expression calm, and retaliated by summoning a narrow pillar of ice, forcing Tokoyami to twist midair to avoid the collision.

"You’ve gotten faster," Shoto said, his tone measured as he straightened and swept a hand through his bangs.

"And you've grown more ruthless," Tokoyami countered, a faint smirk tugging at his beak.

They clashed again, Shoto releasing precise bursts of fire to counter Dark Shadow's quick strikes. The battlefield was a swirl of elements, ice shards glittering in the air as flames danced in vibrant contrast. Dark Shadow maneuvered expertly, keeping Shoto on the defensive, while Tokoyami stayed grounded, orchestrating each move like a seasoned tactician.

But then, the sky shifted.

Dark clouds rolled in without warning, blotting out the pale sun. The light dimmed until the snow-covered ground seemed to glow faintly beneath the oppressive grey. A chilling wind swept through, and the first clap of thunder rumbled low and ominous.

Your face blanched.

From across the field, Katsuki stood with his arms crossed, an all-too-familiar wicked grin stretched across his face. He lifted a hand and gave you a slow, mocking wave, his ruby eyes gleaming with unspoken mischief.

"He's up to something," Shinsou muttered behind you, his gaze narrowing on Katsuki.

"Always," Momo replied, her tone clipped.

On the field, Dark Shadow’s power seemed to swell under the shrouded sky. His form expanded, his strikes faster and heavier, and Tokoyami's confidence grew visibly as the battlefield became his domain. Shoto struggled to keep up, his ice slowing under the relentless onslaught.

You shouted from the sidelines, "Shoto, fall back! Reset!"

But it was too late.

As Shoto stepped back to reposition himself, his foot slipped on a patch of black ice—slick and near invisible against the snow. His eyes widened in alarm as his balance wavered, and before he could recover, Dark Shadow struck. A sweeping blow knocked Shoto clean off his feet, sending him sprawling onto his back with a sharp thud.

The field went still for a moment, and then the collective gasp of the crowd broke the silence.

Iida stepped forward, raising his arm. 

"The first point goes to the Demon King, Bakugou!"

Cries and murmurs erupted from the crowd as you and Izuku rushed onto the field. Tokoyami extended a hand to Shoto, helping him to his feet with a small bow.

"Thank you for the honorable match," Tokoyami said solemnly.

Shoto dipped his head in return, brushing snow off his side. "And you as well."

You reached Shoto’s side, your hands instinctively going to his left arm as Izuku took his right. Shoto winced slightly but managed a faint smirk.

"I’m fine," he muttered, his voice low. "Though I think I’m going to feel a bump on my rump later."

You couldn’t help but laugh, and Izuku joined in, his face lighting up with a grin. "At least you’re still in good spirits," Izuku said, his hand steady on Shoto’s elbow. As you guided Shoto back to your group, Momo crossed her arms, her brow furrowed. "He had to have planned this," she said, glancing toward Katsuki, who was still smirking like a wolf who had just cornered its prey.

"He definitely planned this," Shinsou agreed. "He���s got a hard  energy, and that storm? Yeah, he summoned that somehow."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "Please. Katsuki may be many things, but a sorcerer is not one of them. That role already belongs to Tokoyami."

"Easy for you to say," Shinsou shot back, a teasing lilt to his tone. "He snaps his jaw at everyone but you."

Before you could respond, Shoto, still catching his breath, added with a faint chuckle, "The rogue's not wrong."

You raised a brow at them both, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. 

"That’s because Katsuki bites me—with affection. And for the record, I rather enjoy it."

It got quiet as shit for a moment. 

Momo’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing slightly as she pressed a hand to her forehead. 

"I will pray for you," she said with dramatic sincerity.

"Thank you," you replied, your tone light as you patted her shoulder.

Turning your attention back to Shoto, you gave him a once-over. "Do you need to sit this one out? No shame in resting." Shoto straightened, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms. "Nonsense. I’m fine," he insisted, his voice steady. "Though I might borrow some of those stretches Izuku taught me from his time in the hospital."

As Shoto began his stretches, you exchanged a glance with the green boy, both of you shaking your heads fondly. Katsuki’s voice called out from across the field, pulling your attention back to him. His grin was wider now, his eyes gleaming with anticipation for the next round.

Your group gathered under the makeshift wall you’d fashioned out of leftover ice blocks to shield everyone from the oncoming snow, the strategic discussion kicked off in earnest. Shinsou leaned casually against one of the abandoned snow boulders, his arms crossed as he surveyed the field. Izuku knelt in the snow, furiously sketching plans in the frost with his gloved hand while Shoto quietly stretched beside him, his focus sharpening with each deliberate movement. You stood at the center, glancing between everyone as ideas were tossed around, your hands tucked into your muff for warmth.

"We need to be careful," Shinsou started, his eyes narrowing as he gestured toward Katsuki’s team. "Bakugou’s got Kirishima and Mina—his heavy hitters—and the storm storm boosted Dark Shadow. They’re not playing around."

Izuku nodded, his breath puffing in the cold air. "He’ll send Mina in next. Her acid can cut through ice, and she’s quick enough to avoid fire attacks. Shoto, you’ll need to anticipate her movements."

Shoto flexed his fingers, the faint crackle of frost forming over his glove. "I can handle Mina," he said calmly. "But we need to anticipate her pairing with Kirishima. If he rushes in to cover her, it could get messy."

"We’ll counter with teamwork," you interjected, nodding toward Shinsou. "Shinsou, if you can neutralize Kirishima early with your quirk, we’ll have a better chance at overwhelming Mina. Momo, you’re my backup. Izuku, you’ll provide distraction."

"Understood," Shinsou said, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "I’ll make sure Kirishima’s too distracted to even touch you, Empress."

Before you could reply, a voice called out from the bleachers.

"Lady Momo! Would you find your way over here!" Jirou’s voice rang out, cutting through the strategy meeting. Momo blinked, glancing between you and the bleachers where Jirou was waving enthusiastically. 

"Excuse me, your grace. I’ll be right back," she promised, smoothing her scarf as she headed toward Jirou. Denki, lounging lazily next to Jirou with a mischievous grin on his face, piped up. "Mo, can you make us a drink machine please? I’m parched."

Momo hesitated for a moment, then nodded with a small smile. "Of course," she said, summoning her quirk. With a graceful sweep of her back, she produced a small vending machine stocked with hot drinks to warm everyone’s spirits.

"Yes! Hot cocoa and coffee! You’re the best!" Denki cheered, bounding over to the machine as the rest of the crowd gathered around it. Sato, ever the gentleman, stepped forward with a wrapped pound cake. "For strength," he said warmly, handing the cake to Momo.

"Thank you, dear baker," Momo said graciously, her cheeks dusted with pink from the attention.

Jirou, meanwhile, fidgeted nervously with something in her hand, her usually cool demeanor cracking under the weight of her shyness. "Uh, Mo…" she began, her voice barely audible over the chatter.

Momo tilted her head, her expression curious. "Yes, Song bird?"

Jirou swallowed hard before thrusting a small ring toward her, her ears turning a deep crimson. "This is for you," she mumbled, not meeting Momo’s gaze.

Momo’s eyes widened as she accepted a grass ring, turning it over in her hand. It was simple but beautiful, clearly something Jirou had poured her heart into. "Jirou…this is lovely," Momo said softly, her voice laced with genuine gratitude.

Jirou ducked her head, scratching the back of her neck. "It’s nothing fancy. Just…a token, you know?"

Momo smiled warmly, slipping the ring onto her finger. "It’s perfect," she said sincerely, her words making Jirou’s ears twitch in delight. Not far off, Denki waved frantically at Kirishima, who was standing with Katsuki’s group. 

"Yo, Kiri! Get over here!"

Kirishima hesitated, glancing at Katsuki, who immediately narrowed his eyes. 

"Eijirou, don’t—"

But before Katsuki could grab him, Kirishima dashed over to Denki with a wild grin.

Denki, ever the joker, handed Kirishima a frozen leaf, his grin widening. "For you, bro. A token of our undying friendship." Kirishima let out a bark of laughter, clutching the frozen leaf dramatically. "This is priceless, man. I’ll treasure it forever!"

The two of them laughed, their playful camaraderie drawing amused glances from the others. Katsuki, meanwhile, stood in the distance, arms crossed and a vein twitching in his temple as he watched his "troops" scatter.

You turned back to your group, shaking your head with a wry smile. "Katsuki’s team is falling apart already," you said, your tone light.

Shinsou smirked, adjusting his scarf. "Don’t let your guard down. He’s still got something up his sleeve. Demon King or not, Bakugou isn’t one to go down easy."

"True," Shoto agreed, finishing his stretches. "But we’re ready for him. Let’s stick to the plan."

With that, the group reconvened, ready to face the next round with renewed determination. The snow continued to fall, but the fire of competition burned bright in everyone’s eyes.

The air felt thick with anticipation as Iida and Shoji stepped back onto the field, their figures slicing through the thickening snowflakes. Shoji's stoic presence commanded attention, while Iida’s precise and authoritative voice cut through the murmur of the crowd like a bell.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today for the second round of this glorious battle!" 

Iida boomed, his voice almost as powerful as his actions, his eyes scanning the arena to make sure everyone was ready. 

“Prepare yourselves, for the clash of champions approaches! Remember, once you leave the designated battlefield or stray out of sight, you will be disqualified!” 

His words were clear, punctuated by the intensity of his gaze, ensuring everyone understood the weight of the rules. Shoji, ever silent, stood beside him, nodding to affirm the severity of Iida's command.

As the snow began to fall heavier, the swirling white mist seemed to grow darker under the ominous clouds overhead. It was almost as though the weather itself was becoming a reflection of the battle's rising stakes. Momo, ever the strategist, quickly set to work, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a pristine white snow machine, its steady hum filling the chilly air, and began to prepare several pairs of goggles for Shinsou, Izuku, and Shoto. 

The winter storm wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, and her foresight to protect their eyes was invaluable.

You stood there, taking a deep breath as you cracked your fingers, the gentle pop of your knuckles cutting through the crisp air. There was no hesitation in your movements now. You adjusted the scarfs and hats of your team, ensuring everyone was warm enough but still able to move freely. It was all about balance—warmth for defense, flexibility for offense.

Shoto, standing to your side, took a moment to channel his ice quirk, focusing intently as he exhaled. He then reached out, quickly warming everyone’s hands with a gentle, controlled burst of warmth, the icy chill of the air evaporating in seconds. 

