#dandy in a skirt moments!!!! Been a minute!!!!

[sketchy-tour]

Using whiteboard as a stress relief doodle place for a bit and now I have indeed drawn them...in the Grease Musical

[kewltie]

When Izuku walk into the main hall of their home and see Katsuki, standing there dressed in a vest and waistcoat and looking all proper and dandy, it gives him a slight pause. He blinks, jaw loose. "Are you going somewhere?"

For which Katsuki immediately frowns. "No, we are."

Izuku’s brows furrow in thought. He can't recall any appointments they may have made to go out tonight. They’d just visited Katsuki's parents two days ago and Izuku, regretfully, doesn't have many friends here in Tokyo to make a habit of going out every night. "Am I missing something?" he prods.

"The Earl of Utaupau's soiree is this evening," Katsuki answers, as his foot taps on the floor irritably.

"Oh," he says, eyes widen in recognition, "but I declined their invitation earlier." He isn't close with the Earl of Utaupau enough to warrant an invitation but he knows her husband quite well; they're in the same book club. Fuji Jun been asking Izuku to attend their party for a while now, but he’d always declined it as he's not familiar with their social circle and doesn't want to embarrassed himself by coming alone. "Wait," a light gasp slips pass his lips, "will you be going with me?"

Katsuki gives him the most unimpressed look. "I rescinded your rejection yesterday, so hurry up and get dress already or we'll be late."

Since Izuku had moved in with him, Katsuki had avoided all social events and Izuku has always intended them unaccompanied by his husband. He had to put on a smile and braced for questions about the whereabouts of Katsuki, often making up excuses that sound less believable each time as he endured the pitiful looks directed at him. That poor omega, their eyes seemed to say, can't even keep his mate around. So, this is a momentous occasion for him. Izuku can barely contains the joy rising in his chest as he picks up the skirt of his kimono and rushes toward his bedroom to change for the party.

"Don't run, you idiot!" Katsuki shouts exasperatedly after him, but Izuku won't be stop.

All the decorum and propriety momentarily thrown aside in his excitement. He doesn't know what brought in this change of attitude in Katsuki, but he'll take it!

As soon as Izuku slips into his bedroom, he combs through his closet for an appropriate attire to match Katsuki's own.

It's the first time they'll be presented to the kazoku as a married couple and they will be representing the entire legacy of the Bakugou family, he can't afford any missteps, but more importantly he doesn't want to disappoint Mitsuki-san for all the kindness she'd bestowed upon him.

His eyes immediately fall upon the western gowns that he had purchased since his arrival here. He'd worn them to all the events he’d been invited to so far for the need to conform to the current western trend overtaking the cities, even though he's more comfortable in his traditional kimonos. He bites his lower lip in thought, looking at all the beautiful dresses in his closet. Then, he closes the door and turns around. Instead, he heads toward his drawers and pulls out a well-loved, jade color furisode with red-orange flowers woven into the silk.

It's a hand-me down from his mother who got it from her father. Traditionally worn by the omegas in his household, it has been meticulously taken care of and only to be brought out for special occasions. Today feels like it for Izuku. It's a good statement as any. He won't fail as a son-in-law of the Bakugou.

Izuku calls up on the servants to help him get dress and fix his hair. They have to rush to get it all done as Katsuki's lack of patience is thoroughly known in the household, but Katsuki shouldn't have told him about this party last minute. He could have spent hours preparing, but he knows how to make do with what he has. It's the foundation of every good omega. They have always been given so little that they learned long ago to weave the sky out of fishnets; he's nothing if not resourceful. With the help of the servants, he's done in twenty minutes.

Izuku's zori beats the floor as he hurries to the main hall as though every second slip by means the less chance Katsuki will be there waiting for him.

"I told you not to run," Katsuki says, with narrowed eyes as soon as it lands on Izuku's presence entering the room.

He’s still standing exactly where he was the last time Izuku saw him; effortlessly handsome in his formal waistcoat and tie even with the perpetual frown on his face. When Katsuki allows it, it's easy to remember why he was formerly the most desired bachelor in Tokyo and Izuku is lucky to have secured him.

"Sorry, we had a problem with tying the obi," Izuku admits sheepishly, awkwardly patting the skirt of his furisode as though he just needs something to keep his hands occupied.

Somehow, he is inexplicably shy all of sudden even though Katsuki had seen him in his furisode before. It's like they're going out on their first date. And they're married for god's sake! But they never went out together in any official's capacity so Izuku feels an equal mix of excitement and anxiety.

He wonders if Katsuki feels the same. Probably not, Izuku thinks wistfully.

Katsuki stares at him. "You look—" He stops, turns away, and then looks back at him. Jaw tightens. Shakes his head. The corner of his lips pinch before he lets out a sigh resignedly. "Whatever, let's just go," he says, and rushes right out as though the devil’s is on his heels.

Izuku had watched the entire sequence with a barely hidden puzzlement, but makes no further note of it. After all, it's not like Katsuki has indicate any interest in him in anyway. He doesn't want to get his hope up again, only to have it miserably crushed under Katsuki's boots. He pinches the back of his hand and the sharp pain is enough wakes himself up from his pool of disappointment. There's just no time to sink any deeper in it. They're going to a soiree together. As a couple. Married. And it's enough to lights the hope in him. Every little step counts in the end.

Izuku follows after Katsuki and climbs into the awaiting carriage. He takes the seat opposite of Katsuki, whose eyes been glued to the window the entire time even as the carriage starts to move.

Awkward silence descends upon them, but Izuku has long learned how to tolerate it. To live it with it comfortably.

"How do you know the Earl of Utaupau to get an invitation out of her?" Katsuki asks suddenly.

Izuku immediately perks up. "I am quite familiar with her husband rather. We're actually in the same book club. From what I know, they're a very nice couple. If you want, I can introduce you to them." He tilts his head curiously. "But why do you want to go to their party?"

Katsuki looks like he didn't want to answer, but then: "There's been several reports of missing imperial's armaments and we managed to traced it back to Fuji Momoe. We believe she’s smuggling them out of the country using her merchant ships. I need to get close to her to find the evidence and where she’s taking those weapons."

Izuku shouldn't have ask. Sometimes, it's better to stay ignorance. "Oh, I see," he says, keeping his face blank and revealing nothing. Not the disappointment settling in his stomach or the dejection that makes its way into his heart. Really, he should have known better by now.

Katsuki is devoted to the service of his country and obsessed with fixing what's wrong with it; it's a noble cause, but love much like marriage, Izuku knows, has never enter Katsuki's consideration unlike him, who dedicate his entire being to being a good spouse, a good mate. They got married young and at the behest of their parents, but while Izuku had long made his peace with it, the day after their wedding Katsuki enlisted in the army and went to war just to get away from him. That would be enough for anyone to incinerate whatever hope in their heart. But Izuku lives in a state of wishful thinking. It's all he has. They may be married for several years now, but they haven't been a couple for long. If they can learn how, maybe, just maybe—he looks at Katsuki pensively. "If there's anything I can do to assist your case then—"

"No, absolutely fucking not," Katsuki snaps abruptly.

"But I want to help!" Izuku insists, leaning forward as Katsuki leans back.

"I don't want or need it," he hisses, bristling with contempt. "What can you even do to assist me? You have no training or experience in this."

"I—" Izuku bites down on his lower lip, letting the rest of his sentence die on his tongue. "You're right." He smiles. It feels cold and artificial on him, but he keeps it firmly in place like a mask over his face. "I'm sorry, I clearly don't know what I'm talking about. I should just mind my own business and focus on the household affairs instead. That's more of my area of expertise."

"That's not—" He looks away, face pinched and hands clenched tightly in his lap before turning back to Izuku. "I didn't mean it like that," he says, chagrin.

"It's fine," Izuku dismisses with a laugh, but it doesn't sound anything like himself even to his own ears. It’s hallow, like a broken marionette who had just learned to laugh. "I understand."

"No." He shakes his head, looking urgent. "It's dangerous. Better trained people have been hurt on the case before. I don't want to risk it with you."

"Oh," Izuku says breathlessly, excititement seizing him.

"You're a fucking civilian," he says, a serious expression on his face. "We prefer not to risk the civilians in our dumbass, risky military operation or else it would look bad on us."

"Oh," Izuku says, less enthusiastically now. It whittles down into nothing.

This is what it's like to be bound to a man who is so entrenched in his military duty and service that he thinks everything in the context of a tactical maneuver. Marriage is a battlefield and love is a weapon of war. Sometimes, Izuku feels like he may have won the fight, but already lost the war.

It makes one want to quit before he gets too deep, but stubbornness is been bred into his bones. It's his greatest strength and greatest flaw, his mother used to say to him as a kid when he would wait patiently for Katsuki to visit him every summer but he never did again after he'd turned 13. It's how he ended up sticking through a loveless marriage for five years because he's convinced they are a good match and didn't feel the immediate urge to punch Katsuki when he came for him later just because he believes he can make their marriage work and Mitsuki had demanded Katsuki to bring Izuku back to Tokyo after having discarded him like a burden to go to war.  

Looking back now, Izuku might be a little masochistic to endure so much but a part of him will always wonder if they had met under a difference circumstance and their marriage wasn't arranged, would they have work? At least let him try, let him prove that they can make it work despite everything. It's that bone-headed stubbornness of his rearing its head up again, but it doesn't make it any easier to bear.

He sighs, turning his head to look out the window as though it provides him with all the answer he's looking for. Marriage is truly a testament to a person's character. Finding nothing else to say, Izuku occupied his time with the scenery outside, but of the corner of his eyes, every now and then he can see Katsuki trying to steal glances at him; his lips open and close as though he has something to say, but his mouth just won't work right.

Katsuki looks particularly annoy with himself about it. Communication has never been his strong point.

If Izuku was feeling particularly merciful right now, he would help him out, but no. He'll let Katsuki stew in a little longer in the awkward, stilted silence between them. The rest of the ride is a tense affair, but Izuku has no intention of diffusing the situation. Let Katsuki familiarize himself with Izuku's rough waters, let him knows how his fury can ravage the sturdiest hulls and overturn ships before settling back to into calm waters.

He rarely allows himself to get caught up in his own anger, too busy balancing other people's emotions on his shoulders, but for this moment he'll indulge and give into the pettiness of it all. So, he continues to give Katsuki's the cold shoulder while Katsuki looks on in pain. Deserved.

Finally, their carriage arrive at the front of the Fuji's estate and the stalemate comes to an end. He can almost hear the respite in Katsuki's voice when he says, "We're here."

Izuku dips his head, tucking away the amusement bubbling within him at Katsuki's obvious relief. It’s admittedly fun to see Katsuki struggle so much here like a fish out of water, despite having gone through hell in war.

Katsuki gets out first and the second he land on the ground, he turns around. He holds his hand out expectantly for Izuku to take. Izuku stares at it, then smiles sweetly at him before disregarding it. He hops out of the carriage and walks pass Katsuki, not even glancing back at him. Katsuki may be a master in warfare and a veteran on multiple battlefields, but Izuku is just as eager to learn and quick to pick up lessons from the guide book: "How to Unknot Your Knot-Headed Alpha". After all, before you commit yourself to a fight, you must know your enemy first.

He may not be well-versed in military tactics, but he can use the knowledge he gained from his many readings and weaponized it against Katsuki. It's not the best idea but he knows books, he knows them intimately well, when there was nothing else to do but wait for Katsuki to come for him. Knowledge can be as potent as any gun or sword. He just need to know how to wield correctly.

"Are you really that angry?" He hears Katsuki demands from behind him.

Izuku stops, but doesn't turn around. "Am I?" he retorts back, knowing that it'll just rile Katsuki up even more when he'd always prefer direct confrontation, so Izuku's vague indirect often pisses him off.

Katsuki's expectation of honesty and transparency, lacking the patient for subterfuge versus Izuku's need to compartmentalized his emotions to mask his true feelings in order maintain the image of the perfect spouse, the idealized omega, makes their personality grinds against each other like broken glass. Izuku works hard to succeed within the expectations given to him by everyone, while Katsuki violently rebukes the chains placed upon him by his title and legacy; their creed is polarizing. It's amazing they haven't killed each other in the months that they been living together.

"You are, don't bullshit me." He scoffs loudly like he knew exactly what Izuku is doing, while Izuku chooses to ignore him and heads inside first instead.

Katsuki curses at him so vividly that it can easily be heard by many as a servant, who's there greet them, tries hold back his gasp.

"He'll be fine once he gets some food in him,” he informs the servant, the lies rolling off of his tongue so easily that he can already imagine Katsuki's scolding him severely if he'd heard it.

"Uh, yes," the young man says, largely confused still but remains prudent to his job. "This way, sir."

Izuku follows the servant into the first of many entryways of the Fuji's manor. It easily exemplified the clean, white lines of European aesthetics; it's imposing and overly ostentatious with too many square windows and pillars that opened into grand hallways and ballrooms.

He is then met with the house steward, who requests his house seal and invitation to verify his identity. Izuku hands them over to him and as soon as he was given the clear by the steward, the man coughs and looks at Izuku pointedly.

"Are you by yourself tonight, sir?" he asks.

Izuku blinks, finally realizing that he arrived here alone and in the eyes of outsiders he must have look deranged enough to come to a gathering of elites unaccompanied by neither family or friends. A social taboo in the higher circle.

"Um." He flushes, momentarily taken back.

It's not every day that he would ever make such a silly mistake. He knows better. "Well, I-"

"Sir," the steward cuts in with a frown, "do you really want to be presented alone? Even with someone of your standing, it's still strictly inappropriate for an omega go unchaperoned-"

"He's with me," he suddenly hears someone snarl behind him, "so stop accosting my husband. Know your fucking place, you unwashed cur." The pungent odor of a pissed off alpha permeates the air, sinking into every corners and crevices; it sours the scent of everything in the room.

Horrified, the steward stumbles and drops to his knees. "M-my lord," he begs, "I apologize for stepping out of line. Have mercy on me!"

Katsuki steps into the space next to Izuku, but doesn't even acknowledge his presence. His eyes are focus on the groveling man before them.

"Remember to show respect to my husband next time you see his face or I'll take you out into the yard and shoot you in the head with my pistol," he threatens, eyes narrowing in disdain. The pheromone he exudes is suffocating, even Izuku has hard time breathing under the weight of it.

That poor beta is probably experiencing the worst of it now. "Kacchan," he says, lips pressed into a thin line. Not husband, my lord, or anything respectful but Kacchan. And it's all he has to say, but it's enough to clear the heavy, choking scent and pressure around them.

Izuku clears his throat as the man gingerly gets up from the floor with shaky legs. "It’s understandable. Don’t worry, we appreciate your efforts," he says, after Katsuki refused to say anything to help him out. He rolls his eyes, because clearly he's the only one who has any manners between them.

And that's all the permission the steward needs to make a quick exit, leaving them to stand in the foyer all alone with no other servants nearby to play buffer or interrupt them.

It's uncomfortable.

Katsuki doesn't say anything and Izuku doesn't have much else to say either. They both could easily play this spat out longer if necessary. After all, they're both stupidly bullheaded enough to dig down on their respective side and refuse to budge for the other just to make their point. It's petty and juvenile and Izuku is oh, so tired of it now.

He extends a hand toward Katsuki. This time it's him who take the first step, because he's not cruelled enough to hold it over him forever. A long-lasting relationship can't be built on the fractured foundation of anger and hurt, especially if there's never any attempt to fix it.

"Truce?" Izuku asks, lips twitching. He's not angry anymore. It's hard to be when Katsuki is like this. Like an overgrown wolf at Izuku's heels, who is pretending to be unbothered but his wagging tails reveal his true feelings. "Or should we continue our fight into the party like squabbling children?"

"So you finally admit to being angry at me." He sneers.

Izuku shrugs. "I never said I wasn't."

"You—" Katsuki starts before deflating in an exasperated sigh. That seems to happen around Izuku a lot.

"Well?" He prods, wiggling his fingers pointedly as Katsuki glares at him.

For a second, he thinks Katsuki's pride won't let him take the peace offering but then he reaches over and grips his hand into his own. Katsuki squeezes it meaningfully but delicately. "You're so infuriating," he says, and if Izuku let himself believe it, it sounds almost fond.

He stifles a laugh, the long sleeve of his free hand covering the burgeoning smile on his face. "Only for you, my lord."

It would be easy to continue to nurture that anger within him, but Katsuki in his clumsy and blundering attempt of an apology snuffs out any residual anger. Sometimes when he wonders why he stay, it's moment like this that he's reminded that Katsuki for all his prickliness and general contempt, he's a good man with a good heart even if he's not very good at expressing it; he's trying, often unsuccessfully but he's definitely trying.

This time the silence that falls upon them is comfortable and easy like an old friend. It's the familiar and pleasant feeling of being around someone who know you so well that you don't need to speak to extend the time. It's what he longs for in the murky water of their marriage. The comfort and stability of a relationship built on trust and love, and effective communication should not be a difficult goalpost to achieve, at least that's what he used to think, but facing the hurdles of marriage now he understands it take time and effort to get that far.

It's okay though, they have time, many years ahead of them, if Katsuki allow it.

Izuku casts a glance at him, who has been resolutely avoiding his gaze the entire time, but Katsuki's hand is warm in his and the feeling of dampness—he stops and looks down at their joint hand.

He raises their clasped hand up for Katsuki to see. "Am I making you nervous, Kacchan? Your hand is sweating," he teases, giggling into his sleeve as Katsuki yanks his hand out of Izuku's grip.

"No!" Katsuki balks so violently that he even takes a step back, hackles rising.

His expression cloudy and dark as he glares at Izuku which only cause Izuku's smile widens even more. It feels good to have the upper hand for once. It makes him bold, daring and a little dangerous as Izuku steps forward, encroaching into Katsuki's space. "Do I scare you, hm?"

Katsuki's eyes narrow, his hands curling into a ball at his side as he makes his stand. "Do you want to die?" he grits out instead.

Izuku leans toward him till the space between them is a breath and a half, and Katsuki bristles with unresolved tension like a caged animal.

"You didn't answer my question," he says, knowingly poking the beast before him. He's mad. Gone absolutely crazy as he walks right into the gaping jaw of the beast, ready to be devoured by it.

"You dare," Katsuki bites out, his hand snapping around Izuku's waist to hold him still.

"My lords, we're ready—" The girl suddenly lets out a shocked squeak at the sight of Katsuki's arms around him and their face just about to collide. Katsuki quickly detangles himself from Izuku and shoves Izuku behind him to hide from the sudden intruder. "What," he snaps at the poor, horrified girl.

"I-I'm so, so sorry! I didn't see anything. My eyes are really bad," she scrambles to say, eyes glued to the floor. "P-please excuse me, I'll just give you two a moment." And she runs out before either of them can say anything otherwise, leaving Katsuki and Izuku equally stunned.

Haunted, Izuku stares at her retreating back before he numbly drops to the floor in humiliation, knees bent and face planted on his arms as he lets out an anguish cry. With his face in flame and the vivid memory of what he did, he feels like a criminal caught in the act.

He was practically all over Katsuki like a courtesan! No, even worst then that. A courtesan would have more decency than to harassed Katsuki like that and in public no less! So shameless, he could die right here in the face of his impropriety, unbefitting of his station. Where did all his respectability go? Just bury him six feet under already. Oh god, Mitsuki-san is going to disown him. She'll make Katsuki divorce him and forbid him from ever stepping a foot near Katsuki when she hears about how he'd dragged the Bakugou name through the mud.

All that training in etiquette and decorum that was ingrained in him went out the window because he got way over his head. Katsuki had seem frazzled, defenseless in front of him and Izuku thought he could poke at it to make Katsuki crumble. It was his turn. He had the power. Katsuki has always been so meticulous and untouchable with all that he'd accomplished and done so far that he seems to be out of Izuku's reach, but just this once Izuku felt like he had the upper hand and Katsuki was just a mere mortal before him, wholly flawed and human. Izuku thought he could conquer him.

“Are you done sulking?"

Izuku feels someone lightly kicking him in the side, but he still refuses to budge.

"Get up," Katsuki orders. "You're not a child."

"No," Izuku bemoans into his arm. "How can I ever face anyone again after this?"

"You're being overly dramatic." He grunts.

Izuku gingerly raises his head. "You don't understand!" he says, voice choked with despair. "This will be all over the news the next day. Everyone will know about it and think the worst of me. Mitsuki-san will be so disappointed that she'll never want to see me again!"

“That's unlikely." Katsuki hums thoughtfully, sounding much calmer then he has any right to be when Izuku's life is in shambles. It makes Izuku feel worst off and alone. "The old hag stupidly adores you. If she could trade me for you, she would do in a fucking a heartbeat."

Izuku's lips wobble precariously. "Even if Mitsuki-san forgive me, everybody else won't!"

"Stop worrying about it," Katsuki says, rolling his eyes. "What's done is done. Even though you were a dumbass, we didn't do anything wrong so who the fuck care with others think?"

Katsuki may not care but Izuku cares. He cares too much. The perfect image that he worked so hard to cultivate is now in ruin. Everyone will know how he tried to seduce his husband out in the foyer of the Fuji's manor because he couldn't keep it in his pants like a wanton whore.

He looks up at Katsuki with wounded eyes. "Kacchan." It's a plead and a cry all wrapped up in a single name like they're kids again and Katsuki would fight all of Izuku's enemies for him. Katsuki heaves a sigh like Izuku's existence pains him as he bends down and pulls him up.

"How are you so brazen one moment and so skittish the next?" He muses. "You're a goddamn menace. What am I even supposed to do with you?"

Izuku sulks. "You’re bullying me!"

Katsuki pinches his side meaningfully and glares. "You're the one who tried to bully me first, asshole!"

He pouts. "I was just teasing you," he protests at the defamation of his character.

"You're annoying is what you are," Katsuki scolds, but the way he suddenly reaches over to carefully dust off any dirt from the skirt of Izuku's kimono blunts the edge off of his words.

Katsuki's words are harsh and abrasive, but his actions often revealed the gentleness that undercut it. It's endearing, hopelessly so. A broad smile spread across Izuku's face and this time he doesn't try to hide it. Katsuki looks stun for a second before hurriedly looking away.

Unlike previously, Izuku doesn't make an effort to provoke him this time. He's content to quietly sit in this bubble of happiness with Katsuki as they wait for someone to come for them.

It isn't along before the same maidservant is back much to Izuku's lingering embarrassment. She doesn't look at either of them in the eyes as she says, "If you're ready, my lords. Please follow me in." 

They look at each other, nod, and proceed to follow the girl beyond the heavy doubled doors. The girl leads them through a long, monotone hallway that never seems to end.

Eventually, she stops right in front of a wall of red curtains. "The master of ceremonies will announce your arrival in a moment," she tells them. "I'll be taking my leave then, my lords."

Just as she about to depart, Katsuki suddenly stops her. "Wait," he says, walking up to her. In a voice barely audible enough for Izuku to hear, he says, "If I hear anything about what you just saw this evening in the gossip column next week, I'll know where to find you." It's void of the profanities that often colored his words, but the threat is there and it's real.

The girl flinches and nods her head frantically. The second Katsuki releases her, she makes a dash for the exit like she couldn't get away from them fast enough. Which given that both Izuku and Katsuki had scared her twice already in the span of fifteen minutes is understandable.

"Kacchan," he calls out.

"What,” Katsuki snaps defensively, like he's gearing for another fight. "I'm just making sure that she knows the consequence of a loose tongue."

Honestly, Izuku shouldn't let him get away with it. It's rude and probably traumatizing for the girl. They done enough damaged to her already, but just this once though. "Thanks," he says, eyes crinkling and smiling softly.

Katsuki appears stunned by it and he seizes that chance to slide next to Katsuki. He bumps their shoulder together then hooks a pinky around Katsuki's own. He gives it a light tug, feeling his ears heating up and the roar of his heart nearly palpating right out of his chest. They often used to do this as kids, pinky hooked together whenever one of them needed comfort, before Katsuki had outgrew it, outgrew them.

Just as he about to let go, Katsuki drags his pinky back and forced them remained bound. He tucks the joint pinkies behind their back, hidden away from public view like it's a secret just for them.

"This is fine?" he asks lowly.

"Y-yes," Izuku answers, quietly and feverishly.

Izuku had done more daring things then this tiny act of familiarity, but this feels monumental and profound in a way that disturbed the calm waters of his heart. It invokes the memories of their childhood, revealing that even Katsuki hasn't completely forgotten those feelings either.

It's a comforting to know that those rose-colored summers that they'd spent together as kids still lingers within both of them. The good times may not have lasted long, but the memories of those day still remains.  

He's content just to hold on to Katsuki's pinky just a bit more.

"Announcing the arrival of Lord Bakugou Katsuki and Bakugou Izuku, the Earl and Countess of Aldera," they hear the master of ceremonies introduce them to the crowd on the other side of the curtains.

Izuku lets go of Katsuki's pinky, and this time he's met with no resistance. He shut his eyes and breathes in and out, and when he opens his eyes again the person called Midoriya Izuku retreats to give away to the Countess of Aldera. It's time.

The thick curtain parts for them, and they walk through it side by side, presenting a united front.

What greet them on the other side is a wide descending staircase and an enormous ballroom that extends deep into the sanctum of the manor. A flurry of chatter rises from the crowd at their appearance, but neither Izuku or Katsuki choose to acknowledge their blatant stare.

They arrive at the bottom of the staircase and the curious gaze on them gets heavier and heavier, but no one dare to approach them. Izuku is met with the familiar faces of Tokyo's elite even though he doesn't know them but he knows their family and the influence of their name. Their judging stare and the curious murmurs of that broke among them, Izuku feels the weight of it all and endures it. It does not buckle his knees. It does not strain his shoulders. He won't be move. He does not reveal a single disturbance in the calm of water of his heart.

It's another story though when Katsuki leans near his ear and Izuku jolts slightly at the sudden close proximity. "I'm going to the salon to see if I can find Fuji and any other information there, so I'll meet you back here later," Katsuki says, and before Izuku can process the thought, off he goes into the crowd.

Abruptly, not even five steps into his departure, he stops. Looks back at Izuku with his brows pinched. "Stay out of trouble," he warns, leaving Izuku's jaw slightly slacked with disbelief.

Which is completely unfair because when has Izuku ever cause any trouble in his life?"

He can't even complain about it before Katsuki pushes his way pass the noise and disappears into the sea of party-goers, leaving Izuku to fend for himself at a hunting ground disguised as a social gathering. As though sensing his weakness at last, the vultures descend upon him.

A woman in a blue turquoise gown breaks away from the crowd to approach him. "Oh my, it is so lovely to see you tonight, Countess Bakugou," she gushes. "We weren't expecting you, but we're happy that you're here nonetheless."

Izuku lowers his head in greeting. "Lady Onaga."

"I'm curious, was that your husband with you?" Onaga asks, and at Izuku's nod her eyes light up. "Oh, I haven't seen that boy in years," she smiles sharply, "since your beautiful wedding, I reckon."

Izuku returns her smile with his own that is just as cutting. And so it begins.

It’s a sore subject. Everyone in the kazoku knows the story of how the Earl of Aldera enlisted in the military just a few days after his wedding and his new spouse was sent back home afterward like a discarded good. It was the scandal of the year. Izuku's greatest humiliation.

"It certainty has been a while," Izuku agrees amiably. "Five years in fact."

"That long?" Onaga muses and then she blinks as though taken back. "Ah, forgive me. I just realized that must have been such a difficult time for you, my dear." She looks at him with pity in her eyes.

Izuku's smile never waver. "Not as difficult as my lord having to fight on multiple battlefronts for the glory of our empire," he says, like he'd rehearsed these lines for so long, "so I can only do my part and fulfill my spousal duty at home while I wait for him to come back."

Onaga is not the first to take a jab at him like this and she certainly would not be the last, but Izuku knows the beat of this dance. He had five years to get used to it. Five years to learned how to arm himself with clever quips and a smile that was sharpened into steel.

Unperturbed and well versed in this intricate dance, Onaga's expression betrays nothing. "My mistake," she apologizes, looking contrite. "I'm relief though to know you and your husband's heart remains close to each other despite the distance and years that separate you two. Now all the rumors of Lord Bakugou spending all his free time in teahouses can be put to rest at last." Of course she couldn't stab at him without trying to dig another knife into him. "That must have been annoying to put up with. Such gossiping pests these people are." She huffs.

But Izuku's defense is not lacking either. "Thank you," he says, letting his eyes soften at the mention of Katsuki, "but our relationship is still young, so it's understandable that people speculate on it. We can only hope to measure up to you and Lord Onaga's deep bond one day."

Onaga barely manages to hold back a flinch at the mention of her wayward husband, who despite their marriage of over thirty years, is widely known for his various infidelities, but no one is brave enough to bring it up in front of her because of how she easily suppressed them. Izuku dares to though. He dares only because she took a stab at his relationship with Katsuki first. What they are and stands for is nobody's business but theirs. He doesn't need anyone's false sympathy and concern as though they actually care, as though their opinion matters.

But Onaga is a seasoned warrior on this battlefield of clashing words. Izuku's attempt at striking back at her appears to only scraped her by the way her eyes narrowed but her charitable tone never changes. "You're too kind, my dear," she says. "I'm sure you'll get there one day, but I was surprise to see your lovely face at this party though. Unexpected but not unwanted. Your presence is a delight here especially the way you chose to present yourself tonight." She looks him up and down in a slow scrutinizing motion. "How adorable. It's very, hm, quaint."

Izuku's body stiffens and his smile is frozen and rigid on his face as his eyes quickly scans across the room to see everyone else dressed in their beautiful and fashionable in western attires, while he stands alone and separated in a conventional, old kimono. It's jarring. Onaga's words play over and over in his head. Adorable and quaint she had described him, but what she had meant was traditional and out of style. Basic, boring and dull. Inflexible. Among the kazoku elite of Tokyo, Izuku is but a countryside boor with a lack of taste and grace.

Izuku suppresses the tremor rattling in his heart. Onaga truly knows how to find the chinks in his armor and dig deep into his open wound. He always been proud of who he is and where he came from, but sometimes shame creep up on him when he is reminded of his own inadequacies.

