#can you tell that it's driving me up the wall this goddamn set

[astrumavis]

I just found the hero's aspect armor in totk and oh boy. I can understand why ppl don't like how it looks. The way the model is shaded in game really doesn't do it any justice. I found, that if you go to a place with no harsh light, it doesn't look so bad, at least to me. so I think part of the issue is just shadows. Though the decision to make his face paint/tattoo connect over his mouth is definitely.....a decision. One that I wouldn't have made but alas. It is what it is. (under the read more you can watch me go insane trying to find an explanation for why he looks the way he does)

The whole set raises a bunch of questions. I've seen people call him a zonai, but I disagree. To me, he looks nothing like a zonai. sure the face is kinda similar and as well as that dark grayish- greenish skin color, but he also has some big differences. He has digitigrade legs, a tail, no horns at all nor the tufts/scales that Rauru has, a different kind of nose and notably different ears. The red hair, neck ring (?) and the ornament on his forehead are also very similar to Gerudo . At this point I'm already throwing my hands up in the air because what in the goddamn fuck kinda crossover is this. Who are you. Why is there no explanation for any of this. Why Nintendo. A suggestion would be that he might be a descendant of them, but that also seems unlikely, the traits just don't match up. Neither hylians nor zonai had tails or digitgrade feet, so why would their descendants have them ? It seems more logical to me that the ancient hero was a member of another race, perhaps related to the zonai, perhaps not. I'm not even going to attempt to figure out what kind of 6th- no- 7th race this was. I'll think about that mess another day. For now lets just leave it at that. I also just dislike the idea of him being the descendant of Rauru just like totk Zelda is confirmed to be. That brings me to the next point, the clothes, which are very clearly in the same style as the zonai and the main reason someone would assume at first the he was zonai (besides his animalistic look) Since I'm going with the assumption that he's not (directly), that raises the question of why the ancient hero would dress in the same fashion if he lived tens of thousands of years after the last zonai had disappeared. well. here's where shit goes a bit off the rails. See, one thing I've noticed about the ancient sages, is that similarly to the champions in botw, they also had their own versions of champions garments. Instead of blue and white ones, they had white and gold garbs in zonai fashion. Looking at the zonaite set in totk, you'll notice that the white and gold cloth with triangles is also present in that armor set as well. None of the other hylian guards seen in the memories have that garb, although they do have a similar headpiece with the fanned out feather crest. The zonaite set also seems like an "elevated" version of the ancient guards outfit. Red feathers, green stones and a more ornate look give it more resemblance to what Rauru and the saints wore as well as connecting it to the guards attire.

(I am aware that I am becoming the connecting dots meme but HEAR ME OUT-) Notably, the armor which the ancient hero wears is quite literally the same as the one of the zonaite set. If this garb is connected to positions close to the royal family similarly to the champions tunic, that would indicate the ancient heroes position as royal knight SO why the fuck was the little green cat man, who lived thousands of years later, wearing that ancient zonai royal knight armor? Good fucking question. Maybe it was passed down to generations? If this race was related to the zonai, perhaps they also kept some of their cultural heritage alive? Who knows. I sure don't. The more I wrote about this the more I realized just how puzzling this guy is. Maybe I'm overthinking it and he's just some descendant.

[strohller27]

.

[wystericwoes]

“Pretty boy”

Inumaki Toge x reader

Fluff

Warnings: slight cursing

"You just don't understand Maki!"

You dramatically entered your room, putting your belongings on the floor and tossing yourself on the bed as she rested her weapon against the wall, crossing her arms and raising a suspicious brow at you.

You stared up at your dismal ceiling. Letting out a long sigh.

"He's just so pretty."

She observed you curiously as you thrashed around your bed.

"Maybe if you finally talked to him rather than hoping he'll magically become a mind reader-"

You tossed a pillow at her which she easily caught.

"I don't want him to become a mind reader, I just want him to like me and tell me!"

"But without him knowing you like him first? Yeah, because expecting him to make the first move is always the best thing to do.”

she adjusted her glasses and tossed the pillow back to you which you roughly caught and placed back.

You leaned against the wall and pulled your legs up to yourself, resting your chin on your knees.

"You don't get it, if I confess and he doesn't like me, I lose him."

"You're not going to 'lose him' from a confession. It takes more than that to scare him away sadly. We're all stuck together after all."

"Exactly!" You sat upright.

Maki rolled her eyes as you rambled.

"He'll get sick of me, having to see my face in class every day, every mission, all the time."

"You're so dramatic."

You pulled your phone, zooming in on a picture you snuck of him during training. He was looking off, his long eyelashes and smooth locks gracing his face like a goddamn angel.

"Its not fair!"

You set your phone aside so you could slam your face into your pillows and let out a muffled scream.

"Why can someone be so damn pretty? It shouldn’t be allowed!”

You huffed as you recalled his smooth skin and sharp features. Soft hair and gentle smiles.

You put your hands on your face and rolled over to your side facing the wall on your bed.

“You’re obsessed with him.. get a grip.”

Maki rolled her eyes placing a sassy hand on her hip with an annoyed expression.

“You wouldn’t get it. You’ve never had boy problems.”

Her jaw ticked.

“Id hardly call it boy problems if it’s just you sitting in bed thinking about him.”

You threw a pillow again, which she threw back again.

You caught the pillow and pulled it into yourself, hugging it tightly.

“You don’t gotta say it like that!”

You sat upright and whined.

“I just wanna hold his face and kiss it!”

You roughly imitated the motions of what you were saying and made a dramatic kissy face.

“And he kept smiling at me all day, with those big stupid pretty eyes! It’s like he knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah you don’t sound creepy at allll.”

She said sarcastically.

“It’s not creepy! It’s honest. It’s not like it’s my fault he’s got those stupid pretty lashes and that stupid silky hair and that stupid smooth skin!!”

“If you’re just gonna talk about Inumaki then I’m leaving.”

She turned around and began making paces out the door before you yelled at her to come back.

“Okay sorry!”

“Thank you.”

She made her way through your room and sat in your chair legs crossed facing the bed. You two sat in silence as she began pulling out her books and setting them on your desk to begin your nightly ritual of studying next to eachother. But she abruptly stopped her movements when you let out a long and hearty sigh, making her let a sigh of her own.

“Do you just want me to talk to him?”

“No! Thats 100 times worse.”

“Then get it over with yourself so he can at least reject you and you can move on already.”

“It’s different with him!”

“You’re absolutely delusional. We’re not in elementary school anymore, we communicate our issues like adults.”

You hated to admit that she was right. At this rate with your feelings, you would either drive yourself mad not knowing If he felt the same or if he didn’t. But Is it really better to be rejected than to never know at all? You silently weighed your options.

Maki opened a pencil case and pulled out a ballpoint pen, clicking the end as she started to write. The rhythmic sounds of it began to lull you into a daydream as you fantasized about him again.

Closing your eyes and succumbing to your own fantasies maki took it upon herself to take action. Because as much as she valued you as a friend, if she had to what about your fanatical little crush one more time- she’d lose it.

A few minutes had passed as you remained unmoving.

“Y/n?”

She whispered.

Asleep.

She chuckled to herself as she carefully grabbed your phone Off the bed typed in your passcode, opening up recent messages.

>Toge Inumaki 🩵

>Nobara Kugisaki

>Gojo-Sensei

She cringed to herself as she clicked on Inumakis name and the heart.

Y/n: Hey Inumaki, sorry to bother you. Are you free to hang out soon?

Maki set down the phone content with her text. Not expecting the phone to ding seconds later.

Inumaki: Hang out?

Y/n: Yeah, is that okay?”

Inumaki: ofc it’s okay lol I just don’t know you wanted to hang out with me

Y/n: well ofc! I really like being with you.

She watched as the three dots popped up, anticipating his response.

Inumaki: As long as you’re sure you wanna. Just us?

Maki cringed as her fingers hit the keypad and typed the response.

Y/n: Yeah. I wanna be alone with you :) If you’re okay with that.

Maki looked up from the screen to check that you were still asleep, confident you were since you were even drooling a little- she went back to work.

Inumaki: sounds good, what about the movies tonight?

Tonight?? Maki bit her nail as she looked back from the phone to you back to the phone.

Y/n: sounds great! Text me the deets and I’ll be there.

She got up and tapped your shoulder until you stirred awake.

“Hey! Wake up.”

You pushed her hand away as your eyes slowly rose. Maki shoved your phone in your face.

“I got you a date.”

[corroded-hellfire]

Reader is Eddie’s first relationship & they have an argument. He thinks they’re gonna break up, but she introduces him to the joys of makeup sex. You. Are. Welcome.

xoxoxoxo, @munson-blurbs 💚

Thank. You. Anything for you, my darlin’ 💜

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, f receiving

Words: 2.5k

“Eddie, I swear to God, you need to stop being so dramatic about this! I love your theatrics but now you’re just making shit up in your head!”

“In my head? In my head? Seeing the two of you whispering together in the library was not in my head.”

“For Christ’s sake!” you shout, your hands coming up to rake through your hair. “We had to whisper; it was a fucking library!”

“I don’t like the way he was looking at you,” Eddie says, hands coming to rest on his hips as his jaw clenches. Your groan reverberates within the trailer walls.

“I can’t help the way he looks at me! If he’s even looking at me in some way at all. But I’m not looking at him in any way. We’re partners on a project, that’s it!”

“I don’t want you to be his partner anymore,” Eddie says, shrugging as if this is a reasonable request.

“Eddie, I didn’t pick him as my partner. O’Donnell assigned them. And we’re almost done with our project! I’m not asking to change now.”

“Even if it makes your boyfriend uncomfortable?” Eddie hisses. 

“What, so I’m supposed to get a bad grade just because you’re jealous? Fuck that. I plan on passing O’Donell’s class the first time.” It’s a low blow and you know it. But his jealousy is driving you up the wall and you can’t help but snap. 

“Maybe wear a goddamn shirt that you don’t have to pull up every thirty seconds then. You’re giving everyone at school a fucking show every day.”

“So, I just want everyone in the whole damn school to sleep with me, huh? Is that it?”

“That’s not what I fucking said,” Eddie spits out. 

“Then what are you saying? By saying that I’m cozying up to Kevin? By saying I’m flashing my tits to everyone at school?”

Eddie smacks his hand against the kitchen counter and turns his back to you. 

“Eddie,” you say with a sigh, shaking your head. “I need a break. I need a fucking break.” You grab your boyfriend’s pack of cigarettes from the counter and head towards the front door so you can grab a smoke.

“So, that’s it, huh?” 

The wobble in Eddie’s voice has you stopping in your tracks. When you turn to face him, you see him watching you with a set jaw, angry facade spoiled by the unshed tears building up in his eyes.

“What?” you ask.

“Need a break?” Eddie scoffs and shakes his head. “Fine. Go ahead.” 

“Eddie,” you say with a frown. “I’m going for a smoke break. What’s the big deal? I forgot my own pack, so I grabbed yours. You don’t want me to use ‘em? Fine.” You toss the pack back on the counter and rest your hands on your hips.

“Wait,” Eddie says. His face changes from angry to open and vulnerable. “Y-You’re not…breaking up with me?” The tear that slides down his face has your heart cracking in your chest.

“Baby, what?” you ask, taking a few steps closer to him. “Why would you think I’m breaking up with you?”

“You, um.” Eddie pauses and sniffs. Quickly, he wipes at his eyes. “You said you needed a break.”

“From the fight,” you tell him. “Not from you, Eddie. Sweetheart, I love you. I’m not breaking up with you.”

Eddie nods his head, but you can tell he’s still scared. “Hey…” You step forward and cup his face in your hands. “Eddie, it’s just a fight. They happen, it’s normal. That doesn’t mean we break up over it.”

“I’ve never, um…never,” Eddie trails off before clearing his throat. “This is new to me. My first relationship.”

“I know.” You slip your arms around his lithe waist and rest your head on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about me going anywhere though, baby. S’just a fight.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around you as well.

“It’s okay, you just misunderstood me,” you say.

“No, I-I meant for what I said before. About what you wear and being partners with Kevin. I was being an asshole.” 

“I should’ve been more considerate of your feelings,” you say, tilting your head to press a kiss to his neck.

“No, I should’ve done that with you.”

“We can both be in the wrong,” you say. 

“I love you,” Eddie says. The words still make you smile, no matter how many times you’ve heard them before.

“I love you, too. And now…” You pick your head up and give your boyfriend a salacious smirk. “I get to introduce you to another part of relationships.”

“What’s that?” Eddie asks, cocking an eyebrow at you.

You slide your hands down to his and tug him as you walk backwards towards his room.

“Make up sex.”

“Oh?” Eddie’s voice takes on a higher pitch as both of his eyebrows jettison into his hair. “Is this different than other sex?”

“Well, when we’re done, you can tell me.” 

You pull your hands out from his, bringing them to the hem of your shirt and whipping it off over your head. Eddie groans and lunges at you, grabbing your hips and tossing you over his shoulder. The only sound is your ferocious giggling as you’re carried over and plopped down on the bed. Instantly, you’re reaching up and pulling Eddie’s mouth down onto yours. He moans as he sinks into the kiss, lowering his body onto yours, pressing you between him and the mattress. Your fingers wind their way into your boyfriend’s curls, scratching at his scalp and gently tugging at the roots. This spurs Eddie on, rolling his hips against yours, the denim of his jeans rubbing the denim of yours. 

“Need you,” Eddie says, voice low and gruff, as he separates his mouth from yours. Fingers digging into your sides, Eddie presses hot kisses against your jaw. The sensation of his heavy body on top of yours and his dizzying kisses down your neck has you arching your back. It makes your bra-clad breasts brush against Eddie’s shirt. 

“Take this off,” you pant, tugging at the worn material of his Dio tee. 

“Yes ma’am,” Eddie whispers against your skin. He pushes himself up, a knee bracketing each side of your thighs. No matter how many times you’ve seen him strip his shirt off, it still gives you butterflies and makes you all giggly. 

“You’re so sexy,” you say as you slide your hands up his bare chest. The smirk that he gazes down at you with makes him even sexier.

Eddie grabs one of your hands and presses a kiss to your palm. “Not as sexy as you, my love.” Reluctantly letting go of you, he slides down your body and pops the buttons on your jeans. The pace at which he drags them down your legs is agonizing. Assisting him by kicking them off, Eddie quickly yanks your panties off and tosses them to fall somewhere behind him. 

“Jesus, I need to taste you, baby.” Eddie pushes your legs apart as he slowly lowers himself down to rest on his elbows. 

“Please do,” you whine, dropping your head back on the pillow. 

Licking his lips and eyes gleaming like he’s looking at a pile of presents on Christmas morning, Eddie leans in and licks a stripe up your folds. A whimper is punched from your chest as Eddie nudges your clit with his nose. 

“Eddie, yes.”

The way you say his name has his painfully hard cock twitching in his pants. Desperate for some friction, Eddie ruts his hips against the mattress as he dives in for another taste of your drenched pussy.

“So fucking wet,” Eddie mumbles. “All for me.”

“All f’you,” you echo, eyes drifting closed. “You make me soaked, Eds.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums against you, sending the vibrations up your core. “Taste so sweet, baby. How’s such a pretty pussy also taste so damn good?”

Eddie knows talking about your pussy only turns you on even further, and he’s determined to get you as wet as he can. The sound of your whimpering has him smirking against your folds. He pushes your legs open even further so he can press his face deeper into your heat. His tongue makes its way from your entrance up to your clit. 

“Fuck,” you whine. 

Encouraged by the sounds of pleasure falling from your lips, Eddie sucks your sensitive nub into his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you fisting his cream colored sheets between your delicate fingers. Your thighs tense up beneath his hands and Eddie knows what you’re going to say before you even open your mouth. 

“M’close.”

Humming encouragingly around your clit, your boyfriend slips one hand down between your legs and slides two fingers inside of you. It’s exactly what you need—and he knows this. Back arching off the bed, your thighs close around Eddie’s head as your orgasm washes over you. Your eyes practically roll into the back of your skull as Eddie pumps his fingers in time with his sucking. 

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the room and Eddie pulls his mouth from you as your back falls back down to the sheets. You tilt your head down to watch Eddie push himself up, licking over his lips that are covered in your slick. His chin is soaked as well, and the sight already has the area between your legs throbbing again. 

“How was that, baby?” Eddie asks as he crawls back up your body. 

“Holy shit,” you pant out between breaths. Your mind searches for the words to express how amazing he just made you feel, but you come up empty. A self-satisfied smirk grows on Eddie’s face at your inability to speak.

“Mm, my pretty girl,” Eddie hums, running his nose up to the sensitive spot behind your ear. “Love hearing all those noises you make.”

“Make me feel so good, Eds,” you moan. “Need you in me.”

Eddie places a trail of kisses down your neck as he slips his hand beneath you to pop open your bra. His deft fingers pick the clasp and you’re quick to fling the offending material off the side of the bed. 

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Eddie growls against your skin. Your hands bump into his as both of you reach down to unbuckle his belt. He huffs a laugh as he rests his forehead against yours, letting you take care of the belt while he pops the button of his jeans. As eager as you are to have him inside of you, Eddie’s quick to shuck off the pants and align his hips with yours. 

Agonizingly slowly, he pushes inside of you, the stretch burning a fire low in your belly. Eddie braces a forearm on either side of your head and dives in to envelop your mouth with his own. The two of you moan and whimper into one another’s mouths as Eddie bottoms out. When he pulls his hips back and slams into you again, your hands come up to grip at his shoulders. Your fingers dig so hard into his pale skin that you’re sure he’s going to have ten small bruises there tomorrow. 

“God, I’ll never get over how tight you are,” Eddie mumbles against your mouth. He’s starting to understand what you meant about makeup sex. The adrenaline is still pumping through his body from being angry. The love he feels for you is overwhelming, glad the two of you have made up. But there’s still that touch of possessiveness from his earlier jealousy that has him pounding into you hard enough that you’ll remember who you belong to. 

“Oh! Fuck! Right there, Eddie.”

The way you say his name is music to his ears and he wants to make you scream it over and over again. He picks up the pace of his hips, hitting that special spot inside of you with each thrust. 

“Come on, baby,” Eddie taunts. “I want the whole damn trailer park to know who’s making you feel this good.”

“You, Eddie. Fuck, you.”

“That’s right,” he groans. 

“Baby,” you whine, “wanna be on top. Wanna ride you.”

“Whatever you want, angel.”

Eddie pulls out of you and flops down next to you on his back. Neither of you wanting to be separated for too long, you hurry to climb on top of him and lower yourself onto his cock. When you’re fully seated on him, you start to rock your hips back and forth. The new angle lets you feel him in a new way and the friction of the coarse curls at his base against your clit makes you dizzy with pleasure. 

Watching you ride him, your hips moving back and forth, your tits bouncing with the motion, has Eddie biting his lip to keep his impending release back. He doesn’t want this to end yet; but you feel so damn good. 

“Shit, baby, please tell me you’re close,” Eddie pleads.

“Uh huh,” you hum, nodding your head. “S-So close.”

“Fuck,” he grumbles.

You rest your hands on Eddie’s chest as you move your hips against his. With each rock you feel yourself coming closer to tipping over the edge. Little whines and whimpers start to spill from your mouth, and it has Eddie gripping your hips as if his hands were a vice. 

“E-Eddie… Gonna cum.”

“Let go for me, baby girl. Cream my cock,” Eddie goads through clenched teeth. His hands begin to help move your hips and the added pressure of your clit dragging against his body is all you need. 

“Shit,” you cry, throwing your head back as your second orgasm of the night strikes. Your walls clench around Eddie, which is all it takes to have him spilling inside of you.

“Jesus Christ, yes,” he groans, hips bucking wildly up into you. Stars dance in his vision as he empties himself in your pussy. Your bodies rock together, riding out your highs.

“Holy fuck,” you sigh out, flopping forward onto Eddie’s chest. Both of your sweat melds together as he wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Eddie rasps, trying to catch his breath.

You tilt your head so you’re looking up at your boyfriend. He meets your eyes and it’s impossible for you not to give him a goofy grin. It’s just the effect Eddie has on you.

“So, what do you think of makeup sex?” you ask.

Eddie sighs and rubs a hand up and down your back. “I’m torn. I hate fighting with you…but shit that was hot.” 

Giggles bubble out of you, and you bury your face into his sticky chest. 

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you, too.” He tilts your chin up so he can press a soft kiss against your lips.

“I promise the next time I piss you off—because it’s impossible that there won’t be a next time—I’ll make sure the sex is worth it.”

“You say that like all sex with you isn’t worth it,” Eddie says with a scoff.

“Mm, fine,” you say, pushing yourself up off his chest. “Guess I’ll just have to buy some lingerie or something then.”

Eddie’s eyes widen and it takes all your strength to hold in your laughter.

“Okay, now baby, I’m not saying I want you to piss me off… Hey! What’d you bite me for?”

[gretavanlace]

Hush

Josh Kiszka x reader

18+ only Minors do not interact

Warnings: graphic sexual content, dirty talk, choking, light degradation, praise, slight dom/sub/switch dynamic, language, etc

Josh is vocal.

That is certainly no secret.

Anyone who has watched him strut about a stage, microphone in hand, knows that.

Off stage, he talks incessantly about both the things that matter to him, and the mundane. Things he is passionate about. Things that light fires within him and drive him to create and pack this world as full of his heart as he possibly can. Arbitrary ideas and notions. Strange ponderings.

Pontification, he likes to call it.

He’s also vocally boisterous when agitated. He loathes waiting, and will mutter complaints near your ear in line until you’re willing your eyes not to roll. A phone call to vent about the antics of one brother or another from the studio is a regular occurrence and can be counted on just like death and taxes.