"Hold these carefully," he instructed, his voice steady and reassuring. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he created an ice spear—perfectly sculpted and sharp, designed for precision. "For defense, if needed." He handed it to Izuku, who nodded gratefully. A moment later, Shoto repeated the process, crafting a set of sleek ice knives and daggers for Shinsou, who flexed his fingers eagerly, preparing to fight with these new tools in his hands.

You flexed your own fingers in the cold air, feeling the familiar coolness spread through your limbs. Each of your movements was deliberate, the quiet assurance of a seasoned fighter beginning to hum beneath your skin. You couldn’t afford to hesitate—not today. Your eyes moved across the battlefield, seeking your opponent. 

And there, at the other end, you saw him— your husband.

Katsuki was standing tall, his back straight, an aura of confidence and something darker surrounding him. 

His presence loomed over the battlefield like a storm waiting to break. Katsuki was a force of nature, radiating an intensity that made the very ground beneath him tremble. His eyes gleamed with that familiar, wild spark as he whispered orders to his team—Kirishima, Mina, Tokoyami, and Ayoma. They nodded in unison, readying themselves for the fray, their resolve evident.

As you watched them, Katsuki’s gaze locked onto yours. His lips curled into a sly grin, the wicked glint in his eyes darkening the already grim atmosphere. He tilted his head, his hand gesturing in the air as he called out to you. 

“Ah, Snow Empress, thou art so keen to play the game, but canst thou withstand the fury of the storm I’ve summoned?” 

His words were mocking yet full of a strange affection, a reminder of the playful tension between you two.

You smirked, deciding that now was the time to make the rules even more entertaining. 

“Very well, my subjects,” you called out to the crowd, your voice as clear as the ringing of a bell, 

“Forsooth, from this moment forth, let it be known that all shall speak only in the tongue of Shakespeare or the nobility of old! All who dare speak otherwise shall forfeit their honor!” 

You threw a wink toward your team, the playful gleam in your eyes urging them to play along.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the energy shifting as your command rippled through the battlefield like wildfire. Everyone—heroes, and onlookers alike—grinned and laughed, slipping into their medieval personas with exaggerated flair. 

Momo held her head high, the elegance of a lady-in-waiting that could kill ya on full display as she adjusted her shield. Shoto cracked his neck and stretched, his eyes narrowing as he embraced the upcoming challenge with the calm composure of a knight prepared for battle. Izuku grinned, adjusting his scarf with the quiet dignity of a prince, while Shinsou’s smirk was that of a cunning strategist, ready to outwit any foe.

Katsuki, not one to be outdone, shook his head with a low chuckle. 

“Very well, thy ‘Empress,’” he called back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“If it pleases thee, I shall meet thee on the battlefield, but know that I shall not be so merciful as to take pity on those who dare cross me.” He gestured to his team, and they stepped forward, each one standing tall and proud, fitting the roles they had now taken on.

"Now, for the first round," Iida announced once more, stepping forward, his voice firm but tinged with excitement. "I shall now call forth the leaders to announce their fighters for this duel!" His hand waved toward you, the leader of your group, signaling for you to begin.

You took a deep breath and stepped forward, your back straight, your presence commanding. 

“I present to thee, my loyal knights and comrades, the fairest of them all—Momo Yaoyorozu, the Shield Maiden, who shall defend us with unwavering strength!” Momo stepped forward with a graceful flourish, her shield held high, and the crowd cheered for her.

“Next, my steadfast companion and warrior of ice, Shoto Todoroki, the Prince of Winter, who shall freeze or burn all who dare stand in his way!” Shoto nodded, his expression serene, his ice quirk flickering at the edges of his gloves as he prepared.

“Following him, the courageous and noble Izuku Midoriya, the rightful ruler and crown alchemist, whose strength lies not only in his body, but in his heart!” Izuku puffed out his chest and stepped forward with a humble but determined nod, his eyes locked on Katsuki’s team.

The hard blush on his freckled cheeks was really cute too!

“Lastly, I present to thee, the silent but deadly strategist, Hitoshi Shinsou, the Knight of Minds, who will outwit and outmaneuver our foes with unparalleled cunning!” Shinsou tipped his head to the crowd, a faint smirk crossing his lips as he surveyed the battlefield.

The crowd roared their approval, the tension building. Then, as if sensing the end of the ceremony, Iida turned toward Katsuki, his voice steady. 

“And now, the Demon King’s chosen warriors!”

Katsuki suddenly stepped forward, raising a hand to silence the crowd. His crimson gaze glinted with mischief, and you instantly knew he was about to do something dramatic. The gathered subjects fell silent, their attention fully on him, though a few stifled giggles at his tone. Katsuki stood tall, arms crossed, as though he were the rightful ruler of this realm.

“Kirishima!” he bellowed, pointing at his best friend with a flourish. “A giant most unbreakable, a stalwart wall of strength and valor! He who doth stand firm against the tides of battle, red as the blood of our enemies!” Kirishima puffed up his chest, throwing up a fist and beaming. 

“Hell yeah! Unbreakable for life!”

Katsuki gave him a curt nod before moving on, his tone growing sharper. “Mina! A rogue mage whose swiftness and guile make her a tempest upon the battlefield! Behold, the Acid Assassin, she whose strike is deadly and unseen!” Mina twirled in place, striking a dramatic pose and blowing a kiss to the crowd. “All in a day’s work!”

Next, Katsuki turned his piercing gaze to Aoyama, whose sparkles practically blinded everyone. Katsuki gestured grandly. “And lo, we have Aoyama! The Starblade of our forces, a radiant beacon of distraction—or destruction! Doth he not shine bright?”

Aoyama struck a dazzling pose, winking as sparkles trailed from his finger guns. “Mais oui! Magnifique!”

“And now,” Katsuki continued, his tone dropping into something darker, “Tokoyami and his loyal beast, Dark Shadow! The vanguard of the night, wielding shadows as their blade! Fear them, for they are the abyss that swallows the unwary whole!”

Tokoyami inclined his head solemnly, his expression as stoic as ever. Dark Shadow, however, roared with glee. Katsuki paused, surveying his ‘warriors’ with an expression of exaggerated pride. 

“Together, these warriors, chosen by the Demon King himself, shall strike terror into the hearts of all who oppose us! Now rise, my army, and let us seize victory!”

His declaration was met with an eruption of cheers, laughter, and a few scattered claps. Mina leaned over to whisper loudly, “You really got into that, huh?”

“Shut it!” Katsuki snapped, though his ears were faintly red.

You clapped your hands together, grinning at him. “See? I told you the tongue of old worked.”

Katsuki shot you a warning glare, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a smirk. 

“Yes, Yes. Do not become so reliant, Snow Empress.”

Before you could counter, Iida  boomed, his voice almost as powerful as his actions, his eyes scanning the arena to make sure everyone was ready. 

“Prepare yourselves, for the clash of champions approaches! Remember, once you leave the designated battlefield or stray out of sight, you will be disqualified!” 

His words were clear, punctuated by the intensity of his gaze, ensuring everyone understood the weight of the rules. Shoji, ever silent, stood beside him, nodding to affirm the severity of Iida's command.

As the snow began to fall heavier, the swirling white mist seemed to grow darker under the ominous clouds overhead. It was almost as though the weather itself was becoming a reflection of the battle's rising stakes.

You stood there, taking a deep breath as you cracked your fingers, the gentle pop of your knuckles cutting through the crisp air. There was no hesitation in your movements now. As you watched them, Katsuki’s gaze locked onto yours. His lips curled into a sly grin, the wicked glint in his eyes darkening the already grim atmosphere. He tilted his head, his hand gesturing in the air as he called out to you. 

“Ah, my love, thou art so keen to play the game, but canst thou withstand the fury of the storm I’ve summoned?” His words were mocking yet full of a strange affection, a reminder of the playful tension between you two.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the energy shifting as your command rippled through the battlefield like wildfire. Everyone—heroes, friends, and onlookers alike—grinned and laughed, slipping into their medieval personas with exaggerated flair. 

Momo held her head high, the elegance of a lady-in-waiting on full display as she adjusted her shield. Shoto cracked his neck and stretched, his eyes narrowing as he embraced the upcoming challenge with the calm composure of a knight prepared for battle. Izuku grinned, adjusting his scarf with the quiet dignity of a prince, while Shinsou’s smirk was that of a cunning strategist, ready to outwit any foe. 

Katsuki, not one to be outdone, shook his head with a low chuckle. 

“Very well, soft ‘Empress,’” he called back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“If it pleases thee, I shall meet thee on the battlefield, but know that I shall not be so merciful as to take pity on those who dare cross me.” He gestured to his team, and they stepped forward, each one standing tall and proud, fitting the roles they had now taken on.

Kirishima rolled his shoulders, a fiery grin on his face as he pounded his fists together, ready to charge in as the fearless knight. Mina adjusted her scarf with a mischievous smirk, her energy electric like a rogue poised for action. Aoyama struck a dazzling pose, his wrap billowing dramatically as he declared victory in the stars. Tokoyami stood cloaked in shadow, Dark Shadow hovering menacingly beside him, both ready to unleash chaos. Katsuki cracked his knuckles, his smirk sharp and commanding, the Demon King prepared to lead his warriors into glorious battle.

The crowd roared their approval, the tension building. Then, as if sensing the end of the ceremony, Iida turned toward Katsuki, his voice steady. 

Iida nodded once, satisfied. "Now, prepare yourselves!" he called. “The duel shall begin in earnest! Fighters, take your stations!”

With a final, powerful declaration, Shoji’s voice rang out across the field. 

“Duel!”

And with that, the battle began. The snow swirled around y’all, the heavy clouds casting a dark shadow over the arena. A storm was coming, but which side would emerge victorious? 

Well, no one, actually.

The arena had fallen silent. 

No one moved; no one breathed. Each team stood poised, studying their opponents, calculating the first strike. Snow swirled lazily in the wind above, a quiet lull before the chaos of battle. There was something almost poetic in the stillness, the tension thick in the air, as if the entire world held its breath, waiting for someone to make the first move.

Then, like a lightning strike, a dagger soared through the air, glinting dangerously in the pale light. But before anyone could react, a sizzling hiss filled the air. Mina's acid quirk melted the dagger into a puddle before it could even hit its mark. A soft chuckle escaped from Shinsou's lips as he looked at Mina, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

You could see it. He was proud of her—she had passed his test, keeping her cool and handling the first attack with ease. She didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. 

And that was exactly what you needed.

A breathless moment of stillness passed, before it shattered like glass. 

Without warning, Katsuki lunged forward, his hands crackling with raw energy, determination burning in his eyes. "Don’t just stand there, ya bastards!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the snowstorm as he charged.