In the past decades, foreign influences swept across the land and took root among the people; the coastal towns and big cities were quick to adapt the trendy western clothes and lifestyle but in the countryside, where Izuku has lived all his life, change comes slow and reluctantly. They're less likely to accept the changes that comes from outside influences, so while Izuku is eager to learn of the strange and new western customs that made its way into his small town, their traditional way of life and values is ingrained in him. It's a key part of who he is. Having been sheltered in his hometown for so long, Izuku isn't as worldly or modern as many of the young nobles of the upper-class in the cities.

Particularly, the omegas here are forward and loud, strong in opinions. Their colorful personality makes him feel drab in comparison. He knows he doesn't quite measure up in his stale state especially when Katsuki was able to see much of the world during his enlistment, while Izuku'd never once left home until his marriage. Even Tokyo was strange and alien to him, when he'd first step foot on its cobble streets. The stuffy suit and low necklines that adorned every body, and then there are the soirees and tea parties that both served as a battleground of wits and a hub of gossip and entertainment, he had to quickly learn how to navigate these minefields in order to stand on his own.

Sometimes, it makes Izuku wonder if he was another omega from the same background as Katsuki, who was able to grow up in this city alongside him, would Katsuki have enlisted into the military right after their wedding? Would Izuku have been enough then for him to stay? It's these question that haunts him late at night when he sees the empty space next to him. Always speculating if he was slightly better, more cultured and sophisticated and bold like these omegas here would it have change anything for him? Would have it made any differences?

He doesn't know and, in that way, it terrifies him even more because now he is always left guessing the answers and doubting his own worth. This is what Onaga picked up on. It's how she know where to cut him deep and pry apart his wound. Make him hurt in a way no others can.

It's all his insecurities lay bared before her, and she is merciless. 

"This furisode is a family heirloom. It was handed down to my mother and now given to me," Izuku says, even the words sound wooden in his ears as he explained it.

"Is that so?" Onaga hums. "Charming. It must be so old. Not a bad thing usually, but doesn't quite fit the theme of the party, don't you think?"

"I—" He looks down at the elaborate detailing of his furisode that once made him so proud to inherit, to honor his mother, but now it feels cumbersome and heavy to wear.

He doesn't feel embarrassed by his choice of clothing. He shouldn't have to, but Onaga manages to make doubt himself. His tongue is stuck in his throat like a stiff board that won't budge as he fumbles to find the words to defend himself, but Onaga doesn't give him any chances.

"Though, I must say it's quite lovely," a pause, "if outdated and we can't have that, now can we?" she muses. "You wouldn't want others to think you're vapid in your daily life."

Izuku freezes in place. It's his worst fear. To be boring, dull and pass over by others. By Katsuki.

A handful of the kimono's fabric bunches into a fist at his side, wrinkling it in the process but it's the last thing on his mind. With lips pressed together, he looks upon Onaga's triumphant smile and desperately tries to find a rebuttal.

"As if Izuku-san could ever be boring," a new voice disrupts their stare down.

Izuku jerks his head toward the direction of the familiar cadence. "Jun-san!" The shock and joy in his voice leak through as though the tension has finally bled out of him. It's a comforting face of someone he knows.

"Fuji-sama," Onaga greets, her smile is now less thrilling.

A handsome young man in a burgundy suit dress walks up to them. He easily dwarfs them with his height and presence, but his face is bright and warmth. He comes off as friendly but that is first and last mistake you’ll ever make. "I hope you're not bullying my friend, Lady Onaga," says Fuji Jun, the Countess of Utaupa and host of this soiree.

His bluntness mashes the smile off of Onaga's face. "I wouldn't dare," she says stiffly. "I was only commenting on Bakugou-sama's choice of attire tonight and made some helpful suggestion on improving it."

"It is a suggestion or criticism?" Jun demands, raising a brow at her.  "Because there's a clear difference and from what I heard, your 'suggestions' are completely unwarranted and unnecessary anyway."

Onaga's left eye twitches. All image of pleasantries drops from her face. "What do you mean by that, Fuji-sama?" Annoyance obvious in her voice now.

Jun casts a furtive glance at Izuku, giving him a wink and the slightest uptick at corner of his mouth that settles the disturbance in Izuku's heart. I got your back, Jun manages to convey to him, and that simple gesture is enough to make him realize he's not alone anymore.

"You called him dull for not dressing like the rest of us but it's only because Izuku-san is not a sheep who blindly follow the herd." Jun roll his eyes. "Can't you see how he stands out right now because every one of us dress the same? I think that make him rather remarkable. I wish I had chosen to wear my furisode tonight so I don’t dress the same the rest."

Onaga bristles angrily. "We do not all dress the same! My gown is tailored made for me in Paris by a famous seamstress. There's no other like it in the world." She huffs in contempt, arms folded across her chest. "And there's nothing wrong with keeping up with the current trend!"

"Oh," Jun says, cocking his head thoughtfully. "So you just follow along with everyone else and have no individual thoughts of your own, I see how it is. And you would rather happily give your money to foreigners instead of supporting the people of your own country? That's nice."

Izuku lifts the sleeve of his kimono over the lower half of his face to hide the smile threatening to break through as Onaga's face goes redder by the moment. Jun's tongue is truly made of steel. It cuts deep to the bone without wasting a drop of blood. Onaga has finally met her match.

"Perhaps instead of putting others down for being different, you should praise Izuku-san for wearing what makes him comfortable and happy," Jun continues, unbothered by the growing enmity exuding from where Onaga is currently standing. "We could all learn a little from him."

And this time it's Izuku's turn to go red in the face. He desperately wants to protest these false claims but every time he attempts to open his mouth, Jun would sneak a pinch at his sleeve as though to say, let him have this. Let him strike Onaga down for the both of them.

Izuku isn't the only one who has been a victim of Onaga's barbed tongue from what Jun told him about his blacken history with her.

"I disagree," Onaga shoots back, "but clearly my opinion is unwanted here."

"I'm glad you have enough sense in you to able to take the hint," Jun retorts.

Onaga glares at Jun, then turns her attention to Izuku. "Fine, if you're not going to listen to me at least take this lesson well: don't ever get comfortable with what you have now, because it won't ever last. The person who makes you happiest now can easily ruin you one day."

It's a warning as much as she is speaking from someone who experienced it herself. "If you two would excuse me then," she says, composing herself up again with all the grace and dignify as though she hasn't been badgered by Jun in the last few minutes.

It's a stunning recovery.

"What a bitch," Jun declares at Onaga's retreating back. "That's what happen when your husband refuses to fuck you for over twenty years."

"Jun-san!" Izuku says, scandalized but the mirth in his voice says it all. It's not nice, but he bites his tongue and doesn't deny it.

Onaga is a bitter, old woman who enjoys making other miserable as entertainment, but despite knowing that he doesn't hate her. Not when she's also a tragic figure, whose marriage had failed her so now she lashes out at the world. It just makes him wonder if he's looking at his own future one day? But Izuku is not Onaga and Katsuki isn't Onaga's husband either, because for all of Katsuki's faults, fidelity is never a part of it and Izuku, no matter how stubborn he is, knows he shouldn't attach himself to a sinking ship. They won't end up like that. He'll make sure of it.

"Well, if she hadn't made me cry on my debutante ball and humiliated me so badly that I couldn't leave my house for weeks, I wouldn't have held onto my revenge for this long," Jun says with a sneer. "And she called me a leech on the Fujin's house just because I married into wealth!"

Before he was Fuji Jun, the Countess of Utaupa, he was Mitou Jun of a small, nearly insignificant barony. His family holds a title but no land or wealth was attached to it, but as the second son and omega, Jun was destined to married off to Fuji Momoe, the heir to an earldom. Childhood friends. Omega and alpha. A promise between their parents that ended with an arrange marriage between them. It's a tale Izuku knows well as it mirrors his own, but at least Jun and Momoe's story has a happy ending: they defied the odds and fell in love with each other.

"I know what she did was horrible, but we don't have to sink to her level," Izuku says instead. A slight twinge of guilt doesn't leave him. Onaga has her reason for being who she is and though it doesn't justify her actions, but he can understand where she's coming from.

Jun sighs. "That's because you're a sweetheart," he says, bumping Izuku's shoulder playfully. "You're way too good for her. For your hubby even." He makes a face at the mention of Katsuki. "I can't believe he's here with you tonight. I thought I was having a nightmare at first! You know, I invited him so many times but he never answers them, and these events aren't usually your thing either." He sulks. "You didn't even give enough time to be mentally prepare for your arrival."

Izuku giggles into his sleeve. "Kacchan was the one who wanted to come."

Jun's eyes go wide. "Has Bakugou Katsuki lost his mind then? He's so notorious for avoiding these parties that the last time I saw him at one, he only lasted ten minutes before storming out and that was the Emperor's birthday!"

Izuku's lips twitch. "That sounds like him."

"Even wifey was skeptical when I told her that you two were coming tonight. She called me a liar and told me to stop making up stuff!" he says, miffed at the reminder.

"I'm sorry," Izuku says, trying to console him. "It was a surprise for me too if it makes you feel any better."

"No." Jun sniffs, and just as Izuku frantically tries to come up with another apology, his face breaks into a big grin. "I jest. I'm just happy to see you here tonight with or without your grumpy ass hubby." He sighs wistfully. "Bakugou would be so handsome if he only smile a little more."

"I think Kacchan is handsome enough," Izuku immediately defends.

"Of course you would," Jun snorts, "you're in love. It makes everyone blind to each other's flaw."

This time it's Izuku's turn to pout. "But Kacchan is very handsome!"

Jun gives him a deeply skeptical look. "It's cute how delusion you are." Izuku opens his mouth to protest, but Jun plows on ahead without letting him get another word in. "At least tell me your relationship has improve enough for you to be his biggest defender tonight."

"Well, we're still working on it," Izuku admits.

Jun is one of the fews who knows of his tense relationship with Katsuki and whose advice been a god-send as he also had to win over his own spouse after their marriage. He's the only one who can understand Izuku's difficulties.

"Is that so?" Jun muses, looking at him dubiously. "Don't think I don't know what you two did in my foyer." He waggles his brows suggestively.

Izuku wants to cover his face in shame. "It isn't like that," he mumbles. "It's a misunderstanding!"

"Uh huh," Jun says, full of doubts. "I'm glad you guys are getting along better now." Abruptly, he leans in close and drops his voice to a whisper: "So have your hubby ravage you yet?"

Izuku chokes and goes red. "N-no!"

Jun looks at him in utter surprise. "Does the guide book I gave you not work?!" He frowns, squinting in thought. "Or is it just Bakugou's dick that isn't working?"

"No!" he says again, but louder. "It's not like that!" If Katsuki heard that, there would be blood tonight.

Jun frowns. "Then what's the problem?"

"We're still working things out." Izuku sighs, thinking of all his failed attempts at getting close to Katsuki. "It takes time."

"How much time you two even still need?!" Jun demands, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. "It been five years, he should have you bedded and bred by now!"

Izuku flushes, wishing he can sink to the floor in total shame. "As you know, it's complicated," he explains. "Kacchan only got his discharged six months ago and I arrived in Tokyo two months after, so we may be married for five years, but in reality, we only been together for four months as a couple."

"That's all the more reason to get going." Jun shakes his head at him hopelessly. "At least tell me how far you two gotten."

"Well," his gaze drifts to the side, "we held hands earlier."

"Pathetic!" Jun snorts, making Izuku wince as though he was in school again and Jun is his teacher who finds his effort lacking. "I know you can do better than that! Wait, didn't you tell me last time that you managed to climb in Bakugou's bed?" He raises his brow.

"With clothes on!" Izuku quickly replies, like he has to defend his and Katsuki's chastity, and that they're both disappointingly still intact. "We just slept side by side."

"Izuku-chan, you can do this," Jun starts, patting Izuku's shoulder as though he needs the moral support. "As great as my wife is, you must understand that alphas are emotionally stunted and dumb, so it's up to us omegas to hammered into their thick skull what we want and need. How you think I was able to snare my lady if I didn't lock us in my bedroom one night and vehemently spelled it to her that if she didn't knot me right the fuck now, I'll find another alpha to do it?" he says, looking proud at his past accomplishment while Izuku wants to die.

Izuku shut his eyes and breathes painfully through his nose. This conversation is making him lightheaded with embarrassment, but Jun means well and he's not exactly wrong. "What do you suggest I should do then?" He bites his lower lip in thought. "How do I move Kacchan's heart?"

Jun stares at him, and Izuku is pinned in place by his gaze. "Remind him that you're beautiful, brilliant, and fertile, and that he's not the only alpha in the world," he says. "If that doesn't work, then Bakugou is either a monk or he lost his knot somewhere while at war. But you also have your guide book. Don't forget that. It'd helped me in courting my wife. Just follow their tips and you'll surely tame your own alpha!"

Izuku nods his head eagerly as though he's sitting at the feet of a master. "I'll read it in bed every night," he promises.

Delighted, he leans over and pinches Izuku's cheek even though Jun is only a few years older than himself. "It's cute how earnest you are, but you don't have to go that far."

Izuku endures the sting on his cheek, knowing that's how Jun view everyone who's younger than him. Since the day Izuku stumbled upon Jun at their book club, he'd quickly took Izuku under his wings like he's newborn chick who still has yet to learn of the world, and suddenly Izuku had a teacher to help him navigate the twist and turns of the court and the world of the kazoku.

Jun is everything Izuku could ever hope for. Bold, quick-witted, and fierce, Jun is married to his childhood sweetheart with a stable relationship and two kids by their side. If Izuku can achieve ten percent of what Jun has, maybe he would be able to grab happiness for himself.

"I want what you and Momoe-san have," Izuku replies, thinking of their missed opportunities and lost time. "A happy and fulfilling marriage."

"Well," Jun's smile goes strain, "no marriage is perfect even the seemingly happy one, so learn to manage your expectation."

Izuku's brows furrow in confusion. "What do you mean? Is there a problem between you two?"

Jun purses his lip then lets out a heavy, world-weary sigh. "My wife is great. Amazing. I couldn't ask for anyone better but lately she been acting strange. Distance and secretive even."

Izuku's mouth pops open in an ah moment. "Is this about Momoe-san secretly meeting up with Seno Yasuko?”

Jun appears relieve. "You remember!" he says, reaching for Izuku's hand and clutching it in desperation. "I knew I can trust you."

"I try," he replies, smiling abashedly.

"When I brought it up to the other members of the club about my concern, they had dismissed it as paranoid on my part," Jun complains, dropping their clasped hands. "She's a beta and came from nothing so she was no threat to me, but I know there's something going on between them!"

Izuku recalls that particular day when Jun vented his fears to the club members during their weekly book club meeting and while most of them had laughed it off as an overactive imagination, Izuku had quietly sat there and listened. He listened well.

It proves to be beneficial in the end.

"If you need an ear, I don't mind lending it to you," he offers, letting concern leak through his voice.

"Oh, I couldn't," Jun says, touching the side of his face. "I don't want to occupied your entire time here with my marital issue. It wouldn't sit right with me as the host."

Izuku makes a show of looking around and sees how everyone else is either on the dance floor or congregate in a social circle where there's doesn't seem to be any room for him. "Do you think anyone would dare approach me now, knowing that I'm an enemy of Lady Onaga?" he muses.

Jun grimaces. "I'm sorry."

Unlike Jun, Izuku's family belongs to the merchant class therefore he has no personal title to his name even though they got the wealth behind them but for the kazoku purity of lineage is more important than the gold that lined their wallet. It's the prestige. In the same way that Jun can go toe to toe with Onaga and still saved face because he was born into the kazoku, even if his family was poor, they are still of someone of influence and his wife would fight to defend his honor, while Izuku's turbulent marriage to Katsuki is common knowledge.

Marrying into the Bakugou had given him everything—a title, connections and even more wealth—but not a spouse he can rely on. Even now he stands alone in this ballroom, absence of a husband because Katsuki doesn't have time or the patience for the petty squabbles of the kazoku.

"It's not your fault," Izuku says, offering up a reassuring smile. His lack of standing among the kazoku is his problem and nobody's else. "But you know what can make this night a little better?" He cocks his head. "Distract me with your company and tell me about your troubles."

Jun's face lights up as though he hits gold. "Only because you're so insistent," he says. It's all an act in the end as if they both aren't aware of Jun's famous loose tongue.

Izuku's smile widens. "I do." He makes a gesture for Jun to proceed and Jun happily complies.

Jun talks and talks for the rest of the time. He demonstrates why he's a masterful storyteller with exaggerated hand movements and facial expressions that accompanies his story, and Izuku does what he does best he listens, taking notes of everything that is said for later.

A servant boy suddenly approaches them. "My lord?" he nervously interrupts them. "I'm sorry, but the young miss wants you to tell her a bedtime story or she won't go to sleep."

Izuku stifles a laugh behind his sleeve as Jun just shakes his head and sighs exasperatedly.

"Children," he says, lips pursed, "they make you regret that you didn't pump and dump."

Izuku gasps, face immediately going up in flame and even the poor servant boy looks like he wants to sink into the floor by Jun's explicitness. "Jun-san, please!" he cries out, embarrassed.

"It's cute how innocent you still are." Jun chuckles. "Just wait until you have children of your own."

Izuku stiffens. "I guess we'll see, then," he says, his voice betraying nothing, not the disturbance in his heart, and the knowledge that maybe it'll never happen for him.

Not sensing anything wrong with Izuku, Jun says, "I'm going to attend to my princess then but," he frowns, "I can't leave you all alone here."

Izuku waves him off. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me, just go see your daughter."

"Absolutely not!" He shakes his head furiously. "That would not only make me a bad host but a terrible friend too."

For which Izuku finds himself extremely grateful for because he has associates and people that he knows well thanks to Katsuki and the Bakugou's name, but friends whom he’d found for himself are rare. Precious.

"Well, I may have an idea," Jun continues, scratching his chin in thought. "This just might work." He turns toward the servant boy. "Get my brother for me."

"Yes, my lord," the servant quickly says as though he can't escape from here any faster, leaving Izuku in befuddlement.

"Your brother?" Izuku asks. He doesn't know why the subject suddenly changed to Jun's infamous younger brother.

Jun winks at him. "You'll see in a moment." And it doesn't take long before Izuku get his answer in the form of Mitou Shun.

"What is it, nii-san?" Shun grumbles.

Broad in shoulders, tall, and sharing similar facial features, Shun could be Jun's twin. Their only difference is that Shun's scent is uniquely alpha.

"This is my friend, Izuku-chan, and I want you to keep him company while I take care of Kimiko for a bit," Jun explains. Then he shifts his focus to Izuku. "Don't worry, my brother may look untrustworthy but he won't make a move on you."

Shun bristles. "I could, you know."

Jun roll his eyes. "You can't because he's married." He pauses. "To the younger Bakugou."

"What?!" Shun shouts in horror.

He hurriedly takes a step back from Izuku. "You're married to that asshole?!"

Jun gives Shun a look of utter disappointment. "My brother was such an unruly child that Bakugou used to beat him up in the school yard to teach him a lesson and ever since then he developed trauma of it," he tells Izuku.

"Don't expose my horrid past to your friend," Shun whines.

"Then don't do stupid things when you were kid.” Jun scoffs.

Their easy and comfortable siblings' banter makes Izuku's heart ache for Kouta back home. He wonders how his brother is doing and if his parents are well. Sometimes he can’t help missing home and wishes that he could go. 

"Kacchan isn't here right now, don't worry," Izuku assures Shun.

Shun looks at him dubiously. "I don't think he would like another alpha to stand close to not only his husband but also his omega."

Izuku smiles self-deprecatingly. "Trust me, he wouldn't care even if he was here."

Jun looks at him pitifully. "Oh, Izuku-chan." He raises a fist up. "I'll punch him the next time I see the bastard."

"Can you not embarrass me for a moment?" Shun complains with the air of a long-suffering younger sibling.

Jun snorts derisively. "You're the embarrassing one!"

"I'm doing you a favor here," Shun points out, looking defiant. "I can leave at any moment."

Jun does not look worry by the threat. "Then I'll just cut your allowance next month."

All that bravery quickly crumbles. "I'm so sorry, nii-san. I am but your faithful servant," Shun pleads.

Appearing please at having won the upper hand again, Jun turns to Izuku. "My stupid brother," Shun lets out cry of offense at that while Jun remains unbothered, "will stay with you and keep any creepy alphas away till I come back, so use him however you like," he says.

"It's really unnecessary, but thank you, Jun-san," Izuku says, knowing that Jun won't be deterred even if he keeps on refusing.

"All right, I'll be going then," Jun declares with a clap of his hands. “Stay out of trouble," he says. Weirdly this was directed at Izuku instead. “Oh, and thanks for coming with me this Thursday! I appreciate it.”

Jun is the second person who said this to him tonight. Izuku had never caused any trouble in his life, so he doesn't know why Katsuki and Jun of all people would ever think that of him. It's truly vexing!

“Oh, and thanks for coming with me this Thursday! I appreciate it, Izuku-chan,” he continues with a wink. And with that Jun makes his exit, leaving Izuku alone with his brother.

What remains is the awkwardness of two strangers who only sole connection is the person who had just left them. The two of them neither express any interest in feign pleasantries, so they happily stand together in silence for a while. It's something Izuku is keenly familiar with, but Shun has a better idea.

"Would you care to dance while we wait for my brother, Izuku-sama?" At Izuku's surprised look, Shun scratches his cheek sheepishly. "Wait, don't get me wrong! You seem like a way too nice of a person to be friends with my brother but I'm really not interest in you like that."

Izuku's eyes crinkles. "I'm fully aware that your heart is already taken by someone," he says. "A lady by the name of Tsuda Suzume, but it's too bad that she's married."

"H-how did you know?!" He leans in and drops his voice to a whisper. "Even my brother doesn't know it."

Izuku just smiles. "I have my ways." When you're a wallpaper nobody take notice of you sitting in the background as you listened and the learned of the seedy secrets and dramas that inhabit the world of the kazoku. It also helps that Tsuda's cousin is a part of his book club.

"Please, please don't tell nii-sama," Shun pleads to him, looking on the edge of desperation like Izuku has him hanging over the cliff by a thread. "He would absolutely kill me."

Izuku pats his shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry, I'm not one to spread other people's secrets."

"You’re so much kinder than my brother! So if you ever need anything in the future let me know, especially if you want a divorce. I know a good lawyer," Shun says, pulling back with relieve in his eyes. "You're just way too good for that asshole Bakugou."

Izuku tries hard not to laugh. "That won't be necessary, but thank you."

"If you say so," he says dubiously. He extends his hand toward Izuku. "Then shall we dance, Izuku-sama?"

Amused, Izuku takes his hand and just as they about to head off to the floor a familiar growl disrupts them. "What the fuck are you doing with my husband?!" Katsuki demands. His face is thunderous like the blacken clouds that ominously rolls in and covers the entire sky. It's a scary sight to witness.

Shun immediately drops their held hand as though it burns and swiftly hides behind him. This tall, lanky alpha, who easily dwarfs Izuku, feels genuine fear. "B-Bakugou, I s-swear I'm not doing a-anything." He holds both palms up in the air to show that he’s harmless.

"Kacchan, what are you doing here?" Izuku says, unable to keep the shock out of his voice. He's surprised but not afraid, unlike Shun who is quick to use him as shield.

Katsuki's temper is well known; it rises like a storm and overtakes everything in its path, leaving behind destruction in its wake, but Izuku has never fear it, never fear him because just like a storm it'll eventually pass. Izuku had learned to buckle down and ride it out. The day Izuku feel genuine fear toward Katsuki is the day he'll cut all ties between them and walk out. This is the promise that he made to himself when he chose to go back to Tokyo with Katsuki. Everybody has a bottom line and this is his; he hopes that Katsuki never reach it.

"I'm done with my personal matters so I went out to look for you and this is what I found instead," Katsuki tells Izuku, but directs the full force of his glare at Shun. "And who the fuck are you?"

"Huh?" Shun points to himself in disbelief. "Are you kidding me Bakugou? You know me!"

Katsuki frowns, unconvinced.

"We went to school together!" he says.

Katsuki's frown deepens.

"We were even in the same class!" he insists. "You even beat me up!"

Annoyed now, Katsuki spits out, "I used to fight with a lot of kids, so how the fuck would I know who you are?"

At this point Shun had dragged himself out from behind Izuku with each aggravating exchange and seems to find his courage again. Throwing his hand up in the air in frustration, he declares, "Whatever, I don't care anymore. You're the worst and that unfortunately hasn't change."

Unperturbed, like this is something he'd been told a hundred times before, Katsuki says blandly, "I still don't know who the hell you are but if you're still this annoying at this age, you most definitely deserve to be beaten up by me in the past."

Shun's jaw drops in outrage. "Y-you, you ass—" he sputters, then bites the rest of his sentence as Katsuki gives him as look that pretty much spell out what would happen to him if Shun to finish his insult. If he dare to anyway. "Fine, fine. I'm leaving then! I'm clearly not needed here anymore and I just can't stand you, Bakugou!" But before that, Shun bends down and whispers in Izuku’s ear. "Divorce him, please," he begs. "Even better if you ever want to commit murder, I'll help you."

"Thanks for the offer," Izuku says, humoring the poor man. He shouldn't find this funny, but laughter bubbles in his chest.

He quickly covers his mouth before it burst out and he loses his composure as Shun quickly makes his departure.

"What the fuck is wrong that guy?" Katsuki demands, confused still and that's enough to tip Izuku over the edge as laughter spills from his lips and wrecks his body.

Katsuki helplessly watches as Izuku loses himself to the laughter, drawing attention from the people around them, but for the first time in a while, Izuku doesn't care.

"S-Sorry," Izuku says, trying to collect himself back up again, but he just can't keep the grin off his face. “Do you really not know him?”

Katsuki scowls. "Why would I make up that kind of shitty lie for?"

"Right," Izuku says, lips twitching. "His name is Mitou Shun, the Countess of Utaupau's younger brother, which makes him the Earl's, your subject of interest, brother-in-law."

Katsuki frowns, brows furrowing. "That name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't put a face to it."

Izuku tucks a smile behind his sleeve. "I see," he says. "It's alright, Shun-sama won't take it personal at all."

Katsuki narrow his eyes at him. "You're making fun of me."

It's accusatory, but he doesn't sound mad about it.

"I'm just amazed how you're so brilliant and capable yet you don't bother to pay attention to anything outside of your purview. It's quite remarkable how selective you can be," Izuku says dryly, finding himself bitter for some reason.

"Wait," Katsuki shakes his head in disbelief, "are you angry at me right now because I don't know who that fucker is when it been years since I last saw him and whom I probably barely interact with in the past?!"

Well, when he put it like that, it seems like an overreaction on his heart. Blushing, Izuku drops his face into his hands. "I-I guess," he mumbles.

For a brief moment, it'd consumed him when the thought if Katsuki hadn't need to bring him back to Tokyo to appease Mitsuki would he too have forgotten about Izuku years later and wouldn't be able to recognize him either like Shun? He doesn't want to be just an accessory in Katsuki's life.

He gingerly drops his hands to his side. "I'm sorry," he says, lowering his head in apology. "I don't know what got into me." That may be a possibility of it in another world, but to judge Katsuki for something that never happen is unfair. Katsuki deserves better than that at least.

"It's," Katsuki clicks his tongue, "whatever. I don't care. You apologize too much."

Izuku smiles crookedly. "I'm aware."

"You—" Katsuki stops then shakes his head. "Mitou didn't do anything inappropriate to you, right?" he presses. "I thought he was harassing you earlier."

"No, no, he was just keeping me company for bit," he quickly assures him. "Jun-san was worry I'll be alone so he sent his Shun-sama to me."

Katsuki purses his lips. "Did no one else approach you this whole night?"

Izuku shakes his head. "No," he says, slightly embarrassed. He doesn't feel ashamed when he's reminded of his place, but in front of Katsuki it's like exposing the cracks in his wall.

"I thought you would have several people on your dance card by now," Katsuki says suddenly.

Izuku jerks up in surprise. "Why would you think that?"

Katsuki looks away, and for a second Izuku swears he thought he saw a hint of redness on his ears. "You're—" He gestures wildly at Izuku's person. "You clearly know what you look like," he snaps. "So why wouldn't they want to dance with you? They would be fucking blind not to."

"Oh," Izuku says, his head completely blanking out for a moment before it comes to a conclusion: "You think I look good?!"

"T-that's not what I said," Katsuki starts, then clears his throat awkwardly. "Well, maybe yes, but that's not the point!" He holds his hand out toward him. "You wanted to dance, right?"

Izuku actually didn't. It was Shun who suggested it and he was just following along, but looking at Katsuki's akward attempt to ask him for a dance, he's hopelessly endeared.

He places a hand in Katsuki's palm. "Gently, please," he says, giving himself and his heart over to Katsuki's care. He wonders if one day Katsuki look back at this moment will understand the underlying meaning of those words.

Katsuki leads him out to the dance floor, where all eyes zeroes in on them like a spotlight and this is their stage. Except Izuku has never been a star, even if he feels like he has been putting an act since the moment he stepped foot in Tokyo; the many faces of Midoriya Izuku that he wore for the world to see. Sometimes, when he let himself think about, he ponders which is the real him underneath.

With all the stares aim at them, a bout of shyness hits him that has him feeling exposed and raw, even though he'd long been used to these scrutinizing gazes, but this is the first time he has Katsuki with him. It's scary. It has him hyperaware of every moment because one wrong move and Katsuki will fall alongside him.

His hand is suddenly squeezed, and his attention is briefly drawn away by the sullen face of a man who looks like he would rather be anywhere but here. "Ignore them," Katsuki says, not even glancing back at him, but he's still holding his hand tightly. "They're just background noise."

"I know," Izuku says, even as anxiety twists his stomach.

He snorts. "Then stop paying attention to them."

Izuku presses his lips together, momentarily closes his eyes, and breathes out. He lets go of his worry and focuses on the present and warmth of Katsuki's hand. "Okay."

The demons inside his head quiets down and he can't feel the gaze of the people around him anymore. It doesn't matter anyway; they can't touch him. He's going to enjoy this dance with his spouse like every normal couple out there. Just this once he can pretend, they're just like them.

They pull to a stop to empty space, unoccupied by no other dancing partners, as though it was made for them. In reality, people had cleared away just so they can avoid Katsuki's fraying temper as he had sent a menacing glare at everyone who had dared to approach them earlier. Luckily, they had arrived just in time as the current dance comes to an end.

