#all my heroes by bleachers

[livvysblackthorn]

why am i getting emotional looking through cassies website....girl stand up!

[francesderwent]

ughhh I don’t think you underSTAND, she says his evil self expressed certain desires, which is the PERFECT OPENING for him to say “yes, indeed, he was acting on pure biological instinct, therefore he is not me because I am a full human person” but he DOESN’T?? she says “desire” and he comes out of nowhere with “feelings”. “Lex your evil self said he was attracted to me” “that wasn’t me” “are you sure?” “yes, I’m in love with you but the purity of that love means I would never ever act on it” MADMAN

[dilnawaz]

you know when you listen to a song and you're like oh this will change me . you're on your own kid fr

[si3nn4]

Habits often shape a person’s life; whether they’re good or bad, they’re difficult to break. For Gojo, his habit was you. You always seemed to be there, and no matter how much teasing he endured from his friends, he couldn’t find the courage to let you go. You were a constant—an anchor—and he'd grown used to your presence, even when it meant the occasional ribbing about his "obsession."

At 8 years old, Gojo wasn’t exactly popular or well-liked. In fact, he was known as the "weird kid" with no parents and those strikingly bright eyes that seemed to unsettle everyone. When you moved to his school, it was different for you. You were instantly welcomed into every group, becoming the girl everyone wanted to befriend.

“Freak, find somebody else to bother,” a boy sneered one day, punctuating his words with a sharp kick to Gojo's face. The pain radiated around his eye, a bruise already forming. But Gojo held back his tears. He wouldn’t cry in front of them; maybe, just maybe, he could retain a shred of dignity. Before he could react, the boy in front of him was suddenly knocked to the ground.

Thud. "Piss off. Leave him alone," you barked. And there you were—his unexpected hero. It was almost cliché, but to Gojo, it was like something out of a storybook. Even as a kid, he was struck by how a pretty girl like you could be so fierce and confident. He sat there, eyes wide in awe, silently watching as the group of bullies scrambled away in confusion. “That looks like it might be a bruise,” you said softly, already kneeling before him and reaching for his face.

From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable. Gojo soon shed his “loser” label, and by the time he reached high school, no one would have guessed his awkward beginnings. You, however, hadn’t changed much in spirit. Gojo watched as you grew—your beauty becoming more pronounced, your figure more defined—but the confidence and determination you’d shown as a child never faded.

“Satoru! I’ll see you tonight?” a classmate called out from across the quad, looking back expectantly. Gojo gave a nonchalant nod before heading towards the parking lot behind the gymnasium. Next to the lot was the tennis court, where the Senior Girls' A Team was practicing. You were there, leading the drills with your usual focus. You’d become the team leader in a remarkably short time, and no one was surprised—least of all, Gojo.

One of Gojo’s more ingrained habits was attending your practices every Friday afternoon. He’d leave his economics class a few minutes early, head to the small shop across campus to buy an energy drink and some cold water bottles, and stash them in his bag. By the time he returned, you’d already be deep into your warm-up drills. When the final bell rang, he’d break off from his friends at the quad and head left, towards the courts.

There, he would watch as you led your team, a routine that had become his own. The coach, of course, didn’t appreciate the distraction. It wasn’t uncommon for the girls to get flustered, noticing the white-haired boy on the bleachers, his intense gaze following their every move.

Later that day, after practice, you stepped out of the steamy bathroom, towel wrapped securely around your body, droplets of water clinging to your hair. “Coach had a chat with me after practice today,” you announced, breaking Gojo’s attention from his phone. He looked up, his curiosity piqued.

“What did he want to say?” Gojo asked, his eyes shifting from your face to the steam that still lingered in the doorway. There was a hint of amusement in his expression, but his posture straightened. He could tell there was more to this.

“He wanted me to ask you to stop distracting the girls during training,” you said, watching him carefully. A smirk tugged at his lips.

“Distracting them?” he repeated, his tone mockingly incredulous. “I’m just sitting there, minding my own business.”

You rolled your eyes, heading into your closet to change. “Yes, well, apparently just ‘sitting there’ is enough to make half the team mess up their drills,” you called out.

Gojo leaned back, hands behind his head, eyes drifting to the shifting shadows of your silhouette. The soft rustling of fabric filled the room, and he felt a familiar heat creep into his body. This wasn’t the first time he’d found himself teetering on the edge of something more with you. The memories flooded back—of you standing up for him, of all the moments you’d shared since then, how you’d become his anchor. But things had changed. You’d grown more beautiful, more self-assured, and it wasn’t just him who noticed. Sukuna’s crude comment about you resurfaced in his mind, along with the memory of their fight. He’d been furious, and so had you, but he hadn’t regretted a thing.

You emerged from the closet, now dressed in soft silk pajamas that clung to your frame. Gojo's eyes traced the damp strands of hair sticking to your neck. "Why are you frowning now?" you asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Do you agree with the coach?” he asked, sidestepping your question as he followed you into the kitchen. The scent of tea was already filling the air as you reached for the kettle. Instinctively, he set a mug next to yours, his expression still a bit sulky.

“I agree that you’re distracting my whole team, yeah,” you admitted, raising an eyebrow as you prepared the tea. “But I also don’t exactly want you to leave either.” A small smile crept onto your lips, and Gojo’s mood noticeably brightened at that.

“Oh, really?” he teased, his eyes narrowing playfully as he reached up to grab the sugar you couldn’t quite reach. “So, I should keep coming then?”

“Maybe,” you replied with a hint of sarcasm, “if you could stop acting like a total diva in front of them.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m so gorgeous that they can’t focus,” Gojo shot back, puffing out his chest with mock pride as he leaned against the counter, a smug grin on his face. “Tell your coach to fuck off and go wank himself off.”

“Don’t ever say that again,” you laughed, turning back to the stove as you prepared some snacks. “In a sentence together or by itself.”

“Fine, fine,” he chuckled, watching you with a fond expression. That familiar tension lingered between you—something unspoken yet undeniably present. Maybe one day, one of you would figure out what to do with it.

I'll carry this on but exams have been a bitch lately. Also I've been running out of ideas for Katsuki..

[dashielldeveron]

soulmate trope | todoroki s.

Todoroki’s route of soulmate trope.

Wow, you sure seem to be injuring yourself more than usual. That can't be related to anything significant.

warnings: extremely mild self-harm. secondhand embarrassment.

~11k words. Female reader.

When you’d first woken up in Recovery Girl’s office after inhaling the pink dust, you’d had a massive headache. You’d not recalled hitting your head in the first place, and though Recovery Girl had been able to heal all of your other wounds from the attack, the headache had remained.

 It still ached.

 Now it didn’t feel as intense as a migraine, and instead it had settled and cosied into a topical, surface-level sort of pain, and though it certainly hurt less, it didn’t mean you could ignore it.

 Constant, unignorable pain throbbed throughout your head, practically in miniscule, irksome waves (world’s worst beach). If you really concentrated on something, then you could numb yourself to the pain and almost zone out of it.

 You spoke to Recovery Girl about living with chronic pain, since she couldn’t heal you, and after spending time in office hours with her, you deduced that the pain most likely had to do with your soulmate. Somehow. Maybe when you first meet your soulmate, he’ll punch you in the face?

 But then, randomly, while you were baking in the dorm, your calf felt like it was burning, fucking boiling, and you plopped to the kitchen floor, rolling up your jeans to expose the area—to reveal completely unaltered skin with no suggestion of a blemish or wound. Yet it was scorching, and running it under water didn’t help whatsoever; the burning continued for around fifteen minutes—and you were biting your lips so hard that it bled, clutching your calf and sobbing silently on the floor in the dorm kitchen. Until it somewhat subsided—a sudden sensation of ice pressing against it.

 When it was over, the pain lingered without scar, and it had you hiding a limp as you walked to class.

 From then on, you took extra care to keep your body from physical harm. Being overly cautious in hero training (hindering your offensive moves, to be honest), staying in your dorm instead of going out, eating foods that weren’t difficult to digest, frequenting Recovery Girl to talk—which really cut into your time working with Present Mic on his radio show, but he waved it off.

 The odd nick and cut still showed up, mostly on your hands. Shinsou asked if you’d adopted a cat, and you wished. Instead, you’ve got a soulmate who may be trying to kill you.

 ***

 Aizawa was leading you up the bleachers to the commentators’ box when it struck you that you were an idiot.

 “I’m an idiot,” you said, smacking a hand to your forehead and stopping with one foot halfway up the next stair.

 Brow furrowed, Aizawa looked over his shoulder, opened his mouth, closed it, and kept digging in his pockets for the box keys. “So long as you’re not an idiot on mic, I think you’ll be fine,” he said, once he’d jammed the key into the lock.

 “No, Aizawa-sensei, I’m a big idiot,” you said, walking through the box door he held open and ran a hand through your hair, “I think I’ve just realised something about my soulmate bond.”

 Aizawa got to work flipping on lights and the sound system. “Do you need to go to Recovery Girl or sit out this practise?”

 “Ah, hm.” You bit the inside of your cheek and unfolded the chair, setting it in front of the primary microphone. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got to work through a few things, but, uh. I can still commentate.”

 “All right,” he said, nodding, “Yamada-sensei wants you to make your fight narrative more focused—more description of what’s actually happening rather than speculation, even though he should be working on that himself.” Aizawa tossed the keys on the desk next to the stadium light system controls, and he headed for the door. “Try not to swear on mic this time.”

 “Wait, Aizawa-sensei? Who’s working camera today?”

 His hand paused on the door handle. “Should be Monoma and Ashido.”

 “Cool. Thanks,” you said, shooting him a thumbs-up as he left. Monoma and Mina working camera—that means you’ll get lots of close-ups looking for faults from Monoma and wide-angle, big-picture shots from Mina—though she should give up on the Dutch angles. Fine. That’s a fine balance.

 After checking the lights and sound system, you turned the knob for the primary microphone (volume way down from where Yamada-sensei liked it). “Greetings and salutations, sports fans—” You liked to start off your commentary with a little joke, since it was just 3-A and 3-B listening, and not even all of them at that—supplementary training didn’t scratch everyone’s backs. “—once again coming to you from a cramped, commentary box, we are live in our commentary of our first team battles of the semester. Right now, if we focus on the playing field in front of us, you’ll see nothing, as everyone is still getting costumes on and not even outside yet. But we wait in salivary anticipation as our fellow students enter the stadium to discover what teams they’ll be playing on. Until then, please enjoy these sounds of ambient nature.”

 You turned off the microphone and sat back in your folding chair. Announcing for an empty stadium—besides Aizawa, you supposed, as he trudged back down to the field—was when you got your warm-up, testing out what sort of adjectives you’re feeling today. As Yamada-sensei advised, your goal was always to make Aizawa cringe. Frankly, you thought you got there with the usage of salivary, but—

 You’re an idiot.

 Use this time to think about your soulmate, dipshit.

 Connecting the dots took playing an otome game under your desk in the previous class. In it, the heroine was patching up the route’s love interest after a gunfight, and amidst the florid (but fluttery), cheesy (but so cute!) prose about feelings and his rippling pectorals, there had been a line about how the heroine loved him so much that it was as if she could feel the gunshot through her own tit.

 Well, she didn’t say tit, but—the point—

 Feeling his physical pain. Sharing it.

 It made a hell of a lot more sense than whoever-he-was punching you in the face when you first met. It would explain the frequent injuries—why they kept coming over and over—along with why the pain kept coming, since hero course idiots like yourself hurt yourselves almost constantly. For a moment, you considered punching your soulmate when you met him, as a joke, but then—you’d feel it, too, most likely. Really, you’d like to find some industrial strength painkillers for the both of you. This ache pulsing in your head—his head—needed to be alleviated.

 So, now, the plan: hurt yourself in very specific ways so that your soulmate has the same injuries. And, judging by how you’ve got a perfect view of all your classmates, complete with camera zoom, you’re in a good spot for it.

 You flipped the microphone knob again. “As the first of our classmates who have perfected the art of getting in costume walk onto the field, allow me to remind you that I am filling in for our glorious and verbose sensei, Presentation Michael, for totally unbiased commentary on today’s matches.”

 Grinning, you stuck your tongue out at Bakugou, even though he couldn’t see you. He’d shot the commentary box a disgusted look and had shaken his head, hanging off to the side of the field with Kirishima and Sero.

 When teams were announced, you decided you’d hurt yourself then when their attention was definitely on something else, and therefore, they’d react genuinely to the pain. Sweet. Solid plan.

 Wait, how are you going to hurt yourself? It can’t be too bad, because 1) that’d be mean, and 2) you also have to concentrate enough to see how everyone reacts. Eh, you’ll wing it.

 “Now that all of those participating in the team battles are prepared and on the field waiting for assignments,” you said, pulling the mic towards you and zooming in on the bottom of your system screen, “we all wait for our brilliant, talented, eclectic, beautiful sensei to get off his phone to announce the teams.”

 Stowing away his phone, Aizawa addressed the group, and you sat on the edge of your seat, your hand raised (for what?). “Team one,” said Aizawa, “is Asui—”

 Okay, she’s got a soulmate—

 “—and Bakugou.”

 You slapped yourself across the face, hard.

 Whimpering, you clutched the spot while hunching over in your stupid folding chair, missing Aizawa’s explanation of why they were paired together, and goddamn it, you missed Bakugou’s reaction. Footage, footage, yeah; there’s footage. You’re filming for Yamada-sensei. You’ll review it later—no! You want to know now!

 “Team two,” said Aizawa.

 You snapped back upright, blearily making yourself focus on the what’s going on down there and giving your cheekbone a final, indignant swipe. You raised your hand again, the opposite one this time.

 “Team two is Ojiro—”

 Safe. He’s matched.

 “—and Shinsou.”  

 You hit your other cheek, this time bracing yourself and clenching your teeth. Cursing yourself immediately afterwards—because if you don’t feel the pain, nor will he. Fuck.

 “Team three is—”

 Oh, God.

 “—Hagakure and Yaoyorozu.”

 Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do this.

 Amendment: you can do this well and correctly.

 Two more teams until you facepalmed so hard that you had a red splot on your forehead. Another two until you thought you’d bitten the tip of your tongue off (idiot!). Then four unmatched people all in a row led to four slams of your funny bone right onto the edge of the desk.

 Gasping, wheezing, and cradling your arm, you bitterly shook your head as the teams took their places, either on field or in the dugout. It just wasn’t fair, but you piddled it all into your jar of petty emotions and would have to deal with it later, since you were working.

 “Our first two-on-two battle for the morning is team seven, Kendo and Komori, versus team ten, Kirishima and Shoda, making for a battle centring around close melee combat, so long as you can keep breathing—teams two and eight on deck.” You zoned out enough to commentate without zest and flair (which went against your morals, but still) but still throw your mind elsewhere.

 Ugh, well. Your soulmate didn’t react to a single fucking thing, provided he was somewhere in the crowd. Either your soulmate gets off on being beaten up, or you’re wrong about the soulmate method, or he… You frowned, but you tried not to let it creep into your voice as you commentated. If you’re not wrong and he’s not into getting hurt sexually, then…then your soulmate is so used to pain that it’s become normal to him. That physical pain is just part of his everyday life.

 You rubbed at your eye, where a good bit of the constant headache settled. This was shit, and you’d only been living with it for a few weeks. If your soulmate lived with this constantly, well, then—step one, wrap him in blanket. Step two: kiss on forehead. Step three: hot choccy for the boy.

 Oh, shit, you’re working.

 “And that’s Tokoyami coming in for the final swoop,” you found yourself saying, “Can’t get it, can’t get it? And he does, swiping the feet out from underneath Jirou there, meaning that Tokoyami is the last one standing. Team Four wins!” You sat back in your chair, flicking off the knob so that you could huff agitatedly. A fair number of matches had gone by in a blip, and you didn’t even know what you’d said. Well, Aizawa hadn’t stormed up here telling you to stop cursing, so you supposed you’d been doing an acceptable job.

 “Next up, next up! Team one versus team nine, Asui and Bakugou versus Kouda and Todoroki. Judging by the patterns on Asui’s offence, we can—”

 God, your head hurts.

 “Aaaaand there’s Bakugou, Bakugou with the advantage, Bakugou with an overarching sweep shot, using the weight of his gauntlet as a crushing weapon in addition to that blast. Oof, ouch, scorching Kouda just over on his—”

 You made your mouth run a mile a minute, making yourself focus on the match instead of your soulmate and the ache.

 “Asui comes from below with the first true ranged attack of the match, but it doesn’t look like it hit its target; Todoroki managed to slip past yet again—”

 Blinking to stave away the irritation, you gave up and rubbed at your eye. It’s like it was getting worse, like, uh, you didn’t know—like smoke was rising into it.

 “It’s a close, close match; so far it could be anyone’s game, and, and Todoroki lands a focused ice strike to Bakugou’s core. He’s doubled over, taking a moment to threaten Todoroki—psychological warfare against your opponent in addition to physical, sometimes uncouth but still a worthy tactic, especially if it—oh, he’s—Bakugou’s shot a pissbaby look towards the commentary box, but he’s winding up and going for Todo—oh, Kouda! No, no, it's a feint; Bakugou was feinting—”

 And instead of inhaling, you screamed, louder than you ever have in your life, at the same time an A.P. shot burst into Todoroki’s stomach from less than a foot away.

