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beskarandblasters · 2 months

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Dancin’ With The Devil

Mothman!Joel x F!Reader x Jersey Devil!Tommy

Ways to help Palestine

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

A sequel to Mothman Fever

Author’s note: Here it is!! A few days early!! Thank you to @pr0ximamidnight for beta reading and helping me come up with Tommy’s backstory. ❤️🦋

Summary: A year after you met Joel at the Mothman Festival in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, he decides to introduce you to his mysterious brother, Tommy.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: no outbreak, oral sex (M and F receiving), semi public sex, sex pollen, drinking, dub con, MFM threesome (Joel and Tommy don’t touch during it), monsterfucking, pet names (Luna like the moth lmao), very light angst, mentions of food, made up Mothman/Jersey Devil lore, no use of y/n

It’s your favorite time of year, late September, which means only one thing; the Mothman Festival. Last year’s festival was one for the books. Meeting Joel was most definitely the highlight of the trip. You’ve kept in contact with him here and there since then. It blows your mind that you’re texting and calling the Mothman. And ever since you’ve met you’re left with more questions than ever. Who knew Mothman was a charming man with a Southern accent that could shapeshift? You’ve researched on your own, never telling your friends what you found that one fateful night in the woods. They would never believe you. But your research has come up empty-handed every time. You assumed that Joel being the sweet talker he is has done this to countless other women over the years, hoping that you’d find some Reddit threads of women discussing their encounters with the strange man in Point Pleasant, Virginia. But it seems you’re the only one.

…Or they’ve all been too ashamed to tell their story, too scared of the flack they might catch. A man that shapeshifts into a giant human moth is definitely hard to believe. But if there’s one thing for certain, you’ll ask him all the burning questions you’ve been thinking about over the past year.

You’re driving to Point Pleasant again, excited for what this year’s festival has in store.

This time you’re alone. Janelle couldn’t get off from work and Tara has the flu. But this just means that you get more time with Joel.

You’ll be recreating last year’s festival down to a T. This afternoon you’re going to lunch with Joel at Village Pizza where you first met. The next night is set aside for the bar you and Joel went to for your first date. But the final night is the crown jewel– the Mothman stakeout at the McClintic Wildlife Area.

You drive to the hotel, the same one you stayed at last year, and internally cry at the price. Last year you split the rate between the three of you but now you’re eating the cost yourself. Whatever, it’s fine. It’s worth it if you’ll have an experience like last year.

Once you’re checked in and settled into your room you receive a text from Joel, right on time, as if he knew you were finally free.

Hey, Luna. 🦋

Hey, Joel.

You settled in your room yet?

Yeah!

Meet me at Village Pizza in 30?

Sounds good. See you soon :)

You change before you leave, opting for another funny t-shirt. This one says Mothman is real and he’s my girlfriend, hoping Joel will get a kick out of it.

You walk to Village Pizza and spot Joel sitting in a booth from the window outside. He smiles when he sees you but it melts into a frown when he sees your shirt. You head inside and slide inside the booth, beaming at him while his scowl never fades.

“What’s with the shirt?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“…Girlfriend?”

“What about it?”

“Shouldn’t it say boyfriend?”

“Are you using the B word, Joel?” you laugh.

He laughs too, never actually answering your question.

“Good to see you. You’re lookin’ good.”

“Likewise,” you smile. “Got any big plans tonight? Gonna bump into a bright light or something?”

“Funny,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But no. I thought we’d go out tonight.”

“Oh, okay.”

“No friends with you this time? I thought one of them was coming.”

“Tara was supposed to come but she came down with the flu.”

“That’s too bad… But at least I get you all to myself until…” he trails off, grabbing your hand on the table.

“Until what?”

“Have I mentioned my brother Tommy at all?”

“Yeah. You said he was in Jersey last year.”

“He won’t be joining us tonight but he’ll be here tomorrow. That alright with you?”

“Fine with me. I’m excited to meet him.”

“I figured you would be,” he says, squeezing your hand.

You’re just as curious about Tommy as you are Joel. Could he be a Mothman, too?

After a successful lunch at Village Pizza, you part ways for the rest of the afternoon, giving you time to rest after your drive until you go out tonight.

You take a nap, having the most vivid dreams about Mothman Joel and potentially Mothman Tommy until your alarm goes off and it’s time to get ready.

You opt for a t-shirt that says The only thing keeping me going is Mothman’s fat ass. Maybe he’ll like this one better.

At eight you get a text from Joel saying he’s in the lobby so you look over your appearance once more in the mirror before swiftly meeting him downstairs.

“Well don’t you look beautiful, Luna,” he says, pulling you in for a hug and a quick kiss on your neck. Excitement already brews between your legs just from the small gesture of affection.

“Thanks, Joel,” you smile, pulling away and looking at him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a flannel. And his curls are extra fluffy. God, he looks good.

“Same place as last time?” you ask.

“Mhm,” he says, leading you out of the hotel with a hand on the small of your back.

“Much better shirt this time,” he whispers in your ear as you walk side by side. You just giggle in response.

It’s starting to get a little busy on the streets but nothing crazy just yet. It’s only Friday evening and the festival won’t hit its peak until tomorrow night. The bar is relatively crowded inside but luckily there’s a small booth for the two of you in the back. They have the same drink special you got last year– the blood orange margarita with a gummy butterfly on top. It’s feeling like old times again.

Joel nurses a beer as you make small talk, nothing too wild or crazy. It’s Mothman weekend in the Mothman capital of the country. You can’t exactly ask him all your burning questions about Mothman lore just yet. But the drinks are loosening you up and you’re sitting closer to each other, cheeks burning with desire for one another.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks as if he read your mind.

“You know it!” you say, slamming the rest of your drink and grabbing your purse.

He grabs your hand and helps you up from the booth, making your way to the bar so he can pay the tab. Once that’s all set, he leads you outside, hand on the small of your back again. The street is busy now and you’re walking through crowds of people packed shoulder to shoulder. The hand on your back quickly turns into a snug arm around your waist to ensure you don’t get separated among the drunken festivalgoers.

He wakes you down the street, at least a few blocks, until he turns down a small secluded alley, bringing you all the way to… a truck?

“Why do you need a truck?”

“You think I just fly everywhere?”

“Well… No, I guess not.”

“I’ll blow my cover.”

“You’re right,” you sigh, admitting defeat. “It’s just kinda funny to picture Mothman driving a truck.”

“I don’t drive the truck in my moth form.”

“Are you able to just like… shift at will?” you ask. Now that you’re alone you’re taking the opportunity to get all your burning questions answered.

“Yes. But it wasn’t always that way,” he says, unlocking this truck.

You sit in the back together and while you know what’s going to happen next you’re not sitting on any dicks until you get your questions answered.

“So… how did you turn into Mothman?”

“I went on a hike one way and got lost… Ended up coming in contact with the wood spirits who cursed me for encroaching on their land.”

“Wood spirits??”

“Mhm.”

“Where?”

“Texas.”

“You never told me you were from Texas.”

“I don’t share a lot of information about myself normally.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“Back then I couldn’t control when I could shift and I didn’t want to give my family a bad reputation back in Austin.”

“So you’ve been alone this whole time?”

“I see Tommy from time to time.”

“What about other people from the festival? Have you… done this sort of thing before?”

“Like what I have with you?” he says, looking at you and placing a hand on your thigh.

“Yeah,” you say, looking away, almost as if you’re afraid of his answer.

“No. You’re the first one, Luna.”

“Really?” you say, meeting his eyes again. His pupils are blown wide, looking at you with all the love and admiration in the world. For a split second, you swear his eyes flash red.

“I mean it.”

He leans in closer, the hand on your moving closer to the hem of your skirt. That was enough questioning for now.

You take it upon yourself to straddle his lap. His large hands grab your thighs, fingertips sinking into your soft skin as he manhandles you. Your wetness is growing at an impossible rate. Something about Joel drives you crazy. Aside from your obvious attraction to him, it has to be the pheromones. He sinks his teeth in your neck as you rock your rips back and forth. The wetness runs down your thighs and pools on his bulge. You purposely skipped out on panties for this occasion.

“So wet for me, Luna. I can feel it,” he says, kissing up your neck and along your jawline.

His mouth ghosts yours, warm breath tickling your face. You smell his fruity aroma like you did in the forest all those months ago. You haven’t even seen him in his Mothman form yet. And here he is, driving you wild with his pheromones.

“Joel…” you whine. “I need you.”

“Beg for me.”

“I can’t wait any longer,” you say, needily rutting your hips into him.

“No?” he teases.

“No,” you whimper.

He reaches in between your thighs, hastily undoing the fly of his jeans and pulling out his cock. You lean back and look down– eight inches, thick, and uncut with pre-cum leaking from the tip. He strokes himself, spreading the wetness he’s built up down his shaft, looking at you with a devilish grin.

“You want it?”

“More than anything.”

“Come and get it.”

You pull up your skirt and inch forward, wet cunt hovering over his rock-hard cock before sinking down onto him. Your warmth envelops every inch, walls expanding to accommodate his girth.

“Good girl,” he praises, hands squeezing your waist.

You rest your hands on his shoulders, knees supporting you on the old leather seats of his truck. You bounce and ride in the backseat, condensation forming on the windows.

“You take my cock so good. Look at you, puttin’ on a show for me,” he says, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look directly into his eyes. You swear they flash red again. You’re too far gone, too cock drunk to form coherent sentences, looking at him with your falling into a soft O. Beads of sweat dot your forehead as you’re sent into a state of pure euphoria. It’s almost too much.

Until it isn’t.

Your orgasm rips through you, core muscles convulsing erratically. He feels and grips your chin harder, showering you with praise.

“Good fuckin’ girl. That’s right. Soak my cock.”

“Fuck, Joel. It’s so good,” you moan, a single tear rolling down your cheek.

“Mmm my cock makes you feel so good, doesn’t it, Luna?”

“It does, Joel– Ah!” you start to say. But you’re cut off with a moan as Joel jerks his hips up into you. And then he finally spills his load into you, letting out a string of grunts and curse words.

Your hips slow to a stop and you rest against him, your head on his shoulder. He softly rubs your back and whispers words of praise in your ear.

“You’re incredible, you know that?”

“Yeah?” you ask, sleepiness dripping from your voice.

“Mhm. And tomorrow night’s going to be so special.”

“Why’s that?”

“It will be. Just trust me.”

“Okay,” you whisper, letting yourself succumb to sleep.

The next morning you wake up in your bed alone, not remembering how you got there. You rub your eyes and roll over to find your phone, squinting at the bright screen. Joel texted you a few hours ago.

Text me when you’re awake.

You glance at the time and see that you slept through the morning and most of the afternoon. It’s three o’clock. Yikes.

But it’s not like last night wasn’t worth it.

Good morning? But I guess it’s really the afternoon now haha

How’d you sleep?

Like a baby!

That’s good to hear. Can you call me?

You sit upright and dial his number, putting the phone to your ear and hearing his gruff voice over the line.

“Hey, Luna.”

“Hi, Joel.”

“I wanted to talk about the plans for tonight.”

“Okay. Is Tommy in town yet?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool! Where should we go?”

“Well, I was thinkin’... You know how you met me in the woods last year?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you say we do the same tonight?”

“But the stakeout is tomorrow night.”

“I know… It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“I-”

“You know you’re safe with me, right?”

“I know, Joel.”

“Head to the McClintic Wildlife Area at nine, okay?”

“Okay, Joel. See you then. Bye.”

You flop down on the bed and think about what shirt you’ll wear tonight.

…And about what you’re going to do for your extremely late breakfast.

After doom scrolling for a bit you shower and get dressed, opting for a shirt that says Mothman is real. We made out. He is a gentle and caring lover for tonight’s momentous occasion.

You hit the town and kill time at The Coffee Grinder and some local museums, anxiously anticipating what tonight will bring.

You creep through the forest, having flashbacks to what happened in these woods last year. That same citrusy, fruity aroma permeates the area again and gold dust hangs in the air. Joel must be near.

Your phone buzzes.

Come closer.

You walk further, your steps so gentle and quiet, careful not to startle other wildlife around you. And then you see it– the familiar red eyes. The scent grows stronger and so does the beat of your heart. Towering above you again is Joel, in his Mothman form of course. You’re not afraid. Instead, you’re happy he’s here in this state without the worry of being watched.

And yet, you sense another presence behind you. Joel looks past you and whatever’s there. You turn and look, not sure what you think should be there.

You couldn’t have expected what was before your eyes.

A creature, just as tall as Mothman. Gargantuan black wings spread out– hooves instead of feet. And a long tail forked at the tip.

You want to scream. And yet, when you open your mouth nothing comes out. You’re paralyzed with fear. But Joel doesn’t seem to mind whatever this is.

Is this some sort of sick joke? Did he lure you into a false sense of security and now after a year something terrible is going to happen?

“Alright, Tommy. Shift back. You’re scarin’ her.”

A silver mist permeates the area. It’s an earthy pine scent. You blink and it starts to dissipate, most of the remnants of it are left on your exposed skin. And before you is a man, bearing a resemblance to Joel.

“...Tommy?”

You turn your head and see that Joel’s still in his Mothman form. Your gaze bounces back and forth between the two of them until it finally lands on Tommy again. He’s smirking, a smile that matches Joel’s.

“What… are you?” you ask.

“You ever heard of the Jersey Devil, baby?” Tommy says,

“That’s what you meant when you said he was in Jersey?”

You turn your head and look at Joel again. When he speaks his mouth doesn’t move, almost like he’s talking to you telepathically.

“Mhm. Left a little clue for ya.”

Joel finally shifts back into his human form. Small remnants of the gold dust still hang in the air, along with the fruity scent. You know what’s going to happen next. It’s as if a fog washes over you and controls your free will, wiping other thoughts from your mind. Your most primal urges are unlocked.

You knew Joel’s Mothman form had this effect on you but Tommy’s you had no idea about. Hell, you were assuming he was another Mothman this whole time, not some other cryptid. And yet his pheromones are having the same effect on you as Joel’s. And the feeling is more intense, burning from the inside out.

“Joel, I feel different.”

“S’Okay, Luna. We’ll take real good care of ya. I promise.”

“Okay,” you say with a shaky breath.

Joel comes closer to you and grabs your hand. Tommy follows you from behind. You tread deeper into the forest, feeling your skin grow hotter as you walk. You try to make small talk to take your mind off of the feeling.

“So Tommy, how did you become…”

“The Jersey Devil?”

“Yeah.”

“Some guy in a bar bet me that I wouldn’t walk into the woods so I had to prove em’ wrong.”

“That’s it?”

“And then I crossed paths with the wood spirits.”

“Those pesky wood spirits,” you joke.

“Why did you leave Austin?”

“Same reason as Joel. Save my family the embarrassment back when I couldn’t control it.”

“And you chose New Jersey of all places?”

“What’s wrong with New Jersey?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “You just… couldn’t pay me to live in New Jersey.”

“Ouch,” Joel chimes in. “She’s got a point, though.”

“Listen, there was a severe lack of cryptid presence in that area.”

You all share a laugh before Joel brings you to a small clearing in the forest. The grass is soft beneath you and the nighttime air cools you off, but only just a little. You know what you need to do to get rid of this fever.

You immediately start by shedding your clothes. The urge is incessant. Both brothers smirk as you shed your t-shirt and jeans. But you only start to feel a shred of relief when Joel puts his hands on you, caressing your breasts and whispering in your ear.

“We’re gonna take such good care of ya,” he says, kissing your neck. “Just lie down for me, okay?”

You nod and lie down on the forest floor. A shiver runs down your spine as they tower over you.

“So… who first?”

“I’ll let Tommy here have the honor of tasting you, Luna.”

You spread your legs as Tommy takes off his shirt. His arms are toned, glistening in a mixture of sweat and the silver mist from earlier. He hovers over your face for a second, smirking down at you. You catch a whiff of him and grow even hornier– that pine scent, whatever it is, does something to you, something you can’t explain.

He lowers himself in between your thighs, warm breath tickling your thighs as he chuckles at how wet you are. He licks one long, slow stripe up your cunt, making you shudder. Joel crouches down beside you, hand trailing up your side and caressing the outline of your breast. He looks down at you with wide eyes and the same thing happens again– you swear they flicker red for a second.

Tommy’s arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you flush against his face. His mouth latches on your clit, drawing a deep moan from you.

“He’s making you feel so good, isn’t he, Luna?” Joel asks with a smirk.

“Mhm,” you whine, biting your lip.

“Well, tell him!”

You look down at Tommy and shudder before saying, “Fuck, that feels good.”

Tommy looks up at you from in between your thighs, mouth never leaving your clit. He hums in acknowledgment, sending a vibration through your core. You curse under your breath and close your eyes. But Joel grabs your chin and says, “Eyes on me, Luna.”

You open your eyes just as he takes your nipple between his fingers, playing with it while Tommy brings you closer to the edge. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it expertly until the floodgates burst and you cum hard.

Your moans fill the surrounding area, music under the pale moonlight. Both men watch as you writhe under their touch. Your back arches off the forest floor as your cunt clenches around nothing, desperate to be filled already.

Tommy lazily laps up your release, tongue swirling around your entrance until your body finally relaxes on the grass. But the fever hasn’t dissipated yet. The night is far from over.

Tommy stands and switches positions with Joel. It’s like an unspoken agreement between the two men. While Tommy’s allowed to play with your body, he knows that you belong to Joel and so does your pussy.

Joel pulls off his shirt. His veins bulge from his pumped-up biceps and like Tommy, his skin is glistening, too. Your mouth falls open as his large hands grab your hips, pulling you into the bulge growing in his pants.

“You ready for me, Luna?”

“I can’t wait any longer, Joel.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckles. “But be a good girl and take care of Tommy too, okay?”

You look to your right and see Tommy kneeling beside you. He takes the clothes strewn about around you and places them under your head, pulling his cock out of his jeans. Pre-cum leaks from the tip as he strokes himself, his other hand caressing your cheek.