"Go!" You shouted, the command ringing in the cold air. Your team sprang into action.

You raised your hands high, the motion slow, deliberate. The snow above began to thicken and churn, swirling in an ominous vortex. With a forceful thrust of your arms, you brought the snowstorm down in a violent gust. It crashed against Katsuki and his team with the force of a winter avalanche, enveloping them in thick, stinging snow. The gusts were so powerful that even their shouts were muffled by the weight of the blizzard.

Katsuki's voice cut through the white-out, full of frustration and defiance. "Tch, don’t think you’ve won yet!" He gritted his teeth as the snow blanketed him, his body tense. The wind howled around him, and with a growl, he surged forward, pushing through the frozen mist. 

But as he moved, you were already behind him, the flick of your wrist sending a barrage of snowballs hurtling through the air. The impact was sharp, freezing. Katsuki flinched, his body jerked back for a second as the cold splattered over him, but he quickly recovered, his fiery spirit refusing to be subdued.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Kirishima pop up in front of you, his grin wide, the determination in his eyes matching the fierce storm around you. Before he could even close the gap, Momo was there, tackling him with surprising strength, her shield ready to defend against whatever he might throw her way.

Meanwhile, Shoto, Izuku and Katsuki were locked in an intense battle, their powers colliding in a brilliant spectacle of ice and fire. The arena seemed to tremble with every strike, their wills clashing like titans. Sparks flew in all directions as their abilities pressed against each other—Katsuki’s explosions against Shoto’s chilling cold. 

It was the perfect clash of opposing forces.

Shinsou was already in motion, his eyes gleaming with concentration. He darted across the battlefield, his mind working at full speed as he engaged Tokoyami. Dark Shadow surged from the shadows, an eerie presence that seemed to grow with every move, but Shinsou was a step ahead. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade, and Tokoyami hesitated, a momentary lapse in his focus.

In that second of distraction, Shinsou made his move. He darted in, grabbing the bird mans arm and quickly binding Tokoyami’s legs with the power of his mind, and before Dark Shadow could react, Shinsou knocked him hard towards the bleachers. The force sent him tumbling, landing unceremoniously with a loud thud. The crowd gasped as Tokoyami was caught mid-air by Sato, who grinned sheepishly and offered him some crumble cake as a peace offering.

Iida’s voice rang out from the sidelines, booming through the cold air. 

“Point for her heavenly majesty!” His words hung in the air for a moment before he continued, 

“Tokoyami and Dark Shadow are out!”

The game was already in full swing, but you knew that victory wasn’t just about power—it was about timing, strategy, and the willingness to push your limits. And you could feel that in the air now. The momentum was shifting, but the battle was far from over.

As the chaos swirled around you, you suddenly felt the silence of the battlefield grow heavy. You could see Katsuki on the other side, and his narrowed gaze momentarily locked onto yours. He’d backed Shoto into a corner near a park bench, the two of them still locked in an intense exchange. His hand was raised, ready to strike again, but you didn’t let him get the chance.

Without hesitation, you threw a snowball, watching as it sailed across the distance. It smacked into Katsuki’s back with a hard thud. He froze for a split second, stunned by the unexpected attack, and then slowly turned, his eyes locking onto you.

There was no warning, no hesitation in his expression—just that familiar, dangerous grin. 

You blew him a kiss from across the battlefield, a playful challenge in your eyes.

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, a silent promise passing between you two—a promise that this battle was far from over. You could see his mind working, calculating, anticipating your next move. But you were already ahead of him.

The battlefield felt like a chaotic blur of movement, where every step, every breath was calculated, and yet, in a moment, it could all come undone. The air was thick with snowflakes swirling violently in the storm you’d summoned, and the ground beneath your feet trembled as each battle raged on. It was a dance of powers—ice, fire, acid, explosions, and the hum of quirk energy that filled the air. And you were right in the heart of it, pulling the strings, making sure your team was always in motion, always ready to strike.

You darted through the snow, your steps light but purposeful, and spotted Shinsou across the way. He was exchanging blows with Tokoyami and Dark Shadow earlier, but now he caught your eye. His face was focused, serious, as he gauged the chaos around him. You nodded once, then called out, your voice carrying over the battlefield.

“Shinsou! Hypnotize Ayoma! Get him to blind Kirishima—quickly! We need expel him from the equation!” You barely finished the sentence before Shinsou, his eyes narrowing in understanding, was already off, darting through the snowstorm. You watched as he weaved through the chaos, heading straight for Ayoma with an almost predatory grace.

“Understood,” he called back without breaking stride. A moment later, Shinsou was by Ayoma’s side, whispering words that made the young man pause in his actions. Ayoma seemed hesitant for a second, but the weight of Shinsou’s orders was clear, and with a nod, Ayoma positioned himself just out of Kirishima’s line of sight.

You didn’t wait for it. 

The moment Shinsou made his move, you turned your attention back to Kirishima, who was still thrashing wildly in the middle of the battlefield, locked in combat with Momo. His energy was almost contagious, and you could feel it radiating off him. 

But that wasn’t going to stop you.

“Momo!” you shouted, your voice urgent, and you could see her turn to you, her shield held tight in her hands, her face a mask of concentration. "Prepare yourself!” You didn’t wait for a response—this was a battle of seconds.

With a quick leap, you soared through the air, the snow beneath you spraying into the air in a flurry. You aimed for Kirishima’s back, the one spot you had to use. The moment your hands landed on his broad shoulders, you grasped hold with all your strength, feeling his muscles tense beneath you as he bucked and kicked like a wild ram, trying to dislodge you. His movements were wild, fierce, but you held on, knowing that you had only one chance to do this.

Suddenly, your back was warm—almost too warm. 

And as you held tight, you suddenly felt something too hot to ignore searing through your coat. A gasp left your lips, and you tore away your outer layer in instinct, ripping the coat off your body as you quickly tried to get clear.

You didn’t even have time to think before you caught sight of Momo beside you. Without a second’s hesitation, you yanked her with you, pulling her from the chaos of the battle as you ran, using your ice powers to craft a thick, towering wall of snow between you and the opposition.

The snow wall rose swiftly, but you didn’t stop to admire your work. You spun around to face your pursuers, your breath coming out in sharp, misty gasps. And that’s when you saw her—Mina, smoke flickering at her fingertips, her eyes wide with concern as she sprinted to Kirishima’s side.

“No! I’m sorry!” Mina shouted, her voice full of urgency as she pushed past the snow and flames that licked at her heels. “Lord Bakugou ordered me to save him—!” She didn’t finish her sentence, the heat from her quirk licking dangerously close to Kirishima as you watched in disbelief.

Kirishima's stance softened as he looked back to you. His broad, garnet eyes scanned you for any sign of harm. "You alright my Lady?" he called, his voice softer now, the fierceness of the fight fading as he saw the concern on your face.

You gave him a nod, trying to brush off the burning sensation from your back. 

“I’m fine, gentle Kirishima! Just—uh, just a little singed,” you said, a little breathless as you tossed your burned coat toward the bleachers, hoping to distance yourself from the now-burning fabric.

Koda, ever the curious soul, shot his hand out to catch the falling coat, but just as his fingers brushed against the cloth, a realization hit him. He hesitated, his eyes growing wide. “Uh... wait, this is—” he began, looking down at the now-scorched garment in his hands.

Before anyone could react, Denki pulled him back, his face contorted with alarm. “Nope! Nope, nope, nope!” He backed up quickly, eyes wide as he realized the acid from Mina’s quirk was still lingering on the fabric.

The entire scene seemed to pause at that moment. The tension on the battlefield was palpable, and the fleeting second that passed felt like eternity. Koda quickly dropped the coat, and everyone held their breath, watching as it settled onto the ground, untouched by further flame or explosion.

Meanwhile, Momo gave you a concerned look, her brow furrowed, her shield still tightly held in her hands. “Are you really alright? That... looked like it hurt,” she said, her voice soft but laden with worry.

You waved her off with a chuckle, trying to shake off the sting in your back. “I’m fine, really. Just... a little more heat than I expected.” You could still feel the burn, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the battle that was still very much in motion.

The tension in the air was thick, like the weight of a storm waiting to break. The snowstorm, which had been both your weapon and shield, continued to swirl, but now it was becoming a frenzy, a storm of your own making, as you pushed your powers to their limits.

Momo's machines roared to life again, but this time, they were in overdrive. She'd instructed them to go wild, and they did. Snow blasted out in sheets, slamming down on Katsuki and Kirishima. The two of them were taken by surprise, caught in the avalanche of ice and snow that left them momentarily disoriented. This was the chance you’d been waiting for.

“Now!” you shouted to Momo, who was already dashing ahead, her own speed unmatched as she leapt through the chaos with the grace of a seasoned fighter.

You followed close behind, your breath heavy with determination as you surged forward, your heart pounding in time with each step. You could see Kirishima, trapped in the snowstorm, still fighting to regain his bearings. 

Without hesitation, you launched yourself toward him again, leaping onto his back as you had before. But this time, there was no hesitation. You slid your hands underneath his shirt, sending a blast of freezing cold through him.

His entire body stiffened at the sudden chill, his muscles tensing under your touch. Kirishima let out a surprised grunt, but you held firm, your grip tight on his torso. You could feel the heat radiating from his body trying to fight against the ice creeping through him, and it was a momentary advantage that you seized with all the strength you had.

But before you could even enjoy the victory, Mina surged forward, her body ablaze with her acidic flames. 

The heat was unbearable, and she quickly melted away Momo’s defenses, turning her shield into nothing but puddles of melted plastic. With a swift move, Mina knocked Momo out of the bounds, sending her sprawling across the field.

Iida immediately called out the disqualification, his voice cutting through the noise like a referee blowing the final whistle. But the sound was barely heard over the roar of Kirishima as he whipped you off his back with a violent toss, sending you flying through the air.

You landed with a soft thud, a laugh escaping your lips as you pushed yourself back to your feet. “Good  show, Kirishima!” you called, a smile crossing your face.

Shoto seized the opportunity. Without missing a beat, he froze Kirishima’s legs, locking the red giant in place just as you had hoped. The icy spikes burst from the ground, wrapping around Kirishima’s lower half, and he froze mid-step.

But just as things seemed to be tipping in your favor, Izuku appeared, charging in from the side, his kick landing squarely in Kirishima’s chest. The force of the blow sent the redhead flying out, and Shoji called out the announcement, marking him as out.

Victory was almost within reach. 

Almost. 