 Like your skin melting and reforming on a fresh skeleton, like nothing mattered between here and now and when but this burn, feeling nothing—no extremities, no celebrealities to take yourself away—nothing but this agony scorching its way through your stomach and cutting into you below your ribcage.

 As you lay crumpled on your back on the floor (when did you get there?), it far outweighed the ache on the left side of your face, and you woozily blinked through a few images that smeared together: the shitty fluorescents above you (too bright—you tried to hold a hand up to block them out, but you couldn’t lift your hand), Aizawa bursting through the box door to kneel next to you, and someone’s hands on you while you shuffled about on a thrilling variety of hard surfaces.

 ***

 You woke up with a dry mouth in Recovery Girl’s office. Been a while since you’ve been in one of the hospital beds; you’re even tucked in, and shit, and ooh, ouch, oof, don’t sit up so fast. It makes your stomach—oh my god TODOROKI.

 Where is the fucker? Where’s that handsome basta—ah. The bed next to you. Reading some shonen manga you didn’t recognise.

 You tried to be stealthy when you flipped onto your side to face him, but you couldn’t escape the involuntary grunt of pain.

 Todoroki’s eyes flicked to you, holding his book still.

 “Hi,” you said, swinging your legs around to dangle them off the side of the bed, “I think we should make out.”

 Todoroki blinked. Twice. He reached for his bookmark and started to rise from the hospital bed.

 “What? Where are you go—jokes. It was a joke,” you said, watching with horror as he stood and walked away from the patient area, “I’ve got jokes all week. I’ve got jokes forever.” Your voice died out when he filled a paper cup at the sink, and Todoroki returned steadily towards you to hand you the cup. His fingers grazed yours, and you jolted, though Todoroki, cool as you please, merely blinked sleepily.

 He gave a careful nod towards it. “Drink. You were breathing through your mouth while you slept.”

 Oh, God, did that count as pain and therefore transfer to him? Did—nope, you’re not going to worry about that. There are worse things. You brought the cup to your lips to stifle the impulse to ask him to spit in your mouth.

 After a few swallows, you—fuck, he’s too close and too good-looking to look him in the eye for this—stared into your water and said, “So. We’re soulmates. Have you told Recovery Girl yet?”

  “We’re soulmates?” asked Todoroki, sounding alarmed.

 Your head whipped towards him, and his (fucking gorgeous) eyes widened, his broad shoulders stiff. Good God, he didn’t know, and now he’s going to be fucking repulsed by you. He deserves someone cooler, more graceful, more—

 Todoroki cautiously sat near you on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight, and your brain emptied. He was so close; you could feel his excessive warmth coming from his left side, and he’s so fucking—he. He could take that elegant hand between you on the mattress and wrap it around your shoulders right now, pulling you close with those lean, lithe muscles, and oh, God, he could make you feel so safe—

 And.

 Fuck.

 Since your first year, you’ve acknowledged in the back of your head that Todoroki was essentially the ideal man (complete with power and talent and a gentleness that aches), but since he’s liked by basically anyone with sense in the school, you’ve packed any shred of affection away, folding it into a cardboard box and shoving it into the back of your mental closet.

 It feels like the box has spontaneously combusted.

 But no, fuck, you saw that look on his face. He doesn’t want you—and that makes sense, since…y’know. You’re you. You haven’t attracted anyone—God, how embarrassing that the only way someone is going to look at you potentially romantically is from a fucking soulmate accident.

 Todoroki shifted, his expression taut. “How do you know we’re soulmates?”

 Right. He’d like to get out of it. You won’t lie to him. “By the way we’ve been sharing each other’s pain,” you said with a sigh, “Didn’t you notice we’re in Recovery Girl’s office for the same injury? Getting hit by Bakugou? And…and you must have burnt your calf a few weeks ago; that had me collapsing in the dorm kitchen and overcooking my eggs, and you’ve got this nasty, constant headache, which has got to be—” You were going to say aggravating, but you realised it yourself when you looked back at him. “—your scar.”

 His brow furrowed in thought, Todoroki tapped his fingers on his thigh, and he nodded.

 “Hang on,” you said, screwing up your face, “I was—I kept hitting myself during the team selection, trying to find you. You never reacted.”

 Todoroki turned his head towards you slowly, and under his slowly blinking gaze, you were frozen. “I didn’t think it was anything out of the ordinary.”

 You let out a weak, incredulous laugh. “You didn’t think—didn’t you feel it?”

 Todoroki ducked his head, staring at his hand on your sheets. “Since the soulmate incident, my scar hasn’t hurt as much. The skin hasn’t been as sensitive, and I don’t get headaches as often. I’ve been able to concentrate. To relax.” He pinched the fabric and let it fall. “When I’ve trained, it’s as if I could go forever, as if the blows that fall don’t mean as much.” His eyes turned up to you again, pinning you. He’s got to stop doing that so suddenly. “It must have been you taking the pain away.”

 Huh. You hadn’t considered. “So, you think we’re splitting the pain between us, not that we just both feel the pain.”

 Todoroki nodded. “Look at how Bakugou hurt us. We should be much worse off from a close-range shot,” he said, raising the hem of his shirt.

 You slapped a hand over your eyes, taken off-guard by the abrupt reveal of the lower half of his tightly muscled abdomen, but you slotted your fingers to peek through. “You’re—you’re right,” you said, feeling saliva build in your mouth. You pulled the move into rubbing one of your eyes, the one that kind of itched—it’s the one with his scar. “Does your scar always itch like this?”

 He hummed. “Less now, but still enough.”

 Your hand fell to your lap. “Are you…always in pain? Does it always hurt?”

 “You can answer that.”

 Fuck. The school’s powerful, pretty boy lived in constant pain, and he never said a word. “May I ask how you got it? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

 Todoroki was silent for a moment, and then he said, “Do you know about quirk marriages?”

 “Refresh me?”

 “Quirk marriages are arranged between those with compatible quirks to hopefully manipulate the quirks of their children. My father sought this,” said Todoroki, “and, he would argue, that he failed three times, until me. I was sick a lot, when he trained me. Mom would try to help, and he’d—” He cut himself off, pinching his lips together. “Anyway. My mom lived with the pressure until she couldn’t. She thought I was him, and she poured boiling water on me. She’s getting better now,” he said with finality, leaning back on his hands on the bed and kicking his legs out.

 Uh. Holy fuck. How do you respond to that?

 Present Mic was always emphasising the importance of word choice.

 Steeling yourself, you reached for one of his hands, taking it firmly, even though it threw him off balance for a moment. He adjusted quickly, his fingers easily guided by you to lace between yours. “Todoroki,” you said, making yourself stare him in his eyes, “Let’s kill your father.”

 His lips parted, Todoroki straightened himself hastily. He clamped his other hand over yours, and with a wide, earnest expression, he said, “We shall have a winter wedding.”

 You snorted and squeezed his hand (his hand! Which you were holding!). “Sure. Yeah, Todoro—”

 “Please call me Shouto,” he said, scooting closer to you on the bed and squeezing back, “I would like to hear your thoughts. Have you considered this before?”

 Killing Endeavour? Yeah. Who hasn’t? Ah, ha, hold up. Maybe that’s not a normal thought you should be having about one of the biggest heroes in—fuck it, he’s a rat bastard of an abusive father. Die, bitch.

 Still, it’s nice that Todoroki wanted this, too. Validating. “You wanna make an event out of it?”

 He smiled—and it’s so gentle in a charming sort of way that your first instinct is to turn away, like you’re not worthy to look at him. But hey, he’s yours to look at now.

 “Only if you want to,” he said, his soft grin only growing wider.

 “I do,” you said, and for some reason, at those words, Todoroki ducked his head, the tips of his ears very red.

  ***

 Bakugou shouted across the classroom door the moment you opened the door. “Back from the infirmary, motormouth? Can’t believe you fucking screeched over the intercom.”

 Kayama-sensei paused mid-lesson, her whip still pointing towards the board.

 “And what of it, Bakugou?” you asked, stepping forward so that Todoroki could close the door behind you. “Did I make you lose a match?”

 Bakugou gritted his teeth. “As if someone like you could make me lose a ma—”

 “I won my match,” said Todoroki, taking your hand in his large, calloused one. (You were very startled by the physical contact and stared down at your joined hands, as if you were noticing that you had fingers for the first time.)

 Bakugou scowled. “The fuck do you—”

 “Todoroki’s your soulmate?!” Mina slammed her fist on her desk. “I’m literally wet with envy!” Kirishima immediately stopped chewing on the end of his pencil and reached for her.

 Midnight couldn’t get the class to calm down for a while, but, you supposed, they needed the noise. Todoroki escorted you back to your desk (your eye twitched at the tenderness), and when he returned to sit at his own, he couldn’t stop smiling to himself.

 ***

 “So, you’re Shouto’s soulmate!” Fuyumi hugged you before you could toe off your shoes near the Todoroki threshold. “You’re just as lovely as he described. Please, come in.”

 You exchanged a curious glance with Shouto while you unfurled your scarf, and as he hung up your coat for you, he was looking at you with a nearly unbearable fondness. You had to look away, feeling the heat rush to your face. God. Nothing had even happened yet, and you were already fucking overwhelmed.

 Natsuo was out, so it was supposed to be just the three of you at dinner. It had been a while since you’d eaten in a traditional setting, since dorm living had you grazing and cooking simple meals for yourself most of the time, so you were watching Shouto closely for any way you could possibly fuck up—and he seemed to notice and started to make his movements more obvious. You wouldn’t admit it, but you couldn’t even recognise some of the gourmet dishes Fuyumi had cooked—but all of it was fucking scrumptious; you eventually found yourself unable to compliment her coherently, because it all devolved into variations of “I’m going to cry. I’m weeping. I’m. Crying. Crying forever. I’ve never wanted to marinate myself in a sauce before.” Since you worked with Present Mic, you would have been embarrassed for being so inarticulate, but Fuyumi and you had warmed up to each other easily. She made you feel at peace.

 Well, that’s good. At least there’s one safe family member for Shouto to be around.

 (You had already met his mother, albeit briefly. You had been freaking out about what kind of gift you should bring her for your first meeting, but Shouto had simply put his hand on the small of your back (!!!) and told you that you didn’t need to feel any pressure.

 “She’s going to love you,” he’d said into your ear on the train ride to the hospital.

 “But how do you know?” The cool of the tin of tea you’d gotten anyway had seeped through your mittens.

 You had heard the self-satisfaction creeping into his voice—it was light, but it was there.  “My mother tends to feel the same way I do about people.”

 Shouto hadn’t laughed when you’d stuttered your way through a feeble, flustered defence before giving up, but he hadn’t needed to. You could see it in his eyes.)

 When Fuyumi left for the kitchen near the end of the meal after making you promise to try on some rings that had belonged to their grandmother, you scooted closer to Shouto. “Your dad should be showing up soon, right?”

 He nodded, closing his eyes as he swallowed his mouthful of water. “It’s past time for his patrol to end.” He set his glass on the table with a muted clink. “Are you sure about this? If you would prefer, we can retreat to one of the back rooms, or we can go back to campus.”

 You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “It’s good to meet the enemy, yes? Plus, if he’s lured into a false sense of security around me, then it’ll be easier to get physically close to him when we fucking kill him.”

 Shouto laughed through his nose at that, and his expression softened (really incredible how soft the man can get when everything about him is so sharp: sharp features [especially that high-bridged nose and the unfairly pretty cheekbones], sharp gaze that seemed to notice everything about you, sharp and deliberate gestures and movement—his body’s all sharp angles and hard lines, and—your gaze fell to those fucking sharp collarbones barely peeking out of his button-up. Funny how your mouth can start to fucking water when you’ve just eaten Fuyumi’s cooking). Shouto propped an elbow on the table and rested his cheek on his fist, and he reached for your hand, hesitating just before touching it.

 When you nodded, he let out a heavy sigh and took it—for a moment you felt his normal body temperature before he began to heat his hand for your benefit. “He’s not going to like you,” Shouto said after a moment, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve whatever he’s going to say to you.”

 “Whatever he chooses to say will not affect me in the long run. I don’t need him to like me,” you said, proud of being able to speak while making physical contact.

 Shouto visibly swallowed (Ad—Adam’s apple…), his brow furrowed in thought.

 “What I do need,” you said, sitting up straighter, “is for him to not think of me as any sort of legitimate threat. That way he’ll let me get close enough to shave off his eyebrows in his sleep.”

 A wide smile spread across Shouto’s face, and he had to look away this time. Score.

 Fuyumi returned from the kitchen with multiple tiny plates balanced on a tray. “Ta-da! Time for the tasting. We considered putting cubes of each selection into a cute little bento for Shouto to bring to school,” she was saying as she set around ten saucer-size plates in front of the both of you, “but Shouto convinced me that transportation and refrigeration might mess up the flavours. So! Most of these came from a bakery in the Takoba district, but two of them were made by me today.”

 Fuyumi had set about ten different slices of cake on the table, each plated a bit too stylishly for you to feel like you were allowed to eat them. You didn’t know if she’d drizzled raspberry sauce over that slice and arranged wedges of strawberries next to that one, or if the bakery did.

 Uh.

 “I won’t be offended in the slightest if you like a professional cake over either of mine; that’s to be expected.” Fuyumi grinned from across the table, now that she was settling down. “But I won’t say which ones I made until you’ve tried all of them! Shouto, if you can guess, I’ll make you cold soba the next time you’re home.”

 You were trying to shoot Shouto a look that said Why the fuck are we eating so many cakes and Is this how rich people have fun, but once his sister offered that, he had a laser-focus on the cakes in front of him.

 Shouto picked up both forks and held one out to you. “We have a new mission,” he said gravely.

 I mean, whatever. Sure. Pretty boy word choice go brrr.

 Shouto noticed your noticing a probable strawberry-flavoured cake (in contrast to all of those pale bitches who probably tasted like vanilla or almond) and silently passed it to you for you to stab a bite from it, and as he set it with a quiet clink in front of you, the front door slammed hard enough to shake the shoji dividers.

 It couldn’t be a coincidence that a sharp pang shot through where Shouto’s scar would be as his father’s heavy footsteps grew closer. Scowling, you rubbed your mirroring eye, massaging away whatever of the ache you could, and that’s how Endeavor first caught you when the shoji slid open.

 He’d given a cursory nod towards Fuyumi, his gaze dragging over Shouto before latching onto you, rubbing your eye with one hand and holding up your fork with the other. The corner of his mouth involuntarily twitched as he wrinkled his nose.

 You held your ground the best you could, glaring up at him while twirling your fork idly (seemingly idly, instead of the power play showing composure that it was). Endeavor’s beard flickered to life once you tilted your head at him, as if analysing him for the first time, and you squinted, his flames almost too bright to look at without hurting your eyes.

 After a beat, you sighed heavily, stabbing your fork into the cake. “Do you have any sunblock?” you asked Shouto with your mouth full.

 Judging by the sharp increase in shadows on the dividers, the flames surged behind you, the heat washing over your back.

 Todoroki took a bite of the same strawberry cake, holding a quiet, excited look with you.

 (You’ve noticed, recently, that Shouto makes a lot of little expressions only intended for you to see, how he’s started instantly glancing towards you for a secret sort of empathy and comradery. Shouto expressed himself in the thousands of tiny looks just for you, and while you loved the trust growing in your relationship, it also saddened you that he felt the need to hide these impulses from everyone else.)

 “Fuyumi,” Endeavor began, the floorboard shifting under his weight as he approached, “Again, you’ve failed to warn me that one of your friends was coming over.”

 Fuyumi held her hands up and laughed nervously. “She’s not exactly my—”

 “She’s my soulmate,” said Shouto, pulling a plate noisily towards him and gesturing for you to try it first, “Irreversibly so.”

 This cake tasted heavily of almond, but there was something under it—maybe rum extract?

 Endeavor’s glare bored into you. “Soulmate. So you are suffering from that villain attack.” His furrowed brow tightened. “What’s her quirk?”

 Either way, that was definitely buttercream frosting, though it would be more visually appealing if it and the cake weren’t all white.

 Shouto scowled. “Don’t speak to me, as if I’m her owner, as if she’s not in the room. You should ask her yourself.”

 You hadn’t even detected that disrespectful jab; you’d been too lost in considering recent trends for monochrome, minimalist design—and how that apparently had spread to the cake world, since most of these cakes were all white. It really emphasised how delightful a shitty sort of colourful maximalism was—those cute little bitches with the berries and fruits sauces drizzled over them were next on your tasting list.

 You finished chewing your bite and ignored Endeavor’s intensity the best you could. “I’m quirkless,” you said, lying through your teeth (Fuyumi openly looked confused, since you’d demonstrated your quirk earlier, but Shouto caught on right away). You turned away from Endeavor and to Shouto. “Have you figured out which ones Fuyumi baked yet?”

 Shouto was trying his best to not laugh (another thing that disheartened you: all too often Shouto hid signs of joy. You wanted to help him feel comfortable enough for joy to burst from him without fear). “I am not yet certain,” he said, moving all of the colourful, fruity slices closer to you, “I have my suspicions, though. Have any of them felt too professional to you?”