“Samuel was even later than I was,” he might huff, “and now Jake’s guitar needs to be restrung because fuck this whole world if he has to use a backup. I hate them, and I want to come home to you, light of my life, keeper of the stars, goddess of all that is— oh, we’re ready…gotta go.”

Josh murmurs in his sleep, sings in the shower, talks himself through menial tasks, hums in the grocery store, carries on one-sided conversations with the cat who simply chirps along while swirling around his ankles.

At least twice a night he snatches you from drifting off to sleep with a question: Do you think I should call my mom more? If I miss her, she must miss me. Or, Did I ever tell you about that time that Jake ate shit and fell in the lake? I was thinking about it today, and…

Random thoughts and idle musings he can’t help but verbalize, you hear them all. Mostly. The ones you aren’t privy to, fall upon the nearest ear - but he’s so fucking charming even a stranger is happy to play sounding board.

Josh is also expressive when you’re wrapped up in soft, linen sheets…or wherever else he’s decided he can no longer wait to have you.

Whispers of devotion swelling like a gentle breeze across the hum of your pulse when he makes love to you. Filthy, dirty, blush-inducing declarations when he’s fucking into your trembling body like he’ll never touch it again.

And you love it…all of it. But now - with your visiting sister slumbering in the guest room on the other side of the wall - is certainly not the time.

“Baby, please…” his mouth is sucking gently along your collarbone as he grinds into you slowly, friction hard and constant against your greedy, swollen clit, “let me fuck you faster…c’mon, I need it.”

”What you need, is to be quiet,” your voice is a stern whisper, but your hands are tender in his hair.

He could easily set a pace as brutal as he desired if he felt inclined to disobey…but, ever the sweetest switch, he has opted to play nice tonight.

”I’ll be quiet,” he promises. It is a lie he truly believes, and to prove that point, you clench around him and draw forth a pitiful groan from deep within his chest.

A swift pinch at his side serves as punishment ”Shut. Up.”

”Fuck you,” he sounds deliciously desperate, “You did that on purpose. Squeezing me with that beautiful pussy…goddamn.”

”What’s going to happen if I let you make me cum? Hmm?” Your mouth falls into a delicate pout as if you just feel so sorry for him, “You know how tight I get. How I just hug your cock all snug and wet…”

”And warm,” he adds, lost in it, daydreaming in the dark of night and twitching inside the embrace of your cunt, “Soft as satin, sucking me right in…oh my god, baby, please.”

He begins moving with more purpose, dragging the head of his cock against that lovely little spot that will render you incoherent if you allow it to.

”Oh my god, please,” you mock quietly, “Look at you Joshua, what a whiny baby. What are you begging for? Pussy? Is that what you need?”

He nods frantically against your sternum, as though he doesn’t trust himself to look up at you.

You feign confusion wickedly “But you’ve got that. You’re already inside me…”

“Faster,” he breathes, biting and mouthing at your shoulder now, “Need it faster, and harder. It’s too slow, I need more.”

Clicking your tongue like he is a poor, pathetic sight to behold, you shake your head, “Slow down.”

”No, please don’t make me,” he slows, as instructed, but trails off with a whimper.

So, maybe there’s no ‘like’ about it, maybe he really is a poor, pathetic sight to behold. Yes, you decide, that’s exactly what he is…

…so why not push him even further?

With a swift tug on the roots of his curls, you issue an order ”Stay still.”

Despondent and mournful, he groans into the crook of your neck and grabs at your hips so tightly you’ll be admiring raspberry bruises in the mirror come morning. “C’mon, baby girl…lemme take it. I fucking want it.”

If he were looking at you, he’d see the devilish gleam in your eye. Aren’t you an awful witch tonight? “What? Don’t you like it when I keep your pretty cock warm for you?”

He flexes hard inside of you, simply to gain even a hint of friction. “You’re being so fucking mean.”

”Mean?” You coil around the throbbing length of him and he shudders out the tiniest sound, “If I was mean, I’d lock your pretty cock in a cage and fuck your face all night.”

For a moment, he shirks his submissive edge and hisses in your ear, low and slow, “Liar. Not with little sister in the next room…you couldn’t keep quiet with my face between your legs if someone fucking paid you to.”

In response, you shove him back and roll until your thighs are locked around his waist, the crown of his cock nestled against your clit as your hips swivel heated circles.

”Does that feel good, baby?” You’re taunting him cruelly while, in contrast, lovingly reaching up to smooth the furrow from his brow. “Does that just feel so good?”

”Wanna put it back inside,” his eyes squint shut and anyone who didn’t know better might think his expression is that of suffering. “Perfect fucking cunt, so tight, so…”

”Shh,” you quiet him with a hand wrapped around his throat, relishing the way his adam’s apple slides against your palm when he swallows hard, “shut your mouth for once.”

He’s staring up at you, wide-eyed and needy, like you painted the stars in the sky, gorgeous and glittering, just for him…and how you wish that were true. How you wish you could give him something so profound. Something worthy of his light.

”I won’t make a sound,” his vow sounds out, a cross between the honesty he wishes it to be rooted in, and the lie he knows it to be. “C’mon baby, please…fuck me sweet.”

Does he really want it sweet? Or is he simply aware that that’s all he is capable of quietly handling?

Likely the latter.

Your fingers have found your nipples, twisting and tugging on them as they tighten into pink pebbles that send shivers crawling down into your stomach with every pull. His eyes lock in on you, watching you tease them as his breathing kicks up into a frenzy.

“You’re pushing it,” he warns, grip pulling you down closer as he rocks his hips up to meet you. “Keep it up and I’m gonna fucking take it. Be a good girl now, baby…I’m done with your shit.”

”Yeah?” Your eyebrow raises in silent challenge. Does he have it in him tonight?

“Yeah.” He nods, licking his thumb to swirl much too gently across your clit.

”I think you should just behave and be grateful for what you’re—“

Stunned and dazed, the room blurs around you as you’re flipped and tossed until your cheek is pressed against the cool, crisp sheets. They smell of him, and you breathe Josh in until your lungs ache while his cock teases at your entrance from behind.

His body folds over yours until his lips sweep the shell of your ear, “You’ve done it now, baby girl. Better be quiet, yeah? Not a sound.”

With a swift snap of his hips, the silken glide of his cock fills you full as his palm presses against your lips to muffle the high-pitched moan that gasps out of you.

”Now who’s the whiny baby?” his perfect teeth sink into your earlobe and tug until it blooms with heat. The moan that seeps into his soft skin causes his lips to curl into a smirk you can feel. “This is what you wanted, you think I don’t know that?”

He has begun moving at an excruciatingly slow place, the head of his cock dragging gently inside you just right…but you need more.

”You think I didn’t know that you wanted me to just fucking take it all along?”

You nod urgently, tangling your hair against the pillowcase. Of course he knew, he knows you better than you know yourself. There are no secrets to be hidden away when it comes to Joshua. He hunts each and every one down like glittering treasure with ease…your body his map, the pools of your eyes ciphers he decodes without even trying.

His tongue is dancing its way along your jaw now, springing chills to life upon your flushed skin ”Tell me how good my cock feels and I’ll fuck you full.”

Another woeful sound shakes out of you and a rumbling, gravelly laugh huffs warm against your cheek, “My poor, sweet baby can dish it just fine tonight, but she can’t take it? Is that it?”

With a shhh that makes you feel weighed down heavy with lust, he lifts his palm away from your mouth. “I can take it,” you promise in a hush, “Please…I can take it, I swear.”

He is so still inside you, but the familiar stretch is enough to send a tremble tripping up your spine, spider-cracking like a jolt of electric pleasure. “But can you take it quietly? Can you be a real good girl or should I gag you like a whore?”

”I’ll be a good girl,” you breathe, relishing the sound that slips out of him, a cross between famished desire and worshipful devotion.

“Yeah?” He’s enjoying this little game too much to wave goodbye to it just yet, “You’ll be a good girl if I give you this cock?” He presses in so deeply there’s nothing left for him to give, “You’ll take it quietly and squeeze it nice and tight? Soak it with your little wet cunt when I make you cum?”

He can feel you clenching already, twisting around him like a fist, milking him, pulling him in, starved for more.

”Yes, yes, yes,” you chant softly, begging for him to get on with it, “Just fuck me, Josh…please,”

There’s that sinful mouth of his again, ghosting over your ear, “Just fuck me Josh,” he mocks in a velvet whisper, “Please.”

A sob escapes you and turns the apples of your cheeks pink…he echoes the sound back to you and fans the flames of your delectable shame.

”Quiet now, baby…” he reminds you, tone taunting and laced with self-satisfaction, “You just bite down on the pillow if it gets to be too much, and I’ll bite down on you.”

You tighten around him at the mere thought of it and tug an achingly gorgeous grunt from deep within his chest, “You like that? You want me to bite you to keep quiet? Mark you up all pretty?”

”Fuck…” you reach back and grab for him, fingers sinking into the curve of his waist, begging for it with your entire body.

You can’t seem to manage much more, but it’s enough for him, and with a swift pull back, he snaps his hips hard and fast and sets a relentlessly feral pace in motion.

The head of his cock, thick and suede-soft, kisses your cervix with each inward push, driving a wild sound out of you that you smother into the pillow, tongue dragging against the worn cotton as though it were his mouth.

His teeth are peppering your back and shoulders, gnashing his own moans way down deep into your flesh where you will secret them away forever. He gifts each sound to you on a gorgeous, stinging platter and you only want more, more, more. It is never enough with him…you are gluttonous for whatever he sees fit to offer.

”You feel so fucking good, baby,” it comes undulating across your cheekbone like a warm, languorous breeze, “So fucking wet, I can feel you all over me. You’re gonna make me cum.”

He grows impossibly hard within you and that, along with the filth he is sighing into the night and the drags of his teeth, sends you careening over the edge you had no idea you were so close to. You explode around him, and his weight grows heavier atop you as his thrusts lose rhythm.

“That’s it,” his praise is clipped and winded, “just - fuck - just like that. Keep going, so tight, messy pretty fucking pussy, make me cum, baby, please…make me fucking cum.”

He’s babbling like a brook you want to lie beside and listen to for the rest of your life. So beautiful. So Josh. But so quietly, and you know how difficult it must be for him, how hard he must be trying, and you love him all the more for it.

With a final, vicious bite, he coaxes a hiss out of you that makes him see stars as he lets go, fucking himself deeper and deeper as he rides it out, moans pressed into your glazed, shivering body like flowers in between the pages of a book.

And still, you only want more. You want his jaw to lock, his teeth to break the skin, to draw blood, to scar you…soft pink, raised marks tattooed by his kiss to remind you.

A long sigh flutters your hair, and your eyes drift closed at the soothing lilt of the sound as his fingers begin to card through your hair.

”You thirsty, baby?” His nose nuzzles at you, drawing forth a lazy smile that is half smashed into the pillow.

“Yes, but stay a little longer.”

He cuddles down into you, cheek to cheek, the weight of his body keeping you warm and safe in the silence.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @profitofthedune @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @jakeslovehandles @jakesgrapejuice @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @lvnterninthenight @paintmyhouse @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie

[toxicanonymity]

can you do really like possessive joel. like she posts a pic of herself in a skin tight dress or bathing suit and joel literally makes her delete it. joel would be like “why should anyone else but me see that?” or he’s like “are u upsetting me on purpose, baby?” ykwim like manipulating possessive joel

Snapchat

1.1k, stepdad!Joel x f!reader

stepdad master | joel master

SUMMARY: You snapchat Joel some steamy videos and his responses are sexy. Then you show up at his house and before you go inside, you post a pic on insta that he thinks should be just for him.

NSFW 18+ big girthy legal age gap, possessive!Joel, sexting, stepcest, mutual masturbation, vaginal fingering, angst/guilt

A/N: Instagram but can be read alone. NEXT: Uber

After you caught Joel jerking off to your instagram and made him finish in front of you, you texted him, “no one uses instagram anymore. you should get snapchat” and gave him your username.  

Now, a few times a week, you’ll snap him something sexy.  It's nothing explicit, just enough skin to drive him crazy. More skin than instagram.  His reaction is always hot.   Sometimes just a chat like “wish I could put my head between those legs” or “why do you have to be so goddamn hot?”  Sometimes a selfie with that dark, horny look in his eye.  Or a POV shot of a bulge in his pants. One time he sends a video  where he’s just shaking his head slowly and says “you dunno what you’re doin’ to me baby,” then takes a deep breath and says “god damn,” and his arm starts moving slowly with his hand off screen in his lap. 

He doesn't realize you can see his screenshot activity until you tell him and he responds with a 😳. That sets off an ongoing casual text dialogue, and it would feel like you’re “talking,” if it weren’t for him being married to your mother. 

You frequently think about his cock, and his hand wrapped around it, and the hunger in his eyes as he looked at you.  Even more than that, you think about the way he helped you finish without even touching you.  Especially the way he rubbed his own inner thigh.  Almost every time you come, you end up thinking about his big veiny hand slowly stroking his pants right next to his package, eating you with his eyes while he watches you touch yourself.   

-

Thinking about it isn’t enough.  You need him to touch you, and you want to find out whether he needs to touch you just as bad.  You stop sending him sexy pictures on snapchat.  He’s a little needy but you don’t relent. You stop by their house when you know he’ll be alone, and when you get there, you post a swimsuit picture to instagram.  When you go inside, he’s in the office and has your instagram pulled up.  You lean against the door frame wearing the same swimsuit under a long cover up.    

He turns around and says, “What is this about, sweetie?”

“Thought you liked seeing me.”

“Does everyone have to?” he asks.  He’s trying to be nice but he’s annoyed. 

“Why do you care? If you can’t touch me, no one can even see me?

He sighs.  “So you’re punishing me for not cheating on your mom?”

You walk into the office and lean against the wall to his side. “It’s a picture.  What’s the big deal?”

He gets up from the chair and your eyes fall on the bulge in his pants as he walks toward you and doesn’t stop until he’s right up against you, poking you with his hard package, sending a bolt of desire right through you.  He brings his lips to your ear.   “This what you want? You’ve made your point. Now delete it.”   He goes back to the desk and sits down. 

“Delete it or what?”

“Or this is over. No texting, no snapchat. If you’re not mature enough not to punish me. . .”

Your face burns. How dare he. . . 

“You can delete it yourself,”  you say.  “If you rub one out right now.”  You take off the swimsuit cover up, slip off your sandals, and sit on his desk right in front of him.  

He looks back and forth between your breasts then down your body.  “You’re tryin’ to kill me.”  

He leans back in the chair and his hand rests right against his inner thigh, giving you a Pavlovian burst of arousal.  Your clit twitches.   

He frees his stiff member from his pants and holds out his hand for you to spit in. Filthy.  You grab his hand and lick it instead of spitting on it, then take his fingers into your mouth two at a time and suck before finally spitting in his palm.  

“We both know you have lotion down here,” you say. 

“He glares at you as he pumps himself slowly.  You  lean back on his desk, and he inhales deeply.  He rolls the chair back, either to get a better view or because he doesn’t trust himself.  

You clench your thighs. 

He asks, “you’re not gonna . . . ?”

“Do you want me to?”

“You know damn well I do.”  He keeps choking his hard cock, devouring the view.    

You slowly ghost your clit over your bathing suit. 

He breathes heavily, moans, and his eyes seem a little heavier with each stroke.  “Show me,” he says.” 

You pull your swimsuit to the side, partly exposing yourself, and glide your fingers up and down your wet seam, poking under your swimsuit.  He groans and looks like he could cry.   You spread your legs and expose yourself entirely.  

“Fuuuck,” he exhales and looks to the ceiling for a beat before returning his gaze between your legs where you’re stroking yourself with two fingers.  He scans your entire body then says, “put one in.”

“No,” you reply.  

“You get off on bein’ a brat?”

“Want a finger in me that bad, do it yourself.”  You slide down so you’re leaning against the desk, still partly on it, stroking your wet folds and clit, getting so wound up you can hardly stand not having his hands on you.  

He stares at you for a long ten seconds, chest rising and falling, his strokes becoming faster.  Meanwhile your own climax is looming closer and larger every minute.  

“Fuck,” he says with resignation in his eyes. He stands up, steps forward and his free hand engulfs your dripping seam while he inhales your hair and stands right up against you.  He rubs your slick, throbbing cunt with three flattened fingers as he pumps himself with his other hand.  You tilt your head up to watch his brows furrow even more.  He plunges a finger into you, and right away he shudders as his cum spills into his other hand.  He curls his finger inside you and his thumb works your clit and it doesn’t take long until you’re clenching around his one, thick finger, saying “Ah, fuck. . . Joel, yeah. . .”

“Don’t say my name like that," he pants and reaches for a tissue.  

Your temples feel weak. 

“. . .I won’t ever stop hearin’ it.”  

You put your cover-up back on.  

He sits down in the chair, looks at the ceiling and says, “Damn it.”  

“What?”

He bows his head and slowly shakes it. He won't look at you.  He doesn’t have to say it.  You try not to think about it. 

True to your word, you pull up the instagram photo and hand him your phone.  He checks the likes on the picture and goes to every guy’s profile.  His eyes darken.  

“Guess you’re right,” he admits.  “Don’t want anyone else to have ya. . . ”  He deletes the picture and looks at you regretfully, making eye contact for the first time since he finished.  “I know it’s not fair.”  He hands the phone back.   “I dunno what to tell ya, sweetie. . . I’m sorry.”  

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxiousus @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime  @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose

[tleeaves]

Folks going "WHAT they made a show about the Fallout franchise?? I've been hearing people say Bethesda messed it up, but I haven't watched it myself, so I'm going to trust the word of other people -- some of which also haven't finished watching it" is driving me insane.

Being a hard core fan of something obviously brings with it a lot of passionate feelings when adaptations come into play. Of course, there's going to be people going "but in 8 episodes of the first ever season they made, they didn't explore Theme C or D, didn't introduce factions E and F and G, and because the source company is notorious for its scams, we and everyone else who's a TRUE fan should hate it".

The Amazon Original series Fallout follows the videogame franchise of the same name. It is a labour of love and you can tell by the attention to detail, the writing, the sets, and YES THE THEMES ARGUE WITH THE WALL. It's clearly fan service. I mean, the very characterisation of Lucy is a deadringer for someone playing a Fallout game for the first time. She embodies the innocent player whose expectations drastically change in a game that breaks your heart over and over again. Of course, she's also the vessel through which we explore a lot of themes, but I'll get to that.

There're some folks arguing that the show retcons the games, and I gotta say... for a website practically built on fandom culture, why are we so violently against the idea of someone basing an adaptation on a franchise that so easily lends itself to new and interesting interpretations? But to be frank, a lot of what AO's Fallout is not that new. We have: naive Vault dweller, sexy traumatised ghoul that people who aren't cowards will thirst over, and pathetic guy from a militaristic faction. We also have: total atomic annihilation, and literally in-world references to the games' lore and worldbuilding constantly (the way I was shaking my sister over seeing Grognark the Barbarian, Sugar Bombs, Cram, Stimpaks, and bags of RadAway was ridiculous). Oh, and the Red Rocket?? Best pal Dogmeat? I'm definitely outing myself as specifically a Fallout 4 player, but that's not the point you should be taking away from this.

The details, the references, and the new characters -- this show is practically SCREAMING "hey look, we did this for the fans, we hope you love it as much as we do". Who cares that the characters are new, they still hold the essence of ones we used to know! And they're still interesting, so goddamn bloody interesting. Their arcs mean so much to the story, and they're told in a genuinely intriguing way. This isn't just any videogame adaptation, this was gold. This sits near Netflix's Arcane: League of Legends level in videogame adaptation. Both series create new plots out of familiar worlds.

Of course, those who've done the work have already figured out AO's Fallout is not a retcon anyway. But even if it was, that shouldn't take away from the fact that this show is actually good. Not even just good, it's great.

Were some references a little shoe-horned in to the themes by the end of the show, such as with "War never changes"? Yes, I thought so. But I love how even with a new plot and characters, they're actually still exploring the same themes and staying true to the games. I've seen folks argue otherwise, but I truly disagree. The way capitalism poisons our world, represented primarily through The American Dream and the atomic age of the 45-50s that promoted the nuclear family dynamic -- it's there. If you think it's glorifying it by leaning so heavily into in the adaptation, I feel like you're not seeing it from the right angle. It's like saying Of Mice And Men by John Steinbeck glorifies the American Dream, when both this book and the Fallout franchise are criticisms of it. If you think about it, the post-apocalyptic world of Fallout is a graveyard to the American Dream. This criticism comes from the plots that are built into every Fallout story that I know of. The Vaults are literally constructed to be their own horror story just by their mere existence, what they stand for, what happens in each of them. The whole entire show is about the preservation of the wrong things leading to fucked up worlds and people. The missions of the Vaults are time and again proven to be fruitless, unethical, plain wrong. Lucy is our brainwashed character who believed in the veritable cult she lived in before she found out the truth.