In a corner of the room and on a raised platform, the conductor signals the chamber orchestra to play the new song and what is chosen next causes a commotion throughout the entire hall.

It's a waltz song.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he catches sight of blurred of red next to the conductor. Izuku squints, examines it closer and sees it's Jun on the sideline, waving at him encouragingly and with a saucy wink. It doesn't take much of a genius to figure out that Jun orchestrated this entire fiasco.

Some of the older couples on the floor quickly departs as a rush of incoming younger pairs arrive on the floor in their stead. Though the waltz been established for several years now, it's still perceived as too scandalous by many but the younger crowd loves that kind incitement.

Izuku considers exiting too, but Katsuki's grip on him keeps him in place. "Do you know the steps?" he asks, startling Izuku with his question.

"Yes," he nods his head reluctantly, "but you really still want to dance?" 

Katsuki roll his eyes. "We're already here, so why not?"

Izuku opens his mouth to protest but quickly shuts it, knowing it's pointless to argue. Instead, he redirects the subject hoping it's enough to distract Katsuki: "You know how to waltz?" It didn't seem to be his thing anyway. He can't imagine Katsuki willingly take dance lessons.

"My mother—" Katsuki makes a face before correcting himself, "Your mother-in-law enjoys tormenting me, so growing up she would force me to learn ballroom dancing, because she didn't raise an ill-mannered boor who doesn't even know how to dance as she would love to tell me."

"I didn't know about this," Izuku murmurs. "You never told me any of it when you'd visited me during the summers." He'd thought he knew the real Katsuki during the two months they were allowed to spend together, where they had shared secrets and made promises to each other.

Katsuki coughs into his hand. "It wasn't important enough to warrant a conversation," he says, as though trying to comfort Izuku. "It's all in the past anyway." Then he gives Izuku a look. "And how do you know the waltz?"

"Bridal training," Izuku answers distractedly.

To prepare him to become the future Countess of Aldera, Izuku since young had all kind of lessons drilled into him just so he could support and stand beside Katsuki with his head held high in society one day. These lessons had included managing finance, basic etiquette, and of course dancing to name a few. Izuku is equipped to deal with all sort of things, but it’s not something that Katsuki would need from him. His skillset is practical but useless for Katsuki since they’re limited to household and society’s affairs.

Katsuki frowns, staring at Izuku like he got a second head on his shoulder.

"What?" Izuku demands, playing with his sleeve nervously under the scrutiny.

He sighs, holding both arms out in the proper closed hold in the starting position of the waltz. "Let's just dance."

Promptly, Izuku drops into place, his right hand entangling in Katsuki's own and his left falls on Katsuki's upper arm as Katsuki swoops his left hand toward his shoulder blade. So it begins, with the flow of the music surging them forward, they move as one across the floor. It’s the first time that Izuku feels that they’re this connected and united.

Izuku carefully counts the steps in his head as he watches their feet movement, trying not to misstep and embarrassed himself. He knows it by heart and had danced it previously, but something about facing Katsuki this close that makes him strangely nervous. With their hands on each other and they're face to face now, Izuku could feel the warmth of Katsuki's palm against his own, his left hand splayed across his back like something possessive and his hot breath breathing down on Izuku's cheek.

It's way too close. It's incendiary.

"Stop looking at your feet," Katsuki hisses after Izuku nearly side stepped them into another couple. "You said you know the dance."

"I do," he insists, unable to hide the sulk in his voice. It's not even his fault and just as he thinks this, he steps right onto Katsuki's boot.

In the midst of inevitable emotional break down, Izuku pleads to Katsuki's boots, "I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that."

"Deku," Katsuki grits out above him, "look at me instead of your fucking two left feet."

Heart racing, he slowly lifts his gaze and meets Katsuki's fierce glare.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Katsuki demands.

"N-nothing." Katsuki's glare deepens so Izuku hurriedly corrects himself, "You just make me nervous!"

"How?" he seethes. "You practically see me every day."

"But we never dance like this! Not even at our wedding," Izuku defends. "It's far too intimate!"

Katsuki stares at him in disbelief. "You forced your way into my bed like every night, and now you have the audacity to act all shy over this?"

Blushing, Izuku protests, "That's completely different! We slept on different side and didn't even touch.” Even when he was at his boldest, pushing his way into Katsuki's bed like they hadn't spent five years apart, he hadn't dare to be this close to Katsuki.

"Have you always been this brand of crazy and I just never noticed until now?" Katsuki gives him the most unimpressed stare down.

"But we're in public right now! What if people think we're being inappropriate?" The idea itself is enough to terrified Izuku.

"We're married," Katsuki says dryly. "So why can't I touch you?" As if to make his point, his left-hand slides down to Izuku's waist and holds it there.

Frantically, Izuku drops his hand from Katsuki's upper arm and reaches for the straying hand to put it back to where it belongs. "What are you doing?!" he demands. His heart was just about to collapse. When did Katsuki become the one to instigate this kind of things between them?

“You overthink things too much," Katsuki says, sneering. "Look where we are, when you're not stuck in your own head the entire time."

Finally, he notices that they're already circled the floor without any further incidence because he was too busy arguing with Katsuki. "Ah."

He was so caught up in his fight with Katsuki that he didn't have time to pay attention to his footwork or to the count the steps in his head, but somehow, they didn't collide with anyone else. And it was enough to pull his attention away from sinking into the pit of his own anxiety.

What's even more shocking is the realization that Katsuki was the one who dragged him out of it. "Did you provoke me on purpose to distract me?" he asks, unable to keep the growing smile off of his face.

"You were being an idiot," Katsuki scoffs, which didn't answer Izuku's question completely.

Yet Izuku already know the answer just by the tone of Katsuki's voice. It didn't have the expected sharp bite to it whenever he insults someone; he'd sounded suspiciously softer than usual.

Izuku's grin grows wider till he can feel it stretching painfully across his face. "Thank you," he says.

The heaviness in his heart lightens with each step they take across the floor. He no longer feels weighed down by his earlier fears and worries, and his smile could not be stopped even as he wants to hide the palpable happiness leaking through.

Katsuki is seemingly taken back momentarily by his overflowing bubbliness. The hand on Izuku's shoulder blade balls into a fist, bunching the fabric of Izuku's kimono in his palm and the line of his arms tense. His lips purse. "Do you carelessly smile like that for anybody?"

Izuku blinks. "No?"

Katsuki frowns. "Is that a supposed to be a question?"

"I—" Confused, he racks his brain for an answer. "But I smile all the time."

Katsuki shakes his head. "No, not like that you do." He looks a way for a bit as though he needed a moment to gather himself first. "You were full on smiling at that bean pole earlier."

It doesn't take much for him to connect the person in question. "But I was laughing at Shun-sama!" Then, quietly, he adds, "He was pretty funny."

"You," Katsuki starts, annoyance clear in his voice, "don't get friendly with weird alpha."

"He's Jun-san's brother though," he defends snappishly, he doesn’t know what brought this on in Katsuki. "I'm not going to avoid him just because you don't like him for whatever petty reason!"

So shocked by his words that Katsuki nearly lead them into another couple in what could have been an ugly collision. Izuku hasty apologizes to the pair as Katsuki gathers his bearing once more.

After tonight, nobody would ever think that they are any good at dancing, not after their numerous stumbles and near missed that they had. Izuku could feel the sheer horror setting in if this make it in the next society's paper that the Earl and Countess of Aldera are bad dancers. It would be terrible.

"Get that shitty look off of your face," Katsuki says, moving them back into position as though they didn't embarrass themselves in front of the whole dance floor and crowd. "We're fine."

They’re really not. "Kacchan, you should watch where you're going next time!" he scolds, annoyed now. "That could have ended much worst."

Aggrieved, Katsuki snaps, "It was your fault to begin with, throwing around accusations that aren't true." He slows them down and makes a show of scanning the hall as though looking for someone. "Actually, it's the older Mitou's fault."

"He's a Fuji now," Izuku corrects. "And what's wrong with Jun-san?" It's like Katsuki got a bone to pick with both brothers. For someone who said he doesn't pay attention to unnecessary people, Katsuki seems to be holding quite a grudge against people he can't be bother with.

"He's putting dumb things in your head," Katsuki says, looking peeved. "I got cornered by him earlier as I was leaving the salon and he told me some bullshit about you believing that I abandoned you tonight to the wolves."

"Ah," Izuku says, flatly. "That's interesting."

"The man is so condescending, talking down on people like they're children and that he knows better than them," Katsuki continues, fully committed into his rant now. "He should learn to mind his own fucking business."

Izuku smiles coldly. "I think you should choose your next words wisely, my lord. I'm fully aware of Jun-san's flaws but he only interfere because he cares and sometimes that doesn't always end up well. It doesn't make him a bad person though, just someone capable of messing up like everyone else," he says. If Izuku ever felt it was truly necessary, he would have put his foot down and establish proper boundaries with Jun. "So you can dislike him, but he's my friend and I hope you can remember that next time."

Katsuki stares at him as silence awkwardly descends upon them. It's not the first time that they fiercely butt head but to fight in public and while holding onto each other is very much new for either of them.

After a minute of Katsuki not talking, he wonders if he went too far and should he apologize for his brusque tone? He meant every word he said but his poor delivery left a sour taste in his mouth. Neither of them likes to back down, but Izuku doesn't like leave them stewing a state of awkwardness.

"Okay," Katsuki says, finally breaking their stilted silence, "I can respect that."

Which leaves Izuku in near shocked, because while it's not a full-blown apology but Katsuki actually made an effort toward reconciliation and doesn't even make a big fuss about it either this time.

"That's it?" he presses. There got to be more to this right?

Katsuki clicks in his tongue in annoyance. "What the fuck else do you want from me? I'm not going to be friends with him but I'll hold back the urge of attempt murder next time we interact," he says, rolling his eyes.

Honestly, Izuku doesn't even know what he's expecting but definitely not this. It's admittedly not a bad outcome, just surprising that Katsuki would try to compromise here. What if it's force though? He hesitates, then, "You don't have to push yourself to please me," he says.

"I’m not. I just I don’t know if I can ever get along with him," Katsuki grunts, like the words alone leave a bad taste in his mouth, "but I can put with it since it's important to you so it's important to me too."

In that moment, Izuku can almost see the potential of their future together. It's rough and barely tangible, but it's there, starting to slowly take shape for the first time since he'd arrived in Tokyo. There's hope yet in keeping their marriage alive.  

Katsuki deserves a reward for it. His guidebook said that it would encourages further good behavior in the future. He was planning to talk to Katsuki about his findings later when they're at home, but this feels like a good time as any considering their subject in question.

"I think you should put up with it just little more since Jun-san is married to your target," Izuku point out in case Katsuki had forgotten.

"There's no point." He scowls, irritated. "The entire time we were in the salon, Fuji Momoe was brisk and uninterested in what I had to say. I couldn't even get a single read off of her. She was completely closed off even around other people. This entire trip is a fucking waste of my time. I hate intelligence gathering mission."

Izuku raises a brow. "You know earlier, Jun-san was telling me how he believes Momoe-san is cheating on him because she has been spending more time with her new assistant from work. They even have secret meetings and exchanged several love letters. Jun-san claimed to have never seen Momoe-san like this before. It's really strange, because I met Momoe-san before and I noticed that no matter the time or how inconvenience she is, she always make an effort to pick and drop Jun-san off at our book club,” he says pensively. “She may appear cold and standoffish to others, but she adores Jun-san and spoils him ridiculously."

Jun and Momoe's love is the kind he sees in Katsuki's and his own parents. It's steadfast devotion that bind them. He doesn’t doubt his eyes.

Impatiently, Katsuki lowers the hand on Izuku's back and pinches his waist. "Get to your point already," he snaps. "I'm not interest in other people marital dispute and idle gossip."

Just for that he steps on Katsuki's boot with his zori. "I'm sorry," he says, offering up a sheepish smile that Katsuki 100% does not buy into. "How clumsy of me."

"You little shit," he hisses, and before he could prolong their childish antics further the music comes to an abrupt end.

Izuku uses this chance to break from Katsuki's hold. He bows his head. "Thank you for the dance, my lord," he says, and hastily makes his departure before Katsuki can even get a word in otherwise.

He heads off to a private suite that Jun had mentioned is reversed for guests in need of some ‘quiet time’ and doesn't even bother to look back to see if Katsuki is following right behind him. He definitely is, Izuku has no doubt about it.

As soon as he arrives at the destination, he opens the door to the suite, revealing a small room with a loveseat and a coffee table, and simple but clean decorations lining the entire room. He takes a seat and then he waits. It isn't long before Katsuki bursts in, heaving and looking quite murderous as Izuku pats down the skirt of his kimono, unfazed by the violent intrusion.

"You fucker," he starts, stomping his way in like a bull waving his horns menacingly as the door slams close behind him. "Do you think I would go easy on you just because we're married?!" Standing in front of Izuku, Katsuki easily looms over him.

Unfazed, Izuku cocks his head. "Don't you want to hear the rest of story?"

Katsuki flatten his lips, unimpressed but he looks like he’s considering it. "Fine, convince me then."

"Well,” Izuku begins, barely able to contain his excitement now, “when did the weapons first started to go missing in the army?”

Katsuki's brows furrow. Confused, but still he answers anyway: "About two month ago."

"Hm," Izuku contemplates, "interestingly, Seno-san also appeared in front of the Fuji around the same period.” He folds his hands on his lap. "Now, this is just a theory, but I don't believe a person's feeling that had took years to developed can changed so easily. Momoe-san wouldn't just fall out of love with Jun-san so quickly just because of some random woman he’d met two months ago."

Katsuki looks skeptical. "People can change." He pauses. "People have changed. Just as marriage break down. Couples fall out of love. There's no such thing as guarantee even for childhood sweethearts."

It sounds self-defeating. An inevitability that all things come to an end.

And it cuts right into the heart of his and Katsuki's relationship, but even with all the visible cracks in their marriage Izuku remains hopeful. All cracks can be mend with time and effort. As long as he believes it's worth it, Izuku won't just give up half-way. He's committed.

Like how he also believes Momoe and Jun are fully committed to each other too.

Izuku shakes his head. "But you don't know Momoe-san. She's a creature of old habit. Jun-san once told me that she still used her favorite mug from childhood and that he's her first and last love once she made her mind up on him. Momoe-san likes her routine and rarely ever deviate from it, but since the introduction of Seno-san she been acting strangely not just around Jun-san but in the way she handles her business and people. It's not her feeling that changed, but something else that may have influenced her."

Katsuki's face is tight and grim. "But you don't know for sure."

"Yes, it's all a theory," Izuku acquiesces, he’s just connecting the dots that maybe not even there in the first place, "but I believe there's something effecting her and it's definitely related to Seno-san. In my opinion, it's not infidelity, but it's linked to your missing weapons. Seno-san has control over the majority of Momoe-san's business even though she has no right to be and curiously her background is a blank page from what I have heard. So your target shouldn't be Momoe-san, but rather Seno Yasuko instead.”

"And where do you get all these informations?" he probes, dubious still.

"From my book club of course," Izuku scoffs as though it's plainly obvious.

"I thought you only go there to drink tea and read books there!" Katsuki scrunches his face in annoyance.

"We do," Izuku nods, "but we also talk. We talk a lot. You’ll be surprise how many important and interesting information exchanged hands there."

Their book club is an actual book club, but it's also a social hub where many of the wives and husbands of influential men and women of power and wealth congregate to gossip and seek advice from each other. So many secrets are traded and spread among them. It's their currency.

Katsuki sighs, shaking his head as though Izuku exists to aggravate him. "How much do you believe in your 'theory'?"

Izuku sits up and looks at him seriously. "Just as much faith as you have in your gun not failing you, because you know you personally maintain it every day." He puts a hand over his heart. "I trust in my ability to read people and I wholeheartedly believe Momoe-san would never cheat on Jun-san," he says, "so that only leave Seno-san. It got to be her."

Katsuki runs a hand through his hair in frustration as he paces back and forth. "What you're basically saying is I should overthrow weeks of intelligence work on this case from people who have years of experience on this and believe you instead even though you have no concrete evidence to back it up except hearsay and your intuition." He huffs.

Izuku drops his gaze to his lap. "I know," he says quietly. When putting it like that, his theory does sounds like a mad conspiracy.

Why should Katsuki believe him over the people he works with on a professional capacity? He's a simple househusband who goes out and attend his book clubs, yet he trusts in his instinct. He just needs Katsuki to trust it too, which is nigh impos—

"Alright, let's just say it's true what should we do then?" Katsuki asks suddenly.

Izuku's head jerks up in shock, jaw slacked. "Wait, you actually believe me?!"

"Insane as it is," Katsuki heaves a sigh before finally settling on, "but yes, I believe you." He walks over to Izuku's side and sits down next to him.

Holding a hand out, Izuku says, "G-Give me a moment."

He leans over to the opposite side of Katsuki and covers his face, hiding a profound grin and letting out a muffled, excited squeal. For once, Izuku has proven himself he can be of use to Katsuki. It's invigorating. He knows he's lacking, but being a wallflower pays off in the end. He can't fight or wield a gun; he also isn't particularly witty or charming, but Izuku knows how to sit quietly and listen. Listening and watching people is as natural as breathing for him now because he could pick up so much things just by taking notes and paying attention.

It's not anything particularly flashy and Izuku even hesitate to call it a skillset, but it helped him immensely in navigating the murky waters of the kazoku even without anyone on his side. It's a survival skill in the end for him because he needs it to keep himself afloat here.

So to see all his hard work finally able to bear fruit. He's able to partake in Katsuki's job and help him out is the most fulfilling thing. He wants to scream in joy.

"Are you done?" Katsuki asks. The words are curt as expected but his tone is unusually soft and patience for him.

Izuku gathers himself up again, dropping his arms to the side and straightening up once more. He composes himself into the proper and prim image of a countess like he hadn't break protocol and behaved so childishly in front of his husband. It's embarrassing, but it feels good.

Izuku clears his throat. "Well, to answer your earlier question, I think you should 'visit' Momoe-san's office in Shibuya while Jun-san and I stake out her meeting with Seno-san this upcoming Thursday. The letters exchanged between them are tucked away in a secret compartment so you can go there and find it. I think if you can decode their letters, it may provide the information you need and—"

"Wait, stake out?" Katsuki pinches the center of his brows. "Hold up, nobody said anything about that!"

"But I promise Jun-san that I would help him tailed Momoe-san," Izuku says, sulking. "I can't disappoint my friend! He needs me there for the emotional support. If I bail out on him, he would be so disappointed in me." He looks at Katsuki in the eyes helplessly, lips wobbling.  "Do you really want that for me?"

Katsuki drags a hand down his face, aggrieved. "Fine,” he snaps, “but what this about a secret compartment then?"

"Oh, yes, it's hidden away in a bookcase," Izuku says eagerly, “as a book called 'the Lotus Eater', but it's a fake. When you open it, there's actually box hidden inside. You can unlock it using a key concealed under a plotted plant."

Katsuki frowns, looking at him suspiciously. "And how do you know all this?"

"Jun-san told me that it's one of Momoe-san's old hiding places," Izuku recalls one of their many talks. "He'd stumbled upon the letters a few weeks ago but he couldn't understand them. He thought they were some weird love poems instead."

"Deku—" Katsuki bites down the rest of the sentence as Izuku looks at him excitedly. "Fine," he says instead, "I don't know if it'll lead to anywhere, but I'll check it out."

Izuku perks up. "T-that's great! I'm happy that you would follow through with my theory. I-it's nice.” He ducks his head, face red as he shifts nervously in his seat. "So, did I do good then? Was I any help to you today?" He desperately wants to hear those word said out lout so it’ll feel more real.

Silence. Then, just as Izuku about to take back his words in embarrassment he hears: "Yea," Katsuki says, low but firm, "you did well." Warmth radiating with each word.

[leiawritesstories]

As I Am, 2

Summary: London, England, 1816, early spring. The opening of the Season is every year’s most anticipated event in high society, especially among the young ladies. This Season has been predicted to be one of the most promising yet, given that the debutantes include Miss Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Misses Nesta, Elain, and Feyre Archeron, Miss Elisa Selvari, Miss Elide Lochan, and many more. Not to mention that His Grace Rowan Whitethorn, the newly ascended Duke of Doranelle, shall be in town with his companions. Where shall the Season lead? We have yet to find out, but as with all Seasons, there will be parties, promenades, dancing and dining, a profusion of flowers in each young lady’s parlour, and of course, scandal. 

STORY WARNINGS: language, arranged marriages and other 19th-century problems, eventual fighting, eventual smut