Kirishima wasn’t out at all. With a mighty roar, the red giant broke free of the ice restraints, charging at you with a renewed fury. You could see the raw power in his eyes, his muscles tense, his every movement an unstoppable force. He was coming at you like a freight train, but you weren’t ready to back down—not yet.

Izuku, ever the strategist, had already broken off, turning his attention back to Katsuki, who was still in the middle of his attack. You yelled at Shoto. “Go with him!” you ordered, knowing it would take both of them to handle the dynamo of explosions that was Katsuki.

Shoto nodded, his expression serious as he sprinted off in the direction of Izuku. You turned to face the rapidly advancing Kirishima, the snowstorm around you beginning to feel like a blur. But you had a back up plan.

You dashed over to a cluster of ice blocks, the snow swirling around you as you summoned even more. “Make haste!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the chaos as Kirishima drew nearer. The icy wall rose up between you and him, but you didn’t wait for him to approach. You launched yourself over the barrier, using the ice to propel yourself upward and forward.

At that exact moment, you saw Shinsou and Ayoma pop up, just as planned. Ayoma blinked his dazzling, intense light at Kirishima, blinding him for just a second. 

It was enough.

Kirishima stopped in his tracks, his vision clouded, and that was all Shinsou needed. “Blink for me,” Shinsou’s voice was calm but firm, his quirk taking immediate effect. Ayoma’s eyes glazed over for a moment as Shinsou’s control over him took hold. He blinked, just as Shinsou had commanded. 

And that’s when you pounced.

With one fluid motion, you grabbed Kirishima’s legs, pulling him down to the ground. It was only a momentary distraction, but it was enough for Shinsou to fully take control of him.

Kirishima, now under Shinsou’s influence, turned and began charging at Katsuki, completely unaware of his previous actions. Katsuki watched in stunned silence as his teammate barreled toward him, confusion flashing in his eyes.

And then—chaos.

Izuku’s scream sliced through the air like a knife, panic rising in your chest as you whipped around. The scene unfolded with startling speed—Mina, a wicked grin on her face, had launched a new form of attack,

 An 'acid' snowball. 

It exploded against Izuku with a sickening hiss, the acid beginning to eat through his costume. His face twisted in pain, and you wasted no time.

"Shinsou!" you shouted, urgency in your voice. "Escort Ayoma out of bounds to cease his suffering!" 

You barely heard his affirmative as you surged toward Izuku, the snow beneath you crunching with each step. You summoned a blast of cold, freezing the acid in Mina’s hands just before she could hurl another attack.

With a quick movement, you gathered the power to throw a snowball, launching it at Mina's neck. The impact was immediate, and she stumbled back, her face a mix of surprise and anger as she fell to the ground. You rushed to Izuku’s side, grabbing one of her arms, your hands quick and efficient as you pulled her off him and began to freeze her. 

“COLD! COLD!”

Izuku, gasping for breath, stumbled to his feet as together, you pulled Mina out of bounds, just as Iida’s voice echoed through the arena, calling her out.

But the chaos didn’t stop. 

The moment you thought the danger had passed, you turned to see Katsuki and Kirishima locked in a violent struggle, their power struggling against each other. Shoto, doing his best to keep the situation from escalating into something worse, was struggling to hold the two back. You felt the ground rumble beneath you as explosions punctuated the scene.

"Lighten the fall!" you barked, directing your focus on the storm that had been your ally. You felt the snow above soften, the weight of it lifting just enough for you to see clearly once more.

But then, the worst happened.

Mina, not fully subdued, was back on her feet faster than you expected. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she threw a punch straight into Izuku’s chest, knocking the air out of him. Before you could react, she kicked him hard, sending him sprawling over the line, her victory a sharp contrast to the tenderness you’d felt just moments ago.

You screamed in desperation, reaching out for Izuku’s hand as he slid past the boundary, calling out to you with a voice full of pain and determination. 

"Empress!" he yelled, his eyes locked onto yours as his hand nearly brushed against yours.

But before you could make the distance, strong arms wrapped around your waist, dragging you backward. 

Kicking and struggling against the hold, you twisted in Shinsou’s grip, realizing what he was doing. He pulled you back, his voice stern in your ear. 

“You know the penalty,” he reminded you with a hint of reprimand. “Touching someone out of bounds is probably against the rules.”

Iida was already marching over, his stern gaze focused on you both. He called out, marking Mina and Izuku as out, his voice the final nail in the coffin.

Izuku, though clearly shocked, didn’t stay down for long. He was helped up by Sato, a supportive hand on his shoulder. Mina, apologetic, rushed over, her face full of remorse as she helped him stand. Izuku, ever the optimist, smiled despite the bruises and the burns, and began gushing about her hand-to-hand combat skills. 

“That was insane, Mina! I didn’t even see that coming!” he said, his enthusiasm infectious as they walked together toward Ochako and Tsu for bandages.

You turned back to the battle, feeling the tight knot of concern twisting in your gut. Shoji’s voice rang out, announcing the final two minutes of the match.

You bolted forward, not willing to let the others fall apart now.

You and Shinsou arrive just in time to see Katsuki about to launch his next attack, his eyes narrowed and focused solely on Shoto, ready to unleash another explosive blast. Your heart pounded in your chest as you rushed forward, throwing yourself between Shoto and the impending danger. 

With a desperate surge, you snatched Shoto out of harm's way, pulling him hard against your chest and leaping out of the blast radius just as the explosion rang out. The shockwave reverberated through your body as the ground beneath you cracked from the force of the blast.

You felt the heat of the explosion wash over you, a fleeting burn that you barely noticed compared to the adrenaline coursing through your veins. For a split second, you thought you'd managed to save him, but the momentary sense of victory was short-lived.

The next turn of events, however, was something none of you could have anticipated.

Kirishima, still locked in battle with Shinsou’s mental command, stopped dead in his tracks. His muscles, usually so full of life, tensed. He blinked, as though shaking off a haze, but then, instead of obeying Shinsou's command, his body began to harden with alarming speed. You barely had time to react before his massive hand shot out and grabbed you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

“Sorry,” Kirishima whispered, his voice surprisingly gentle as his hardened grip clamped down around your torso. You barely had time to register his words before you were jerked through the air, the speed and force of his movements making your stomach drop, breaking your hold on Shoto.

Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening too late. “Kirishima!” you gasped, trying to wriggle free, but his hold on you was unbreakable.

And then, to your horror, you saw Shoto—falling, caught in the full force of Katsuki’s explosion.

The blast hit Shoto directly, and you watched in helpless agony as the explosion engulfed him. The sheer heat of the attack made the air shimmer, the snow around you turning into steam. For a heartbeat, everything went still.

Katsuki’s eyes locked on you, and in that moment, everything fell silent. 

You had lost your grip on Shoto, a momentary lapse as you realized just how badly the situation had shifted. 

It was all too late.

Kirishima’s hold on you tightened, and the chaos of the battlefield blurred around you, the future uncertain as you were forced to watch the disaster unfolding before you.

The frigid air burned your lungs as the weight of the moment pressed down on you. Your anger, a burning fire beneath the ice-cold surface of the snow-covered battlefield, surged within you, pulsing with the urgency of a thousand untold stories. Kirishima’s grip on you was tight, unrelenting, but in that instant, you knew it would break.

With a defiant twist, you threw your head back, the motion swift and desperate, your skull colliding with his nose. A sickening crack echoed in the silence of the snow-dusted park. He staggered back with a grunt, releasing you just as you summoned the ice, the chill of your power freezing his form, encasing him in a wall of solid frost that captured him effortlessly.

The snow around you seemed to hold its breath as you dropped to your knees, the cold biting at your skin as you cradled Shoto's head in your lap. The weight of him against you, so familiar, so loved, made your heart ache. His breathing was shallow at first, ragged from the blast, but you could feel the steady thrum of his pulse, the warmth of his skin beneath your hand.

You traced the lines of his face gently, your fingertips brushing against the coolness of his skin. Those eyes—the ones you cherished so deeply, the ones that had once glimmered with quiet confidence, now hazy with the remnants of the explosion—fluttered open, meeting your gaze. His lips parted, a soft apology escaping him, but you stopped him with a gentle shush, pressing your forehead to his.

"You fought bravely for me, Shoto," you whispered, the words a soothing balm for his troubled heart. "You did everything right. You acted with honor. Unlike him."

You raised your gaze to Katsuki, who was sitting comfortably encased in ice, seemingly unaffected by the trap you had set for him. He smirked at you, his posture arrogant, almost smug as he crossed his arms. He let out a low, mocking laugh and spoke in harsh tones, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Always the hero, aren’t you? Always coming to the rescue of your baby brother.” 

“Too bad it’s also your folly.”

The bite in his words made your blood run cold, and you glared at him, the ice beneath you crackling as your anger surged again, sharper this time. You weren’t going to let him insult your honor—or your love for Shoto.

You snapped your fingers, the sharp sound echoing in the otherwise still park, and in an instant, Hitoshi’s ice dagger was flying through the air. It sliced through the air like lightning, the sharp edge meeting Katsuki’s cheek, leaving a thin red line where the ice scraped him, a symbol of his defiance. He winced but didn’t flinch—his smirk remained, 

The arrogant bastard.

"That is enough chatter out of you," you growled, your voice a low and dangerous hum in the cold, snowy air.

“Ahem.”

The sound was unexpected, pulling your attention away from the frozen scene in front of you. You turned, your gaze shifting to the newcomers. Sero, Sato, and Ayoma, standing nearby. Their expressions were a mixture of concern, admiration, and caution. They’d arrived just in time, but you didn’t have time to waste.

You gently untied your scarf from your neck, the fabric soft against your fingertips as you wrapped it around Shoto’s hands, tying it carefully to keep them warm. You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering for a moment as you whispered a prayer for his safety.

"Go," you urged, your voice soft but firm, your hands brushing his hair back as you sent him off with a nod.

Shoto, still groggy but steady enough to stand, gave you one last look of gratitude before he left, aided by the boys. They would get him to safety, out of the bounds of the match, and you knew they’d protect him with everything they had.

As you rose to your feet, the park around you seemed to shrink in the distance. The snow had begun to fall heavier now, a soft flurry that blurred the world into a hazy vision of white and grey. The sky was still overcast, casting a dim light over the whole scene. The landscape was a blur of snow-covered trees, frozen ponds, and the distant sounds of muffled movement as your classmates struggled to recover from the chaos of the battle.

The weight of the moment settled over you. This had started as a game. A simple rivalry. 

But now, it was personal.