So then consider the Brotherhood of Steel. I really don't think it exists in the story to glorify the military. We see just how much the Brotherhood has brainwashed people like Max (also, anything ominously named something like "the Brotherhood" should raise eyebrows). Personally, I don't like Max, but I am intrigued by his characterisation. I thought the end of his arc was rushed the way he "came good" basically, but [SPOILERS] having him embraced as a knight in the Brotherhood at the end against his will -- finally getting something he always wanted -- and him grimly accepting it from all that we can tell? Him having that destiny forced upon him now that he's swaying? After he defected? If his storyline is meant to be a tragedy, it wouldn't surprise me, because Fallout is rife with tragedies anyway. And a tragedy would also be a criticism of the military. That's what Max's entire arc is. It goes from the microcosm focusing on the cycle of bullying between soldiers to the macro-environment where Max is being forced to continue a cycle of violence against humanity he doesn't want to anymore because a world driven to extremes forces him to choose it to survive (not to mention what a cult and no family would do to his psyche). Let's not forget what the Brotherhood's rules are: humankind is supreme. Mutants, ghouls, synths, and robots are abominations to be hated and destroyed. If you can't draw the parallels to the real world, you need to retake history and literature classes. The Brotherhood is also about preserving the wrong things, like the Vaults (like the Enclave, really). They just came about through different method. The Enclave is capitalism and twisted greed in a world where money barely exists anymore. The Brotherhood is, well, fascism plain and simple.

Are these the only factions in the Fallout franchise? Hell no. But if you're mad about that -- that they're the main ones explored, apart from the NCR -- I think you're missing the point. These themes, these reminders, are highly relevant in the current climate. In fact, I almost think they always will be relevant unless we undergo drastic change. On the surface-level, Fallout seems like the American ideal complete with guns blazing that guys in their basements jerk off to. Under that surface, is a mind-fuck story about almost the entire opposite: it's a deconstruction of American ideals that are held so closely by some, and the way that key notion of freedom gets twisted, and you're shooting a guy in-game because it's more merciful than what the world had in store for him.

I mean, the ghoul's a fucking cowboy from the wild west character he used to play in Hollywood glam and his wife was one of the people who helped blow up America in the name of capitalism and "peace". There are so many layers of this to explore, I'd need several days to try and keep track and go through it all.

The Amazon Prime show is a testament to the Fallout franchise. The message, the themes? They were not messed up or muddled or anything of the sort, in my opinion.

As for Todd Howard, that Bethesda guy, I'm sure there's perfectly valid reasons to hate him. I mean, I've hated people for a lot less valid reasons, and that's valid. We all got our feelings. But the show is about more than just him. My advice is to keep that in mind when you're judging it.

[atinylittlepain]

Dancing in the Dark

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

Hungry Hearts masterlist

The summer of '86, a season of love, record-breaking heat, and evening softball games in one Austin neighborhood. What happens when seventeen years later, that lost love comes back around?

warnings | 18+ cursing, smut, young joel is a goddamn menace, angst, references to bad home life, gin making random things canon

wordcount | 9.8K

a/n | welcome back to Hungry Hearts, y'all. i have to thank @northernbluess for beta-reading this bad boy. love you, cousin. as always, I'd love to hear what you think of the chapter!

.......................................

“Hey, Cher, you ready to go?”

“Does it look like I’m ready to go?”

“You look ready to me.”

“Joel, I’m not wearing a shirt.”

“It’s hot out, Cherry. I’m just thinking about your well-being here.”

“How considerate of you. Just give me a minute, and be quiet before my parents hear you.” 

“Bossy, bossy.” She leaves him at her window, shuffling back over to her closet to finish getting dressed. Joel, however, doesn’t stay put for long, swinging one leg, then the other over the sill and into her room before promptly banging his forehead on the opened pane of her window, a low curse leaving his mouth before she can shush him. 

“Very smooth.”

“Yeah, well, you know me. Now c’mere.” He hooks a finger into the belt loop of her jean shorts, a little tug that she resists, and then a bigger, more impatient tug that she can’t help but shuffle into. He’s actually wearing pants tonight, tight, tight blue jeans with a t-shirt that’s had the sleeves and sides cut out, a perfect space for her palms to splay along the bare sides of his ribs when he draws her in for a kiss by the hinge of her jaw. 

“If you start now, we’re never gonna make it to the fair.” He hums at that, his eyes still intently focused on her lips.

“Hmm, would that be such a bad thing?” 

“Uh, yes, I want to see the fireworks.” She’s not sure if he really heard that, his mind seeming to go a bit one-track as he looks at her bra, his fingers brushing over the top of the cups, catching on the lace there.

“This is new.”

“No, I just haven’t worn it around you before.” 

“Well, shit, Cher, you been holding out on me?” 

“Joel.”

“Alright, alright, hands off, I’ll let you get dressed.” As she pulls a tank top over her head, she realizes that he’s never been in her room before. Not even when they were kids. She steals a glance at him as she’s tying her sneakers, and he seems to be stealing glances of his own, subtly leaning over the small desk across from her bed, his eyes trailing over the stack of books sitting there, the photos she had pinned to the wall from her last year of college. He doesn’t say anything though, a quiet collecting, so she doesn’t say anything about it either, simply clearing her throat to grab his attention when she’s ready to go.

“Try not to knock your head into the window on the way out this time.” He doesn’t, though he grumbles through the close contortion he has to manage to pop back outside, panting a little when he holds his hand out for her through the window. It’s not like they had an actual conversation about the necessity of sneaking around with each other. It was an unspoken understanding. Her parents like Joel enough, she grew up with him after all, but she’s certain they would both have aneurysms if they found out what they’ve been getting up to. And anyways, it’s just for the summer, nothing serious, a bit of fun, and Joel seems just as content with that as she is. 

“Tell me about your classes.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d bore you if I did.” 

“We’ve got a half-hour drive, Cher, try me.” The sun is just starting to set, turning the inside of his truck a hazy orange as they drive down the highway away from the suburbs and toward the Austin city limits.

“Okay, in most of them we read books, then we talk about the books, then we write papers about the books.”

“That’s it?”

“I told you it’s boring.” 

“You’re taking writing classes too though, right?” 

“Yeah, I actually won an award for a short story I did in one of them.” She feels a bit stupid sharing that with him, a bit stupid for even wanting to in the first place. But he smiles, big and bright, his eyebrows lifting up with a quick glance over to her.

“No shit, Cher, that’s awesome. I’m not surprised though.” 

“Thanks, yeah, you wanna know what my mom said when I showed her the photo of me receiving the award?” 

“What’d she say?”

“She asked if I had really been wearing my hair like that at school.” For a moment, he’s silent, and her stomach twists up, worried that she shouldn’t have shared that because, obviously, why the hell would he want to hear her bitch about her mom? 

“That’s fucking bullshit, she seriously said that?”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom was always kind of a square.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” 

“You remember when I got gum stuck to your skirt in Sunday school?”

“Oh my god, she was so mad.” 

“She’s got that vein, right down the middle of her forehead, you know?”

“Oh yeah, I’m very familiar with that vein.”

“I swear, Cherry, I thought it was gonna burst she was yelling at me so good.”

“I remember watching that from the car. Your little mouth was just hanging open, I didn’t know if you were gonna bolt or barf.”

“I was scared shitless. She yell at you when y’all got home then?” 

“No, I got the silent treatment and no dinner for a week.”

“Shit, Cher, really?” Suddenly, the laugh buoying his words is gone, a little quieter, a little more tempered. And she realizes, oh, one of those things that isn’t normal. Oh, one of those things that doesn’t happen in other families. Since starting college, she’s gotten good at recognizing these moments, when the laughs die out right after something she said. Oh, your parents? Well, get a load of my parents. No, not funny. Not funny at all. A whole lot of not funny going on in her household. 

“Yeah, I guess that’s why I stopped sitting next to you in Sunday school.” Said with a weak laugh to make it okay, though Joel’s smile has still faltered into something closer to a grimace, his eyes staying still and squinted down the stretch of the highway. 

“Can I read the story sometime?” 

“Oh, um, yeah, okay, if you want.” He keeps his eyes on the road, but his hand that isn’t hanging over the steering wheel slips down to rest on the center console, palm face up, a wordless invitation that she finds herself taking with her own hand. A small comfort to press her palm into his.

“Of course I do, Cher.”

…

It’s the same thing every year. The same rides that always have a few screws loose, the same smell of food sizzling in oil that his doctor would definitely not want him eating, the same throngs of sunburned people shuffling from booth to booth down the drag of streets that have been closed off for the fair. For a while, he didn’t go, but since Sarah got old enough to be interested in all the fourth of July festivities, they’ve made the drive into Austin every year for it, though as of late, the night usually entails her meeting up with her friends and yes, dadding, him into leaving her alone until the fireworks are over. But he isn’t all alone this year, Tommy tagging along at the last minute when whatever his plans were, Joel shudders to think of what they were, fell through. So no, not pathetic at all, just two grown men wandering through the crowd and waiting until they can go home. 

“I saw we got a new appointment on the books for next week. Someone on Cascade Street?”

“Uh-huh.”

“New client?”

“Yep, yeah, they just moved in.”

“Why are you being weird about it?” Tommy stops in his tracks, scrunching his face up at Joel who would really like this topic of conversation to get dropped. 

“I’m not, Tommy, why are you so concerned about this new client?” 

“What are they getting done?” 

“New porch.” 

“Who’s taking the job?” 

“I am.”

“You?” 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Tommy shrugs, scoffing when Joel starts walking again without him, quick to catch up and step into stride with him.

“Seems like a pretty rinky-dink job for you to take on, especially when we’re in the middle of that new build on Cypress.”

“I thought you said you have Cypress under control?” He’s being a touch too snappy about it, he knows it, and judging by the weird look Tommy is giving him, his hands up as if in surrender, he knows it too. 

“I do, I’m just surprised that you aren’t letting one of the other guys take that job on, is all. What, is it a pretty lady or something?” Before Joel can figure out how to answer that question, Tommy’s eyes are widening and slipping right over his shoulder, and then–

“Holy shit, holy shit.”

“What?” 

“See for yourself, brother.” Tommy shuffles him around by his shoulders, Joel’s protests dying in his throat when he sees her. Mercifully, she hasn’t seen them yet, standing in line at a frozen lemonade stand with her phone at her ear, having what looks to be a heated conversation. He doesn’t see Ellie with her, though, and figures to himself that she’s gotten the same treatment he has from Sarah. And suddenly, frozen lemonade seems like a very good idea because his throat has gotten quite dry looking at her. Those same jean shorts he saw her in the last time, and a sliver of skin between the waistband and the hem of her t-shirt. Her very tight t-shirt that rides up a little more when she raises her hand to push those sunglasses of hers back into her hair. And, well, he’s not trying to be a perv, but it doesn’t take much more than a glance to tell that she isn’t wearing a bra beneath her very, very tight t-shirt. 

“Cherry!” 

“Tommy, what the fuck?” Too late, her head has already whipped around, her phone still pressed to her ear, though the scowl that had been on her face melts into a small smile, her eyes widening in recognition. Meanwhile, Joel is considering how hard he would have to punch his brother to rattle his pea-sized brain into some sense. Cherry seems to finish her phone call with a quick flurry, already walking over to them as she hangs up.

“Tommy Miller, look at you!” Tommy pulls her into a tight hug, a small oof leaving her as he hoists her up until only her toes are on the ground before setting her back down with a slap to her arm. Joel decidedly does not give her such a greeting. 

“Cher, of all the people I don’t think I’d ever expect to see you around here, goddamn!”

“Wait, Joel didn’t tell you I moved back?” They both turn their attention to Joel, who only manages to open and close his mouth a few times before Tommy lets out a scoff. 

“You knew that she was back and you didn’t tell me?” 

“Uh, well–”

“I thought for sure he would have told you. He’s coming out to look at my porch next week. Very impressive by the way, Tom, Miller’s Construction.” At that, something smug slides down Tommy’s face as he looks over at Joel.

“Oh, is he now? Say, Cher, you didn’t happen to move in on Cascade Street, did you?”

“Yeah, that’s right, so Joel did tell you then?” Joel contorts his face in the best expression of please no, Tommy, I will kill you if you do that he can muster over Cherry’s shoulder, but Tommy just grins at him, and then at Cherry. 

“No, nope, I just saw in our books that there was an appointment on Cascade next week with a very important person. Just putting two and two together for myself since it looks like no one tells me anything around here.” With that, Tommy claps Joel on the shoulder, who still hasn’t managed to get a word in edgewise between the two of them. Cherry has a smile on her face like she knows exactly what’s going on.

“Well, anyways, it’s so good to see you, Cher. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“It’s good to see you too, Tommy. I’m really glad to see you looking so well.” 

“I try, now if you two kids will excuse me, I have a date with something deep fried and covered in sugar.” Tommy is off in a flash, leaving Joel to flounder beneath Cherry’s simpering gaze. 

“You didn’t tell Tommy that I was back?”

“I didn��t think it was mine to tell.” She nods, squinting at him through the bleary haze of the sunset.

“So this hasn’t changed much at all.”

“No, I reckon these are the same rides we went on as kids.”

“Don’t remind me, I’m already worried that Ellie’s off getting kidnapped right now. I don’t need tetanus and loss of limb added to the list.”

“So you got dumped too then?” They make their way back over to the line in front of the frozen lemonade stand, a bit longer than it was before, but he’s happy to wait with her. 

“Afraid so, apparently when you turn fourteen you no longer want to be seen in public with your mom.”

“That applies to dads too.” They both share a tired smile and a small shrug, and once again he can’t believe he’s standing here with her, talking about parenthood of all things. 

“Ellie’s on a date, but don’t tell her I told you that.” Said with a slanted smile and a bump of her shoulder into his.

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mmhmm, she’s been harboring quite the crush on her team’s center outfielder.” The gears in his mind spin for a moment, and then it clicks. 

“Oh, oh, huh.” 

“Nice save, Joel.” 

“No, I mean, that’s great, Cher. Good for her for, uh, knowing herself.” He palms the back of his neck, trying to cool the quick heat creeping there as she laughs at him. It’s a heat he hasn’t felt in a long time, though she was always quick to draw it out of him, always quick to catch him.

“Yeah, it is. I do worry though. Austin is definitely not New York.”

“That it ain’t, though I don’t think she’s gonna have to worry with you for her mom. You always did know how to give people the what for.” 

“You’re damn right about that.” That’s a smile he’d like to remember, a grin really, her eyes crinkling up at him, a little wry and a little fierce. That heat just keeps creeping. 

When they get to the front of the line, she starts to argue with him when he tries to pay for her drink, though he manages to sneak it by her when she gets distracted by another phone call buzzing through her back pocket. She checks the caller ID, sighs, and immediately shoves the phone back into her pocket, letting out another sigh when she sees that he’s already paid for her lemonade. 

“For the record, I’m getting the next one.” 

“Sure, Cher.” His mind gets a little stuck on next one, though he manages to follow her over to a bench and sit down with her, when once again, her phone starts ringing. She doesn’t check it, simply takes a long swig through the straw of her drink as it continues to buzz and ring.

“Not gonna take that call?” 

“Nope, do you want some of this?” Maybe it’s childish, but the thought of drinking from the same straw as her makes his brain start to fry, so he shakes his head no and grips the edge of the bench a little tighter. 

“Is that who you were on the phone with earlier?”

“Oh, you saw that, huh?” It makes him feel sheepish, admitting that he had, nodding to her question. Her shoulders slacken with a long sigh, another pull from her lemonade before she continues speaking. 

“It’s my agent, poking around for my next draft.”

“So you weren’t kidding about the big leagues? Got an agent and everything.”

“I wish I didn’t have one, honestly. But I kinda have to when I’m dealing with all these big publishers.” She pinches the bridge of her nose as she says it, her eyes dropping shut, and he finally sees that she is actually very tired. A little drawn, heavy circles under her eyes, a little thin, sharp around the edges in a way he doesn’t remember. How he missed it before he isn’t sure, but now that he sees it, something slight and sharp slips between his ribs and curls around his heart. 

“You’re working on another book then?” How quickly she hides away that weariness, looking at him with her cheek tilted over her shoulder and a bright smile.

“I’m trying to. You probably don’t care to hear about this–”

“I do, Cher, always wanted to hear about your stories.” It comes out before he can think much about it, and her expression does a strange thing. A quick fall, a scrunch of her brows, and then a slight frown before she shakes her head as if to clear the whole thing away. 

“Have you really not read a single one of my books, Joel?” 

“Uh, I–”

“No, don’t answer that. Wasn’t a fair question, sorry. Anyways, there’s nothing much to tell about this one because I am completely stuck with it.” 

“Stuck?” 

“I’m about this close to scrapping the whole thing. I don’t know, I guess part of me thought the move would shake something loose, but I still got nothing.” It’s not like he could offer her any advice on it, and it’s not like she’s looking for it either, another sigh around her straw and a shrug of her shoulders, always quick to make nothing out of something. 

“You eaten anything for dinner yet?”

“Does this thirty-two ounce frozen lemonade count?” He’s already getting up and holding out his hand for her, and while it seems like the simplest movement, his mind instantly questions if it’s too much, though he fights against that with a foolish hope. 

“C’mon, Cher, I think I can do you one better than a frozen lemonade.” No big deal, she takes his hand. No big deal, he tells himself. No big deal when she lets go either, because that’s normal too. That’s friendly. And friendly is good. 

“If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, then it is definitely going to be better than this frozen lemonade.” 

…

“You got a little, right there–” Before she can wipe away whatever he’s referring to with a napkin, Joel has already licked his thumb and swiped it along the corner of her mouth, promptly sucking what she assumes is barbecue sauce off the pad of his finger. 

“That was so gross.”

“What? I’m saving paper.”

“Lovely.”

“Always, Cherry baby.” The sun had set a while ago, the streets lit up in a syrupy wash of neon from all the rides and games lining the several blocks. They ran the whole circuit of the booths, her constantly pulling Joel away to keep him from spending any more money on trying to win her something, and inevitably failing at whatever rigged game he stepped up to. She can already see his eyes dragging over the remaining booths as they finish their meal at one of the picnic tables set up next to all the food vendors, planning his attack, no doubt.

“You know I really don’t care about getting a stuffed animal, right?” 

“It’s the principle of the thing, Cher.”

“Those games are literally designed for people to lose at them. Seriously, I don’t want you to waste any more money on it.” She quickly realizes that was the exact wrong thing to say, Joel’s eyes flashing back to her, hard and steeled, on the defense. 

“You don’t gotta worry about what I do with my money, okay?” His words come out rushed and loud, with a quick shake of his head, enough to startle her back from where her thigh had been pressed close to his, something that immediately washes the edge out of his expression, his eyebrows slackening and his lips parting.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, Joel.” Her mouth feels dry, a cool prickle in her scalp, regret swirling up her meal in her stomach. He gets enough of that from everyone else, the money, the job, the what is the plan. He doesn’t need it from her too. 

“No, I’m sorry, it’s just– forget it, I shouldn’t have gone after you like that.” She’s not quite ready to look at him, keeping her eyes focused on the red and white checkered napkin that she’s twisting in her hands. But of course, Joel doesn’t abide by that for long, ducking his head and leaning over to place a smacking kiss on the corner of her mouth before angling back again to get one planted square on her lips. 

“You– taste– like– smoked– brisket–” Each of his words is punctuated with another peck until she can no longer stave off the smile threatening at the corners of her lips, shoving him back with a palm pressed in the middle of his chest. 

“Oh shit, Miller, is that you?” Her stomach turns over, because she’s pretty sure she knows whose voice that is, and she wishes that she didn’t. She isn’t sure what the next best move is, though Joel seems to make the decision for her, slinging his arm over her shoulder to tuck her into his side just as Mikey Donahue comes sauntering over to where they’re sitting. 

“Hey, Mike, you out with the guys tonight?” Joel offers his hand out for a hard shake, apparently still chummy with Mikey after the little scene at his party. Though she supposes water flows under the bridge a little faster for boys anyways. 

“Nah, decided to finally bite the bullet and take Maureen out, she ducked into the bathrooms but she should be wandering over soon.” Though the answer is directed at Joel, Mikey’s eyes stay steady on her, a smile that she doesn’t like the curl of crooking his mouth. 

“Y’all are quite the couple. Does your daddy know you’re out with this menace, big city?” It’s so small, so subtle, but she can still feel it, the way Joel’s hand curls closely and tenses around her forearm from where his arm had been draped around her.

“Ha, ha, Mikey, that’s very funny. I’m a big girl though, don’t really need my daddy or you to be concerned with my business.” Joel snorts over her shoulder, and she has to resist the urge to elbow him for it. 

“Whatever you say, big city. Oh, here comes Maureen. Do y’all mind if we join you?” She’s quick to cut Joel off before he can answer, squeezing his thigh hard to shut him up as she offers Mikey a tight-lipped smile. 

“Actually, we were just heading off to get a few rides in before the fireworks, but y’all have fun.” Not another word, though she’s pretty sure she hears Mikey let out a laugh as she pulls Joel up and along behind her before Maureen can even get anywhere near them. 

“Cher, you know I don’t like rides.” Said very lowly, a bit bashful, she thinks, his head ducking down to speak the words right into her ear. Yeah, she knows, and has known since they were nine and Tommy and her forced him onto the Gravitron, which ended with Joel in tears and a puddle of what had been his dinner next to the trash can that he missed by only a hair. 

“I know, I just needed an excuse to get away from those two. But, really, Joel? Not even the ferris wheel?” He stops walking for a moment, his eyes scanning over the arc of the ride as if to give it his full consideration. Finally, he looks at her again, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“How bad do you wanna go on it?” 

“I think it could be nice, but not if you’re going to be all weird about it.” She swears she sees his chest puff a little, and with that, he takes her hand with all the conviction of a man going off to war. 

“I’m not going to be weird about it, let’s go.” Famous last words. He’s the picture of ease all while they’re standing in line, but the instant they cram into one of the cars, his whole body tenses up, his knuckles going white where they’re gripping onto the side railing. She doesn’t say anything at first, just puts her hand on his bouncing knee when the ride cranks into motion. Though when they crest the top of the ride and it stops again, Joel’s poorly contained panic becomes impossible to ignore.