Joel gathers your wetness on his hand and spreads it on his cock, holding your hips as he thrusts into you in one clean motion. You gulp and open your mouth for Tommy, trying to take as much of his cock as you can. Joel’s cock hits all the perfect angles inside you, your second orgasm becoming imminent. Your body takes the force of Joel’s thrusts as Tommy fucks your mouth, his thumb brushes against your skin while he holds your head.

“Good fuckin’ girl. Takin’ two cocks at once,” Joel remarks.

You hum in response, tears welling up in your eyes from the intense feeling. With one last slam of Joel’s hips, you cum around his cock. The muscles in your core contract erratically, sending you into a state of pure bliss. Tommy ruts his hips into your mouth, spilling his cum down your throat. You feel the fever finally start to subside as both men release their spend inside you. Tommy pulls out of your mouth and leans back, putting his cock back in his jeans. You look at Joel who’s still inside you, holding onto your hips tightly. His eyes are closed, his jaw slack. He looks completely blissed out himself. It isn’t until his cock goes soft inside you that he pulls out.

“How’d you find this one?” Tommy asks, putting his shirt back on.

“She found me,” Joel says.

“I’m glad I did,” you sigh.

Once you’ve all come down from your respective highs, you sit up as Tommy grabs your clothes and hands them to you. He unfurls your shirt, looking at the wording with a smirk on his face.

“Mothman is real. We made out. He is a gentle and caring lover?” he laughs.

“Shut up!” Joel says.

“Oh don’t get so defensive, Joel! You know it’s true!”

The two men help you get dressed and help you off your feet. You walk back to your car together before parting ways for the night.

“Gonna go fly around or something?” you say to Joel.

“Something like that,” he responds, kissing you one last time before disappearing back into the forest with Tommy. You drive back to the hotel in silence, still in shock from what just happened. But as you park, your phone buzzes. It’s a text from Joel.

New annual tradition?

You’re certainly not objecting.

End note: The New Jersey dig was all in good fun please don’t come for me 😭 Half of my family is from there 💀

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

Mothman Joel hype squad: @corazondebeskar @clawdee @covetyou @drunk-and-capable @pr0ximamidnight

@ozarkthedog @schnarfer @frogjumps-world @wreckdwolf

@dugiioh @tishmeister @tuquoquebrute @aphroditesblunt @milla-frenchy @casa-boiardi @morgaussy @arcadian-times

@silentraccoon @minispidey @pedrostories @endofthexline

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller smut #tommy miller fanfiction #tommy miller x f!reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedrostories #mothman!joel #tommy miller x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal joel miller

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dashielldeveron · 1 year

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soulmate trope | aizawa, part one.

Aizawa's route of soulmate trope.

Part one bc tumblr formatting weird. Part two here.

Warnings: BTS mention. Reader is explicitly a kissless virgin to make Aizawa feel Worse. Part one: reader gets a mild hand injury. Threat of dub-con. Claustrophobia. Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Part two: alcohol consumption (not by reader). Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Fem reader.

Remember that U.A., for the purposes of this fic, is a university. Lore dropped carries over to previous and subsequent chapters.

~38k overall. ~20k for part one.

You didn’t have a soulmate, and that was just how you liked it.

Because instead of being hooked to one of your weird-ass classmates, you were free to continue to harbour your crush for your weird-ass homeroom teacher, and you nurtured your crush like a stray kitten brought out of the rain. A creature comfort, really, this affection for Aizawa Shouta—a creature no one knew you kept hidden in the back laundry room and sneaked scraps.

You’re not stupid. The man has to stay your homeroom teacher for the rest of the year, until graduation. Besides, you did have a sneaky little goal with your crush, though it will probably never come to fruition. It’s not an immediate plan in which you corner him after class to beg for sexual extra credit, no, but it’s a long, onerous, masochistic plot of delayed gratification: sometime down the road after graduation, you’ll casually run into him on a patrol, casually suggest you two share a drink to catch up, and then casually I-miss-you-terribly-sensei-you-deserve-to-sleep-more-oh-wow-your-hands-are-really-big-what-if-I-place-them-right-between-my-legs your way into his heart.

For now, the most you can do is be the best student you can. Yes, Yaoyorozu is most likely always going to beat you in chemistry and some maths, since her quirk relies on her knowledge of those subjects, but you’re positively gruntled and satisfied with your place at the top for humanities, along with trading top spots in other subjects with the same three or four people.

But mostly, you tried to be 1) resourceful and 2) not annoying, because Aizawa dealt with a lot of teacher bullshit, probably.

So, while you knew about stories in which students would seduce their teachers by favours (sexual or not), lingering innuendo, or flashing lacy underwear from their seats, you weren’t going to do that shit. 1) How dumb, 2) how embarrassing, and 3) you didn’t want your (hopefully future!) relationship founded on cliches for student/teacher relationships. How a relationship starts shouldn’t have to be a secret, either, or be something to be ashamed of.

(Because you could just picture your family’s faces at Christmas if you said something like, “Hey, this is my boyfriend, Aizawa; he used to be my teacher, and we started dating after I sucked him off under his desk while he was giving a lesson.”

Although, admittedly, there’s probably no good way to introduce a former teacher as your boyfriend.)

You figured, for now, it was enough to stand out in a quiet way, never outright begging for his attention, yet somehow landing in situations in which you got it. You liked to think that Aizawa appreciated that you read when you finished your classwork early instead of talking to your friends (guiltily activating your cringey not-like-other-girls complex that you tried to suppress), along with being attentive in class in general, and you landed an unexpected advantage in Midnight.

Since your first year’s sports festival, you’ve been her sidekick. Well, first you were her intern, and then you signed on the next school year. It was mostly academic work instead of hero work at this point in her career, but you found you liked it and her. You tagged along to record events and complete evals and rubrics, and running her errands allowed you into the staff room, where Aizawa was often curled up in his office chair or on the couch. And hopefully, Aizawa heard good things about you from Midnight.

Midnight’s current project when not teaching or on active missions was rehabbing female villains. She was easy to trust. They tended to let down their guards around her, eventually, and it fascinated you the way the system treated male and female villains differently—

“Hey,” whispered Mina, hunching forward in her desk to tap you on the shoulder, “You got back from Sakura Grove Rehab with Midnight really late last night. Did something happen with Tainted Love?”

You shot a look towards the front of the classroom, where Aizawa was gripping the podium intensely in an effort to stay standing, and once you garnered he wasn’t paying attention to you (big sigh), you turned slightly in your seat to whisper back. “False alarm,” you said, shaking your head, “She used her emergency buzzer because she heard that BTS released a music video, and she wanted to see it.”

Grinning, Mina nodded. “Normal BTS fan stuff. Is a member her soulmate, or something?”

“Don’t you think she’d be dead by now if she were? Ito said—sorry, Tainted Love said that they’re all simply very easy on the eyes and that she’s a connoisseur of human beauty. But her ass is in trouble right now, because the staff’s pissed they had to break out the emergency procedures for that.”

“I don’t know,” said Mina, fiddling with her earring, “I think that’s completely fair. It’s, uh—girlboss, gaslight, get-to-see-BTS.”

You snorted, covering your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s the wrong order, and you know it—”

“Since you have the energy to talk during a lesson—” Aizawa called towards you, his voice sharp, and your head snapped towards the front of the classroom. “—then I expect you’ll be capable of a higher calibre of effort and example for the class in your stealth presentation today.”

“Absolutely,” you said, recovering and folding your hands on your desk, “I’m ready when everyone else is.”

Aizawa gave a dismissive wave and allowed the class to leave the four minutes early to change and head towards ground beta. You’d already triple-checked that all of your support gear was ready, because it was your day in the rotation to serve as a combat example to the rest of your peers. Your focus for the past month had been on stealth, so you were presenting on your findings—presenting through whatever challenge was posed to you at the hands of one of the faculty.

Giddy, you headed towards ground beta much more quickly than your friends, who were still getting dressed. Since you’d be presenting on stealth, you had a good idea of which teacher you’d be facing.

Aizawa was waiting at the entrance, himself clad in full gear. You shot him a cheerful wave, which he lazily returned, and you retreated to one of the benches nearby and opened the book you’d brought along.

(You don’t want to aggravate him, and what’s more, if you talk to him before your challenge, you’re going to be thinking about your conversation during it. Aizawa will be more impressed with your performance if you don’t fuck it up due to daydreaming about his cock.)

Making yourself comfortable, you lay down on the bench, holding the book above you to block out the sun.

Aizawa pushed his goggles back into his hair. “You have a book,” he said (asked?) flatly as he trailed towards you.

“You have a sleeping bag,” you said, jerking your head towards the yellow bundle wadded up by the door, “We must both be relaxed about this presentation.”

Crossing his arms, Aizawa carefully leant against the door and squinted down at you. “Do you not see me as a threat?”

You tore your gaze away from your book to look up at him, tilting your head backwards to smile into his scowl. “Should I?”

Kirishima and Tokoyami burst in and broke up the conversation before it turned into something that got you off for weeks.

Once the rest of the class clambered towards ground beta, Aizawa cleared his throat and addressed the class about the challenge; he spoke with his back to you (and a couple of others), since most of the class clumped in one spot.

“Sero’s melee close-combat presentation yesterday will be a tough act to follow, but today is our first presentation on stealth. Bakugou, Aoyama—your stealth presentations won’t be following the same format, but take inspiration from it.” Aizawa stowed his hands in the deep pockets of his jumpsuit and shifted his weight forward slightly, his broad shoulders lost under his capture weapon. “Hagakure and Tokoyami, I specifically want your critique of your peer’s performance today. Be ready to give her advice. I will be the faculty member she is up against, and—” Frowning, Aizawa cut himself off, did a quick head count, and spun in your direction, his hair whipping at the movement.

Seeing you reading over on the bench (which you were still doing in what was hopefully a sexy devil-may-care, fuck-the-police way), Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose before spreading his palm over both of his eyes, heaving a sigh, and dragging his hand down his face. He then held it out in from of him and curled his fingers to beckon you closer. “C’mon; I know you said you weren’t threatened, but now you’re pushing it.”

You were sunshine; you were ease, and you were pushing it, for some reason. But you were feeling it, so you cheerfully trotted up to Aizawa, in front of whom you halted expectantly and bounced on the balls of your feet, hands holding your book behind your back as you waited for further instruction.

He cleared his throat and snapped, holding out his hand farther to confiscate your book. You shunted it towards him, and when Aizawa took it, your fingers grazed his—your pinkie and ring fingers just barely brushing against his thumb.

And.

And it’s a rickety, staticky, lightning-type thing, this wave of thunder that rushes through you, branching from where you touched him—a two-second, core-shaking rumble that only you can feel.And there’s an electric jolt.

Vibrant pink blossomed from the points of contact, staining the skin like watery ink.

Two seconds. Two seconds compressing what must be years and years of salient moments yet to come, and they—they all had him, Aizawa, in flashes of memories (?) integrating him more and more into your life. And you knew, in that shock and subsequent ooze, how it felt to be pulled into his arms and held like you’re something precious—wrapping around you while he’s half-asleep and acting on instinct, hunching and curling over your back to shield you from a backdrop of a battlefield—the feeling of you two lying together bare. You heard the crack of his voice in the morning as he nuzzled closer to you in bed, the rumbling vibration when he growled against your skin. Felt a ghost of his fingers digging into your hips as you arched beneath him (rocking, writhing), sucking a small spot on your neck, kissing down your shoulders, your back. A shiver as he trailed his hand down the inside of your thigh. A prolonged kiss to your collarbone. The passage of thunder left your body sore, like live-or-death level adrenaline had just faded. For a moment, your knees were in danger of buckling.

Aizawa must have seen—felt—the same phantom sensations, because once a noise from the class snapped him out of it, he grimaced, tucking your book and the pink-marked hand under his opposite arm.

Ducking your head to stare at your shoes, you took a step back, overheated and too aware that the class was watching.

“Recovery Girl’s office,” Aizawa said, his voice rasping, “Now.”

You bolted.

***

You slumped in the sky-blue plastic chair in the patient area of Recovery Girl’s office, unable to shake the sensation of his arms around you. You shuddered and hunkered over, a wave of misery washing over you as the last vestiges of his warmth (?) faded. Fucking figures that the only time in your life you’ve ever been in someone’s arms is in a goddamn vision and not reality.

On the other hand.

The pads of the two fingers that touched Aizawa were blemished with the same bright pink as that dust you’d inhaled the day Tainted Love’s team had invaded, and the colour wouldn’t rub off on your hero costume when you tried. An evil sort of smile spread across your face.

You jolted in your seat when the door slammed open, the knob banging into the wall, and Aizawa stormed in, shoving one of two clipboards into your lap.

“Quirk incident form,” he spat, a plastic chair scraping against the tile as he yanked it next to (but not too closely to) yours.

You slid the pen out from underneath the clip. “This says it’s a soulmate registry form.”

Aizawa glanced up at you, already a few strokes into writing his name in the first blank. “Tainted Love’s team had utilised her quirk enough before attacking U.A. that a specific form had to be made. Nevertheless,” he said, finishing the kanji for sho with so much pressure that the paper ripped slightly, “it’s a subset of the Quirk Incident Registrar.”

Huh. You supposed you should’ve known about the paperwork, since you’re working with her, but then, you’re dealing with personal rehabilitation, not the bureaucratical aftermath.

Following his lead, you quietly began to fill out your form. Basic stuff, really: name, home address, current address (dorms), quirk, soulmate’s name and quirk…

“How would you describe our inciting soulmate incident? Are you only putting first physical contact, or are you mentioning something about the, uh,” you said, leaning over to see his paper, but he flipped his clipboard up against his chest to hide it from view.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Aizawa, finally looking you in the eye. His tight grip on his pen didn’t dilute the saturation of the pink on his thumb. “And we’re not going to talk about it. You’re not going to tell anyone about this, and I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Oh, he’s repressed repressed. “Not even my mother?”

He shook his head. “Nothing important happened today, and nothing’s going to happen.”

“That’s a shame,” you said, moving onto the next section of the form, “I was already picking out China patterns.”

He flipped his clipboard out enough to continue writing. “Don’t even joke.”

“Hey, it says I need your phone number.”

“Leave that part blank. I’ll fill it out once before turning both of them in.”

That little sneak. “Wow. You really are intent on having nothing to do with me,” you said, sighing, which he echoed.

“Listen,” said Aizawa, running his hand back through his hair to sweep it out of his face, “if you genuinely require an explanation, you don’t deserve to be in school at U.A.”

You crossed your arms. “Try me, sensei.”

Aizawa winced, scrunching his eyes shut. “Don’t call me that. Listen. What I’m about to say does not apply only to me but to teachers in general. No one wants to fu—pursue a romantic relationship with a student because we are tired. Teaching is our job. No one wants to take work home when you don’t have to. You want to have a life outside teaching, and in addition to that, I have hero work.”

“There are lots of books and stuff about teacher-student relationships,” you said.

“Written by deranged maniacs who haven’t been teachers. Sometimes, it’s difficult to see your students as people, let alone the horrific romantic par—God.” Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose again, his fingers moving the press into his eyes, almost like he wanted to gouge them out. “The only reason a student may be brought up in conversation in a non-school setting would be if that student did something particularly moronic that day. At the end of the individual day, teachers are tired of their students and want to slip back into being an individual instead of an educator.”

You pursed your lips. “I have yet to hear that you personally are tired of specifically me.”

“Let me attempt another approach,” said Aizawa, hunching over to rest his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers together, “As your teacher, I would have an unfair power over you in a relationship.”

“Hell, yeah, you would,” you said, grinning.

Aizawa turned his head away, pressing his mouth into his shoulder. “I’m not going to engage with you if you keep making comments like that.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, aware you were getting yourself in deeper shit the more you opened your mouth. “I wouldn’t want you to propose in Recovery Girl’s office, anyway.”

It took him a moment, while you waited by scribbling a doodle of your cat onto the bottom margin of your form, but Aizawa genuinely let out a hiss as he snapped towards you, his teeth gritted as his eyes flashed scarlet, hair flying upwards in an instant.

“You can’t make those sorts of quips around anyone else—at all. Nothing is going to—” He seemed to notice that you’d shrunken in your seat, away from him, your hands held up while you let the clipboard fall to the ground, and he released his quirk, mildly startled that he’d activated it on impulse. He settled back into his own cold, plastic chair and sank his chin into his capture weapon.

“I’m sorry,” you said, quiet and subdued, “Joking about stuff is how I handle it.”

“No,” he said evenly, stooping to pick up your clipboard and pen, “I knew that already. That’s how you show you understand the material in class discussions. I should’ve taken that into account.”

He held out the clipboard, pinching it by the edge. You won’t touch each other, this way.

You took it and clicked your pen, scanning down the document to where you left off. “There’s this checkbox I wanted to ask you about.”

“What checkbox—oh,” Aizawa said, his voice faltering.

Near the bottom. A single, small line and box, for the weight it held: do you want this form to double as your marriage registration?

You crossed your legs to prop one ankle over your knee and tilted your clipboard away from his line of vision. You checked it before he even answered.

“Yeah,” you said, proceeding to shade in the entire box, “Do you—”

His scowl cut you off. “Leave that blank, too.”

“Of course,” you said, drawing a couple of hearts around the inked-in box before moving on.

You finished filling it out before he did, and when he set his pen aside, he pushed on his knees to stand with a soft grunt, taking your clipboard underneath his without caring to glance over it.

“All right. The rest of class has been joined the training session that All Might was monitoring for Class B, and given the circumstances—” His eyes fell to your stained fingers. “—you’ll have to make up your stealth presentation at a later date with a different faculty member. I’ll have someone else grade your work from now on, so you won’t have to worry about my grading you more harshly because of this.”

Aizawa waited for you to nod, and after, he took a step towards the door. He ducked his head for a moment before turning back to you, saying your name under his breath. “I’m serious when I say that you can neither tell anyone about our soulmate bond nor do anything about it.”