You held yourself tall, letting your posture straighten, the regal air of an empress seeping into your very bones. Your heart beats with a dangerous resolve, the fire inside you burning brighter than the frozen landscape around you. You weren’t just fighting for your people anymore. You were fighting for everything they Shoto stood for, for the honor that Katsuki had long forgotten.

The battlefield was quiet for a heartbeat. The snow was falling steadily now, covering the ground, coating the trees, and obscuring everything in the pale grey wash of winter. The world felt cold, detached, and far away, but your mind was focused on one thing.

You were going to teach your husband a lesson. One he would never forget.

And as you raised your chin high, meeting the eyes of the one who had insulted your family, you whispered, “This ends now.”

The tension in the air hung heavy as Iida’s voice rang out, cutting through the cold silence that had enveloped the field. 

"Time!" he declared, his voice firm, authoritative, and final. 

"The battle is over. This match ends in a draw."

A chorus of boo’s erupted from the bleachers, the sounds echoing through the snow-filled park. Disappointment rippled through the group, the heat of the battle fading into the quiet aftermath. You took a deep breath, your eyes flicking briefly to Kirishima, who stood there, stiff as a statue, waiting for any sign of acknowledgment. You didn’t give him the satisfaction. Your eyes slid past him, the coldness of your expression unwavering as you walked towards your subjects, your loyal comrades.

Your footsteps crunched through the snow as you moved, the sight of everyone huddled together, chatting and laughing, warming your heart despite the chill in the air. They were no longer pretending to be the war-torn soldiers they once were, the echoes of the ‘snow war’ finally starting to fade. They were simply friends again, a family bound by shared experiences and memories. You smiled softly at the scene, grateful for the laughter, the relief, and the camaraderie that filled the space.

But Kirishima’s voice broke through, his tone full of regret and pleading. “Empress,” he called out, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. “I—I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean it. I—”

You turned away from him without a word, ignoring his attempt to make amends, your attention fully on the group ahead. Denki, ever the cheeky one, chimed in from the side, his voice as playful as always, though laced with a dramatic flair. "He should be tried for treason!" he declared, his hand making an exaggerated gesture in the air. 

“For the insult to our royal honor! To her excellency!”

The air between the group seemed to lighten with his words, the tension of the battle slipping into a more playful, almost medieval atmosphere. Hitoshi, standing slightly apart from the group, his eyes never leaving Katsuki as he stood isolated, spoke up, his voice teasing, but with a hint of insight. 

“He kinda looks lonely over there, doesn’t he?” His words were playful, but there was an undercurrent of truth. Katsuki was still encased in ice, looking almost pitiful in his defeat, as if the heat of his explosions couldn’t thaw the chill in his heart.

You glanced over to where Katsuki stood, his arms crossed, his smirk gone. His icy demeanor seemed almost self-imposed as he watched you, and for a brief moment, you felt a flicker of sympathy. But you quickly squashed it, the fire of your pride burning hotter.

“It’s his own doing,” you muttered under your breath, the words harsh but necessary, your gaze hardening as you turned back to your friends, to your family.

A soft voice called your name from behind, pulling your attention. You turned to see Shoto sitting up from where he had been lying in the snow with Izuku and Mina. His usual calm demeanor was evident, though a playful grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “It’s alright, Sis,” he said, the hint of teasing in his voice. 

“It was all just dramatics. I’m fine.”

Izuku, who had been sitting beside him, gave a thumbs up with a grin. Mina, her usual fiery self, looked at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Just a little bit of extra flair for the show.” She waved it off, clearly not bothered by the near explosion she’d witnessed.

The sound of their laughter was like music to your ears, and you couldn’t help but smile, the weight of the battle lifting from your shoulders. Shoto was indeed fine. No lasting harm done. Just the theatrics of the moment, designed to add some spice to the otherwise quiet end.

You walked towards them, your stride confident and regal, the snow beneath your boots crunching as you made your way. “I should’ve known better,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Always the dramatics with you all.”

Kirishima, still standing off to the side, looked on in silence, but his eyes softened as he watched you approach the others. His words of apology still hung in the air, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything just yet. Instead, you joined your friends, your subjects, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could truly relax, basking in their warmth and joy.

They had your back. You had theirs.

So….

“Oh, do not look so downtrodden,” you say with a teasing smile, reaching out to Kirishima. Before he can fully process your words, you wrap your arms around the big guy and pull him into a playful hug, leaning back slightly to sway him with you. His eyes widen in surprise, but the relief washing over his face is immediate. 

“All is forgiven, Sir Kirishima,” you add warmly, patting his shoulder for emphasis.

The air shifts instantly, the tension melting like the snow under the bright sun. The rest of the group cheers and hollers, clapping and laughing at the display of forgiveness. Denki pumps his fist in the air, shouting something about, “Cheers for the Empress’s heart,” while Mina dramatically wipes an imaginary tear. Even Hitoshi offers a faint smirk, twirling one of the remaining ice daggers in his hand before letting it fall harmlessly to the ground.

The joyful noise quiets as Momo raises a hand, her posture as graceful as ever despite the chill. She’s still wrapped up with Jirou, who looks equally intrigued by what’s to come. 

“My lady,” Momo begins, her voice carrying a regal tone that matches the medieval atmosphere you’ve all conjured. 

“What shall you do when you face off against your husband?”

You pause, tilting your head thoughtfully. The group leans in, their breath visible in the frosty air as they await your response. Then, as if struck by inspiration, you grin widely, the kind of grin that hints at mischief.  “Momo,” you say, your voice rich with excitement, 

“Would you tailor me a cherry red robe? I have a plot stewing.”

The circle tightens as everyone huddles together, their curiosity piqued. The snow crunches softly beneath your boots as you step closer to Momo, who nods in acknowledgment, already mentally sketching out the design. Whispered plans ripple through the group like a shared secret, the buzz of excitement building. Even Shoto, still lounging in the snow next to Izuku and Mina, leans in with interest, his dual-toned eyes gleaming with intrigue.

While you’re immersed in your plotting, Katsuki moves.

The ice encasing him begins to shift subtly. Unbeknownst to anyone, he’s been melting the interior into warm water for some time now, the heat from his palms steadily eating away at his frozen prison. With a sharp crack, the last layer shatters, and he steps out, steam rising from his skin as if he were a fiery god emerging from the snow.

Katsuki doesn’t announce himself, nor does he storm over to disrupt your plans. 

Instead, he stands there, watching the scene before him. The corners of his mouth tug downward into a slight frown, but the emotion behind it isn’t anger—it’s something more subdued, almost wistful. He folds his arms across his chest, his crimson eyes locked on you.

He tells himself it doesn’t bother him. The group huddled around you, the way they gravitate toward your leadership, the way they laugh so freely in your presence—it’s fine. He doesn’t need their approval or attention. But…

Katsuki’s gaze softens slightly, lingering on you. He watches the way you smile, the way you effortlessly bring everyone together, your laughter bright and contagious even in the freezing cold. He remembers the first time he saw that smile, in this very park, no less. It was below -28°C that night, the bitter chill biting at every inch of exposed skin. UA’s curfew was long past, but you had both braved the icy weather, sitting side by side on the old swings. He hadn’t cared about the snow then, or the cold. 

All he could think about was how beautiful you looked, your cheeks flushed from the chill, your eyes alight with wonder as you gazed up at the night sky.

Katsuki hadn’t been looking at the stars that night. He’d been looking at you. That was the moment he’d known—you were it for him. 

The only one.

So yeah, it actually stung a little to see you so engrossed with the rest of the class while he stood off to the side. It hurts more than he’d like to admit to be excluded, to feel like the outsider when he is yours. And the cut on his face from Hitoshi’s ice dagger? 

That wasn’t just a sting; it was an insult. 

But he wasn’t about to say any of that.

Instead, he smirked to himself, his trademark cocky grin returning as his crimson eyes gleamed with a familiar spark. If you wanted to band together with these extras and plot against him, fine. Let them have their moment. He’d remind you who your true loyalty was with soon enough.

His smirk deepened as he thought about you—his wife, his empress. 

The woman who always made sure he wore that he was bundled up in this kind of weather, even when he grumbled about it. The woman who fussed over him endlessly, whether it was over a scraped hand or a missed meal, despite his protests and rough words. 

The queen who knew exactly how he liked his coffee—strong, no sugar—and made it for him every morning without fail, just because she wanted him to start his day right. The princess who listened to his rants, no matter how long or loud, and never made him feel like he was too much to handle. The peach who could calm the storm inside him with a single touch, a soft word, or that crooked smile of hers that he swore could knock him out harder than any villain ever could.

The lady who laughed at his terrible jokes—because yes, he did have a sense of humor, damn it—and never let him forget that he was more than just a hero. The one who made their house feel like home, filling it with warmth, love, and a softness he never knew he needed until she was there. The person who always saw the best in him, even when he was too stubborn to see it in himself, and somehow made him want to be better every single day.

And perhaps most importantly, the woman who loved him fiercely, unconditionally, and with a depth that left him breathless. The one who made him believe that he deserved all of it—her care, her warmth, her love—even on the days when he doubted himself the most. The spirit who somehow made freezing winter days feel warm and bright just by existing in them, her presence chasing away the bitter chill like the sun breaking through the clouds.

The girl who somehow made his heart feel safe and warm and light just by being here.

Katsuki glanced down at the snow beneath his boots, kicking at it absentmindedly. 

Whatever. If you wanted a war, you’d get one. Katsuki shoved his hands into his pockets, letting the warm steam rise around him. The icy chill in the air didn’t faze him—not when he was already planning how to make you all pay.

Starting with you, his pretty little Empress.

The air seemed to grow colder as you walked to the battlefield, the silk robe Momo had tailored for you brushing against your skin with every step. The snow beneath your feet was pristine now, smooth and unmarred by the chaos of earlier battles. You had taken care to clear the clouds overhead, leaving a serene blue sky in their place. Only Momo and Jirou’s icy igloo castle remained standing, its frosty walls gleaming like a beacon of past victories.

Momo sipped her hot chocolate leisurely, watching you with a quiet smile of encouragement as you excused yourself from the huddle and walked toward the battle lines. Katsuki’s whistle broke the quiet, sharp and appreciative, and then he smirked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Fair empress, thou art so radiant that thy very presence doth make this battle folly. I pray thee, surrender now, and let me claim you as my prize.”

You turned to face him with a raised brow, your expression the perfect balance of disdain and amusement. 

“Thyn words are wasted, husband, for no empress would yield to the likes of thee.” Your voice carried the commanding tone of royalty, each syllable precise and biting.