“Oh, what the fuck–”

“It’s okay, they’re just letting more people on.” She doesn’t think that he hears her, too busy craning his neck over the side of the car before skittering back into place when the lean of his body makes the whole thing rock. 

“This is so fucked–”

“Joel.”

“Why do people enjoy this? That’s–”

“Joel.” 

“What?” He finally looks at her, eyes a bit frantic and jaw slack. She can’t help but reach out and brush his hair back from his face. 

“Is it– are you afraid of heights?” Calling it what it is seems to calm him, his shoulders finally coming down from his ears and his eyes softening. She lets her hand dip down to curl behind his neck, her fingers scratching lightly into the back of his hair.

“Maybe, but I’d say that’s a pretty rational fear, Cher.” 

“Yeah, it is, and you’re also totally safe right now.” Her words are undermined just a bit when the ride screeches back into motion just as she finishes saying them, Joel’s eyes going wide again as he whips his head around to look over the edge of the car. Right, drastic measures then. 

“Hey.” First, she shrugs her thigh over top of his to stop the anxious bounce in his knee, already drawing his attention back onto her. Then, she leans in a little closer so she can keep her eyes steady with his, her hand firm along the side of his neck to hold him in place. 

“Just look right here and it’ll be over before you know it.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Well, I’m not the one freaking out on a ferris wheel right now.”

“Hey.” She shouldn’t, like giving a child what they want just because they’re having a tantrum. But she does, pressing one kiss, then another to his lips, small, swift little pecks that he eventually starts to lean into, his hand that had been gripping onto the railing coming up to settle along the line of her jaw when she swipes her tongue across his bottom lip. They’ve gotten a little better at this, at making compromises with each other, giving and taking almost equally, opening up for each other. And, not that his ego needs to hear it, but she really likes kissing him. 

His panic seems to be all forgotten as he licks into her mouth, his nose brushing along the side of hers. Always a little greedy though, crowding her into the side of the car and making a soft sound skitter up her throat when his teeth graze along her lip. 

“Uh, excuse me?” It startles them both, Joel very slowly pulling away from her and turning his head to look at the ride attendant, the very unamused looking ride attendant. 

“Y’all can get off now, thanks.” 

…

“Goddamn.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“They don’t have barbecue up north?” 

“Not like this they don’t, Jesus.” He tries not to smile too big at the satisfied hum that leaves her throat as she takes another bite. And he’s also trying hard not to watch her too closely, because, no, it’s probably not normal to just stare at someone while they’re eating brisket and potato salad. 

“Do I have something on my face?” Busted, and, well, actually, he motions to the side of his own mouth, words getting caught in his throat. She gets the hint though, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at the same spot on her face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how hungry I actually was. I probably look a little crazy right now.” 

“Are you eating proper while you’re working?” Sheepish, the flicker of her eyes from beneath her lashes is enough of an answer to his question. Some things never change, he supposes. 

“I may get a little distracted.”

“Uh-huh.” A quick, quiet smile shared, a knowing. He likes knowing. 

“Mom?” No, he is still not used to that, both of them whipping their heads around where they’re sitting at a picnic bench to see her daughter with a very furrowed look on her face. 

“Hey, babe, everything okay?” Ellie is looking at Joel. Sizing him up is more like it, her lips pursed and her arms crossed, her hip cocked to the side, just like he knows her mom does when she’s not pleased with something. 

“Uh, yeah, we were just gonna– wait, are you eating meat?” He glances back to Cherry, who now has the guiltiest little smile on her face, her eyebrows pulled together in a quiet cringe as she tries to inconspicuously swallow another bite of food.

“I am, Els, I’m sorry. I gotta be honest, I don’t think I’m gonna keep up the vegetarian thing all the time, but you know I’ll support you if you still want to.” Ellie gives her an eye roll that looks like it’s going to get stuck in the back of her head, a little huff and a few shuffled steps in place like she can’t believe this.

“Okay, well, fine, I guess. I was gonna ask if you had found something to eat that didn’t have dead animal in it, but obviously you’re not gonna be much help with that so I’ll see you later.” With that, Ellie turns heel back into the crowd, Joel still unsure exactly what he just watched.

“They have fried pickles, babe, those should be fine! Be safe, please!” Ellie only acknowledges her shout with a glance spared over her shoulder, Cherry immediately deflating when her daughter gets swallowed up by the crowd, bringing her thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of her nose again.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe that just happened.” Said with a dejected little laugh that only grows when she takes another bite of brisket, his chest loosening up when she shakes her head and offers him a smile.

“So vegetarian, huh?” Cherry shrugs.

“New York.” 

“Sarah had a phase with it too. Only lasted three days before Tommy took her to KFC and she swayed.” 

“Ellie is a little more, uh, zealous about it. It’s going on two years now since she watched some documentary and came into my room in complete tears over, and mind you that a twelve-year-old said this, the horrors of animal agriculture.” 

“Well shit.” 

“Right?” 

“You’re telling me you’ve been vegetarian for two years?”

“Don’t laugh, Joel.” It only makes him laugh harder, Cherry shoving him in the arm as she tries to scrunch her mouth out of a smile. But beneath that laugh, there’s something else, something warm and a little giddy. He’s noticed it every time she has said his name. 

“No wonder you were so hungry, Cher, damn.”

“This may surprise you, but meat isn’t the only food group. And I’ll have you know I make some damn good tofu enchiladas.” 

“Well that’s just sacreligious.”

“Oh please.” Back and forth, slipping into that easy volley without either of them noticing that their faces have started inching closer and closer, though when they do there’s a quick flush of heat that has them both clearing their throats and widening that space again. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, where did Will end up?” 

“Oregon, he’s a really great photographer these days.” 

“Y’all keep in touch?”

“A little, yeah. I think for a while, we were both just happy to have gotten out, you know? It made us keep our distance from each other. But he came and visited last year, got to meet Ellie for the first time.” 

“That’s great, Cher.”

“Yeah, it is. He’s turning thirty-three this year, if you can believe it.” 

“Jesus.”

“I know, how’d that happen, huh?” Joel just shakes his head, a memory already floating up to the surface. Will was a freshman when they were seniors, tall but slight for his age, quieter, kept more to himself, though Joel made a point of saying hi to him in the hallways, clapping him on the back in the lunch line. There was a day, maybe a week after winter break, and Joel was loitering in the halls during a class he didn’t have any patience for when he saw Will at his locker. All smiles, all loud and brash greetings that all faded when he saw the shiner mottling under Will’s right eye. He remembers being ready to go on the warpath for the kid, asking him over and over, who did this, man, just tell me, who did this? He figured, one of the guys from the football team, someone he could set straight, and that he of course would set straight for Cherry’s little brother. But Will just kept saying nobody, it’s nobody, Joel, please don’t. It was probably two months later when he finally figured out who nobody was, a slow realization, something clicking into place. 

But he knows better than to share that memory with her, the same way he knows better than to ask her if she has kept in touch with her parents. He already knows the answer to that question. 

“Joel?”

“Hmm?”

“Where’d you go?” Her head tilted at him, a suggestion of a smile. 

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“And that’s mean.” Back to the present, sitting next to her on a picnic bench, he has to shake his head of it. A strange feeling, how carefully they’re stepping around the past, sharing pieces in scraps, in unsure palms, always quick to make it light, make a joke of it. He’s not sure how long he can keep dancing like this. 

“Are you sticking around for the fireworks?”

“I was informed by Sarah to meet her at the car after the fireworks, so yeah, I guess I am.” 

“Oh, how funny, I was given the same instructions by my own little tyrant.” 

“Imagine that.” 

“You wouldn’t want to watch them with me, would you?” 

“I’d love to, Cher.”

…

“You do realize you’re driving us in the opposite direction of where the fireworks are being set off, right?” 

“Do you trust me or not?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly or not?” 

“You know I could kick you out of my car if I wanted to.” 

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try.” 

“Cherry, just– quiet for a minute–”

“Don’t tell me to be quiet, Joel!”

“I’m trying to concentrate, goddamnit! You’re gonna make me miss the turn.”

“What turn? We’re literally on the highway and there isn’t another exit for–” Her thought gets lost behind a gasp when Joel mutters a quiet shit under his breath and suddenly veers completely off the road and into what she thinks is a corn field, though she’s a little too busy shouting whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck over and over again as the car bounces and bumps over uneven ground. And seemingly just as suddenly, he stops the car altogether, putting it in park and killing the engine in what, yes, is the middle of a cornfield, the stalks unusually high and proud for this early in the season. It’s already dark out, deep blue and bruising shadows, she can only barely see his face in what light the lamp post about fifty yards away offers.

“What the fuck?”

“You already asked that about a thousand times, Cher.” 

“Yeah, and you haven’t answered, so again, what the fuck?” He’s still not answering, shouldering into his door to get it open against the close crush of the tightly planted corn stalks, letting out a satisfied grunt when it finally gives way.

“Joel–”

“Cherry, just shut up and give me your hand.” 

“If you ever tell me to shut up again I’m going to make sure you regret it.” 

“Noted, now come here.” Albeit reluctantly, she takes his hand from where he’s now leaning out of the driver’s side door, managing an awkward shimmy over the center console and into the driver’s seat as Joel swings his body out along the side of the car, one leg hitching into the truck bed. The soft silk of corn stalks brushes against her legs and arms as she follows after him, holding on tight to his hand to hoist herself up and into the truck bed alongside him, a quick tumble over each other, all tangled up. Though not for long, Joel already getting to work shaking out what she sees is a stack of moving blankets in the back of the truck bed. She takes a moment to look around, a thick line of trees surrounding the field on the side opposite to the road, so late that she doesn’t think a single car has passed by since they’ve driven out here. And, she hates to admit it, a perfect view down the stretch of the highway of the stadium where they’re setting off the fireworks from. 

“You good?” His question startles her out of her slow scan of the surroundings, finally looking back at him to see that he’s spread the blankets out in the bed of the truck, his back resting against the cab and his legs stretched out in front of him. 

“Y-yeah.” It comes out small and shaky, and while she thinks she knows why, she tamps that down tight as she crawls over to sit beside him. Even though it’s oppressively hot, she still tucks down into his side when he lets his arm fall over her shoulders. Perfect spot and perfect timing too, but she doesn’t watch the sky when she hears that familiar whistle and pop of rockets, choosing instead to see the light burst and shatter over his face, the slow fall of it in his eyes. And there’s no tamping it down now, that feeling starting to fizz and lift in her chest, and as she continues to watch each succession of color and sound wash over Joel’s parted lips and wide eyes, she knows that she is absolutely, irreparably, fucked. 

“You’re not even watching.” 

“Yes I am.” He’s not watching anymore either, looking at her down the length of his nose, all shadow between the quick fractures of light. Their chins bump first before they get it right, seeking each other out by feel. His hands finding her hips, squeezing and coaxing her into his lap, though he pulls away when the next resonant crack of fireworks splits the sky and her whole body tenses. 

“You don’t like the sound?” 

“It’s not my favorite thing.” No, she doesn’t like that sound. That sound that reminds her of the whole lot of not funny going on in her household, but she’s already leaning in to forget all that with her mouth pressed to his. Though Joel holds her back, firm palm, big palm, steady and curled at the nape of her neck. 

“Is it okay though? You’re okay?” It doesn’t help her case when another stream of fireworks sets off just as he asks it, her body jolting in his hold again, but she tries to pass it off with a breathy laugh. 

“It’s fine, Joel. I’m fine. Just come here, please.” He relents, his hand slipping down along her spine to press her closer as she opens his mouth with hers, a shared sigh and the quiet scrape of teeth, her palm splayed over his chest feeling the thrum of his moan when she licks into his mouth. He’s being careful, she can tell, and she doesn’t think it’s only because they can just barely see each other in the dim light and the punctuated bursts of brightness from the fireworks, his hands splaying wide along the span of her back, holding her so close that every time her muscles tense and jump at the sounds it just sends her closer into his arms. He’s steady, perfectly, his thumbs stroking back and forth along her spine, constant and lulling until she knows that the fireworks are still going on, the pinpricks of light in the periphery, but she can no longer hear them over the rushing in her ears and the way she’s trying to collect every breath of his with her own. 

And she just wants more, however she can get it, his stomach tensing up when her fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, only pulling away enough that he can help her tug it over his head. Always so warm beneath her hands, she keeps one palm in the center of his chest, finding that pulse, that beat that always seems so strong to her, as Joel’s hands begin to wander. Ever predictable, the first stop of his circuit is her ass, both palms splayed and squeezing, making a weak noise fizzle out in her throat as he rocks her forward into the hardness in his jeans. From there, his palms slip down to the meat of her thighs, another squeeze, his fingers flickering under the hem of her shorts. Their kiss breaks with a quiet click, lips shined and swollen with it as she leans back to peel her tank top off, though before she can unclasp her bra, Joel grabs both her wrists, his eyes wide and pleading.

“What’s wrong?” The fireworks have stopped, so she must squint in the shadows to see the way his eyes are drooping down, the dip and bob of his throat as he swallows.

“Nothing, I just– s’pretty.” He lets go of her wrists, his fingers coming up to ghost over the tops of her breasts, that slight spill of flesh over the top of her bra, a small sigh that she can see leave his chest as he watches her own inhale and exhale. 

“Do you want me to leave it on, baby?” She’s never called him that before, though judging by the broken groan that crackles in his chest, he liked it, a new warmth curling deep in her stomach at the sound. 

“Please, Cher.” She can’t help the grin that slips across her face, circling one of his wrists with her palm to draw it up to her lips, pressing a kiss to the pad of each finger before guiding his hand down to the waistband of her shorts. Quick to flicker through the button and zipper, it’s all slow moves as he surges forward and she leans back until she’s laying out in the bed of the truck with Joel between her legs and nothing on but that bra he seems to like so much. It doesn’t surprise her that he wastes no time in ducking his head down to mouth over the fabric of her bra, her spine arching up into the wet heat with a sigh. Though he’s gone just as fast, drifting further down over the fluttering rise and fall of her stomach, his lips catching below her navel before he settles between her legs with her thighs resting over his shoulders. 

He learned fast what she likes, with her hand in his hair and her words so quick to correct or to praise, he learned very fast. So she doesn’t have to say a thing now, a silent cry crackling in her jaw when he drags his tongue through the heat of her cunt. She can already feel a perfect bead of arousal dripping from between her thighs down the cleft of her ass as his mouth rests over her clit and he sucks, sharp, quick, before dipping back down and doing it again. He’s gotten more confident, more brazen about it, a little rough in the way his fingers dig into the swell of her thighs, demanding everything, open and willing and waiting for whatever he will give her. And she gives it to him, fingers threaded through his hair to tug when his teeth graze too tender, her spine strung tight and taut as her cunt clenches around nothing. The sound is obscene, a salacious secret amidst the hum of crickets and the close quiet of the night, the little hums he can’t seem to stop rising in his throat as he eats at her, the slick slip of it, and the gentle, but still there, rock of the truck from how he’s grinding his hips down, seeking out more just the same as her. 

His one palm slips under the curve of her ass, tilting her hips up toward his mouth as he continues to lick and suck at her cunt, all that pleasure starting to hurt, starting to snap and snarl as she tugs a little harder at his hair. 

“I– more– something more, please.” He lifts his gaze from its hazy drop, the whites of his eyes still hooded and shining up to her as he rests his cheek against the soft inside of her thigh, the little pants of his breath washing over her cunt and making her hips twitch. 

“You want more?” She would smack him for looking so smug if she didn’t need it so bad, settling instead for another tug in his hair that makes him puff out a laugh. He doesn’t wait for any more of an answer, happy to oblige with two of his fingers dragging down through her swollen cunt before dipping inside, heat shooting up her spine when he curls them just so, that small stretch, that ache, that want. He presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh before his teeth sink into the flesh, his fingers already finding a steady rhythm that’s making her buck up into his hand. 

“Yes– just like that– I want– I want–”

“You want it?’

“Uh-huh.”

“You need it?” 

“So bad, Joel, please.”

“I know, Cherry, look at you, huh? So perfect like this.” He continues to coo at her in that low hum when it finally catches up with her, that pleasure pulling taut fraying all at once, her whole body curling in tight and tense and then releasing with a languid moan. My girl, my fucking girl, so good, my good fucking girl. She hears it somewhere in the back of her mind, tucking it away behind the wall of sound and sense still coursing through her as her hips jolt in his grasp, so sensitive that tears start to pearl along her lashes. She thinks her heart might actually stop when he finally pulls his fingers away and up to his mouth, sucking each one with a hum and an absurd pop before he crawls up her body to give her a taste. 

Her hands are already tugging at his jeans, only a bit surprised when she manages to ruck them down and finds that he isn’t wearing underwear. 

“You are such a freak.” He laughs, leaving a harsh nip to the hinge of her jaw.

“I don’t see why you’re complaining, it’s easy access, Cher.” She only manages to get his jeans down over the curve of his ass, but it’s enough so she can slip her palms down and dig her fingernails into the flesh in retaliation, Joel groaning and dropping his forehead down to her sternum. 

“Be nice.”

“You be nice.”

“You’re the one that called me a freak.” 

“And it stands.”

“If I’m a freak then you’re a–”

“Careful, baby.” 

“You’re a menace.” He hisses out the word as he spreads her open on his cock in one slow drag, the both of them sighing as he stills inside her. For a moment the only sound is their ragged breaths. Slow movements, his hand curling around the back of her knee to draw it up against his hip, another small rock that makes her preen with how full she feels. Her mouth stays stamped at his hairline, words murmured there as she curls her arm around his shoulder blades. 

“I’m a menace?” 

“Uh-huh, you d-drive me insane.” His words come out breathless as he finally pulls his hips back, a little more force in his next thrust that makes a whine tear through her chest. He’s so deep, grinding his hips into hers even deeper and all she can do is take it, her heel digging into his low back as he does it again and again and again. 

“Well you drive me in-insane too– oh.” The words slip out in stilted stutters, tears dripping cool and sticky down her flushed cheeks as he finds a different movement, one that’s harder and meaner, rucking her up the bed of the truck with every shunt of his hips against hers, his chest pressed tight against hers, sweat beading and dripping between her breasts.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” Pitchy and high in her throat, she can’t help it when he slips a hand between the humid stick of their bodies to drag his fingers against her clit. 

“Good.” It isn’t long before they’re both unraveling around each other, his forehead pressed hard into hers, the weight of him heaving and draped over her, stifling and sweaty and perfect. Her whole body shakes with the panting laugh he lets out, finally resting his chin between her breasts to look up at her. 

“My little menace.” She can’t help but laugh too, his cheeks splitting into a grin at the sound. 

“My big freak.”

“Hey.”

…

“Oh my god.”

“What, what is it?”

“I think that’s Ellie and her date.” 

“Where?”

“Don’t be so obvious about it, two rows down, across the aisle.” Her hand is on his shoulder, her finger pointed right next to his face to guide his gaze toward where she’s looking. Sure enough, it’s Ellie, sitting very close to another girl on the bleachers, oblivious to the crush of the crowd around them, smiling and laughing to each other as they wait for the fireworks to start. He never liked watching from inside the stadium, thinking that all the bright lights sort of defeated the purpose, but now he’s grateful for them so he can get a better look to confirm that yes, that is definitely Ellie who is now putting her arm around her date, getting even cozier. 

“Oh my god.” He finally looks away to see Cherry hanging on his shoulder, perfectly mortified at the sight in front of her.

“You got a regular Casanova on your hands, Cher.” 

“I feel like I’m going to cry, or maybe scream, or maybe throw up.” He’s watching her watching them, her brow crumpled and her jaw completely slack, pure shock. He’d laugh, but he’s pretty sure he’d be in a far worse state if he saw Sarah in a similar position. 

“Hey, it’s okay, they’re just–”

“Oh my fucking god, look!” His eyes dart back just in time to see what he’s pretty sure is the end of a kiss, the young pair shyly pulling away from each other with small smiles.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

“Do you think that was her first kiss?” It’s such an absurd question. He’s only just met the kid, after all. But when he looks back at Cherry and sees the pleading tilt of her eyes, how could he not try his best?

“Well, I don’t know, Cher, do you?” Maybe his best wasn’t very good.

“I don’t know. Oh fuck, I shouldn’t have seen that. I should not have seen that. She’s too young for that, right? I should go get her, yeah, that’s what I should do.” She’s already starting to get up out of her seat, and all Joel can think to do is grab her hand to keep her where she is.

“Woah, woah, hey, I think they’re fine, Cher. Look, they’re just talking now.” She squeezes his hand, still looking at Ellie with a deep frown on her face, but she does sit back down. She’s still holding onto his hand while she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You think so?”

“Tell me this, how old were you when you had your first kiss?” Suddenly, the worry in her face slackens, something a bit more bashful slipping into place. She’s still holding onto his hand.

“Well, I was thirteen.” 

“There you go, it’s normal then.” She’s still holding onto his hand.

“How old were you when you had yours?” She’s still holding onto his hand.

“I don’t know, probably thirteen like you.” She’s still holding onto his hand.

“You mean you don’t remember?” She’s still holding onto his hand.

“Not really.” 

“How can you not remember your first kiss?” She finally lets go of his hand, only so that she can talk with her own, a bit of flailing and exasperation at him before her hands settle in her lap. He rests his on his knee, a hard squeeze to stop any lingering want.

“I just don’t. It was a long time ago, and it obviously wasn’t very important.” 

“Do you at least remember who it was with?” He does, but she’s not going to like the answer, and suddenly the toes of his boots are very interesting as he scratches the back of his neck. 