 “Shouto,” said Endeavor through gritted teeth, the breath from his harsh consonants making his flames flicker, “What have you done. Shackling yourself to someone who’s—”

 Endeavor then used a phrase that you, frankly, just didn’t understand, because you’d never heard it before. Evidently, it must have been some archaic insult specifically for quirkless people that Fuyumi and Shouto had heard their father use before; it was abominable enough for the drinks on the table to freeze over in a splintering path of ice from Fuyumi’s clenched fist in her lap.

 Shouto’s quirk didn’t flare. He instead shifted his jaw and very deliberately took your hand, lacing your fingers together and displaying them on the table between you.

 A few painful seconds passed, and Endeavor’s flames surged again. “How you’ve wormed your way into U.A. and my son’s life is unfathoma—”

 “I like this one,” you said, tapping the plate with around half of a chocolate-raspberry-drizzle slice remaining.

 Shouto took another bite out of it and nodded.

 Crossing his arms, Endeavor started to spit out another diatribe, but he cut himself off as Shouto brushed a stray crumb from the corner of your mouth.

  ***

 Shouto, his face flushed and besotted with a constant flow of tears, rounded the corner to the dorm kitchen, and when you straightened yourself up to look at him, he had even more questions.

 You had on a protective face mask and dark sunglasses at this time of night, and you, too, were crying, despite your attempt to block out the fumes. “Sorry,” you said, brandishing your knife, “I’m chopping onions. I guess the soulmate bond perceives this as pain.”

 “It’s okay,” said Shouto, grabbing a paper towel to wipe his face with, “What are you cooking?” He held out a towel so that he could wipe your face as well.

 “Holy shit.” You whipped off your sunglasses, and you held your onion-y hands at a distance while leaning into Shouto’s touch. “It’s only the best fucking French onion soup you will have in your life. Doesn’t even matter if you don’t like onions, because this is on a different level. The onions don’t melt in your mouth; they fucking evaporate. Your mind is going to be blown.”

 Shouto halted in his blotting away of your tears and snot. “You’d let me have some of your cooking?” He tossed the (very wet) paper towel in the rubbish bin.

 Nodding, you braced yourself before cutting into another onion. “Obviously. I know you just sort of collapse after your training sessions with Midoriya, and you deserve better than microwave ramen after that.”

 Shouto took a moment, and he placed a hand on his chest. “You’re cooking for me?”

 “Yes, Shouto. Of course. That why I chose to use words implying the intention. Context clues, my dude.” You scrunched up your face. “Scratch that. Context clues, my love.”

 Swallowing, he pressed two fingers to his wrist, counting his pulse. “I think I have to sit down for a bit,” he said, “I may pass out from the sheer tenderness of it all.”

 ***

 And so the semester crawled closer and closer to the end of the semester and therefore closer to the day of the assassination attempt, which would be over winter break. But each day was somehow a delight with someone permanently in your corner and waiting for you, someone learning how you live and what you like. It was odd to be studied but an embarrassing sort of pleasure to be known.

 Shouto was careful to avoid injuring himself, now, since beforehand, he didn’t exactly care about his own physical wellness. Now that you’re connected, it’s not that he’s become cautious but that he’s more intentional.

 You gave him a travel bottle of sunscreen with moisturiser to put on his scar in the mornings, since you’d done some research on how to care for scars, which apparently were more prone to heat sensitivity (how fucking ironic), stiffness, and itching. The two of you had done some experimenting to determine if the other felt how the other cared to the pain, and it turned out that relief was only found if the one who was originally injured did something about it. A damn shame, since you’d been wondering if you two could potentially heal each other from the sidelines or at a distance.

 (This led to an awkward week in which the both of you had a sunburn flecking skin off of your noses, but only Shouto could do something about it. No matter how much aloe vera you applied on your end, it only counted on his, since he’d gotten the sunburn in the first place. Mina took many photos.)

 Hanging out in his dorm room revealed how often Sero came to borrow volumes of manga (Sero got upset the time you hadn’t finished the volume he needed yet), how often Midoriya came to discuss classes and the upcoming work studies, and how often Kouda came to lend Shouto a cat for the afternoon, among others. Shouto lay, his head on your lap while you both were sprawled across the tatami mats, completely oblivious to how popular he was. You were learning a lot about your classmates through how much they valued their friendship with Shouto, and the fact that he was so loved outside of his own household made your heart ache—and you hoped he couldn’t feel it, too. Plus, hey, you got to pet a cat, and whenever you couldn’t, Shouto would send you pictures of the cat that day.

 (Usually, this was a chocolate-point cat named Dango, who, according to Kouda, absolutely adored Shouto and praised how calming Shouto’s presence was. She often curled up on Shouto’s left side, while you huddled up to his colder shoulder. Shouto thought the competition between you and Dango for his warmer side was wildly funny.)

 In class, it was wonderful to have someone to look to for a first reaction, for a moment of empathy, or to remind you that he’s still there. On a thirstier day than usual, since Shouto had stumbled into class with ruffled bed-head and a charmingly dishevelled uniform, Shouto’s careful gaze caught you staring at him. You hastily looked at your desk, heat rising to your face, but you chanced another glance at him. The smug bastard kept his eyes on Aizawa-sensei as he wrote on the board, but Shouto couldn’t suppress his self-satisfied little grin as he unbuttoned the first two buttons on his shirt and surreptitiously pulled the collar down and to the side so that he could flash you his vexingly perfect collarbone. He knew your weakness, and now you had to sit in frustration for the rest of class. He had villainous qualities no one else could fathom.

 And you’d grinned to yourself before stifling it down: you knew him, too, in ways no one else knew about. You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life learning more.

 ***

 He’s started referring to the day of his father’s assassination as the big day, so you’ve adopted it, too, revelling in its vagueness that let you talk about it in public. He’s been more theatrical about it than you thought, but more layers of his personality revealed himself to you the more time you spent with him.

 Today, the two of you had been staking out shrines as assassination locations, because there was something poetic about the bastard dying in a holy place. There’d been one last shrine that Shouto said couldn’t be the actual location, since it was shabby and small, but he wanted to take you to it today anyway—reasoning that it had a magnificent koi pond/river that you had to see.

 “Natsuo, after all, is into breeding carp,” said Shouto as he sat to cross his legs on the edge of the pond’s stone barrier.

 Natsuo? Into breeding? “Tell me more,” you said, “Why breeding carp?”

 Shouto gestured loosely. “That’s what I call it. It sounds more ridiculous than he’s helping out a friend with his koi dynasty. Carp sounds less elegant than koi.”

 “Misleading word choice to make people laugh is always appreciated,” you said, snapping your fingers as applause and setting your bags behind you so that you could freely lean over the pond’s surface, “What got him into it?”

 “It’s for Mom,” said Shouto, mirroring your position over the water, his shoulder bumping against yours, “Mom’s koi pond was destroyed by my father when we were in primary school, and Mom’s been too scared to start another one. Natsuo’s working with his friend to pick out high-quality koi for a pond my mom could have on her own.”

 “That’s sweet.” You poked your finger underneath the water and waited for a fish to nibble at it, but they scattered when you disturbed the water. “Horrible what your dad did, though. How do you tell a good koi from a bad one?”

 “Even now, I’m not sure.” Shouto dipped his fingers into the water as well, and he made a little icicle that the nearest fish started to inspect. “This one looks odd, though. As if he’s the fish form of an ancient wizard. The whiskers are oddly long.”

 Sure. “His name is Clog. In his spare time, he corresponds with prisoners.”

 Shouto’s face lit the fuck up. “Of course.” He lifted his hand from the pond, water dripping from his little icicle, which he used to tap another koi. “This is Klaus, whose hobby is doubles tennis.”

 God, you’d eviscerate the whole damn planet for Shouto to stay as happy as he looked. “Those two cavorting about in the far corner there—they’re a mother-son team, called, uh, Kyoya and Takoyaki. They—if you spoke to Takoyaki, Shouto, what would she say?”

 Brow furrowed, he pinched his lower lip between his thumb and index finger while he examined the fish. You were too distracted by the fullness of his mouth to concentrate on the fish—idly, you wondered what chapstick he used. You saw the moment he came up with his dumb little joke, and he faced you with a bright sort of eagerness and said in an affected voice, “If anything should happen to me, then my son, Kyoya, will take over the family business.”

 “So, all of these fish are now in the mafia. What are they trying to gain?”

 “Not all of them,” said Shouto, and he activated his quirk to extend his little icicle to stretch all the way across the pond, where he stroked a long koi down its back. “This one isn’t.”

 “Tell me about him.”

 He ran his tongue over his lower lip, glancing at you and back at the fish. He melted his pointer-icicle back to its original length before letting it dissolve between his fingers. “His name is Dick.”

 You barked out a laugh before covering your mouth. “Not even a shred of innuendo this time, looks like. Going straight for it. And?”

 “Dick likes disembowelment and working with sheet metal.”

 You clapped a hand over your eyes, groaning. “Better watch out, pretty boy, or I’ll kill you after we kill your dad.”

 “If it’s at your hands, I’ll take anything,” said Shouto, and with a soft grunt, he raised his arms above his head to stretch. Your eyes immediately honed in on the skin the hem of his parka exposed—oh. Boy has…tumby…

 You snapped out of it as Shouto checked his watch. “Looks like we’ve got fifteen minutes before we have to be at the shop.” He pulled his sleeve back over it. “Want to start walking there?”

 He’d told you that you were buying outfits for the big day (sure, bucko, very generous of you), and though you’d expected something like an army surplus store, he escorted you to a high-end, formal boutique. Really quite sexy of him, to insist that you kill his father in style. What’s the point of murder if you can’t look hot while doing it? None.

 So, that was your internal justification walking into the poshest boutique you’ve stepped foot in, feeling a bit grimy and out-of-place, but three saleswomen were waiting for you towards the front-of-house already, one handing the both of you cups of fancily decorated hot chocolate.

 Shouto turned to you before they could get a word out. “Do you have a colour in mind? I want to match you.”

 “Well, obviously not fucking white,” you said, and for some reason, one of the saleswomen’s eyebrows shot towards her carefully maintained hairline. Yikes, you forgot that people don’t like swearing in public. You’ll tone down your language. “Blood shows a bit too easily on white, so it’s like we wouldn’t have to work for it. Black—opposite problem. Wouldn’t show up much at all. Probably—” You tilted your head, considering what would piss off Endeavor. “Probably a light blue.”

 “I’ll pull a swatch of whatever shade she chooses,” said the hot chocolate saleswoman, and she took Shouto towards the back of the store while the other two took you towards the front corner.

 Thanks to Chieko’s and Hanazawa’s guidance (and quirks: Chieko’s let her instantly know what colour palettes looked best on someone [which was very niche but nevertheless insanely helpful], and Hanazawa’s quirk allowed her to tailor certain fabrics in minutes [certain fabrics being the deciding factor in how she’s working at a formal shop instead of, like, on a fishing barge]), it didn’t take long at all to find something that was suitably mobile for the assassination in addition to making you look good as hell. It was a shade of blue you wouldn’t have gone for, originally, but Chieko made you see the light.

 With Hanazawa’s sartorial quirk, you felt more tailoring phantom pinpricks from Shouto’s side rather than on your own. You finished up much more quickly than he did, so you waited where the ladies left you at the tri-fold mirrors.

 You have never looked this good in your life, and you’re thrilled to bits about looking like this as you make Shouto’s life a lot easier once the big day passes. Y’know, you should have some sort of back-ups in case you don’t kill Endeavor on the first try. Where in your dress can you hide—? Oh, it has pockets.

 Fumbling in your copious skirts, you glanced up towards the mirrors for how well a gun-sized lump could be concealed at the waist, and Shouto was tilting his head at you in the reflection. Once you’d said fuck white dresses, Shouto must have decided to stray from traditional suits as well: his fitted, navy suit was unbuttoned to show the button-down the same blue as your dress, with a thin tie a shade darker—ultimately contributing to Shouto’s being horribly, horribly pretty, despite the strangely constipated expression.

 You spun towards him, your skirts following you (good for hasty, violent movements). “I was searching for a slit in the dress,” you said, smoothing out the fabric and bouncing on the balls of your feet, “It has pockets, but I was thinking about something that might not fit in them, especially if someone frisks me at the beginning of the night. I was thinking that I could strap a stiletto to my thigh—the knife, not the shoe—obviously—and use it if—”

 His expression darkened as he surged towards you and took a step up onto the modelling platform. You cut yourself off, unable to say anything more as a grimacing Shouto cradled your face in his palms (one of them noticeably hotter than usual), forcing you to stare up at him in his unbearably gentle way. He’s too overwhelming to look at this close up, but your gaze was drawn to his mouth as he opened and closed it, winced, and said after a beat: “It is imperative for you to know that I am dangerously near losing it.”

 Your eyes crossed for a second—first due to the heat of his breath washing over your skin, but his words really didn’t help your attempts to ground yourself. “Huh?”

 And Shouto was kissing you, kissing you with a quiet sort of desperation, his lips parting to lightly nibble on your lower lip, and ultimately soft and warm and annoyingly perfect. Something hot rushed up your spine when he curled his fingers snugly into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck, pulling simply through the tension, and yes, it was him who used that pomegranate beeswax lip balm that you’d found between couch cushions at his house a few weeks ago, and fuck, just being in Shouto’s arms made you feel small but safe, and you never felt those, and never-never at the same time, and—

 It's amazing how Shouto can act like he wasn’t just caught kissing in public by three salesladies when you want to melt into the floor, how he can behave like a normal person while paying for the clothes, how he can stroll right out of the dress shop with you under his arm as if he hadn’t been sticking his tongue in your mouth reflected in three different mirrors, and Shouto, too pleased with himself, too influential, and too handsome for his own good, eventually conceded to taking the back way to U.A. so that you could patronise your favourite food stall in an attempt to ameliorate your worries—but he’d already accomplished that by shooting you a roguish grin and pressing his lips to your temple.

 ***

 So, that was your first kiss with Shouto, and it’s sizing up to be your last. He hasn’t touched you since then. Not even holding your hand.

 Mina mentioned you’ve developed an eye twitch, and not because of the scar-sharing.

 During Present Mic’s lesson on the finer subtleties of using his professional soundboard (a process he called sounding, despite your fervent attempts to convince him that that is not what that word means at all, so please stop saying it in front of the entire cafeteria on microphone), you let a thought you’d been trying to stifle surface: what if Shouto can no longer see you romantically? He got a taste, and now that the assassination day was almost here, he was backing off in order to cut ties with you with the least amount of pain.

 These concerns burdened and kept you from preventing yet another terrible Freudian slip from Present Mic over the intercom.

 Thrusting his phone with an entry for the urban dictionary pulled up on the screen, Aizawa-sensei came to relieve you of your duties, and you absently waved back at your dismissal, instead focused on Shouto’s unfairly handsome smile as you approached the bench where he usually waited for you to walk to the dorms. Walking alongside him, you bit at a hangnail and had the troubling thought that Shouto may have finally realised that is he so woefully and irrevocably out of your league that he would search for someone better after you killed his father, regardless of soulmate status.

 All of your insecurities bubbled up to smother and obfuscate the main point: you really wanted another kiss, and you weren’t sure you were getting another one.

 From a sideways glance, you garner that he’s texting Midoriya, but you can’t tell what. Even with his head bowed to text, Shouto maintained his usual grace and paused by the dorm mailboxes for you to knock on them for good luck, like normal. You did, hesitantly this time, because you’re going to need it. The assassination attempt was tomorrow, and you were about to bring up the questions you’ve been beating yourself up over.

 “Hi,” you said, even though you’re already well into the walk back to the dorms, “Hi, Shouto.”

 Shouto clicked his phone to sleep but kept it in his hand. “Hi.” He frowned. “Is something wrong?”

 You sighed, your breath clouding in the cold. “That’s what I wanted to ask you,” you said, shoving your hands in your coat pockets, “I’m—have I done something wrong?”

 Shouto blinked slowly, like a cat. “What do you mean?”

 “Um.” You took your hands out of your pockets only to return them a moment later. “I, uh. I was wondering if you were tired of being my soulmate or something along those lines? If I’m tiring to be with? I worry if I’m—I don’t know, suddenly repulsive. I know I may be jumping to conclusions, but from my perspective, you’ve been suddenly distant physically this past week and a half, ever since—since we kissed,” you said, rubbing the inside layer of your pocket between your fingers, “I don’t mean to pressure you. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. It’s just—and I know it hasn’t been long, and you’ve been busy with your scribbly notebook and meetings with your sisters and stuff—I miss you.”

 Sharply inhaling, Shouto scrunched his eyes shut and bit the inside of his cheek. “Do you know how painful it is for me to hear that,” he asked flatly.

 You’ve done it now. “Shouto, I’m sorry—”

 “That word you said. Repulsive.” Shouto took a step closer to you, his heavy exhale so cold it wasn’t visible in the winter air. “Nothing could be further from the truth. You’re entrancing. Anything you do or say can or will make me bust a nut.”

 You did a poor job of convincing him your snort-laugh was a sneeze. “Do you know what that—who taught you that?”

 He tilted his head. “Shinsou, but he told me not to snitch.” He rolled his shoulders back and shifted his jaw before very, very delicately taking your hand, curling his fingers into your palm, and once he sensed that he wasn’t going to react in a bust-a-nut way, his shoulders slackened. “I’m sorry that I caused you such trouble. It’s—ah.” Shouto frowned again, but he slid his phone into his back pocket so that he could hold your hand between both of his. “Like I said, I’m close to losing it when I’m around you. It’s hard holding myself back. It is in no way that you’re repulsive or that I’m tired of you. It’s more that I can’t get enough.”