Inspired quite a lot by Bridgerton and Pride and Prejudice. Unknown chapter count. Characters are from Throne of Glass and ACOTAR, as well as various other characters from various other authors. I’ll credit them as they appear, and if anyone is unfamiliar, please go check out their books!

~~~

Welcome to the first ball, or, as the balls of Regency England were known, excuses for flirting, drinking, and allllll the actions that ensued. 

Oh and this chapter features Elisa, Rhys’s sister. No, that’s not her canon name, but she didn’t freaking get a name in canon. I was VERY disappointed we didn’t get more than a few lines about her, so SJM, this is my revenge. Mwahaha.

CHARACTER LIST

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: language (maybe), innuendo, the overprotective big brother trope

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Elisa Selvari, all of seventeen years old, had scarce been home for ten minutes when her giddy voice floated into her brother’s office. 

“Oh Mamma! Her Majesty complimented me! And with my feet as unsteady as they were, why, I know not how I kept my balance!”

Countess Selvari smiled fondly at her only daughter. “You deserved the praise, my dear. And the reason you kept your balance—”

“Is because you have been tottering about in heels since you were but five years old and did not allow years of training to fail you at the critical junction.” Rhysand Selvari, older than his sister by four years, sauntered into the room.  

Elisa rolled her eyes. “No, Rhys, it’s because I was wearing so many petticoats that I could not have fallen even if I tried.” She smoothed her skirts. “But Lysandra outdid herself with this gown, did she not?”

Rhys leaned against the doorframe. “I would not doubt it.” he smiled. “Would that I had been present for this, the most momentous day of your life……excepting, of course, your wedding day.” As the eldest son of the Count and Countess Selvari, Rhys inherited the title when his father passed some six years ago. He was but fifteen; Mother acted as mistress of the estate, with him at her side, until his eighteenth birthday. Now, at twenty-one, he remained one of the youngest titled nobles and thus one of the town mammas’ prime subjects of discussion, being an eligible bachelor. 

Which may have been why he buried himself in business on Elisa’s debut day. Far be it from him to risk his sanity in a roomful of gossiping mothers and flirtatious, flibbertigibbet young ladies. The task of escorting her to all the dances, soirées, balls, and other social engagements would no doubt prove taxing enough. The mere thought that he would be required to witness God only knew how many helpless young dandies fall victim to the irresistible charm of Lis’s smile and then deal with a flood of simpering suitors barging into his house and ruining the quiet ambience in which he worked so efficiently.

Although to be fair, his adopted brothers did more than their fair share of ruining the quiet. Daily. 

“Do cheer up, Rhys, ’tis not as though you should be subjected to torture.” Elisa’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Who knows, you might even find yourself a bride at one of this season’s events.” 

Rhys huffed a snort. “Only you, Lis, only you would try to arrange my life while I observe your surely endless train of incoming suitors.”

She grinned mischievously at him. “Can you fault me for attempting to bring you some small happiness, dear brother? Since you will be attending just as many social gatherings as I, you might at least try dancing with some of the eligible young ladies present. We both know that you shall not go unnoticed, not with your looks.”

“Do not forget his title, Lis,” grinned Mother. “There is nothing more attractive to a young lady of society than a handsome, titled young man.”

“Mother!” sighed Rhys. “You are absolutely insufferable. Cannot a respectable gentleman merely escort his sister to her interminable stream of parties without his mother meddling in his love life?” 

Mother patted Rhys’s cheek. “’Tis not meddling when there is nothing to meddle in, my son.”

She swept out of the room before Rhys could splutter his indignant answer. Sighing in defeat, he headed back to his office until duty forced him to prepare for the evening’s ball, the first (and thus worst) of the season. 

~

As their carriage rattled up the smooth gravel drive, Elisa could hardly keep her delight and anticipation of her face. Only her mother’s arched brow of disapproval kept her from squishing her face against the glass of the carriage window as she so wanted to do. 

“I cannot believe my eyes! Her Grace must surely have bought every flower in the town, ’tis lovely!”

“Lovely, as well as conveniently decorated so as to provide certain…private alcoves,” smirked Rhys from across the carriage. Elisa swatted him with her fan.

“Behave yourself, Rhysand. I shall not allow my rake of a brother to ruin my first ball.” 

Rubbing his arm, Rhys nodded. “I shall be the very model of propriety, dear Elisa. Indeed, I shall not so much as harbor the slightest thought of seducing the first young lady to pay me any heed and escorting her to a tasteful floral alcove for five minutes of—oooof. Mother!”

Mother frowned at him, but her eyes hid laughter. “If you were to control yourself, my son, I should not have to stoop to childhood punishments to remind you of your place.” She tucked the parasol back under the bench. “Now do sit up. Take a few deep breaths. I am sure you are not harmed.”

Rhys sat up, removing his hand from his sore ribs, and glared at her halfheartedly. “I had forgotten how effective your skills with the cattle prod were, Mother.”

She gave him a prim look. “Remember that I will not hesitate to draw you away from unseemly behaviour, forcefully or not.”

Flushing slightly, Rhys nodded. 

Moments later, the carriage pulled into the drive of Briarcliff Castle, the footman swung open the door, and Rhys hopped down. He extended his hand to Mother, then to Elisa, who was smiling hugely in delight. As they entered the hall, her eyes darted everywhere, no doubt cataloging every detail of the place for later notation in her diary. Rhys noticed her grow tense as they approached the ballroom entrance, her hand tightening on his arm. 

“Relax, Lis,” he murmured, “you have nothing to fear. You are sure to be the most sought-after young lady in attendance, given what Her Majesty said to you.”

Elisa’s countenance shifted to anticipation, most of the nervousness gone. “I only hope that I shall find at least a few dance partners.”

“I doubt that you shall lack company, Lis, but if ever you do, I promise to keep you dancing. After all, our brothers and I can dance with you, and I am sure there are some gentlemen of my acquaintance present whom I can cajole into a dance with you.”

“Threaten, you mean,” giggled Elisa. 

Rhys snorted quietly. “I have never threatened any of my acquaintances into anything.”

She scoffed, and then they were descending the stairs into the ballroom. Elisa’s violet eyes scanned the grand, elegant room, noting the décor, the chamber orchestra, the finely dressed ladies and gentlemen, and the patterns of dancers, knots of chatting people, and the chain of mammas who prowled the edges of the floor, searching for suitable partners for their marriageable daughters. 

Not expecting to notice anyone she found familiar, she was surprised, then, to catch the sharp, dark eye of the Duke of Perranth’s daughter, Elide Lochan, who was spending the season at her cousin’s London residence. Coincidentally, her cousin was Miss Aelin Galathynius, a fellow debutante and the Selvaris’ kitty-corner neighbors. Lady Elide was often out at the park, walking, or riding at the same times as Elisa, and she had found the heiress of Perranth a most companionable young lady. She sent a quick smile in Elide’s direction, which Elide returned. 

Rhys nudged her. “Let us take a turn about the room. Scout the prospects, as it were.” He winked.

Elisa grinned. “I pity the man who looks at me without your approval.”

Circling slowly about the room, Rhys and Elisa met no fewer than twenty young men, each more eager than the last to request the pleasure of a dance. She politely refused most, but did allow a few respectable-seeming men to add their names to her card. Glancing up at her brother, she was about to ask if he would be escorting her in the first dance when she noticed his eyes trained on a young lady across the room. With a small, predatory grin, she slipped her hand from his arm and strolled away. No sooner had she left Rhys’s side than a tall, grinning young man appeared in front of her and bowed low, an errant blonde curl falling across his forehead. 

“Might I have this dance, my lady?”

“You may, good sir.” She placed her hand in his proffered one and stepped into the dancing floor. “If it is not too forward of me, sir, might I ask your name?”

Her partner grinned, brown eyes sparking. “I am Fenrys Strahl, from Doranelle. ’Tis about three hours’ drive west of the city, a lovely estate.”

Elisa smiled at him. “Most pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord Strahl. I am Elisa Selvari.”

His eyes widened. “Countess Selvari’s daughter?”

“Indeed.”

“I am honored to make your acquaintance, milady.”

Lord Fenrys proved a charming, polite partner. Their conversation flowed naturally, and he escorted her to the edge of the floor when the dance ended. “I assume a lovely lady such as yourself no doubt has many partners awaiting the joy of your company?”

“Not quite so many as you assume, my lord. But yes, I do have a partner for this next dance.” Indeed, the man approached even now, his distinctive red hair marking him as her next escort, one Lord Lucien Vanserra.

Moving through the steps of this waltz, Elisa noticed over Lord Vanserra’s shoulder that her brother had taken a partner for this waltz, and to her great delight, it was the selfsame young lady to whom his gaze had been drawn earlier. She appeared about Elisa’s own age, with bright blue eyes and beautifully coiled golden-brown hair. Her gown, a soft coral pink color, set off the grace of her figure. As she and Rhys waltzed past, Elisa noticed that both her brother and the lady were smiling, obviously enjoying each other’s company.

I simply must write this down, she thought, when else will I have the opportunity to poke some small fun at Rhys?

She noticed her brother dancing with the young lady once more during the ball. Twice, if one counted the reel, but the reel was hardly a paired dance, given the constant switching of partners. So he was adhering to propriety and the Rule of Two Dances, then. He must truly not want the mammas’ attentions. Wise of him. 

Wonder of wonders, when Elisa went to find refreshment some hours into the ball, she found her brother’s lovely dance partner at the table. She grinned and strolled over to meet the girl.

“If you will excuse my forwardness, I absolutely adore your gown! Who made it?”

The girl turned to meet Elisa’s eye, smiling politely. “Thank you! It is a Lysandra Ennar piece.”

“‘Tis lovely, as her work always is,” Elisa replied, grinning.

“Your gown is her work as well? It suits you most beautifully,” the young lady gushed. 

“Why thank you.” Elisa looked out over the scene. “I declare, is this entire location not perfectly picturesque?”

The young lady turned to meet Elisa’s eye, smiling politely. “Indeed it is. Were I alone, I should very much like to paint it.”

“Do you paint, miss?”

“Yes, and I very much enjoy it. I am Feyre Archeron, and painting is my one vice.” Her smile warmed.

Elisa dropped a slight curtsy. “Delighted. My name is Elisa Selvari.”

Feyre’s cheeks flushed nearly the same pink as her dress. “You would not happen to be a relation of—”

“Rhysand Selvari?” Elisa grinned. “That would be my elder brother. A perfect sweetheart, to be sure, when he is not acting the part of Count Selvari.”

“He dances most elegantly.”

“He ought to; he has been my practice partner since I began lessons. I rather think he enjoys dressing in tight pants and twirling around an open floor.”

Feyre giggled. “I should agree with your thoughts, Elisa.” Her gaze lost focus for an instant. “I do hope he calls at my house tomorrow. He was such wonderful company.”

“Feyre, if I might be frank, I do believe he shall be knocking at your door the moment proper calling hours begin. I have never seen my brother look at anyone the way he looked at you while you were dancing.”

“Then I shall await his calls.”

“And his proposal.”

“Elisa! Are you not jumping to conclusions rather hastily?” But she was smiling.

Elisa cocked a knowing brow. “He will wait as long as propriety and Mother dictate, and then, my dear Miss Archeron, I do believe he shall plight his troth. Were customs not of import, I like to imagine he would have taken you for a bit of a stroll this very night and proposed posthaste.”

Feyre blushed again. “At any rate, I do hope you consider visiting. You are most welcome.”

“As is my brother?”

“Quite.”

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Love is a Bundle of Contradictions.

This artwork was a piece I commissioned from @shimmeryspark​!

... There is no explanation for this other than my friends encouraged me to write Valentine’s Day Raven and Jade fluff, since the main saga is a bit lot of angst right now. (Special thanks to @twstpasta since they let me borrow their twstsona for plot reasons :9)

Imagine this...

“You WHAT?!”

“Ehehe~ Sorry...!! I guess I went and made a bad decision, heehoo~” Mac stuck out their tongue and lightly bonked their own head with a fist. “Silly me~”

“Making a deal with Azul is the very definition of a bad decision,” Raven groaned, slapping a hand to her face. “I... I cannot believe you. Dare I ask what the conditions were?”

“I gave him my taste buds! He said he’ll give them back if you help out with stocking up on supplies for the Mostro Lounge.”

“That’s... suspiciously simple. And you really just handed over your taste buds just like that? You can’t taste your beloved cheese anymore.”

“I know!” Mac pouted. “It’s so sad, so you’ll help this rataroni out, right?”

“I find it odd that Azul is demanding my assistance, seeing as how I am not the one that made the deal with him to begin with. However... I cannot turn my back on a friend in need. I will lend you a helping wing—er, hand.”

“Sweet, sweet!!” Mac clasped Raven’s hands happily. “Just remember to show up this Sunday afternoon. Meet up’s in the town square. Oh, and be sure to wear something cute!”

“Something cute? Why would...”

“It’s part of the deal—so you just gotta, okay? That’s what Azul said!” Mac paused, before adding, “Oh, oh! And bring some homemade choco in a heart-shaped box!! That’s another contract condition!”

“Oh... O-Okay...?”

Raven leaned back against a lamp post, anxiously winding a finger around the string of small pearls at her collarbone. In her other hand was a bag, and in that bag, a heart-shaped box of homemade chocolates—just as Mac had told her.

A silver heart-shaped charm dangled from the necklace, lying still against her real hammering heart. Rarely did she venture out into the local town—and, standing there by her lonesome, the raven felt out of place and awkward.

An addendum to a story that had already been penned.

She watched as her silver charm caught a wink of sun and guided the light down its curve. Reflected back in the charm’s surface was the raven herself.

Today, her inky hair was cast up in a high pigtail and secured with a cobalt ribbon. She had traded her usual outfit for a pale blouse with billowy puff sleeves, white stockings, and a high waist skirt in a plaid pattern—cobalt, like her ribbons.

I hope this satisfies the conditions of the deal.

Raven checked the time on her phone; any minute now, Azul would be showing up, and they’d get this over with. Then she could return to her attic to roost, and Mac could return to feasting on cheese and inhaling poison—

“Oya. Do my eyes deceive me, or is that you, Miss Raven?” a silken cadence called out to her, rising above the hustle and bustle of the town.

“... You,” she responded flatly, narrowing her eyes at a certain eel as he parted from a crowd.

Ah.

Jade, too, had abandoned his typical uniform in favor of casual comfort. He wore a pair of dress pants and a grey turtleneck—and over it was a brown trench coat, unbuttoned to show off how snugly that sweater fit against his lean, muscular body.

Raven squinted. His earring was slightly different today as well. Rather than three diamond shaped sturgeon scales dangling from his ear, there were heart shaped ones. Blue and glassy, like the calm sea after a storm.

His hands were polite folded behind his back... hiding something. Whatever that something was, petals of pink, red, and yellow-orange were poking out.

If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he looked handsome—and innocent—enough. But she did know better.

“What are you doing here?” Raven demanded, no longer playing with her necklace. Her hands went to her sides, curling into balls.

“Fufufu. The town is a public space. I am free to come and go as I please, the very same as you.” Jade tilted his head to one side. “Although today, I am here on an errand. The Mostro Lounge is short on centerpiece supplies, you see. I have been sent to restock.”

“What a coincidence. I’m also here to help the Mostro Lounge restock,” Raven said, a bit of bitterness slipping into her voice, “as per a contract.”

Jade attempted to appear sympathetic—but he allowed a cruel chuckle to escape him. “I see now. I was not aware that you were the one indebted to Octavinelle, Miss Raven. Had I known sooner, I would not have hesitated to summon you to fill in for Kon-san’s morning shift.”

“I’m not a waitress for you to order around.” Raven jutted out her chin defiantly. “I’m here strictly on business, so if you would kindly leave me be...!!”

“I believe you said you had to assist the Mostro Lounge. Would it not be prudent, then, to go about tending to that duty rather than standing about and looking like a lost lamb?”

“Sh-Shut up! It’s not my fault that Azul is running late...!!”

“You were waiting for Azul?” Jade said, his brows pinching together briefly. “You are terribly mistaken. It is not Azul who is assisting you with the restock, but myself.”

“... Beg pardon?”

Wear something cute, bring homemade chocolates, Mac had said. And it has to be you, Raven, not me! But why? Slowly, slowly... The pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

A thought dawned on Raven:

I’ve definitely been tricked.

“Well!! That’s all fine and dandy, but I think I shall be on my way home now. I really must be having a chat with a friend of mine,” she babbled, turning on her heel. They’re going to be buried in tomato sauce when I get to them.

“How cruel of you to abandon those in need, Miss Raven. And to think that Mac-san shall be without their taste buds... and I, burdened with the task of restocking by my lonesome. What a tragic way to spend Valentine’s Day,” Jade exhaled deeply and wiped at an imaginary tear. “Shikushikushiku...”

Raven’s left eye twitched. “Don’t you paint me as the bad guy here...!!”

“Aren’t you?” Jade challenged, a smile still plastered on his face despite his mocking tone.

“Grrr...!!” She whipped around, thrusting an index finger at him. “Listen here... Leech!! The only reason I am even here was to help someone out of a contract your shady boss roped them into!”

“If you are as selfless and loving as you claim to be, then you should have no issues with shopping with me,” Jade countered smoothly. “After all, they say that actions speak louder than words.”

The little bird vibrated with irritation, her cheeks puffed out in a pout. Her stomach coiled tight, uneasiness brewing. As much as she hated to admit to it, he was right.

Raven clenched her teeth and sent a glare his way. “Fine...!! But I will be keeping an eye on you to ensure that there is no funny business!”

“Then by all means, ‘keep an eye on me’, and do not let your gaze stray for even a single moment,” Jade chuckled, somehow sneering through his smile. “I welcome it.”

The eel held out a hand to Raven. “We’d best not be separated while on our errand.”

She stared hesitantly. Her eyes flickered between his eyes and the hand he offered. Subtle changes in her expression occurred in rapid succession—the raising of her lids, the tremble to her lower lip, the tinge to her cheeks.

“... Yeah. We’d best not,” Raven finally agreed, her grip on her bag—the bag containing her chocolates—tightened. “Which is precisely why I will follow you at a safe distance.”

“Ah, but that would ruin the surprise.”

“What, the bouquet? You’re not exactly doing a masterful job of hiding it.”

“Nor are you doing well to hide your little surprise, Miss Raven.”

“I was deceived. This chocolate is not meant for you.”

“I didn’t say that it was, now did I?”

“... I’m going to eat them myself, then. That’ll show you!”

“Do with it what you wish, for selfish purposes or not,” Jade laughed, revealing his bouquet—all the colors of the setting sun. “These flowers, on the other hand, are meant to be gifted...”

He pushed the bouquet toward Raven. Up close, the flowers seemed even more vibrant and beautiful. Their warm hues enveloping the raven, enchanting her senses. Mesmerized, she reached out to accept the flowers—when Jade suddenly clicked his tongue and pulled them away.

“But alas—not to you,” he teased, pressing a finger to his lips. “Do try to keep up with me now, Miss Raven.”

Jade turned and dove into a sea of townspeople, leaving a trail of sunset-colored petals in his wake. And, like the fool that she was, a fuming raven stormed after him—chocolates still in hand. Heart quivering.

Terrariums—the flowers were meant for terrariums all along.

Jade had taken his sweet time leading her down a winding path and to an art supply store tucked away in a corner, and even longer to observe the shape and feel of each terrarium container. Spherical, cuboidal, prismatic... Holding up the bouquet every so often to compare how the flowers would look in each.

In the end, he had gone wild with his purchases, electing to buy a selection of shapes, along with other supplies—just to keep himself amused. Jade had paid with a platinum card embossed with Octavinelle’s logo. Mostro Lounge Master Cash Card, it read. Azul’s property; do not steal! Sign the loaning form if you must borrow.

It was all for the terrariums, for business as usual.

I should have realized sooner. Stupid, stupid, Raven scolded herself.

She grunted, struggling to carry the bagful of terrarium supplies that Jade had saddled her with, while he carried one of his own without any trouble. The eel cast her a mocking glance over his shoulder.

“Are you in need of a break, Miss Raven?”

Bite me, she wanted to snap back—but a bark of pain shot up her arms, silencing her defiance. “... M-Maybe.”

He sighed in an exaggerated fashion. “Very well. I see a café up ahead. We can rest there for a few moments, though it may require the purchase of a food item if we wish for a table.”

“Sounds peachy.”

Together, they swept through the café doors. The duo was immediately greeted by the smell of sugar and the hum of the other patrons, many of them couples.

Raven stiffened at the sight, turning a deep shade of red. Suddenly, she was very, very aware of how she—and Jade—looked.

“I think I changed my mi—“ Raven was cut off when he grasped her hand and held fast. She jolted back, her skin turning clammy. “Eeep! Wh-What are you...”

“Table for two,” Jade requested of an employee. “We do not intend to stay for a large meal, so just an ice-cream parfait will do.”

“Certainly, sir. Right this way.” The server quickly seated them, and with a bow, departed to retrieve their order.

“... You can let go of my hand now,” Raven hissed, attempting to free herself. To no avail, initially. She tugged again, and finally broke free, aggressively rubbing at her hand to ward off the residual eel cooties.

Jade chuckled, tucking his strand of black hair behind his ear. His earring glimmered in the afternoon sunlight pouring in through wide windows. “Play along. You are aware that today is Valentine’s Day, yes?”

“Yes, but I do not understand what that has to do with... physical contact, especially seeing as how we are not engaged in that kind of a relationship.”

“It is simple.” He laced his fingers together, resting his chin on them. With the most serene of smiles, Jade purred, “We should take advantage of the couple discounts being offered at eateries such as this. An excellent way to save on spending, especially after that particularly large purchase made on the Mostro Lounge’s coin.”

“You’re a shrewd one.”

“Why, thank you.”

Raven’s hands curled in her lap. Her lips pursed, she found her gaze trained on the white lace of the tablecloth, rather than on her dining companion.

Time and time again, she has been tricked today, told white lies. Teased and deceived. It was simply how he was—and though it did irk her in some ways, it also never made a moment dull.

Hot and cold. Push and pull. Bitter and sweet. That was Jade Leech.

“Your parfait is here!!” The server from before popped up in her periphery, startling the raven from her thoughts. They set it down and stepped back. “Here you are—enjoy your date!”

“Thank you. We certainly will,” Jade reacted before Raven could and dismissed the server with a wave. “... Well, let’s dig in.”

“You didn’t correct them.”

“We won’t get the discount if they don’t believe this farce,” he replied calmly, nudging the parfait and a spoon toward her. “Now then, less talking and more eating. You need your strength if you plan on helping me haul all the supplies back to campus.”

She let out a huff, but dug her spoon into a frozen mound. The parfait was massive, composed of several scoops of pink, blue, and green ice-cream, flanked by chocolate wafer bars. With a smattering of sprinkles, a crown of whipped cream, and a maraschino cherry on top, the dessert looked absolutely picture perfect.

Raven steadily brought a spoonful of pink goop into her mouth, allowing a sweet bubblegum flavor to spread across her tongue. Her eyes cut to Jade, who had not bothered to sample any for himself. He smiled back, gaze half-lidded as if recalling a fond memory.

“Have some, too. I feel weird eating it alone—and you must be hungry too. I know how big your appetite is.” Raven pushed the parfait glass toward him.

“If you insist.”

The head of his spoon sunk into a green scoop with shards of chocolate chip weaved throughout. It pulled away cleanly with a large mound, which was soon consumed. Then another bite, and a third, a fourth... Before Raven knew it, a good third of the parfait was missing.

Jade patted his mouth with a napkin, eyeing her expectantly.

“Are you still hungry?” Raven asked, eyebrows raising. She retrieved a scoop of blue this time—vaguely flavored like a medley of fruits.

“Perhaps... though I do not plan on taking more of the parfait for myself. Were I to, there would be none left for you.”

The fruit seemed to sour in her mouth. It was true that she was hungry, yes—but at the same time, she did not wish for Jade to be left dissatisfied.

She frowned, setting her spoon down and reaching into her bag. Seconds later, she produced a heart-shaped package and shoved it at him.

“Here, chocolates. They’re yours now, since I have no other use for them,” Raven mumbled insistently. “You can eat them now, or save them for later. Just hurry up and take them before I change my mind.”

“Oya, it is rather bold to profess your undying love to me in such a public space.” Jade teased, chuckling lightly into his hand.

“B-Be quiet...!! We... We can’t get that couple’s discount if one of us passes out from hunger.”

“Fufufu. I doubt that either of us would.” His mismatched eyes twinkled with mirth. “... Thank you for the sweets, Miss Raven. I will be certain to savor every last bite.”

The town became even busier in the late afternoon, filing with the sound of street performers and spectators. A monkey in a vest and a small hat barreled by Raven’s feet as she and Jade exited the café, nearly causing her to double over. A chorus of children’s laughter chased after the monkey—and she, the raven, stumbled on her recovery.

“Perhaps now would be a good time to reconsider my offer,” Jade suggested, a hand on the small of her back to support her. That same hand trailed around and tickled the back of hers. “It would be a shame if we lost one another in this crowd.”

Raven regarded him with a pointed look, but slipped her hand into his without further resistance. “... Only because I have to.”

“Of course, of course.”

Together, they braved the bustling streets.

A new world unfolded before Raven’s very eyes. Costumed performers of all kinds paraded about, garnering attention from passerbys. Some tossed confetti and candies, others brandished instruments. Brass, strings, percussion—all their notes floated up into the festive atmosphere.

There went a dancer, leaping like a lithe deer, limbs outstretched and the flowy fabric of their uniform like a curtain of smoke. And here was an artist perched on a stool, sketching the outline of a woman posed on a wooden crate. A young man jingled a tambourine, trying to catch coins in his cap.

A number of food carts patrolled the roads, calling out their wares. Crepes, sandwiches, sodas... Families, friends, and couples lining benches, exchanging bites.

Love was truly in the air and oozing out of every pore of the community.

Raven couldn’t keep her head still. She turned this way and that, trying to soak up every last sight and sound. Her golden eyes sparkled with wonder.

Jade, of course, took note. “Excited, are you?”

“It’s very different than Night Raven College,” she replied shyly. “Almost like a magic kingdom.”

“Magic kingdom? You can be rather melodramatic at times.”

“Yeah? So can you and Azul and Floyd, with all your fake tears...” Her wandering eyes caught something bright red as she spoke. “Oh...!! Look.”

Raven tugged on Jade’s hand, urging him to a halt. Her gaze was transfixed on a lamp post with a multitude of red strings. At the other ends of those ribbons were heart-shaped balloons, as red as blood.

His eyebrows pinched together in mocking sympathy. “You truly are fascinated by the simplest things. Is it true what they say? That ravens are attracted to shiny objects?”

Her mouth flew open to protest, but she was interrupted by a woman by the balloon-bearing lamp post “You there!! Sir with the earring and ma’am with the blue ribbon! Care for some balloons?”

“Er... What are they for?” Raven asked.

“For love, of course,” the woman laughed. “Today’s all about appreciating one another, right? This is my way of spreading love.”

She separated three balloons from her bundle and offered them with a flourish. Raven eagerly accepted them, staring up in wonder at their floating bodies.

“Oh, and one more thing!!” The woman produced a red ribbon from her jacket pocket and nodded at the duo. “Your pinkie fingers, please!”

Raven held out her hand as directed, letting the woman secure the ribbon in a neat little knot. The balloon bearer extended the length of the ribbon, glancing to Jade. Raven, too, looked at him expectantly. Jade expelled a quiet sigh and allowed the red ribbon to be tied to his pinkie.

“There you go!” the woman declared triumphantly. “You’re all set now! Enjoy the rest of your Valentine’s Day, folks!”

“Thank you!” Raven shouted over her shoulder—even as Jade started to lead her away. The woman waved and waved until she was out of sight.

“... It has been a while since I have seen you this enthusiastic,” Jade remarked with a glance to the balloons. “I do suppose it is a departure from the monotony of daily life, but to think that such little things bring this amount of joy...”

“It reminds me of a story a little birdie once told me,” Raven chirped with a small giggle. “The story of the Red Thread of Fate.”

“Oh?” Jade raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“The Red Thread of Fate is said to connect ‘destined people’. It can tangle, twist, or stretch, but it can never break. From the moment you are born, you have an unseen thread flowing from your pinkie finger, tying your fate to that of the person on the other end,” Raven recited, her tone turning solemn—her storytelling voice.

“Someday,” she said, “you will cross paths with the one that shares your thread, and your lives will be forever changed by the encounter. It could be a meaningful battle between rivals, the loss of a loved one, the promise of marriage... but the course of their stories will never again be the same.”

“How sentimental. And what, pray tell, does this red thread of ours mean, Miss Raven?” Jade questioned, lifting his end of the ribbon—the crimson shining in the sunlight.

“How would I know? I’m not a god,” she huffed. “It’s just fun to imagine the possibilities.”

“It is, indeed. Even so, surely there must be one favored conclusion to the story of the Red Thread of Fate in that pretty little head of yours.” He brought a hand to his mouth, yanking Raven toward him.

She glanced up with a glare. “I’d have to have a bird brain to tell you that.”

“Is that not the duty of a storyteller? To stand on stage and tell the tale until the curtain closes. Your adoring audience awaits.”

“You’re being booted from the metaphorical theater before you get to hear or see the ending.”

“I would like to see you try.”

Jade slowed to a stop, Raven following suit. They were back in the town square, by the lamp post where they had met up. Ending where it had all begun.

He pulled out his phone and consulted the time. Jade unlocked his device, quickly wrote up a message, and tucked it away again. “I can take it from here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Besides,” Jade cast a pitiful look at Raven’s trembling arms, “I doubt you would be able to haul those supplies the remainder of the way, and certainly not in an efficient manner.”

“... Then what was the point of stating in the contract that you needed a helping hand?”

“I am afraid that even I am not entirely privy as to Azul’s intentions,” he chuckled, gently prying a bag from her hands. “I will be certain to let Azul know that Mac-san’s end of the contract has been fulfilled.”

“Eh...? But—“

“You have our thanks for lending the Mostro Lounge your time. You are free to go now, Miss Raven. I’ve already summoned Floyd in your stead to assist me.”

“Th-The ribbon, you fool! I can’t leave if I’m still bound to you!”

“Oh? You don’t say.” His singsong held no concern whatsoever, only amusement.

“S-Stop playing dumb! You know very well what you are doing!!”

“You said it yourself, Miss Raven. Our lives have been forever changed since our encounter. There is no going back now.”

“Stop manipulating the narrative to suit your needs.”

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean. Jade smiled, feigning innocence. “You’ve resigned yourself to spending the rest of the day with me—at least until Floyd arrives to relieve you of your burden. Ah, but given his moodiness, who knows when that will be.”

“Just because your surname is Leech doesn’t mean you need to suck the life out of me like one,” Raven snapped. She reached for the red ribbon, intending to undo it—

—only to be met with a bouquet a second time. Flowers the color of the sunset, smelling like the drip of sunshine and a cut of meadow.

“For you—no strings attached this time.”

“Those are for the terrarium centerpieces.”

“I can easily replace them,” Jade insisted, “and I must repay you for your kind chocolate gift. Consider this... ‘favors for favors’, so that neither one of us is left indebted to the other.”

“... Alright. I’ll take them, but only because they might be useful for brewing some new inks.”

“I’m glad to see that you are being agreeable.” Jade slipped the flowers to her. “Take good care of them.”

Raven leaned against a lamp post, cradling the large bouquet in one arm. Her heart fluttered, and her limbs felt as light as air. Warm and floaty, like the balloons in her hand. 

Favors for favors—but it still counted as a gift from Jade, and that very thought sent her mind spiraling. She took a shaky breath, and focused on the confetti and laughter in the distance, the song and dance of the street performers.

Waiting and waiting for Floyd.

“Miss Raven.”

“What now? Haven’t you bullied me enough for today? Are you still not satisfied, you sadist?”

She dared to lift her eyes to meet Jade’s—and her heart stood still, for he looked back. His sharp eyes soft and shrouded by long lashes, his lips pulled into a tender smile.

“Contract or no, I always enjoy my time with you—I enjoyed today,” Jade murmured. “I hope that we are able to do this again sometime.”

“... Shut up. J-Just shut up already, i-it’s embarrassing listening to you speak...!!” She buried her head in the flowers, concealing her pink face. Still feeling floaty, like a balloon, high on happiness.

“Fufufu. Happy Valentine’s Day, Miss Raven.”

[katsucutie]

i hate your guts (m)

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader genre: smut, humor warnings: smut, swearing (you know the good stuff) overview: class 1-a has this belief that you and katsuki hate each other, though one incident has their minds changed word count: 4.2k author’s note: this was written to fight my writer’s block and i happened to find a psycho-analysis of katsuki which helped somewhat and its quite interesting. anyways...the song choice while writing this was house of cards, also this was written in three days and i tried using any relevant medical terms i’ve learned so far in uni. hope you enjoy!! masterlist | ko-fi

Walking through the azure-rimmed gate you knew the day would be the same. Homeroom for ten minutes then classes back to back with a minor minute break in between, next an oh-so-needed fifty-minute lunch, and finally two classes to end the day. Not that you could complain, heroes in training must earn some type of education.

Though school wasn’t the worst thing invented, you can definitely say occasions in English class were not lackluster with Present Mic as the teacher. Or in math, when Midoriya yells out an inaccurate answer only to be corrected by Yaoyorozu. It's the little moments that bring laughter, or maybe it’s watching someone embarrass themselves in front of a class that's joyful.