“Uh, Maureen.” He says it as he drags his hand down his jaw, the name getting muffled beneath his palm. Cherry’s face scrunches up.

“Come again?” He really doesn’t want to say it again, but he knows she’s not going to give this up now, her chin tilted down and her eyes narrowed at him.

“Maureen? Maureen Henderson, yep.” As if a yep might make it better, but her brows have already done that thing, that familiar thing where they shoot up her forehead, then scrunch down again, then slacken.

“Huh, so Maureen wasn’t very memorable then?”

“Nope, not at all.” She purses her lips and nods, her eyes squinting out across the stadium for a moment. But before whatever is simmering below the surface can bubble over, the first booming firework goes off, and her whole body recoils. 

“Oh, motherfucker.” It happens again, another fizzle and crack, and as the crowd oohs and ahhs, she digs her fingernails into her thighs and grits her jaw. 

“That never got any better, huh?”

“Afraid not.” He wants to reach out for her, to curl his arm around her shoulders and pull her tight into his side, to absorb the shock that keeps resounding through her body. He knows how to, after all. 

“Is– is there something I can do, Cher?” Her eyes are a little unfocused, even when he ducks his head down to try to get her attention.

“You’d think that by now I’d have figured out that every loud sound isn’t–” Almost like a hiccup when the next rocket goes off. The only thing that’s different is that now, each time, first her eyes dart over to where Ellie is sitting, checking, making sure. He feels his heart ripping apart watching her. 

“Hey.” It comes out quieter than he meant it to, but her eyes still turn onto him when he puts his hand on her knee.

“You wanna go wait at your car?” She nods, and that’s enough for him to go into action, not thinking twice about taking her hand again and shepherding them both down one of the aisles further away from where Ellie is sitting. Back and forth, back and forth, his thumb stays steady and smoothing along her hand the whole way out of the stadium and into the massive parking lot.

“My car or yours, Cher?” 

“I don’t– I don’t– Ellie– uh, I–” She’s still holding tight to his hand, her eyes darting around the lot, clearly working herself into a state, the continued onslaught of fireworks not helping at all. 

“That’s alright. Cher? It’s alright, okay? Let’s sit in my car and I’ll drive you to yours when this is over.” He thinks she says okay, but he’s already focused on pulling her along to his car. And when they get in, him in the driver’s seat and her in the passenger’s, he realizes that, no, he’s not going to crack the windows, trying to keep as much of the sound out as possible. So he lets the car idle and cranks the AC up as high as it will go, and it’s probably going to burn up his tank of gas, but he doesn’t care, because it seems to muffle the noise of the fireworks just enough for her to start coming back down. He’s still holding her hand over the center console.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry, Joel.” She takes her hand out of his, pressing her palm to her chest, letting out a long breath through her nose. 

“Don’t, Cherry. It’s okay.” She keeps her eyes closed and her palm against her chest, long inhales and exhales, and he realizes that she’s doing a breathing exercise. He only knows it because the shrinks at the VA started Tommy in on it when he kept having panic attacks after coming home. And something like anger settles in his stomach, slithering up and seeping out between his ribs, sickening and slick. Anger that no, this hasn’t gotten any better. Anger that no, this probably won’t get better. And no, no one deserves it, but he selfishly thinks to himself that she especially doesn’t deserve it. 

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Cher.” Her eyes finally slip open, head tilting onto her shoulder to look at him. Mercy, it’s passing. Mercy, he could help her through its passing. 

“So, Maureen Henderson, huh?” 

“Oh, you’re still on that?” Small smile, he’ll take it.

“You could have done better, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” 

“Well since you remember it so well, who was your first?” 

“You’re not gonna like my answer.” 

“Try me.” 

“It was Mikey Donahue.”

“No.” She was right, he didn’t like that answer, not one bit.

“Yeah, I think his friends dared him to do it, honestly.” 

“That little shit.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“You could have done better.” That gets a full smile from her, her nose scrunching up at the same time something takes off in his chest. 

“I guess we both could have.”

“Yeah, Cher, I guess so.”

...................................................

taglist: @casa-boiardi @tieronecrush @swiftispunk @beskarandblasters @trulybetty @amanitacowboy @pr0ximamidnight @wannab-urs @jksprincess10 @suzmagine @everything-isfucked @lanabobana @kittenlittle24 @sarap-77 @officerrrfriendly @val-srz @bitchwitch1981 @redwoodsanddaffodils @themothersmercy @romanarose @lost-inhawkins @youcancallmeelle @hollywoodcaligirl @

[strafepanzer]

atmospheric | act i: cumulus

masterlist | act i | act ii | act iii

a @mybigbangacademia collab with @54prowl

rating: explicit (for future themes)

word count: 9.4k

tags: katsuki’s sailor tongue, staged (and non-staged) meet cutes, mentions of grief

a/n: oh my lord, i thought this would never come to fruition! i wanna thank @kweenkatsuki @kingkatsuki @karikarasuno and especially @54prowl for keeping me sane throughout this! thank you for reading my stuff and screaming about it and helping me through writers block and just being there for me when i was at my most anxious. i adore you all so so much!

“Hell fucking no.” Katsuki laughs. Laughs at the gall, at the sheer audacity. “I don’t need this. Why the fuck would I need this?”

His publicist shares a look with the rep from The Hero Commission. “Bakugo,” she takes a breath, clenches her jaw a little. He’s known Kira for a long time, knows she honestly tries to do what’s best for him, what he needs. “You could be number one.” She states confidently. “And I’m gonna be candid here, because we’re not strangers; I’ve been with you for six long years,” she doesn’t break eye contact with him, if anything she leans into him more. “I’m frustrated. It’s goddamn frustrating watching you sit at six. Six? You’re Dynamight.”

“That’s right!” The rep all but throws his hands up in the air. “Dynamight! You always catch the bad guy! Your merch is one of our best selling lines, you always file your work correctly— and on time!” He stresses, blue eyes as big and bright as All Might’s were. “Your issue is popularity, the polls; you don’t take fan pics, you don’t sign merch—“

“That’s not the point of bein’ a fucking hero—“

“We don’t want you to change, Bakugo, that’s the whole point of this. You don’t have to become a whole different person; in fact, we don’t really expect you to do much, especially during the first few months of the project.” The Project. He wants to snort, to cross his arms and lean back in his chair, show his disinterest; but, shit, he’d be a fucking liar if he didn’t admit sitting at six didn’t drive him up the wall.

“It’ll just start with a chance meeting here, another there, just so social media can get wind of it, and rumours can spread.” Kira relaxes a little, frown lines evening out as she takes in Anderson’s excited vibes. Katsuki huffs a little, meets her eyes. “We’ve had a team working on your story for a while.”

“Story…” he tests the word in his mouth as his brows draw together. “So there’s a script?”

“We have a timeline and set meetings,” Anderson smiles, leaning back in his chair. “Some social media stories we’ll need you to post, more she has to post; but as far as a script goes… it’s more of the direction we need you to go in.”

Katsuki sighs, grabs the surprisingly heavy booklet they presented to him earlier in the meeting. GOLDFISH takes up most of the cover page in giant letters, a corny TOP SECRET stamped in red takes up the rest of it; fucking stupid, dramatic, pretentious Hero Commission shit. He flips through the pages, glosses over the words until he gets to a sub heading titled Chance Meeting One.

They’re lucky he doesn’t peg the fucking book at Anderson.

Subject A bumps into Subject B on the red carpet. Subject B stumbles, Subject A steadies them, asks if they are okay. The two share a look, then get back to business. Paparazzi in the vicinity—

“So, if I’m subject A, who’s the mysterious Subject B?” His voice is dripping in sarcasm as he tosses the book back onto the table. He’s mildly surprised— concerned, even?— when neither of them jump to tell him.

“We can’t… tell you… until you sign the contract.” Kira says quietly, the nerves he’s so accustomed to seeing, creeping back onto her face.

His scowl must deepen astronomically, because she turns to Anderson with her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’re not the only hero suffering in the popularity polls.” Anderson shrugs, gesturing with his hands. “Kira’s just been meticulous about you getting the boost. In reality, this would be a good deal for all of the top 10 heroes.”

Katsuki feels his eye twitch.

“Shouto, for example, isn’t that great with social cues, tends to shy away from media; he’s already at three, we could get him higher.” Anderson is 100% goading him, and Katsuki knows it, but it’s working.

“Is she a hero?”

“No,” his agent says confidently. “She’s not in the business, not a part of the commission either.”

“She’s well-loved, fawned over. Attractive.” Anderson turns to Kira. “Would you say so?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely. We’d never set you up for failure, Bakugo, I can promise you that.”

“I don’t care what she looks like,” he huffs, slightly agitated. “I just don’t wanna drop in the polls.” He grumbles, glare set on Anderson. “Do they know it’s me?”

“Nope, she just knows you’re a hero.” He answers with a toothy smile.

Katsuki presses on. “Does she know I’m in top 10?”

“Her contract states it’ll be a hero in the top 50.” He shoots back, unblinking.

“Just say yes Bakugo, I promise it’ll be worth it.” Kira interjects, eyes hopeful. “And hey, you might actually really like her.”

Katsuki’s snort of laughter is loud. “Doubt it.” He grabs the book and flicks through the pages again, what’s the harm in taking it home and having a read? “Do I have to decide now?”

“Yes.” They answer together, Anderson steadfast and Kira flat.

“Really?”

“No time like the present.” The rep shrugs, the Cheshire grin on his face only growing with Katsuki’s frustration.

“You’re a real fucking ass you know that?” The hero grumbles, throwing his glare over his shoulder, pretending to be interested in the view of the setting sun from their vantage point on the 47th floor of the Hero Commission.

“The sooner you sign, the sooner we get the ball rolling.” Anderson drums the table like a fucking salesman.

And Katsuki signs the contract.

—

Katsuki still lives in the same apartment he bought when he was a rookie. Granted, back then this place was far too good for him, with its timber floorboards, prime location, and it’s five burner stainless steel natural gas cooktop. The previous owner was selling to move abroad; a retired chef who allowed Katsuki a walkthrough of the place as a ‘favour’ to one of Aizawa’s friends.

She—the chef— must’ve seen something in Katsuki when his eyes roamed the sparkling appliances, the range hood, the dishwasher, the fridge, because she accepted his offer, and he’d moved in the next week. It wasn’t until Eijirou had mentioned a couple months into living there, that his bathroom tiles were pink, that Katsuki had even noticed; that’s just how smitten he was with that fucking kitchen.

Now, years later, he feels shitty looking at his commercial grade kitchen.

When was the last time he cooked? Shit, the only time he even uses his kitchen is when he makes himself an instant coffee before work, or reheats takeout from the night before. He’s so busy at TDA, so busy bagging baddies and fighting crime and filing fucking paperwork that he’s gotta eat and run, with the shitty haired idiot eating into his days off with god damned babysitting duties at his place.

Katsuki sinks into the worn leather of his camel coloured couch, A4 envelope in his hand. He should open it, should find out who exactly this mystery girl is, should prepare. Instead, he sighs, tosses the crisp wad of paper onto the seat next to him, runs a hand down his face.

If even one person finds out he’s doing this, he’s over.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands drawing down his face, crimson staring into the white of his ceiling, the elaborate cornices joining the muted grey of his walls. Bare walls.

The chef had paintings on the walls, heavy velvet curtains over the windows, colourful rugs, buffets covered in photos, house plants, and so much furniture. But Katsuki— young and pretentious— didn’t get that. He liked how huge the apartment seemed without it all, how high the ceilings felt, how large the rooms were.

Now, as much as he’s loathe to admit it, it feels kinda lonely.

But, he’ll do what he usually does when that nagging emptiness nips at his ankles, when he’s alone and actually feeling it: he’ll head to TDA. He’ll get to work, ignore Deku and that half and half bastard when they tell him they’ve got everything covered, ignore sparky when he teases him about not having a life, ignore pink cheeks when she reminds him for the millionth time he’s not getting paid overtime.

With a heaved sigh, he sits forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. That envelope glares at him from the other side of the two seater lounge, sitting there as if it’s some kind of placeholder, as if the girl herself is going to materialise next to him if he dares to open it.

He doesn’t open it.

—

TDA—The Deku Agency (yeah, stupid fucking name)— is lively in the afternoons. Heroes and rookies mingle with civvies in the foyer, sitting at cozy little tables and ordering overpriced drinks and cakes from the café Deku had installed in the far corner of the lobby in a bid to improve relations between them. The Commission loved it.

Katsuki uses the back door.

He takes the maintenance elevator up to the office floor and wordlessly finds his desk, revels in the pssssssht as he sinks into the bright orange, high-backed ergolux. It’s comfy for an office chair, just the right amount of worn in, without the irritation of squeaky screws his old chair had.

“Don’t you have today off?” Icyhot’s glare is blank, cold soba (probably) noodles suspended between the chopsticks held at lip level.

“None’a your business, half ‘n’ half.” Katsuki glares back heatedly, spinning in his chair to face his monitor. It, too, is… orange. Just like Deku’s is broccoli green, and round cheeks’ is pink, and fucking half ‘n’ half’s is… half red, half icy blue. According to Deku, some computer company brought out a whole range of hero inspired computers in a collab with the Commission and he just had to get one for everyone; with matching chairs.

The colours throw off the serenity the floor could have, with its glossy white floors, floor to ceiling windows, the greenery delicately placed around the space. But, that’s Deku and Pink Cheeks to a tee, and the icyhot asshole just goes along with whatever half-baked plan the two of them conspire.

“Was it expensive?” Todoroki presses, those eyes still staring holes into Katsuki.

“Haah?” He knows he shouldn’t rise to the bait, but he’s tense as it is, so that red glare of his is burning through Shouto in an instant.

“The fine? Property damage, Uraraka thinks, but my money’s on defamation?” He says it with such disinterest, that it almost takes Katsuki off guard.

“It was a meeting, dipshit; about my career. I don’t have any outstanding fines.” He almost snarls, irritation a growling monster in his gut. “Asshole.” He adds, filing away Ochako’s involvement in the back of his mind. He’ll call her out for it later; she’s always the one putting ridiculous ideas in that two-toned space cadet’s head.

“Ah, sorry.” He hears him mumble back, followed by a loud slurp that makes Katsuki’s left eye twitch.

“You should be.” The blonde huffs, irritation mounting at the lack of sincerity in his voice. “Who the hell did you think was suing me?”

“Hm? Didn’t you badmouth Grand on Twitter last week?”

Katsuki actually laughs. “If that asshole wants to go to battle, he’ll need to be ready for fucking war.”

“What was the meeting about, then? Your public image? Are they mad at you?”

Yes and no.

“You’re awfully chatty today.”

“Well, I’m having a meeting next week,” Shouto admits, piquing Katsuki’s interest; he swivels in his chair, watches his friend as he plays with his noodles absentmindedly. “Just… Don’t know what to expect.”

“Oh.” Is all Katsuki can really say. He vaguely remembers Shouto mentioning something about almost slipping in the polls, and although he’s higher than Katsuki, he bets his own agent’s been getting a beat down from the Commission. While they don’t really care who sits at number one, they do care when merch sales drop and social media interaction is low.

“I just hate… all of that extra stuff. All of the unnecessary competition that comes along with this job. Reminds me of… Father.” As if sensing he’s stepped a foot wrong (for once in his life), Shouto mumbles a sorry and turns back towards his computer screen.

Normally, a mention of Shouto’s father leaves a bittersweet taste in Katsuki’s mouth, has him turning cheek to cheer his friend up in his own asshole-y way… but guilt nips at his heels. Guilt that his contract might actually have him surpassing Shouto with a leg-up Katsuki doesn’t technically need. Katsuki isn’t Shouto; he’s a prick on purpose, not out of childhood trauma-induced ignorance. Katsuki knows that the things he says and his shitty actions have god damned consequences.

Todoroki’s just a little weird.

Fuck, another reason to feel shitty about signing that fucking contract.

After a few moments, Shouto’s slurping starts again, giving Katsuki the green light to get his head out of his ass. He turns back to his own computer, taps the space bar a few times to wake it up, and logs into the portal.

Time to catch up on some incident reports.

—

The Kirishima Household is lovely. Pro Hero Red Riot bought a place out in the ‘burbs when he got married, a semi-renovated two-storey place with a yard. It’s hard to find a place with a yard so close to the city, especially on rookie hero wages. The place has three bedrooms upstairs, with the living and dining, kitchen, and bath and toilet downstairs; Eijirou’s been trying to convince Katsuki to claim the third bedroom as his, even bought him an alarm clock and an All Might sheet set for the bed, but Katsuki chronically takes the couch.

When he comes over the night before the Gala to watch Akari, the father-daughter duo are playing MarioKart. Katsuki shakes his head at them— concealing his grin— and takes his groceries to the kitchen, set on making dinner for the two of them before Ei has to head off to work.

He must be thinking too hard, the anxiety of the Gala etched on his face, because Eijirou is hovering.

The red head’s also giving him the look.

Between serving his little girl dinner— which Katsuki assured him, he could do— getting his shit together for his shift, and making small talk with Katsuki, he keeps staring. It’s the goading look; the one that says: hey man, I know something’s wrong, but you’re just gonna say nothin’ if I ask, so I’m gonna need you to tell me.

Katsuki’s not gonna tell him.

He can’t.

What, just come out with a: yeah, I actually accepted an offer from the Commission to fake date someone in order for my public perception to improve, so I’ll climb the popularity polls. No chance in hell; not even if the place froze over.

Sure, if anyone were to understand, it’d probably be Eijirou. Either him, Deku, or Shouto, but… he just can’t. Especially with Red Riot sitting at number 8.

Katsuki has to usher him out the door at 6pm, has to pretend he’s fine, and that nothing’s bothering him; he even tries to give Ei a reassuring smile as he hops on his motorbike, but thinking back on that moment, it probably only worsens his perception of Katsuki. Since when does he smile and wave him off to work?

Shit.

He settles onto the sofa next to Ei’s mini me after tidying the kitchen and tossing a load of laundry in the wash. A replay of the morning news should relax him a little, should take his mind off this stupid Gala, the stupid red carpet, the stupid fucking contractual dating.

The news anchors are achingly boring, droning on about the finance sector, the stock market; Deku’s into all that shit, pulled Katsuki into investing almost a decade ago. The idiot even told Katsuki not to waste his first hero pay check on stupid stuff… then went ahead and bought some 160,000Y All Might figure that looked achingly out of place on his coffee table in his tiny loft studio apartment.

Then he’s on the news, a flash of blonde and green and orange flying through the sky. He’d apprehended a villain last night, and the news loves reporting on all of the property damage that usually comes along with Katsuki’s quirk; he’s gotten so good at holding back, but since signing the contract, he knows he’s been acting a little more recklessly. And of course, snakey fucking journalists have to jump on that. Reminds him how much he fucking hates the news.

At least the weather girl’s cute.

“Uncle Kats? You okay?” Akari blinks, looking up from her iPad. She’s the spit out of her father’s mouth with those big red eyes and inky black hair, not to mention how much she loves Katsuki. Must run in the Kirishima genes.

“Why d’ya ask, kiddo?”

“I knew it,” she sighs, pulling her feet underneath her as she locks her iPad. “Dad’s got another girlfriend, doesn’t he? You always get weird like this when he’s seeing someone.”

Katsuki snorts laughter. “Always? Your dad has dated two people since you’ve been alive.”

“You’re acting weird!” She argues, arms gesturing wildly.

“You’re ten, you have no idea what weird even is.” He brushes her off, hoping to relive her of her street, but unable to do it nicely. He doesn’t really do nice.

“Dad was staring at you funny, and you were being weird.” She scrunches her little nose up at him, and Katsuki knows he’s not getting out of this conversation without putting a little bit of work in.

“Your dad stares at me funny all the time, squirt; you should’ve seen him when we were in high school.”

“He looked worried.” Akari frowns, because it is strange when Ei’s not being carefree.

Still, he’s gonna pretend he didn’t notice. “Did he?”

“Yeah and you did too!” She accuses, voice rising, annoyed. “Like, right up until now”

“So, because we both look worried, your dad’s dating again.” Its not a question, it’s her conclusion.

“Yeah, because he’s worried you’ll tell me, and you’re worried you have to keep it a secret. You don’t, by the way, I’m double digits now, so you can trust me with your secrets, I promise, Uncle Kats.” She bats those lashes at him, eyes shining with what he can only call mirth. The one thing she seemed to pick up from Katsuki after all these years babysitting.

He sighs, midway between impressed at her reasoning skills, and bummed that he can’t give her the answers she’s looking for. Still, he lets out a low whistle. “Double digits, huh? Sounds like you’re too old to hang out with Uncle Kats at the parlour.”

Seems like redirection still works for pre-teens, because her ruby reds light up like it’s Christmas. “You said you’re too famous to go out in public!”

“Are you arguing with ice cream, squirt?” He fakes a glower, sends her a little glare that can only be taken as playful.

“No way!” She bounces from the couch and practically runs to the landing. “I’m just gonna put my coat and shoes on!” She calls, talking way too fast. But then her little face pokes back around the corner, brows furrowed. “No take-backs.” She glares, wary.

He sighs, rubs a huge scarred hand over his too tired face. “No take backs.” He shrugs, shaking his head.

Akari seems content to leave his sight after that, her fast footfalls trekking up the stairs, her bedroom door slamming open. Meanwhile, he sinks a little into the sofa, annoyed with himself; mostly for acting so obviously emotional in front of a child, but also for promising her ice cream.

Looks like a beanie, face mask, and sunglasses type of night.

—

Eijirou rolls up the driveway a long thirteen hours after he left.