Swallowing, you slowly stood up from your seat. “I don’t know how well I can do that, Aizawa-sensei, but I can promise that I’ll do my best not to trouble you. I haven’t been troubling you for the past three years, have I?”

“Not exactly.” Aizawa narrowed his eyes, his shoulders tensing enough that his mouth disappeared underneath his capture weapon. “Why do you ask?”

Okay. You can do this. You’re fine. You’re normal about it. You held up your hands, as if gesturing that he should brace himself. “Because that’s, uh, how long I’ve—” Been in love with you—no! Stop that. “—had feelings for you.”

Grimacing, Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. He’s done that more in the past hour than you’ve seen in the past semester. “Holy shit.”

“Please don’t—please don’t feel any fucking pressure whatsoever,” you said quickly, trying to backtrack, “I’ve been dealing with this by myself for so long that I’m good at it, so please don’t, uh. I mean, I—I live in my head; I live in my books and stories, so it’s fine and good and tolerable that I’ve never been in a relationship or kissed or anything; I’m used to it, so you don’t have to worry; I’ve been handling this by—”

Aizawa exhaled very carefully, his chest heaving in a controlled way as he dug his fist into his eye, rubbing it. “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”

“Ah, ha. Ha,” you said, scratching the back of your neck, “Sorry if that’s too much information; that wasn’t the point—”

“You’re transferring to Class B,” said Aizawa, and he spun on his heel and sped out of Recovery Girl’s office.

Huffing, you seized the clipboards and ran after him. “Wait up,” you said, shoving the door to the stairs open after he nearly closed it on your face, “I was just trying to let you know I am open to a relationship if you want it, but I’m more than fine—” Liar, spat the voice in your head as you scrambled down the staircase after him, your footsteps reverberating against the grey-cinderblocked walls. “—if you don’t want anything to happen, but if you—”

Aizawa turned sharply to glare in your direction as you caught up to him, and when you skibbled to a stop on the same stair, he said under his breath, “Quiet.” His gaze followed how your hair fluttered with each of his harsh syllables, so he took another stair down to distance you. “Anyone on the stairs could hear you,” he said, resigned.

He crossed his arms, and you slanted the clipboards away from your chest for him to take them.

“You really didn’t know I’ve liked you?” you asked as he took them, “All this time?”

“It’s never crossed my mind,” he said, and he continued down the stairs at fast pace but one you could keep up with, “Like I said, students are a different category of person once you’re a teacher.”

Biting your lip, you followed closely enough to keep your voice down. “You never knew. That’s comforting,” you said, and after a few more stairs, you grinned. “Could that count as my stealth presentation?”

***

You would think that more was supposed to happen, now that you’re soulmates. More conversation, at least. Perhaps a conversation.

Instead, a lingering, bruising feeling branded your chest, as if you’d been kicked the night before, and often a stifling, smothering pressure weighed down on your shoulders until you could be in the same room as Aizawa again. Sometimes, it felt like steel marbles were playing pinball in your chest, the aches where they hit gnawing and settling into your bones.

(Your cat, your chocolate-point baby Dango, has been upset with the hours you’ve been sleeping away the pain instead of playing with her. Luckily, Kouda has been borrowing her some afternoons. You don’t know what he does with her, but you do appreciate very much being able to tell Dango, via Kouda, that you love her very much.

Kouda also has the advantage of being subtle when you lend him your cat, because cats aren’t allowed in the dorms. You’ve been secretly caring for Dango for over a year now, so it’s as if you, Kouda, and Shinsou, who brought Dango catnip treats, were partners in crime.)

In class, Aizawa interacted with you as little as possible, usually asking Present Mic to grade your assignments in his stead. He didn’t act any different towards you from the perspective of the rest of the class, you supposed, except you made fewer jokes and he fewer retorts. Instead, you kept your head down, reading or working on your Sakura Grove data for Midnight, and you were skimming by.

But sometimes you’d be doing Midnight’s paperwork after finishing an assignment early, hunched over your desk, when your skin prickles and the emptiness in your chest wavers for a moment, and you’d look towards Aizawa—either slumping over his desk with his chin on his palm or almost concealed inside his sleeping bag behind the podium—eyes half-lidded and boring into you.

When you look away, it’s as if he’s the one kicking you in the chest.

***

The Saturday after a particularly painful school day for you (aside from your fucking up in a combat exercise, Aizawa had been going down the line of those who’d participated to give individual feedback, and he skipped over you without hesitation), you’d planned to spend all day huddled underneath layers and layers of covers and throw blankets in bed as yet another snowstorm swept across Mustafu, but you jerked awake, completely fucking frigid, before the sun had truly risen. You blindly fumbled over the edge of the bed for any or all of your six billion blankets and felt none of them, and, making a miserable whimper as you cracked open an eye, you peered over the side of the bed.

No blankets on floor.

No…no little bedside rug.

Jesus, did you somehow kick your bed away from the wall during the night? Wait, where’s all the shit you have all over your walls this isn’t your room.

Something was pressed against your back.

Your life was over. You’re totally getting expelled from U.A. for sneaking into your teacher’s room. It’s got to be his—holding your breath, you slowly peeked over your shoulder before snapping back towards the bare wall. A flash of that yellow sleeping bag, even in bed—it’s Aizawa’s room, all right, and his back was pressed against yours, with only your sleepshirt and his sleeping bag keeping your skin from touching (unless he’s wearing a shirt, which, in that case, get sluttier, Aizawa).

In the case that somehow appearing in his bed overnight made him detest you, you elected to slither out of his living space without his ever knowing. You wouldn’t have any answers for him, even if he caught you, really, at least not this early in the morning.

In the vexingly slow process of getting out of bed without waking him up, you had the time to look around, not that there was that much to see; it was all greyish and sparse and didn’t really feel like a home at all or that he spent much time here, with the most significant pieces in his bedroom being the shoddily painted radiator (in heaven, everything is fine) and a desk with both a PC and a propped-up tablet on it, with some papers spread in front of them. But the layout of his flat appeared to mirror another part of the dormitory, so you bet the door to leave his area entirely was through the next room, and you’d be home-free.

What caught your attention, though, was a well-loved cat tower, with one of the dangling mice for the cat to bat at torn off the string and resting on the middle level. Aizawa must have a cat. Funny, since that’s illegal in the dorms. As you finally slinked off the bed entirely, you resolved to locate the cat to kiss its little forehead before slipping out of his room entirely. Cat detours are allowed.

Walking out of his bedroom, you first were hit by the pungent scent of brewing coffee and then by a cold wave of defeat. Across the kitchen counter, Aizawa’s back was towards you while he fossicked through different brands of sugar packets.

You could’ve punted that empty sleeping bag out the window.

You took one step towards the exit before he spoke, his voice gravelly from sleep: “Do you want to offer me an explanation before I write you up?”

Fucking stealth heroes. “I don’t have one,” you said, shoulders falling slack while trudging into his kitchenette—with an ulterior motive of seeing more of his place before being removed permanently. “I’m—I don’t know how I got here. You didn’t—?”

“Of course not,” said Aizawa, ripping open two differently branded packets and upturning them into his coffee. He turned to face you as he took the first sip, and you wished you could say that his eyes drank you in hungrily, or whatever, but you supposed that you have to get sluttier, too: you were just as completely and unalluringly covered as he was in his Purple Revolution sweatshirt and pants. “You don’t have any ideas from working at Sakura Grove?”

“Uh, no,” you said, “I’m not encouraged to talk to I—Tainted Love. It’s more like bringing her food and filling out paperwork for her craft requests. I am very much the middleman. I can—”

“Don’t.” Aizawa held out his free hand. “I’ll ask Nemuri.”

Nemuri. You’ve known, you supposed, that he was on a given-name basis with Midnight. You resolved to get him to call you by your first name, too. And then the thought came that you might be ruining something romantic between them? Based on every interaction you’ve had with either of them, you had no indication of romance, but Aizawa had said that teachers aim to have very private lives. Yikes. You elected to slough it off for now, because introducing feeling jealous of your mentor whom you admired very much would only complicate the situation more. You could linger on jealousy once you figured out what the hell was happening.

“Right,” you said, pulling at a hangnail, “What if this happens again?”

“We’ll put a stop to it. Simple as that.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “We’ll be able to prevent this once we have more information. Until then, just handle it maturely and without fuss.”

“And here I was hoping we could cuddle,” you said, heaving a huge, fake sigh as Aizawa narrowed his eyes, and you pushed yourself up to sit on the counter, swinging your legs. “This is the part where you offer me coffee.”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“C’mon, Aizawa. Or I’ll spread that you have an illegal cat in the dorms.”

Aizawa hesitated just as he brought the lip of his mug to his mouth. “I don’t have a cat,” he said before taking another drink.

“Come off of it; I saw the cat tower.”

“I don’t have—”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when something prodded your thigh; a lanky, tuxedo-patterned cat had sneaked up to headbutt you before you could notice, and it climbed onto your lap to loaf. It’d be nice if your own cat were this friendly.

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings,” grumbled Aizawa as he poured your coffee.

You flipped over the cat’s tag, the light catching on the rose-gold heart. “You named your cat Konpeito?”

“Eri named it.” Aizawa set the mug next to you instead of giving it to you directly—stubborn bastard, not wanting to touch you again. “Don’t make a scene when you return the mug.”

“You’re kicking me out before I even start drinking?” You tentatively gripped the handle and maneuvered the cat off your lap.

“You keep asking these questions that have obvious answers.” He gave a dismissive wave. “Don’t make too much noise on the way out; Eri’s in the next dorm over, and I don’t want you to wake her.”

***

You woke up in Aizawa’s bed again less than a week later. You’d had a dream that you’d been freezing, and the reason had been, once again, you were, since apparently Aizawa depended on his sleeping bag instead of blankets. You allowed yourself a moment of savouring the sensation of his back against yours (for real, this time, since the sleeping bag was snoring) before slipping out.

The third time, you left him a note to tell him to get a damn blanket, or else you’ll bring one of your own to keep there.

You idly took notes in Present Mic’s class, words coming slowly on paper while he prattled on. How come it was always you who was showing up in his bed? How come you always went to Aizawa, and he never came to you?

Your eyes flicked up to what Present Mic was writing on the board in skewed, thin handwriting. Had Aizawa told him the specifics? Present Mic had to know something, since he was grading your work, but Mic was also Aizawa’s friend—a luxury you didn’t have in this soulmate situation. Midnight would also be a strategic person to tell, from Aizawa’s perspective, but she hadn’t given any hint she was aware.

You drew a heart in the margins, and then you gave it legs. You made it walk off the page and onto the desk, colouring it in by crosshatching. If only you could get up and leave. Class without Aizawa dragged nowadays; where did he spend his time during school on break? Probably huddled in his sleeping bag in a slant of sunlight like a damn cat, maybe out on the grounds where he couldn’t be found. Or maybe he fucked off to a gym closet where the mats were; they’d be cosier than sleeping directly on the floor. And you could cosy up next to him, pressed up against each other in that snug—

You slammed into a wall of solid muscle, papers flying and tea spilling over the tile to seep into the rug in the teachers’ lounge, and you sprawled on your knees in the midst of it in your haste to get the fuck off of Aizawa before he could say anything, hissing as you tentatively raised your hand from the wet, broken cup. Despite the slivers of pottery in your palm, you one-handedly fumbled for the papers that had been dropped—third year evals, now crimped and tinted a yellow-green.

Aizawa took the papers, tapped the bottom to align them, and gave them a firm shake to flick off excess tea, and when you started to sweep the broken cup into your hands, he stopped you.

“Go to the faculty bathroom,” he said, pointing to the connecting lavatory, “I’ll be there in a minute with a first-aid kit.”

You had a moment to yourself in the clean, warmly-lit bathroom, so you pushed yourself up on the green marble by the farthest sink and crossed your legs, ensuring your shoes didn’t dirty anything. The pain’s setting in, but you won’t cry, not in front of him, and you’re crying, but just a bit, right? Fuck.

At the sound of the door, you hastily wiped your nose with your sleeve and did your best to look stoic, like pottery in your hand happened every day. But your eyes were too watery to even see the tweezers as he dug them out of the kit.

Standing in front of the sink, Aizawa clicked the tweezers twice (carcinisation, baby!) and held out his other hand.

You looked at it. “What do you want me to do with that?”

He said your name through a sort of scoff, which would’ve been way hotter if it had been your given name and also in bed. “Just give me your hand.”

Tears ran down your face in an overflow. “You wanna touch me?” you asked, sniffing.

“Fucking hell,” Aizawa said under his breath, “At least I know you’re all right if you’re still joking.” He shifted his jaw, scanning your palm. “If you’d rather have it at an uncomfortable angle over the sink—”

“No! No, I wanna—I wanna touch you,” you said, and you lifted your shaky, injured hand for Aizawa to hold steady. The instant his fingers cradled the back of your hand, everything fell into place: touching him was like breathing in cool, crisp air on a clear night or the smoky kindling of a fire that never goes out, like feeling sunshine on bare shoulders on a spring day with freshly cut grass, like walking into your childhood home’s kitchen when someone’s baked chocolate-chip cookies, like breathing in, like breathing, and—

You lifted your hand just a hair from his hand.

You have a stopped-up nose.

You glanced at Aizawa, whose lips were parted, his chest visibly heaving underneath his baggy jumpsuit. “Did you…?”

He ran his tongue over his lower lip. “I need to get the pottery out of your hand as soon as possible.”

Bracing yourself, you rested your hand in his again, and that irresistible warmth swept over you again. He’s got to be feeling it, too, so why isn’t he reacting? You’re embarrassing yourself, so why can’t he?

“Were you trying to teleport to me earlier?” he asked (distracting you from the sensation of each shard being plucked from your skin), head bent over the sink and your hand.

“No, I never—I don’t intend anything. But now that we’ve seen it, we at least know it’s not a gradual thing. Instantaneous and painless. Well,” you said, nodding towards your hand.

“Nor, I see, is it limited to my bed,” he said, shifting over when you uncrossed your legs, “What were you doing before the jump?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. I was in class.” You dangled your legs off the side to get closer to him (for medical purposes of course), and wow, Aizawa smelled incredible—probably; your stuffy nose wasn’t doing you any favours—what the hell kind of soap did he use?

“Were you thinking of anything in particular? The bond?”

That’s got to be pine, and there’s something earthy mixed in. You really needed to blow your nose (Can you even name earthy scents? [Dirt?] You’re not up-to-date with masculine scents; you’ll have to find his deodorant next time you wake up in his room). “I was—” You cut yourself off with a hiss as he pulled the largest shard out. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad, really. Keep going. I don’t really remember the specifics of what I was thinking about, but I—” You cut yourself off again, this time with heavy realisation. “Goddammit. I was feeling the acute loneliness hollow out my chest again, and I was wanting to—be near you. Which explains why I’ve been teleporting to you instead of you coming to me.”

“It explains nothing,” said Aizawa, and he set the tweezers next to the shards on the edge of the sink and flipped on the faucet, guiding your hand under the water and reaching for the gauze.

“Yes, it does,” you said, openly wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, because fuck it, this man didn’t care about you, so be gross around him. “If the teleporting is triggered by intense longing to be close to the other person, then it makes total sense that I’d be the only one teleporting, since I’m the only one who has feelings.”

“It explains nothing,” he said again, drying off your hand, “It’s only a possible contributing factor to the teleportation. Maybe it has to do with location, or timing, or action. It’s highly improbable that this physical action was caused by thought alone.” Aizawa ripped off a long strip of gauze and began to wrap it around your palm. “Don’t feel like this is a weakness on your part. I’ll probably teleport to you before the month is out.”

You let your fingers relax, your pinkie falling enough to graze his own hands as he bandaged yours. The more skin-to-skin contact you had, the more serene you felt—or maybe it was the injury adrenaline wearing off. Either way, you might fall asleep on the bathroom counter. “My bed isn’t big enough for two people.”

“That’s okay,” said Aizawa, and he slowed at the final wrap-around, holding it in place until he found the metal clips in the first aid box. “I’ve gotten very used to sleeping in odd places.”

When he stepped away to pack up the kit, you fucking whimpered on impulse at the loss of physical contact, and he froze, stuck in the motion of clicking the box shut.

“Sorry,” you said, sniffing.

His jaw tensing, Aizawa shook his head. “You should go to bed early tonight. Don’t overexert yourself.”

***

Yeah, except it’s Friday, and Jirou has been arranging this girls’ night for two weeks now.

Apparently, the karaoke bar you’re going to overheats really easily, since it’s in a refurbished building that used to be something-or-other; you’re not really listening to the explanation but were more concerned with having to wear summer clothes while it’s snowing out. The past two weeks have been strategic outfit layering plans from the lot of you, most of which have devolved into being silly and impractical (ranging from “I’ll just take off my skin and hang around in my bones when we get there” to “I will walk out of this dorm in a sleeping bag over my underwear” [the latter reminding you of Aizawa, in a pleasing, warm thought that you had to keep to yourself]).

Either way. Twisting over your shoulder, you strained to tuck in your bra so that it wouldn’t show from a mostly backless spaghetti-strap that you ended up borrowing from Uraraka, and once it was kind of hidden, you stuck your tongue into your cheek. It didn’t really sit right with you to be going out in this shit in this icy weather. You’d be a lot warmer and probably a lot more content if you peeled off these Best Jeanist jean shorts (from the Moulded to Your Ass line, unofficially titled) and crawled into your pyjamas and bed.

In the corner of your eye, your bed beckoned, with all of its blankets and stuffed animals (for when you just need to hold a little guy). What if you ditched the outing and—no. Stop that. You’ll be warm soon enough.

But with an abrupt lurch towards your bed, you found yourself spluttering into the scalding spray of a showerhead, water dribbling into your mouth between gasps and sloshing down your body. Blindly, you took a step backwards out of the cascade, but a flattened palm on the bare skin of your back stopped you before you could move farther.

“Don’t.”