And you could never forget the times where Jirou teased Kaminari for short-circuiting.

While all those moments are fun and dandy, 1-A can also be quite the chatterboxes and gossipy, especially when it comes to your feelings towards Bakugou. Believing that your relationship consists of mutual hatred, class 1-A constantly manages to tease both you and the blonde-headed male. Even All-Might manages to separate the two of you during training.

Although you never said anything against the rumors, it's quite humorous to see a school be so wrong in their thoughts. Is it not obvious that the glares the two of you send are not out of anger but endearment? Clearly not to Todoroki who claimed that Midoriya was All-Might’s secret love child, but that's beside the point. Additionally, you’ve yet to hear an accurate hypothesis as to why you and Bakugou would hate each other. Many of the theories revolve around Bakugou’s ‘anger problems’ but honestly, who doesn’t get mad?

Nonetheless, the rumors surrounding your alleged detestation toward the blonde sparked a little prank between you two. Pretending to hate each other until people catch on that you’re dating.

And the joke has been going on for quite a while, four months to be exact. Four months of pretending to hate in front of crowds, yet loving behind closed doors. Four months of experiencing the rush of adrenaline when you sneak around to his dorm room in the late hours of the night. Four months of leaving your friend groups to hang out during lunch.  

Four months of waking up early to walk to class with Bakugou. And don’t forget about four months of the blonde-headed male constantly breaking you away from your thoughts.

“Oi Y/n, break out of that daze and let’s go, we have thirty-minutes before class and I’d like to spend that time not pretending to hate you” Bakugou calls while molding his fingers into yours.

“Oh please, I’m not pretending you know I hate your guts” You smile, leaning into the broad male walking towards homeroom. “Do you think today will be the same?”

“Yes, those idiots could watch us kiss and still think we hate each other, though I can’t complain, their oblivion is better than if they were to pester us about our relationship” he snarks.

Mindlessly nodding in agreement, you and Bakugou wander through the purple-stained floors of U.A., passing by random classrooms, and peering out the glass windows that overlook the campus.

After twenty-five minutes of strolling through the halls, Bakugou and you turn down the corridor leading to class 1-A, while unlocking hands and prepping for your fake and falsely-interpreted loathing glares.

“Today marks day ninety-six of the class believing we hate each other” you whisper.

“They’re hopeless….”

“But if at any point, you want to stop pretending let me know… I wouldn’t mind, jokes are funny but you’re my top priority”

“Is Bakugou Katsuki getting soft on me?”

“No.. shut up-”

“And they're back at it again Ladies and Gentlemen… the feud between Y/n and Bakugou seems everlasting” Kaminari calls sliding open the tall door leading to class 1-A. Way to ruin a cute moment.

“Honestly the two would probably be best friends if they didn’t hate each other, they both like the same things” Oh they wouldn’t believe the interests you two share.

“Yeah, but their personalities are so different, they’re just not meant to be and that’s fine” What a shock your relationship would be then.

“I’m so glad that you’re interested in my ‘relationship’ with Lord Explosion Murder… but I have more important matters to attend to such as earning my education so that I can be a top pro-hero” you remark sliding into your chair. Your comments are never intended to insult your boyfriend, but teasing his choice of a hero name couldn’t hurt anyone.

Waiting for the remaining two minutes for class to start, you check your phone and see a message notification from a familiar contact.

Babe 💗: storage room during lunch?

Quicker than your mind made a decision, your fingers don’t hesitate to press the send button.

You: i’ll bring the key        

----------

Bakugou was a master of three things. Okay maybe more than three, but three traits excel. His talent, his mind, and his ability to use his fingers.

Bakugou’s talent is tremendous and has been able to advance his goals of becoming a pro-hero. He acknowledges that he was born with such an extraordinary quirk, and has a flair for using it. Notwithstanding the male’s breakdown and internal belief that he is inferior to his pre-quirkless childhood friend, Bakugou unceasingly exerts himself to be more than a student with talent.

His mind is magnificent and allowed Bakugou to comprehend multiple topics of interest. Placing third in the class’ midterm exam, it’s evident that he shines in academic settings. And though few peers in 1-A state that Bakugou fails in the social aspect, you claim the opposite. In their eyes Bakugou is brash, however, after spending time with the boy, you have viewed him as self-reflecting, with social skills that others cannot see.  

While brains and talent may all be magnificent qualities of the blonde, nothing beats Bakugou’s ability to use his fingers. Combined with both his talent and his mind, Bakugou has the ability to make both inanimate and living things explode. And that isn’t related to his quirk.

“You’re imagining events that haven’t occurred yet. Am I truly that talented?”

Flushed and blinking in a shocked manner towards the male in front of you, you ask him if his quirk was mind-reading.

“Hmmm… No, but after seeing you so embarrassed I’d love to have such a quirk so that I’d be able to view the thoughts inside that mind of yours, but I was gifted with explosions... You, on the other hand, were blessed with the ability to swap items on your command. A quirk so useful, especially in times like these when I don’t have a key to the storage room”

“Oh please, just admit that you use me to gain entrance into forbidden rooms” You tease, giving Bakugou the janitor’s key to unlock the storage room.

The male chuckles unlocking the door to the storage closet, “Maybe a bit, though you reap the benefits of getting it” Change of thought, maybe he is brash.

Shutting the door behind you two, you finally express your raw emotions towards your boyfriend, engulfing him in a hug.

“I missed you”

“You came over my dorm last night” What an ass, couldn’t he just accept your affection?

“Yeah, but you go to sleep at like eight-thirty, which means I have to leave you dorm before then, and then I’m stuck in my dorm with nobody to talk to until I go to sleep at midnight, that’s about three and a half hours being alone”

“You’re so clingy… it's cute”

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel less lonely since I go to sleep at like eight-thirty and leave you alone’”

Bashfully looking down at the floor rather than your boyfriend, you mumble your request.

Releasing the hug, Bakugou smirks, poking fun at your diffidence, “With that ask, I don't think you can be shy… Are you sure that's what you truly want?”

Nodding your head you look up to the red-eyed male, taking in his dilated pupils. It's always been him that you’ve desired.

Accepting your form of consent, Bakugou kisses you, enveloping your figure while you sneak your hands around his neck to deepen the embrace. And although the two of you are in a storage closet skipping out on lunch, the feeling of epinephrine dispersing within your bloodstream, inducing fast heart rates, is blissful. A salacious rendezvous with the man you’ve come to love could never hurt anyone… as long as they didn't find out.  

And if one were to catch you two, would they truly stop two aroused students halfway from committing adultery? Would a teacher not be embarrassed if he/she watched as Bakugou hurriedly zips down your green skirt in order to slide his fingers inside of your warmth? Or would someone scamper along hearing the lewd mewls arising from your throat?

“You’re so loud Princess, we have to keep it down or else someone will hear us, okay?”

Yet the person to blame for such noises was Bakugou himself. One could imagine the boy having rough, unmoisturized hands from his explosive quirk, but his inheritance of glycerin allows him to easily travel in and out of you.

“You’re close aren’t you? I can tell. Your walls are contracting at a faster rate and tightening each time I pump my fingers into you. It's really hot too, especially knowing that the world believes you hate my guts when behind the scenes, I rearrange yours”.  

Words cannot describe the pleasure Bakugou exposes you to. A thumb pressed against your clitoris, his middle and ring finger dug past your labia, and you’re unraveling beneath him. He has you under his full control. And how Bakugou feels will determine your release. An untroubled Bakugou can earn you multiple chances of release, whereas the current Bakugou you’re experiencing will rip your attempt at euphoria, despite you being almost there.  

“Katsuki please, I was right there… I’m so close you even said it yourself” You plead, wanting to reach a climax.

“I don’t know… strenuous activities make me tired and I wouldn’t want to upset you with the hour I may fall asleep” Bakugou smirks while tasting his digits, “You taste like caramelized sugar, I wonder where that came about?”

“Suki please, don’t leave me like this”

“It’ll only be for a little while babe, but lunch is almost over, we have to go back to class. I’ll help you out at my dorm alright?”

What more could you do but nod, put back on your skirt, and pretend to hate Bakugou once more in public?

----------

The walk back to class was internally embarrassing. Arousal saturated your underwear, heat filling up between your legs and left you with a foggy mind. You couldn’t imagine pretending to hate Bakugou now when all you could think about was Bakugou hovering above you in his dorm room, aggressively ramming into your hole as you pleaded for mercy. But you’re in school containing students who are not Bakugou to distract you from your misery.

“Y/n pay attention to me, and why do you smell like caramel?” Well shit, is the cat out of the bag?

Looking up at the voice calling, you smile faintly in means of apologizing and mutter an incoherent response to Mina’s question.

“Sorry, and thanks I guess... It might be from the sweets I had during lunch”

“I see, well since you like sugary foods we should go to the bakery today after school, I’m sure the others would like to come too” The pinky bounces brightly.

“I can’t today, sorry! I’m super behind on work and barely understand what's going on in class, let’s go this weekend when I’m free?” What a Lie.

Fortunately, the promise of a raincheck is enough for Mina to back off from the situation and accept your rejection. Today would have been a perfect day to go out with friends, yet the blonde-headed boyfriend of yours decided to be unfair, leaving you to crave his affection. Though, the school day would be over soon enough with only two periods following lunch. And only then would you be able to gain some type of relief.

As if that ideology would be so simple.

Bakugou Katsuki is a man full of pride --rightfully achieved, of course, meaning he knew how and when to push your buttons. Right now being one of those times.

Despite wanting to pay attention in your world language class, Bakugou made it very difficult to do so. Especially knowing that he is the cause of your phone silently vibrating every three minutes in your pocket. He doesn't want you to forget he is the cause of your erotic thoughts. Rather, he’ll keep reminding you that he is controlling your excitement.

However, from the glance across the room, Bakugou didn’t look like the lead in this relationship. His eyes were majorly dilated, with his red iris visually smaller in circumference. Additionally, a prominent cherry hue spread across his cheeks, that one may call flustered from afar. Although, only the two of you understood each other’s physical response towards seduction.

Babe 💗: you look dazed

Babe 💗 : I don’t think that’s the best for someone who wants to become a hero, don't you think?

Babe 💗: this class is so important

Babe 💗: …

Babe 💗 : don’t look at me

Babe 💗: i'm not the teacher

Babe 💗: your so cute trying to ignore these texts

Oh how badly you wanted school to be over

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

As the clock hit 2:45 PM, you watch everyone around you hurrying to leave the school and have freedom. And once five minutes go past, 1-A is a semi-empty classroom with two students remaining. Two hormonal, amorous, epinephrine-surged students patiently waiting for their peers to leave the school grounds, so that they can walk to the dorms together in peace.  

Whilst hand-holding may be a shock to onlookers, if they had the capability to read your mind, myocardial infarction would sure to follow. Outstandingly too, if they did not foreshadow the events of you walking within the fourth floor of heights alliance and entering the second room from your left.

“Your room is so homey” You comment. Despite visiting the blonde’s dorm room on multiple occasions, the comforting aura never ceases to relax you.

“I would hope so, I don’t want to be reminded that we’ve been moved from our homes to our school campus in fear of malicious attacks against students”  

“Thanks for that… truly an amazing choice of words” You sarcastically remark. Not everyone needs a reminder of the traumatic incidents students of U.A. have been through, especially when it's clear that students of 1-A (and others) have not received enough therapeutic aid to cope with the events suffered.

One would think that Bakugou of all students would be most affected by trauma, starting from falling victim to the Sludge Villain incident, to being kidnapped by the infamous League of Villains, though he shows the opposite effects. While you cannot see inside the mind of Bakugou and tell if he is extremely traumatized by the incidents and is repressing his memories as a form of coping, you can see what he is physically doing. And at this current moment, you cannot see someone disturbed by his past, but impassioned with the ideas of what is to come.

Tossing your backpack to a discarded corner of Bakugou’s dorm, you throw yourself onto his bed, relishing in the comfort of his bedsheets. You’ve always loved his bed, your favorite moments with him have occurred there. Random naps while cuddling on Saturday afternoon, binge-watching cult-classics after a big exam, or simply having Bakugou’s powerfully built arms wrapped around you like they are now is unforgettable.

“I don’t understand how you’re so built? We go to the same school, attend the same classes and both do athletic training. I mean I’m not complaining because you definitely look good, but it's interesting how my figure compares to yours”

“That's like me asking why you’re so attractive, it's just luck within life, plus I like your figure, it blends perfectly with mine”. A man with such words can only follow with actions that prove it, and the blonde was sure to do so.

Except for when his phone goes off multiple times.

“I think you should check your texts, it may be important”

Halfway sliding off of your body, Bakugou pulls his phone out of his pockets to read his text messages. “It's nothing important, Kirishima just wanted me to join him and the others to go to some bakery since you didn't want to go”

“Oh okay-” Again you were cut off by the sound of his phone going off, however this time, the alert was a long-lasting ring, signaling that Bakugou was receiving a call.

“He’s so persistent, why would I want to go to a bakery when the best dessert is in front of me”

Lightly throwing his phone on the floor of his dorm, Bakugou discards any form of human interaction outside of the bed, focusing his attention on the one he loves.

“You know I really fucking love and care for you?” You do. You fully understand his love for you, from the way his iris shrinks to the rosy pigments formulating on his cheeks when looking at you. And you’ve never once questioned his devoutness towards expressing his adoration for you.

In moments like these, where Bakugou gently strips clothing from your body admiring every crevice, you know the two of you are in love. The boy may come off as an entitled brat, but when push comes to shove, he will bend over backwards trying to make you feel happy.

“You’re so mushy when you're in the feels”

“Oh forgive me for wanting to praise my girlfriend”

“I’m joking, but it is nice to know the feeling is reciprocated”

His silence you took as acknowledgment. ‘I love you too’ was a phrase you didn’t say often, it sounds too forced. Being obligated to say a phrase in return is meaningless when both parties understand each other’s feelings. And it's even more worthless when the actions committed speak louder than words. Bakugou does not need to hear you say ‘I love you’ constantly when he knows you dragging the zipper down of his pants and springing free his cock from the restraints of his underwear means the same thing.

And when you free yourself from the fondling of your boyfriend to meet your lips with the tip of his enraged dick, Bakugou has fallen prey to submission. Having yet to insert the body part into your mouth, you take notice of the male in front of you. Cheeks flushes, head lolled back, visible veins peeking from his sand-colored skin, and light pants as a result of excitement. Hot.  

One kiss to his head and you feel a little twitch. He wouldn’t last long. Understanding that thought you decide to mess with the male, putting half of his length within your mouth and pumping the other half. It was a shame he toyed with you earlier, now he’d face the repercussions. Light squelches filled the quiet air, and Bakugou’s groans got increasingly vocal overtime. The combination forming a sexual melody awaiting to be abruptly paused.

Releasing your lips from the now wet surface of the blonde’s dick, you hear the annoyed groan of the male. “Why’d you stop?”

“I’m sorry were you close?”

“Obviously, but that doesn’t answer my question”

“It’s just that strenuous activities make me tired Suki, and I wouldn’t to make you upset if I accidentally fell asleep”

Tch. The little sound of irritation fell from Bakugou’s mouth, only signaled one thing, rough sex.

“How I’ve come to date such a slutty brat is beyond me. Getting back at me isn’t going to help you in this situation. All you’ll receive is a punishment, though knowing you, you’ll probably enjoy it”  

Although enticed by the proposition, you failed to speak out after being muffled by your boyfriend. Your own skirt which the male had managed to take off earlier now laid scrunched up in your mouth. In addition to that, your arms were now constricted by a gold-rimmed belt.

And while whining in complaint about the new restrictions placed on you, Bakugou alters your kneeling position into one laying beneath him. The primal glare he sends you would signal fear to others, however, you know that the fun is only about to begin.  

Widening your legs apart Bakugou spares no time plunging two fingers into you, stretching the pair apart. Despite being unable to speak, your moans are heard loud enough by your boyfriend to increase his speed. Every sound encouraging the male to continue to berate your walls.

Thinking that the punishment you’ll receive is overstimulation by being one step away from ecstasy, you’re disturbed by the sudden absence of feeling in your core.

“I didn’t say you could come”

Twice today he’d done that. One denial was not enough for him, and that’s when you identified your mistake. Bakugou had the power to reject your advances to climax however many times he’d like. Maybe being a brat today wasn’t the best idea.  

Granted that Bakugou could undeniably be the most ruthless person when it comes to sex, today marked the first time he’d ever advanced into you without warning. The thrusts he implemented assaulting your hole. Even so, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“My god Y/n, you’re so tight, so perfectly made to take my dick”

“You make it so easy for me to unravel within the warmth of your pussy”

“Fuck I’m so close baby, I’m sure you are too”

He wasn’t wrong. The magnitude of the thrusts presented plus the physical restraints and multiple orgasm denials has sped up your ability to reach a climax. You were a mess underneath the man, hoping that soon he would grant you the gift of release. And by the looks of it, Bakugou would provide you with it soon. His cock inconsistently twitching in your warmth, notifying both you and him that he would come soon.

So when the removal of your gag began, you were not surprised. He was close and needed the extra aid of your uncovered moans to aid him to let go. Bare lewd noises ricocheted from the walls of Bakugou’s dorm, and you became thankful that Kirishima went to a bakery rather than located next door. Though had he been, he would have been overhearing an occasion so pornographic, one would think you’re in the business.

They wouldn’t be fully wrong either. Whilst uploading an adult video while training to be pro-heroes sounds absurd, Bakugou has no problem taping to two of you in the act. It may be the idea of possibly getting the video leaked or a similar exhibitionist-like kink, but the blonde constantly acts to videotape during sex.

“This would be perfect on video. The noises you make before you come are so fucking hot I’d replay them until the end of time”

Yet Bakugou is gravely mistaken. Yes, the noises you exhale are angelic, but compared to the rugged groan he calls while releasing his load in you is divine, and never fails in making you follow suit. So when you recognize that tone in addition to the feeling of warmth coating the inside of your walls, you have no choice but to mirror his actions.

“You’re so perfect” He states, slipping himself from your cunt and delivering pecks to your lips while he unbuckles his belt from your wrists. Post-sex always has Bakugou sappy, but how could you complain.  

Wrapping your freed arms around his neck, you pull the male closer to your embrace while nuzzling your nose into his neck. You felt the rapid pace of his heartbeat begin to slow down.

“Are you guys done, because I still haven’t received a response from Bakugou about if he wanted to go to the bakery or not?” What the fuck.

“Did you not press decline when answering Kirishima’s phone?”

“I thought I did…”

“Is that a no or?”

“Of course it's a fucking no, and don’t tell anyone else what you heard. Why were you even listen-” He hung up.

“You think we can go another day pretending to hate each other?”

“Nope… he definitely told the entire class”

“That's a shame, it was fun having them think I hate your guts”

“Awe how tragic… now get up so we can clean you off, heroes in training don't get UTIs”

How sweet.

----------

The trek to school the next day seemed no different than the past. You woke up early to walk to class with Bakugou and strolled the corridors. Only this time while sauntering into homeroom, nobody greeted the couple at the door, rather class 1-A smiled awkwardly as you held hands walking to your seats. Although you wouldn’t have known the reason for the tension in the classroom had Kaminari not jokingly mumble to Sero that he would’ve never expected the blonde to be an exhibitionist.

“Hm, if I recall correctly, I said not to tell anyone”

“I’m sorry my phone was on speaker when I called you” Great.

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 21 - The Halloween Fair

[ DS ]

On the afternoon of the Halloween fair, I take out the costume that Miss Hannigan picked out for me from the closet. Ever since I’ve got it, I’m beyond excited to wear it. It’s a black low-cut shirt, a white, checkered suit with a blazer that ties at the waist and a flaring skirt. As I put on the blonde wig and the black beret, I turn to the mirror channeling my best inner Faye Dunaway and say to myself in a breathy, southern lilt: “My, my, don’t you just look dandy, Miss Bonnie Parker!”

My friends have been roped into manning the booths of the fair and somehow, I’ve slipped under the town people’s radars, which leaves me able to roam around the fair, albeit alone. Since I’ve known most people in this town ever since I was little, I’m never actually alone at these happenings, people tend to just pull me into their conversation as I walk by. But as luck will have it, as I’m rounding one of the booths of the fair, I find myself face to face with the one person I had secretly hoped to see.

He’s wearing a brown tweed suit with a matching waistcoat and over the white collared shirt he’s tied an emerald green tie. Perched on his head is a white fedora. ‘Shit. He’s Clyde. What the fuck?’

We stop in our tracks and stare at each other for a moment, taking in our respective costumes. He’s the first one to regain his ability to speak.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” His Warren Beatty impression is perfect right down to the Texan drawl. ‘God help me…’

“Gosh, I hope you’ve parked the getaway car around the corner, Clyde!” I’m putting on my best Faye Dunaway impression again as I add a wink to my statement and just continue to walk past him. My heart thumping hard against my chest betrays my cool exterior, but that’s my secret and my secret alone.

----------

[ FM ]

When we finally get to the Halloween fair that Felix has roped me into, dressed up in a costume I didn’t even pick myself. We trail the grounds together and we’re drawn to the candy apple booth. Well actually, Felix draws us to this exact booth, the little sneak, but I can’t resist his pout and pleading eyes, so we end up getting an apple each. Munching away happily, his mouth full, he asks the question I’ve been too scared to ask myself: “Hey dad, do you think Miss Scully is here too with her friends?” I hope she is, if only to see what kind of costume she has picked out for herself, but I can’t tell Felix that. Instead, I just shrug and we continue our stroll across the town square.

When we round another booth, we both stop in our tracks as we see a blonde woman appear before us , dressed in a checkered suit and a beret on her head. ‘Bonnie. She’s the freakin’ Bonnie to your Clyde. Your sidekick. No, your partner in crime. The woman you love. In the movie of course. Insert awkward cough.’.

Felix is oblivious of course, he hasn’t seen the movies and I doubt he even knows what my costume is, let alone Miss Scully’s. I scrape together the last braincells that are left in my head and a stupid movie quote is the only thing I can think of at this moment.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” The retort she gives me combined with her wink render me speechless until she’s well past me and Felix, mingling with the small crowd that welcomes her into their midst just a few feet away from us.

Felix does the thing I wish I could bring myself to do, staring at her retreating form in wonder and he also speaks the words that have sprung to my own mind.

“Wow!”

----------

[ DS ]

Countless conversations later and a little tipsy on the delicious apple cider they always serve at the Halloween fair, I wander along the booths when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in over a year. And could’ve gone forever not hearing again. It’s my ex-whatever Steve, talking to one of his friends.

I’m hidden pretty well in the crowd of people due to my shortness but I can still catch flashes of their conversation. When I hear my name, I stop, straining my ears.

“Dana? Oh God, no. She’s not even close to being a serious contender for a relationship.” I wince at his statement as well as the tone of his voice. “She’s just always there, you know? Like a well trained Golden Retriever, I say the word and she comes running. Such an easy lay!” When they share a laugh I can feel the flush of shame and anger crawl up my neck.

The situation he describes is exactly what I’ve spent countless hours in therapy getting over. But what he says next really drives a stake through my heart. “It’s so pathetic, but if it’s what I have to do to get laid, whatever. She’s even dirtier in bed than any hot teacher fantasy you could ever imagine and what they say about good Catholic girls is very, very accurate, if you know what I mean!”

If he weren’t the demon I have to face every time I try to get over my past, I would’ve revealed myself and give his ass a good kicking for talking about me the way he has. But not knowing how I’ll react to being face-to-face with him, I stay hidden behind a group of mummies and zombies like a fucking coward.

I’m so furious with him and myself for not being able to stand up to him. Where the hell are my friends when I need them? I haven’t seen them all evening and I could really use their company to talk some sense into me. Since they’re nowhere to be found, I head towards the bar set up in the back and slide onto a stool, ordering a shot of Tequila. ‘Fuck it! That low-life is not even worth your time of day!’

On the surface, I’m so angry I want to set this whole damn place on fire, but deep down, the past hurt resurfaces to join the hurt from his words I just heard.

By the time I’ve downed my second shot, I’ve repeated the mantra that I’m a strong woman who’s better off without men in my head about a thousand times. I see someone slide onto the stool next to me out of the corner of my eye as I order another shot of Tequila to keep the two empty glasses in front of me company.

“A third shot of Tequila is just asking for trouble, if you ask me.” I turn my head slowly towards my bar-mate to tell him exactly where to shove his smart-ass remark when I’m faced with my supposed partner in crime, the charming one with the disarmingly innocent smile on his stupid face. I’m staring him down defiantly, my eyes never leaving his while the bartender places my glass in front of me and I grab it, downing it in a swift motion, daring him in my mind to say anything else. He doesn’t comment, good for him, and orders a shot for himself, just raising his glass silently and I clink it with my empty one – I’m tipsy, not insane, chasing one shot with another.

We’re staring straight ahead during our conversation, turning our glasses over and over between our fingers.

“Which guy seems to be the problem and how many rounds of ammo do I need to take him out?,” he asks after minutes of silence. I want to lean into him for just assuming that it’s a man that has me sitting here seething, but unfortunately, he’s right. This one time.

“How many rounds you got?” He scoffs at that.

“Plenty. And I know of exactly eleven ways to get rid of a body without raising suspicion.”

“And here I was thinking the FBI frowned upon their employees giving out top-level secrets on how to hide away evidence of a crime committed.”

“I’m not going to tell you, I wouldn’t want you to be held in contempt of Congress when questioned.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t rat you out when questioned by Congress?”

“Just a hunch… Talk to me, Red. What happened tonight?” He turns towards me and I can feel his gaze dancing over the skin of my face.

“You really want to know? Well, turns out the asshole of an ex of mine decided that today might be the perfect time to make an encore appearance in my life and reminded me again why I should’ve kicked him to the curb a long time ago instead of hoping I could change him.” Looking down at the bar, I trace my finger through the condensation drops, my anger slowly dissipating and my voice growing more and more quiet. “I heard him say some pretty awful things about me tonight.”

I relax into his hand when he places it comfortingly on my back, right between my shoulder blades, and huff out a sigh. “I’m sorry.,” is the only thing he says, but doesn’t add anything else, giving me the choice if I wanted to elaborate or not.

“What I witnessed today was the way he’s always been but I just couldn’t see through the masquerade of the sweet guy, he was so kind and said all the right things and he quite literally wooed the pants off me from the get-go.”

“Love bombing.” ‘Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a profiler. You probably already got one worked out for me, trust-issues, anxious attachment style, possibly daddy issues, in short, a hot mess. Avoid at all costs.’

“Pretty much, yeah. And I was stupid enough to believe it.” I raise my hand to call over the bartender for another round.

“You’re not stupid. It’s hard to tell the difference between genuine interest and love bombing in the beginning.” ‘Yeah, no shit Sherlock. It’s exactly why I’m sitting here torn between wanting you to make a pass at me and being absolutely terrified that you actually will.’

“How about we pass on the shots and get some water instead before calling it a night?”

“I think that’s probably a good idea, Mr. Mulder!”

“You know, after tonight, what do you say we just drop the Mister?” I nods slowly, pursing my lips.

“So just Fox?” He makes a pained face.

“No, please don’t. Just Mulder is fine.”

“Mh-hm. I guess since we’re dropping the titles, that that makes me Scully? Little odd, but alright!”

We get the check and argue back and forth about who gets to pay, him putting an end to it with a firm “Will you give it a rest, you’ll get to pick up the next check!”.

In my attempt to slide off the barstool gracefully despite three tequila shots, my heel catches onto the rail at the bottom and I stumble over the stool, knocking it over in the process. I have only his quick reflexes to thank that I don’t follow suit, his arms catching me around my waist and pulling me upright again.

He has the audacity to laugh, the bastard, and I’m beyond mortified. “Easy there, partner! Do you need a ride home? Felix is at a pajama party at his friend Suzie’s house, so I’m free to be your pumpkin carriage for tonight.” ‘NO! Yes? No. Get your hands off me. Don’t let go just yet.’

I’m so confused at the tug of war in my fuzzy head but I hate getting a cab alone and I’m in heels on top of being tipsy, I don’t want to walk home alone at night.

As we walk out, his hand finds his way to the small of my back guiding me through the crowds while making sure I don’t stumble again.

On the drive to the beach house, I manage not to fall asleep despite how tired I feel, too afraid of snoring or, God forbid, drooling onto myself. His hands find my back again guiding me up the stairs to the front door and I turn to face him at the top, even more nervous.

“Thanks for the ride, Mulder. And for listening.”

“Anytime, Scully. Good night!”

When he leans in, I start to panic that this is it and I think it shows on my face, because he only kisses my cheek, just like I did after the birthday party before getting back in the car and heading home. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.

I can’t ignore the flutter of excitement every time his hands land anywhere on my body but what I will absolutely deny, even to myself, is the way my heart constricts in my chest when he gazes at me that way and the sense of comfort that settles over me when we’re together.

Bodily reactions I can deal with, it’s when it comes to emotions is where it gets scary.

I just don’t think my heart can survive another Steve.

[rainytomorrows]

TMNT x neko!reader

AN: I know, I hate using the term neko because it makes me feel like I'm using a term that isn't mine but I couldn't think of a gender-neutral and well known way to say catgirl/catboy so I settled with neko. Basically just a small story where they find out you're a 'neko' after you had been hiding it. Tell me if you want more tmnt x neko!reader content! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It starts with you going to the lair, just like any normal day. The same beanie and skirt you wore every time. You were obviously uncomfortable whenever you wore them, so it puzzled the brothers that you had continued to wear the two items wherever you went.

Your beanie was f/c, with small ears sewn on the top. Sometimes the brothers swear they can see it twitch from time to time, but they could never prove it so they left it alone. Your skirt always seemed to have a slight bump in the back right above your butt, however they couldn't bring it to your attention without it being awkward. Over all, it was suspicious but they couldn't do much about it. Until one day...

Leonardo:

You strutted into the lair, doing a quick scan of the room before being able to find Leonardo. You walk over to him as he's looking over some sort of map on the table. Your shoes click against the ground as you bounce in place. He acknowledged your presence, greeting you and giving you a brief hug before showing you what he was doing. You had hidden your tail beneath the skirt, but in that moment you had started to forget it was there.

Your bouncing had stopped but before you could notice it your tail was wagging. It had taken a moment for anyone else to see, but they surely saw before you did.

The other brothers peaked over, taking notice of your tail wagging under your skirt as you excitedly listened to Leo talk.

"Y/N.... was that tail always there?" Mikey asked, causing you to panic and hide it again. "Y/N we already saw it." You looked down and showed your tail again, and you removed your beanie to reveal a set of ears hiding within the hat. "Yeah. I didn't want you all thinking I was weird." It took a moment for them all to process that you were hiding the fact you were a mutant, from other more intensely mutated people, to avoid being thought of as weird.

"Alright, that's f**king stupid." Raphael exclaimed from the other end of the room. You had taken slight surprise from the reaction but then you thought for a little longer and realized it was a realistic reaction.

Leo chuckled a bit, looking towards you as you had held your words a bit longer. "Cat got your tongue?"

Raphael:

As you entered the lair, it didn't take long to deduce that the noises in the dojo were because of Raphael. You walked into the dojo, greeting the man in red.