Katsuki’s made Eijirou a decaf tea— he’s gotta sleep today, and all that— and he’s stirring his coffee with a teaspoon as he leans against the countertop in the kitchen, eyes on the front door in anticipation. He needs to talk to him, needs to reassure his best friend that he’s okay, that there’s not really anything wrong.

Tell him what’s going on without explicitly telling him what’s going on.

“Daddy’s home!” He calls, bursting into the house with far too much energy for coming off an overnight shift.

“Dude, she’s asleep.”

“What?” His face falls, eyes darting around the kitchen like Katsuki’s telling lies. “It’s seven am, she’s got school this morning.” He grows more panicked by the second. “The bus gets here at seven-fifty—“

“Eiji, c’mon, all she’s gotta do is get up, get dressed, and eat breakfast.” Katsuki grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“How are you letting her sleep in? I knew it, something’s wrong. You were acting so weird last night, but this is… this is worse.” He dumps his work bag at his feet, puts his hands on his hips and gives him those god damn puppy eyes that are generally reserved for begging Katsuki to go somewhere with him. “You’re harder on her schedule than I am, Katsuki.”

Katsuki sighs, steps over to rinse his teaspoon in the sink. “I took her out for ice cream last night, and we stayed out past her bedtime, so I told her I’d let her sleep in until seven-thirty.” He picks up Eijirou’s tea, hold it out for him to take. “I’m fine, really, it’s just a work thing.”

Eijirou accepts the mug, takes a few steps to sit at his four-seater dining table. “A work thing you can’t tell your best bud about.”

“It’s—“ Katsuki hesitates, taking his coffee with him to joint Eijirou at the table. “The Hero Gala is coming up, and Kira is making me go. You know how I hate doing publicity shit.” Not a lie. It’s true, he has to go to the pretentious fucking Hero Gala, and he hates all that stupid shit, and, yeah maybe there’s something else going on at the Gala, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he doesn’t wanna go.

Eiji’s mouth hangs open. “That’s it?”

“Hah?” Katsuki glares.

“You’re freaking out about the Gala?”

“Do you blame me?”

“No, I— geez, Kats, I actually thought there was something eating at your soul. You looked like you made a deal with a crossroads demon or something.” He shakes his head of whatever thoughts he’s been having and lets out a laugh, takes a sip of his tea.

Eijirou has no idea just how on the money he actually is.

“Nah, I just don’t know what to wear, how to act. You know how I can get with camera flashes.” He sighs, remembering the last press release he went to— all of the cameras and loud noises, and… fuck, it’s uncomfortable, and reminds him of being out in battle. Maybe he actually needs to get onto someone about PTSD like shitty Deku keeps suggesting.

Eijirou lets out a breath, the weight falling off his shoulders. “Well, you’ve always looked good in red; brings out your eyes.”

Katsuki chuckles then. “You’re a biased little shit, Ei.”

“I know.”

—

The Gala is everything Katsuki expects it to be: loud, crowded, and brightly lit. Paparazzi and fans line the streets for blocks leading to the venue, and it makes his nose twitch. He’s not the best with his public image, but tonight he has to at least try. Has to put in some goddamn effort.

Not only for himself, but for TDA, for his… to be girlfriend.

God, it even sounds fucking stupid in his head.

He drove himself, the plan to pull up in the valet cue and open the envelope, prepare then. In hindsight it’s pretty last minute, but knowing a name threatened over overthinking on his part. He’s never really been known for his level head, and in that respect, he’s his worst enemy.

He’d argued with Kira a couple of days ago about a pre-meeting meeting, something to ease his anxiety, somewhere for him to meet this woman and form some kind of fool-proof game plan; but he was shot down.

What if a pap sees them entering the same building before they even meet?

That’ll ruin the meet-cute for the fans, destroy everything the commission worked hard to create. Which is fair, honestly; she’d asked him if he read the plan, reminded him that until they can’t even have phone contact until the third meet just in case anyone catches wind of anything.

Stupid Commission and their goddamn paranoia.

So as Katsuki sits in the cue, venue a beacon of light a couple a blocks away, he opens the centre console of Maserati Gran Turismo and pulls out the envelope, unrolls it and flattens it against his thighs. This is it, no time to mull over the results, because as he idles, the cue slowly rolls forward, bringing him closer to the Gala by the minute.

As calloused fingers carefully pull at the tab, his mind races. He thinks about just how long he’s waited for this moment, how on edge he’s been since he scribbled his signature at the bottom of that contract. As much as he’s loathe to admit it, he needs to do a good job with this, needs to put in the effort, needs to milk it for all its worth.

For some reason, he thinks back to Shouto sitting in his office chair, clearly worried about his own standings in the ranks, looking sorry as hell. He wonders how Shouto’d feel if Anderson were sitting across from him at the table, offering him help he doesn’t quite need, giving him an opportunity he might not be fit to take.

But, shit, that worrying? It’s so unnecessary. Icyhot might not have even wanted to sign the fucking contract. Sometimes Katsuki doesn’t give him the credit he deserves.

He tugs the paper from the envelope and scans the page.

Your name sits there in bold block letters.

But he has no idea who the fuck you are.

Kira’s got his phone and wallet in her bag so he can comfortably walk the carpet, so he can’t even Google who the hell you are. He says your name over and over in his brain, trying to light up electrodes, trying to think of anything that could bring a face to your name.

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading the name again, skimming through the document. There’s nothing there about you, no occupation, no bio, no nothing. “Fuck.” He growls, glancing up to see the venue way closer than he anticipated.

It’s fine. It’s fine because no other person would even think about bumping into Dynamight, not even on accident. This woman is going to knock into him, he’s going to steady her, not glare at her, and then it’ll be over. He can do this.

It’s going to be fine.

By the time he realises he’s shaking his leg, he’s the fourth car in the cue. He remembers the wise words of wisdom Ei shot him as he left his house that morning: you’re gonna look good, bro; just don’t blow anyone up.

He checks his hair in the rear view mirror, makes sure the lapel of his deep, deep red suit jacket is laying nicely against the matte black if his dress shirt, that his black silken tie is sitting centre. He didn’t wanna wear red, but Kira agreed with Ei, insisted it brought out the ruby of his eyes, and would make it easier for the girl to spot him.

For you to spot him.

Fuck, he’s next.

When the limo in front of him drives away, he rolls up until he’s gestured to stop, puts the car in park and presses the handbrake on. At least the anxiety of meeting you and following this script is taking his mind off how much he hates red carpets.

Oh, great, he’s gonna blend into the fucking flooring.

“Dynamight, big fan,” the valet— tall, lanky, cat-like— opens his door, gestures widely for him to exit the car.

“Hey, thanks,” Katsuki nods, points to the button to the left of the steering wheel. “Handbrake’s on; don’t drop the clutch too fast or you’ll stall her.” He explains as he slides out of the seat, stands tall to meet the valet’s eyes. He’s still a couple of inches taller.

“I will be very gentle with her, I promise.” He grins, holding a ticket out for Katsuki as he shoves his hands into his pants pockets, lifts his chin as if assessing the slightly shorter man.

Then— deeming his valet adequate— Katsuki takes the ticket, slides it into his pocket, and nods him a good night.

When Katsuki turns towards the golden— not red, thank god— carpet, it’s as if someone’s just unmuted the television; it’s suddenly way too loud, his name being screamed from all angles, camera flashes blinding him, people crowding him. He’s ushered to the first little black X taped to the carpet by a busy little woman in a black suit, is briefly told to pause and pose for pics, before she hurries off in a blur.

He straightens a little, softens the agitation on his face a bit, but doesn’t smile. Why the hell would he? The paps are all desperately calling a mixture of his last name and his hero name, shouting at him like he’s some kind of prized pony, and he hates it. He hates the showboating, loathes the OTT smiling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Kira, her dress a tight purple bodice with a midi length circle skirt; she’s got a headset on, just like the other PA’s and Gala staff, and a black satchel bag slung across her torso. She beams when their eyes meet, but gestures for him to keep posing, uses her pointer fingers to elongate the smile on her own face, then loudly mouths smile.

The audacity of her has a smirk sliding onto his face, and he glances at the paps for a bit, before heading towards her.

“You look good!” She beams, dusting absolutely nothing from his shoulders and looking up at him like a proud mama. “Are you ready?” She leans up to ask him, voice more muted than before.

“Yeah, I just—“ he glances around, leans down to her ear. “I don’t know who she is.”

“Huh? Really?” Kira’s eyes almost bug our of her head. “What do you mean?”

“Shit, I—“

“Bakugo Katsuki willingly participating in a photo op? I think my depression is cured.” Katsuki would know that low drawl anywhere, his gut instinct affirmed when he’s met with lazy lavender eyes, and a just as lazy smirk.

“Shinsou?” Katsuki’s eyes widen. Last he heard about mindfreak, he was working the underground, so seeing him here is kind of throwing him off.

“Nice threads; when did hell freeze over?” Shinsou’s purple hair is in a messy bun, showing off a faded undercut, his suit pirate-esque with a too-open white shirt, brown suspenders and matching brown slacks.

“Funny. Who are you here with?” Katsuki snips, looking around for a possible date.

“What, am I not famous enough to work the golden carpet?” He snips in return. “You caught me, I’m here with Denks.” Then he nods behind him, at Kaminari who’s looking in his element in fucking sequins.

It brings a grin to Katsuki’s face, and he holds out his hand for Shinsou to shake. “Good to see you either way.”

“Bakugo,” Kira tugs his jacket sleeve, eyes wide as she nods for him to keep moving. “We gotta get inside.”

“Oh, sorry dude; I know how this makes you antsy.” Shinsou watches him exchange a look with Kira, takes his hand and gives it a shake.

“See you in there?” Katsuki nods.

“Bet.” Shinsou grins, dropping his hand, sauntering off towards Denki.

“You don’t know who she is? So what, you’re just gonna look clunky and hyperaware of every woman coming within a foot of you on a busy red carpet?” Kira is hissing at him as she directs him towards where semi-retired Mt Lady is having an interview with a reporter. “Did you not open the envelope?”

“I did, I just don’t know who the fuck she is, sue me.” Katsuki snips at her, just as annoyed with himself as she is.

“Oh, if this gets out, you’ll be getting sued Bakugo, don’t you worry.” She shakes her head, and points to the X’s plastered in a zig-zag all the way up to the entrance of the building. “Make your way up, hit each black X. Don’t worry about the white or the red, just hit the black ones.”

“There’s like eleven of them.”

“I’ll meet you inside,” she smiles without her eyes. “Don’t overthink it, and be fucking nice.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Go.”

He heads towards the first X when Denki moves on, a pretty reporter in white standing there with a crew and a smartphone wave him over.

“Dynamight!” She tucks a lock of pink hair behind her ear, bounces excitedly in place on the tallest pair of stilettos Katsuki has ever seen.

For all intents and purposes, this could be her. His heart absolutely hammers in his chest and he’s not entirely sure if he’s nervous because he hates the media, or if he’s about to meet the woman he’s gotta ‘fall in love’ with.

“Good to see you, number six! How’s things?” She asks into the bottom of her phone, before holding it out to him.

“Evening,” he greets. “It’s… loud here.” He makes a point to soften his scowl, looks at all of the fans and other people on the other side of the barricade. Be fucking nice, she said. Be fucking nice.

They absolutely roar.

“I don’t think your fans are used to seeing you like this. Who dressed you tonight?” She eyes him up and down, looks like she wants to touch him, but thinks better of it.

“I dressed myself, actually.” He says with a bit of bravado, that shit eating grin splitting his face as he tucks his thumbs under the lapels of his jacket and runs them down.

She laughs, a full-bodied thing that catches Katsuki off guard, has him looking awkwardly between her and the cameraman. “No, I mean who designed what you’re wearing?”

He doesn’t know. And he can’t be rude to this girl just in case she’s her; there’s a split second of internal struggle within him before she interrupts his chain of thought.

“You don’t know, do you Dynamight?”

“Am I gonna get in trouble from my agent if I don’t?” He looks behind himself, through the crowd for the purple dress, but it’s nowhere to be seen.

“No! No way! Just tweet it later!” She laughs, patting him lightly on his upper arm.

He laughs, almost bitterly. “Right, twitter, sure.” He suppresses an eye roll, lifts his hand to wave at the crowd, the camera, then her. “Enjoy your night.”

“We love you, Dynamight!” She cheers, setting the fans off again, the noise absolutely deafening him; and he’s used to loud, used to explosive. But not like this. At least when he’s detonating, he’s full of adrenaline, not fucking nerves.

The second, third, and fourth X interviews are all more of the same; more questions about his look, about how he’s unusually chatty, about how he actually showed up. It’s hard to be fucking nice, but it does take his mind off the reason he decided to show up tonight.

Until someone’s knocking into him, and he’s instinctively wrapping an arm around their waist to stop them from falling flat on their ass. There’s a collective gasp in the immediate vicinity, but all Katsuki can see is you. You in your shimmery peach gown, eyes bright and wide, face flushed and lips parted in awe.

And he recognises you immediately; sees you almost every morning when he’s got an office shift, sometimes even nights. Ochako’s a stickler for the news, watches the same channel every day like clockwork to keep an eye on the stock market when Deku can’t; and he’s always liked the addition of you, keeps an ear out for your sing-song voice under the guise of needing to know what kind of sky he’s gonna be flinging his body into if he has to fight that day.

“Weather girl?” He breathes, finally putting a face to the name.

You just kinda gawk at him, a special kind of shock that he can only describe as wonder.

“D-Dynamight? Can you help me up?” You blink, not quite knowing what to do with your hands while he has you suspended mid-fall.

As if breaking his trance, he curses a quick, “oh, shit,” before helping you back to your feet.

“Thanks,” you smile a little awkwardly. “And sorry. For, you know, knocking into you.”

“No, uh, harm done.” He mutters back, all of the bravado he’s built up over the course of the carpet walk going down the drain as he watches you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “You okay?”

You process his question without breaking eye contact with him, then you nod once, real slow. “Yeah,” you say, smile growing on your face. “Yeah, I think I am. Nice to meet you.”

He can’t help but mirror your smile. “Likewise.”

—

There’s a photo and an accompanying video going ‘viral’ when Katsuki wakes up in the morning. He knows this because not one, not two, not three, but seven different people send him links to varying posts, with people going a little nutso over his little meeting with you.

Kira’s happy too; she was all smiles for the rest of the night, texting on her phone, disappearing to relay things with Anderson before giving Katsuki his personal items back out of her satchel, and knocking off for the night. He didn’t plan to stay, but he did; had a few bourbons and hung out with Shinsou and Denki and their little gang until daybreak.

Shinsou’s sent him a few messages— he’s a double texter— and Katsuki touches base with him before delving into the world of social media, just to see how successful Meeting One was.

He’s fucking trending.

As much as he’s loathe to search his hashtag, he clicks into it; he scrolls through candid and posed photos of him in his red and black ensemble, people’s text posts commenting on how they would let him “eat them alive” among other—more intense—things, and pictures of you.

He looks at those the longest, studies the lines and curves of your face, compares how you look when you’re at ease versus when you smile brightly. You’re pretty in a… normal way. He’s kinda blown away that they didn’t pick some overly glamorous pop idol, that they found someone that’s practically his type.

Fuck, it makes him a gross type of nervous, though. The way that he’s not going to hate this makes it worse and better, and he’s conflicted because this might not be as bad as he anticipated, and he’s not sure if he likes that or not.

His social media deep dive takes him to your page, and he lays in his bed for what feels like hours scrolling through your content. You’re the weather girl for the nation’s most watched breakfast program, Good Morning Japan, and you’re clearly the show’s sweetheart. There’s photos of you with fluffy animals, on boats, at the beach, with celebrities. Katsuki feels like a dunce for not knowing your name when he read it on the paper.

One of the top posts in your hashtag is a photo of you in a bikini and a sarong, feet ankle deep in the shallow waters of Furuzamami Beach.

Fuck, you’re hot.

He throws his phone towards the end of the bed and begins his morning routine; Deku’s given him the office shift this week, and he intends to make the most out of it.

—

“Hey,” Katsuki pants, breathless.

“Katsuki, bro, the weather girl from channel 5?” Eijirou’s voice is smug as all as it rings through his AirPods. “She’s cute!”

“Eijirou, I will hang up on you.” He threatens, taking the museum stairs two at a time. He’s on his afternoon run through the city, pushing himself a little further than usual because of… reasons. The best part about being on office shift, is he finishes his shift as soon as paperwork is caught up on. And Katsuki is efficient as fuck.

“Akari keeps asking me when you’re over next, by the way. She said that you promised to take her to the parlour again.”

“Oh.” Yeah he did do that. Had her pretend she was feeling sick so he could slip from the grasp of some fans.

“Yeah, you’re bribing my daughter with ice cream again, aren’t you?”

“When’s your next overnighter?”

“Oh, I’m on days for the month,” he sighs, content on the other end of the line. “Tamaki’s taking my nights so I can spend more time with Aki; I’ve also got tomorrow off for the Maru’s anniversary visit.”

“That’s… nice of him.” Ah, yeah, it's the anniversary tomorrow; Eijirou’s taking it a little easier with each passing year, but the death of his wife is a painful cross to bear.

“Yeah I know, he’s a good guy. Anyways, just wanted to know if you wanted company tonight? I’m making breakfast for dinner.”

“Oh, your favourite.”

“Yeah, can’t go past it, am I right?”

“I’ll come around for a bit, but I’ve got a big day tomorrow, so I can’t sleep over.” By big day, he means he’s meeting you again, and he needs the night to himself to overthink the whole thing.

“You got a whole room there, though.”

“Ei, as much as I love you and Aki, I love my bed more.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” There's some shuffling on his end, paperwork probably, then he perks back up. “How long have you been feeding me decaf tea?”

“What?”

“I have decaf tea in my cupboard at home.”

“Ei, I give you decaf every time.”

“Oh.”

“See you tonight; do you need me to bring anything?”

“Nah, I’m all organised.”

There’s a pause where Katsuki contemplates bringing up the anniversary, but thinks better of it. “Be over around six.”

—

He’s not all organised.

If Katsuki could pretend to be surprised, he would, but, “You forgot the eggs? For breakfast for dinner? No eggs?”

“Dude, don’t do this, Akari’s already given me shit for it.”

“It’s fine,” Katsuki suppresses a grin. “I’ll run down and get some. Aki, want anything from the corner store?”

“Chocolate milk!” She yells from her room upstairs.

“Hey, get beers, too.” Eijirou says offhandedly.

This makes Katsuki pause. “Ei.”

“Kats.” He says in response, not meeting his gaze.

“Ugh, fine.” He grunts, sliding his shoes back on and toying with the black facemask in his pocket. “You can thank Maru for my leniency.” He says, glare hot on his friend. Eijirou just grins back as he fixes his stupid ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron behind his back, and Katsuki pulls on his beanie and mask, setting out for the walk.

He knows he wants to settle down a little further from the city. Ideally, even further than this. Sure, it’s a quiet neighbourhood, safe, where the houses have yards, and there’s grass, and trees, but… Katsuki needs more space. Privacy.

His relationship with the spotlight is rocky at best, and there’s this nagging in the back of Katsuki’s brain that warns him off all of this social media shit, the trending, the paparazzi, the overzealous fans.

The bell jingles as he enters the corner shop; it’s later than rush hour, but earlier than the typical teenaged late night snack visit, so the place is quiet.

He grabs the eggs from the shelf and heads down the aisle to the fridges, set on pulling the door open and grabbing a six pack of Sapporos.

“Oh!” A woman gasps, about to grab the handle as he reaches for it. “Sorry!” Her apology slips from her lips, and he feels his face flush a little under his mask.

It’s his fault, he’s been in his own head all afternoon. “No, I—”

It’s you.

You seem to make the realisation just as he does, your eyes widening and a gasp leaving your lips. And you both stare, his own eyes glued yours as if he were stuck in some kind of trance, as if you had him under some kind of spell.

You blink first, and he forces himself to look away for a second, so he can catch his bearings.

“I’m sorry Bakugo, I wasn’t paying attention.” You’re wearing a facemask as well, but your smile pushes your cheeks up to crinkle your eyes.

“Nah, neither was I,” he admits. “You live around here?”

“Me? No, I’m cat-sitting for a friend.” You laugh. “Gosh, this is surreal, isn’t it? Imagine running into you here of all places.”

“Yeah, both of us buying beers,” he does his best to joke— which sounds fucking stupid, by the way— but you laugh a little more, glance around the shop before leaning closer to him.

“Feels like we shouldn’t be talking yet, doesn’t it?” Your eyes almost sparkle under the harsh fluorescent lighting, and he can’t help but stare. “I just wanna say thanks, though— for catching me at the Gala. I wasn’t going to trip so hard, but you were standing there like some grumpy Adonis, and I—” you lean up to whisper in his ear. “I got nervous and actually tripped.”

“Lucky I got good reflexes, huh?” He quips back, suddenly feeling super nervous— which is weird as hell.

“The best— Oh, I better let you get back to your night.” You take a step back, open the door and grab a bottle of wine, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor when you crouch down to grab a 6-pack of beers. “These ones?”

He nods, points to the pink knee-length rain boots you’re wearing. “They’re cute,” he can’t help but snicker. “All part of the weather girl uniform, I guess?”

You hand him the beers with a laugh as you stand. “I happen to think they suit me,” you say in defence, pointing and tapping a toe dramatically.

“You’d be right,” he says a little too gently, clearing his throat when you look up at him with surprise through your lashes. “I, uh,” he starts, those damn nerves not going away. “See you around.”

“Y-yeah, sure.” You nod. “I’m gonna check out the ice cream, bye!” Then in a flash of tan coat and pink boots, you’re heading back towards the frozen section, and he’s shaking his head, eggs in one hand and beers in the other.