The water still gushed and flowed over you, eyes scrunched tight and heart pounding. The hand on your back maximised the space between the two of you, but with the pathetic size of the shower stall, his body heat still seeped into your skin, complemented by rising steam. There’s a quiet grunt when he knocked against the frosted glass door; his shoulders must be wide enough for that to happen frequently (you swallow against a dry throat, because the man could hold all of you). If he wanted to, Aizawa, the way he has you now, could press his lips to the crown of your head, keeping his mouth there as his eyes flutter shut.

Instead, Aizawa was reaching up to tilt the showerhead away, giving you a good face-full of his bicep, and your eyes followed its movement (his jumpsuit did an excellent job of concealing a fucking powerfully built form), straining as he twisted the showerhead and relaxing as it fell back into place at his side—

“Eyes up,” said Aizawa, using his first two fingers to guide your chin back to face your front, where they lingered for a moment to tap against your jaw to ensure you’d stay there.

(With the shock of getting wet and the heat of his hand flat against your back [still there, still flooding you with an intoxicating headiness], you’d been entirely too overwhelmed to even consider catching a glimpse of his dick.)

“Aizawa-sensei—”

“Cut that out,” he said, huffing, “You’re doing this on purpose.”

For once, you’re out of the loop. But since you’re in his shower, you could take a moment to locate his soap to put a name to what he smells like and perhaps get a look at his cock along the way. Only his washcloth hung over the faucet in front of you, so you moved to turn slightly as you spoke, ducking your head to scan for shampoo bottles: “Earlier today you were saying it wasn’t my—”

Hissing, Aizawa slid two fingers through one of your belt loops and yanked, jerking you backwards into his hips for an instant before establishing that space between you again—pulling you by the belt loop blocked your view of his cock, and his hand on your back kept you from touching him in any meaningful way. But he was still as close as he could be without touching you otherwise, his breath as searing as the steam as he grumbled into your ear: “Bad girl.”

The water splashing at your feet wasn’t so hot anymore.

Aizawa tugged at your belt loop again (for a moment, when a swish of cool air washed down your ass, you worried that he’d look) and kept you in front of himself as he turned sideways to face the shower door, which he (fuck!) lifted his hand from your back to prod open.

Light flushed into the stall, and he scoffed. “I knew it,” Aizawa said, bitterness creeping into his voice, and he unlooped his finger from your belt loop to tap the fabric firmly, nudging you forward.

“Knew what?” you asked, spinning on your heel the moment you were out of the shower, water flying, and Aizawa ducked behind the frosted glass with a defeated expression. “Right,” you said, grabbing the thick towel on the toilet and tossing it to him.

“Check your fingertips.”

Tearing your gaze from his frosted-glass impression of wrapping the towel around his waist, you held up your hands. “They look fine. My bandages are soaked, though, so I’ll have to redo—oh, okay, fuck. My soulmark is gone.” You’re not going to cry in front of him, and definitely not twice in one day, because that’d be—

“Sensei,” you said, choking up and curling your shaky fingers into an even shakier fist, “Sensei, my soulmark is—I don’t want my soulmark to be gone, fucking, I—” On accident, you slammed your elbow into the glass door when you were trying to—please get closer (so goddammit, if your eyes water, it’s from hitting your funny bone). “I don’t want my soulmark to disappear; I adore you and want—”

“It hasn’t disappeared,” Aizawa said softly as he stepped out of the shower, gripping his towel in addition to the firm knot, and he pointed behind you towards the mirror.

While Aizawa eased down onto the closed toilet to towel-dry his hair, you took the four, wet steps to the sink and wiped off the clouded steam. No difference in your reflection.

When you shot a baffled look towards Aizawa, he gently raised his eyebrows and his finger to twirl it once. So, you turned around to look over your shoulder at your back, where his pink handprint put all body glitter to shame in how well it reflected the overhead light and in how quickly it was spreading (ink leaking outside of the handprint in watery bursts before slowing, never detracting from the shape of his hand, though the ink seemed to rise more than fall, especially near his middle and ring fingers between your shoulder blades).

He was holding up his newly pink palm, wiggling his fingers in your direction.

You returned to him (really to stand on the bathmat, since you’re drenching his floor) and raised your hand to touch him, first glancing at him for his approval. Aizawa looked at your hand and back at you, and after he wetted his lips, he nodded and got back to towel-drying his hair.

You hesitated. Is this really so nonchalant, so trivial to him? It’s everything to you.

You dropped your hand to your side, mouth twitching. “What shampoo do you fucking use.”

“Hm?” He didn’t even look at you.

“You smell fucking good all the time. What’s. What scent is your soap,” you were saying, in the same, flat tone you’d use to argue with your landlord about finally fixing your leaky roof after two years.

Aizawa squeezed water out of the last of his hair and spoke in that infuriatingly gravelly, just-woke-up voice of his. “It’s sandalwood.”

Sandalwood. That’s earthy, you guessed. “Then where’s the pine come from?”

“That would be the aftershave,” he said, folding the hair towel in half twice and setting it aside, “You were going to touch me, but now you’re upset. Care to explain?”

You plucked at your wet shirt before crossing your arms over it. “Does this matter to you? The soulmate thing.”

“You matter to me,” he said, standing with a quiet grunt, “Let’s get you reasonably dry before going back to your dorm.”

“Oh, shut up with that teacher bullshit,” you said, following him to a cabinet, “You care about me through the lens of a student, because everyone in this fucking dorm is your—fuck, I’m. You’re insufferable.”

“I can’t lend you clothes, but I should have enough large towels to keep you warm.” Aizawa reached for the top shelf, with beach towels. “However, I recommend against going out tonight with the rest of your friends.” He handed you a new-looking, blue-pineappled towel.

You angrily wrapped it around you, pissed that you instantly felt better. “Oh, is it because you’ve gotten me wet—” Aizawa draped another towel around your shoulders, tucking it in a little to secure it. “—and going out into this fucking ass iceberg weather would get me sick—” Another towel, this one with Present Mic’s radio show logo on it. “—and then I’d have to miss one of your precious days of class—”

“Is that what you want me to say?” He arranged two more towels around you at once, tying the outermost one in a knot. “Or are you waiting to hear that I want you to hide away while you bear my mark?” He tugged your drapery down a smidge so that you could use your arms a bit—at the least, use your key to your room. “When in reality,” he said, taking a step backward and appraising his handiwork, “I want you to be comfortable and content. And I don’t think you’d be either if you went out after this, even if you got ready again.”

Goddammit.

“And you’ve had a long day with strange revelations. You have a new injury. Going to bed for the night will facilitate healing. Your body will have more time to process the day.”

Groaning, you said, “Fuck you for being right.”

“Thanks.”

Since you hadn’t touched him earlier, you took the opportunity to clonk your forehead against his chest (dense muscle was evidently comfy). The soulmark warmth blossomed throughout your body from the spot, and you took your time to appreciate it, taking a couple of unhurried breaths against his skin, dry save for some stray running droplets.

Aizawa sighed, the planes of his chest rising and falling under your close and thirsty scrutiny. “This counts, y’know. As staying up late.” If you hadn’t seen him put his hand on your arm, you wouldn’t’ve known, due to the thickness of the towels. “I told you to go to bed.”

You blearily looked up at him. “Take me there, then.”

After a moment, Aizawa said, “I have to feed my cat,” and he opened the bathroom door to escape. Before he left, he spun back around, and you would’ve sworn he was fighting a smile, if you hadn’t known how he felt about you.

“But first,” he said, “let me fix that forehead situation of yours.”

***

Picking up the folders from the office mailbox, you flipped out the flag for read/empty and trailed back to the office space that you and Midnight shared at Sakura Grove, idly waving to some co-workers as you flipped through the files. Pushing the door open with your foot, you dropped the folders onto Midnight’s desk and hurried over to lift the shaking electric kettle from the heat, since Midnight was too absorbed into her patient evaluation at which she was typing away.

You poured the boiling water the round teabag, watched it rise to the top of Midnight’s teacup, and bit back a cry—you clutched the chilled windowsill to stay standing, struck by an overwhelming dizziness that blacked out the edges of your vision and crept to darken it entirely; a bowling ball has just hit your chest and dropped to your toes, the ache reverberating through your veins as you caved and doubled over, nausea settling into your gut.

Through the dots clouding your vision, you barely make out Midnight stretching her arms over her head.

These attacks have been happening more and more. If Aizawa can have a friend in the know, so can you.

“Kayama-sensei,” you managed to croak, but she didn’t hear you.

You tried again, and she turned, her expression drooping when she saw you. “Is the tea that bad?”

Eventually, Midnight helped you into your seat across from hers with your own cup of tea, the pain draining away in the process of vague explanation.

“So, you genuinely think you’re starting to die because your soulmate won’t acknowledge you romantically. Easy solution in sight,” she said, picking her teacup up by her fingertips to breathe in the steam, “Just pick out some nice lingerie—you can use my sponsor discount for Wacoal—and arch your back when you lie in his bed for him to find. I can give you some tips on how to suck—”

“Kayama-sensei,” you said, your vision finally back to normal, “You do not understand how much I can’t do that.”

Her tongue flicked into her cup, testing the heat. “I’ll bite. Why not?”

“My soulmate is, um.” You frowned into your tea. “I’ve liked my soulmate for a long, long time. Before the soulmate stuff existed.”

Midnight ran her tongue over her lips, the corners quirking upwards. “So? All the more reason to make your feelings known and emphasised, now that you have an excuse for a legitimate relationship. Since he already knows about how you feel, you should keep trying to seduce him. All men crack eventually.”

“He won’t accept a lousy attempt at seduction, because—aside from I have no clue how to do that, I don’t—he’s, uh…” You trailed off, took a swig of tea instead of finishing, and ended up choking a bit at the heat.

“Yes? What’s the juicy detail you’re reluctant to share? Is he married? Is he a public figure? Is he too much older or younger than you?”

Narrowing your eyes, you asked, “Do you already know? Are you just making me say it?”

Tight-lipped, Midnight made a loose, dismissive gesture and moved to get back to her patient file.

“Fine. Fine! If anyone can help me with this, it’s you, because it’s—goddamn,” you said, deflating and sinking down into your seat, “It’s fucking Aizawa-sensei, okay? My soulmate is my stupid homeroom teacher.”

“Congratulations,” said Midnight, saving the document and shutting down the computer, “You have earned the right to call me by my given name for being so honest.” She spun in her chair to give you her full attention. “So. Shouta.”

“Did you know already? Were you just—”

“I had my suspicions but no concrete evidence,” she said, holding up her hand, “Just some observations from watching you for the past three years.” Tilting her head, she adjusted her glasses before lifting her cup to her mouth again. “Now, the reason why you can’t just seduce him is crystal clear now. I submit that you could start going to bed in skimpier clothes in the event you teleport to his apartment again, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Shouta’s got a steel will. He’s not going to violate that student-teacher professional relationship.”

“I know,” you said, slumping so far down in your seat that your ass was falling off of it, your chin touching your chest, “but if I’m in pain from not being with him, he probably is, too. And if he won’t acknowledge me romantically, I wanna know if there’s something I can do to alleviate the pain that we’re both feeling. He shouldn’t be distracted from his work because of it.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear.” Midnight jabbed a finger in your direction. “Starting today, you’re promoted. You’re going to be Tainted Love’s primary monitor.”

“What?” You shot up in your seat. “But I haven’t—I haven’t even had a proper conversation with her before—”

“But she’s used to having you around,” Midnight said evenly, opening her top desk drawer, “To her, you’re in a position of authority but not a threat. You’ve seen how she likes to talk, anyway, and you’re in a perfect position to find out more schematics of how her quirk works on the individual level.” Midnight smiled and handed you Ito’s folder. “Plus, she can’t do anything more to you, right? You’ve already got a hell of a soulmate.”

“Okay,” you said, hesitantly taking her file to clutch it to your chest, “So, you just want me to talk to her? Try to solve my problems?”

“Yeah. And anything you find out about her quirk that she hasn’t shared so far—because she hasn’t exactly shared much past the first interrogation—is welcome intelligence. Record anything new. Keep Ito happy. You’ll be golden. I know you’re more than capable.”

“Funny,” you said, flipping through the file and joining Midnight as she stood, “This feels planned. Got anything else motivating you?”

“Besides a perverse desire to see my friend and my sidekick get together?” Midnight grabbed her whip from the hook on the side of her desk. “I was going to assign you this, anyway. Ito isn’t a threat anymore, and I need to focus on preparing for Serendipity’s arrival next week from St. Philomena’s. Even the airline we finally convinced to transport her has backed out, so I’m scrambling to bribe another.”

That had slipped your mind—Serendipity was being transferred to Sakura Grove for rehabilitation, mostly because no one else wanted to house the most potently dangerous female villain in the Americas. “Understandable,” you said, holding open the door for Midnight to follow closely behind, “When do I start?”

***

Fifteen minutes later, you were setting a tray with tea and powdered thumbprint-cookies in front of Ito at her desk in her room. She raised a sharp, white eyebrow at how the dishes clattered at your shaky handling, but she nodded in thanks and turned back to her book. You guessed you were lingering awkwardly by the door a bit too obviously, so she rolled her eyes and set her book upside-down on the desk.

“You’re my new handler, right?” she asked, scratching under her eye.

“That’s me,” you said, hands folded tightly in front of you, “Midnight says you cleared stage five, so you’re safe to be delegated off to me. I have your stage six schedule printed out—”

“But why are you still here? Everyone usually leaves as soon as possible.”

“I’m the only staff member immune to your quirk,” you said, sliding her schedule out of her file.

“Immune.” Ito grinned and crossed her legs. “That’s interesting. How do you know that?”

Well, Midnight said to be honest in order to get honesty from Ito. You sucked in through your teeth. “I’m only immune because you’ve already given me a soulmate. I was the, uh, student you landed on when you attacked U.A.”

Scrunching up her face, Ito scanned you from head to foot, and when she finally stopped at your chest, she nodded. “Ah. I remember you. You’ve got good tits, kiddo,” she said, reaching for her tea, “Be proud of ‘em. You allowed to tell me how it’s going?”

You glanced behind you at the door, pretending to be considering the trouble of talking to her, and when you prodded it shut with your foot, Ito’s grin stretched all the way across her face, her teeth cutting into her lower lip.

“I’ve been desperate to talk to you,” you said, dragging the extra chair closer to hers, “My soulmate is being a little bitch.”

“I like you better than Doc Kim already,” said Ito, and she took a noisy slurp of her tea. “Spill it.”

“I need your advice on what to do about the pain.”

“You found your soulmate already? Then you shouldn’t be feeling any,” she said, shrugging.

“No, I need you to tell me about what to do about the pain. I don’t know if he’s feeling it, but it’s fucking killing me, and he won’t do anything about the soulmate stuff because he doesn’t like me—”

“Back up.” Ito slammed her cup on the tray, spilling tea. “You’re not making any sense. Start over. Tell me about your soulmate.”

Groaning, you buried your face in your hands, leaning back in your chair until your back popped. “He’s my professor, and I’ve liked him for years. Since I met him, pretty much.”

“Hot. He got a sensei kink?” She shoved two thumbprint cookies in her mouth at once, and she nudged the plate in your direction.

“Eh,” you said, weighing your options, “It’s possible. But he doesn’t—”

“Nice. So, he says he’s not gonna do anything while you’re his student, which means he’s burning with shame and sexy, sexy doubts about how good of a man he is. Always sexy to bring a man to his moral and literal knees. Are you wearing fun things to class?”

“We have a uniform.”

“Shame,” she said, gulping down more tea, and then she cocked her head. “Unless.”

“No.”

“Spoilsport,” said Ito, gesturing towards the cookies again. This time you took one, pinching it absentmindedly in your lap. “I think I want to go on my daily walk around the courtyard. Is there room for that in my new schedule?”

You checked it. “I’ll make it work.”

Minutes later, you and Ito were bundled up and strolling the perimeter of Sakura Grove’s courtyard, full of other in-patients in team recreation in the middle and in private conversation on some of the benches.

“I’m still not with you,” Ito was saying as she stared up into the bare limbs of a sakura tree, “I don’t understand why you’re feeling the soulmate pain. It shouldn’t be affecting you, since you know and have met your soulmate.”

You huffed, breath visible. “Well, if you don’t know, then I’m lost. But if he’s not going to complain about the pain, then I suppose I’ll just have to deal with it. I like him too much to bitch about it to him, I guess.”

Ito shoved more of her long, white hair underneath her pom-pom hat. “Then it’s probably the same for him, with him liking you too much to bother you about it.”

“Nah.” You stepped into one of her footprints, the snow crunching under your weight. “He doesn’t like me, and I don’t think he ever will, since once a student, always a stu—”

Ito’s head snapped towards you, cheeks rosy from the cold. “What did you say?”

“My soulmate doesn’t like me, because—”

“You said that earlier, too,” said Ito, and she looked around for other monitors before jerking her head for you to follow her. She guided you in a casual-but-not trail away from any doors or eavesdroppers, and she said in a hushed voice, “You do know that my quirk doesn’t assign soulmates randomly, right?”

“What the hell? Say more right now,” you said, taking smaller steps to stay closer to her.

“Oh, well, that’s news for me. I figured they’d captured my team’s notes on my quirk by now. Okay, well, report this, or not,” said Ito, jabbing a finger towards you, “How much do you know about probability? Yeah, yeah, more math—yes, soulmates usually to inhale the same cloud of my quirk to be considered soulmates, but there are other factors, too. See, you were making sense until you said your soulmate doesn’t like you back.”

“Okay, I’m not following—hey, let’s walk more towards the centre; I think those two by the door are watching us.” You steered the two of you back onto the typical path but stayed close to speak quietly.

“In addition to breathing from the same cloud, two people have to have had a moment of genuine, mutual attraction between each other. Not, like, you pass someone hot on the street and think you’d suck the soul out of their dick before dissuading yourself from the impulse, because they’d clearly ruin your life, but a moment of true, lingering affection for someone that you don’t talk yourself out of. A moment worth thinking about later. Hey, Rika,” Ito said loudly as you passed another patient on the path, “Good to see you today. How’s your cult? You don’t know? Great! Healthy! See you later!” Ito and you sped-walked past her, and once Rika was out of earshot, Ito lowered her voice again. “You don’t have to know the person, but maybe a stranger shared a moment of kindness with you. Maybe an old friend laughed in a new way. It’s a moment where you’re attracted to something past the surface level in a person, even for a brief second. I don’t give out soulmates with absolutely no attraction, even if it may seem that way.”