Katsuki chuckled darkly, shaking his head in amusement. His crimson eyes never left you as he leaned against the hilt of his snow-covered “blade”. Upon closer inspection, it seemed to be the spear Shoto dropped when he was blasted. 

Shoji drew a new line in the snow, and Iida stood between you both like a proper officiant, clipboard in hand. “Are you both ready to begin?” Iida asked, his usual formality unwavering despite the growing tension. You tilted your head, your gaze locking onto Katsuki’s. 

Something felt... off. 

His posture was confident, his smirk as cocky as ever, but his eyes—they betrayed him. They always did. Katsuki could lie to the entire world, but not to you. Never you. The faint flicker of vulnerability was there, hidden behind his usual bravado. You frowned as he broke eye contact, addressing Iida and the rest of your friends instead.

“In truth, I doth understand thy devotion to her grace,” Katsuki said, his voice deep and steady as he slipped fully into the role. He gestured toward you dramatically, his grin sharp. 

“Thy sweet, dear little Empress hath ensnared you all with her charms, as she hath me. I’ll not hold it against thee—nay, if thou dost beg now for my forgiveness, I’ll make thyn executions swift and merciful.”

The group erupted in protest.

Denki was the first to shout, “We will never follow you, demon king!” But the moment Katsuki’s growl rumbled out, Denki vanished behind Mina and Sero with a yelp. Shoto rose from where he had been resting beside Izuku, his mismatched eyes blazing with defiance. 

“We will never bow to you, Katsuki,” he declared, his voice cold as the snow beneath him.

Izuku stepped forward as well, his usual stammer gone. “Our loyalty lies with her grace, the heavenly Snow Empress of the High Court.”

Hitoshi smirked, crossing his arms. “Mother of Snowflakes, Maker of Blizzards, Survivor of the Grotesque Demon King. That’s who we follow.”

You blinked, confusion flickering across your face at the growing list of titles. “Hey!” you shouted at Hitoshi, your glare directed at him for the jab. He simply shrugged, unbothered.

Katsuki, however, took it all in stride. His gaze darkened as he looked at the group, his smirk vanishing into something far more dangerous. 

That murderous glint in his eye promised retribution for their insults.

Before the tension could fully settle, you bent down and grabbed a handful of snow. With a quick flick of your wrist, you sent it flying at Hitoshi, catching him square in the nose and sending him sprawling into the snow. “Watch thy tongue, knave,” you said, unable to hold back the grin tugging at your lips.

Iida cleared his throat loudly, trying to regain control. “As I was saying—the rules for the final match—”

Katsuki raised a hand, cutting him off. “I’ve got a request,” he said. His voice was sharp but calm, drawing everyone’s attention.

You tilted your head, curious and slightly wary. “Speak, consort,” you said with a flick of your hand.

Katsuki smirked, but there was steel behind it. “Whoever wins this final match wins overall,” he said. 

“Forget the first two matches—this one decides everythin’.”

The group collectively gasped.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, and you turned to him fully, your silk robe swaying with the motion. 

“Stop thy jesting,” you said, your tone sharp but tinged with concern.

“’m not the jester, dearest” he replied, his voice low and serious. He cast a pointed look at Denki and Sero, who immediately looked like they wanted to melt into the snow.

“Please, my lady, no!” Toru’s voice rang out, pleading and full of panic.

The others quickly joined in, their voices overlapping as they begged you to refuse. Even Iida and Shoji looked uneasy, though neither spoke against Katsuki directly.

Iida stepped forward hesitantly. “You already have one loss under your belt, my lady. There is no need to risk it all. The final match would have required a duel regardless—”

You tune him out, your mind swirling. You weren’t thinking of strategy, of the group’s loyalty or morale. This wasn’t about the game anymore. You looked at Katsuki, really looked at him. The vulnerability you had seen earlier was still there, faint but undeniable. It wasn’t just about winning for him—this was personal.

After a long pause, you nodded. Decision made.

“I will accept his highness’s petition,” you said, your voice steady. “But only on one condition.”

Katsuki steps closer, his boots crunching in the freshly smoothed snow, his sharp crimson eyes narrowing as he studies you. The rest of the “kingdom” leans in, their collective breaths held as you clear your throat and raise your arms with an air of finality.

“If I am to accept thy terms,” you begin, your voice echoing across the snowy battlefield, “Thou must spare all my people. Thou art to show them nothing but love, compassion, and genuine kindness for the rest of thy days. Shouldst thou falter, I shall take thy life in the dead of night and rule the kingdom myself.”

The entire arena erupts in gasps, the bleachers breaking into a cacophony of cries. Shoji practically stumbles forward, his usual composure gone. 

“My lady, dost thou know the gravity of thy words?!”

Shoto’s voice rises in desperation, icy and steady despite the panic in his eyes. “My empress, no! You cannot!” Even Tsu clutches her hot chocolate so tightly that it nearly spills, her eyes wide with disbelief. Koda squeaks so loud it scars off a family of squirrels. Izuku drops his head, murmuring prayers under his breath, his hands clasped tightly.

“Silence!” you snap, your voice cutting through the chaos with regal authority. 

“My word is final.”

Katsuki’s smirk falters slightly, his brow furrowing as he watches you. You can see the wheels turning in his head, his cocky demeanor giving way to a rare moment of genuine thoughtfulness. For a long moment, he puzzles over your words, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and rasping.

“You would trade your freedom for these simple fools?”

You don’t hesitate. You step closer to him, your silk robe sweeping behind you as you close the gap between you. Tilting your chin up, you meet his sharp gaze with a terrifying calm.

“I would give my life for theirs any day,” you spit, your voice venomous and unyielding. 

For a moment, you consider spitting on the ground at his feet for emphasis, but you stop yourself, sensing something deeper beneath Katsuki’s cold exterior.

He stares at you, his expression unreadable, the sharpness in his features almost unbearable to look at up close. His spiky blond hair catches the sunlight, soft despite the chaos it mirrors, and his vermillion eyes are a storm of emotions—anger, admiration, and something else he’ll never admit out loud. His scarred cheek and strong jawline add to the kingly aura he exudes, a mixture of untamed power and raw, undeniable charisma.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a pang of… something as you took him in. He is your husband after all! The dangerous smile tugging at his lips, the high cheekbones and soft dimples that only you knew how to find, the sharp canine teeth that gleamed whenever he smirked. Even his hard, lean frame in that winter hero uniform screamed dominance and control.

He really does look like a king. 

Too bad about the attitude, though.

Katsuki smiles at last, slow and deliberate, as if savoring your defiance. He nods in acceptance, his voice dripping with amusement. 

“As you wish, my Empress.”

Behind you, the bleachers devolve into chaos.

“NO!” Denki wails dramatically before fainting into Mina’s arms. She barely has time to hold him up before Ojirou and Kida rush in to keep them both from toppling over.

“Whip his ass!” Ochako shouts, her voice filled with determination, though her expression is one of sheer panic. “Fight Queenie! Show him what it means to defy the Snow Empress!” Kirishima yells, his large fists shaking in the air.

You keep your head held high, unmoved by their cries, your focus entirely on Katsuki. His confidence radiates off him like heat, and as much as you hate to admit it, it’s a little intoxicating.

“Thy pride shall be thy undoing,” you say with finality, stepping back to your side of the field.

“Make thy peace, lovely woman,” Katsuki replies, his voice carrying a dark promise. 

“I shall not go easy on thee.”

As Shoji raises his hand to mark the start of the match, you stand tall, refusing to let him see the effect his presence has on you. You’re ready. For your people, for your pride, for the thrill of reminding him just who he’s dealing with.

“Duel!”

With a flourish of energy as you leap back, landing gracefully in the snow, your silk robe catching the light as it fans out behind you. Katsuki shifts into a firm fighting stance, his sharp eyes locking onto you like a predator sizing up its prey. His smirk grows wider, and you can practically feel his ego radiating off him.

Before either of you can make a move, Shoji raises his hands and declares, “No quirks may be used in the first few minutes. Only bare strength and wit!”

A collective groan erupts from the bleachers.

“Come on, Shoji!” Denki shouts, arms flailing. “What’s the point if we can’t see some explosions or ice blasts?”

“Yeah, we’re here for the chaos!” Mina adds, stomping her feet.

Shoji crosses all four of his arms and shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to see anyone else getting hurt. This rule stands.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, suppressing a smirk as Katsuki’s confident expression briefly falters. He tongues the inside of his cheek in frustration before throwing a scowl toward Shoji.

“That is stupid!” Katsuki snarls. “If I can’t use my quirk, what’s the point?”

Iida steps in, adjusting his glasses with an air of finality. “If you are dissatisfied with the rules, you are welcome to forfeit, King Bakugo.”

Katsuki growls, his eyes narrowing into slits as the veins in his neck bulge. 

“Like hell I’ll forfeit.”

You take advantage of the distraction, darting to a pre-prepared stash of snowballs you’d hidden behind Momo and Jirou’s old igloo. Shoji’s rule was perfect for your plan. You grab snowballs packed with pinecones, leaves, sticks, and whatever debris you could find earlier, a devious smile playing on your lips.

Katsuki turns back just as your first volley of snowballs comes flying.

“What the hell?!” he shouts, dodging the first two but getting nailed in the chest by the third. He looks down at the mess of snow and pine needles on his uniform and growls. “You think you’re clever, huh?”

You tilt your head and smirk. “I don’t think. I know.~”

Katsuki scoffs, grabbing handfuls of snow to form his own ammunition. 

“You’re toast, Empress.”

You both make a mad dash to some of Momo’s abandoned snowball machines, the sleek contraption already primed and waiting for a fight. Katsuki immediately starts shoveling snow into the top, his movements aggressive and efficient, while you mirror him on the other side.

“I’ll beseech you points for cunning,” Katsuki grumbles as he works.

“Save your compliments, consort,” you retort, setting your machine to full blast. “You shall require them for your surrender speech.”

The machine whirs to life, snowballs firing out with rapid precision. The battlefield transforms into a chaotic war zone as snowballs fly in every direction, scattering snow and debris across the once-pristine field.

“Thou art no match for my brilliance!” Katsuki taunts in his overly dramatic Shakespearean, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he loads more snow.

“Thy words are as empty as thyn head!” you snap back in your own exaggerated dialect, tossing a particularly well-packed snowball his way. It hits his chin, and the crowd erupts in laughter and cheers.

“Oooooooh!” Denki howls. “Burn!”

“Did you hear that? She’s ruthless!” Mina shouts, clutching Kirishima’s arm as they watch in awe.

You throw a smug look over your shoulder at the crowd, your hands never pausing in their work. 