He tries not to stare too much, tries not to dwell on the lightness of his heart, or how god damn likeable you are. Instead he hastily grabs a chocolate milk, heads to the checkout, pays for the goods, and leaves.

—

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow that he can feel Eijirou trying to push down all evening. It doesn’t quite seep into Akari— she was only a baby when her mum passed— but Eiji’s frayed edges scratch at Katsuki, and deep into the night they’re both tipsy, sitting on the back porch nursing beers after Akari heads to bed.

They don’t need to talk— far past silence being uncomfortable— but when Eijirou’s shoulders start to shake, Katsuki wraps an arm around him, pulls his head to his chest, and lets him sob.

He stays on the couch, still not ready to christen those All Might bedsheets.

—

The second “official” meeting is supposed to happen while he’s on duty. He read through the file this time, so he’s prepared; maybe even a little… over prepared.

It’s morning, and you’re supposed to be at a certain famous bakery, sampling the goods in an advertising bid between the cafe and your work; weather on location, or something ridiculous. Then, he’s supposed to enter, and he’s supposed to look at you like ‘oh, you’re from the Gala’, and you’re supposed to look at him the same way.

The Commission didn’t account for Katsuki running into an actual villain.

He wipes his bloodied nose on the back of his glove, watches as Iida drives the crook away in the back of a paddy wagon, then pulls his other glove off with his teeth to look at his watch.

9:15am. The meeting was scheduled for 8:10am.

“All good, Dynamight?” One of the EMT’s waves him over and he inwardly groans.

“It’s just my nose, I’m fine.” He insists, swatting the little green man away.

“Just let me do a couple of observations, dude, it’ll take two minutes.” His pink eyes narrow up at Katsuki, and the grumpy blonde gives in, following him over to a bench and sitting down, letting him work his paramedic magic on him.

His phone vibrates in the pocket of his tac pants, and his watch tells him it’s Kira. He taps a few buttons on his watch, connects it effortlessly to the earpiece in his left ear. “Hey,”

“Bakugo, what happened? Anderson is pissed.” She hisses through the earpiece.

“I am currently with…” He glances down at the short man crouching around his med-pack, reads his name badge. “Midori— Really? Your name is the colour of your skin?”

“Bakugo.” Kira presses.

“That’s my Japanese name, my real name’s Timothy.” Midori sasses back, pink glare venomous.

“Timothy, huh?” Katsuki tests the name on his tongue, gauges Midori’s reaction to the pronunciation; the other man seems to soften a little.

“Bakugo.”

“Just use Timothy—“

“Bakugo, focus!” Kira borderline barks in his ear.

“Right, yeah, sorry, I’m here.” Katsuki sighs, looking up at the puffy white- grey clouds overhead.

“We have to reschedule for tomorrow,” Kira sighs, probably doing that thing where she pushes her glasses up and pinches the bridge of her nose. “She’s heading to the coast, though, so you’re gonna have to—“

Kira wants him to what?

His semi-sunny disposition sours. “I can’t do that.”

“Bakugo.”

“Kira,” he starts, feeling his blood pressure rise along with the octave of his voice. He glances down at Mido—Timothy, tries to control his volume. “I’m on patrol shifts this week, I can’t do that.”

He can’t let Izuku or Shouto or Ochako down. That, and he can’t think of a good excuse to be heading to the coast.

“No, you’re right. It’d be better if she could meet you halfway or something.” Kira sighs, conceding a little.

He drops his chin, focuses that glare of his at the pavement next to Timothy. “Not half way—”

“Oh, ouch, are you okay?” Pink rain boots step into his vision, and when he looks up, you’re smiling down at him. He just… stares stupidly up at you, feels something warm and wet drip over his lip as your eyes widen. “You’re bleeding, Bakugo.”

“Shit,” he turns away from you, swipes at the wetness of his upper lip, knowing he’s probably just spreading it.

“Here,” you gently bully his hand away from his face, dab at him with something damp and smelling of coconut. It takes a moment for him to register that you’re sitting next to him, wiping at him like a nurse while the god damn EMT is kneeling at his feet, and Kira is screaming for his attention in his ear.

Without even thinking, he ends that call, silences his earphones on his smartwatch.

“You’ve got your work boots on,” he starts, wary. “You on the clock?”

“Oh, I had a thing a few blocks away, and heard my new favourite hero apprehended some bad guy in the same district.” Your focus isn’t on him, you’re in your handbag, fussing around with wet wipes and a little plastic bag and a handkerchief.

“So, you came for a walk?” He asks, staring. Staring because seeing you on social media is vastly different to seeing you in person, and so close. He could count your lashes, could reach out and test the softness of your skin, your glossy lips—

“Yep.” You grin, looking up and meeting his eyes.

It’s a spark— the same one from the corner store— and it pulls deep in his chest, your beauty and charm and the peace you bring almost overwhelming, yet entirely endearing—

“Hey— sorry, I know this is a wrong place, wrong time type thing,” Timothy stands up, fishes his phone out of his pocket, your spell broken as you both look up at him. “But I’m a huge fan,”

“Of me?” You chirp, surprised. And it takes Katsuki a moment, because usually it’s him being approached with nervous apprehension.

“Yeah, who else?”

You send a sideways glance to Katsuki, “uh, the actual top ten hero in our midst?”

“The top ten hero doesn’t look good in a swimsuit.” Katsuki says under his breath, and you giggle while Timothy pales.

“I’m sure you do,” you whisper back to him, before standing up. “Alright, sure, a selfie?” You ask, all of your attention on Timothy, who smiles at you, his pink irises akin to sparkling hearts; and much to his horror, Katsuki feels like he wants to steal you away from him.

“S-sounds good to me,” Timothy stammers, just as enamoured as Katsuki feels.

“‘Kay,” you agree, smile big and bright and Katsuki has to look away or he might get giddy by proxy. Timothy’s cheeks flush when you stand close—too close, probably— and you direct him into taking a few pics, before making him show you each of them, your nose scrunching as you scrutinise each one.

“Why does my nose look like that?” You frown at the EMT, a little wounded kitty.

“You look great though! You don’t mind if I post it to social media?” He asks, and Katsuki resists an eye roll.

“Of course not! Make sure to tag me so I can follow you back.”

Katsuki stands, hands on his hips. “Perfect, are you done? We’re busy.” He means to say that he’s busy, and he also means to glare at both of you, but it just doesn’t pan out that way. So, he runs with it, throws caution to the wind, and offers his hand to you.

All to quickly, he’s got anxiety nibbling at his heels— the fear of rejection, of ‘am i doing too much too quickly?’ of ‘should I be going off script just because you are?’. It sets in, and almost sends him spiralling. Almost, is the key, though, because before that little beast can sink its teeth into him, you’re taking his hand, practically skipping to his side, and beaming that too-brilliant smile up at him.

“I know a cafe,” you say, waving that pesky EMT off and almost pulling him away from the little crowd Katsuki’s pretending not to notice.

“I bet you do,” he can’t help but look at you— and it feels so schoolboy, and too soon, and off script— and he can’t help but get swept away in the ease at which you flow.

“We can share a parfait,” you lean into him with a little smile, whisper it like a secret. Your arm links around his then, and you lean against his bicep, look up at him through your lashes like a Disney branded cherub.

“Bet you’ll eat the cherry,” he snickers, trying to gain the upper hand, trying to gauge whether or not you’re getting swept up in him, too, because this… this thing isn’t natural, isn’t created from a want, but a need, a contract—

“Silly,” you pull away a bit and pout, “we’ll get two cherries.” And, fuck, you’re pretty. Pretty in all of the ways he loves, like the Commission have his tastes on file. You’re kind where he’s mean, and fun where he’s serious, edges soft where his are hard.

The seed of doubt’s been planted, though, because he can feel himself closing up, shutting down. Even though he’d love to stay in this flirtatious little moment with you, soak up all that attention you’re showering him with, he needs to be realistic— is wired to do so.

You’re acting.

He’s acting.

At least, he’s supposed to be

[warrenwrites]

Prototype

Prototype Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You mess with a web-shooter and Peter thinks it’s hillarious A/N: Can be read as platonic or romantic Word Count: 1.1K

In all the years you knew Peter, you’d always found him impressive, even before you found out about Spiderman. Although you refused to ever say that to his face. Even if you took away all the powers, acrobatics and super senses, he was still a genius and you had to applaud him for all his inventions.

When he was a young teen, he coded an electric lock command and hooked it up to his door so he could lock his door from his computer. That alone was fascinating, but now he has all his super suits and biochemically engineered webs with the tactile strength to hold up a car.

What particularly intrigued you was his web-shooters, which was why you were currently fiddling with whichever one he had laying around his room while you waited for him. You’d agreed to meet back at his place for a movie night after finishing your day but Peter texted to tell you he was running late after deciding to get pizza on the way home. So, to occupy yourself, you picked up the new Spider-Device that you’d only seen on paper until now. It was shorter and thinner in comparison to his current one, way more compact and discreet.

It felt weirdly out of balance like the cartridge was weighing it down and when you flipped it over for further inspection, it busted open.

The aggravated motion must have tossed the formula loose because the web cartridge popped off like a water balloon slipping from the tap and completely coated your hands. The detonation kept your hands clasped together with the mechanism wrapped tightly in your hands.

 You screamed out in surprise and pulled your face away from the mess. ‘Shit. Goddamn it!’ Peter wasn’t going to be mad but he was going to be a major pain in your ass if he saw this. Knowing him, there was a good chance he’d sit down and start eating the pizza just to torment you, leaving you in your misery. ‘No chance,’ you thought, you were starving.

Struggling, you tried to pry you fingers open to drop the device. When that didn’t work you began to get frustrated and started aggressively shaking your hands, bouncing up and down as you cursed out the webs.

That’s when you heard the door open and saw Peter walk in, pizza in hand. “What’s with the ruckus?” He asked softly, trailing off when he saw the scene in front of him.

You didn’t reply, instead you glared at him and a moment passed as amusement inched its way onto Peter’s face.

Smirking, he moved past you and set the pizza down onto his bed where he started setting everything up as if you weren’t currently webbed up, staring at the floor in shame and anticipation. 

He cleared his throat, “maybe this will teach you to not play with my toys?”

‘That smug son of a-’ You sighed, narrowed your eyes and threatened, “I’ll teach you somethin’ when I get out of this and put you on your ass.”

He turned to face you, eyebrows high in disbelief as his smirked got darker. He then dropped his face back to neutral and nodded as he walked over to meet you in the middle of the room. “Oh, okay. And when you ‘get out’-” he mocked, bringing his hands up to taze your sides, “-all on your own, please, please, do just that.”

“No! Peter-ugh-please,” you practically fell back into his chest as he tugged you closer by your sides. You pulled your hands as close to you as you could but it didn’t ‘fend him off from digging his hands into your sides. “I sweheheheahahahar, Ihihihi’m gohohing to kihihihihill yohohohou. Peter!”

“Hey, this is a good life lesson to not touch hazardous prototypes,” he laughed, wrapping an arm around you to trap you to his chest and tickle both hands into your side. “I mean, come on, did you honestly not expect me to do this?”

He cruely had no interest in moving around to swap spots and continued the maddening attack on your side and it was driving you up the walls. “Fohohor GOD sahahahake! Mohohohove yohohohour hahahahands!” You begged, doing everything in your power to fold yourself in half to protect your sides before giving up and jumping on the spot to shake him off.

He laughed at your thrashing, “listen, if supervillains can’t get out of this, I think you’re stuck.” Finally, he moved a hand to spider into lower back causing you to shriek and jolt forward for a moment before yanking you back into his chest when he kissed you lightly on your head.

He eased up slightly, hugging you and fluttering his fingers into your ribs. You giggled out the stupidest thing you could have said at that point. “Sohohome suhuhuper vihihillain ihihif you cahan take them dohohown.”

“Hey! What’s with the attitude?” He shrilled, “I brought you pizza!”

“Yohohou’re right,” you agree. “You dihid ahand I would lihike to eat it!”

You felt his chest rumble as he laughed, slowly letting you go before resting a comforting hand on your back. “Alright, I can practically hear your stomach growling,” he poked you once again. “Even over your screaming.”

“I wa’n’t screaming,” you mumbled, pouting a little through your smile. Peter grabbed your shoulders and scooted you to the side so he could make his way to his desk, digging his hands into your armpits for good measure. “Okay!”

This time you nearly fell to your knees, jumping out of his way so he could reach the desk. Once he grabbed the dissolvent from his drawer, he made a ‘c’mere’ motion with his hand. Without taking a step, you stretched your arms out in front of you and scrunched your nose up at the way he silently laughed at you.

Once your hands were free you vigorously shook them out in front of you and sheepishly uttered, “I’m sorry for wasting your web fluid.”

“Believe me,” he smiled, “it wasn’t a waste.” He poked your side once more whilst moving around you and this time you slapped his hand away.

“Hey! I can fight back now,” you pointed out, crawling onto the bed and getting comfortable in front of the pizza.

“Oh, I’d love to see that,” he taunted, collecting his laptop from the desk. “Here, you can pick the movie and we’ll call it even,” he remarked, setting it down in front of you.

“Oh no, not even a little bit,” you threatened, yanking the laptop onto your lap. “Get ready for a three-hour compilation of Spiderman’s Greatest Fails.”

Peter groaned out a strained laugh and let his head fall back into the headboard. “But-”

“Nope.”

“But I bought pizza,” he whined, tossing an arm over your shoulder.

“Cry about it, Spider-jerk.”

[onthecrescentofthehill]

g1deon and pyrrha + gideon and harrow throughlines scattered in all of tlt continue to drive me insane.

the initial investigation scenes post the 5th deaths where the 2nd house tries to pull cohort rank control of the situation, gideon & harrow immediately sneak away to learn that the winnowing trial was developed by the second house and cohort founders, g1deon & pyrrha. winnowing as incorporating the other, refusing distractions for the sake of true control, loyalty and duty.

gideon is wearing his sunglasses, rifling through their things. she doesn’t see it as a real place someone would live in, only a stop along the way to somewhere else, more whole.

she sees a gun on the wall that her mother's ghost will use the river memory of to try and kill harrow in the dream of cannan house:

It took Gideon a long time to realise that she was looking at something goddamn ancient: it was a blowback carbine gun. She’d only ever seen pictures. ….. The hairs on the back of Gideon’s neck had risen when the lights came on, and they hadn’t gone back down, as if her intrusion might well tempt time back to claim its grave goods. GTN chapter 19

Carbine rifle, read the key. For a moment she pitied Judith Deuteros’s last seconds. To be killed with this ancient piece of grave goods! It would have been like being set upon by a ghost out of time. HTN chapter 18

gideon reads "one flesh, one end" for the first time. she tells harrow these people were living in each others pockets, the same phrase she'll later use to describe the two of them. pyrrha spent nearly 10,000 years locked in a drawer in gideon the first’s mind bc he couldn't bear to let her go. gideon tells harrow how they feel like strangers despite growing up together.

harrow cant stand the thought and in less than a month harrow will lock gideon in a drawer and gideon the first will relentlessly try to kill harrow in her waking hours to spare her the agony he'll never learn is closely parallel to his, and when she fails to hear his real name her brain starts bleeding:

And he had said: “Ortus, have pity.”

“This is my pity, Lord,” said the Saint of Duty. HTN chapter 20

g1deon was john’s oldest friend, he carried that suitcase in his loyalty to him. then he becomes an amnesiac, immortal thanergy void, absorbing and nullifying the echoes of that catastrophe. founding the cohort that flips planets in the exact mirror to the ecological tragedy they all sacrificed everything to spare earth from. over and over again.

He didn’t even ask me to explain. That was the kind of guy he was. He and I had grown up on the same street. I’d spotted him for mince pies all the time as kids, so stands to reason he let me cut off his arm and carried a nuke for me. John 1:20

in g+p’s room harrow says that theyre all the ninth house has ( = you’re all that i have). gideon firmly says shes "NO ONE'S son or daughter"

but in less than a year gideon’s mother, sitting opposite her father, will recognize pyrrha with a sense of profound relief before her revenant is unceremoniously killed. gideon will watch through harrows eyes, in hiding:

Harrow, I will never forget the look on her face as long as I live, or as long as I die. (…) It was the smile for your old cellmate who’d just landed back in prison, the one that told them at least you were in it together—or more correctly, the smile of someone stepping out of jail after serving a very long sentence, having seen someone there waiting for her. Someone whose presence meant total reprieve, someone she hadn’t expected. It was a little bit mocking. It was deeply relieved. HTN chapter 50

i don’t have a conclusion to this rn i’m just……much to think abt. the displacement of grief, the loyalty through control, how it just happens over and over and over again and they just bear witness as tools or trapped souls or revenants, clinging to anything they can even if they don’t remember it.

[codfanficedits]

Don't fall in love - Part three

Summary:

You get warned not to fall in love with Ghost, but you did anyways. Turning this into a little series!

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 1122 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: a little bit of angst - swearing - mentioning of sex and masturbation

Part one and two here.

You want to go after him, tell him you’re sorry, tell him you’re struggling to understand the feelings you’re feeling, to tell him you’re afraid that if you let him in, he will tear your whole being down and leave you defenceless. But you don’t.

Instead you watch him leave.

A feeling of loneliness, guilt, even regret washing over you. Because you’re doing to him what others had warned you about he would do to you.

On the other side of the base Simon is struggling just as much, feeling stupid that he let his walls crumble, even it is was for you. On the other side of base Simon is hurting because he really did want you to be different. Because for you, Simon had convinced Ghost to let you in. You made him nervous in all the good ways. You made him want to change, to stop chasing that feeling of being desired, so he could pretend the desire was the love he had been craving so him.

Because he wanted, no needed a life that isn’t just about needing to escape his life, and he desperately wanted you to be that life.

But you had crushed him, you had left him when he had allowed himself to be vulnerable, when he had asked you to spent the night. You had played the tricks on him he used to play on others.

So Ghost went back on what he knew best. Self-destruction in the form of using others. Self-destruction by having another woman in his bed every night. Using the poor souls to get a taste of what a life full of love could be.

And you couldn’t stand it. You hated to see how he would use the same tricks over and over again, you hated to see how they would always work. The infamous leaning against the doorway, taking off his mask or balaclava at just the right time. Showing off his bare hands, rolling up his sleeves so you could just see the right amount of muscle with his every move.

And it worked every time. It broke your heart to see how he had moved on from you. You hated how he was still the only one who could fulfil any fantasies you might have, how it was him that you were craving late at night, but how you knew someone was laying under him, getting what you so desperately craved.

But how does one take the first step after this? ‘Hey, sorry I dipped after I promised to spent the night, but you see, I have some issues so I want to hurt you before you can hurt me.’ No. No that would be no good, but it would be the truth.

‘Hey sorry I dipped and then refused to communicate like a normal person, you see, I have some issues I’m working on.’

No.

‘Hey, long time no see, I still masturbate to the sex we had, but I cry afterwards because I miss your arms around me.’

Pathetic.

‘Hey, could you give me one more chance? I’ll probably fuck it up again whenever we get into an argument because I’m afraid people will leave me all the time, but I can make you feel good for a week or two.’

Fuck. You got more issues than you realised and maybe, maybe it would be for the best that it never worked between the two of you. Maybe you were one of those people who were destined to be alone forever, never worthy of actually being loved.

But destiny had other plans for you. Destiny set the two of you up for a mission together. Destiny decided that the mission went well, the two of you secured a piece of intel, and on a mission the two of you worked together perfectly. He was great at taking charge, and you were good at following orders.

So, you just had a simple, successful mission, and now the two of you were driving back.

Just the two of you, in that goddamn car. You could see him grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, while you looked out of the window of the passenger seat. Your knees pointed to the door. You wanted to get out, you wanted to avoid every possible form of communication. You could feel the tension in the air, the both of you dancing around the awkwardness that came with this.

This is why you don’t fall in love with him.

But the damage had already been done, you were already in love with him, and every passing second was a reminder that you could have had it all, but you ruined your own chances with him.

“I’m sorry.” You’re the first to break the silence and you get rewarded with a scoff.

“You’re still sorry you left that night?” His voice is sharp, and it cuts right through your soul. Your natural reaction is to go lower, to burn every single inch of him to the ground. But you’re trying to repair your damaged soul, and a better reaction is part of that.

“No.”

“Then what are you sorry for.”

“I’m sorry for treating you the way I wouldn’t want to be treated.” A weight of your chest, you feel like you can breathe a little better.

“Why did you do it?”

A valid question.

“Because I was afraid you would hurt me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’ve seen you break the hearts of other recruits.”

“But they weren’t you.”

“No. But what made them different?”

“They don’t make me feel things like you do.”

Oh.

You find it hard to react to things like this, a part of you want to swoon at his words, beg him for forgiveness, lose a part of yourself so it can be replaced by him. Another part of you wants to keep the walls up, shut him out, tell him you’re a bad person, make him look at you the way you look at yourself.

“Don’t do this.” His voice breaks the silence.

“What?”

“Don’t go into war with yourself in your own head.”

He is reading you like a book.

“You’re like me.” He continues, Simon has kicked Ghost out again, trying to give you one more chance. “You’re afraid of getting hurt, so you hurt others before they get the chance to get to you.”

“That’s why I left that night.”

“I know, that’s why I usually kick the others out before they get the chance to stay the night.” The honest confession leaves Simons lips.

“Why me?” You must know it.

“Why not you?”

“Because I’m me.” And you don’t like yourself.

“And that’s what I want.”