You, fuming, kicked snow out of your path. “That bitch likes me!”

Ito nodded. “And not just for your tits.”

“Shit,” you said, pushing hair out of your face and pulling your scarf to be snugger, “Nothing I do is gonna—”

“I can help,” said Ito, glancing over her shoulders again for eavesdroppers.

You stopped in your tracks. “But why would you do that? I’m just some weirdo.”

“Because when I have employed the help I’m about to offer you, it has been very, very funny to me,” she said, “and I don’t get outside news except through fucking letters.”

You joined her on the path again. “How many times have you done this?”

Ito looked up as she bit the pad of her thumb, trudging through the snow. “You’ll be the twelfth time. It’s like a part two to my quirk, but I usually don’t come across victims again to offer this sort of thing—and people usually don’t need it. Step one: we’ll need an airtight container.”

***

Cut to that evening in your dorm room, with you hunched over a ziploc bag sealed to the brim with her quirk’s pink dust.

Door locked. Lights down. Cosy pyjamas. Already under the covers in bed.

An increased probability of cliches, Ito had said.

You flipped on the flashlight on your phone to shine through the dust, pink light scattering on the ceiling like a home-planetarium.

Inhaling her quirk for the second time would still affect you, but it wouldn’t assign you another soulmate. Rather, it would dramatically increase your chances for romance tropes to occur in your real life. Stuff that only happens in rom-coms and fanfic could start to happen to you and your soulmate.

(“Like sharing a bed when there’s only one of them,” Ito had said, swirling her finger through the leftover powdered sugar and licking it.

“We’ve already got that covered with the teleporting,” you’d said.

“Shifting is what I’ve been calling the teleports, babe.” Ito had smacked her lips. “And maybe you’ll wake up grinding on his hard-on, now. Do you know how big his dick is?” she’d asked, and then she’d clicked her tongue. “Never mind; I wanna know about his thighs.”

“I can—”

“Or maybe he’ll spill coffee on your shirt and have to pat you dry, accidentally making your shirt see-through and getting flustered at your tits. Or maybe he’ll have to pick you up in the rain, and oh, no, the weather’s too bad for you to go home, and you have to wear his clothes, and—”

You’d snorted at the thought of wearing one of his jumpsuits. He didn’t seem to have much else.)

Either way, you had your ziploc bag of soulmate trope dust, and you had a soulmate reluctant to acknowledge you—even though you knew now that he liked you, that bitch. You’d prepared accordingly, already in bed, since Ito had said you’d likely pass out again. It sat a bit unpleasantly in your stomach that you were going to rely on cliches to jumpstart your relationship with Aizawa, since you hadn’t wanted to do that in the first place with teacher-student relationship cliches. But you could avoid that the best you could, you supposed.

You lay down in bed, adjusting your hair on your pillow, and with the bag on your chest, you popped it like bubble wrap, the dust surging into your face in a rosy burst.

***

Popping it Tuesday night led to a cruelly dull Wednesday, since, as seniors, Wednesdays were off-days for the hero course to spend more time in the field. You weren’t needed at Sakura Grove, as you remotely typed up your reports and sent them their way, and since all your friends were with their mentors, the hours crawled. You puttered around online for a while, before cracking open a book whose plot couldn’t hold you. Since no one was around to witness, you plodded downstairs to the kitchen in your pyjamas, stole one of Aoyama’s green tea popsicles for an early start to lunch, and booted up the console Kaminari kept in the commons.

While the screen loaded, you plopped onto the couch, licking the last of the tea off the wooden stick. What does Aizawa do on Wednesdays now that his class is loose? He frequents a cat café; the punch-card was poking out of his wallet on his bedside table last time you shifted to his room. But there are the mundanities—grocery shopping, catching up on sleep, grading, caring for Eri. And hell, how you’d like to share those moments with him—perhaps scrunching his nose at a change of ingredients of his favourite chip, stroking the neck of his cat in a beam of sunlight, braiding Eri’s hair with ribbon at the start of a school day.

Fuuuuuck, when will Aizawa let you in?

The next moment, you’re suffocating. Pitch black softness, swaddling and falling around you, sweltering within seconds, sweat beading at your hairline. You took a desperate, gasping breath—relieved in the slim moment a slant of light puckered in front you, until the hand shoved onto your face, palm feeling for your mouth and shutting your jaw for you. Within the cocoon, the frame on either side of you tensed, and—the hand fumbled, once you’d quieted, in the crack of light to clumsily cup your cheek, patting it abruptly before rubbing the thumb over your cheekbone.

From that touch and the peace it swept over you, you knew where you’d shifted: kneeling right between Aizawa’s legs in his sleeping bag. But he’s sitting upright in a chair and needed to silence you, so where was he right now?

You settled, leaning against the hard muscle of his calf and into his palm, nosing at it to signal you knew it’s him.

“You have twenty-seven minutes to finish your tests,” called Aizawa, and for the first time, you picked up on pens clicking, paper shuffling, and chairs scuffing against polished tile. “Don’t ask me when they’ll be graded; Kuranosuke-sensei isn’t set to return until Saturday.”

Bless him.

But okay. You’ve got about half an hour stuck between his legs under this desk in front of what’s likely a bunch of younger business students.

Huh, if you only inched your chin forward on his chair, you’d be perfectly positioned to nuzzle against his cock, maybe suck it if you maneuvered your arms out of the sleeping bag’s constrictions. But, you supposed, it would be very mean to tease him in that way in front of students who haven’t built that respect for him, and you’d prefer your first blowjob to be where Aizawa could throw his head back, face flushed, groaning loudly with a gentle, guiding hand on the back of your head—hey, now’s not the time.

You didn’t want him to feel the shame of having an erection in front of who were essentially strangers. It’d…you don’t want to humiliate your soulmate. You love that idiot.

But Aizawa was shifting his hips, to your horror, the thick fabric of his jumpsuit brushing your face in the moment his hand retracted, and the sleeping bag was shuffled down past the top of your head, which grazed the underside of a desk drawer.

You rested your chin towards the edge of his chair—yes, mere inches between your face and his clothed cock, but your breath probably wasn’t even hitting it. From this angle, you and Aizawa could share that suspicious glare he shot you, so you backed up the half-inch for your chin to rest of the very brink of the chair—he closed his eyes, his shoulders losing their stiffness—and you leant your head against his thigh, just on the inside of his knee. He heaved a silent sigh, giving a subtle roll of his eyes, and minutely nodded—an act so slight that if you hadn’t been looking for it, you would’ve missed it.

Aizawa’s hand came to rest atop your head, scratching his fingers gently against your scalp. Part of it’s the soulmate bond; part of it’s being touch-starved, but his gentle scratch was so fucking soothing that a hazy, relaxed sleepiness came over you. Your head sagged, nose pressing towards the underside of his thigh, while your eyes crossed. Maybe it’s the magic of his sleeping bag, but you’re so drowsy that the scratch of his short nails almost drowned out clicking footsteps approach the desk.

Aizawa froze, his hand stilling in your hair.

“What are we supposed to do with our tests?” came the whisper of a business student.

Aizawa made a grunt and moved as if he were stretching and reaching for something on the desk. “Whatever you normally do. Is there not a routine?”

“The basket we turn papers in to is missing.” The shadow of the student’s feet grew closer to the desk.

“Not my problem. Just leave them on the corner of the desk—” A tinny clink echoed through the teacher desk when Aizawa tapped it—his thumb swiping over your forehead to calm you.

“Gotcha,” said the business student, and you thought you were in the clear before she asked, “What—what are you doing under…?”

“Oh?” Aizawa jolted the chair forward to hide you, but with the jolt came his clothed cock pressed against your face; even through the thick fabric you could tell it’s his shaft pressed against the length of your nose and corner of mouth and balls nestled against your chin and cheek. “I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to text under my desk, the same as all of you do when you think I can’t see.” A metallic-sounding object scraped across the desktop, followed by an impulsively-large-sounding gulp.

“Your phone’s on your desk, sir,” said the business student.

His fingers now curled into your hair in a vain attempt to pull you away from his cock, but he couldn’t, with the scant room under the desk and bulk of his sleeping bag. Trying to be polite, you opted to avert your gaze from his crotch (even though it was right there), which shuddered so hard that you saw and felt it.

“It’s a common practise for pro-heroes to have secondary phones purely for work,” said Aizawa, taking another loud swallow of his drink. “You may want to invest in one.”

“Gotcha,” said the business student again, just as another shadow joined her at the desk and whispered for her to hurry up.

When they both retreated, Aizawa stealthily scooted back to gain some space in a move that looked like he was simply leaning back in his chair to drain the tea out of his cup—and you savoured the unshielded view of the tender skin of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed—and hey, that’s—Aizawa relaxed enough to glance down at you, elbow on the arm of the chair, holding in the air the teacup you gifted him to replace the one you broke (nowhere nearly as nice as the pottery one you smashed presumably was, but its deep crimson glaze had reminded you of his quirk-activated eyes).

You were strangely moved that he was using your gift so quickly after he received it, in public, and not where you were supposed to see it being used.

Your eyes darted between the cup and his eyes until he noticed, and he raised the teacup just a hair in a toast. Nodding with a tired smile, you wormed your arm around to unwind his hand from its grip in your hair, unintentionally still tight, and held his gaze as you kissed the pad of each finger, starting with his little finger, the pink flashing from each tip until you pressed your lips against his thumb.

Aizawa never looked away, but he narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. You wondered for a moment if he liked the thumbprint bisecting the centre of your lips, the rounded edge aligning with the dip in your cupid’s bow. But his expression betrayed nothing, and instead, he raised the teacup to his own mouth, his hand returning to your hair for the rest of the period.

After the last student had petered out of the classroom and Aizawa had given an uncharacteristic little wave as the last one close the door behind her, Aizawa held out a groan as he kicked away from the desk, his hands flying to adjust his lower jumpsuit and then raking his fingers back through his own hair.

“How are you holding up?”

You balked. “How am I?” You shoved at his knees so that you had room to stand, and you sat on the desk.

Aizawa pointedly nudged your legs together (you hadn’t even thought of it that way). “Nice pyjamas.”

“You’re lucky I don’t sleep naked,” you said, plucking at your shirt.

“Am I?”

Was that…was he flirting?

Your surprise must have shown on your face, because he continued. “You shouldn’t walk back to the dorms like that. I don’t have anything at the school besides a spare jumpsuit, but Hizashi should have his jacket draped on his chair in the faculty lounge.”

“How romantic,” you said, flicking the side of his teacup for the hell of it.

“I don’t have another class to sub until the period after this one,” he said, pocketing his phone and other personals on the desk before handing the teacup to you, “Let’s go.”

Present Mic was gloriously absent from the faculty lounge, so there was no one to stop Aizawa from laying his stuff on his desk and swiping the jacket off the back of Mic’s chair. You set the teacup on the cat coaster and had just barely turned his way before he was sweeping the open jacket around your shoulders. Aizawa lifted the leather while you slipped your arms inside, and he zipped you up, stopping the zipper just above the curve of your boobs. You looked down, and he flicked the zipper up at you with a smirk.

“Are we married yet?”

His hand dropped from your zipper. “I saw what you did with the registration form. You’re not funny.”

“I happen to be hilarious,” you said, “I assume to want to adjust the mark?”

Nodding, Aizawa waited for you to tilt your head up and to the side. “I am not marrying you. You’re my student.” He grazed the usual spot behind your ear with his ring finger.

“And someday I won’t be.” You shivered as the frisson of his touch rolled through you. “You’d rather have even more paperwork, bureaucratical hoops, and possibly a ceremony at a later, inevitable date than one simple checkmark on a sheet? Not very logical, sensei.”

He frowned. “Stop that.”

A beat. “No otherwise rebuttal?” you asked, grinning, “You agree, then, that we’re going to end up together? That we’ll be—”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Funny,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek, eyeing Snipe in the far corner of the room, “Then, hey. Compromise. What if we just hang out with no romantic or sexual connotations whatsoever? I wanna get to know you better. You’re cool.”

Aizawa crossed his arms and followed your gaze to Snipe, who was bent over in his seat, cleaning one of his guns. “Think about it. Would you trust a teacher who spends time outside of school with a student?”

“How’s the training with Shinsou going?”

“You are not funny.”

“And everybody knows you’re training Shinsou, and they’re fine with it. You could say you’re training me,” you said, stepping closer to him, looking him in the eyes despise his hunkering down into his scarf, “Please say you’re training me. I want to spend time with you. Hell, actually train me. You could make me strong enough that you don’t have to worry about me, or any bullshit. C’mon, Aizawa. Please.”

“That,” he said, “I can easily deny you. Now, get back to the dorms. I’d like to—”

“What? Why,” you said with a whine, “How can you say that so quickly? You didn’t even think about it.”

“Yeah?” Aizawa turned to his desk to boot up the computer. “It’s because you’re already strong enough to take care of yourself. I don’t have to worry about you in a fight,” he said, just barely crinkling his eyes, so you figured that he’s smiling beneath his capture weapon, “Keeping you from being a fool—now, that’s something I’ll have to watch for.”

You groaned. Loudly. And for way too long. “Whatever. May I sit on your lap while you grade?”

“No,” said Aizawa, not missing a beat, “Go back to the dorm.”

“You want me to check on Eri?”

“Sure. That’d be—really nice. Let me know—”

“Yeah?” Grinning, you bounced on the balls of your feet. “How am I supposed to do that? Sounds like I might need a certain phone number.”

Aizawa collapsed in his cracked, leather lounge chair and spun it towards his cubicle desk. “No need. If you don’t shift to me in the next half hour, I’ll assume everything’s fine.”

“Oh, come on. I feel like I deserve some sort of treat for not mentioning your half-chub while it was in my face earlier.”

Aizawa rubbed at his temple, his eyes strained. “I’m busy grading and don’t have time to talk.”

He was staring into a blank screen.

“Fine, you big baby. I’ll concede to you this time,” you said, and before you could lose your nerve, you leant over to kiss the top of his head.

You’d bolted for the door before he could even turn around.

***

It was supposed to be a routine field exercise.

The hero course had been split into teams, each under the leadership of a faculty member, for a field assessment as twenty percent of your grade for your final semester. As an extension of the personal study starting with the student presentations from earlier, you were in the group focusing on stealth headed by Aizawa, along with Bakugou, Aoyama, and Todoroki (who swopped into your group last minute, since Midnight declared that he needed to get away from her group working on public relations). Bummed that no other girls were in the group, you resolved to make it work by being better than the boys. Not to mention that the three included would, hopefully, be dense enough to miss the subtler interactions between Aizawa and you that betrayed something else going on.

The four of you were to know as little as possible about the assignment as possible before going in, so you all spent the week leading up to it making contingency plans (you’d been told not to go out otherwise that week, so Midnight had to do her own work, for once, at Sakura Grove), with maps of the city and subway splayed out on the floor in the common room, along with bowls of trail mix Bakugou had thrown together, claiming that Aoyama’s stuff was bullshit (though you had enjoyed it very much when you ate it in secret that morning). All you’d been told was that you’d be making an escort in secret, without the target even knowing you were there.

No contingency plan could account for this.

A thunderstorm popped up on the radar out of nowhere, delaying the plane’s arrival, and the airport radio signal had been scrambled, fed into a different language, and back again. If you’d been allowed more details during preparation, you’d have more of the story, but all you could piece together now was excruciatingly obvious: the airport’s east wing exploded and caved before the plane even hit it, and now you were trapped underground under wet, crumbly tonnes of rubble, confined to a pocket of space barely tall enough to stand in, with the only structure keeping half of an airport bathroom’s mirrored wall from collapsing and crushing you being the charred, lower third of a column from the airport courtyard.

“You can’t blow our way out,” you hissed at Bakugou, who was climbing his way up the column to prod at the ceiling, “The column’s load-bearing.”

“I know that,” Bakugou said, contorting his upper body and neck as he gawped with his mouth open at the debris above him, “I’m just seein’ if there’s any light from the surface comin’ through, or if there’s anywhere rainwater’s drippin’ in.”

Hunching with his upper back grazing the rubble ceiling at the tallest point in the collapsed space, Aizawa frantically fussed with his work phone (which he genuinely had, after all) and his radio, unable to get a signal. “Be careful with your movements,” he said, mind barely in the conversation, “You could make the debris slip, or it could get weighed down with rain and further collapse. At worst, you want it to settle. Aoyama, are you getting anything?”

Tapping the AI filter on his sparkle shades away, Aoyama tore his gaze away from his handheld device’s screen. “Alas,” he said with a quivering frown. His ankle was being wrapped by Todoroki, who had been careful to refill the place in the concrete where Aoyama’s foot had been with ice, keeping the space intact.

“It’s fine; you’re doing well. Keep an eye on the signal. We want to know if we get one.” Aizawa handed his phone to you, giving you a short nod and the same job. “Todoroki, keep that cavity frozen. Keep an eye out for similar spot about to collapse and do the same.”

“I’m assuming this isn’t part of the assignment, since you’re taking charge,” you said under your breath to Aizawa, your back to the others as you stooped to stand yourself, arms crossed, “What relevant information can you share about the assignment that might get us out of here? Who were we escorting? If we know who they have for allies, then we can start to understand how the signals are scrambled and how to walk out of this situation.”

Aizawa stuck his tongue in his cheek. “None of it’s relevant. Our target has been isolated for well over four years and was being processed by professionals. She wouldn’t have had any opportunity to sabotage this procedure; St. Philomena’s has kept our target from having untracked outside communication.”

An uneasy stone dropped into the pit of your stomach. “St. Philomena’s,” you said slowly, biting your lip, “That’s a women’s penitentiary.”