He had quickly noticed you, running over you to catch you in a huge bear hug, slightly lifting you off the ground. He took your hand, leading you to a corner with pillows to watch him train for a little until he finished.

Later on though, he offered you join in to spar. Just for a couple of minutes. Which was a fine and dandy idea, it had been going fine until you tried to do a fancy cartwheel away. It did not go very fancy.

In the middle of your attempt to impress the ninja, you had landed on some scattered equipment and lost balance. Originally you had planned for your movement to keep the skirt up, but it did not. You fell face first with your skirt slightly lifted. The equipment bent upwards from you tripping on it, catching the hat and slipping it off. Your now lifted skirt didn't show any of your underwear and your beanie wasn't ripped, but your tail and ears were surely in view now.

"Heh, cute." Was all Raphael responded with, a small chuckle escaping him. You grabbed the equipment and playfully threw it towards Raphael, which he caught before it could land any hits on him. "Awe I'm sorry, you know I was just KITTEN you!" his pun warranted another piece of equipment thrown at him.

Donatello:

You walked into the lair, immediately hearing the sound of metal clinking and fire spewing from Donatello's lab. You greeted the brothers and walked towards the lab to knock on the door, entering after receiving permission to enter. You found Donatello working on another invention and sat near him. It was some sort of android thing.

He went on and explained the invention to you as you listened to all the details, desperately attempting to understand any of it. Before you knew it he was reaching for the remote, pressing buttons and showing how they work. When suddenly, an arm reached from the robot. Donnie expressed that it wasn't supposed to happen, when the robot grabbed your hat and it's hand kept continuing forwards. Taking your hat with it.

You sat in silence for a minute, newly exposed ears twitching at the change in temperature and newly made exposure. Before you knew it Donnie's focus was switched from explaining the robot to being completely fascinated by your ears. He knew he couldn't see any human ears, but he assumed you had simply hid them under the beanie or something. You had been afraid he would be judgmental, but he was instead filled with joy and curiosity.

He had asked for permission to touch them, in which you absentmindedly said yes. Suddenly his hands were softly petting the ears, observing how they bent and how naturally they corresponded with the rest of you. It was safe to say he had welcomed the new detail. "Good thing that loose robot arm wasn't so cat-astrophic." he said, not pausing his observations.

Michelangelo:

You entered the lab, a bag of candy in hand as you looked around for Mikey. The smell of candy had somehow summoned him, you didn't know he could even smell the candy. The smell had been bothering you but you had assumed it was your heightened smell, but apparently it really did have an intense smell.

He had thrown himself into a hug with you, sneakily trying to grab the candy from you mid-hug. You had caught this, continuously changing hands and moving the candy away from him. This led to a chase around the lair, he went easy on you at first but the game started to get more competitive when you threw some overly-confident jabs at him.

He jumped on you, catching you in another large hug and making it so you couldn't move your arms. "Hand over the candy!" He stated, a joking tone in his voice. "Never!" you responded, attempting to break free from his impossible grip. The way you were positioned caused your hat to slip, but you couldn't re-adjust it because of your trapped arms. Your attempts to reach your hat were proven useless as the movement just caused it to fall off faster. Mikey had been caught up in his victory in retrieving the candy when a fluffy object was now pressed against him.

Cat ears.

It had taken him a moment to process, looking at you, then your ears, then you, and your ears again. "WOOOAH THAT IS SO COOL!" He yelled, dropping the candy and backing away to look at you. You grabbed the candy, handing it to him. Humbly denying the compliment, he rejected your rejection to his compliment.

"Every day you somehow get more and more purr-fect!"

.

.

Note: I'm so sorry I had to fit all those cat puns in. I hope you enjoyed the story, and please tell me if you want more!

[amphtaminedreams]

Farewell to Spooky Season, AHS Style: Lookbook no.12

Hi to anyone reading,

Happy belated Halloween!

I capitalise it because if I'm gonna recognise any day as sacred, it’s the spookiest one of the year! Halloween 2020 obviously hasn’t been as exciting as usual, parties and club nights being banned has meant there’s been far less opportunities to dress up, but I still managed to get out for the night before they announced the upcoming second lockdown and do a couple of spooky movie nights (and carve a pumpkin!)!

I originally intended for this lookbook to be last minute halloween costume inspo but I was lazy and didn’t manage to get it out on time-a lot of these looks minus the makeup and maybe an accessory or two could work on any day or night out so I thought I’d go ahead and post it now anyway. Celebrating the fashion moments of American Horror Story is something I’ve wanted to do for a while; it’s probably not the first show you’d think of for sartorial inspiration but Mr. Ryan Murphy has fucking fantastic taste in stylists and the first five seasons of AHS in particular, which I’ll be focussing on in this post, have given us SO many amazing looks. The man may be guilty of many things-subjecting us to the character of Will Schuester, trying to turn Richard Ramirez into a thirst trap, embarrassing everyone who raved about how good Scream Queens was when he wrote season 2-but costume related laziness is not one of them. We see more consistency in a Ryan Murphy character’s wardrobe than we do in their story arcs and I respect that because honestly, as much as I love joining in when it comes to ripping into his ability to cohesively bring an AHS season to a close when it airs, I’d probably be the same; if you put Lady Gaga in front of me and told me to write her lines I’d probably end up getting overly invested in what her character was going to be wearing in the scene too. 

So! Enough Ryan Murphy bashing from me! I’ll get on with it! Starting with 3 season 1 inspired looks:

Murder House: Elizabeth Short, Tate Langdon and Violet Harmon

-striped jumper from caitlinlark on Depop, kick flare jeans from ellagray-

When it comes to reflecting on season 1 of American Horror Story, all I can say do is thank the internet overlords that Tumblr has moved on from the romanticising school shooters and wearing normal people scare me tops phase to instead collectively taking the piss out of the “GO AWAY, TATE!”, “YOU’RE ALL THAT I WANTTT! YOU’RE ALL THAT I HAVEEE!” exchange. 

In terms of fashion *moments*, whilst season 1 doesn’t stand out as much as the seasons that come after, Violet and Tate’s wardrobes did give birth to a bit of a 90s grunge renaissance with their oversized knits and faded jeans and layering of textures. It did also give us good costumes in the form of Alexandra Breckenridge’s Moira O’Hara and Mena Suvari’s portrayal of the Black Dahlia, Elizabeth Short; unfortunately, I didn’t have a slutty maid costume lying around so I did the best I could at giving the outfit Elizabeth wears when she makes that fateful visit to the Murder House a modern, more party appropriate update.

In terms of season rankings, Murder House isn’t my favourite. It starts off really great but lulls a bit towards the end and I could never get behind Violet and Tate as a couple because you know, one of them is a school shooter who sexually assaults the other’s mum, and that’s a hurdle that I think most couples might struggle to get over irl. That being said, it was the season that started it all and showcased some of the most innovative writing and directing on TV, and it opened up a spot for horror on primetime television which as far as I know was kind of unheard of before then. Back when I first watched it, I had no idea what to expect not only because I’d never seen horror in a serial format but also because it seemed to be able to get away with the kind of storylines you’d expect network executives to fire people over. It introduced us to Jessica Lange and Sarah Paulson and Evan Peters and Denis O’Hare who would go on to make the show what it is today and more importantly, through Jessica’s glorious portrayal of Constance Langdon, provide us with an endlessly versatile meme format for this trying time.

Asylum: ‘60s Lana Winters, ‘70s Lana Winters, and Sister Mary Eunice McKee

-afghan coat from louisemarcella on Depop, red AA skater dress from julietramage, pink gingham co-ord from zshamim-

I think we can all agree: Asylum would’ve been a perfect series of television if it wasn’t for the completely unnecessary alien storyline. Like, I get that they fit in with the whole good vs. evil theme as a kind of non-biblical alternative to the idea of a higher, all-powerful being but there was already so much going on that it just wasn’t needed. Aside from that, I think the general consensus amongst watchers of the show is that Asylum has the best writing of any season and I think I’d tend to agree. It’s not my favourite because it’s too depressing to rewatch but if we’re talking the first time round, this is the series that had me hooked. Lana Winters?

Iconic. 

Sister Mary Eunice? Iconic. The Name Game? Iconic. Remember when you couldn’t go a day on Facebook without seeing that one photo of Naomi Grossman as Pepper used as the go to “what I really look like” photo in one of those “expectation vs. reality” style posts on your newsfeed? Those were simpler times.

Because this season was mostly situated within the hospital, we didn’t get that many proper outfits but when we did, they were stunning; if I had to state my absolute favourite AHS character of the entire show I’d probably go with Lana Winters and the part her wardrobe played in her characterisation would 100% play a part in that. The late 60s/early 70s was such a wonderful period for fashion and through her character we get to see both of those explored a little. Of course there’s also *that* Sister Mary Eunice scene with the red slip dress and suspenders too which yes, could be a perfect halloween costume, but I also strongly believe should be a perfectly acceptable outfit for any day of the year. 

Coven: Misty Day, Madison Montgomery, and Zoe Benson

-chiffon dress from rags_to_riches on Depop, pinstripe corset from hanpiercey, and tennis skirt from mollie_morton-

I hate to be a basic bitch but I have to say it: Coven is my favourite season of American Horror Story. Once you get over the complete waste of Evan Peters’ acting capabilities that resulted from the *choice* to have him play Kyle, the unnecessary rehash of the Evan/Taissa pairing from season 1 in what I can only assume was an attempt to capitalise on the popularity of the questionable Tate/Violet relationship, and the subsequent sacrifice of any interesting character arc we could’ve foreseen for Zoe Benson beyond her obsessing over a resurrected, non-verbal frat boy, it’s a perfect season. A supreme (heh) balance of horror, humour, and character drama, as well as the stunning aesthetics and forever quotable dialogue, make it my go-to season if I’m ever considering a rewatch. And if you disagree, let me jog your memory with the most mainstream (not to get all “normal people scare me” and suggest AHS is not a mainstream show, I literally just mean in the sense that even those who have never watched the show will have seen this)  reaction GIF set any FX show has even spawned:

Buzzfeed employees had a field day, Emma Roberts enthusiasts (I mean me) finally saw her cemented as the pop culture icon Scream Queens has since showed us she deserves to be (because not enough people have seen Unfabulous, Nancy Drew or Scream 4) and the gays everywhere rejoiced at the year’s worth of meme fodder they’d been provided with. It was Madison Montgomery’s world and we were truly just living in it.

And the fashion! I mean, Stevie Nicks meets 21st century teenage witches! Come on! 

Freakshow: Dandy Mott, Maggie Esmerelda and Elsa Mars

-olive green satin skirt from morganogle on Depop, headscarf from tonijordan, platform sandals from elliefewt, PVC skirt from bethpin_, corset top from sadieflinter, beret from house_of_erotique, flame detail platform boots from mad_rags_vintage-

When people talk about the declining quality of AHS, they usually point to Freakshow as the beginning of the end, but I have to completely disagree. I wasn’t a fan the first time round but on rewatch it’s probably the most emotional season of them all; no, there aren’t as many “horrifying” moments as in other seasons and Elsa is probably Jessica’s worst performance (which is still an incredible one by anybody else’s standards), however it makes up for it with the most sympathetic bunch of characters yet, and on the flip side, also one of the most amusingly depraved with Finn Wittrock’s Dandy Mott. Fans usually argue that the season went downhill once *SPOILER* Twisty the Clown was killed off but for me, he really primarily served as the catalyst for the far more interesting devolution of Dandy, who, imo, is the show’s strongest villain to date, rivalled only by Bloody Face. Then there was the episode Orphans too which made me cry buckets, the sole AHS episode to do so. 

We got a lot of great fashion content in this season too: the theatrical opulence of Elsa Mars’ wardrobe, “Maggie”’s nomadic fortune teller costumes, and all those twee suits we saw Finn Wittrock in. Highly underrated if you ask me. It seems an odd choice for me to use Elsa’s Dominatrix look as an inspiration for one of my looks here when we have that Life on Mars performance outfit and all the extravagant robes Jessica got to waltz around in for reference buuuut I didn’t really have anything to do the vibrancy of either of those justice so I went with the black leather option which is much more me. Am I saying I moonlight as a dominatrix? Maybe. Lol, no. I wish. It’s not for lack of trying. WHERE ARE ALL THE GENUINE TWITTER PAYPIGS AT!? Your girl wants to insult creepy men and get some new clothes out of it xoxo

Hotel: Hypodermic Sally, Liz Taylor, and The Countess

-silk white bralet from xlibby_maix on Depop-

Hotel is another season that I liked a lottttt more upon rewatch, once I knew I was okay to tune out the (completely predictable and utterly nonsensical) Ten Commandments Killer storyline that so much of the season initially seems to hinge on. I love Chloë Sevigny but the fact that her and Wes Bentley’s wooden John and Alex Lowe are positioned as the protagonists at the expense of the far more interesting Liz Taylor, James March and Hypodermic Sally really does a disservice to what is an otherwise great season upon initial viewing.

The visuals this season are magnificent and I think if I had to pick one character’s wardrobe to steal from the entire cast of AHS characters, it would be The Countess (a toss up between her and Misty Day tbh, so I kinda just settle for low-key channelling both). No fucking idea where I'd wear any of her clothes to but I’d make it work. Liz Taylor and Hypodermic Sally have some amazing looks too-there’s just honestly so much to choose from; that being said, this post wouldn’t be complete without a specific ode to the vampire goddess Elizabeth Bathory, who is everything I want to be in life minus the murderous qualities:

Everything. EVER-Y-THING. LOOK AT HER!

Lady Gaga is really a fucking goddess isn’t she. And people were claiming before they’d even seen it that she couldn’t act? A patriarchal society doesn’t like women that can do it all. Just saying. 

Anyways!

That’s it for now! I hope you enjoyed the post if you did read til the end! Sorry I couldn’t get this out before Halloween, I was typing and Picmonkey-ing madly from 2 in the afternoon on the 31st but I taking fucking forever to get ready and had to abandon all hope of getting it out on the day by 4PM. I’ve got so much content planned and it sucks because a couple of them are lookbooks which now feel completely redundant given we’re heading into a second lockdown, but maybe I should just do it anyway? The grunge inspired moodboard I just did seemed to get a good reception too so I’ve got some more of them planned. 

As always, hope everyone is keeping well, and feel free to inbox me with any suggestions, queries or even just to say hi if you need someone to talk to! I check here quite a lot so I should see it. Lots of love to everyone in this time!

Lauren x

[domesticblisss]

By My Side | Pt.02

Timothy Thatcher x Female Reader (Nicknamed ‘Baby’) Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word Count: 2257 Warnings: Smut, angst and fluff. PiV, oral (female receiving) rough sex, relationship discussions, alcohol mention and language. Inspired by INXS’ song, By My Side. Pt.01

“Welcome to NXT, Thatcher.”

Timothy turns around and stops for a second, staring at her. Baby looks him in the eyes, not blinking once. Silence is shared between them for what feels like an eternity. Tim hugs her as tight as he can, knocking the wind out of her, but Baby doesn’t reciprocate, her arms limp by her side as Tim holds her. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” Tim breaths on her hair.

“Fucking liar.” she whispers back to him. 

Tim releases the hold he had on her, but still keeps her close by keeping one hand on her shoulder. “Can we talk? I feel like we need to talk. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to, I understand that you hate me, you have all the right to. But can we please talk? I’m staying at Junior’s, if you want to...”

“Fine. I’ll be there at 7.” and she leaves before hearing his answer. 

Dakota and Rhea find her a few minutes later on the locker room, crying.

“Baby, what happened? You were talking to Thatcher and vanished from the gym. Did he do anything to you?” Kai says as she wipes her friends face clean.

“Do you want me to beat him up? You know I’d anything for you...” Rhea offers her.

“God, Rhea. No! But thank you. I don’t think I ever told you guys about this part of my time in Germany, yeah?” she tells them everything. About how they met, them touring together, all the happy moments and their downfall.

“We never fought, not once. Whenever something the other did bothered us we would just sit and talk. He always told me how great I was, how I was one of the best professionals he had ever seen. We talked about our dreams. I still can’t understand why he didn’t believe I couldn’t get here.” her voice breaks at the end and Baby starts crying again. Rhea hugs her, dries her cheeks once again, while saying “First of all, you need to stop crying, he doesn’t deserve it. Second, you guys really need to talk.”

“You do, babes.” Kota intervenes, “You guys need to have some closure to it. You left without even officially ending your relationship.”

“I know. He asked me to meet him tonight. I agreed to it. I don’t know why I got so shaken up after seeing him. I thought I had gotten over it, you know?” Baby sighs.

“Look, it’s normal. Just go, talk to him. If anything, call us and we break his nose again for you, yeah? Ripley offers.

“Okay, I love you guys.” 

The day goes by way too quickly and when she realises, it’s almost 7. Sometimes, it’s a good thing that her and Junior live on the same Condo, being so close to each other really makes things easier when they want to do something together. Right now she is regretting that nearness. She wishes she had some little time to give herself a little pep talk before seeing Tim again. 

She arrives just as Marcel leaves his apartment with Fabian. Both of them hug her and tell her to call if she needs anything as Tim waits by the door.

“Hello again, Timothy” she says, entering the apartment.

“Timothy. Wow.”

“Can’t call you chocolate eyes like I used to, can I?”

“Well, technically you can, my eyes hadn’t — “

“No technicalities here, Timothy. Let’s get this over with, please.”

“Right, I’m sorry. Please sit.” he begins. “Do you want something? Water? Beer? Also, I ordered take out from that Lebanese place Junior said you like so much.”

“Tim...” she sighs, exhausted. “I’m not hungry or thirsty. Can we please get over with it?” Noticing how harsh she was and the sad look on his face, she continues “Fuck, I’m sorry. I appreciate your efforts but I really can’t do this. Not right now, I can’t pretend everything is fine and dandy and eat and drink like nothing happened.”

“No you’re right. I just... I really need to apologise to you. I was so frustrated that everyone I knew was getting what they wanted and I kept stuck in one place.  It felt like I was getting on a dead end road. I panicked when I noticed you were leaving, I felt like I was losing the one good constant thing in my life, the most important thing in my life. And I fucking did because of how much of a prick I was to you. I am so, so sorry for that. I won’t ask you for your forgiveness, it would be nice, but I understand if you don’t want to.”

“We could’ve worked out the whole ‘long distance’ thing you know... anyway Tim, you fucking broke me. I don’t think I ever loved anything, anyone more in my life than I loved you. I thought we were going to be together forever, you know? I couldn’t imagine my life without you... and you just insulted me, insulted the only thing I was proud of, the only thing I’ve ever felt I was good at when my dream was becoming a reality. The truth is I’ve already forgiven you. I did it as soon as I calmed myself down because I knew how much in distress you were. But you’ve broken me and I don’t feel like things can come back to how they were. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as I can in the PC, I would appreciate if you did the same. I really don’t think we have anything else to say to each other, so goodbye.” She kisses his cheek and leaves before he can say anything else. 

It has been months since they talked and Baby was able to stay away from Tim. She made sure to workout whenever he wasn’t at the Performance Centre. Whenever they had classes together, they would stand on the opposite sides of the room, far from each other. She never looked at him, but could feel his eyes staring at her. She was also very thankful to whatever high power that exists that they never got paired together. She had finally moved on. 

Whenever she wanted to see Marcel or Fabian, they would either go to her place or the three of them would meet at a bar. For some reason, today’s bar date felt like a deja vu. They were on a booth, her with her back to the bar’s entrance, nursing a beer while Junior and Fabian took shots. The boys were in front of her, laughing when she felt her anxiety creep in. A few moments later, a presence is felt and Tim stands there, in all his 6ft3 glory. 

“Good evening, guys.” Tim says to everyone, but his eyes never leave hers. Baby answers him back, while scooting a little far into the booth so Tim can sit by her side.

They never directly talk to each, their interactions only happening when Marcel and Fabian say something that requires an answer from the both of them.

She can feel Tim is nervous, his leg bouncing like crazy by her side, the fabric of his shorts rubbing on the skin her skirt didn’t cover. Baby has lost count on how many times she has held herself back from putting her hands on his knee to rub her thumb on it, like she always did when he was nervous.

The night went on like this. Soon enough, Junior and Fabian were shit faced, making Tim and Baby take them home together.

They arrive at the boys place, the both of them taking their designated drunk to their respective room and meeting back again on the living room. Tim speaks first before she tries to leave.

“Does this feels like deja vu to you too?

“God it does! Except it was Mack instead of Fabian last time.” she laughs softly back at him.

“I guess the next thing should be me raiding his fridge for a beer, right?” he asks reluctantly, afraid of her answer.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you on the balcony.”

Tim is back a few moments later, “I don’t know where Junior finds all this european stuff.”

“Oh, there’s a store nearby that sells foods and drinks from around the world. The day we first went there he was so excited I thought he was gonna pass out.”

“That does sounds like him. Look, I didn’t know you would be at the bar tonight, if I did, I wouldn’t have gone, as much as I want to see you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know it was Axel’s fault. But yeah, I wanted to see you too.” She tells him, a bit ashamed and they both smile at each other. They share a few moments of silence together, just appreciating their beers and the light breeze they were getting tonight. 

She’s moves around on the balcony to stand somewhat in front of him, and is the one to break the silence. “The PC is doing great things to you. Your ‘Thatch-as-Thatch Can’ segments are incredible. You’re better at talking, more confident, it really suits you.”

“Thanks. I saw you’re doing moonsaults now. I remember you always wanting to do it but afraid of. They look great. Everything you do is impeccable. I always knew you would be able to.”

They stare at each other in silence for what feels like ages, the breeze picks up again, making her hair fall to her face. Tim brushes the hair out of her face, glides his thumb across her right cheek and then her lips. On impulse, Baby grabs his t-shirt and crashes their lips together. When Tim feels her letting go, he holds her close, trapping her in his arms and deepening the kiss. 

It’s a raw, desperate kiss. Teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance. She moans when he lets go of her lips, leaving a wet trail of rough kisses from her face to the sweet spot on her neck, giving little bites to the space behind her ears.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you so much, Timmo.” She says, rubbing her core on his hardening length.

“Me too, doll. C’mon, let’s go to the bedroom”. 

They are attached to each other, stumbling on furniture, knocking down the living room lamp. When they get to Tim’s bedroom, they don’t bother on wasting time to take their clothes off. Tim pulls his shorts down and snakes Baby’s legs around his waist, lifts her skirt up enough to easily shove her lacy panties aside and fuck her against the wall.

It’s angry and rough, the result of one year worth of pent up rage and regret. They don’t care about the noises they’re making, fuck the neighbours, fuck Marcel, fuck Fabian, they are in their own little world now. Tim pulls the straps of her bra down, enough to attach his lips to her left nipple.

“Tim, babe, please don’t stop, I’m almost there. FUCK!”

He goes in harder, rougher and in no time she comes, flooding their clothes with her juices. Tim only stops when he feels her spasming against him, letting her gain some strength back. They move to his bed, taking the rest of their clothes off and Tim on her again, kissing her heat, sucking on her clit while he fingers her, mercilessly. It’s not long before she comes again, stronger than before, while gripping her hand on his hair, tears involuntarily streaming down her face.

He comes up to her lips, lays his body on top her and kisses her sweetly. “I’m sorry, doll. Was I too rough on you?” She lazily nods her head, silly smile on her face, still speechless.

Meanwhile, she strokes his still hard cock, lining it on her entrance, Tim asks if she still can take it, she only nods and lets out a soft “Mhmm”.

This time, Tim is gentle, rocking his body in an almost teasing motion, all while kissing her, telling her how much he missed her. They come together a few moments later.

Tim tumbles to his side of the bed, bringing Baby to lay her head on his chest, both of them coming out of their highs, just cherishing this moment together.

“I love you.” Baby finally breaks the silence. “I love you so much it hurts. I’m sorry I’ve been such a stubborn idiot.”

“Doll, you have all the right to be stubborn, I was a prick to you. And yes, I love you too. I love you more than anything, you still are the most important thing in my life.”

“So… do you want to try this again?” Baby offers.

“More than anything.” 

Baby wakes up around 07am, their limbs tangled together. She tries to get up without waking Tim up, failing. He holds her hand and asks where she’s going, “Breakfast”, she answers sleepily.

“Your famous eggs and bacon?”

“If Marcel has any on his fridge, yeah.”

“Yes!!!” she laughs at his attitude and goes to the kitchen. 

A few moments later Marcel appears in the kitchen, stops in his tracks and asks “What are you doing here? Did you fuck Fabian???”

“She didn’t fuck Fabian, dipshit.” Tim says as he walks past the german, who has a confused look on his face. He eyes Tim’s back, all red from the scratches she left behind last night, and it comes to him.

“What do y – oh my god, yes! FINALLY!”

[christinekingston]

This is extremely long so if you would like a tldr version just let me know.

A full week. A full week since his brother went missing and still no word from the police. Nathan could tell his calls were being screened at this point. He had his experience investigating incompetent and corrupt police forces from various parts of the world, and he had no doubt in his mind that the local force fell into one of those two categories, perhaps even both.  

It started with some basic research: missing person cases in Wildemount. There...were hardly any to note. Even less than would be considered an expected amount for a town of this size. Wildemount was bordered by a dense forest and a sizable lake, disappearances should have been common enough.  But according to his search, you would think this was the safest town in the whole goddamn world. Something wasn’t adding up.

It took some time, but Nathan compiled a list of potential missing person cases after speaking with several residents and those in nearby villages. Not a single news article or public record corroborating even one claim. Feeling the buzz he got when stumbling onto a great story, Nathan packed his bag and headed for the library.

With painstaking care Nathan poured over the town records, double, even triple-checking all census information he came across. Downing yet another to-go coffee, the journalist pushed through the exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in a few days, his research driving him further and further into the rabbit hole. Going over the population growth formula one last time, Nathan shut his notebook with resolve. He was right. The numbers were lower than they should be, even taking into account economic recessions and transient population groups. And not only that, it was a consistent pattern, going as far back in the records as he could ascertain. People would go missing and no one in power gave a single damn.

Still, he needed more substantial proof. Algorithms and testimonies were all fine and dandy, but it was no smoking gun. Nathan knew he couldn’t go to anyone about this, not sure just how far this coverup went, or even why for that matter. But for now, his coworkers at The Observer were out. Had no one questioned why so few obituaries were ever posted? Why reports put out on police investigations were so few and far between? Until Nathan could verify who to trust, this was all on him to expose the truth.

Nathan went home, taking the time to shower while a plan began to formulate in his mind. It was risky, but then all good stories came with a sacrifice. And besides all that, he needed to know what happened to his brother. He was going to make these fuckers pay for whatever it is they did to Parker, no matter the personal costs. Grabbing the tools he needed, the journalist took off once more, praying that the ignorance and cockiness of small-town police forces would be in his favor tonight.

Bundled in his winter coat, Nathan waited for the clock to hit midnight when most streetlamps would shut off on a timer. God bless England and its initiative to cut back on budgeting. Under the cover of night, he hugged the walls, eyes, and ears peeled for any potential security, keeping his flashlight off as much as possible. Moving to one of the side doors, he picked at the lock with bated breath, hoping beyond hope that this wasn’t an alarmed fire exit. As the lock clicked the journalist slowly opened the door, letting out a sigh of relief when no alarms began to blare. Slowly he made his way through the quiet building until he found the office he was looking for. Chief Constable.

Thankfully this lock was even easier to pick and Nathan slinked inside, closing the door behind him quietly. He immediately noticed the computer tucked away in the corner but decided against digging through it.  It would be too loud and too slow, a liability.  So instead he got to work carefully opening drawers and rifling through them. Finding a leather-bound journal, Nathan pulled it out and flipped through a couple pages, eyes scanning over the contents. He nearly dropped the journal as he let out a gasp, eyes widening at the next few pages. Holy fuck he hit the jackpot.  

Taking out his camera, Nathan snapped a few photos of consecutive pages. He would have continued working if not for the sound of a door closing shut down the hall. Heart pounding he immediately dropped into a crouch and clicked off his flashlight, holding his breath in hopes no one saw its light through the glass. A few seconds, a minute, and nothing. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Nathan decided it was safe. Originally he was going to take a few photos of the journal and put it back, but staying any longer than was necessary was beyond stupid.  

Stuffing the journal and camera in his bag, Nathan slowly closed the desk drawer and made his way as quietly as possible back out into the hallway. Grimacing as the office door creaked while opening, he glanced around to find it empty. He was safe, for now. The journalist only made it a couple feet down the hallway when he heard fast approaching footsteps. Fuck, he needed to get out, now. Taking off into a sprint, Nathan took blind corners, his mind racing to remember the path back outside. Yelling could be heard from behind, but it was far enough away that Nathan was certain he was faster than the security guard.  

Rounding another corner the journalist nearly grinned at the sight of the side entrance he’d taken. The home stretch. He shoved the door handle and suddenly the cool February air was blowing against his face.  But this didn’t mean he was safe.  Nathan bolted down the sidewalk, fumbling to pull out his car keys as he skirted the block.  The journalist prayed he didn’t drop them, otherwise, it would be wasting seconds he couldn’t spare.

Throwing open the door and stuffing his bag in the passenger seat, Nathan turned the ignition and sped down the otherwise quiet street, his heart heavy as he noticed someone watching him from the road through the rearview mirror.  It was dark, but the chances they’d seen his license plate were high.  His clock was ticking and he knew it.

The drive home was tense as Nathan thought desperately about what he was going to do.  He needed to hide the evidence and hope one of his friends would find it.  There was the option to just get the hell out of dodge...but no.  He couldn’t bring himself to leave now that he knew this horrid truth.  Leaving would be abandoning his loved ones who were still alive, for however long that would be he didn’t know, and that thought only strengthened his resolve.  This had to end.

Pulling into his driveway, Nathan rushed inside and doublechecked all his locks and windows, though he doubted that would make much of a difference in the end.  Bounding the steps to the bedroom, he took out his notebook and camera.  There was no point in hiding the journal, whoever came for him would take it back.  It was best to leave it in his bag, so they thought there was nothing else to look for.  

Opening the back compartment of the camera, he carefully took out the film and wrapped a shirt around it.  Nathan then flipped through his notes and tore out a few key pages.  It was best to separate the puzzle pieces, just in case.  Pulling open his underwear drawer, Nathan stuffed the items under a few layers of boxer briefs.  He frowned, feeling like that wasn’t enough of a precaution, when suddenly inspiration hit.  That thing.  

Digging around in his wardrobe Nathan finally found what he was looking for - a gift bag with the word Sensations embossed on the front.  Never did the journalist think he would be so relieved to pull out a vibrator.  Peyton had given it to him as a “gift,” saying that it would help him be less uptight.  Not that he ever intended on using it.  But this...this would do.  Going back to the dresser he placed the sex toy on top of everything, hoping a townie cop would shy away from any searches as soon as they saw it.  The chances were high, and Nathan was really banking on it.

Separately, Nathan put the remainder of his notebook and the camera in the gift bag and set it on the shelf of his wardrobe.  Hidden in plain sight.  Closing the door, he finally allowed himself a moment to take a deep breath.  This was the best he could do.  Nathan thought about calling someone, Evani or Peyton, to warn them about what was happening, or even his parents, to say a final goodbye, when he heard a creaking of steps.  His time had run out.

----------

An excerpt from The Observer:

Nathan Jin, age 37, was found dead by his neighbor early this morning.  The concerned neighbor had noticed Jin’s car running in the driveway for quite some time and decided to check upon him.  When Jin gave no response emergency services were called.

The medical examiner made the official ruling today that our fellow journalist had taken his own life.  As there are issues reaching his listed next of kin WPD has asked anyone close to Jin to please contact them at the earliest convenience.

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 39