“I thank thee, my loyal subjects. Thy support warms mine icy heart.”

“Focus, woman!” Katsuki shouts, catching you off guard as a snowball hits you square in the buttcheek.

“Hey!” you protest, brushing snow off your robe. “Thou art supposed to respect thy Empress!”

“Respect this!” he snaps, launching three snowballs in quick succession.

Katsuki doesn't notice as you subtly switch to the snowballs with shards of ice embedded within. While he’s busy loading his snowball machine, you line up your aim, every muscle in your body taut with anticipation. You throw with precision, and the snowball smacks him square in the face, exploding in a satisfying burst of icy snow.

The crowd gasps.

Katsuki freezes, his head tilting slightly as he wipes at his face. For a moment, you panic. 

"Hey, are you okay—"

“Don’t,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. He looks up, a sinister smirk spreading across his face. 

Before you can react, Katsuki barrels forward, closing the gap between you with shocking speed. The crowd erupts into chaos as he grabs you around the waist, hoisting you effortlessly into the air.

“Katsuki!” you shriek, flailing your arms as he pins you close.

“Ya wanna play dirty?” he snarls, his voice dripping with amusement as he shoves a handful of snow down the back of your uniform. The icy shock hits your spine, and you let out an ear-piercing squeal. 

"KATSUKI, YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER!"

Your reflexes kick in, and you kick him square in the stomach with enough force to send him flying back a few meters. He lands in the snow, skidding just before reaching the edge of the battlefield.

“I-I almost declared you out of bounds!” Iida calls out, his hand raised in warning.

Katsuki just snarls, shaking the snow from his hair before sprinting back to the center. But you’ve already retreated to the edge of the battlefield, where your friends are crowded around, watching the scene unfold.

“Oi, little Empress!” Katsuki calls out, his voice teasing and mocking as he points a finger at you. “Had enough yet? Ready to forfeit and admit I’m the true ruler?”

You smirk, sticking your tongue out at him and blowing a loud raspberry. 

“Not in a thousand years, Your Majesty.”

Then you turn to Shoto, who stands near the edge with a curious expression. “Sho, come here for a second,” you call sweetly. Shoto tilts his head but obliges, walking over without hesitation. You lean close and whisper something in his ear, and his eyes widen slightly before narrowing in understanding.

Without another word, you begin to strip.

And the crowd collectively loses their minds.

“W-What is she doing?!” Tokoyami yelps, his face turning bright red as he averts his gaze.

“Damn, girl!” Mina cheers, clapping her hands.

Shoto quickly creates a sheet of ice to block the view of your more modest friends, while you stand confidently in nothing but your all-purpose sports bra and boy shorts. Momo rushes over, holding the silk robe she’d made you as a shield for privacy.

“Is this really necessary?” she whispers, her face flushed as she averts her gaze.

“Trust me,” you say, giving her a wink.

Even Shinsou, typically unimpressed by theatrics, lets out a low whistle of appreciation. “Well, that’s one way to make a statement.”

Shoto, ever the protective sibling, freezes Shinsou’s face and Katsuki’s feet in place for a few moments, just long enough to give you a head start. You blow him a quick kiss as thanks before sprinting back to the battlefield at full speed.

“WHAT IS SHE DOING?!” Sato shouts, his voice tinged with panic. Boy so scared that he dropped his croissants. “She’s going to freeze out there!” Aoyama adds, clutching his face in horror. Iida shakes his head. “The rules are the rules. I cannot intervene!” Meanwhile, Ochako and Tsu are chanting loudly, 

“GET HIS ASS! GET HIS ASS!”

Momo, Jirou, and Koda standing off to the side, are clasping their hands together in silent prayer. “Please let this plan work,” Jirou whispers, her eyes wide with worry. Katsuki finally breaks free of the ice binding his feet, his sharp gaze locking onto you as you charge toward him. His expression is a mix of confusion, irritation, and—if you squint hard enough—just the faintest trace of admiration.

“She’s officially lost it,” he mutters under his breath as you close the distance.

But you don’t care. 

You’re all in now, and Katsuki Bakugou is about to find out exactly why you’re the reigning snowball champion. Shoji clears his throat and raises his voice, signaling the resumption of the fight. 

“Combatants! The match shall continue! Hand-to-hand combat is now permitted!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, and you stride confidently back toward Katsuki, your breath misting in the frigid air. Snow crunches beneath your bare feet, and you notice Katsuki watching you with a peculiar intensity.

“Giving up on snowballs, little empress?” he taunts, his smirk as sharp as the cold wind. “What’s the plan now? Slap me to death?” You roll your eyes, closing the distance between you. “Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you, consort?” you fire back, the word dripping with disdain.

The second you’re close enough, you lunge, aiming a swift jab toward his ribs. Katsuki dodges with ease, his movements quick and fluid, and counters with a block that sends a shiver up your arm.

“Hand-to-hand, right?” he mutters, his grin widening. “Finally, somethin’ fun.”

You grit your teeth, throwing a quick combination of punches and kicks. Katsuki meets every move with a calculated deflection, his hand grazing your wrist as he pushes your arm aside. His eyes glint with something unreadable as his gaze locks onto yours, his smirk fading slightly.

You don’t notice at first, but Katsuki does—how the falling snow catches in your hair, shimmering like tiny crystals. Water droplets bead on your skin, snowflakes make a home along your arms and cheeks, making you look as if you’ve been carved out of ice and fire. 

His chest tightens, and for a brief moment, the fight fades into the background.

Katsuki inhales deeply, his voice soft and thoughtful as he mutters in his sharp, ancient tongue, 

“Mine Empress fair, thou look like you were made to be held... pressed against me, your head resting against my heart... my hand running through those locks of yours… my beautiful maiden.”

The way he says it, low and intimate, makes your breath hitch despite yourself. You blink up at him, stunned for just a moment before snapping back to reality.

“You think flattery will spare you, consort?” you sneer, your tone sharp. “You’ve terrorized good innocent people for too long. For that, you will be punished.”

Katsuki leans closer, his grin growing devilish. His voice drops to a teasing whisper, his warm lips brushing against your ear. 

“And what cruel punishment could a good, heavenly Empress like you give to me?”

You smirk, your tone laced with mischief. “Wouldn’t you love to find out?” you whisper back, your lips barely moving. Before Katsuki can react, you pivot sharply, twisting out of his grasp. His hand snaps out instinctively, but instead of grabbing you, all he catches is your cherry red robe.

And then you’re gone.

The entire crowd falls silent, stunned. Katsuki stands there, holding the robe, his head darting left and right as he searches for you. The tension is palpable, the air electric with suspense.

“Where did she go?” Ochako whispers, her eyes wide.

“Is this allowed?” Aoyama asks dramatically, clutching his chest.

“I… I don’t know!” Iida stammers, adjusting his glasses as he frantically flips through the makeshift rulebook Momo made for the snowball fight. Katsuki’s jaw tightens, his crimson eyes scanning the snowy battlefield. He clutches the robe tightly in his fist, his teeth gritted in frustration. 

“Where the hell are you, princess?”

The crowd begins murmuring, the students on the edge of their seats as they wait for your next move. Katsuki, however, stays frozen in place, his expression shifting ever so slightly. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—annoyance, yes, but also amusement. Maybe even admiration.

 Because as much as it drives him insane… he can’t help but respect the hell out of your strategy.

“Over here!~”

The teasing lilt in your voice draws Katsuki’s attention, and he spins around just in time to be met with—WHAM—a fist full of snow straight to the face.

The crowd collectively gasps, then bursts into laughter and cheers. “She got him!” Kirishima exclaims, doubling over with a hand on his stomach. Toru claps her hands together, barely holding herself up against Ojiro, who’s in tears from laughing too hard.

Katsuki stumbles back, snow dripping from his face as his sharp, vermillion eyes blaze with fury. “Oi, you little shit!” he roars, wiping his face as he surveys the battlefield for you.

But you’re gone.

“WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GO?!” His voice echoes across the snow-covered grounds as he prowls, his breath coming out in visible puffs against the freezing air.

Unbeknownst to him, you’ve already begun your plan. While the snowfall earlier had seemed like a clever defensive trick, it was all part of a bigger setup. Every flurry you summoned, every foot of snow that blanketed the field—it was a battlefield crafted just for you.

The Bakugou household might have been a force of raw fire and explosive might, but your family? You were the master of snow and ice, the complete opposite of Touya’s raging flames. Where he burned, you moved with coldness. And now, you were ready to pull your ultimate move—one inspired by none other than Kakashi-sensei himself.

“Looking for me, husband~?” you call out from another direction, but this time Katsuki doesn’t turn around. He stays rooted, glancing sharply from side to side.

“’m not falling for that shit again!” he growls, squaring his shoulders and keeping his guard up.

That’s when you strike.

You burst up from beneath a snowbank behind him, a chunk of leftover ice from Shoto’s earlier handiwork in your hands. With a grunt, you hurl it directly at him, landing a satisfying CRACK against his sexy back.

“GAH—!” Katsuki stumbles forward, spinning around just in time to see you dive back into the snow, vanishing once more like a winter ghost.

The bleachers erupt in chaos. “SHE’S A GENIUS!” Denki howls, nearly toppling over.

“She’s insane!” Momo gasps, clutching her chest, though the admiration in her voice is clear.

“She planned this from the beginning,” Shinsou mutters with a sly grin, his eyes glued to the battlefield.

“I wouldn’t want to fight her in a blizzard,” Kirishima laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head.

Katsuki growls under his breath, his frustration mounting as he stalks the field, searching for any sign of you. But the snow is your playground, and he’s a visitor in your domain. You pop up again, this time pelting him with smaller chunks of snow and ice. Katsuki raises an arm to shield himself, barking curses as he tries to locate your next hiding spot.

“Stand still, damn it!”

“Why would I do that?” you tease, your voice echoing from every direction as you continue to throw. “You’re not fast enough to catch me, consort.”

Katsuki’s patience snaps. He’s really fucking tired of that title. “Alright, that’s it—NO MORE GAMES!” He slams his fist into the ground, the force of the impact sending snow flying in every direction.

But it’s too late. The battlefield is yours, and Katsuki’s steps grow heavier with every move he makes, his frustration boiling over as he tries—and fails—to anticipate your next strike.

You grin, your breath visible as you whisper to yourself, “This is gonna be good.”

Katsuki turns just in time to see you leap out of the snow, charging toward him with a chunk of ice in hand. 

And this time, you’re aiming straight for the crown.

Iida’s voice rings out over the snowy battlefield, his words clear and commanding,

 “Both combatants are now permitted to use their quirks!”