[wannaeatramyeon]

HIII how are u doing girlie😍🤞🤞 Anyways can u pls write a scenario where ur classmates (htf characters?) find out ur dating seong taehoon and their reactions?? You dont need to if u dont want to ofc<333

Hey Anon! Thanks for the ask <3 I'm doing great!! Brain rotting away as expected but HAPPY FRIDAY! Hope you're doing well too and having a good start to the month :)

Don't you agree that there's a disappointingly small amount of writing for our lil nutjob?

Please enjoy the whiplash of my change in tone!

HTF discovering You & Taehoon dating!

Things were tentative between you and Taehoon. You've only been dating for a couple months, and you're still getting to know this side of him. Well. You say this side but it's still the same old Taehoon that you've come to grow very fond of.

The one that tells everyone to piss off but comes running, no, sprinting when one of his friends need his help. Who threatens to beat everyone up, but will come to your defence with no hesitation. This prickly, insufferable little shit.

Sometimes you worry about your own sanity for liking someone like Taehoon, but then he gives you a look in the middle of the company meetings and your feel your entire body flush and your heart palpitate. And you think about just being alone with him, the way that he looks at you like he wants to devour you, the way his hand runs all over your body and god bless his pale skin because it's so obvious how crazy you're driving him despite how cool he plays it- "Huh? Sorry Rumi, I missed that question. What did you ask?"

You know already this guy has no respect for other people's personal space, but since you've gotten together, a complete and utter lack of personal space has become the norm. At least when no one else is around.

Taehoon corners you in the company house.

"You got 500 won?" He's leaning casually on the wall, blocking your path of exit. He wears a smug smirk as his face moves closer to yours.

You roll your eyes, "Get your own 500 won, I'm not lending you any more money you bastard."

He glances down at your lips, "How about a kiss then?"

Bastard indeed. You blush, but with him so close by, with his lidded gaze and goddamn pretty pink lips slightly parted... you couldn't say no if you tried.

You lean forward to kiss him, and Taehoon deepens it before you have a chance to move away. His arm circles around your waist, pressing your entire body against him. You put your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer and his hands start to roam your body. Perhaps you and Taehoon should move this somewhere more private-

A glass shatters. "OH MY GOD!!"

You both turn and see the entirety of Hobin Yu company frozen in shock.

Fuck. This was why you shouldn't be making out in the living room.

Hobin: Very happy for you! Congrats Y/N!!! But then after a moment... wait. Hold on. The reality of the situation sinks in. What?! That psycho Taehoon managed to bag you???

Yeah Taehoon has a nice face but his personality STINKS. How can anyone stand him? AND MOST important of all: how did you guys beat him and Bomi getting together?! Life is so unfair!

Snapper: similiar reaction as Hobin. Who tf can put up with that nutjob. Side eyes you a bit cos surely you must have a few screws loose too. But... the opportunities for a newtube channel! Couple dates, couple vlogging! Ok, maybe this isn't such a bad development.

Gaeul: completely clueless. Even Gyeoul has commented on you two getting closer. This innocent little chick just thought... well, she didn't know what she thought - maybe you guys were just close friends? "You fellas, I'm so happy for you. Now don't you young whippersnappers get up to no good!"

Rumi: Oh Y/N I'm so happy for you! Hold on- let me just text Wangguk to set up a double date. What you doing this Saturday?

Mangi: another cinnamon roll. Gives you and Taehoon the biggest hug, squeezing the life out of you whilst Taehoon is just glaring, gearing up to give him a kick. So so happy for you, wishes you guys a lifetime of happiness (woah, steady on Mangi we've just gotten together!!) and that you are as happy as him and his girlfriend <3

Yeonwoo: You've always been nice and sweet to him. So you and Taehoon? Together? You're making this lil genius's brain hurt. Of course he'll congratulate the both of you, he's too polite to do otherwise. But his protective side flares up to make sure Taehoon treats you right.

Gyeoul: Who fucking cares

Taehoon finding out about everyone finding out: Headaches all around. What the fuck is wrong with these losers? Gets inundated with questions about you and their relationship. "Bastard that's none of your business", "Ask more questions if you want to die".

Temporarily wonders if this is worth it, but then looks at you and ok. Maybe it is. "Fuck, I'm so cringe I'm going to kick my own ass"

[thecameronchronicles]

Just Another Reason

TW: Smut. Language. Breeding Kink. Rough/Dom! JJ.

SUMMARY: JJ’s jealousy brings you both in verbal rivalry once again, only this time, with a specific confession changing everything…

WORD COUNT: 1800

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

Can you write on where JJ and reader are bestfriends and JJ thinks reader is in love with Rafe and they have an argument where reader tells JJ shes in love with him. They fuck and JJ has a possessive and breeding kink to show her who she belongs to?

Just Another Reason 

It began as a joke. The accusations that your heart and focus was on that of Rafe Cameron. Of course, you didn't help the theories made by your best friend JJ, as you loved to rile him up. The way he became flustered and passionate, insulting Rafe and even your own 'stupidity' had quickly crossed a line it never had before. Such a line that the other pogues had vanished from sight in knowing better than to try and stop either one of you as it would only bring the anger towards them. For that, the living room of The Chateau became the sight of a verbal boxing ring of sorts as you sparred with pained words keeping veiled feelings in check by such cruelty. 

"You really think I would love Rafe?! He's hot but-" 

"Oh really?!" 

"Yeah, I have eyes, JJ...but you can be hot and an idiot. Like I would ever let him touch me-" 

"He sure thinks he can with the way you do everything but open your legs for him-" 

"Because I like to make him think he could. My own kind of high to know he wants me but will never have me..." 

"And why not entertain the idea then? If you like that high so much-" 

"Because I have feelings for someone else! Ones that I honest to God can't fathom why I do because he drives me up the goddamn wall!" 

"Is it Topper? Kelce?" His anger now subsided into nervousness, "Oh God, is it John B?" 

"It's you! I would never entertain the idea of Rafe or anyone else because I'm in love with YOU JJ! Stupidly-" He didn't allow you a second to retract those words or ruin the moment before your lips were taken against his. Breathless from the surprise, your skin was set on fire from his touch alone as he guided you close to him while also leading you to the direction of the closest wall. 

"You love me?" His words were almost pained, if not inflamed with humor or even patronization, "Then you're gonna show me..." You were dragged out of view of any curious pogues and into the bedroom, with the door slammed by his hand. 

"You're gonna prove to me I'm all you want...And you're gonna start by letting me see what's mine..what you've been teasing me with in all those paper thin bikinis-" He bit his bottom lip as you began to obey before only snapping the elastic fabric of your suit instead. 

"I don't know, JJ...Now that I've thought about it.. Rafe might-" 

"You say his name again and you won't get to come-" He explained while taking hold of your jaw, his second hand rocketing into your bikini bottoms and jean shorts. 

“I am going to make it crystal clear if I have to just who it is who belongs to you-”

“Ahh….”

“WHO gets to hear THOSE dirty little moans…” He quickened still. 

“And who gets to be so deep inside of you that the only thing you’ll ever fucking know is how it feels when I make you come…” He turned you away from him, hands greedily in descent over your breasts and back to your sex, only brushing it into a tease as he surprised you with a toss to the bed, but a lift of your hips making it accessible for him to focus on your ass. His palm came over the natural curve, your soft skin exposed by the grip of his fingers pulling your bottoms down, but only to your knees, before a hard slap made you wince. 

“Nobody will even have to ask who gets to fuck you because they’ll see it for themselves. MY handprints on this perfect little ass. MY cum dripping out this pussy,” He explained, fingers in depth within your sex, circling and sourcing for where you were most affected, “And MY name from your lips.”

“Yours.” You breathed, wanting to give him anything and everything as long as it meant his remaining touch. It was addictive as it was contradictory in care and cruelty. He was aggressively needy in the perfect way to make you feel wanted in a way you weren’t aware you even needed until now.

“You sure?”

“Yes…JJ…I’ve always been…” He slapped your ass again. 

“Then you’ve been wearing all those little bikinis for me? Been bending over so I can envision THIS?” He asked with yet another smack. “You at this angle just for me?”

“Yes…”

“But you realize that I’m not the only one who is able to see you when you act that way, right?”

“JJ-”

“SO…” He rounded a kind rub of his palm to your battered skin before offering one more slap on either side. 

“I have to keep this ass red so everyone knows when you bend over like that and wear suits like this that I am the only one who gets to make good on that perfect angle…” A grip to your hair brought you up against his chest, your eyes made to lock to his in a way that made you dizzy for a multitude of reasons. 

“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Yes…”

“Yeah?” You nodded to his need for validation while his thumb came to a brush at your bottom lip. 

“All of you?”

“All of me, J-” He carried his touch to your breast, untying the top that teased him as he spoke of it, before leaving you completely bare for him. 

“Perfect…” He breathed, momentarily lost from his domination as he basked in how soft and warm you were within his hand. He’d imagined it just as often as you had and without the need to rush, he fondled and twisted the new skin that was, per your submission, his new possession. 

“JJ…” You whimpered as he began to tease your nipples, the sensations making you arch against him, as he was quick to correct this need to be away from him.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart..” His hand  was back between your legs as the other was firmly wrapped around your neck once again. “I get to feel every little shift your body makes…every breath-”

“JJ!”

“Every desperate little squirm…” He scoffed into your ear. “I get to make you come…”

“Yes! Please, JJ! Make me come!” You were forced with your cheek at a rest to the sheets beneath you. 

“Then you’ve gotta take my cock, princess…YOUR cock…”

“YES! PLEASE!” You begged as he tugged at your hair, keeping you from suffocating beneath him, while you would be able to feel him inside of you. The thrusts were manic and sporadic, a broken pace leaving your breathing equally as erratic, before you would feel him purposely slow and still, all to feel you clench around him. 

He was edging you.

“JJ!”

“You desperate for it, princess? Want me to make you come?”

“YES!”

“Desperate enough to let me come inside you? Give you my baby and make sure everybody from Figure Eight to The Cut knows who got you nice and knocked up?” The idea made your stomach twist into anxious excitement-the exact kind that would be expected at the crest of a rollercoaster. The fear of what was to come, but the thrill of the ride it would be. 

“Yeah?” He brought you back to his chest, turning your jaw to where you could face him and make out the high spread across his expression.

“Yeah?! Then beg me to do it…tell me what you want from me and you’ll be sure to get it, sweetheart.”

“Fuck me, JJ!”

“Already doing THAT princess, gotta tell me what you want next…” He chuckled between his own words as you struggled to formulate anything but moans as they came from each thrust continuing inside of you in companion to the flicks made of his finger across your clit. 

“I want you to come inside me…I want you to have your baby, JJ! Give me your cum so I can be pregnant for you!”

“You want it real bad don’t you, I can feel you clenching me so tight-”

“YES! PLEASE!”

“Beg one more time…just so I really know you want it. Want me-” Your fingers wrapped around the back of his hips, digging your nails into the naked skin beneath, before you obliged. 

“Please, JJ! Give it to me!” Although it may not have been the description he wanted, he would act in compromise before turning you to face him, knees pressed to your chest. 

“Then you’re gonna watch me do it baby, watch me fill you up so deep with my cum that you’ll be pregnant in no time.” You nodded, his hand to the back of your neck as he forced your forehead against his. 

“Fuck!” You belted beneath him, his depth, his heavy breathing, his touch-everything worked in perfect unison to pull you to that edge. 

“Come with me-” He grunted behind clenched teeth, fingers tightening at the back of your neck. 

“I'm close, JJ!”

“Oh, I know…why do you think I am?” He scoffed before leading you over that precipice and spilling over him, his own release quick to follow. And yet, he continued. 

“JJ-”

“Every last drop, princess…gotta make you a mommy so everyone knows you’re taken care of…By…ME…” He pulled your ass higher, forcing himself even deeper, as your mouth pulled slack from the sensations of pleasure behind overstimulation. 

“I need to make you come again…I need to hear it again…” He was suddenly absent from you, his fingers acting as a quick replacement before his tongue was at your clit. 

“I wanna wear you, princess…so come nice and hard on my face so everyone knows who I belong to…” Your eyes rolled as he worked you into perfect harmony, your body in contractions to the excess of pleasure as a familiar rush of ecstasy came to you in waves, his fingers only stopping when your back arched and you pleaded with him in pain. 

But his fingers would now come to your parted lips. “Suck ‘em, clean baby…I like to share.” He smirked, doing the same to your sex, pulling the mutual slick to his fingers and feeding it to you once again. 

“Just another reason to fucking love you.”

“Just another reason to love fucking you.” You added as his brow cocked. 

“I love you, princess.” He spoke in the break of yet another kiss. 

“I love you too, JJ…”

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @bethoconnor @pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection

[giacomettislament]

may i request trey with a thing for calling him senpai in bed? :0

three men walking ii

“tell me how you want it.”

trey.

content warning(s): explicit content, use of honorifics in bed

—You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You wouldn’t be too surprised if your breath did give out on you at some point. Between the mix of being practically split into two on Trey’s cock and the mind-numbing orgasms that he had already dragged you though, it was a wonder how you managed to even keep your thoughts this coherent.

“Fuck…!” You whimpered out. “I-I just came, please… I’m still sensitive!”

He kissed your cheek, his voice heavy and laced with sex as he laughed against your ear. “Shh… You’ve been so good. You can give senpai one more, right?”

Your stomach lurched when you could feel the tip of his cum-drenched dick prod cautiously between your legs. Your knees shook when he spread them apart carefully, and you swallowed back the lump in your throat.

You’d be lying if you said the lustful demon inside your chest was satisfied with just this.

“Senpai…,” you mewled desperately, “Please don’t be too rough…”

He shook his head, and you sucked in a hasty breath when you felt him shove himself into you. Even though he was slow and had fucked you out on his cock for a few rounds already, your walls still clenched around him tightly. The slick ring of muscle sucked him in, and your mind succumbed back to that all-too-familiar fucked-out haze when it felt like his cockhead was somewhere deep inside your core.

“You’re going to take whatever I give you. You’ll hold out for your senpai, won’t you? You’re always so good for me…” His words tasted like honey, and you forced yourself to relax. He shifted slightly, and you let out a loud moan when your sex instinctively clamps down on him.

“I’m going to start moving now.” Trey grabbed at your hips. “Last one, I promise.”

“A-Anything for you, senpai,” you choked out. Your own body felt foreign to you, hungrily drinking up the way his dick was fucked you out just from putting it in, the familiar tangs of libido tainting your brain. God, it felt obscenely good—he was that perfect size where just being stretched out made you want to cum all over his swollen length, enough to fill you up but not enough to hurt.

He kissed your face again. “That’s what I want to hear.”

You braced yourself when his grip on your hips tightened, and just as you expected, he pinned you down as he drew his hips back all the way.

“Fuck!”

Shockwaves shot through your body, almost enough to knock you breathless. You clenched your eyes shut, your chest squeezing in on itself. Your hips tried to buck up, trying to get some space between you and Trey, but being pinned down, you had no choice but to take the entirety of his engorged cock.

God, he was so big. You hated how good it felt, how addictive being used like a goddamn cocksleeve felt. There was no way you could go back to fucking anyone after being with someone like him. It wouldn’t be the same.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He stroked your cheek, and your walls twitched and flared up around him as he dragged his dick back, thrusting sharply into you. You can’t even form full sentences, and your fingers curled into the sheets to ground yourself while he set up a brutal pace, his dick punching deep into you.

“I- Fuck! S-Senpai, please-,” you managed out. Your stomach lurched with each thrust, your depraved hole sucking him in and clinging to him. The cum deep inside of you sloshed around with each rough drive of his hips, and you could feel it leaking out of you and only making it so much easier for him to rut his dick into you.

“Yes, that’s it. Call out for me. Your senpai will take care of you.” Trey looked down at your depraved form. Even fucked out like this, with that glossy haze of your once bright eyes, cum sticking all over your thighs and the sheets, your body already limp and barely holding on, all for another taste of his greedy dick, he thought you looked the most beautiful.

It was only right that a senpai should spoil their favorite kouhai.

x

[ronearoundblindly]

for the comfort ask!! ☺️🫶🏻💕💕

🛎 - Someone at their beck and call + any character you want

Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader from The Root of All Ransom

ooo, big shock: warnings for cursing and sexual references (nothing explicit)! WC 1.2k

‘The Wank’ is a fucking terrible friend who Ran is more likely to set fire to than embrace if he ever sees that rat bastard again.

Oh sure, it’s all fun and games, riding ATVs around this British lord-boy’s estate until that drunk idiot cuts too close in front of his invited guest, clips the tire, and launches Ransom over the front and into some ancient stone wall. He looks like a million bucks—Million Dollar Baby, that is—with all his bruises and lacerations. At least his face is unscathed for the most part. Ran couldn’t handle being fucking ugly on top of the embarrassment of being bedridden for a couple of weeks.

It was only supposed to be a quick few days' visit before he went back to the States, but instead, he’s stuck in the Wank’s mansion while the fucking prick leaves to go do other stupid things with their other stupid friends…

Why Ran keeps thinking of these people as friends, he’s not really sure, but once the doctor—who showed up with two nurses to a sprawling estate in the middle of goddamn nowhere—tells Ransom he has to remain like a vegetable in this musty four-poster, he calls you furious.

He calls to complain loudly, but Ran knew you would come.

Even though he is anxious and pissy for the whole thirty-six hours it takes for you to handle what business you can, book transport from Beijing to London, and then get a car to drive all the way to the boonies, he thinks he’s doing reasonably well when you arrive.

In reality, he’s already cursed out every member of the household staff willing to enter his room. Ransom is a terror when sick, and no one has the luxury of him drugged during this lay-up.

You’re graciously given a room to work out of but keep your Bluetooth in your ear all day every day unless you are in bed asleep. He fucking hates it. Ran is given a bell to signal he needs something and has no ability to distinguish needs from wants when bored.

“Would you stop talking like I’m not here?” he hiss-yells as you try to go back to work one day after bringing him a tray of breakfast.

You cover the end of the device and snap back, “These are prime business hours where I am supposed to be right now. I have to stay on the phone.”

When you turn to leave, Ran hits the bell.

You face him, challenging with narrowed eyes, so he hits it again. Twice.

But you don’t take the bait and shut the door behind you.

Ran’s bored—horrifically bored—and lonely. He beats down on the bell in cacophonic irritation for a solid minute before you rage back into the room.

Your hand slaps over his on the cool metal chime.

“Hugh Ransom Drysdale,” you intone between clenched teeth, “you are abusing your bell privileges. If you do not stop, I will go back to Beijing tonight, and no one here will help you. Do you understand?”

His brow is just as angry as yours, but Ran’s lips pout. He huffs anyway, nodding his head, and after you let go of his hand, he admits quietly, “I want to go outside.”

Your face softens.

You sit by his hip, seemingly exhausted by the thought of coming all this way, acquiescing to his every whim, and returning to work. Outside the tall windows shines a lovely English morning after days and days of clouds.

Ransom watches you sigh hopefully.

“I’ll see what I can do,” you whisper, patting his knee to avoid reaching over his tray. “Do me a favor though?”

“What?” Depends on the favor so Ran promises nothing.

“Will you please use those damn wipes for something other than masturbating?”

His whole body stiffens uncomfortably.

“Even a whore’s bath will do and don’t act all innocent, Hugh! I know you,” you giggle, relishing the tease and the pink stain blossoming on his neck.

He glances over at the packet on the night stand. “A…a wh—“

“Pitties, titties, and bitties.” You stand and fail to smother your grin.

He hates this. You know he hates this. He knows you know he hates this, and yet Ran chuckles involuntarily. He knows you’ll try—knows that you are trying—to make him happy. It makes him so mad.

You’re the one with a job and a business and the money, and you’re forced to nurse him like a fucking invalid. A year ago, he would have loved this shit. Now he just feels like the fucking wanker.

He has several remaining bandages which cannot get wet, so he can’t shower. Ran can, however, get himself to the ensuite but it takes all of his energy and turns him into a ball of rage until he takes a nap.

Which is so fucking stupid, he thinks, but it’s the truth of it.

He struggles for the whole morning. He actually has to split the tasks of picking out clothes to change into, resting, using the bathroom, resting again, cleaning himself as best he can to put on boxers, resting atop the covers because he now notices the sheets smell, and then gets dressed.

He waits, puttering around social media on his phone, head shooting up to the door at any tiny noise from anywhere beyond his cage of a bed.

You come back at lunchtime, sans earpiece, and look genuinely impressed that he’s decent, which is so fucking sad that he wants to die, but he wants to go outside more.

He has to lean on you to get all the way to the lawn, fiercely focused on the blanket laid out under the closest tree, taking comically huge breaths of fresh air before collapsing when you give him the okay.

The picnic and tea are nice. The formality of the service, even though the staff only brings out the dishes and a basket of food, reminds him of Sunday brunches with Linda, so he doesn’t really fucking care about the food. He’s not really hungry.

Ran lays down flat on the grass-padded blanket and drifts to the soft rustle of leaves and birds chirping.

After who knows how long, he peels his eyes open to see the sun in a completely different spot and you still right next to him, relaxed and peering up, hands tucked behind your head.

“Hey,” he finally says to get your attention.

You shift your head, lips pulled into a squinty smile he can’t resist. “Hey, yourself. Have a good nap?”

Ran nods, getting his bearings from the murky waters of sleep. He notices you stayed. You didn’t go back to work. You didn’t trade off taking care of him. You got something you needed, too: peace and quiet, so he says the most obvious thing that comes to mind.

“You’re welcome.”

He’s rewarded with you bursting into laughter.

from this game of "Comfort My Characters"

Thank you for asking!

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @starkleila

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]