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 39: Good Husbands and Bad Dreams

“Arthur?” said Mary Beth. She was holding a cabbage, and it was heavier than she thought it ought to be. She set it down on the counter in the kitchen of Deer Cottage, where she had been preparing their dinner: just some venison with wild blueberry on the side, a spot of greens. The room was warm and familiar and smelled good, like the food. There were candles lit romantically on the table, and the fire in the hearth was ablaze and warming the whole space of its winter chill. Arthur had been there just a moment before, but now it seemed he had gone out hunting. “Baby?”

She went to the window, and when she pulled back the curtain and looked outside, she saw that it was snowing, and that he had been gored to the side of a tree. It was a twelve-point buck that done it. He was not moving. The buck was not moving either. The snowflakes fell delicately from the sky upon the blood matted to her husband’s hair.

That is when she awoke, abruptly. She thought she heard herself screaming or perhaps it had been coming from the next room.

In the meantime, Arthur thought they were being attacked or infiltrated, the Pinkertons come for him in his goddam sleep. He nearly shot through the ceiling, was asking what, who, how, when, why, where, but she was just there, and the room was dark and quiet, and then she was in his arms real tight, and the blood was beating through his skull like a drum and it took him several minutes to calm her down and to calm himself, but finally he held her back into sleep, and when she was gone to him, he put her back heavy against the pillow, and she was peaceful as the dew like nothing had ever happened at all. But he was not. He was coming off the adrenaline of being woken up cold in the middle of the night, and for Arthur this was no joke. He was an outlaw. He always slept with one eye open, and as usual now, he was wide awake.

Taking a deep breath, he just wallowed with his head in his hands for a minute, orienting himself to the space of the room in the dark. It must have been three, four in the morning, he thought. It had been a lot of this lately, with her. Every couple nights in these past weeks since the wedding. He got up and pulled on a union suit from the bureau, went and threw open the French doors to let the air in. It was stuffy, and then he decided to go outside on the balcony to smoke a cigarette and lean against the railing, sort of just letting his head hang, lulling back and forth for a while, looking at the sleeping city, listening to the sounds of the drunks rattling around in the alleys. He glanced back to the bed were Mary Beth slept still as a stone and made no noises. Her head was flung to the pillow in many curls. She had been sweating in her sleep and it worried him a little but her skin hadn't been hot. It wasn't a fever. It was just some kind of purge going on it seemed. Arthur himself had not been bothered by one of his nightmares in a little while now. It's not that they never came, just that they did not tend to stick like they used to. In a restless fit of creative energy some nights before when he was in the Roanoke Valley with Call and LaBoeuf, he had sketched a picture of Isaac as the boy still lived inside his memory. Upon finishing it up the best he could he excused himself from their camp to weep silently against a cold sycamore for several minutes. The outburst had been brief, but he slept that night okay, and when he returned to Shady Belle and Mary Beth asked him how he was, he told her about the incident and about how he had sketched the boy and it had brought on tears. He did not show her the picture, but she had not asked. She knew when to ask and when to let him offer. It was not important, showing the art, he thought. It was the part about telling her that made it better, and okay. Something had processed. He would never be rid of this pain, but he understood it now. This part about Mary Beth was so important to him, as he could tell her anything.

He finished his cigarette, put it out on the rail. Then he went back inside and closed the doors. He took the union suit off again, tossed it to the floor. He got back into bed with no clothes on and pushed the damp curls off Mary Beth’s face. They’d had quite the tussle in there the night before, lost themselves a little bit, going off two rounds between the sheets, and she’d been so turned up—it was beyond good, and they were both spent. They had missed each other, while he was up helping out with Eagle Flies and then the Texas Rangers in the Roanoke Valley. Having caught the bounty, those Rangers fixed him up with $1500, a fourth the total take, called it a “wedding gift,” which he kept entirely for himself and Mary Beth, added to their nest egg for the future. It was the most lucrative bounty he’d ever assisted on. They told him he could move to Texas and join them, if he so pleased. Arthur laughed and though the thought did cross his mind, he knew he was not a Texas Ranger. He was trying to get out of the rambling life. It was just too dangerous.

Lying there now, staring at the ceiling, Arthur knew with certainty, for the first time possibly ever, that he had achieved some actual sense of accomplishment as a man. He trusted himself, and he was in control. He knew how to take care of Mary Beth. He knew that she was safe beside him, and he knew that the fucked-up dreams and the late night screaming would not last forever. He knew how to bring her out of nightmares and calm her back into sleep, and it woke him and jolted his pulse, but it was okay. He no longer feared that he would fail her. Something had clicked inside, and he knew that he would not. He just knew. He knew her, and he knew himself. It was certain.

Mary Beth awoke the next morning with only a vague recollection of what had happened. That was how it would be. Sometimes, she would have to be reminded. Sometimes, they would both forget or Arthur would just fail to mention. She’d been having a lot of nightmares, and sometimes they’d wake her, and sometimes, she would open her eyes, and they’d still sort of be going on, like she would be halfway between the dreaming and the waking, and the dream would jump out of her brain and into the room, a three-dimensional hallucination at the end of the bed, or leaning over her, until she found a way to wake up fully. Once, she recalled this happening, and she opened her eyes, and there was one of the Founding Fathers of our nation the United States of America, walking across the room, past the end of the bed, as if he were simply a ghost passing by in the night. She woke up screaming, jumped into Arthur’s arms, and then promptly went back to sleep. When she told him about it the next morning over breakfast at Shady Belle, he’d got confused.

“A Founding Father?” he said. “Like Thomas Jefferson?”

“Yes.”

“With the wig and everything?”

“Yes. But he was kind of transparent, like a ghost.”

“Was he…menacing you? Was he hurting you? Or me?”

“No,” she said. “He just walked past the bed.”

Arthur stared at her with incredulity. “And you woke up screaming?”

She became defensive. “There was a strange man wearing a wig and old fashioned clothing in our room. Of course I woke up screaming. You would, too.”

Arthur sighed. “Probably shooting, if it were me,” he said. “But you’re right I guess. That is mighty strange.”

He was so good to her. She could have married him all over again. But truth be told, she felt badly for waking him in the nights, and her anxieties were ramped up and this made her ornery, on edge. He handled her more delicately, she could feel it. Sometimes, she would just want to talk about it, about how she was feeling. About how everything seemed scary and uncertain, and he would just listen. He would tell her that what she felt was real and that he was there for her, but also that it would pass. She was still nowhere near showing yet, but she felt bloated, like she might pop, and some of her skirts were tight because of this. In truth, Arthur had noticed a little, but it was so slight. Mostly, she was just the same.

That night was the night of the riverboat job. After the disturbance, Arthur had gone back to sleep and slept late. She left him quietly, got out of bed, dressed and went downstairs and had breakfast at the bar, making polite conversation with some of the saloon girls who recognized her. She then read a little bit of Dickens, made a face at some of his choices in the prose, and around noon, Josiah appeared, dressed upright and as a full-on dandy, there to sweep her and her husband away to the tailor where they were to be outfitted for the evening.

“Good afternoon, my dear girl,” he said, escorting her to a table by the window where it was more private. He was so gentlemanly, as if he had taken a class for it in the Ivy League. “You look radiant.”

She blushed, took her seat. “Thank you,” she said, “though I feel fat.”

“Nonsense. Now, where is Arthur?”

“Upstairs,” she said. “I woke him up again last night, screaming."

"Good lord."

"I been having these…nightmares," she said, "and you know Arthur. Once he’s up it takes him forever to get back to sleep.”

“Yes, well. That must be frightening, for both of you. Nightmares, you say?”

“Yeah. I feel bad, but what can I do? I think it’s from the baby. This has never happened before.”

“Do not feel bad, love,” said Josiah. He reached forward, across the table, and with his gloved hand drew a little pink flower from behind her ear. “Arthur understands.”

She smiled, taking the flower, extremely charmed.

Arthur cleared his throat then. He had been standing right there. When they both looked up, he nodded and sat down, dressed in a clean white shirt and silk suspenders with his hair knotted off his face. He scrubbed Mary Beth on the head affectionately, and then he addressed Josiah. “You got any more of them flowers for me, Trelawny? Or is your botanical magic reserved strictly for the women.”

Josiah laughed. “Good morning,” he said, “and of course, I’ve always got something for you, dear boy,” but when he reached behind Arthur’s ear, all he came up with was a dirty coin. He flipped it up and Arthur caught it in mid air, tucked it away. “Sleep well?” said Josiah.

“Sure,” said Arthur, calling over one of the girls. He ordered some oatmeal and a coffee.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” said Mary Beth. “I know last night must've been bad. I dreamed you was killed by a goddam deer.”

“A deer?” he said.

“Well, a buck,” she said. “I don’t know why my mind is doing this to me.”

"It’ll quiet down,” said Arthur. “Don’t worry. And definitely don't worry about me.”

She sighed.

“We should leave soon for the tailors,” said Josiah. “How quickly can you eat?”

“Keep your pants on,” said Arthur.

“No need to bite my head off.” Josiah fussed with his sleeves. “We’ll leave when you’re good and fed.” He patted Arthur on the hand.

“You seem tired,” said Mary Beth, kind of privately. “It’s my fault.”

Arthur turned to her, looked her in the eye and then kissed her forehead. “It ain’t your fault,” he said, “and I ain’t tired. I’m just hungry. And nervous. It’s okay.”

“Don’t be nervous,” she said, smoothing the hair behind both his ears. “Are you gonna get a haircut?”

He found this amusing. “You think I should?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe,” said Josiah.

“I’ve gotten to kind of liking it long,” said Arthur. The girl came over with the oats and coffee. He thanked her kindly and went right to it.

“The hair can stay,” said Josiah, “if you like, but pomade, dear boy. We need you looking sharp, and you do need a shave. You’re starting to look like a mountain man.”

“I am a mountain man.”

“I like your beard,” she said, touching it. “It’s soft. Makes you seem like a furry animal.”

He smiled over at her, chewing.

Josiah sighed dramatically. “The two of you will rot my teeth. And the beard will grow back, my girl.”

“Do you mind?” said Arthur, giving him a damn look. “I’m trying to woo my wife here.”

“And might I say, Arthur, you’re doing it very well,” said Josiah. “Are you looking forward to our fine night of debauchery?”

“No.” He finished his coffee, gestured to the bartender for another. He rolled up his sleeves, too. The room was warm.

"Well," said Josiah. "I suppose that is to be expected. What about you, Mary Beth?"

“Kind of,” she said, looking down at the table cloth. It was quite dainty, embroidered with a lovely fleur-de-lis. "I ain’t really nervous. I just don’t know what to expect.”

“Expect to leave with a great deal of money,” said Josiah. "Arthur here is the greatest hustler this side of the Mississippi."

"This side?" said Arthur, feigning offense.

"Both sides," said Josiah, smirking. "Anyway, he always wins."

“Yes, well, that is the plan,” said Mary Beth.

"Speaking of plans," said Josiah, taking his gloves off, studying his nails. "Arthur, have you spoken to Dutch since your return?"

"Just pleasantries," said Arthur, finishing with his oats, the metal spoon clanking to the bowl. "Why?"

"It sounds like the trolley station job was a lark."

"How do you mean?"

"John and Abigail determined there is little to no money stashed behind the counter there. Bronte's tip was hogwash. The robbery is off."

Arthur took pause, wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin then tossed it to the table. There was a lull in which all you could hear was the petty daytime bustle of the saloon. Arthur lowered his voice. "You think we was being set up?"

"I'm not sure," said Josiah. "That is why I asked whether you talked to Dutch."

Arthur took a deep breath, staring down into his mug as he tried calculating exactly what it was this meant. He then took a long drink of his coffee. "Mary Beth."

"Yes?"

"You still got that pocket watch, don't you? The one you swiped off Bronte at the Mayor's house."

"You pickpocketed Bronte?" said Josiah. "Very good work." He raised his glass.

"Thank you." She looked at Arthur. "Of course I still have it. I keep it with me. Why?"

"Bring it to the party," he said.

"Bring it to the party?"

"Just in case," he said. "If Bronte knows, if he confronts you, you play along, coyly, then you may need to give it back."

"But, Arthur," she said. "There ain't no way he knows."

"There is always a way, Mary Beth."

"But that watch is worth too much to us. I can't give it back, Arthur. I won't."

"Mary Beth," he said, serious.

"No," she said, very certain. She grabbed him by the wrist and held it there, staring at him, shaking her head. "No."

Josiah had withdrawn from the conversation, grown quiet. He was studying the face of his own pocket watch, an expensive piece he'd picked up back in Blackwater.

Arthur took a deep breath, his mind shifting. He knew he wouldn't be able to change her mind and maybe he wouldn't have to. He looked down at Mary Beth's hand as if it were a small animal, and he picked it up and held it in both of his. "Okay," he said, nodding. "Okay. Keep the watch, Mary Beth."

"Good."

"But then I need you to have a plan." He squared up with her.

"A plan?"

"Yes," said Arthur. "We don't know what kind of game he's playing, Mary Beth. But if he's bringing us there with any kind of mind to accuse you, I don't care how you fix it, but you fix it, and in your line of reasoning just mind that we don't wanna give him any reason whatsoever to think he can fuck with us tonight. Understand?"

Mary Beth drew quiet, pensive. She was studying the ruffles of her pink skirt now, her mind doing backflips. She caught his drift. "Okay. I know what to do."

"You might not have to." He kissed her freckled knuckles, locked up her eyes for a minute. "It's just a precaution."

"I know."

He did not ask for her plan after that. Instead, he just nodded and looked back to Trelawny. "Let's get on with it," he said.

"Splendid," said Trelawny, dropping his hand to the table with a timely thud. "Your Texas Ranger entourage awaits."

With this, Arthur gave up and groaned. "Good god."

"What's the matter?" said Mary Beth as they got up from their chairs.

"Nothing. Just Call and LaBoeuf. Them two will be the death of me. What a goddam song and pony show."

"That's the point isn't it?" said Josiah.

"I suppose."

"Don't tell me you've moved above the art of the con, Mr. Morgan," said Josiah. He was straightening his lapels. "You are, after all, the most skilled among us. Aside from Hosea, of course. Though as his protege, you are a close second."

They went to the door. Secretly flattered, Arthur held it for both of them, and when they got outside to the flies-buzzing streets, he cracked his knuckles and breathed that humid, moneyed southern air. "No, I ain't above it," he said. He looked at Mary Beth. "A good, clean con ain't never hurt nobody."

"Nobody but those who got it coming," she said, fluffing her hair, fluffing her skirt. "And in this case, it's the high and mighty. Ain't it boys?"

She was smiling, a real canny kind of something as he helped her onto her horse. He thought to himself, no wonder those dreams haunted her mind sometimes, as it was still but a complicated maze of misdirection and fascinating proportion like it always had been, and with making a baby, it had seemed to crack wide open so it was exposed to the air, and he could see it all. He didn't care if it meant sleep deprivation for the rest of his natural born life, with Founding Fathers haunting their room in the early morning hours, for she was a strange girl and his, and he was determined to live inside her and all of her mystery and pretty speed forever and let love ruin him so.

[chiseler]

The Last Light

There is a moment in David Lynch's Twin Peaks: The Return that on its incandescent surface could have been lifted, weightless, from the great post-war dream of materialist deliverance: The top on the convertible is down, the radio on; The Paris Sisters are singing I Love How You Love Me as a reincarnated Laura Palmer lifts her face to a cloudless sky. Within the tapestry of this early Phil Spector production — his trademark reverb eternally associated with Romance and Death (two conditions Spector knew all too well) — the voice of Priscilla Paris is a siren sound from the American Beyond. We could be hearing a dream goddess lullaby from the whispering gallery, or sweet nothings from the crypt. We don't know. We'll never know. Just as Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood keeps us guessing with the elusive murmur that “Sharon Tate will never die,” granting her a gaudy, wondrous L.A. to cavort in where it's 1969 forever and movie stars still matter, so we find ourselves in Tarantino’s version of paradise (complete with flame throwers to the face). In this oneiric echo chamber, momentarily shared by Lynch and Tarantino, Surrealism smiles down upon a vision of American blondness; muscle cars soaked in sunlight; the terrible ecstasy of unending motion; candy for the eye and ear.

David Lynch’s favorite film, to this day, remains Otto e Mezzo, directed by Western Europe's sorcerer of confectionary delights, Federico Fellini; the man who put the “dolce” in La Dolce Vita. And here you have a fleeting taste of ideologies swirled together and spun like ribbon candy: a blur of four-wheeled luxury from the New World, zooming past regional splendor into that fraternity of man: the socio-economic nirvana imagined by Karl Marx.

Careening from one via to another at harrowing, white-knuckle speeds, Fellini was heard to lament that “Some of the neo-realists seem to think that they cannot make a film unless they have a man in old clothes in front of the camera.” George Bluestone, recording these words in 1957 for the pages of Film Culture, was sittings in the literal passenger seat of the ideal metaphor of post-war ebullience in action: that famous Black Chevy skirting the Italian Scylla (the Vatican) and its equally dogmatic Charybdis (the Party); expert, 20th century precision guiding them through Roman streets with graffiti-scrawled churches proudly bearing the hammer and sickle. At those velocities, anything could make sense.

“What for you is the greatest human quality?”, Bluestone asks. Fellini responds, “Love of one’s fellows,” a period-appropriate oath that rings true to his brand of ecumenical solidarity.

“The greatest fault?”

“Egoism.”

Try, if you will, to imagine our more locally sourced egoists nodding along with Fellini in soulful agreement on that one. As a kind of compatriot of Edgar Allan Poe, David Lynch (and, to some extent, Tarantino) spawns from his abiding axiom that “The death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetic topic in the world.” In Lynch’s hands, American television has become a brightly lit seance for Poe’s ethereal dead. Immortal creatures afflicted with the dream of physical existence, then afflicting the dreamers. Twin Peaks: The Return modifies Poe's axiomatic truth with great help from Amanda Seyfried's Becky and her pair of visionary's eyes, melting Spector's dark edifice of sugar in deathless, Sternbergian close-up — iridescent search lights, ever more urgently scanning the sky above for a sun to swallow her whole. We can only witness and internalize this shimmering ingenue trading places with Old Sol, as if the drugs she's consumed have entered our system and not hers.

Filmmakers like Fellini and Lynch celebrate bodily extremes in intriguing, if differing ways that should naturally gallop right beyond the pale but nevertheless become wholly, weirdly digestible. It is perhaps the innocent glee, even wonderment, of these artists in the vast variety of shapes the human body can assume; innocence which acts as a giant eraser for every awareness on our part of how physical representation in the age of political correctness is meant to function. Lynch is able to present the disabled as by turns childlike, mysterious or magical beings without ever worrying about lending them agency (The Elephant Man's John Merrick is a passive whipping boy for seemingly the whole of Victorian London) or the lie of adult sophistication (the latest Twin Peaks iteration includes a pint-sized hitman who whines like a puppy when his icepick is broken).

Fellini's dwarfs and grotesques, on the other hand, emerge from the struggle of a one-time Marc'Aurelio cartoonist willing one-dimensional images into three-dimensional embodiment. His big women, of course, are fetish figures. They always were. Gargantuan beauties, evidence of a sexual ideal formed in infancy: the big Italian mammissima, seen from below. As Fellini grew into a rather large adult himself, this ideal was simply re-scaled accordingly (even the icy mountain of Anita Ekberg takes on new implication). Goddesses all, they are, however, not meant for conventional movie stardom.

And what of Tarantino? Once Upon a Time's Margot Robbie IS the no-longer-doomed Sharon Tate as she watches herself on the big screen; enjoying a thrill that few have ever known so guilelessly that any half-baked charges of narcissism shrivel to nullity before they can escape a single throat. Here before us is an essential glimpse into the vanishing phenomenon of movie stardom itself, reflexive handwringing from the woke balconies notwithstanding. Tarantino has at last achieved something transcendental: even his grotesques — slack-jawed, gap-toothed, gormless members of the Manson Family conflated with more contemporary Identitarian cultists on the lookout for 'Lookism', knives unsheathed — are downright mythic. Robbie's Tate is a visage both generically perfect and possessed by the angels, every one of them a blond resident of LA County, sincere and unknowable as desert light.  

The vampires, creatures of night slain by sunlight, infiltrated the movie theaters in the 1920s and never left. They sit next to us in the dark, having ceded the power to hypnotize us to the glowing screen itself. Photochemical vagaries invariably allow movie darkness to behave in impossible ways; as if the physical properties of film itself knew no rules, and thus invited us to accept its essential anarchy without question. Before us is a darkness that GLOWS.

A Black & White image flipped into negative can produce black fire, or the black sunlight which illuminated the Transylvanian forests of Nosferatu, through which a box-like carriage rattles at Mack Sennett speed. But with only the smallest underexposure, a little dupey degradation of the print, or even a little imagination (such collaboration is not discouraged), this liquid blackness will spread anywhere, everywhere; the most luminous pestilence known to creation. Be it in the laughing nightmare of Fleischer cartoons of old (Out of the Inkwell, indeed) or Jean Epstein's photogenie phantasmagoria, we're left to wonder. Is daylight burning out the corner of a building, or is it the blackness of the building which is eating into the sky? As with so many such questions, film permits us no answer. We are to simply watch as characters smudge, their shadows emanating out beyond themselves, pulsing and flickering with an obsidian internal flame.

By the time Jean Epstein adapted The Fall of the House of Usher in 1928, it could wisely be said that Poe had been already aggrandized through the mechanism of carbon-arc projection; which is but one way to say that the vision that once seemed unharnessable, had at last been industrialized. Dragooned. Pressed into an ever more modern service at a pace to be measured in frames-per-second. Artists like Epstein and Chomon were the first generation to wield an immense cultural and commercial instrument; at once abidingly real and totally incomprehensible. No medium of expression predating cinema could so thoroughly lift audiences from linear time, or could as convincingly, in the words of Jean Epstein, render death as a conscious state.

Transcendentalism barely scratches the surface here. A more apposite term — the one he nuances in his film theory, “photogenie” (a genesis out of light) — pulls transitory moments, otherwise escaping human perception, into focus. If Poe engrosses us in Romantic conceptions of death as a means to visionary truth, Epstein reveals that same supposedly “elusive” end in our earthly world of telephones, sports cars, Kodak cameras for the every-man and moderne manicures for up-to-the-minute dandies.

The Victorians were falling away. And with them a system of reality contained in narrow, overwrought performances. Withered technique as a means of reflecting Nature — or, to quote Balzac, the “conjugation of objects with light” — was displaced, uncrowned by Jean Delville’s Death (1890), which embodies an altogether different kind of virtuosity, one no Academy could ever comprehend. The charcoal drawing and ode to Edgar Allan Poe’s Masque of the Red Death yearns with a combination of verve and starkness toward a capital “G” Gloom destined to escape salons.

Coming of age in a series of shady elsewheres — the fairgrounds, nickelodeon parlors and movie palaces of an Edwardian America — nitrate and its twinkling mineral essence gave Poe's crepuscular light its time to shine and  thereby illuminate the world. No longer held in the solitary confinement of a page of reproduced text or an image, however still, rendered in paint or ink. Poe's singularly tormented vision was finally written alchemically, in cinematographic rays beamed through silver salts; into moving images of such aggressive vitality as to blast every rational thing from one's mind.

All hail magic mirrors! Celestial mandalas! Giant eggs and butterfly women! Segundo de Chomón's The Red Spectre (1907) ruthlessly invades our eyes with a wraith-magician dissolving through his coffin lid in a red, hand-tinted, flame-flickering hell. His caped, skull-masked presence was to herald the manic new thespic truth that, from this moment forward, the art of acting is in how you respond to light, and how light responds to you. The Specter of Chomon's dark bauble is in every element Poe's Red Death — japing and performing tricks for us, his adoring fans and welcome guests, before announcing our doom — literary metaphor slammed against a literal backdrop of amber stalactites, pellucid as an ossuary.

Doctor Pretorius might have been musing on the history of cinema in 1935’s The Bride of Frankenstein when he said: “Sometimes I have wondered whether life wouldn't be much more amusing if we were all devils, no nonsense about angels and being good.”

by Daniel Riccuito, Tom Sutpen and David Cairns

[katymacsupernatural]

Meeting by Chance

1940′s Dean x Pin-Up Reader

1850 Words

Written For: @spnfluffbingo

Square Filled: Historical

Summary: Set in the 1940′s, Y/N get’s caught in the middle of a fight between Dean and some evil men. Little does she know that Dean knew exactly who she is. 

Warnings: None 

The automobile was like many you had seen before. Sleek and black, parked on the side of the street, it seemed to blend in. But as you stepped closer, your patent leather pumps echoing with each step on the sidewalk, you could see the bullet holes along the side. The mud caking the wheels, a seldom seen sight this deep in the city.

Glancing cautiously at the car, you moved on, past a couple of jeering creeps on the side of the road. You hated this time of year, when the sun set earlier than normal, making your evening commute happen in the dark.

The wind picked up, blowing your long wool coat around your legs. With three blocks still to go, you hoped the storm would stay away until you were safe inside your little apartment. But one raindrop fell, and then another before it started raining hard. Your perfectly coiffed hair immediately flattening with the weather, you glanced for a place to get out of the rain. One of your favorite diners sat at the corner, it’s light blinking in the fog settling in. Rushing forward, your shoes slipping on the wet sidewalk, you threw open the door, scampering inside before you were completely soaked.

It wasn’t very busy, you noticed as you sat down at the bar. A couple of old woman at the far end sipping tea. A family, counting pennies as they shared a simple meal. Two men sitting a couple of stools down from you, looking quite dandy in their black suits. You caught yourself staring at the shorter of the two men. His hair was a little shorter than you were used to, not slicked back with grease. He had a hat sitting on the counter beside his pie, a long wool coat hanging on the back of his stool. His shoulders filled out the wool suit.

“It sure is raining out there,” the waitress exclaimed, pulling her pad out from her polka dot apron. “You did the right thing dearie. Coming in out of the rain.”

“Thanks,” you answered. “Can I have the chicken salad and coffee please?”

“Of course!” She exclaimed, turning to give your order to the cook. While she was bringing back your coffee, you caught the man with the hat staring your way, his eyes wide, the fork hanging from his lips.

Wondering if he recognized you, you smiled his way, turning back to take coffee from the waitress. Sipping at the hot liquid, letting it warm you up, you finally stood up, slipping out of your coat. You were wearing one of your favorite dresses, bought just last week for your latest interview. It was short sleeved, tight bodice, the skirt flaring to just below your knees. It’s style was daring. Truth be told, many of your outfits were daring. It came with the job of being a pinup model.

“Excuse me Miss,” the man two seats down from you finally spoke up. You could just make out his eyes, and how vibrantly green they were. “But do I know you?”

“I don’t believe so,” you answered, just as your chicken salad was placed in front of you. “But I do get that a lot.”

“I do believe I have seen you somewhere before,” he continued, the man sitting next to him glaring at him. “The name’s Dean.”

“Y/N,” you answered, holding your hand out. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

“You’re Y/N!” He breathed, his eyes wide, his hand still holding yours. “I thought you looked familiar. I’m your biggest fan!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to say, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“No, you’re Y/N. One of the most famous pin up girls there is! I have your pictures in my garage, and one by my bed. I absolutely love you.”

“Thank you, that’s nice,” you mumbled, not exactly sure what to say. Before either of you could say anything, the door swung open, a couple of burly looking men stepping inside.

You could see Dean patting his pocket, watching the guys cautiously. “When I tell you, get down and stay down,” he ordered quietly.

It was easy to see that something was going on. The men easily noticed Dean and his friend, their smiles widening before they pulled out wicked looking machine guns. “Look at these creeps,” Dean spoke up. “Walking in here and grandstanding like they own the place.”

“We do,” one of the men answered. “And when we saw your car outside, we knew you had disobeyed our orders.”

No other words were needed. Dean pulled out his gun, as did his friend. “Now!” Dean yelled, and you ducked down behind the counter as gunfire echoed around the small area. You hoped the old ladies and small family had enough sense to huddle down in their booths while this fight happened.

You could hear glass shattering, pieces raining down around you. People were screaming, and suddenly Dean flew over the counter, landing right beside you. “What’s going on?”

“Those men are in cahoots with the biggest mobster in the city,” Dean explained before popping up and pulling the trigger a couple more times. “We’ve been after them for quite some time. But I need to get you out of here.”

“How?” You asked. “They were by the door.”

“Sammy?” Dean called. “We’re taken the back exit. Cover us!”

Dean held his hand out, and you instinctively grasped it. Letting him pull you down the length of the counter, pushing through the swinging doors. A couple of cooks hid in the back, behind the freezer. A door swung open, the rest of the help no doubt running away as soon as trouble started.

You stayed with Dean, heading out the open door just as Sam joined the two of you. “Go!”

Wishing you had kept your coat on, you raced after Dean, your pumps having trouble on the slippery sidewalk. The rain continued to fall as Dean stopped in front of the automobile, you had seen earlier. “Listen, I know you don’t know us. But we are the good guys. Stay with us, and we’ll keep you safe.”

“What if I just head home?” You asked. You could hear voices from the alley. The other people were close. “I was just a bystander!”

“They know your face now! It’s famous, and you were with us. Please, let me keep you safe!” Dean pleaded.

You only had a split second to make a decision. You could try hiding from the creeps on your own, or you could stay with these two men who had already protected you once. Surprising the one called Sammy, you slid in the back. He quickly slid into the front seat as Dean started the automobile. He was just pulling away from the curb when the men arrived, shooting their guns towards the car. Your window shattered, and you ducked down.

Talking under his breath, Dean squealed tires as he rounded the corner. Taking the roads faster than you ever had before, you held on tightly. Dean handled the jalopy with ease, driving for another twenty minutes before he finally turned down a muddy driveway. Parking in an old barn, Dean turned the engine off. Sammy immediately climbed out of the car, leaving you alone with Dean.

“I can’t believe this,” he whispered, staring back at you.

“What? That you’ve been shot at?” You asked him, trying to settle your hair back down.

“No. That I finally got to meet you,” he answered, smiling your way. “I’ve wanted to meet you since your first picture in that magazine. You were so...are so beautiful. It seems unreal that you’re sitting here. With me?”

“Well, you did save me,” you said. “Now what?”

“Now we wait until sunrise before we get you back to your place,” Dean said. “By then they won’t be thinking of you, and you’ll be safe once again.”

Dean opened the door of the garage, and you followed him across the dark and muddy ground, your brand new shoes sinking into the muck. Shivering, you stepped inside the old ramshackled house, seeing that Sam was already at work building a fire in the fireplace.

“It’s not much,” Dean started as you stared at the house in dismay. “But it’s home. At least for a couple more days.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sam and I, we travel the country. Taking out the big bads that keep messing with normal people.”

“So you’re like guns for hire.”

“Kind of,” he answered. “Except we don’t normally get paid. We could work for the FBI or a local police agency, but that’s not for us.”

Dean finally seemed to notice your shivering, taking another wool coat from the chair, wrapping it around your shoulders. While he went to pour a couple of glasses of whiskey, you began looking around the place. The wallpaper was peeling, bare beams showing in many places. The floor was covered in dust, and the furniture was broken. But what caught your eye was the poster hanging up above a small pallet of bedding. Stepping closer, you easily recognized your first pin up photograph. It was a simple photograph, you smiling at the camera, wearing a short skirt. Leaning back against an automobile. Your shirt was unbuttoned, slipping from your shoulders. Bright red lipstick covered your lips, while one leg was slightly lifted, showing your bright red pumps. Part of your hair was pulled forward, coming close to covering one eye.

“I fell in love the moment I saw that picture,” Dean told you, handing you a tin can filled partly with whiskey. “I’ve carried it with me everywhere since. And now I can’t believe I’ve actually gotten to meet you.”

“I’m more than a picture,” you whispered, admitting your worst fear. That everyone would see the provocative poses and outfits, and expect you to act the same way. But you were normally more reserved than you appeared.

“I know that now,” he answered, smiling at you, all of your worries vanishing easily. “I guess, what I’m trying to say, is I’ve never thought I’d get the chance to tell you how much you’ve saved me. And I can never thank you enough for that.”

“I saved you?”

“Our lives were rough ones, always traveling. Dad was a traveling mechanic during the depression.”