 Nodding as your heart rate slowly went back to normal, you tugged him along the path to the dorms, your footsteps crunching in the frosted-over grass.

 “It’s not that I’m waiting until marriage to do anything with you, if that’s a concern of yours—”

 It…it wasn’t. Odd of him to bring that up.

 “—and again, I’m sorry for causing you distress, but I wanted to concentrate on tomorrow. To do it well and enjoy ourselves during. That’s a contributing factor to why I’ve been huddled off with my planner and consulting my sister about this sort of thing, since I want so hard to do this right.”

 Since when has Fuyumi known about the assassination plans?

 “But I assure you,” said Shouto, sliding his index finger along your jaw to guide your gaze towards his own, his voice growing firmer as he examined with darkened eyes your expression, “After tomorrow, I’m not holding back.”

 Your throat ran dry. “Uh. Good. Excellent.” You made a vain attempt to swallow in a way that wasn’t clearly desperate. “Cool. I’ll look forward to it.”

 He let you stew in the silence of innuendo as the two of you reached the entrance steps to 3-A’s dormitory, and you hopped up the first stair, spinning around when you had a nasty little perverted awful evil idea. “Shouto,” you said, grabbing the lapel of his coat, “May I kiss you?”

 “Of course. If you’ll allow me a moment.” Shouto shifted away from you for a bit, as if you couldn’t tell how and what he was adjusting with his belt, and his phone let out a chirrup.

 Feeling bold, you reached into the back pocket of his jeans (Shouto froze, even though your fingertips barely grazed him) to yank out his phone.

 “Midoriya’s saying something about bowling tonight?” You handed it to him once he turned around.

 “Yeah,” Shouto said, and he unlocked his phone to scan the text. “He and the rest of the guys have pooled to rent out a bowling alley for the bachelor party tonight, after Spirited Away at Kirishima’s folk’s house.”

 Laughing through your nose, you shook your head. “Shou, y’know that bachelor party isn’t a label you can whip out for every guys’ night. It’s specifically the guys’ night before the wedding.”

 Shouto shot you a wry smile. “I know.” He stowed his phone and took your hand again. “Let’s get you out of this cold; you don’t need to be sick tomorrow of all days.”

 He opened the door to the dorms for you. “What’s Ashido arranged for the girls to do tonight?”

 Huh. You hadn’t told him about the girls’ night tonight. “Mina’s been texting me about getting our nails done, and then she’s dragging me to a—well, she won’t directly say. She wants it to be a surprise, for some reason.” It’d be nice to have pretty nails while covered in the blood of your soulmate’s abuser. It would add to the overall posh vibes, you supposed. “In general, everyone’s been very secretive and giggly about it. Makes me nervous.”

 “After how composed you’ve been through this whole process? Bullshit,” said Shouto, startling you with his casual swearing and utmost confidence in you (but you were still welcoming it), “So long as you don’t quit on me before tomorrow at 11:00, you’ll be fine.” He stretched his arms above his head, making a quiet sort of grumble in the back of his throat, and he grinned when he caught you staring at his stomach. “By the way, my grandmother’s ring finally got resized,” he said as he dragged the hem of his sweater back down, “so I’ll be picking it up before the bachelor and bachelorette parties start. I know it’s cutting it close, but it’s worth it, wouldn’t you say?”

 He was grinning. The smug bastard was grinning—in his soft, gentle way that somehow emanated the fucking pinnacle of self-satisfaction—and you took a step away from him, scratching the back of your neck.

 “Ah, ha, ha,” you said, glancing around for anyone to come help you with this, but the commons were vacant. “What are—why are you choosing those particular words?”

 Shouto shuffled off his coat and reached to remove yours, and you let him, cogs unfortunately turning all the same direction at last. “You’re an advocate for using the proper words in the correct situations.”

 You were afraid of that.

 You strode into the kitchen and opened the fridge, scanning the inside of the door for Aoyama’s bougie soda (no touching!), which you took a can of, cracked open with a hiss, and chugged as if you were an alcoholic on death row and it was a bottle of contraband hand sanitiser.  

 “So,” you said eventually, pushing yourself up to sit on the kitchen counter, “Are we still on for tomorrow? The murder part, not the wedding part.”

 “I assumed you would kill him at the reception.”

 “Okay, no,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Let me be clear, since apparently we’ve been dancing around each other’s intentions all semester: are we killing your dad tomorrow, Shouto?”

 Shouto sidled next to you, his forearms flat on the counter to support some of his weight as he leant against it, with one of them pressed along the outside of your thigh. “I figured he would suffer enough seeing us be enormously happy and outside of his influence.” His pinkie finger traced along the side seam of your jeans. “While we may not like him, a lot of civilians value his work. And an assassination on our résumés wouldn’t do wonders for our careers post-graduation.”

 Well. You could annoy Endeavor for the rest of his stupid life. Enjoy his reactions. Chest heaving, you reached over to run your fingers through Shouto’s hair, and he tilted his chin up like a cat to lean into your touch. “Is he invited to the wedding?”

 “Of course not,” he said, his eyelashes fluttering as he shut his eyes—but he cracked one open. “Are we still getting married tomorrow?”

 “Aren’t we too young? And still in school, and aren’t we going to endanger each other—”

 Shouto guided your palm to his mouth and pressed a kiss into the centre. “Aren’t we soulmates?”

 Frowning, you said, “You make a convincing argument.”

 He hummed, and he shifted to your front, took your soda to set it aside, and parted your thighs to stand between them, his arms wrapping loosely around your hips (his sneaky little fingers dangling to graze your ass). “So, all this time, I’ve been planning a wedding, and you’ve been plotting an assassination.”

 “I guess,” you said, giving up and sliding your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him closer—the winter weather still hadn’t dissipated in the dorm’s heat, after all. “You shouldn’t’ve had to plan it all by yourself, though; I’m sorry I didn’t get my head out of my ass—”

 “What are you talking about? I want to make grand gestures for you. I want to put in the great effort that you’re worth,” he was saying into your shirt, his mouth moving suspiciously lower to your boobs, “I don’t want you to worry about what you shouldn’t have to; I want you to feel as at peace with me as I do with you—”

 “Shouto,” you said, pulling back to grab his chin, to make him look at you, “I fucking love you.”

  “I also find you acceptable,” he said, nodding seriously, but a soft laugh broke through the sternness when you slapped the back of your hand to your forehead and gasped loudly.

 “Shouto,” you said, your other hand over your heart, “Do you know how much pain that brings me? I’ve having—we’re having a heart attack, all because my fiancé won’t say he loves me, on the night before our—”

 “Funny,” he said softly, his hands flat on your thighs now that you’ve dramatically languished on the kitchen counter, “I don’t feel any pain.”

 Sitting upright again, you placed your hands over his, curling your fingers into his at an awkward angle.

 “I don’t feel any when I’m with you.”

 “Oh, you poetic bastard,” you said, drawing him near to plant an exasperated kiss on his cheek, followed by another to his scar (silencing his protest that he was being genuine), “Don’t you have certain words to tell me, pretty boy?”

 His smile at first was impulsive and then grew brighter as he chose to share it with you, and Shouto pulled you even closer to whisper them in your ear.

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou

[kuroppiii]

   hide and seek ᵕ̈         kozume kenma x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : where you and kenma   ⋮⋮  always manage to find a place ,   ⋮⋮  one just for the two of you

📋 content      ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮      ♡ # 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 🥛      ♡ # ~700 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 ( + about 300 in bonus )

🎶 on shuffle “ dream girl (home made) ” - anna of the north

🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ i ' m gonna cry this is so soft wtf ”

waning sunlight bore through the row of square windows perched high up on the nekoma gymnasium's walls. the gym lights were already off, and in the dimness of the space, the windows gave glimpses to the pink and purple sky as the sun was starting to set outside. they casted shapes on the shiny and sneaker-streaked wooden floor, the patches of light continuously getting sliced and diced by the shadow of the spinning ceiling fans the third years were yet to turn off.

the only noises that met your ears were the distant whirr of those metal blades, the minuscule clicking of buttons and flicking of joycons, and the faint sound of breathing coming from kenma–who was snug up against you as you sat on the floor against one of the gym walls, showing you the gameplay of the new game he just bought.

volleyball practice had just ended. you could hear through the open entrance doors the rest of the boys on the team conversing loudly, as they put equipment away or were gathering their things to go home–it was a school night after all.

but between you and kenma, no words needed to be spoken. you both were completely content there, feeling the warmth of one another close by and watching the bright screen of kenma's portable gaming console flash colorful pictures of a hero overcoming their evil adversaries.

kenma was very grateful for this fact, for this little ritual he started to share with you when you started to stop in at the end of volleyball practice. originally, you did it with the intention to chat and ask him how practice went, then to walk home with him and kuroo and talk some more.

but sometimes practice was tiring, and some days kenma just couldn't find the energy to keep up the conversation. it's not that he didn't want to talk to you. he loved hearing your voice when you two conversed, actually.

all it was is that he needed to recharge. he needed to play with his games, even if just for ten to twenty minutes.

so you let him. because you care. and kenma loves appreciated that about you. from then on, you two started to end the days off (before being met with kuroo to make the trek home, that is) finding a little corner, a bush, a not-so-dusty spot under the bleachers... to just sit. and he'd play another level or two of one of his games, and you'd calmly watch.

your shoulders brushed every time kenma had to quickly maneuver some ability in the game–and even if it slipped far enough for a rush of coldness to attack your arm, it would always without fail return to its rightful place, bringing with it warmth as an apology. at times, you swear you feel like your breathing was in sync. every time you blinked, your eyelids almost seemed to move in slow motion.

together, time gradually slowed to a stop. you two were in a little bubble of your own creation, where nothing else mattered except the both of you. both of you being, and being together...

"kenma! kenma? y/n!" kuroo's voice suddenly rings through the door of the gym and bounces off the walls of the big room. kenma quietly groans and a giggle escapes you at his reaction–as if you two haven't been in this scenario for a dozen times before, and as if kenma's reaction has ever changed, at that.

"yaku! i told you to turn the fans off. don't forget tomorrow!" you then hear the captain yell out. overhead, the fans spin to a stop, and now everything is still for a moment.

"time to go kenma," you softly nudge at his side.

the blonde reaches over to shove his console in his bag with a sigh, "fine, let's go."

as you stand up, you body feels a shock of cold. it's already yearning for kenma's warmth again, the one that makes hiding from the world feel so nice. so your body seeks it out, following close behind him as you make your way across the gym to the exit.

       ⇩  ⇩  ⇩ 𝘽𝙊𝙉𝙐𝙎 ::

years later, the conventions you and kenma find yourselves at are awfully crowded. with questions at panel after panel and interactions with fan after fan at meet and greets, it's hard to believe the day still isn't over yet.

and it's not like kenma didn't like his fanbase. he loved them, and he loved what he did as a streamer.

it's just that sometimes he had to recharge. and thankfully, he knew just how, and who to go to for that.

his feet moved mindlessly, seeking you out. he found you behind some backstage black curtains nearby.

"hey kenma!" you smile at him, "how'd the meet and greet go?"

"it went great," his hand suddenly grasps at yours, "let's go somewhere real quick?"

you don't miss the way his words come out laced with the tiny breath of a sigh, or how he's hunched over just a little more than usual.

so you don't question it as he pulls you through the crowds, weaving to different convention hall entrances until finally when he peeks his head in the doorway, you find a room unoccupied.

there, against the wall and on the worn-out carpeted floor, you sit–nothing besides a bare stage, rows of empty chairs, and the two of you.

kenma relishes in this newfound hiding spot, letting his eyes close and his head lean against your shoulder for even just a moment. the bustling of the convention-goers outside gets tuned out.

there's no game console in his hands this time. so you resort to watching how instead of pressing at buttons and joycons, he plays with your warm hands under his fingertips.

and you let him, for as long as he wants, and he appreciates loves that about you, the person–his solace–who gets him so well. he loves you.

[some-thirst-here]

Pretty shy

Leo x Reader

There was always something good about the acoustics in the gym. Which is why you like sneaking away to sing after school, when there isn't any sporting practice of any kind. You waste no time in slinging your backpack down on the bleachers. You start pulling homework out and singing along to the song coming through your headphones.

"My names Noel. In gym class I mostly duck, and I kinda smell. Puberty really sucks. I like this one guy but he's pretty shy."

You belt out the song while moving around gently to the beat. The next part of the song is louder and you raise your voice to match it.

"He doesn't know who I am, and he doesn't give a damn about me. Because I'm just a teenage dirtbag baby."

Bumping into someone behind you knocks you out of the cosy little world you were just in. Heat crawls up your neck as you turn to see who. It's not one, but four guys you have never talked to. The heroes from the news. Your heart drops into your stomach.

The one in blue reaches a hand out to you, while opening his mouth to speak. Without thinking you flinch back and immediately start cramming the homework right back into the backpack. Throwing your backpack over your shoulder, you bolt. Tripping over your own feet as you run out the doors. You don't see the dejected look on the turtles face.

A moment after April walks up to the guys. "What was even that?" She can't help but ask.

Raph snorts. "They took one look at nardo here and ran." Raph pats Leo's shoulder. "It must be hard being that ugly bro." Leo promptly smacks his hand away.

April frowns, not liking that answer.

*****

For the next few weeks you make yourself scarce. The only glimpse anyone can get of you is the back of your head. You're determined to stay far away from the turtles. It was working pretty well. Unfortunately for you today is a pep rally in the gym.

The whole school is packed in the gym. So many people everywhere. Luckily your headphones do block some of the noise. You decide to sneak up to the top of the bleachers. While squeezing your way up someone knocks into you. The momentum makes you lose your balance. Your backpack is not helping as the weight helps pull you over the guard rail.

A surprised gasp leaves you as you tumble over. Your headphones hit the ground first. Squeezing your eyes closed you try to brace for impact. The sound of sneakers scuffing the floor is all you hear before you land.

"Hey, I've got you. Are you ok?" A voice very close to you asks. It takes a moment for you to open your eyes. You realize the turtle in blue has caught you bride style. He gives you a nervous smile waiting for you to speak.

"Your eyes are brown." You say without thinking. He blinks in confusion. Your heart thunders in your chest. Why did you say that?

You are once again scrambling up and out of the gym. The first thing you do is run and hide in the bathroom. After closing the door, it swings right back open and smacks against the wall. You nearly jump out of your skin. April O'Neil herself is marching up to you. You very visibly gulp. She backs you up to the wall.

"What was that? Do you have some problem with mutants or something?" April asks, clearly annoyed.

"Wh-what? That's not-." Your eyes widen as you try to reply. April raises an eyebrow.

"Well, what is your problem then?" She asks curious. You sigh, your shoulders sagging.

"I just... They saved a whole city. But every time they see me, I look like an idiot." You finally admit. You run a hand down your face. April's eyes widen. Her annoyance dissolving.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it. You should try actually talking to them. They're all kind of huge dorks." April gives you a small smile. Thoughts of bacon, egg, and cheese fill April's head. You rub the back of your neck.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." You mutter. April ignores your protest and grabs your hand to pull you along.

"Well, I mean Leo did just save you from a potentially broken neck, so I think the least you can do is say thank you."

"Oh ,um, right." Heat creeps back up your neck. You don't have to go far as Leo is waiting outside the bathroom. April officially introduces the two of you.

"You dropped these." Leo says holding up your missing headphones. A bright smile spreads across your face.

"Thank you." You say. Leo gently places them into your hands. You pull the headphones around your neck.

"Thanks for catching me too." You say softly looking away from Leo's face.

"Yeah, no problem. It was nothing. Not that you're nothing, you're totally something. It was just easy..to do." Leo rubs the back of his neck. Why did he say it like that?

You can't help, but smile at his rambling. Maybe it wasn't going to be so hard to get along with them.

[ofthirtynine]

We all got problems, don't we? We all need heroes, don't we?

idle worship - paramore / dear reader - taylor swift / all my daughters - dodie / don’t go dark - bleachers / the path - lorde

[atarathegreat]

You Interrupt Their Training My Hero Academia

Kirishima Eijiro

It was late, and he wasn't supposed to be out of the dorms anyway. You couldn't help but watch him from your dorm balcony, scowling at the time. Mr. Aizawa would be upset if he caught your red-headed friend outside beating himself senseless with training.

"Kiri!" You called down quietly, "Kirishima, get yourself inside before Aizawa sees you!"

Your voice startled him, making him look around slightly before catching you on your railing. Kirishima waved, his usual smile in place, "I should be good out here, though, right? Aizawa never looks out back?"

"He does, you moron!" You hissed, "How do you think Bakugo got caught?"

Kirishima laughed, "Fair enough! I'm coming in."

He didn't mind you watching him working with Dark Shadow, the only problem was that you had to hide or Dark Shadow was distracted. The entity loved you almost more than Tokoyami did, and it was annoying when the boy was trying to perfect this skill or that.

Tokoyami Fumikage

But that meant that Tokoyami also didn't know where you were, or if you were even watching him. He always hoped you were, only to be thrilled when you would appear out of nowhere and compliment some of the moves and giving suggestions for others. Your input mattered to him almost the same amount Mr. Aizawa's did.