Aizawa opened his mouth to answer but instead inhaled a mouthful of dust as the earth shook and clattered around you. Bakugou braced the column while you and Aizawa kept the bathroom wall steady, but the mirror shattered and fell with the wall, with Todoroki grabbing you out of the way of the sink from crushing your legs, icing the concrete shards into a makeshift support for the column, enough for Bakugou to twist out from underneath it. You gasped in deep breaths of powdery concrete yet dug into wet clods of silt and grime with the heels of your boots.

The ceiling had caved in by about two feet in height, and if Aoyama hadn’t skibbled away from his spot in the corner, he’d be buried under glass and tile. You experimentally knelt and stretched towards the ceiling—good for you, for having some room to move upwards, but Aizawa could only sit, now. Every heaving breath from your friends was too close for your liking, and the stone fell from your stomach right into your gut when you noticed the steady trickle of water between the rocks and down the column, cutting a clear, ivory path through the grey dust coating it. Bakugou scooted out of the ways of its dripping, letting it instead drain in a puddle next to him.

You and Bakugou nearly jumped out of your skins at the skrrrt of Aizawa’s radio, but nothing came through except static.

“We’re okay,” said Aizawa, once Aoyama started to show signs of hyperventilation, “The static is a good sign. Even if we can’t communicate specifics, they have a location on us. They know we’re down here, and if it seems like they’re taking too long, remember that civilians are the priority. We’ll be all right.”

Claustrophobia.

Not your favourite.

But Aoyama was clearly having a worse time handling it, so it’s better to set an example for him—see how calm you are? See how much you’re not being selfish, curling into Aizawa’s arms for him to pet your hair until it’s over, keeping him all to yourself, even though it’d be really easy to pretend like it’s the size of the cavern instead of your own selfish desires that’s making you touch him. See how mature you’re being, not even touching Aizawa, even though he’s right next to you. You’re being rational about the whole thing.

Todoroki stared off, his bright eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, and he parted his lips, wetting them slightly before speaking. “You should move closer to Aoyama,” he said to Bakugou, “Someone’s hurt.”

“The hell d’you mean?” When Todoroki gestured, Bakugou followed his gaze.

The water’s white path through the dust congealed and blushed deep vermillion as it coursed down the column, falling in thick, steady plops next to Bakugou, the upsplash ticking his exposed skin with red.

“Holy shit.” Bakugou scrambled away the best he could, kicking away from the water and practically into your lap, but he shot you a sort-of apologetic look and shuffled into more of Todoroki’s personal space. “Do you think—it’s not blood,” he said, smearing it on his arm, still running a dark red even spread thinly.

Aoyama cringed. “It’s not going to—it won’t fill up the—”

“No,” Bakugou said quickly, “It’s drainin’ through the cracks. We’re fine, Aoyama.” Bakugou made a point of dragging his hard glare from Todoroki to you, as if to say that keeping Aoyama calm was essential to getting out.

You checked Aizawa’s phone again for any signal, and, sighing, you stowed it to keep from scratching the screen.

“Nothing?”

Shaking your head at Aizawa, you resisted the heavy urge to rest your forehead on his shoulder. You know what? Maybe you could. He’s right there, and if you did it in this situation, it could be read as a simply act of comfort that you could have easily shared with anyone, perhaps. The two of you could stare romantically into the dripping, red goop, talk about your lives together, about teaching your psychotic friends, about sidekicking at Sakura Grove—

“Hey, don’t touch that,” you said, jolting in your seat, to Todoroki, who stopped, wide-eyed, in his odd stretch over Bakugou’s lap before he could prod with his outstretched finger the congealed mass accumulating in the puddle, “I think I know what that is.”

Beside you, Aizawa sucked in through his teeth. “Just once, I wish your deduction skills weren’t so good.”

Without averting your gaze, you moved to elbow him in the chest, hard, but he caught your arm and held it deathly still: he only touched you by your sleeve, though, so no soulmark would bleed through. Odds were that the mark was still furtively hidden behind your ear. Frowning, you tried to wrest your arm away from him, eyes on the falling droplet heavy enough to break the surface tension of the gathered, congealed mass, making the whole thing burst upwards in a dense, ruby smoke.

“Get down, as close to the ground as you can,” you said in a rush, cut off when Aizawa shoved your head to the ground with his hand on the back of your neck, his face inches from yours and only moving closer as he made room for the others to join you, cheek smushed against a patch of intact bathroom tile.

“It’s aerosolising,” said Aizawa, eyes darting over the ceiling, where the mist was rising through cracks in the rubble, “Follow where it’s escaping; we might be able to use—”

“No, you fucker,” you hissed (Aizawa squeezed the back of your neck), “Not all of it’s going to escape. It’s going to condense into liquid again on any surface that blocks it and then drop back on us.”

“Someone tell me what the hell is going on,” spat Bakugou, voice muffled from behind you but strangely reverberating back through the curved metal of Aoyama’s armour.

“We’re only going to be safe on the ground if it doesn’t condense, which is un-fucking-likely the way the thunderstorm’s moistened and lowered atmospheric pressure,” you said, the sound of water rinsing through crannies in the rocks growing from the far side of the cavern, “Aoyama, try to breath evenly but shallowly; you don’t wanna inhale this.”

The knuckles of Bakugou’s heavy glove struck the centre of your upper back. “Dumbass. Just tell him to hyperventilate, why don’t you?”

A drop of red water fell onto Todoroki’s pale cheek, sizzling with the impact as it was absorbed into his skin, a miniature puff of smoke emitting from the spot.

After a moment of heavy silence, Aizawa shifted his jaw, his eyes dark as they focused on you. “Academic protocols are over. Time to share what you know about Serendipity’s quirk.”

You dropped your jaw, even with the grit digging into your skin and jaw. “Who’s the insane person who assigned a bunch of students to escort fucking Serendipity—”

“I am,” said Aizawa, grip on your neck tightening and eyes flaring scarlet so briefly that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been inches away, “Considering your high level of academic success, I thought you capable enough to complete a more difficult mission than your—”

“Someone just fuckin’ say what her quirk does!” Bakugou’s hand curled into a fist with the fabric of your hero costume taut between its fingers, his fist lay, overheated, between your shoulder blades.

You jerked your shoulder away from him, but there wasn’t any room to go, so his hand stayed on your back, putting distance between the two of you, though his knees and hips still touched the back of yours. “Okay,” you said after settling, glaring directly into Aizawa’s eyes, “Serendipity is the third most dangerous villain in the western hemisphere, evidently being transferred today to the place Midnight and I work, because fucking no one else wants to handle her. C’mon, Aizawa, is that why I wasn’t allowed at work for the past week? So I wouldn’t know? Fucking—” You tried to give a half-hearted kick to Aizawa, but his thumb curled enough around your neck to locate your pulse point, which he pressed down on in warning. “But yeah, her quirk is so volatile and dangerous because—because yes, it’s a sex pollen quirk, but it’s fast, and you can’t solve it by touching yourself, like other sex quirks we’ve seen used for villainy; you have to orgasm at someone else’s hands. And no one can figure out why your internal organs shrivel and die within four hours—”

You inhaled sharply through your teeth as two droplets sizzled into your skin in quick succession, but the squeeze on your neck told you to continue. “Or the brain damage, or—because her quirk’s been studied, but no one can tell if it requires the feed of dopamine to the body, or not getting enough oxygenated blood cells, or capillary damage, or—” Bakugou thumped your back again. “—but no one is immune to it, and it’s fucking terrifying,” you finished, scrunching your eyes shut at the sensation of more droplets searing into your skin and into those around you, each person inhaling more with each individual puff of smoke from the viscous drops.

Tongue too big for your mouth, you trailed off, eyesight blurring as you zoned out for a just a bit, but you lurched back into reality when a hot ache stung the back of your neck and swept through your body. Aizawa retracted his hand faster than a viper striking, his eyes briefly holding the same dread yours did.

Shaken, you pushed yourself up to sit, and to your horror, an enormous gush of arousal pooled between your legs—you snapped your legs shut at the sight of the wet spot on your hero costume (and worse, the dribbling into the gravel), and Aizawa saw, holding a steady, neutral expression despite your visible panic.

“Fuck, baby—”

It hadn’t come from Aizawa but Bakugou, whose hips you’d inadvertently ground against when you sat up. His large hand came to grip your waist, fingers digging in and pulling your ass back against him, and his other hand clamped over his nose and mouth as he pushed himself up. “I’ve always known you smelled good, but this is somethin’ else—”

“Absolutely not.” Aizawa yoinked you away from Bakugou and put himself between the you and the rest, cramping you into the corner with pointed rocks digging into your back, and he held up his hand, Bakugou glaring a hole into his palm, vermillion streaking down his face. “You’re drugged. She’s drugged. Even if you both say you want it, it’s not a reflection of reality.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue, but Todoroki tilted to the side to keep his tense gaze on you.

“No,” said Aizawa, using the scant room and the end of his capture weapon to snap in Todoroki’s face, “You’d be ruining the professional relationship you have. You’d be violating her. There’s no way she’d actually want you.”

Bakugou scoffed over Todoroki’s quiet how do you know that, already palming himself through his costume. “I’d rather risk it all blasting out of here than suck Icy-Hot’s dick.” His other hand crackled with the beginnings of an explosion.

“You can’t,” you said with effort, mouth and throat coated with dust as heat rose to your skin, sweat breaking out at your hairline, “If you’re not a heteromorph, Serendipity’s quirk suppresses yours. It—it overwhelms your entire system—”

“You couldn’t mention that before I got hard?” Bakugou scowled, thumb playing with his belt buckle in consideration. “I would’ve blasted us out of here earlier.”

Aizawa shook his head. “It wouldn’t’ve worked—”

Todoroki made a sort of horting noise in the back of his throat, drawing everyone’s attention, before hacking a thick glob of red mucus right onto a spot of white bathroom tile, large trails of saliva trailing from his mouth.

“Holy shit,” you said softly, your eyebrows shooting up, and Aizawa held you back before you could even move.

“Mon Dieu,” said Aoyama, and he removed his sparkle shades to see it without a red filter.

Aizawa’s radio crackled static again, but nobody moved a muscle.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Aizawa, his hand still up but hardly deterring an increasingly twitchy Bakugou, who kept staring at you over Aizawa’s shoulder, “Aoyama, you’re probably going to hurt yourself and others if you stay in your armour. If you think you can handle being more vulnerable, take it off. Prop it up between the three of you and us.” The radio hissed again. “We’re going to camp out here until help arrives. Waiting is the heroic path to take sometimes,” he said in Bakugou’s direction, “If you find yourself succumbing to the quirk, that’s okay. It’s not shameful. No one is immune to it. If you can work it out among yourselves, that’s fine. No one here is going to share any details you don’t want out.” But here his voice darkened, and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew Aizawa was shooting a hard, unmerciful look towards them. “But you’re not going to hurt anyone here, and you’re especially not going to take advantage of her because she’s the only woman. To get her, you’ll have to go through me, and I do not intend to be kind.”

“Fucking hell,” said Bakugou, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off.

You were feeling a similar way, but Aizawa had you so backed into the corner that there wasn’t room to take anything off. So, instead of tearing off the increasingly abrasive and scratchy fabric of your hero uniform, you hugged your knees to your chest, thighs clenching, and bit down on your arm to keep from crying out. A choked sound still escaped you as a leather strap on your upper thigh rubbed closer to a more sensitive spot.

You couldn’t even lift a hand to fan your face—but with how heavy your limbs felt, even the promise of cool air couldn’t bring you to attempt it, and instead, you tried to find relief in the cold press of busted bathroom tile at the back of your neck—and you turned your head to feel it against your cheek, too.

Your hips rocked, knocking your legs against Aizawa’s back, and when he turned over his shoulder to spare you a glance, you jolted as far back as you could away from him. Not that you could go anyway but barely half an inch backwards. “Sorry,” you said quickly, shaking your head, “Didn’t mean to. Really. I—” Your heart flipped at his concerned face (himself looking a little red), and a sharp cramp curdled into your lower stomach. “Oh, fuck,” you said, a hand shooting to your stomach and doubling over—but your forehead grazed him before you could, and you let out a quiet yelp before jerking back into place, tears welling at the pain. “Sorry about that.”

Aizawa grimaced at your weak smile and turned back towards the others. You hadn’t even heard what they’re doing, since the blood pumping in your ears apparently deafened you to anything besides your own half-smothered sobs into your arm.

They were growing louder at their frustration, but they were, for the most part, not directing any of it at you. Hey, is—? Over Aoyama’s armour-wall, it looked like Bakugou might have gotten his cock out to start stroking it; maybe you could get a better look—

“Hey,” said Aizawa, blocking your view when he turned over his shoulder, “Stop all that squirming.” Were you? You hadn’t even noticed. “Remember what I’ve taught you. I know you can do better.”

“Oh, don’t say professor-y things like that,” you said with a whine while, yes, squirming in place, “It goes straight to my cunt.”

Aizawa closed his eyes for a moment, but he soon opened them and continued, unaffected. “Focus. I’m holding you to a higher calibre than your peers, because I know you can do it. What have you been taught about remaining calm in crisis? Ground yourself.”

“But I—”

“Do it.”

You huffed and tried to settle down into your body, counted, and exhaled slowly as you shut your eyes, waiting for your other sense to sharpen. Body scan—focusing on flowing energy, starting at your head, down to your toes, and back up again. But you had trouble on the return to the top of your head, since every cell in your body screamed to zoom in on the throbbing in your lower half—hard to say what’s tremoring more: you, or the walls of the cavern.

But there’s an infinitesimal sound that drowns every other maddening, oversensitive sensation: from the back of Aizawa’s throat comes a quiet, breathy whimper.

And—

“Oh, my fucking God,” you said, noticing all of the surreptitious ways Aizawa was trying to hide how affected he was: his hand clasped in a knuckle-whitening fist covering his lap, eyes watering with frustration, jaw tensed, neck and hand veins pulsating, sweating through his undershirt, and you?

Wetting your lips, you strained forward to brush his hair aside to kiss the back of his neck, and Aizawa fucking shuddered, the thing passing through his whole body. Though it hadn’t been your intention, your legs spread as you did so, parting on either side of him, and his hair flew into your face as he took in your legs surrounding him.

“Hey, no,” he said, and he pushed back on your legs, willing you to scrunch up to hug them to your chest again.

“I’m not doing anything—”

“You fucking are,” Aizawa hissed over his shoulder, “You’re being a goddamn brat.”

That shut you up immediately. Feeling slick drip out of you, you curled in on yourself, tucking your legs up to your chest like he wanted.

“That’s what I thought.” He turned back to keep guard.

His shoulders seemed wider than before.

Maybe it’s the heady, prickling excitement swarming in your chest at the unspoken threat of a punishment turned sexual, or maybe it’s the incoming brain damage, but you rounded up every nerve not currently on fire to keep pushing your luck. “Aizawa,” you said, soft enough for only him to hear over the squelching from the far side of the cavern, “If we were alone right now, what would you do to me?”

He didn’t respond.

An easy grin stretched across your face.

“Because I know there’s got to be stuff you wanna do to me, not with me, for how I behave sometimes. But I only want your attention,” you said, feeling a bit dizzy as heat flushed all over your feverish skin, “I know you can’t give it to me, because you wanna be all noble and stuff, but—”

Another cramp had you gasping and hacking up red-tinged spit. Aizawa started to turn his head, but you told him, totally deflated, “Don’t bother. I’m sorry—” You coughed up more red mucus. “I know I’m gross; I know you can’t look at me that way; I’m sorry I’ve been—I’m sorry.”

How can he be so calm? It’s not fucking fair that he can just sit there, cross-legged and sweating, with the scent of sex permeating the smoke-hazy air, and yes, he’s hard, but that’s just the stupid fucking quirk.

You’re dripping and clenching but still so, so empty, and the tears finally overflowed as Aizawa looked over his shoulder at you again. “I’m sorry,” you said again, eyes glazing over and breathing irregularly (for all the talk about Aoyama hyperventilating, you might be the one to actually do it). “I’ll—I’ll stop bothering you; I can handle this. I’ll, uh—” You cut yourself off at another cramp, seizing up at a stray spasm, releasing your hold on your legs and yanking at the roots of your hair. “Don’t worry about me; I’ll get—get Shinsou to make me come—sorry I tried to—I’m sorry; I should’ve left you alone—”

“Stop apologising.” Aizawa twisted to brush away your tears with his thumb, the skin that vibrant pink when he pulled away. “Christ, you’re burning up.” He hand returned to your face, this time against your forehead, and he frowned—yeah, he was frowning before you were pathetically raising yourself off the ground to nuzzle into his hand, to mouth voraciously at his palm, which flushed pink with every pass of your lips, and—

“Fuck,” said Aizawa, withdrawing his hand to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. You made a questioning noise, and to answer, he let his gaze drop to where the soaked patch between your legs dribbled into the rubble. He dragged his hands down the rest of his face. “You’re drenched,” he said, rasping.

A vehement moan from the other side of the space made both of you flinch, with Aizawa making a quick check to ensure their attention wasn’t on you.

You grabbed his capture weapon, pulling him close. “Please,” you said, panting, “Please, ‘Zawa, I’m not as capable as you think I am; I’m not good; I can’t take it. Please—”

His teeth dug into his lower lip as a grumbled scoff came from the back of this throat, and he shook his head. “God, not like this. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

Another loud moan and the sounds of skin on skin from the others brought another wince from the two of you, and Aizawa squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he’d steeled himself, determined and set. “I can’t have you corrupting my protégé,” he said (it was a joke, right? Why isn’t he smiling?), “but I can’t offer you anything more.”

“Wha—?”

Aizawa was nudging your knees open, his eyebrows raised, and when he turned to face the others, he scooted backwards to sit between your spread legs, pinning you between the rock and his back, crowding you in, and oh, oh, my God, you should’ve been embarrassed at how wet the back of his jumpsuit got as he pushed himself back to sit right in front of your crotch, but the first, pulsing wave of relief as your clit rubbed against him washed everything else away.