“Well, you met me and you’ve thanked me. Now what?” You asked him, digging the toe of your pump into the dusty wooden floor.

“I guess that’s up to you,” he answered, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched you closely. “We can take you back to your apartment in the morning. Or…,”

“Or what?” You whispered softly, taking a step closer to him.

“Or you could travel around with us. I know we’ve just met, but I can tell that you’ve been dying for an adventure. And I can give you one. So...what do you say?”

Dean/Jensen Tags:  @acreativelydifferentlove​ @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney​ @akshi8278​ @all-will-be-well-love @anokhi07​  @assassinofmasyaf @biawol @bebravekeeponfighting​  @buckmastersnation-blog @brindz30​ @colette2537​ @crusadedean​ ​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​  @haelyn​ @ikeneasul11​ @imascio08​ @its-not-a-tulpa​ @just-another-winchester​ @keikoraventeller @lauren-novak @librarygeekery​ @mirandaaustin93 @mlovesstories​ @msimpala67​  @michirutenshi​ @pisces-cutie​ @ria132love​ @ruprecht0420​ @sassymoose07 @shadowhunter7​ @sizzlingbearpolice​ @sleep-silent-angel​ @sortaathief​ @superseejay721517​ @thegrungequeer​ @thewinchestergirl1208​ @torn-and-frayed​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​

Forever Tags(CLOSED): @16wiishes  @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andkatiethings @andreaaalove @angelsandwinchesters @anspgene @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @bemyqueenofdarkness @bohowitch @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @bumber-car-s @brooke-supernatural16  @brunettechick @camelotandastronauts @captainradicalpassion @chelsea072498 @clairese1980 @darthdeziewok @destiels-new-girl  @dont-you-dare-say-misha @dslocum89  @docharleythegeekqueen @emmazach @emilicious-7 @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280 @essie1876 @generalgoldfishldrm @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek  @heyitscam99 @highfunctioning-soiciopath @hms-fangirl @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @ichooseeternalplaces @i-hear-crazy-calling-my-name @imboredsueme @internationalmusicteacher @ithinkimadorable-67 @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @just-another-busy-fangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @keelzy2 @kittenofsarcasm @leanbeankeane @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice @luciferslucille @maui137 @mellowlandrunaway @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @nanie5 @natashacamillaus @newtospnfandom  @offbeatwriting @percussiongirl2017​ @pilaxia @pizzarollpatrol @plaid-lover-bay25​ @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @rosegoldquintis​ @roxyspearing​ @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @smoothdogsgirl @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @sunskittlex @starry-chaos @superbadassnatural @thebikiniinspector @theflameontheinside @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @thisismysecrethappyplace @tina8009 @totallovelesson @tunadean @vvinch3st3r @walkslikesummeractslikerain @whimsicalrobots @wildlandfox @winchesterbrothers-inc @winchesterxtwo @winchester-writes @worldwidehansum @yourvoiceislikearose @zombiewerewolfqueen

[wordsaremybestfriends]

Oops: Chapter 1

Hey there! I’m back from the dead and ready to put out another story for y’all! This one is going to be a Mob!Tom AU bc honestly I can’t stop reading all the great content on this site about him... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

[PHOTOS DO NOT BELONG TO ME, but i arranged them and stuff so...]

SUMMARY: Bellamy and her friends have a bit of a history sneaking into parties when they aren’t invited. A night where they crash their biggest event to date, Bellamy finds herself in a spot of trouble that catches Tom’s eyes. With Bellamy trying to remain anonymous in the party, and Tom trying to find a way to keep pleasure and work separate, the two find themselves in more excitement and accidents than either ever imagined. 

TW: alcohol, sexual assault, cursing

If anyone at this party knew that Bellamy was barefoot right now, she wasn’t so sure she’d be able to stay. Granted, she was a party crasher and had no real invite, so being thrown out of the party could happen anytime, but she figured being barefoot at a black tie event was almost as bad.

To be fair, she hadn’t meant to lose her shoes. She’d been in the backseat of the cab that was taking her and James to the front doors of this gala, where security was more numerous than party guests. For the ride, she’d slipped off the shoes to try and find a bit of comfort in the cool May air, but when they finally stopped, she saw the grand entrance of the exclusive venue she would only have dreams of entering. So what if she was a bit starstruck? She lost a pair of shoes, not a human being. There were worse things she could do.

Bellamy lost quite a bit more than just her shoes once she walked through the giant double doors of the ornately decorated ballroom of the lush Garden of Geneva just outside of London. Outside, she was Bellamy Bennett, a broke college graduate that lived paycheck to paycheck with her best friend in a rundown apartment. The girl who carried her camera around daily and made a living as a professional photographer for the highest bidder was forgotten as Bellamy passed over the golden threshold of the elegant venue. She was Elizabeth Lovelace, an heiress from Portugal who liked to spend her days in gilded ballrooms, dancing the night away. Elizabeth, a mysterious and captivating woman that had ideas about the world and society that she occasionally shared with someone who found her interesting enough to start a conversation with her. Elizabeth, who worried only when her champagne glass was empty and left when her feet began to grow tired of dancing. She was the polar opposite of someone like Bellamy, who could barely fathom leaving her precious laptop for an evening to indulge in the art of sneaking into high profile parties whenever the opportunity came about.

This was the fifth party she’d snuck into, and easily one of the most high profile events she’d attended. Instead of the typical cocktail dress and five minute makeover she’d swipe onto her face, she wore a custom ballgown, one that put each of the other dresses in the room to shame. Her friend Jenna, an up and coming designer, had almost peed herself at the opportunity to turn Bellamy into a princess for the evening. She worked nonstop for almost a week, styling the dress in her bedroom and away from prying eyes until it was absolutely and positively finished. What she had emerged with was a baby blue and golden off the shoulder piece of artwork. The poofy ball gown was covered with lace that Jenna had painstakingly sewed into the dress, and seven different skirts of tulle to make it puff out magnificently from her hips. At Jenna’s hand, Bellamy had been turned into a fairytale princess for the night, with elegance and beauty to spare.

Which is definitely not what she was going for when she was trying to sneak in a high profile party like this one.

James, one of her friends she’d snuck in with that evening, had his fingers intertwined with Bellamy’s tight enough to cut off the circulation in them. He was the mastermind behind crashing this party, but now that he was actually on the dance floor, amidst the other rich and intimidating guests, he felt as if he could shit himself.

“This was insane.” He muttered under his breath as he courted Bellamy across the ballroom. “I honestly didn’t think we’d make it this far. I thought we’d be kicked out first thing-”

“Lighten up, kid!” Their other friend, Kenny, says as he appears beside the two with a new flute of champagne in his fingertips. His suit was impeccably pristine, despite having to slip through the servant’s entrance in the back of the gardens. “We’re here, we’re queer, and we’re drinking something other than beer. That’s enough of a reason to celebrate, right?”

The three giggled to one another quietly as they clinked their champagne flutes together and sipped on them. All that needed to happen now was for Jenna to find her way into the party as well, and stick to Bellamy’s side as they relaxed and played pretend for yet another night.

“I’m going to go check on Jenna, since she should be coming in anytime.” Delicately, James untangled his fingers from Bellamy’s, downing the rest of his champagne in one gulp.

“And I’m going to go ask that hot piece of ass if he wants to dance,” Kenny said as he pointed to a particularly attractive man whose biceps made his sleeves look as if they were about to burst. “See you ladies later, yeah?”

“If anything happens, the rendevous is a few blocks away, on 7th and Maple.” Bellamy piped up as she raised her champagne as a farewell to her two friends.

Soon enough, she was left alone amidst the strangers of the party, like a perfect statue on the edge of the room. Her eyes traced the room lazily as she watched people move about one another, socializing and scheming their way through the evening. No one paid much attention to her, other than the few ladies who scowled at how beautiful her dress was and the amount of attention she was surely gathering from the men in the room.

One of her simplest desires was to remain like a fly on the wall wherever she went. She could know much more about someone if she took a few steps away from them, and just watched their actions instead of listen to the facade most put forth. Bellamy loved the authenticity she learned from people around her when they weren’t paying attention.

Like now. Across the ballroom, Bellamy spots a younger man amongst a dozen older men. He smiles and laughs, but the corners of his oak eyes don’t crinkle like they would if he was actually happy. It’s clear that he has a position in the group, and isn’t some straggler that tries to join in with the others. His suit is well fitted to his body, accentuating his muscular body and straight back. Whatever youth and innocence he might exude is completely glossed over by the fact that his presence is one that expresses the notion that he is powerful.

Which is all well and dandy until Bellamy notices the fact that her stare is returned with a sinful smirk that cuts straight to her core.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

She quickly turns to hide the growing blush that rises to her cheeks with a few rapid heartbeats. Her skirt dances around her still-bare feet as she struggles to find a reason to move from her position on the wall. James and Kenny are nowhere in sight, and neither is Jenna. Close by is the bathroom, where only a handful of people are standing around, all either entertained by their phones or a glass of half-empty champagne. If she walks quickly enough, she could make it to the bathroom before the man has a chance to break away from the group. She’d have to be careful, of course, with the sheer volume of her gown, but she could potentially make it.

Up ahead, waiters and waitresses start to file out of the kitchens with h’ors de veurs, and even if Bellamy would be excited to eat some fancy shit like gold, she isn’t too pleased to see the path to safety blocked. She can’t spot the oak-colored eyes around her, nor the familiar expressions of her friends, as she loses herself to the crowd.

Until a hand snakes around her stiff waist, and pulls her tightly against the chest of someone behind her.

“Well hello there, pretty lady…” A booze-filled voice breathes against her exposed neck. Their hand goes to secure themselves against the lower half of Bellamy’s stomach, forcing her in place. “What’s yer name, doll?”

Bellamy jams her elbow into the divet of their chest, but the person barely budges. She spins, albeit slightly, to find a man, face tinged with red, towering over her. His fingers curl into the tulle of her dress, threatening to stretch and destroy the stitching that Jenna slaved over.

“Um, it’s none of your business?” She tells him with a stern tone as she struggles against his drunken grip. “Get your hands off of me!”

She struggles for another moment as he breathes out a laugh against her neck. He downs another drink of vodka before grazing his nose against the shell of her ear.

“Got a date here, miss?” He chuckles out, not caring that his grip is slowly growing tighter and tighter against her waist as she digs her fingernails into the fleshy meet of his palm. “Betcha I could getcha goin’ better than they can-”

“Mr. Tiller.”

The voice is british and not necessarily deep, but definitely dark and dangerous. A man stands before her, one with oak colored eyes that have turned dark now, and are clouded over with a deep intensity that makes the man behind Bellamy freeze. He untangles his grip from her with just a mere look at the man before the two, words falling from his lips like a prayer to an unforgiving god.

“H-Holland! I didn’t r-realize s-she was your date-”

“She is not,” The man replies coldly. “But she is certainly not yours.”

Bellamy turns to catch a glimpse of the man’s face clouding over with confusion and anxiety. She can’t stop her hands rising to grasp her elbows and hold her body still from shaking, trying to banish the scent of vodka from her mind.

“I-I didn’t know-”

“Someone with a track record of yours shouldn’t be so careless,” The man she’d seen earlier drawls as he raises a glass of whiskey to his lips to sip gently. “I doubt the public would be pleased to know about the people who have found their way to your bedroom, now would they?”

Mr. Tiller gulps as the blood begins to rush out of his face. “N-No, they would n-not, sir.”

Holland, as the man had said earlier, wasn’t pleased with the man before him. The tension was thick enough to choke Bellamy as she felt the gaze of other guests starting to catch her from the minor suprise much to her dismay.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Bryan.” The cold man tells him sternly with a gaze made of pure fire. “Promises break just as easily as they are made.”

With a final nod, and a curt apology to Bellamy, the sobered up man begins to fade deeper into the crowd, a few men in suits keeping a watchful eye on him. She almost doesn’t want him to leave, just so she wouldn’t have to be alone with the stranger that could make a grown man cower like a preteen in a horror movie.

Beside her, the man raises his whiskey glass once more. He downs a gulp before handing it backward, where a well-dressed man grabs it eagerly and starts to walk off towards the bar. He smiles as Bellamy, and any ounce of intensity that was present only moments before has now melted away to make room for the curiousity from before.

And damn, the curiousity is almost as attractive as the man looks right now.

“Sorry about that,” He says gently. He presses a hand into the pocket of his slacks and looks down at Bellamy, almost bashful. “He’s a handful, really.”

“S-Some men need babysitters,” Bellamy says with a small shrug. “Or at least a lesson in common sense.”

He smiles at her a bit brighter. “Do they cover gazing at strangers from afar as well?”

Bellamy’s face goes bright pink. “I-I’m sorry, I just didn’t realize I was staring! People watching, it’s a h-hobby of mine-”

“You stalk people for a hobby?” He says playfully with a glimmer of mischief in the corner of his eye.

She rolls her eyes. “Well, of course not. It’s just… Just interesting.”

Bellamy pauses long enough to stare up at the man who looks on in wonder at her.

“Interesting how?” He asks.

The young woman looks across the room with a shrug. “I-I don’t know. People are more authentic when they don’t know they’re being watched. They let down guards that they keep up for strangers.”

He nods at her, following her gaze about the bustling ballroom. She knows she has no hopes of finding her friends now in this mess of people, but losing herself in the fray is somewhat peaceful to her.

“And what did you learn from me?” He asked again. He spoke softly, as if he was saying it was fine I didn’t answer him. Without saying, he seemed to understand how out of place I felt.

Secretly, Bellamy hoped he felt the same way as she did.

“Power,” She tells him. “You know you’re powerful. So does everyone around you. Some are frightened by you, but you have the kind of presence that demands respect.”

She watches him from the corner of her eyes,nodding thoughtfully down at her as she continues.

“But, it’s not enough. You don’t feel happy. You just keep searching for something that will make you feel content.”

Bellamy turns back to him, dress brushing against him as she ntoices his eyes were already on her. He’d been watching her the entire time, never faltering as he listened with as much attention as he could stand.  

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He says, offering a hand out to her to shake. “Miss...?”

“Bellamy,” She replies, ignoring the clear dread that fills her when she throws her alter ego away for the moment. What’s the harm? I’ll never see this man again in my life.  “And you are?”

“Tom, darling. Tom Holland.”

His rough hand meets hers, the knuckles broken and scarred from what must be years of fighting or working in construction. They’re oddly soft against hers, a thick gold band wrapped around his pointer finger that has the soft engravement of a family crest she didn’t recognize, an ‘H’ in the center of it. She doesn’t have to wonder whether or not it’s real gold, or whether or not it’s an expensive family heirloom. With a man that wears a suit like the one before her, she’s sure there’s not a thing on him that’s fake.

“Tom!”

A man with a trimmed beard calls to him from across the ballroom. He releases the arm of a man who is twice Tom’s size, wearing a pristine military uniform that could bring a girl to her knees. Bellamy lets her hand slip from Tom’s as the man grows closer, offering a sinister smile at the man beside her.

“Tony,” Tom replies with gritted teeth. Bellamy can see the flicker of his clenched fist beside her, the vein popping out across the back of his hand. “I thought my brothers had already spoke to you.”

The other man, Tony, claps his hand across Tom’s back with a smirk, rubbing his shoulders with a strong grasp. “I told them I’d handle our business together. Wanted to make sure I could see you while we spoke.”

Business? What kind of business?

“I’m sure we could speak about this another time-”

“And look at you, sweetheart!” Tony booms, catching the attention of more partygoers. Some begin to gather around the group, curious to watch the interaction between the two men who obviously don’t seem to mesh well together. “What did Holland here have to do to get you on his hip?”

“Tony-”

“Haven’t seen you before,” He says, releasing Tom’s shoulders to reach forward and extend his hand towards Bellamy. “Tony Stark. Stark Enterprises. Now, did he buy you for tonight, or did the kid finally find someone to reel him in?”

Bellamy almost chokes on her own spit. The genius philanthropist that is in the headlines of science newspapers every other week is standing right in front of her. Sure, he thinks that she’s a prostitute, or some kind of call girl, but the sheer moment is one that she won’t forget.

Tom swats the man’s hand away gently, taking a short step forward to try and shut Tony out from their moment they’d been sharing previously. “Stark. Leave her alone.”

“What, I can’t take a moment to talk to someone?” Tony says with a devilish smirk. “It’s a party, Holland, lighten up.”

Bellamy can’t hide the shake in her finger as she gazes about the ballroom and spots more than a few eyes on her. Even the security guards are staring at her, curious as to who exactly she is. If Tom lets her name slip out, one that isn’t Elizabeth, she’d be toast.

A searing glare rises to Tom’s eyes as he stares holes into Tony’s head. He doesn’t notice, or at least, he doesn’t care, as he places a firm hand on Bellamy’s shoulder.

Before he can even get out a word, she slaps his wrist with a quick flick of her hand, watching him draw back. He looks at her, appalled that someone would have the guts to actually try and tell the great Tony Stark no.

(To be fair, Bellamy didn’t think she’d have the guts to do it either.)

“Don’t touch me.” She speaks in a stiff tone as Tony straightens his spine. “I’d appreciate it if you left me alone now, sir.”

Audible gasps rise through the room, but Bellamy can barely hear them in her thundering heartbeat. She watches the man with a glare as her nerves dance around her skin. Whatever ounces of (liquid) courage she has left are quickly disappearing with the look of hatred she feels from Tony Stark, the celebrity, right now.

“Feisty.” He nods curtly. “Guess we’ll talk a bit later, Holland.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.” Tom tells him as Tony walks away, scowling as he fades into the crowd.

[achtung-attitude]

“You saved me!” Shizuka says, then looks at her unusual seating, “what is this thing?”

“It’s a cloud. My kind of cloud. Solid enough to hold weight, but light enough to float on air. It’s one of SATURN BARZ’' better moves.” He doesn’t meet her eyes as he says this, but stares off into the distance.

A sudden sharp wind picks them up and they are blown into the air, high above the interstate, high above the airport. Like a magic carpet, they are carried through the air. Shizuka marvels at the view as they drift away from the airport complex completely, passing over neighborhoods. Stores and homes, where people mill about, never thinking to look up. In the distance, the blunt silhouettes of LA Downtown stand obscene gestures directed at the San Gabriel Mountains.

Suddenly, Kilo hears the young girl laughing under her breath, he turns to her, angry. “What the hell’s so funny!?”

“Oh no, it’s nothing. I was just thinking: you’re like that famous boxer!”

“Boxer? Who?”

“You know,” she says, giddily grinning to herself, “you float like a butterfly, and sting like a bee!”

Kilo stares at her in silent shock, dumbfounded. “You gotta be kidding me…” he finally manages to sputter out. Shizuka giggles dizzily at her own joke as they slowly drift down.

Before long, the wind dies and the cloud drifts down, slow and pleasant as ever. They descend upon a small field in the neighborhood of Inglewood, the grass turning yellow under the midday sun.

The instant the cloud touches the ground, it dissipates into vapour and the pair drop to the ground. They land on their feet. Shizuka wobbles slightly on her high heels, then checks the seat of her skirt to find that has gotten damp from sitting on the cloud. “That was kinda cool,” she says, looking up and marvelling at the distance they descended, “you’ve got a neat Stand there, you kno--?” She trails when she sees Kilo standing a few metres away from her, glaring at her.

“Wait wait, why are you looking at me all mad? We’re not still fighting, are we? I thought we were done with that!”

“Hell we are.” Kilo says, his voice low, “We haven’t settled shit yet. You still haven’t told me what I want to hear. Where is Tarantula?” He says the last sentence in a deep, rumbling growl, accompanied by SATURN BARZ materializing into space. A pale mist forms around its clawed hands. They stand in shadow, away from sight of the main road.

Shizuka faces Kilo’s glare, and raises her hand, palms forward, on either side of her face. “My name is Shizuka Joestar” She says this clearly, as if reciting a poem. “My foster father’s name is Joseph Joestar. I was born in 1998, and raised in New York City. My blood-type is B+, and I’m an Aquarius. My favorite food is cheesecake. I have no idea who Tarantula is, nor am I a part of any organisation.”

“Then why are you here?”

“... I have a mission. I’m searching for my mother.”

“Your mom?”

“We were separated when I was very young. My foster father took care of me, kept me out of trouble and made it so I wanted for nothing. But he died 5 years ago, and since then, I’ve been determined to find my mother. I have good reason to believe that she’s in this city. This is my only reason for being here. Everything I said is the truth, I promise.”

The tall man stays still, glaring, searching her face. Her expression is set, unwavering. The moments stretches for what feels like forever. All sounds seems to fade away, leaving nothing but the glare between two people.

At last, the tall man caves, dropping his gaze. His Stand disappears in the same instant. He turns away from her, and mutters “Alright.” No ‘sorry’, or even ‘my bad’. Shizuka finally breathes and lower sher hands.

As he’s walking away, she calls to him, “Is that it?” He doesn’t answer. After a moment, she jogs after him, calling “Hold on!”. He turns around sharply as she approaches him, still hostile.

“What?” he growls.

To his surprise, she offers her hand for shaking. A friendly gesture, accompanied by a pleasant smile. “Thank you for saving my life,” she says.

He stares at the hand, silent, eyes wide with surprise. His eyes move to her smiling face, genuinely sunny and kind.

His face twitches and contorts, a vein rising in his forehead. He slaps her hand away violently. Shizuka gasps in surprise, and instinctively rubs her hand. As she does this, he advances on her so he stands right in, looming over her. “Don’t make a fool of me,” he snarls at her.

“I-I don’t understand--” she stammers, before he cuts her off again.

“Don’t act like we’re friends just because the fight’s over for now!” He is baring his teeth, like a ravenous predator, his eyes scorched with anger. “We just spent the last 10 minutes trying to kill each other! We only met because those thug idiots that hung round me tried mugging you! Are you looking down on me? What are you trying to pull acting like we’re pals?”

“I’m not-- I’m not pulling anything! I just-- I thought I should thank you… You didn’t have to save me, so--”

“What, did you think we’d just be buddies all of a sudden? Like some fucking cartoon? Listen to me: we’re living in the real world. In the real world, people die. You can’t just throw a smile on and pretend like everything’s dandy. People like you are the type I hate most; the kind too stupid to understand how the world really works!”

“... Then why did you save me?” she says finally, and this time Kilo has no response. His fury doused, he instead turns away, spitting on the ground bitterly.

Breathing, Shizuka hesitates before speaking further. “My dad told me that human beings are bound together by threads of fate. Stand users are drawn to other Stand users, and people are drawn to other people. That’s why I know I’ll find my mom.

“No matter how big this city is, no matter how many people there are in it, our fates are bound together. We are meant to find each other. And I think maybe we were meant to meet, too. If for no other reason than to have this talk.”

Kilo doesn’t respond. He seems to be looking off at some point in the distance. Shizuka shuffles her feet awkwardly. “That… was pretty lame, huh?” she chuckles, abashed, “I didn’t mean to start a speech or anything. All that depends on if you believe in that stuff, anywa-”

“I don’t.” He cuts her off, and she bites her tongue as he faces her again.

“I don't believe in fate. Or destiny, or karma, or God. All that’s just distractions. Bullshit, to distract everybody from how random and shitty the world is. Somebody who can’t see reality can’t survive. Especially not in this town. Damn, I can’t believe I thought you was in a gang…”

He squints at her, curling his lip slightly. “Still, this is the most entertaining thing to happen to me in a while. I might owe you for that… I can take you to somebody who can help you out. How’s that sound?”

Her eyes widen. “You… you’re gonna help me? You’re coming with me?”

“I’m repaying a favor,” he is quick to reply, “I don’t feel like being in debt to you forever. But don’t no mistakes. We ain’t friends. After I do my part, that’s it. I’m done. That clear?”

She adjusts the sunglasses on her head, and says, “Sure.” Her smile returned. He begins to walk away, and she follows him.

Then she freezes in place, eyes going wide. “I forgot my luggage! And my passports!” she yells loudly, surprising Kilo. Frantically, she sprints ahead of him, forcing him to chase after her.

In the distance, as Shizuka and Kilo walk away, someone is pointing an iPhone at them, recording. As they run, the person slinks away, back into the shade.

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN

[frejahertziswritingthistime]

We’re not perfect, but we’re good chapter 4

Another one - I apparently can’t control myself today. Hope you like it - feedback is always welcome! 

(not beta’d, all mistakes are mine)

Missed something? Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, (only a very little) smut, dirty talk, language

 (also: ooooh, yeah, time to get that ball rolling - get ready for some stuff to happen!) 

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

Oh no, no, no, no, this was bad. Your heart hammered in your chest, and saw Deans demeanor change slightly – not enough to put anyone else on edge, but you? You were hanging on by a thread. But of fucking course, it had to be the goddamn, stupid wedding-planner. You tried to pretend like you never noticed anything.

“Sorry, my soon-to-be-husband must have got lost in thought.” You smiled stiffly at the woman in front of you. She shook her head. “No worries. It happens a lot, if you’d believe me. Those men.” She laughed. Yeah, I bet it fucking does, when you hex them, you thought. You looked quickly to the window, and saw Sam walk towards the diner – thank Chuck.

“So, you’re getting married! Good for you.” The lady smiled, her smile seemingly a bit too wide, a bit too forced. You smiled back. “Yeah, in November. A little winter-thing, y’know?” You swatted Deans hand away, as it was currently working it’s way up your leg, while a low, consistent growl came from his throat. She nodded. “I have—” she started. “Can I get you a coffee?” You interrupted as Sam sat down close to the baristas. She jerked her head, annoyance at being interrupted clear, but plastered on a fake smile and nodded. “Black, thank you.” You tried to get up, but Deans hands had somehow snuck around to your backside, trying to pin you onto his lap – which you – unfortunately – had to cross over to get out. “Honey, let me go.” You almost snarled through your teeth. Dean gaped up at you, a small smile playing on his full lips, while he gave your ass a squeeze. “Okay, fine.” You decided to human-twister your way out of this, and finally got free of Deans grasp – smiling slightly while fixing your skirt, you headed up to the baristas.

“Can I have a black coffee, please?” You smiled sweetly at the barista, who nodded and got to work. Sam looked at you questionably, and you smiled. Out of the corner of your mouth you started telling him. “She’s the goddamn witch, Sam. She touched Dean and he’s acting insane – did you bring anything?” He shook his head ever so slightly. “Damnit. Okay, what’s plan B here? I don’t know what to do with Dean. He’s acting completely stupid, grapping my ass and trying to get under my skirt..” You shuddered slightly as arousal pooled again by the thought, but got pulled out if it by Sam. “Uhm… Y/N? Who was it supposed to be?” You whipped around, quickly looking at your booth – and there was Dean, lounging casually on the seat, smirking at you. No wedding-planner slash Bitch-Witch in sight. You whipped your head around, back at Sam, who was fighting to keep a grin off of his face. “FUCK. She must have left, Sam, what the fuck are we going to do?” “We could do each other.” A voice sounded over your shoulder, accompanied by a hand, slowly snaking its way up under your skirt. “Dean, Goddamnit!! Sam, we gotta go back to the motel and sort this out, okay?” Sam just nodded, trying to keep his laughter at bay, as Dean tried to snake his other hand under your shirt, while you kept pushing either hand away in random intervals. “Don’t you dare laugh, Moose.” You growled as the three of you moved back to the motel, the shout of a disgruntled barista following you out the door.

When you finally arrived at the motel, you were hot from all the groping – Dean apparently had no filter and kept trying to finger you under your skirt, as you walked; sometimes whispering something about your ass, or what he would do to you when you got back. You had hissed at him to cut the bull-shit, but he merely grinned at you and winked. 

When you finally got to the motel-room, Sam had tried to get Dean to sit still for a few minutes, but he kept standing up, circling you predatorily

You finally conceded and sat down next to him, where he immediately pulled you flush into his body, making you emit a “hmpf” as he pressed you tightly into him. Sam shook his head and called Bobby.

“Hey, Bobby, we’re have a.. Oh, hang on, one minute.” He glared at you. “Y/N, can you keep him quiet, please? It’s making me feel so weird.” Dean had moaned loudly when you accidentally brushed your fingers over his thigh. “It’s not like I’m controlling this, Sam!” You hissed. “Bobby? Hang on, I’ll go into a different room.” Sam glared at you, and you almost shouted at him, trying to tell him that he under NO circumstance should leave you alone with horny-boy.

Dean grinned at you, and when he caught your eye, he swiftly grabbed you by your waist and forced you down on the bed, pulling your hand around his neck. You moaned (fuckin’ body, you couldn’t trust anybody, not even yourself), and he chuckled.

“Y’know, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, Y/N. You’re perfect. Fuck, look at you right now… I wanna fuck you so hard, that you can’t walk for a week.” You hated to admit it, but it was hot: Very, fucking sexy. Hearing Dean saying these things to you, it made you squirm under him, your body trying to creation friction – as you rolled your hips (not really sure if it was because of the lack of something in between your legs, or a feeble attempt at escaping), you felt his dick – hard, long and twitching slightly. You stifled a moan. “You would like that, wouldn’t you, Y/N? I’ve seen the way you look at me… I look at you the same, princess. And we’re alone… I want to taste you, have you come, while I eat you out…” You moaned again. “I want to fuck you so hard… Make you scream, baby” At that, he rolled his hips, his jean-clad dick pressing against your soaked panties, ghosting over your clit. You moaned. “Dean..” He nibbled at the spot right under your ear, and you almost came undone around him. Almost. “Don’t you want this, Y/N? I promise, I’ll make you feel things nobody has been able to do before… I wanna make you come, and I want to do it while I come. Come on, baby, don’t you want it?” He teased you – his dick again ghost over your throbbing clit. “Dean… We can’t…” You had all but forgotten the spell, Sam, Bobby, the stupid fucking witch, all you could think about was his rock-hard cock, driving you mad and soaking (and effectively ruining) your underwear. “Why, baby?” He kissed your neck, his scent invading your senses, making your head a jumbled mess. “Because… Dean..” His name fell over your lips in a mewl, almost begging for him. He smirked at you, his green eyes locked with yours, and time stood still – until he kissed you.

It was as if the whole world stopped spinning for a moment, and then started back up in slow-motion – his lips moving so sinfully against yours, and everything about felt right. You sighed into the kissed, wrapping your hand tighter around his neck, a few fingers tugging lightly at his hair. He used every part of his body when he kissed. His hand was everywhere, seemingly he had 20 hands at once, your mind was overwhelmed by sensations, as his tongue drifted over your bottom lip before you opened your mouth, letting him in. Your tongues wrestled for a while, his hands lazily moving down to your skirt. You moaned as his fingers, rough and calloused, gently touching your clit as he bit you gently on the bottom lip. “Dean… Please…” You didn’t want it to end. He smiled and kissed you again, rougher this time, more urgent. You gladly accepted it.

“Oh, come oooon! You guys, Jesus…” Sam’s voice came from the door, and the spell was broken – you snapped your eyes open, suddenly remembering with clarity that Dean had been hexed. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed at all. He kept trying to let his thumb touch your clit, and your thighs trembled with effort to keep him at bay. You gently pushed Dean away and thank Chuck he moved. Not too far, though, as he kept a hand on your thigh and his goddamn, sinful lips on your neck, almost making you moan. “Fuck, okay, S-sam.. Dean, stop, please.” You tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. At least he stopped kissing your neck, but unfortunately moving them further down - this time to your stomach, slowly inching his way towards your pussy .

“So, get this – Bobby thinks it’s a lust-spell. The witch is probably using it to get the couples to… Uhm… Y’know, and make them indifferent to anything else; then she puts hex bags in their rooms, and just wait for their hearts to explode.” “That’s all fine and dandy, Sam, how the fuck are we going to get him” You jerked your head at Dean, who’s head was currently trying to reach your lap, as your hands kept his hand at bay, “out of it?” You finished, roughly pushing Deans head away. Sam tried to hold a grin back. “Uhm, pretty much simple stuff. Either bang him – Bobby made it clear that THAT wasn’t about to happen” You sighed, and Sam continued. “Or, we dunk him in some ice-water with a few select herbs to get him right.” You nodded.

“Right, let’s do that. I have a feeling this shit intensifies.” You said, as Dean started whimpering at the lack of touch – mostly, the lack of him touching your nipple with his tounge. Sam grinned. “I’ll get it set up. Maybe we should tie him up?” He asked. You agreed whole-heartedly.

 About thirty minutes later, Dean got dunked in ice-water – body and hair – and spluttered came back, spitting out thyme and some twigs. He looked at you, and then Sam, back at you, eyes widening, and shakingly said. “Fuckin’ witches, man.”

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Chapter 5: Here!

MASTERLIST: here