Yet, today wouldn't be as simple as the others. You caught both their attentions when you stumbled over a stack of something hidden behind the gym bleachers. Dark Shadow was quick to latch onto you, ruining Tokoyami's plans to train for the next hour.

"Sorry, Yami..." You smiled sheepishly as Dark Shadow dragged you closer.

He groaned, "It's fine...couldn't concentrate anyway..."

Hawks/Keigo Takami

It wasn't enough. He wasn't fast enough. Keigo tucked his wings in closer, diving until he nearly hit the roof, opening them and dragging himself back up.

"Six point fourteen seconds!" You called out, your flight suit tied around your waist. You'd been on the roof for hours with nothing to block the sun from beating down on you. Keigo landed angrily, his heel steadying him, "Shit! Six seconds!? You're kidding!"

"No, sir. It's the lower end of six seconds." You grinned, showing him the stop watch. He growled, plopping down on the roof like a child who'd just been told no. It made you laugh, "What's the big deal? That's faster than even All Might!"

"Not fast enough for me." He whined, laying back and stacking his feathers in a separate pile.

You thought for a moment. "What if..."

Keigo sat up, "What if?"

His eyes widened as you smiled and fell backwards off the rooftop. "Y/n! Shit!"

You clicked the stopwatch when you saw him dive over the side, starting another immediately.

It was funny to you, seeing the fear on his face. Some heroes still had fear, you guessed. But, damn, if this is what flying felt like, you could get used to it. The wind blowing your hair around, feeling weightless. You even forgot about the danger of the sidewalk coming closer, and closer, and closer.

Click. You pressed the button the second you stopped falling, becoming lightheaded at the sudden change of direction. "Point four seconds for response time! Six point nine seconds for rescue time!" You had to yell over the air around you, "Total of six point thirteen seconds!"

"Shut up! I'm done doing this with you!" Keigo glared.

Mina Ashido

She was focused, in her zone, ready to melt the multiple targets that Yaoyorozu had made for her. But, right as she went to throw a handful of acid, you busted through the door into the small room.

"Mina!" You yelled, clearly being overdramatic about something, "Mina, help me!"

She nearly jumped right out of her skin. Why had you busted in like that when you knew she was training? "What? What is it?" Mina forgot all about the targets. You threw yourself at her feet, "I superglued my fingers together! You have to help me!"

Mina laughed so hard she fell backwards. The tears in your eyes made it all the more hilarious. It was superglue, after all, and would come off with a lot of really hot water.

"C'mon, I know where a sink or two is!"

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Under His Protection

Pairing: Andrew!Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: angst, stopping a potential rape, getting slapped, minor fluff at the end

Summary: Your good heart won't let you walk by something when you know something is wrong. That usually means trouble for you, but you can always count on Peter to swoop in and save the day.

Squares Filled: villain/hero for @spider-man-bingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Shit, you’re going to be so late. Thank God you live right behind the school for this exact reason. Your backyard is right by the school’s football field so you cut across it every single morning and afternoon. Due to being so close, you can sleep in longer than everyone else.

This time, you might have overslept.

You jump over the fence and walk across the empty football field quickly. You think it’s empty until you hear someone over by the bleachers. You walk a bit closer and see it’s one of the most popular jocks, Jake Staton. He’s honestly one of the best players this school has seen in a few years but all you’ve heard is horror stories about him.

He’s arrogant, a terrible lover, and at times, abusive. He thinks so highly of himself and doesn’t treat women right. Ask any one of his ex-girlfriends.

The girl he’s with says something you mistake for a moan but the closer you get, the more you realize she is protesting against Jake.

“No, stop. Get off me,” she begs.

“You know you want it, baby. Don’t fight it,” he smirks and kisses her neck.

“Seriously, stop. I mean it.”

You could keep walking and ignore what you saw but that’s not who you are. You have a reputation for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.

“Hey, dickwad,” Jake steps back from the girl to glare at you. The girl pushes him off her but he doesn’t move much. “She said no.”

“Fuck off.”

You step closer and put a hand on his shoulder to yank him away from her.

“She said no. You’re the one who should fuck off.”

Suddenly, you feel a stinging sensation on your cheek. You fall to the ground from the impact and stare at Jake in shock. He backhanded you with the hand that has rings on it. The girl sees this chance to run away from him, and he scoffs at not getting some before school. He steps closer to you but you don’t do the smart thing and back away. You’re not going to show him any weakness.

“Get in my way again and it won’t be your face I’m slapping next.”

Once he is gone, you take your hand away from your cheek to see it bleeding. God, this shit hurts. You can’t go to class with a bleeding cheek so you push yourself to your feet and head to the nurse’s office.

“Come on in, honey,” she says when she sees you standing in the doorway. When she sees your cheek, she gasps. “What happened?”

“I tripped and fell.”

She knows you’re lying but she doesn’t press on if it’s going to make you uncomfortable. You sit down on the examination table and allow her to look at you. She takes care of the bleeding which isn’t from a big cut so it’s easily manageable with a bandaid. The only thing that will be prominent is the bruise already starting to form. She grabs an ice pack from the freezer and places it over your cheek.

“Thanks,” you wince and keep it there.

“Stay here. I’m going to grab something to help with the pain.’’

“Okay.”

You’re sitting there for not even five minutes when Peter Parker walks by the nurse’s office. He makes eye contact and keeps walking but stops suddenly when his brain registrars that it’s you. He rushes into the office with an angry look on his face.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” he cusses quietly. You try to keep him away from you but there is no use. He takes off the ice pack to see the darkening bruise underneath. “Who did this to you?”

When he sees your bruise, you can tell a piece of his heart broke through the look in his eyes.

“I’m fine, Peter. It’s nothing,” you sigh.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You forgot how overprotective he was when you two were dating. He was the perfect boyfriend to you. He’d treat you like you were the only woman in the world, he brought you flowers every time the old ones died, he made you feel safe and loved. You were and still are in love with him.

He was the one who broke up with you. You went to his house for a study session when he dropped the bomb on you. You were heartbroken. Why did he do it? You two were going really good save for a few secrets you knew he was keeping from you.

That’s why he ended things with you. He hasn’t told you that he’s Spider-Man and it was becoming a hindrance keeping that secret from you. He loved you too much to bring you into his mess so he had to end things with you before you got hurt because of him. It hurts him to keep you at such a distance knowing how much he loves you.

“Jake Staton,” you sigh. Keeping it from him is pointless. He would have gotten the answer one way or another. “He was going to rape this girl and I had to stop it. I couldn’t do nothing.”

He loves how caring you are about other people, even people you don’t know. He places the ice pack back on your face and you hold it there so it doesn’t fall. He doesn’t say another word and leaves the nurse’s office.

He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know where he’s going. After the nurse gave you some medicine for the pain, a touch up of your makeup, and one of Peter’s baseball caps that you stole, you were ready for school. You kept your head down for the first half of school so that you didn't have to talk to anyone.

By lunch, you are sitting with your best friends who already know what happened. You’re checking out of the conversation since you don’t feel like talking to anyone when you notice Jake on the far side of the cafeteria. He’s sporting his own bruise on his face with a swollen eye and busted lip.

Your eyes immediately go to Peter who is sitting with Harry and Gwen. He grins when he sees you and winks at you to let you know even if you’re broken up, he still will always protect you. You know you shouldn’t feel this way but your heart skips a beat and your stomach does summersaults at his attention.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[stevie-petey]

LOVING where you’re going with Bug and Steve’s story so far. Looking forward to the next chapter🥰

I have a blurb idea!! What about Bug’s reaction to Dustin being sad at the Snow Ball when all the girls said no to him🥲and her reaction to Nancy dancing with him.

Ps. Sorry I meant to send this as an ask the first time my b😅

thank youuuu <3 n i so wanted to add this scene in but the chapter was already 20k words and i simply couldnt but YES i will happily elaborate on this

enjoy <3

"should i go and dance with him?" you ask nancy, nervously fidgeting with your fingers as you watch dustin, all alone with his head ducked in shame as he stands in the corner and watches his peers. since arriving, hes been rejected again and again by the girls at the dance.

nancy bites her lip, unsure herself what to do. "youre his sister, i think it might make it worse if you dance with him." she confesses with a sigh.

you both watch as dustin walks towards the bleachers in defeat, and it takes everything within you not to run after him. his shoulders are shaking, you know hes holding back tears. he had been so excited for tonight, and now he sits all alone, once again beaten down by peers who have no idea what hes done for them. dustin henderson is a hero, hes saved hawkins, and yet hes treated like a freak.

he deserves the entire world.

"thats it," you cant take it anymore. youre dustins sister, hes your baby brother, how can you be expected to stand as watch as he gets his heart broken? "im gonna go dance with him-"

"no!" nancy grabs your hand to stop you.

you pull at your wrist, annoyed and hurt that she expects you to do nothing as dustin cries. "hes my brother, screw whatever those stupid kids say-"

"i'll dance with him."

you gape at nancy, unsure if you heard her correctly. "you... what?"

"here," she hands you the punch ladle and then wipes her hands, a smile on her face as if this is a regular occurance for her. she fixes her hair, straightens out her dress, and then takes a deep breath. "i remember his crush he used to have on me. figure its time to apologize for how mean i was."

and then nancy leaves. you stare at her, still in complete shock, as she approaches your brother. they exchange words, and you cant help but laugh at how shocked dustin looks as well. nancy takes his hands and marches him confidently through the crowd of preteens and places dustins hands around her waist and they begin to dance.

a few girls sneer at nancy and dustin, which you secretly preen at. serves them right for being little monsters towards your brother. you understand that being twelve is a horrid age, but dustin doesnt deserve their bitterness.

nancy says something that makes dustin bashful and he giggles. his tears have long since dried, and you watch them with fondness. a year ago you envied nancy wheeler and resented her beauty and grace. now, shes dancing with dustin and sending you a wink as he spins her around. time is weird, but youre immensely happy that you somehow ended up here.

you look around the gym. will is with a girl with a nervous smile on his face as they dance together. nancy and dustin are giggling to themselves. max and lucas are shy as they slow dance, and without meaning to, you watch as they have their first kiss. its a short, simple peck, and lucas blushes like crazy, and your heart soars.

somehow, within the five years youve known them, the kids grew up right before your eyes.

then you see mike, and you do a double take when you see that hes with el. shes in a beautiful dress, her hair is done, and she even seems to have some makeup on. you look behind you and see hopper standing outside in the parking lot, smoking a cigarette with joyce, and the two of them share their own laugh. its been a while since you last saw joyce smile, same with the chief, and something warm fills within you. love is weird, and you couldnt be happier that the ones closest to you get to experience it.

as your eyes roam the room, they somehow find jonathans. they always find jonathan.

he points to nancy and dustin and shakes his head, laughing. he knows that your brother will hold this over his head for the next week, but hes happy the kid is having a good night. you giggle, knowing what hes thinking, and shrug your shoulders. itll be a problem for jonathan tomorrow, but tonight you both watch as the girl and young boy dance the night away. both your hearts are warm, each of you feel a deep love for the girl in this moment, and you both marvel at how lovely nancy wheeler is.

as you watch, something tugs at your chest and begs you to turn around. you do, and see steves car slowly driving away from the middle school.

your lips tingle, still feeling his cheek against them. your skin will never forget the feel of his. your promise still lingers on your tongue.

take all the time you need.

time is weird.

so is love.

and youre all the luckier for it.

[thefreakandthehair]

⚾️ rounding third, sliding home: finale ⚾️

chapters eleven and twelve now live: here on ao3 -> or, start from the beginning!

Excerpt:

The Dodgers are at bat now, and Eddie loses track of the first two batters. Neither end up on bases though, so that’s disappointing. Tommy Hagan hits next, making it to first base comfortably.  And then he hears it, the unmistakable reverberation of the guitar lead-in to Tom Petty’s I Won’t Back Down. Blood rushes to his head, all glee and overwhelm when Steve steps out of the dugout and the entire stadium cracks open. People scream, singing along and stomping their feet on the bleachers in such a way that it feels like the Earth itself is shaking.  Eddie’s world certainly is.  He’s only known Steve as the cute guy who needed a massage therapist, whose face scrunches up when he laughs from his belly, who falls asleep when you play with his hair, and who prefers his pasta just a touch underdone for more of a bite. Somehow, the Steve who’d held his hand the first time they had sex is the same Steve whose name and walk-up music sends a packed crowd into a frenzy.  And for some reason, reasons that become more and more unfathomable the longer the crowd celebrates, Steve wants him. Or at least, wanted him. He’s still unsure of what to expect but even if that happiness is now in the past tense, to have been loved at all by Steve Harrington is miracle enough.  “That’s your man, Munson! Cheer!” Robin reaches over Chrissy to smack him on the arm and he springs back to life. Your man is presumptuous but even if it’s one-sided, she’s not wrong.  He cheers so goddamn loud.

holy shit! I can't believe this is it! I can't believe these are the final chapters! it was originally meant to be just one final chapter, but then it ended up being 15k words so, yeah. two final chapters! thank you all so, so, much for following along with one. it's been a blast! and I'm definitely not thinking about writing a sequel or anything.

@steddiebang @hbyrde36 @steddieasitgoes @sidekick-hero @sharpbutsoft @cuoredimuschio @kkpwnall @starryeyedjanai @scarcrossdlvrs @marvel-ous-m @pearynice @judasofsuburbia @fastcardotmp3 @shares-a-vest @hellion-child @pumpkinspicestevie @delta-piscium @perseus-notjackson @withacapitalp @hereforanepilogue @stevethehairington @tboyeddie @theheadlessphilosopher @imfinereallyy @hexiewrites @maxineholtzmann @starrystevie @steddieas-shegoes @goodolefashionedloverboi @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @hellfiredemon @wynnyfryd @vecnuthy @sungods-healingg @antithetical-dream-girl @stevespookington

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

The Renegade

joel miller x fem!reader

Summary of the fic: This is why I’m writing to you, Tess. Do you see how much trouble am I? How unstable and not anywhere good for him? I can’t fall in love with him and he can’t get closer, I’m a weak bitch: I’m gonna fall for him if you don’t help me. I walked too many meters of bad decisions before, I can’t cross another ocean. You are my only hope, The renegade - Your parents ask you to try seeing a therapist, Tess, and you agree under one condition: she can't let you fall in love with Joel Miller. A fic in the format of letters, from you to Tess. 🐾

read on AO3 | masterlist | next chapter

Warnings/tags: Explict +18, no outbreak AU, slow burn, fluff, smut, kinda loser reader? lol, implied age gap, coming of age, no use of y/n

Word count of the prologue + chapter 1: 6,4k

Tabby note: This will be a quick fic, I promise! I needed to take it off my head, it was clogging everything else at this point lol I really wanted an anti-hero protagonist instead of the usual good girls I write. She is messy and adorable at the same time, I'm really proud of how the story is taking shape! Hope you like it!

PROLOGUE

Austin, July 2024

Dear Tess,

You said I could write you in any format as long I’m true to what I’m putting out. That’s some therapist bullshit, but since it’s you reading this mess, I will let it slide. I thought a lot about what to write down for you, not the usual overthinking, more of a “where do I begin?”. Remember, you were the one who told me to write this if I can’t say out loud what it is inside my head while we are in session. This shit is hard, okay?

Let me start by being the smartpants I used to be: the human brain processes a thought faster than one meter per second. If I put together all the meters my brain ran while getting bad ideas, I could now cross the Atlantic Ocean.

Do you remember when you were a kid and your parents told you to avoid certain people? That strange feeling you get when you see a trainwreck of a person, the one that didn’t exactly do something bad, they just are stuck somewhere out of this reality and you think to yourself “I would never get in that position”? 

I did get in that position. I’m stuck in that somewhere. For years now.

Wish I could tell you that something horrible happened to me when I was younger, that my mother crushed all my dreams and my dad left one day to buy a pack of cigarettes. What about a strict family or an over-the-top religious one where I’m one of ten kids? Not even close to the truth, I’m an only daughter.

Middle middle class: enough money to live more than comfortably, far from the luscious lifestyle of the riches. I grew up knowing money didn’t come from the trees, I touched some grass, okay? The only thing expected by my kinda-aristocrat parents was that I would achieve academic success prior to a life full of achievements.

Chess competitions, spelling bee trophies (if I make a mistake a few pages down, it’s been a while since it), debate club captain, swimming team… You name it and I did. At seventeen I was voted as “most likely to be successful” and second place for homecoming queen because slutty Katie gave the basketball team a sloppy blowjob after practice. I had a first kiss and gave one bad handjob under the bleachers by that age.

Then university came and nobody, no fucking body, got wowed when I got an Ivy League on my first try. My head was too shoved up my ass to notice life around me. I wasn’t a pretty girl anymore because girls in my class were prettier than me, wasn’t the smartest since I wasn’t a teacher’s pet by just existing. 

My classmates didn’t care for me because I had no clue about social etiquette: what alcohol is acceptable to bring to a frat party? How do you pick up guys and let them suck on your tongue? Do you stay inside your dorm room when your roommate is fucking or do you wait outside?

I could do it with being the awkward girl, but not with being less than perfect. By the second semester, I was crying every day in the shower and realized I had no friends, just people who had the same interests as me back home. I tried so hard to become the number one in my class that life became hell the second my teacher gave me a lower score on a significant test.