Did this count? Did this count as coming at someone else’s hands? You found the problem less compelling the more you thrashed against him, grinding your clit against his back so hard that your vision blacked out at the edges, breathing in that terribly awful frustrating sexy combination of pine and sandalwood, desperately huffing it in in gasping breaths and curling your fingers into the back of his jumpsuit to bring him closer: you needed to kiss the back of his neck again, to see that pink mark on his skin.

But it’s as if he knew what you were going to do, because instead of letting you pull his hair aside, he reached back to grab your hand, and he (mercifully) allowed the grab to relax into a hold, letting you lace your fingers through his as he guided your arm around his waist (an evil part of you was disappointed that he didn’t place your hand over his cock, instead of resting your entwined hands on his leg [cute]).

And you were quiet: you didn’t moan, so the others wouldn’t know, unless they could somehow make out your laboured breathing behind the hand you cupped over your mouth. You’re grappling for pressure against your clit, but it’s your shiver when he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb that triggered your orgasm—pounding, rushing, and all at once, the throbbing of your clit taking you somewhere distant and piney, with you slowly coming back to reality by an abrupt pulsing, for some reason, in the roof of your mouth.

And the quirk had passed through you.

It counted.

But it kept you bound in a tired haze, sultry and lethargic and red, and lost in the lingering high of both the scarlet saliva you kept hacking up and that Aizawa let you grind against him until you came, you closed in on yourself and did your best to stay awake. Your brain tried to worry about Aizawa, but the quirk shushed you and forced you into a cloudy exhaustion.

You were out of it when Aizawa’s radio crackled to life, when the rescue unit exhumed your team, when the EMT on duty looked you over. You were still foggy when you were put in a passenger seat of a government vehicle, but the fog dissipated when Aizawa climbed in the driver’s seat and told you to call Midnight.

“I don’t know the number for Sakura Grove,” he said, turning on the windshield wipers, “and I need to warn Midnight that I’m asking her to help me with this quirk.”

Thunder rumbled through the sky and into your bones as he turned into downtown traffic, headlights blurring in the rain. Blankly, you wrestled his phone out of your pocket and began to dial her work number. “Okay, traitor.”

Aizawa’s expression darkened, his face glistening with sweat. “You know that I can’t—”

“So I can’t do the same for you?” you asked, putting his phone on speaker and letting it ring (cranking up the volume to hear it over the rain pelting the windows), “I can’t just, like, hold out my hand for you to grind against, or, God forbid, give you an actual fucking handjob—”

“Stop it,” he said, and he snatched his phone from you, switching off speaker, and you crossed your arms to fume, staring out into the miserably grey morning.

You smushed your forehead against the cool of the window, watching the raindrops chase each other down the glass, and you tried to focus on car horns blaring instead of the conversation regarding Aizawa’s sexual release that he and Midnight were currently having.

When he hung up, you sat up from your slouch against the window. “Is that all you need me for, then? You’ve got the number. You might as well drop me off at the next light.”

Aizawa swore under his breath. “Stop being such a—” He cut himself off, his leg not working the pedals bouncing profusely. “I still need you to enter Sakura Grove.”

That was true. You had three number-codes to punch in for clearance, and there was a thumbprint scan at the building in which you and Midnight worked. Still, you scoffed. “Just get Nemuri to let you in. You evidently don’t need me.”

The hand on the steering wheel tensed, veins pulsing. “First name basis?”

“Some professors like me.”

“Forget I said anything,” he grumbled, and when you turned to the window again, he mashed on the car radio, volume loud over the rain.

After a babble of a drum solo and what sounded like shouting in English, you were able to translate the song in your head by the time it hit the chorus:

“Got it bad, so bad, I’m hot for teacher.”

Aizawa stared, baffled, at the radio instead of the road as the guitar picked up, and he changed stations.

Again, in English, but with a hypnotically alt-relaxed beat: “Can’t tell my friends, ‘cause they will laugh; I love a member of the staff.”

You sneaked a glance at the driver’s seat, where Aizawa was fighting traffic, his erection, and his incredulity at what he was hearing.

“I fight my way to the front of class to get the best view of her—”

Aizawa changed stations before the singer could finish the couplet, and he sank into his seat at the safe sounds of synth and guitar, but you sat up straight, eyes wide and biting back a laugh, because you knew what the fuck was coming:

“Don’t stand—don’t stand so, don’t stand so close to me—”

Aizawa smashed the radio’s off button, seething. He ran his fingers back through his hair, and after a deep breath, he opened his mouth. “What’d you do,” he asked flatly.

“Me?” you said, pointing at yourself, doing your fucking best not to smile, “What makes you think I’ve done something?”

Aizawa was panting. Chest heaving. Sweat visibly dripping down his face. Free hand darting between a superfluous position on the wheel, resting on the car door, and bunching up his jumpsuit to hide his erection, which only drew attention to it. “You didn’t—you and Nemuri didn’t orchestrate all this, did you?” he asked, teeming with nervous energy, “It’s a little—it’s a little too perfect for you, to get to see me dishevelled and desperate, to nearly get me to cave into what you want.”

Several feelings flooded you at once: revulsion at the suggestion you made a criminal use her quirk on you, anger that he’d even consider it to be in your character when he’s known you for years (and more anger that he thought you would want to lose your virginity with three other guys in the room), a wretched, clawing desperation to prove him wrong and beg for forgiveness—and a creeping disgust and shame towards yourself, for having been so vulnerable in his presence when he didn’t want it or you.

Time to shut down. “C’mon, Aizawa. That’s not very logical in the grand scheme of things,” you said, scathingly using his favourite word, propping your chin on your fist, and leaning against the window again, “And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t let it end with my fucking soulmate going to someone else to make him come, especially when I was similarly helpless.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you—”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” you said bitterly, “but I wouldn’t do that. To you or to me. I don’t do things that would humiliate or hurt you.” You scooted closer towards the car window, away from him and his stupid pine aftershave. “I guess I’m a brat, yeah, but I’m not mean.”

To have something to do instead of talk to him, you exhumed the car manual from the glove compartment and started to read it, and you read that dull fucking piece of crap until you were forced to punch in your clearance codes for Sakura Grove.

As soon as he was inside the main building and out of sight, you slammed the manual and the glove compartment shut, and you screamed. No one would’ve heard you over the thunderstorm, anyway. Comforting that the weather was as angry as you.

You unbuckled and cosied up in your seat, glaring at the curtain of mist blowing rain horizontal outside. Lightning illuminated a worker rushing from one building to another, and she had to double back to get her ballet flat, hopping slightly to put it back on.

You don’t have another work shift until Monday, but you kind of wanted to clock in, anyway. It’d be satisfying to bitch about the whole thing with Ito. She’d tear into Aizawa. He deserves it.

Slunking down into your seat, you were struck with new terror: what if Aizawa were right? What if you did, inadvertently, plan this out, by inhaling Ito’s quirk dust a second time? Sex pollen was…sex pollen was a trope. A pretty fucking common one.

Oh, my God.

You clamped a hand over your mouth and tried to work out the logistics. Serendipity was already scheduled to arrive in Japan regardless of you inhaling the dust again, and—fuck fuck fuck. You didn’t like this.

You swallowed thickly, turning it all over in your head, and as the variables overlapped and blurred in your mind, you started to cry.

“Goddammit,” you said aloud, sitting up and dabbing at your face with your sleeve. You’ve already cried a lot today, and it’s not even noon. You’re taking a nap when you get back to campus.

You know who else likes naps?

You fucking sobbed harder, even though you were laughing a bit, too. You decided that you were too worn out to make any sound judgments. Go to sleep once you get back, and think about it when you wake up.

You sniffed and looked towards the door to the main building. God, he’s taking a long time. You’d figure that he’d edged himself to oblivion and back during the car ride, but no—

The next instant, you tensed up, frazzled, because a half-dressed Aizawa’s straddling you, hips jerking, driving into your own and biting into his fist as he came on your shirt, cum spurting all the way up to your boobs.

The groan he released once the spill of his cum slowed to a slight dribble nearly wrecked your ears and stopped your breath. You’re hastily, desperately drinking up details, eyes flicking over them rapidly in case they’re snatched away before you could notice: the weeping, pink tip of his cock, the only part of his dick peeking out of his jumpsuit’s lower half—the trail of dark hair leading up to it from his naval, framed by an infuriating v on his lithely muscled abdomen—all of his exposed, corded muscles of his chest, tendons visibly stretching and contracting in his forearms—and when he wiped that final drop of cum off his cock, it was with the thumb stained with soulmark pink.

Of course, for how much relaxation coursed through his body, it all fled him the second he finally opened his eyes.

You expected that he’d scramble to cover himself up and off of you, but once that initial panic faded, all he was left with was resignation. He yanked up the elastic of his boxer-briefs to hide his cock, and, sighing, he said, “Please. Please don’t say anything. I can’t handle it right now.”

You nodded. His eyes travelled over your face, his expression cracking. “You’re crying,” he said, voice breaking.

“Not because of you,” you said, wiping at your tears, “It’s something I did.”

He wiped away the tear stains on your other cheek. “Let’s find something to clean you up.”

While he twisted to fossick through the console for tissues, you swiped two fingers through the stuff on your shirt. So, this was a man’s cum. Weird. Thick. (You’ve seen some before; you’re not an idiot, but this was your first time, uh, experiencing it. Honestly, it reminded you a bit of the congealed quirk stuff earlier.) You rubbed it between your fingers.

“Oh, what are you doing—no, stop that,” said Aizawa softly, swatting your hand away from your cum-stained shirt. When you eyed the bit on your fingers, Aizawa sighed again. “Don’t taste it.”

He took your hand and wiped it clean, pink ink seeping across skin with every brief touch. He gave you a tissue from the pack he found for your tears, and he used the rest to wipe off your shirt.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anything else for you to wear,” he said, checking the backseat.

“It’s okay,” you said, balling up the tissues and putting them in the centre console, “We’re going straight back to campus. I’ll just shower and go to bed.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Aizawa, and he lifted himself from your lap and moved to cross to the driver’s seat.

You grabbed his arm to stop him. “You should, too. Don’t run yourself dry.”

Aizawa froze, considering, and then he nodded, slowly sinking back onto your lap.

He braced his hands on his thighs. “I’ve been cruel to you.”

Too exhausted to argue, you shrugged. “You have your reasons.”

“I shouldn’t be so cold to you, though. It’s been wearing away at my conscience,” he said, patting his pockets on his thighs and moving down to his calves. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he said, “Give me your phone. You deserve my number, at least.”

You pulled yours out and opened a new contact before handing it over. “You’re sure you’re comfortable with that?”

“Yeah,” said Aizawa, tapping the screen, “So long as it doesn’t…lead to anything out of bounds. And…maybe you can stick around for a while next time you shift in your sleep.” He shot you a smirk as he returned your phone.

The contact name simply read Shouta. No surname or honorifics. Just Shouta.

Heat rose to your face, but it was much pleasanter than when it had earlier that day.

“Are you good to drive back to campus?”

Tilting your head, you pocketed your phone again. “Yeah, I’m up for it.”

“Good,” he said, climbing off of your lap and into the backseat, “I’m going the fuck to sleep.”

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

#bnha #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #aizawa/reader #aizawa imagine #aizawa fic #mha #aizawa headcanons #aizawa fanfiction #aizawa fanfic #aizawa shouta x reader #soulmates #soulmate #soulmate au #dash it all

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baileypie-writes · 22 days

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~Why Glitter Force is Problematic~

~~~🎀~~~🎀~~~🎀~~~

In case you don’t know what Glitter Force is, it’s the English dub of the anime Smile Precure. It was produced by Saban, and released on Netflix in 2016.

Not long later, they did it again. Only this time, with the season Doki Doki Precure, which they changed to Glitter Force Doki Doki.

Instead of keeping everything the same, Glitter Force changed way more than necessary. It’s also racist and homophobic. So let’s talk about the changes.

~~~🎀~~~🎀~~~🎀~~~

~1. Name Changes~

For some reason, Saban decided to be racist and remove all Japanese culture from Smile and Doki Doki Pretty Cure; whitewashing it. They renamed almost everything, even things that didn’t need to be.

Smile Precure Name Changes:

Miyuki Hoshizora/Cure Happy - Emily/Glitter Lucky

Akane Hino/Cure Sunny - Kelsey/Glitter Sunny

Yayoi Kise/Cure Peace - Lily/Glitter Peace

Nao Midorikawa/Cure March - April/Glitter Spring

Reika Aoki/Cure Beauty - Chloe/Glitter Breeze

King Pierrot - Emperor Nogo

Joker - Rascal

Wolfrun - Ulric

Akaoni - Brute(was also changed from a demon to a troll)

Majorina - Brooha

Akanbe - Buffoon

Cure Decor - Glitter Charm

Smile Pact - Glitter Pact

Decor Décor - Charm Chest

Princess Candle - Princess Wand

Märchenland - Jubiland

Bad End Kingdom - Shadow Realm

Nanairogaoka Middle School - Rainbow Hills Middle School

Candy and Pop’s names were kept, I’m assuming because they were already English.

Doki Doki Precure Changes:

Mana Aida/Cure Heart - Maya Aida/Glitter Heart

Rikka Hishikawa/Cure Diamond - Rachel/Glitter Diamond

Alice Yotsuba/Cure Rosetta - Clara Yotsuba/Glitter Clover(this one makes no sense to me)

Makoto Kenzaki/Cure Sword - Makenzie Mack/Glitter Spade

Aguri Madoka/Cure Ace - Natalie Miller/Glitter Ace

Joe Okada - Johnny

Princess Marie Ange - Princess Marie Angelica

Ai - Dina

Sharuru - Kippie

Raquel - Rory

Dabyi - Davi

Jikochuu - Distain

Leva - Riva

Gula - Gura

King Jikochuu - King Mercenare

Lovely Commune - Glitter Pad

Cure Lovead - Glitter Charm

Love Heart Arrow - Glitter Heart Arrow

Magical Lovely Pad - Glitter Crystal Pad

Oogai Town - Seashell Bay

Oogai Middle School - Seashell Bay Middle School

Trump Kingdom - Splendorious

These aren’t even all the changes. They changed all the names of the attacks as well.

~2. Cut Episodes~

Again, Saban wanted no Japanese culture in the dub. So any episode that contained too much Japanese culture was cut. In total, Glitter Force cut 8 episodes. They cut way more in Glitter Force Doki Doki, but I don’t wanna take the time to find out why.

1. One episode was cut because it was a festival episode. The girls went to their town’s festival, which obviously was Japanese culture. And they also wore yukatas.

2. Most episodes containing Akane’s family restaurant was cut, since they serve okonomiyaki, a Japanese food. This food appeared once in Glitter Force, but they referred to it as “Japanese pizza”. Which isn’t even what the food is.

3. There was an episode with Japanese culture that stayed in the dub. And that was the one where the girls go on a field trip to Kyoto and Osaka. Although, in Glitter Force, they call it the “Asia Pacific Expo”. Now Saban, I don’t know if you know this, but Asia is a continent with many countries. And each one had its own unique culture. So you should’ve just called it the “Japanese Expo”.

4. Last one I’m gonna mention is the episode we’re Akane is assigned the task of showing an English exchange student around the school. She teaches him Japanese, and shows him her culture.

All these cut episodes resulted in plot holes and ruined character development.

~3. Toned Down Emotional Scenes~

For some reason, Saban decided that children can’t handle anything too emotional. So any scene that seemed “too much” to them was toned down.

1. There was an episode where Cure March’s siblings are caught up in the middle of a battle. A big attack heads towards them, and March isn’t able to stop it in time. The attack hits, and a big cloud of dust envelops the children. Luckily, when the cloud clears, it’s revealed that the other Cures stopped the attack, saving the kids. In Smile Precure, there’s silence leading up to the reveal, making the viewers believe that the children are seriously injured, or worse. However, in Glitter Force, we hear the kids talking before the dust clears, saying things like: “Wait, it didn’t hit us!” and “What? We’re okay?”. This completely ruins the suspense and emotion of the scene.

Shortly after, all March’s sibling run to her, hugging her. They’re all crying, and share a happy, emotional moment together. In Glitter Force, however, this moment is ruined by dialogue. The littlest brother asks why everyone is so sad, and a sister tells him that they’re not, and that they’re crying because they’re happy. That was completely unnecessary. And frankly, I think kids could tell that they were happy tears.

2. In the final episode, Candy has to go back to her homeland, so she says goodbye to the girls. Candy is crying a lot, but the girls just smile, letting her know that it’s okay. When Candy’s gone, the girls break down, finally allowing themselves to cry. It’s a very sad moment, which makes the reunion even better. But in Glitter Force, the girls stay smiling the entire time, even after Candy leaves. Emily even goes as far as to call her dramatic.

All these changes paint the picture that kids are too sensitive, and should only watch happy things. This is just ridiculous to me.

~Homophobia~

There are a few, minor details that were completely unnecessary for Saban to edit out, which gives the impression of being homophobic.

1. In the episode in Smile Precure where the girls get transported into the fairytale “Cinderella”, Reika gets casted as the Prince. In Smile, Miyuki, who’s Cinderella, sees her as charming and handsome. However, in Glitter Force, all their interactions and dialogue are done in a joking matter, making sure the audience knows that they don’t like each other like that. That was unnecessary, as in the original, it’s never implied that they shared romantic interest. They were just following the story. In another scene, Reika catches Yayoi when she falls. We see Reika from Yayoi’s point of view, and there are sparkles, insinuating that she sees her as incredibly handsome. She’s seen blushing a moment later. These tiny details were cut in Glitter Force. Because heaven forbid that a girl finds another girl handsome.

2. In Doki Doki Precure, there’s an episode where we really get to see Rikka and Mana’s friendship in greater detail. Rikka always makes sure that Mana is being responsible, and keeping her on top of things. Her fairy partner, Raquel, compares Rikka to being Mana’s wife. This wasn’t insinuating romantic interest. It was just comparing her traits to traits of a wife. But of course, Glitter Force can’t have anything related to two girls being together. So they changed the comparison to Mana’s mother.