The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and gasps, and you immediately dive back under the snow, disappearing before Katsuki can even react.

“Cowardice!” Katsuki bellows, his palms sparking with fiery explosions. The heat from his blasts instantly begins melting the snow around him, leaving patches of wet, slushy ground in his wake. “You think you can just keep hiding from me?!”

You know better, though. It doesn’t matter how much snow he melts—it’s still freezing. The moisture left behind immediately starts to refreeze, creating an icy battlefield that plays right into your hands. As Katsuki stomps around, you begin tunneling through the snow, heading toward the old “castle” structure that had been built earlier.

You’re focused on your path, moving swiftly and efficiently, but then you hear him—his voice is lower now, quieter, almost… teasing.

“Y’know, you can’t run forever, Empress,” Katsuki calls out, his tone dripping with a strange mix of irritation and amusement.

You pause, just for a moment, your ears perking up.

“Where’d all that big talk go, huh?” he continues, pacing the battlefield with slow, deliberate steps. 

“What happened to ‘punishing me,’ hah? You gonna stay under there forever like some scared little rabbit?”

Your lips twitch into a smirk, but you stay silent, continuing to carve your icy path.

Katsuki’s voice grows softer, almost a purr now, and the change sends a strange thrill down your spine. 

“C’mon, Princess. Don’t tell me you’re too shy to come out and play with me.”

‘Oh, he’s trying to bait me now.’

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips. Unfortunately, the sound echoes through the snow tunnel, and you freeze, cursing under your breath.

“Oh? Did I hear a laugh?” Katsuki’s voice is sharper now, and you can practically hear the smirk on his face. 

“You think this is funny, huh? You gonna giggle when I drag your little ass outta there?”

You bite your lip, your heart racing as you tunnel faster. The “castle” is just up ahead, and you’re almost there when you hear him again, closer this time.

“You’re lucky I think you’re cute, or I’d already have blown your little snow fort to pieces,” he says casually, like it’s just another fact of life.

You stop dead in your tracks, your eyes widening as heat rises to your cheeks. Did he just—

“Yeah, you heard me,” Katsuki says, his tone smug. “What? You thought I didn’t notice? You’re out here all icy and badass, but you think I don’t see how pretty you look with snow in your hair?”

You groan softly, covering your face with one hand as you try to collect yourself. 

‘Focus, focus! Don’t let him get in your head!’

You erupt from the snow with the precision of a predator, smashing a massive chunk of ice into Katsuki’s chest. The impact sends him sprawling onto the ground, a startled growl escaping his lips. The crowd gasps as you waste no time dashing toward the igloo-like structure that had been built earlier.

The moment you slip inside, the world grows quieter. 

The walls of the makeshift igloo muffle the shouts of your friends outside, leaving you surrounded by a tense, eerie silence. It’s surprisingly spacious inside, though the scattered playground equipment—jungle gyms, swings, and slides—creates a chaotic maze of obstacles.

You dart through the labyrinth, your breath visible in the frigid air as you scramble to find a good hiding spot. Finally, you spot a large tube at the far end of the igloo and slide inside, pressing your body against the cold plastic. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as you try to steady your breathing, willing yourself to stay calm. You can hear him now. Katsuki’s boots crunch against the frozen ground as he steps inside the igloo, his movements slow and deliberate. He’s not rushing—he doesn’t need to. 

You’re trapped in here with him, and he knows it.

“Empress,~” he calls out, his voice low and smooth, laced with that dangerous, teasing edge. He switches to the old tongue, the words rolling off his tongue like silk. “Ya cornered yourself. What now, hmm?”

You press your lips together, holding your breath as his voice echoes through the space. The way he says your title, the way he draws it out—it’s almost hypnotic, and you hate how easily it gets under your skin.

“Running away again? Not very queenly of you,” Katsuki taunts, his footsteps crunching closer. “

Yer making this too easy. You know I’m gonna find you, right? There’s nowhere to hide.”

His tone grows sweeter, more dangerous, and you can practically feel the smirk on his face.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll make sure to keep you warm once I catch you. Wouldn’t want you freezing to death before I can claim my prize.”

You clench your fists, trying to ignore the way his words send a shiver down your spine. ‘Focus,’ you tell yourself. ‘He’s just trying to mess with you. Don’t let him get in your head.’

The sound of his boots grows louder, closer. He’s circling now, like a predator stalking its prey, and your heart pounds in your chest.

“You know,” he muses, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “I like this game. Just you and me, no audience, no rules.” He pauses, and you hear him chuckle softly. “I wonder how long you can keep hiding before you slip up. Or maybe…” 

“You want me to catch you?”

You grit your teeth, the heat rising to your cheeks as his words sink in. The nerve of him—assuming you’d want to lose this on purpose! You shake your head, determined to prove him wrong.

The tube feels colder against your back as you lie completely still, hoping the darkness hides you well enough. He’ll have to crawl through a maze of equipment to get to you, and with his broad shoulders and sheer size, it’ll slow him down. At least, that’s what you’re banking on.

“C’mon, Empress,” Katsuki calls out again, his voice closer now. “You can’t hide forever. Make it easy on yourself and come out.”

The sound of his boots stops suddenly, and the silence is deafening. You hold your breath, straining to listen for any sign of movement. Then, softly, he speaks again, his tone dripping with mockery and amusement. 

“What’s the matter? Afraid of what’ll happen when I catch you?”

You can’t help but smirk despite yourself. ‘Afraid?’ Not a chance. If anything, he should be afraid of what you’ve got planned next. 

You’re lying in the tube, heart pounding in your chest as you wait. You had calculated every possible move he might make. The bottom. Of course, he’d come from the bottom. But the plan falters spectacularly when a pair of strong, warm hands grab you—from above.

“Gotcha, Empress!” 

@willnetries, I passed out like 12 times but your food is ready! <33

Part 2 is right here

This was my first time trying to write the whole of class 1a into a fic and I need to lay down.

I DON'T OWN THE IMAGES!!!!

My requests are free and open.

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz,

Master lists in question: Katsuki's Sugar baby, Katsuki's Ex who secretly had his baby

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more Katsuki, Aizawa, and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too.

You can also tip me a coffee if you want. (Just made it, so excited! \(≧▽≦)/ <33)

Remember: Comments and likes, they really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ -Angie

[boiohboii]

The Royal Way 《Pt.2》

(Leclerc!reader x Prince of Monaco!oc)

After his older sister marries into the Monaco Royal family, Charles knew he would be treated differently, to his surprise (and his sister's disappointment) his F1 team, ferarri, treated him the same way.... and that did not sit well with the new princess of Monaco

or

in which YN Leclerc uses her new familial connections to fuck up ferarri just like how they fucked up her baby brother's hopes and dreams.

N.B: so, this was supposed to be longer and the last part, but it's currently 3 AM and I have classes at 8 AM thus me splitting this little fic into a trilogy. Hopefully, I will have time tomorrow to post the third and final part! Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!! WARNINGS: NOT REALISTIC AT ALL!! if you are looking for a realistic revenge sort of plot, it is not here, I tried as best as I can to search up what the whole electronic system does and it's relation to the DRS, BUT I AM BY NO MEANS AN EXPERT NOR HAVE ENOUGH KNOWLEDGE, SO EXCUSE THE POOR RESEARCH. The car designs are from Pinterest... Some swear words (fuck, bitch, etc...) Let me know if I missed anything else please!

Faceclaims:

yn leclerc --> anya taylor joy

Prince Thierry --> louis partridge

Masterlist // part 1

Liked by ferrariisdone, charlesthefrench, leclercfam and 716,920 others

F1_updates_live: Prince Thierry and Princess YN Leclerc heading into the Ferrari motor home in LA. Neither of the Royals look ecstatic to be in this position and it's no doubt to do with the statement released by Ferrari's Formula one media team, where they had essentially blamed the newly wedded Princess, YN Leclerc and their own driver, Charles Leclerc, for his DNF in the previous GP.

username: let them cook

username: the amount of bodyguards they have is insane

username: they do not look happy

username: yeah, no shit sherlock, ferrari basically said that it was yn's fault that Charles is distracted

username: ferrari blaming everyone but themselves

LEAKED AUDIO FROM LAS VEGAS GP, FERRARI'S MOTORHOME: tensions rise in the Ferrari garage as the young royals of Monaco, Prince Thierry and Princess YN Leclerc, threaten Fred Vasseur of taking him to court after buying out the rest of Charles' contract with Ferrari.

(Princess YN Leclerc,Prince Thierry, Fred Vasseur)

"It has been proven time and time again that the team is so incompetent! Why won't you do any changes?"

"Do you think that it's easy? These are people's livelihoods we are talking about"

"You do realise you are talking to a princess, right? She is well aware of how to run a business and a team, unlike you."

"I am just saying that I can't just fire people because Charles can't manage the car!"

"CAN'T MANAGE THE CAR? Are you out of your fucking mind mr. Vasseur? There is evidence, very strong evidence for your information, that the problem was from the electronic system. Do you have any idea how fucked up your engineers and strategists have to be to send out a car with failed electronic system?"

"Correct me if I am wrong my darling, but don't the electronic system control the DRS?"

"Mmhhmmm"

"And if the DRS opens in a corner it might result in a crash, am I correct mr. Vasseur?"

"The DRS was fine, there was-"

"My husband is asking a yes or no question Fred."

"Yes."

"So basically, Ferrari's Formula one team had, intentionally and with their knowledge, put a member of the monegasque royal family in direct danger."

"But Charles isn't a member of the royal family! He is only YN's half brother!"

"PRINCESS YN MR VASSEUR! YOU WILL DO WELL TO REMEMBER THAT!"

"Charles is my brother, and you dare put him in harm's way. I am princess YN Leclerc of Monaco, I can and I will hold you accountable as the principal of this team."

"You can't do anything! Carlos had the same car-"

"Carlos did not have the same car and you know it!"

"We already know Fred, we have had professional inspections done on both cars, it's quite deceiving really, telling a driver that he's the priority and still disappointing him every single time."

🔊 a thud is heard 🔊

"This is the amount of money to buy Charles out of Ferrari, but don't spend it Fred, we will be getting it back in court."

"YN WHAT WE-"

"PRINCESS YN FRED! *sigh* it seems like no matter what you are still convinced that you and your workers did no wrong, we will see about that."

"There is only one race left, there will be no team to take in Charles now!"

"Oh, we are not looking for a team to take him in, we made a team for him."

{Taglist: @phillydilly @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @omgsuperstarg @formulas-bitch @brakingboundaries @kyuupidwrites}