I left her class and instead of crying, calling my parents to vent, or any other shit, I walked by the first frat house I saw and decided to lose my v card there with any guy that looked remotely cute. 

Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t be a slut if I hadn’t had a penis inside me yet, but I knew that something was boiling up for years. My hand sneaking under my panties after a tiring day, humping on my pillow whenever I got frustrated, even the shoulder massager I got for after swimming practice humming on my clit did it. All I needed was a chance to forget for a moment the hell that was my life.

And I did. A sand blond guy with a shark smile that would fuck anything that moved in his direction, clearly a rich bitch whose parents got his spot in the university. I walked in his direction and took my panties off, put them in his hand, and the next thing I saw he was deep inside of me while I hopped him vigorously.

I cummed so hard that I think saw Jesus, whatever he might be. Not that the guy made me cum, I had an itch for so long that any scratch would do it. Any. After coming down my high it was clear in my mind: I would do anything that I didn’t do before.

Drink until pass out, rob beer from the liquor store, fuck my roommate's hot dad, cheat on a test. Nothing was out of limits. Well, I still had to finish university and never use drugs because that was a hard no for me.

You see, Tess, I’m so good at keeping my promises to other people and ignoring my own needs that I did finish university. Graduated with an honor badge and everything, my parents' wet dream. Except they no longer knew me and had no clue that I spent four years whoring myself and doing everything to ignore who I used to be.

And this is why on my first day in a big company, a trainee job earned right after college, I vomited inside the bathroom stall during onboarding. A panic attack a week later when my leader delegated some tasks. You give me a few months and my mind went blank the second I started a presentation to the c level board. I ran so fast outside that I fell on the sidewalk, got up, called for a cab, and never came back.

It’s been years since it.

My parents came to you because they still have some hope. I don’t, I think they are being dumb. Yes, I have an Ivy League degree, a bunch of useless skills (except for Mandarin, I can read so fast the menu at a Chinese restaurant) but nothing to do with when I WON’T come back to who I used to be. Do you think I sound miserable now? I’m miserable but I’m free in my kitchenette downtown, with my band t-shirts and two jobs. Living the dream.

Of course I’m fucking lying to you. I hate my life because the bitch running it is so dumb (that’s me, by the way).

It used to be kinda cool. The day I ran from the office was the same day I went straight to the arcade and played Mortal Kombat II so much that I broke the machine’s record. I went there for a full week before the manager, an emo guy looking like a teenager, decided to hire me.

It wasn’t enough to pay for my fancy downtown apartment, the one that got furniture that didn’t come from IKEA, so I had to move to the shithole I’m now. A mini studio in a building so old that if the city trembles, I’m sure that I will be turning into dust.

Years in this life, day after day, and I wasn’t mad about it. I was free, after all. It took about two years for my parents to find out that I wasn’t the prodigious child anymore and they took better than I expected. My mom cried, cursed my name, and asked if someone hurt me but I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was the one who caused it.

Anyway, you already know this stuff. They told you their side of the story when letting you know that I would be your new patient. What exactly have they told you? About how I never introduced them to a guy and my dad had a very straightforward conversation with me about why lesbians were cool and he would accept me if I was one? Maybe they told you about how I got so drunk one Christmas that end up peeing on the petunias in the neighbor’s yard and my mom thought it was a good idea to tell them I was heavily sedated from a fear of flying? Nobody said it was easy to be an only child.

What you don’t know is that I have a love life, you are welcome. For years I’ve been sleeping around with a married man. I know, I know, shocking! Scandalous! His name is Peter and he is dumb as a door. But the dick is good and he sometimes treats me like a real person. I met him at a bar, gave him a blowjob in the back alley (Katie would be proud) and we see each other every week since.

Remember when I said my family isn’t religious? Thank god because that’s not everything. I have a boyfriend, a real one. It was a scorching day, the AC wasn’t working and I had to put the neckline out a bit before becoming a puddle. That’s when I see him, playing with his friends, having fun, being so fucking broad and handsome… I had to taste it.

Flirted a bit and boom, got him at the back door pumping deep inside of me while I was sitting on a desk. He was amazing, he was making me gooey to the point of screaming in pleasure. Too good to be true, when he was about to come I saw the little golden cross pending from his neck.

The next day he came back, told me how sorry he was, and asked me for an opportunity to show me how good he could be. I thought he wanted a second round, but nope, he wanted me to meet Jesus. I’m a people pleaser, Tess. It has been four months since I’m Mormon Isaac’s girlfriend. Every Sunday I attend the sermon, his family knows me and I haven’t slept with him since that first day. It marks also the four months I’m trying to break up with him.

You must think that I ain’t a good person and you are right, I’m not. Not the worst, but for sure not a fucking saint. I don’t come back in my decisions, anyone else with less brain would, but not me. I’m too stubborn to deal with the hell I made of my own life. Or used to, because now I’m head over heels for this guy, Tess.

Joel Miller. The stupid hunk who is older, wiser, and hot. Who I can’t stop thinking about since we met. Damn his pretty brown eyes and how they look into my soul. I’m a mess and I need some help dealing with it before he gets into my trap and I destroy him.

This is why I’m writing to you, Tess. Do you see how much trouble am I? How unstable and not anywhere good for him? I can’t fall in love with him and he can’t get closer, I’m a weak bitch: I’m gonna fall for him if you don’t help me. I walked too many meters of bad decisions before, I can’t cross another ocean.

You are my only hope,

The renegade

P.S. I won’t pay you shit, hope my parents paid you enough for this.

CHAPTER ONE

Austin, July 2024

Dear Tess,

Yes, I'm doing well, thank you for your concern, guess the rambling in my last letter got you worried about me. It’s a skill, I’m very good at making people worry. I'm marvelous, splendid, and well, fucked. By our last session, you asked me more details of how I ended up meeting Joel and I said to you “a lady never tells” and you didn't laugh, tough crowd. Let me paint you a picture then.

There are many regulars at the arcade. The asians dudes that go there after Kumon (been there, done that, I feel so sorry for them), the lone wolves of 40+ that still want to feel young since they can't get any pussy and, my favorites, the after-school reruns.

These little fuckers go there every week to burn some steam from their sugary-inflicted bodies, stay until 4 pm and go straight to their houses, to their mom and dad. I'm not bitter, I just hate teenagers.

I'm aware that it sounds like I'm on the wrong career path since they keep my economy going, but fuck it, teenagers give me the creeps. Except for the queers, they are quite nice. I have a baby lesbian (it’s pretty obvious) that I call 3 pm because she comes by this time twice a week, Ellie.

She is probably fifteen or so and everything I wasn't at her age. Firecracker, bossy with a dirty mouth – did I ever tell you that the first time I said “fuck” in front of my parents was after my meltdown? You can guess it. One of the only teenagers I got close to if I'm honest. She came by one afternoon, saw Mortal Kombat II, and hasn't left since.

“Who's The Renegade?” She asked me one time, checking out the scoreboard with disgust. Remember I beat the machine record? She was right after me.

“No clue, try harder.” I teased her thinking she wouldn't care and move on with her life, like people do.

But not Ellie, she tried really hard to break the fucking record. Week after week, I watched her trying her best from my glass display while wearing the ugly bowling striped shirt that is my uniform.

I saw him way before he saw me. Doing my regular afternoon routine, cleaning the games with some rubbing alcohol to avoid the sticky hands infecting everywhere, minding my business under the neon light. All good, until I saw broad shoulders (I have a type, okay? Sue me) playing the fucking Mortal Kombat II with Ellie by his side.

Broad, so fucking broad. Dark curls with some gray here and there adorning his ears. I must have made some noise because for a second he looked back and that nose? Yeah, that was the end of me.

“You were close, old man,” Ellie teased as the fight on screen got to an end. He glared at her before looking at his score. “Nah, you're full of shit. Not even close to me or The Renegade.”

“Yeah, if I was spending that much time here I would be second place too,” he groaned before gaining full height. That voice gave me chills as I pretended I haven't heard shit, trying to not sneak a look and failing every time.

And that was it, Tess. Not exactly your meet cute, sorry. He came back maybe three or four times, always polite, nothing else. I thought it would be a silent crush, a small one until I got bored. I’m constantly bored.

My second job is a little less orthodox, if you can call my first one that. A girl has to do what she has to to get that bag. On Christmas, I’m the Santa helper with a mini skirt and sweet smiles (you can imagine how many times I picked up desperate dads like that), by Easter, I’m your lucky bunny hopping around in white hot pants, when Thanksgiving is around the corner I’m the sluttiest turkey you ever saw. 

The mall manager pays me double because I let him once see my boobs and the poor guy is so lonely that he is more than sure that we will sleep together at some point.

“A vest with “can I help you?” tagline? Where is the skanky clothes?” I asked him one Saturday morning, thinking he made a mistake giving me the day costume.

“We’re getting more boomers and older visitors, we need someone to stay in a good floor spot and answer their questions,” he told me in a boring tone, the sadness in his eyes always a classic.

“Okay, if they ask me questions, what do I do? I don’t know shit about this mall except that you can buy powder by the public telephones and shouldn’t use the ladies bathroom on the second floor, that’s where Nora from Chipotle goes and that woman’s ass is rancid.” He furrowed his brows and dragged his hand on his face, taking his time to process what I had just said.

“Just be nice and bring them to someone who will be helpful, maybe a security guard, I don’t know. And don’t use cocaine while on the job, I can’t deal with another junkie here,” he said reinforcing the vest on my hands and urging me to get out of the room.

Now would be a good time to remind you that I don’t use drugs, never did. I might be many things in this life, but not a stoner. Not because I’m prudish or think drugs are bad for you, even if they are. I’m way too afraid about getting hooked once I realize that the play-pretend reality that they induce in your brain is better than this one. I’m self-destructive, but not stupid.

So there I was, in my lime neon vest, above a small platform with a big dark blue “information” written. Thinking about anything you can imagine, my shift lasts six hours and I can’t sit down, just a fifteen-minute bathroom break. One of my worst nightmares is to be alone with the dumb bitch inside my head, that’s why I hate silence.

When was the last time you went to a mall? They used to be a big deal in my younger days, but now they are dead. It’s so fucking slow, just little packs of people here and there. Not even music playing to alleviate the tension between me and my stupid brain.

“Miss?” A small voice called, I looked to the sides and saw nobody,  so they insisted. “Miss?”

I looked down on the platform and to my surprise, a toddler with big brown eyes and curly hair was calling me. Hesitating for a second, I climbed down my platform and crouched to get my eyes the same height as his, I read once that kids get more comfortable like that.

“Hm, yeah?” I asked unsure of how one talks with kids, shouldn’t he be there with an adult?

“I can’t find my uncle,” the poor kid was on the verge of tears, making me panic.

“Okay, let’s find him,” I said with very little confidence, unsure how to approach it.

Before I could think about what I would do, his hand found a place in mine, holding me like an anchor. I decided to go to the nearest security guard and hope for the best, one thing was to be a failure by myself and another was to fail a little kid.

We walked for about five minutes, the fucking mall had a small amount of guards. No fucking clue why nobody comes down there. The kid got a little tired of walking and held up his little arms, asking to be picked up.

I accepted it, letting him rest his head on my shoulder. Thinking about it now, as I write this to you, I can’t remember the last time somebody hugged me. We might need to talk about it in session.

“You tell me if you see him, okay? What does your uncle look like?” I asked still walking down the corridor, searching for the damn guard.

“Big, fluffy hair,” I laughed at how wholeheartedly the kid tried to answer it.

“Blue eyes? Dark hair?” He shook his head for the first one but nodded at the second.

Changing corridor, I saw from afar a big guy and a smaller figure talking with a guard and figured out it was the kid’s uncle. The man seemed agitated, speaking with his hands in the air. As I pressed my steps, the figures got more familiar. Made a signal for the kid, showing them when we were close enough and his face lightened up.

“Uncle Joel!” He shouted happily, as I put him down so he could run to the tall man.

That’s how I found out his name. Simple, discrete, direct. Jo-el. Suits him.

He immediately hugged the boy, kissing the top of his head. Ellie was at the side getting color back on her face, unshed tears in her eyes when she noticed me.

“I know you,” she started and I panicked a little. I don’t know why, I wasn’t doing anything weird, but something about breaking their bubble made me uncomfortable.

Joel looked up from his nephew’s face and furrowed his brows, not in a “who the fuck are you?” kinda way, more of a “wait, I do know you too”.

“Hm, yeah, I work at the arcade down the block,” I said in a monotone, looking into Ellie’s eyes, ignoring Joel’s.

“Are you safe? All good?” Joel asked in a soft tone, much softer than I imagined a man like him could do, to the kid.

“Yes,” the toddler replied searching for my hand again. My eyes got to the size of the moon, unaware of how to react.

“Thank you for helping him, we were about to lose our heads searching for him everywhere.” Joel gave me puppy eyes in his dearest manners and every inch of my body heated as he got up, gaining his tall size. 

A grown, big man being soft on the edges? The hottest thing I’ve seen and I fucked once Mormon Isaac.

I was ready to get back to my platform when Ellie shared stares with Joel, a language I hadn’t properly been introduced to in my formal education, but I think I can decipher:

Ellie looking straight, then bringing her eyebrows up - say something, Joel

Joel furrowing his heavy eyebrows and pouting a little, before looking towards the exit - no, let’s go home

Ellie rolling eyes and siding it in my direction real quick - she is right here, do something

Joel setting his jaw and looking directly at Ellie - I said no, let’s go home

Ellie narrowing her eyes and then nodding to the toddler - how did we got him back?

Joel glancing at his nephew, Ellie, and me before pouting a little bigger - okay, fine, you’re so annoying

Mind you I’m not a linguist in any way, I might have translated something wrong since I’m not fluent and the whole scene lasted no more than two seconds. I was highly confused when he put his hand on the toddler’s shoulder (mind you, who was still holding my hand) and cleared his throat.

“Are you hungry? It would be a pleasure having you with us,” he proposed in his most southern polite voice. I laughed a little, stupid bitch.

“That’s not… Necessary. Really. It’s okay!” I replied quickly, awkwardly trying to walk back. The kid’s hand grip got stronger.

“C’mon, stay. It’s the minimum I can do,” Joel insisted with another puppy eye.

“I used to g-get lost too, in the mall, you know? It’s okay! It’s just a full circle moment, but thank you!” I lied.

I was a prodigious child, way too smart for my age, and for sure not roaming around in a suburban mall. My parents weren’t strict, but they had a very clear vision of what was cool and what was trashy. Read in my room, go to museums and cinema exhibitions of foreign movies that I was able to watch without the subtitles? Hot and cool. Go to the mall, watch blockbuster movies, and eat a burger at the food court? Suburban and trashy. I got lost once at a library, though.

“He won’t stop giving you the puppy eye until you accept, c’mon,” Ellie replied gaining a double glare from me and Joel, who – in all truth – was still giving me puppy eyes.

“Some pizza wouldn’t hurt,” I said with an awkward lopsided smile. 

The duo stared at each other again, now that I had more familiarity with the language I think I can get better translations:

Ellie shotting up her eyebrows and inclining her head towards the front of her body - told ya, old man

Joel sighing before eyeing the food court direction - lead the way, brat

“Let’s go, Luke,” Ellie grabbed the kid’s hand from mine and started to walk.

“One sec,” I said before taking off my vest and placing it in the security guard’s hand, who looked at me puzzled. I would find a way out of trouble with the manager later on. “Okay, all good!”

“So… The arcade and the mall, you must be good with teenagers,” Joel started nodding in Ellie’s direction. He said in such a genuine matter that it took me back, not a single harsh reply in my brain.

“Not really, it’s more of a coincidence. I try to avoid them a little, though. They could shatter me with one comment.” I laughed a little, trying to break the awkwardness between us. He smirked a bit.

“I get it, Ellie likes to remind me that I’m no longer hip. Do people still use this word?” He asked chewing his cheek and I chuckled.

“I’m not sure. Maybe no? We are very much 20th-century material,” he smiled. 

Do I like to think it was because I hinted that I was old enough to drink, so old enough to fuck him? Yes. But I regretted it the moment that thought appeared in my head.

Don’t get me wrong Tess, even if I’m a slut I wasn’t trying to fuck Joel Miller when we got alone. It’s more of an old habit, a second skin. When I got the conclusion men were little needy bitches, I got laid often.

You pretend to be stupid and praise them on their big brain. Maybe they prefer it when you are a hopeless girl who needs a strong man to solve something that your small body can’t. Or, the classic, they just want a shy girl who has no idea of how pretty she is and is more than grateful that he is there to show her.

Men are simple creatures. The more you make yourself smaller and dumber, the more they want you. Nobody wants an opinionated woman who knows her worth, that isn’t sexy. It’s a sin being a woman who is not sexy all the time.

Something inside of me knew Joel wasn’t trying to pick me up. He was just an older guy with a life set and a family of his own, he wanted to be nice to the girl who helped his nephew.

“Your nephew is a sweet kid, very affectionate,” I said in a genuine tone, trying to clear a bit of my head.

“A good kid too, smart for his age. He will be three in a couple of days,” Joel's face lightened up talking about the toddler. I wondered if someone’s face ever got so bright thinking of me.

“Growing up fast?” I asked trying to keep up, I don’t much about raising kids except that parents feel like everything is way too fast.

“Yes, but there is a long way until he becomes a petulant teenager like Ellie,” he joked with tenderness.

“She is cool, just the right amount of sassy in her bones. Her friends too, they are well-behaved down the arcade,” I said thinking about the times I saw her with other weird teenagers there.

“Really? Good to know her friends treat her well, she needs that,” he replied quickly. I lost him for a second and couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“Why?” Could I sugarcoat my curiosity a bit? Of course, but my initial awkwardness was opening space for a comfortable conversation and I’m bad at calculating risk.

“We just moved, right before the school year. I’m from Austin, but Ellie no, she is from Boston. We lived there for a few years before moving back. Is tough to be the new kid, you know.”

The soft around the edges came back. I started to wonder how I never noticed Ellie’s accent, but it made sense.

“And why did you come back? Work?” I asked, again, without thinking further. Joel scratched his scruff while pondering how much detail he would give me.

“Boston got too heavy. Bad memories, you know? She needed a fresh start and I was missing the Texas sun.” My eyes searched for a ring on his hand for the first time, but there was nothing to see. Maybe a bad divorce? A widow?

“In that case, welcome home, cowboy,” I said mimicking holding a tip of a cowboy hat to him, who smiled a bit.

When we arrived at the food court, we went straight to the only pizza option available, the fucking Pizza Hut. The mall is shitty, if you haven’t noticed it yet Tess.

Ellie ordered everyone’s pizza as if she were introducing us to a new, exotic cuisine. Joel got amused, looking at her adoringly while petting his nephew's curls. I allowed myself to imagine what if my weekends were filled with this domestic view, if I would be happy to live such a mundane life and got surprised when the response was positive.

“Will you finally tell me who The Renegade is?” Ellie joked with a hint of truth. Joel rolled his eyes in good fun.

“A lady never tells,” I winked at her and Joel grinned with a little laugh. You see Tess, when you make a joke this is how people react, not scribbling something down their therapist's notepad. Rude as fuck.

The pizza could be better, but the company was more than good. I found myself laughing at Ellie’s puns, making comments about the arcade regulars. Joel tried to make me laugh a few times too, like an old friend. I felt good, felt normal instead of the constant weight on my shoulders.

At some point during our little chit-chat, I furrowed my eyebrows.

“How did Luke get lost? You haven’t told me that.” I questioned both of them, Ellie’s cheeks got pink. Joel made a motion for her to speak.

“Joel went inside a store and asked me to wait a little with Luke, to keep an eye on him for a second while he got something. I know,” she looked into his eyes with a guilty stare, “that I must hold Luke’s hand whenever we’re in a public place. I didn’t, started to look into a window shop thinking he was by my side.”

“It’s okay, you were holding tight to his hand on our way here,” Joel assured her.

If that man couldn’t get any hotter, he didn’t hold the weight of her mistakes against her. I swear that I don’t have daddy issues, I might have a Peter Pan syndrome or shit like that, but my dad was quite nice for a stuck-up guy. I’m not comparing dads, I’m comparing how to deal with delicate hearts: in that couple of hours I got to know a little more of them, I saw how Joel didn’t hold Ellie back, tried to shape her into something he wanted. Even inside of my own body I can’t do that with myself, be this level of kind.

I think Joel got me when it crossed my mind that I could fuck up and, maybe, he would still like me. I wouldn’t be a bitch, a bad girl to him. I would be just a person who made a mistake and he would still be there. What if my main kink is to be loved?

He paid for the meal, of course, a southern gentleman. I said goodbye, hinting I would be there when Ellie decided to show up at the arcade and she replied with a “hell yeah”. They left and I sighed, so light as if I had a spa day, but nope, just a good time with nice people. I might be lonely.

In a snap of fingers, I met the mall manager who questioned me why I wasn’t at the platform. The weight of the world came back on my shoulders, I reasoned that I was tired and wanted to go home as fast as possible.

“A kid got lost and I went to help him find his family. I think the slutty outfit might be a better idea next time, this shit is too complex,” I said shrugging before flashing him again with my boobs for a few seconds.

What? I had a nice meal with a good family, but I’m still not a saint.

Anyway, life followed its course. Saw Ellie sometimes at the arcade, Joel would greet me by name whenever he was there to pick her up, all good and normal. I told you, this is not your meet-cute story.

If you are wondering, yes, I saw Mormon Isaac the next day after the missing kid incident. Holy Sunday, couldn’t skip.

I don’t have exactly a wardrobe that screams “SLUT!”, but the vibe isn’t exactly good southern mormon girl. Jesus just wasn’t my thing growing up. My parents were a little paranoid about the christians, we avoided them at all cost. I had to thrift some stuff to attend Sunday preaching with Mormon Isaac.

It was so boring, every single Sunday. Thank God the pastor would scream from time to time on his speech, the only thing waking me up. Mormon Isaac, strangely as it seems, wouldn’t try to grab me a little here and there while we were inside the church.

“Are you okay?” I asked him once when he audibly swallowed when I touched the inside of his thigh when the pastor was speaking, or whatever.

“Yes. Please, not here, sweetheart,” he urged me and I rolled my eyes.

Every. Fucking. Sunday. For. Four. Months. He would only give me a peck after church, always in front of his family, if his parents weren’t making lunch he would drive me home and that’s it.

Sometimes we would do other stuff too. He would take me to the cinema to see a movie, always under PG-13 though. I would try to jack him off and he wouldn’t allow me, I once tried to give him a blowjob and he said he was waiting for the right time. We fucked rough in the staff room and now I was a pervert, make it make some sense.

You can imagine my surprise when, in the middle of an afternoon, Mormon Isaac appeared from nowhere at the arcade.

“Guess whose four-month anniversary is today?” He asked me while holding a box. I have no idea how to pray, but I know that I prayed for every single entity in the sky for a surprise break up as a git.

“Wow, lucky me,” I said with a fake smile. If my job was boring that afternoon, it was about to become worse.

From the corner, I saw Ellie picking up her backpack from the floor as I opened the box. A deep voice greeted my name and I got cold.

Mormon Isaac was looking at me like he was the best boyfriend in the whole world. Joel appeared to be curious, getting close to the glass display I call my office.

“I didn’t know you were religious,” he said looking at the bible in my hands. A fucking bible. Damn you, Mormon Isaac.

“She attends the Sunday preach every week,” Mormon Isaac promptly corrected with his most polite smile. I wanted to die.

“Thank you very much, I will cherish it.” I smiled back, looking into Joel’s eyes with a silent rescue request when Mormon Isaac glanced at his phone.

“See you tomorrow-,” he started and I cut it before he could finish that thought.

“For the bible study, yes. It will be a pleasure,” I said faking another smile, Joel looked so confused and amused by the whole situation. Mormon Isaac grinned so hard that I thought he was about to cum in his pants.

“That’s fantastic! I will let my mom know!” He said before grabbing his phone and walking out, leaving me and Joel behind.

I sighed and dropped my head into my arms, right at the bible. Joel's laugh, I sound I grew to adore, echoed and I glanced up from my arms.

“What the hell was that?” He asked in good fun, looking at how distressed I was.

“You do me a favor: never, I said never, open the door for a Jeovah’s witness. I accepted one preach from this mormon customer and now he plays rehab with me,” I said avoiding the fact that the said mormon was my boyfriend on the following day we would meet for a date.

“I will. Do you need an excuse for bible study?” He asked looking somewhere behind me like he was forming a plan inside his head, both hands on my glass display while Ellie waited.

“Does it involve religion or any kind of cult?” I half-joked. Half because if hot Joel said he wanted me to go to any kind of religious ceremony I would have another panic attack and leave.

Joel looked to Ellie, who looked back at him and both nodded. This time I can’t translate, sorry, I’m still in the process of getting the language's grammatical structure.

“Tomorrow is Luke’s birthday. Surprise party. You don’t want to break the poor’s kid heart, c’mon,” Ellie said faking seriousness. Joel nodded back.

“There will be food?” Ellie confirmed. “Booze?”

“Do you like beer?” Joel asked, also in fake seriousness. Except that his death stare made me fucking wet.

“Pass me your phone so I can give you my number, text me the address,” I turned my palm up to grab the said phone, he smirked and Ellie laughed.

And this, Tess, is how I met Joel, got my little heart full of him just to let him slip into my life. What can I say? I never wanted to save a horse more than the moment he lassoed me.

I think you have more than enough material for our next session already. I will give you that yes, I speak more about what is inside my head like this. I think it might be because it feels strangely similar to submitting a paper, you know how much I love being the teacher’s pet.

Don’t forget: I can’t fall in love with this guy,

The Renegade

P.S. In case it isn’t obvious, I don’t have daddy issues. I DON’T. I know what it looks like, but I don’t have it. Don’t even try.

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[pxrxcxa]

Born B*tch

Paring | Dom Eddie x Sub female reader

Series Summary | Eddie’s a cocky outcast with soft heart and a dominant side, a perfect mixture for the cold hearted ice queen to fuck out her frustrations with.

What to expect | No use of y/n, Porn with some plot (kinda), Slight enemies to lovers, Mean reader, Cocky Eddie, Dom Eddie, Sub reader, Eddie playing the hero, fucking out frustrations

Post warnings | Fem oral, M oral, Consent kink, Belt usage, Spitting, Slapping, Voyerism, Choking, Face fucking, Begging, Cream pie, Unprotected S, After care, bullying, drug use, swearing

Word count | 4.4 k

Authors Note | *play slim shady*, yes I am back, I was never truly gone. Shoutout to those that read this, if you’ve been a follower of mine, just know I appreciate you and I’m back for you. Ghosting reason here 💗🫠

(yes the monster dog is is Dart - enjoy the Easter egg)

Any & All comments/reblogs are most appreciated - Love, P. x 🌿

_____________________________________

“Did you fucking see that?”

As I rounded the bleachers, the smell had tipped me off to the presence of Hawkins High oldest student before his grunt of shock and swearing had. My hand shot up to cover my nose from the swirling clouds puffing from the corner of his mouth, the fabric of my shirt pressed against my lips as I followed his line of sight.

I blinked through the new onslaught of tears brought on from the stinging haze of the weed, mixed with the stained ones against my cheeks, at the distant figures darting through the trees that outlined the edge of the school field.

“It’s just some middle schoolers messing around.” I coughed, quickly wiping at the corner of my eyes as I watched the dark hair of Nancy Wheelers brother, disappear after his friends.

“No I swear it was some sort of monster dog… whatever.” Eddie Munson shook his head and snapped his jaw shut as he listened to how crazy his own words sounded, dropping his joint to the soft ground beneath him as he squished the red hot cherry to ash with his shoe.

“I see you’re working hard to pass your second attempt at senior year.” My tone was surprisingly icy, even for me. Eddie pushed himself away from under the bleachers, striding out into the full sunlight until his dizzying height was towering over me, his face full of contempt. I’d turned away as he’d closed the distance between us, but I caught his glimpse of surprise as he noticed the splotches on my cheeks.

“I didn’t think my attendance record was any of the ice queens business.” His voice drawled off as I snapped my neck back to face him, expecting him to lower his gaze.

Eddie stared me back down unflinchingly, and suddenly I was filled with embarrassment that he didn’t shy away and my tears were on full display. Not that I’d asked for the reputation of being a cold hearted bitch, but I had grown accustomed to it after being branded with the title in my freshman year.

I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked me in the eyes and not flinched or looked away eventually, and here he was with a smirk playing around on the corner of his lips while I tried and failed to hold back tears.

“Piss off Munson.” I spat, twisting away from him as I wrapped my arms around my chest. I’d never had an actual conversation with the outcast metal head before, everyone else seemed to think he was dangerous. No good. Bad news.

It made me realise how shallow and single track minded everyone in this town really was. Did they really think that this soft haired, wide brown-eyed boy who collected bullied freshman to protect them, was some kind of devil worshiper who would sacrifice them if they even dared to look his way?

If I hadn’t of been so consumed with my anger towards Steve Harrington, I would have been surprised at how much attention I apparently paid Eddie, that I’d somehow seen past the drug usage and cut off vest to the kind soul beneath it, considering my acknowledgment of his existence never extended past coincidental looks in class.

“Only if you tell me who pissed you off first…” Eddie dug around in his jacket pocket until he pulled a cigarette from the depth of it, keeping his eyes on mine and taking longer than necessary to light it as I contemplated his question.

I traced the outline of his frame as he bent his head low to the flame, taking a deep breath as I tried to even my voice. Eddie shook his hand that gripped the lighter as I fought back the foreign urge to tell everything to him, narrowing my eyes at him like it was his fault I was strangely comfortable around him.

I couldn’t see how telling him would be a bad thing, he loathed Steve and his idiot friends even more than I did, and I was sure the whole school would hear about it by lunch, Eddie included.

“… Steve the hair Harrington asked me on a date, when I told him ‘no’, that asshole Tommy has made it a fact that I gave them both blowjobs behind the boys toilet before school this morning.” I paused to let it sink in, admiring the way Eddie barely flinched.

“At the same time.” His couldn’t contain his reaction this time, his eyes widening as he coughed on his cigarette smoke and pounded his chest.

“Even took it upon himself to spray paint it on the sign so everyone could see it when they walked in.” My nails bit deep enough into my palms until I wrenched them open with a gasp of pain, suddenly regretting my decision to say something, almost like I didn’t want to disappoint Eddie.

“… And did you?” His voice was filled with curiosity and his eyes watched me with judgment before his hands flashed up to his chest, backing away from me like I was a dangerous animal.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Of course not.” I scoffed, pissed at myself for thinking he’d have more sense than the rest of the sheep at our high school.

“You’re a virgin?” He grinned, attempting to ease the tension as I blushed without permission.

“I’m not a whore, but I’m definitely not a virgin.” I grunted through my teeth. Eddie’s smile widened impossibly further at my admission, nodding to himself.

“You seem frustrated, wanna roll up and relax a bit?” I waited for the disgust to flare up since I’d never touched weed before or had any interest to do so, but my snappy retort died on my tongue as the sunlight glinted off the chain around his wrist, catching my attention to how strong and deft his fingers looked as a whole body shiver rolled over me. I swallowed hard as unwarranted thoughts of how I could get my frustrations out, ran rampant in my mind.

“I’ve just never seen you show any emotion before.” He shrugged, taking my silence as a no. Eddie breathed in a long draw of his smoke as I rounded on him, shaking my head free of thoughts I’d never expected to associate with Eddie Munson, but I shoved whatever feelings were fluttering between my legs to deal with later. If what he’d said had come from anyone else, I wouldn’t have even thought twice about it being a dig at me. But his voice was genuine and his carefully guarded face hinted at concern for me.

But fact that we’d both been slammed with unearned reputations, didn’t save Eddie from my false one. I only faltered on my surprise that Eddie had seemed to pay just as much attention to me as I had to him, before my harsh words broke the space.

“Not all of us have smoked away all of our brain cells to the point we had to repeat senior year Munson, some of us are still smart enough to have an emotional range.” His wall went up faster than mine ever could, a glare of loathing sliding into place on his handsome features.

“Yeah, and not all of us were born bitches.”

I could feel his eyes on my back the entire time it took me to cross the field back towards the orange bricked school building, hating my reputation - and the way I undoubtedly deserved it - for the first time ever.

___________________________________

The feeling of a hundred pairs of eyes on me had never bothered me before, whatever whispers and rumours spread behind my back, rarely made it to my ears. But my anger had been poked and prodded by everyone and every interaction today, so by the time that Tommy. H, Steve and his normal crew walked past me at my open locker at the end of the day, whispering Whore loud enough to be heard by everyone at either ends of the corridor, I snapped.

I slammed my locker hard enough to break it off its hinges, twisting around to face them with my lash of words burning on the tip of my tongue. It slipped into loud laughter as Tommy tripped backwards over Eddie’s outstretched ankle, crying out in pain as Eddie reached down to yank him to his feet.

“Sorry about that dude, didn’t see you.” Eddie’s teeth flashed brilliantly under the fluorescent hallways lights, but his eyes were cold as he brushed non-existent dirt roughly off Tommy’s shoulders. Steve tugged his ass of a friend away from his grip as they half jogged down the hallway, muttering the exhausted insult of ‘freak’. I didn’t blame them, considering Eddie had had to lean away from his locker and extend his leg halfway across the hall to trip him over.

His amused smile followed them until he turned back and caught my questioning eye, nodding at me like I owed him some kind of thank you.

I pressed my lips together and returned the slightest nod, it was as much appreciation I could offer, considering they had forgotten about me and their bullying in their rush to escape Eddie. I’d dropped my gaze from his, but I heard him slam his locker shut a little too forcefully, flooding shame through me that he’d stood up for my honour in his own way and I’d brushed it off like it was nothing.

My skin prickled as he stormed past me, close enough that the tail end of his jacket brushed the bare skin of my legs, by the time I’d swallowed my own pride and emptied my books out of my arms, I looked up just in time to catch the glimpse of the handkerchief in his back pocket disappearing around the corner of the back exit.

I didn’t think it through before I let my legs carry me after him, my panties dampening in success as my body’s urges outweighed my logical side. I swore under my breath as I caught the door swinging back, slipping through it as I peered after him striding back towards the bleachers.

His long legs strode across the entire length of the field in seconds as I sped up to catch him, waving away the clouds of smoke that drifted behind him and clung to my clothes.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie rounded on me like he knew I’d followed him, no sign of surprise anywhere on his face as I rocked back on my heels, fidgeting with the waist band of my shorts.

“You offered to smoke with me right?” I glanced over my shoulder to see that the car park was thankfully quickly dwindling of lingering students.

“Sure.” Eddie’s voice was thick with contempt, and low as his eyes followed the curve of my legs. “But I’m not giving you what you actually came for if you smoke that.”

My stomach flipped and then dropped, the slightly false confidence slipping. I hadn’t perfected the art of seduction, but I hadn’t counted on Eddie’s unfaltering confidence either, I barely knew why I thought fucking out my frustrations with the school freak was going to be anything but a bad idea, so I couldn’t see how he’d know it’s what I’d followed him for.

I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat as Eddie narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side, waiting to see if I’d push through.

“Why not?” I cringed at how small my voice sounded, submissive.

“Because consent is important to me. Especially with the kind stuff you’re into.” He let me escape from his gaze and he flicked the butt of his cigarette away, pausing for a moment to give me one last chance to back out.

“You have no idea what I’m into.” I took a small step forward towards him as a glimpse of the real me broke through for a moment, shielding us further from any prying eyes as I slipped into the shadows of the bleachers. It was all Eddie seemed to need, he moved faster than I did to close the gap between us, his ring clad hand encircling around my throat like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“I can tell exactly what you want.” His fingers tensed around my skin threateningly, sending a tingle to spread across it like fire, the corners of his mouth pulled up at my reaction. I could practically hear his ego inflating as I leaned into his hold.

“Do you want this?” His grip loosened ever so slightly and he stroked the underside of my jaw, his brown eyes prying into mine for the slightest sign of hesitation.

I nodded, hearing the last of the back firing engines roll out of the car park. My knees began to shake from anticipation, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and press my lips against his plump ones, only just now noticing how perfect they were. My gaze moved across the rest of his features, narrowing my eyes at how well they fit together.

Eddie really was handsome, him being an outcast had to be by his choice, because if it wasn’t for the whole satanic rumours and mid lunch outbursts, I was sure he’d have his pick of girls.

I scowled at the thought.

“Say it out loud.” Eddie’s fingers dug into my throat until I struggled to breathe, choking on my words.

“They’re already spreading stories that I’m a whore. I want to give them something to tell.”

Butterflies swirled in my stomach at the look on his face, moving down between my thighs as the truth rung in my words. Eddie’s free hand weaved through my hair as he trapped me against him, his rough clothes rustling against my body as he walked me backwards, slamming me against the cold metal of the bleachers.

He tasted of tobacco and weed, and a hint of mint toothpaste as he forced my mouth open with his, breathing me in deeply as my hands felt around me blindly for something to hold onto. I gripped the exposed bars that held up the seats above our heads, Eddie’s groan drowned out mine as he gripped the back of my neck, allowing him more access into my mouth as he pressed every hard line of his body against mine.

With each inch his hands closed around my neck, the more he took control, smiling against my face as he felt me give myself over to him.

“I bet you’re fucking soaking, show me how wet you are.” I shuddered against Eddie’s touch as his fingers swiftly moved from the side of my neck, pressing down my skin as he cupped the sides of my breasts, he paused there as he pinched at both nipples until they were embarrassingly hard under my shirt.

Eddie bit down on my lip and pulled back with a smirk as I trembled and whimpered, arching my hips up against his hand as he traced his fingertips along my waistband, teasing me as he watched me beg for him.

Eddie angled his legs against mine as he allowed me to grind down on his cock, as hard as I’d ever seen any boy and dripping with enough pre cum it had stained through his jeans. I moaned at the pleasure the feeling of my clit pressed again him shot through me.

At the slightest friction between our bodies, I could feel the wetness between my thighs double, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please Ed-“ He cocked his head closer to my face as he left light bites under my ear.

“Please what?” I could hear the grin in his voice, thick with need but he had his in control, I had become completely undone. I couldn’t even the remember the reason I’d followed him out here. Only the feeling of his body on mine and how it wasn’t enough.

“Please touch me.” I gasped, shivering like I was in pain. His hollow laugh was lost in my moan of ecstasy as his firm fingertips dipped beneath my shorts, finding my clit with ease as I rocked my pussy against his hand. Eddie let me ride his fingers until I was gasping his name, feeling them slip between my folds as I dripped onto them.

“Fuck” Eddie’s groan was almost animalistic as he ripped his fingers from me and dropped to his knees, pinning my hips against the sharp poles behind me with his arm as he tugged my shorts and panties to the side. I barely hard time to knot my hands in his hair and melt against his tongue before he was hovering back over me, leaving me shaking after just a few wild licks against my dripping folds.

Eddie gripped my cheeks hard enough to make me cry out as he tilted my head back.

“You need to know how good you taste.”

I opened my mouth as he angled his with mine, spreading my tongue flat as Eddie spat the mixture of his saliva and my arousal onto it, he devoured my groan as he forced his tongue into me, swirling it around as my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

My clit was throbbing with need as he planted kisses down along my neck and across my collar bone, exploring every inch of my skin like it was a map he was trying to memorise.

“Turn around.” It wasn’t a question, his long fingers gripped the tops of my arms until they overlapped as he flipped my body and shoved me forward until I was leaning over a support beam, dropping his hold to my hands as he wrenched them together at the small of my back.

I whimpered at the pain, but not enough for him to stop as he pressed his hard boner against my ass. I bit my lip as I struggled to look over my shoulder at him, melting at the raw and passionate look that had completely taken over his soft face. The clink of metal sounded in the afternoon air as Eddie loosened his belt, tugging it through his pant loops before wrapping it around my wrists.

Eddie’s hand tugged at the base of my hair, forcing me to look through the gaps of the bleachers as he pointed out the blazing sun that shone against my flushed face.

“It’s gonna be a pretty sunset. But not as pretty as you.” I felt my walls flutter at the unexpected compliment, bending my knees so that my ass pushed even further back into him.

A silent beg for him.

The muted sound of his zipper coming undone made my goosebumps crawl across my skin, it felt like an eternity before he pinched both my shorts and pantries to the side again and I felt him nudge his length against my entrance. The first inch slipped in with ease, coated in my wetness as I gasped out in surprise.

“Fuck me, you feel good.” My moan echoed across the empty field at his praise, wiggling back onto his length. Eddie laughed as he pulled back, a stinging pain landing across my back as his palm slapped against my ass.

“You like this big cock?” He voice faltered as his slid further into me, loosing his composure to his own desires. But feeling and hearing him come undone above me, drove me wild.

“I uh - Eddie - please.” I lost all coherent thoughts as nothing but Eddie’s dick and his fingers that found their way back to my clit, took over.

He found my soft spot easily, before even using his whole length. Tears sprung to my eyes as Eddie’s moans grew deeper and faster, matching his thrusts as he kept up a pace that had my legs shaking. I stopped breathing as Eddie’s cock fucked me so hard that black spots danced across my vision.

I didn’t know where my body began and his ended as he slid as far as he could inside of me. The sounds of pleasure from each others body morphed into a melody that I was sure could be heard throughout the whole school, fuck, the town even.

“You are so fucking sexy.” Eddie ripped himself from me without warning, using my hands trapped under his belt to pull me up right and then down onto the hard concrete beneath us. Eddie allowed me a second to meet his eyes, waiting for me to open my mouth slightly before his shoved his cock down my throat, his entire length dripping in my arousal until I was choking on it, crying from the lack of air as he fucked my face.

The sounds from where our bodies were connected was enough to make even a girl like me blush, within seconds my jaw was aching and the tip of his cock brushed my back teeth. Eddie hissed as he pulled back, letting me breath as he wiped the fallen tears with his rough finger. As I gasped for breath, Eddie’s eyes flashed between mine and I gave him the slightest nod as he lined his fingers up.

Eddie pulled them a few inches away from my cheek before bringing them across my face, hard enough to sting, not enough to leave a mark.

“Take this cock like a good girl.” Whatever makeup that had survived so far, was now smeared across my chin and running down my face as Eddie forced himself back down my throat, throwing his head back as his loose curls swirled around his head from the cold breeze.

“I bet everyone’s wished they could fuck this mouth, especially with the shit you say.” My lips tightened around his pulsing cock at his words, earning a deep moan from him.

I groaned for some sort of release as I ground against nothing, blinking up at him through my lashes until he leaned down to unhook my hands. I pulled back to breathe as my aching fingers darted between my thighs, sighing in pleasure as I found my clit. Eddie gripped my cheek as he told me how pretty I looked on my knees, rubbing my skin beneath his thumb as he guided my mouth back to his cock. It was harder than it was before, red and aching for me as it glistened in the setting sun.

My free hand cupped his full balls as I felt him go impossibly harder in my mouth, twitching against the back of my throat as my own fingers hurtled me towards the edge.

My fingers circled around my clit until my knees were shaking, blubbering around his cock as I felt and heard him get closer. Air rushed beneath me as Eddie tugged me to my feet, gripping me by the backs of my thighs as he wrapped my legs back around him and slid deeper inside of me, using the cold metal bars behind us to keep me upright.

I cried out from the loss of pleasure until his hand smacked mine out of the way and rubbed between my folds faster than I could have, keeping a matching pace with his cock as he buried his face into the crook of my neck.

I was too far gone to care about any damage to his jacket I might have been inflicting, gripping on tightly to his shoulders as I came. I came harder than I had before with any other guy, falling to pieces in Eddie’s arms as he pulled himself just far enough that the tip of his cock sat between my folds, drenching me in his orgasm and his moans of my name almost deafened.

The sweet tinkle of late evening birds drifted between us as my gasping breaths slowly evened out, the reality of what just passed between us crashing down on us the further the ecstasy washed away. Eddie softly disentangled himself from me, gripping onto my knees to keep me steady as I shook.

I was barely aware of him as he pulled a skull patterned handkerchief from his back pocket and pawed softly between my thighs, cleaning me up as his face filled with concentration.

I kept my hands on his shoulders, loosening my grip since I could see indents from my nails, as I watched his tongue sit between his lips. I was revelling in the blissful aftermath as I felt embarrassment and vulnerability creeping at the edge.

“Are you okay.” His voice was gentle but it still caught me entirely off guard, he kept his eyes off of mine like he was allowing a private moment to myself.

Eddie intertwined his fingers through mine as he helped me down, subtly tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket.

I was still shivering, but for a reason I wasn’t able to admit even to myself as his eyes trapped mine and he cupped the side of my face.

“Do you need anything.” Eddie pressed his lips to mine as they begun to tremble, holding me softly but tightly to his chest, he pulled back but kept his hold around me as he felt me relax in his arms, my heartbeat slowing to a normal pace.

“You’re so beautiful.” He kissed into the top of my hair, ignoring my limp arms at my side as I seized up and panicked at his words, unable to form a response or proper thought.

“You know, I wish I didn’t trip Tommy over.” His statement brought me out of my shell.

“Why?” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest as I tried to pin my legs closed around his body but he slid them open again with ease, almost like he didn’t even think about it. I was unsure where this anger was coming from, this entire thing was just about sex, about fucking out everything that had pissed me off today. I didn’t know how, considering I could count the amount of times I’d spoken to him on one hand, but he’d fucked me perfectly, exactly how I needed it.

Eddie cracked a genuine smile, entirely different than the ones I’d seen, he laughed loudly as he smoothed the narrowed lines between my brows, muttering that I was cute when I was mad.

“I should really let this whole thing keep bothering you, because I’d really like to keep helping you get over your frustrations.”

_____________________________________

Tagging some babes that might wanna read this 💗

Eddie tag list } @mavex @fckyeahlames @harrys-tittie @sl-tfor-joseph-quinn @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @chickennug90 @miss-momma-drama @luceneraium @eddiesgffff @sammararaven @nightless @dotslabyrinth @relocatedheads @princessbubblehoe @muggleluna @sagittariughs @gloryekaterina @e0509 @urlivingdeadgirl @crimsonsabbath @lem0nb0iii @lelenikki @bebe0701 @bratckerman @the-tacos-unite-blog @extravagantplant @plethoravellichor @justmesadgirl @corrodedcorpsess @fanfictioniseverything @maximizedrhythms @sleepygery @ms1oftheboys @brittanyyydamnit @xsecretsirenx @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @aaaasdfghjjkkllll @figmentofquinn @daydreamerblues @hellfire-puppet @wonderful-outcast @drakensmainbitch @iamaslutforcoffee @emolooswrld @tayhar811 @alana4610 @princesscutie23 @msgexymunson

[blues824]

Could I request Kaminari, Kirishima, Todoroki with a Jamil-like female reader?

Jamil Viper is one of my least favorite characters, besides Ace. Don’t judge, I just don’t like how he took advantage of Kalim like that.

Reader is described to be in the Hero’s Course. I left it up to your interpretation if you are in 1-A or 1-B.

Denki Kaminari

Everyone viewed your quirk like it was a villain’s quirk, but he didn’t see it that way. Instead, it would be very useful in interrogations and even to deescalate a situation in battle. But, this is Denki we are talking about. He saw both the dirty potential but also the funny potential. He would want to play so many pranks.

But, you stood there with a very unamused look on your face. There was no way you were going to bring yourself down to the level, as your quirk was for your studies within the Hero Course and not for ridiculous jokes. Doesn’t he know that you’ve given yourself headaches because of it? Your quirk was not a joke and it was not to be taken lightly.

He would go to each basketball practice and game, and he would even go to shoot hoops with you if you asked him to. Even if you didn’t he would still be there. He sucks at it, but he gets you to laugh and that’s all that matters. This simp loves to see your smile, especially if he is the cause of it. He will gladly have the basketball hit the back of his head after it deflects off of the backboard if it means that you will have an amused grin on your face.

Denki acts like he’s your hero specifically and will fight off any bullies who try to put you down because of the nature of your quirk. He will make sure that the electricity in their room will go out suddenly, and they’re either freezing to death or dying of a heat stroke. He will also tell them off and say that you were in the Hero Course because you deserved it.

In order to pay him back, you often make him very delicious meals for lunch. It makes him feel loved and he will often tease you about how you obviously love him. You rolled your eyes at his antics, but you had to admit that you did indeed love him. To get your revenge, you would often get close to his face and look into his eyes and say I do love you. Bro goes redder than a tomato.

Eijiro Kirishima

He thought it wasn’t manly that others would look down at you because of your quirk. He actually found it interesting and would ask questions about it. He does like making a few jokes here and there, but he would never think about using someone’s quirk that they worked so hard to gain control of for some sick joke.

You saw this, and it’s actually how you fell for him. Your family was often overlooked in the hero world, often producing sidekicks rather than full-blown heroes, so knowing that he did see you and wanted to be friends with you warmed your heart. Instead, he would compliment you on how hard you worked during a training session in class.

Kiri also goes to every practice and game that you have, and you best believe that he is wearing your team’s colors: his shirt, his shorts, his crocs, even his face paint. He also has pompoms in the same color because he is your biggest supporter as your boyfriend. It might be a bit embarrassing for you, but this man is straining his voice so that he can be the loudest in the bleachers.

If you were to ever call him your hero, he will have the dopiest smile on his face for the rest of his day. This goes especially when he shows that he is willing to fight a few General Studies students after they said that you didn’t deserve to be in the Hero’s Course because of your ‘villainous quirk’. He scoffed as they ran away, calling them unmanly because they were a bunch of cowards. You decided to be a slight tease and call him your hero, and his knees went weak.

To return the favor, you had cooked him a nutritious and well-balanced meal for lunch the next day. He held the box in his hand, steadily growing more and more red, as you took his other hand to lead him to one of the tables. Mina saw this and began squealing as she made Sero and Kaminari look at the two of you eating lunch with each other.

Shoto Todoroki

He doesn’t get what exactly makes one’s quirk qualify to be a “villain’s quirk”. Any quirk could be as destructive and evil as anyone else’s, given the right motivation. When he sees a group of students ridiculing you for how you wouldn’t make it as a hero, much less a sidekick, with that evil power of yours, he stepped in and grabbed one of their arms. This resulted in second degree frostbite, and they went away and left you alone.

Shoto also knew about your family, and that the Vipers were typically known for being sidekicks to some of the greatest heroes. But, you wanted to be one of the great heroes, and he respected your resolve to not follow in your family’s footsteps. He’s trying to not be like his father, so he completely understands.

When you invite him and Midoriya to one of your basketball games, he’s kind of confused. His green-haired peer had to explain what basketball was and the rules as they were watching you play on the court. Since Todoroki is a quick learner, he got the rules of the game fairly quickly. However, his comrade still had to tell him when it was appropriate to cheer and also to shout your name just in support.

A few days later, he walked in on you being bullied once again. You wanted to prove them wrong and not use your quirk for evil, but it was very tempting. So, your boyfriend here stepped in and had half his body on fire and the other half covered in ice as he stated that you would not be bothered again unless they wanted third degree burns and frostbite at the same time.

You wanted to pay him back for saving you, as you hated being in debt to someone else, so you decided to make him some food. You made him some soba, and he was surprised when you gave it to him. He thanked you though, and sat next to you as he hated his lunch. It was probably the best soba he has ever had, because it was made by his girlfriend.

[lightscamerabitchsmileee]

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