These changes may be minor, but that’s exactly what makes it homophobic. They were tiny scenes that weren’t made to be taken super seriously. But the idea of two girls liking each other bothered Saban so much, that they felt the need to edit them out.

3. I heard rumors that the crew at Saban harassed one of the voice actors for being a part of the lgbtq+ community. I’m not sure if this is true though. So do with this information what you will.

~Stop Supporting Glitter Force~

The amount of people who still support Glitter Force really pisses me off. Like, I get if you didn’t know about Smile Precure. But there are people who know that Glitter Force is racist and homophobic and still call it the wrong name and watch it like nothing’s wrong with it. They either deny that it’s problematic, ignore it, or simply don’t care.

“But they made it easier for English kids to understand!”

I’m sure kids would’ve understood just fine if you kept the Japanese culture. Kids aren’t so sensitive, that the moment something is slightly different, they shut down. I mean, look at Disney. They explore different cultures in their movies all the time, and are still the most successful movie company in the world. Mulan and Encanto are super popular, despite the fact that they take place in and contain culture from China and Colombia. So if Glitter Force kept the characters original names and the culture, I’m sure the kids couldn’t care less.

“B-But it was my childhood!”

It was mine too. But guess what? I got over it. And you know why? Because I don’t want to support something racist and homophobic. Besides, just switch to Smile Precure. It’s really not that hard. It’s not like it’s a completely different show. It’s just the original, better, non-problematic version. There’s no need to be a baby about it. Just because something was your childhood, it doesn’t excuse the fact that it’s problematic.

I also want to point out that Smile Precure was made to aid the children who suffered from the 2011 tsunami in Japan. All the Cure’s names are things that make people happy, and the anime’s title, Smile Precure, is a reminder to smile through the tough times. So the fact that Glitter Force takes that meaning away is just awful.

Thank you for reading all this. I didn’t even get to go through all the changes Saban did, but I went through the most important. Let me know if this informed you in any way!

~~~🎀~~~🎀~~~🎀~~~

~~baileypie-writes

#baileypie-writes #pretty cure #precure #smile precure #smile pretty cure #glitter force #glitter force stans dni

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ladycamillewrites · 1 year

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𝕯𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑'𝖘 𝕭𝖆𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖙

∙ Thomas Sharpe x f!reader

𝖆/𝖓: written for @springdandelixn ‘s spring sleepover project. Happy Birthday darling 🖤

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: 18+ dark fic!! non/dub-con smut, Crimson Peak ghosts, forced marriage, manipulation, y/n held hostage

“Lucille?”

“Over here my dear. Look at the foxes hiding in the northern flower meadows” her voice lured you towards the great dining hall. Allerdale Hall was huge, almost as big as your fathers country estate but with way more pretty wildlife around.

To hell with your father’s sick hunting-addiction. Your studies were more important and surely the more peaceful.

Rushing over to join your friend at the window, your eyes instantly widened in joy at the sight of a vixen with two cubs. They seemed overly entertained by the growing flowers while the mother had her hands full with watching her boisterous offspring.

“They are incredibly adorable, are they not?“ You chirped, barely able to suppress your excitement about the spring season here in Scotland.

Thanks to Lucille and her brother Thomas you were invited to spend as much time as you wanted in the mansion of your friend you once got to know at your families annual garden festivities. Someone brought Lucille along and well, the spark of sympathy was instantly lit.

You’ve known her for quite a while. Two wonderful years regarding the regular letters and many visits.

If there only wasn’t Thomas Sharpe; the unfairly fine baronet who always watched you from the shadows with his oceanic orbs shining like the full moon. The hunger in his eyes elicited a cocktail of fear, submission and unexplainable arousal.

Most improper things.

However, it was wedding season and your father might wanted to introduce you to some gentlemen when you’d be back. Hoping you would finally agree to marriage. It was a gift and a curse at the same time to be allowed to pick your husband yourself.

Though, you were curious whether Thomas had found a fiancé.

“Tomorrow we will spot the grey seals at the bay, I’m most certain of it” Lucille smiled patting your shoulder before she weaves past your body.

The smell of Bergamot invaded your nostrils as you looked after your friend, unsure about the reason of her back-off.

It was Thomas donning an emerald vest with a puffy white shirt underneath, the gold fob watch on proud display. It shone equally as mysterious as those almond eyes.

“How is the wedding season going for you so far, darling?“ He purred, chin hoisted when you opened your silent mouth, unsure about what to reply.

“I- I, erm my father, luckily, allows me to decide when I wish to get married“ you began, watching in awe as his eyes narrowed, knuckles crackling as he pressed them together in a silent predatory display.

Lucille stepped back in your sight, smiling richly to coax whatever your final answer was. The siblings looked not too alike, you noticed as your eyes tried to hold on to something other than Thomas’ expectant demeanor.

“-and also whom. But I rather wait until next year since I am deeply invested in my studies of northern wildlife“ you finished with a meek smile, hoping that your explanation would suffice. Lucille herself wasn’t married although she was older than you and already exceeded the marriageable age.

Fresh confusion was written all across your face as Thomas nodded at his sister, took a small black box from her and approached you with black leather boots hitting the dull parquet. Nervous, you tugged a strand of hair behind your ear, gaze shifting to squint at the flowering poppies bathing in the dazzling sun.

However, you flinched when the baronet suddenly cleared his throat, attractive bone structure directed at you when he opened the box, drawing your attention. “Would you do me the honor then, y/n?“ His baritone resounded against the old walls of his mansion, leaving your heart miss a beat in utter shock.

Not knowing where to put your hands, you clasped them together, trembling fists resting in front of your heavy chest. “Thomas, I- I don’t know what to say that comes all so…abruptly“ your stammer sounded rueful, yet reasonably composed and bewaring the appropriate courtesy.

Again, anxious eyes flickered over to Lucille, her face suddenly all darkened with a thousand words of diktat sitting on her tongue. Where was your friend gone? The woman who told you about the different groups of deer visiting her gardens?

“Your father would surely be content with closer business relations, wouldn’t he?“ Thomas said sternly, leaving you no metaphorical room to breathe with the only relevant leverage held against you. You would most certainly do anything for the man you loved most. And Thomas knew.

Forcing an awkward smile, your trembling hand reached out to carefully close the box with the ring that would grant his owner the title of Lady Sharpe. “Please, do not take this as an insult because it most certainly is not“ Tomas' piercing gaze darted up to meet yours “But I would prefer to wait until the next season as I don’t yet feel ready for such a momentous step“.

Silence.

Scoffing, Thomas turned away from you, the cool scent of him blew in your direction from the brusque move.

Serious unease started to settle in your veins, poisoning your brain with the carnal urge for freedom. To breathe fresh air. Alone. At least for a moment.

“Excuse me…“ you whispered, sweaty fingertips raising the skirt of your dress to make your way down the stairs.

“Don’t you think my machines would be of great use in your father’s gold mines overseas?“ The deep pitch got you to stop and pause. Your own agitated breathing the only thing audible in the huge dining room as you failed to spot Lucille.

There was only Thomas, his ocean blue orbs glinting across his shoulder as he desultorily looked back at you. “Thomas, I beg you. This was by no means a rejection. I’m just asking you for some time to finish my studies“. Your voice was reduced until every word sounded like a plea.

The self-confident woman had already left Allerdale Hall, it seemed.

“I suggest you re-think your choice, darling“ he purred with a freeze like a winter storm, cold thrills descending your vertebrae. You didn’t dare to move nevertheless, muscles tense and ready to run. “Either that or you won’t ever leave this house“.

And you ran, muttering an unnecessary “Apologies“ as hasty legs carried you towards the staircase. That was when you started to notice a darkness, watching the curtains being pulled closed as if by witchcraft.

Panic spread in your system, hands clasped onto the handle as you hurled yourself down the stairs. “Don’t leave“ a jarring voice breathed, causing you to stop mid-stairs, your head turning in slow motion. You did not want to know who else was living in this house right now however, the voice pierced straight into your consciousness.

Gasping like a child fearing death you stared into the crimson face of what seemed like a ghost, slender limbs blocking the nearby window. With a cry you turned around, pacing downwards to the main door only to cry out harder when a second one of those horrific creatures blocked.

“Staaayyyyy“ they breathed in a terrific choir, filling your face with naked horror.

“I- I’m going to d-die. I’m going to be killed by ghosts“ you muttered, a stressed out brain trying everything to come up with a way out.

Turning on the spot like a cursed ballerina in a music box, you eventually spotted a single door that wasn’t yet blocked by those red, howling creatures. An exit you prayed when shaking hands twisted the doorknob.

Slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind you, your head dropped against it with an echoing thud. Candle light flickered behind you, a large, elaborately designed closet was the only thing you were able to locate when hurling in.

You were alone. In safety.

“I wasn’t jesting earlier, my dear“ an amused chuckle found your ears, the unique baritone making it past the rushing sound of hot blood in your head.

Thomas.

Panting heavily, you turned around, body too wasted to step back out and face those living nightmares again.

The tall, lean figure of the baronet stepped out of the shadows, a smug smirk resting on his thin lips. He looked handsome in candle light, you mused, burned out and incapable of summoning more fear.

“What- What are they?“ You asked instead, slowly stepping backwards, deeper into the room that turned out to be a regal bedroom. Those suffering moans resounding against the wood were too much while their ugly image ghosted around in your head.

Clicking his tongue, Thomas started to circle you like a starved shark, stern eyes traveling your spent body. “Ghosts. And they shall only be obedient to the Sharpes“.

“Let me go, please. I swear I won’t tell a word about this curse“ you pleaded, feeling dizzy from following the spheroid course of Thomas steps.

“It is only to be felt as a curse as long as you are not my wife. Therefore I shall ask again before my courtesy is the next thing to turn crimson“ he spat, every syllable weirdly monotonous, unfitting the usual behavior of the fine baronet. He felt like a changed man, even looked different with onyx curls splattered across his forehead instead of being neatly combed back.

You swallowed hard, gathering the boldness to state your point of view one last time, hoping he would somehow understand. Whyever he should now.

“Thomas, I cannot deny that you’re a handsome man of honor and overly gentlemanly but I beg you to rather propose next year“.

Watching his eyes fall shut and theatrically reopen as if drenched in pitch, you felt your hands and feet turn cold, any signs of a happy ending rusting and crumbling.

Frozen, you endured his approach, potent hands gripping your shoulders. At first gentle but then he turned you around swiftly, forcing your terrified eyes to stare at the door. Resistance was in vain.

“Oh darling, I’m afraid my friends would miss you so terribly that they cannot wait for a promised return that’s worth nothing more than hollow words“ he whispered in your ear, leaning so close that his chin brushed your temple.

A wicked grin spread on Thomas’ face as he felt you writing underneath his grip, whining like a child as crimson arms reached through the tiny gap at each side of the door. “Thomas, please stop“. “Think of only how content your father would be to have the source of revolutionary machines in his family, huh?“.

And you yielded, screwing your eyes shut as you screamed what he wanted to hear so desperately. “ Alright, I will marry you“.

Instantly, the grip around your shoulder blades softened, transformed in a weirdly pleasant caress. “Good girl“ Thomas cooed from behind, blithely watching the goosebumps paint your pale neck. “Now give me your hand“.

Reluctantly you turned, reaching out to the emerald fabric of his open hanging vest only for him to slap away your hand. A venomous gaze stiffened your back, twitching brows wordlessly forcing you to correct your mistake.

Now offering your left hand, the adequate one, he grabbed it, making it look ridiculously small as he slipped a heavy ruby ring on your finger.

You paused to stare at it, sick of the realization you had lost a year of juvenile freedom to a sinister, fine baronet. Under duress, not voluntarily.

“May I leave now? I need to apprise my father of this... well, situation“ you spoke again, the bitterness of a intertwined ‘are you happy now?’ swinging within your tone. But Thomas only chuckled, freeing himself of the vest to toss it on the fur carpet.

“Do you truly think of me as this imbecile, my darling fiancé?“ the last word hit you with the force of a southern coal train.

Shaking your head in a broken submission, your promptly tried to adjust your words, letting you sound more trustworthy. But the chance was long gone, rotten like the ghosts lurking behind the door. It glued your mouth shut instead.

Slowly he stepped closer, reaching behind your back as you felt long digits loosen your beige corset. “You think of this marriage as nothing but a business deal“ he began, hot air from his voodooed lungs meeting your sweaty cleavage. Biting your lips you stayed silent, more or less eager for his continuation.

“Well, in fact it is so much more. You are the most gorgeous woman I ever laid eyes on, y/n. You will bear me beautiful heirs to my title“. Your heart contracted violently, fighting against the choice your helpless mind had made. The irrevocable choice forcing you to actually step in the role of a faithful wife.

“I- what? What are you doing?“ You stammered, trying to hold on to the heavy fabric of your dress as it started to slide down your shoulders, threatening to leave you in only undergarments.

Growling like a wolf, the baronet gritted his teeth when annoyed hands pulled it out of your grasp. “Please“ you whined, covering yourself with two quivering arms while you knew damn well that your fate was sealed. “You shan’t never hide what’s to be mine. Understood?“ He barked however, silent and graceful while hasty hands unbuckled his black breeches.

Slowly, swallowing your pride, you let your arms hang down, eyes fixated on the flickering candle behind your fiancé. You would tell him to order more of them, you thought, they smelled nice.

“Now, this cock won’t suck itself“.

Disbelieving, widened eyes darted back at him, insecurity smeared all across your face like neon lotion.

Thomas’ brow was raised, his potent jaw bobbed forward in bloody impatience. “Once I had you, no other man will ever touch you. I’m just making sure my fiancé won’t renegade on her promise“ he stated as sober as well water, the poison within a stark black swirl.

Succumbing to your fate, you dropped to your knees, staring at his manhood that twitched in lusty anticipation. “I- I’ve never…“ you mumbled, awkwardly curling your fingers around the hot shaft. He was huge, bigger than your housemaid had told you men were.

You didn’t know whether his sympathy for you was feigned or not as Thomas told you how to wrap your lips around the tip and use your tongue to bring him satisfaction until he would thrust into your mouth.

And how you should let him.

Then you began to pleasure him, swallowing hot saliva around his wide girth until you heard him moan and grunt above you, blueish veins straining his neck when his head lolled back. It was a sinful sound, radiating pure masculinity and drenching your panties, if you wanted it to or not.

Thomas was incredibly handsome, you couldn’t deny his charms. So you gave in trying to focus on breathing as he started to fuck your mouth. Knuckles turned white from the strong grip around the edge of the bed when wolfish growls and curses left his parted lips.

You felt torn as he suddenly pulled out, hand still buried in your hair to yank you back on your feet. “No“ you babbled, feeling the burn of your scalp wandering down to infect your gut. You were not ready for what was to come.

“What was that, pet?“

“I- I don’t want to“ your whisper felt pathetic. “You do not wish to be a good, obedient wife?“ Thomas hissed through gritted teeth, the blue in his eyes drowning you like a relentless ocean, features sharpened by the candle light.

Dragging his face in a faux pout the sinister baronet mocked you “I assumed you wanted to see the grey seals tomorrow, darling. We could go together…“ he purred, gradually lowering you onto the duvet of his big bed. “Would my pretty fiancé like that?“.

You stared in his eyes, biting the inside of your cheek until a taste of copper was the product of your fear. “I’d love that, Thomas“ you forced yourself to say, nails digging in the red fabric gathered by your sides.

A content smile curled his lips before a strong knee pressed between your legs, unfazed by any resistance. “If you are good for me…we’ll go“ he snarled, sliding back down to hook a finger in the waistband of your panties, the undergarment ripping in no time under his swift pull.

Gasping, your upper body shot up, protesting against the man who stared at your naked cunt as if it was a box of gems he craved to possess and lock behind metal doors. “Thomas, please don’t“ a whine that erupted directly form your heart left him entertained, ignorant fingertips spreading your lips.

“As I said, darling. Without some kind of assurance, words are rendered nothing but mere sounds“.

“But why does it have to be like that?“

A big hand came closer as he crawled back up, pressing against your breasts to keep you glued to the mattress. New terror was born in your eyes, fading into absent-mindedness as you felt him drag his cock along your fold, chuckling to himself.

He would take me either way you thought, trying to accept the burden that was the title of Lady Sharpe. You would have happily married him.

Next year though.

“Fuck, look at you. All wet like a whore yet so innocent“ you frowned at his words, eyes screwed shut to await the inevitable intrusion. “Please be gentle“ you heard yourself mutter, shocked by the taste of complete submission on your tongue.

“Ah, ah! Eyes on me. I want to watch you as I make you my wife“ Thomas demanded, dropping on his elbow, needy cock lined up with your pussy. The tingle of his loose curls against your collarbone was a poor distraction to the fiery burn as he breached you, growling at the dark of his chamber.

It felt unlike anything you had ever imagined, the thick ridges of his big cock stretching you beyond your limits.

Whining underneath him, palms pressed against the puffy shirt, lips begged him to pause until he did. “G-Gods… you feel p-perfect. So tight“ his husky moans were needles pricking your cheek as you felt him twitch inside you, the moment of pause weirdly fading the pain into pleasure.

Until he pulled out, hips slapping against your ass when he began to pound into you, mercy far beneath his carnal needs. “Thomas, I- I can’t“ you whimpered silently, staggered breaths interrupting your senseless plea.

But he didn’t say a word, instead biting his rosy lip from the sheer pleasure your hesitant body bestowed on him. He looked feral, the collected, analyzing baronet who used to make nice business with your dad now hidden behind a black out curtain.

Darkness engulfed you when the candle finally died, leaving Thomas the only thing to hold onto in the cursed mansion that was now yours.

And so you did, clawing your nails in your fiancé’s muscular back, praying for the candle to be magically lit up again. To have mercy on your heart while Thomas’ relentless cock blanketed your body in unfamiliar ecstasy until he came, spilling his hot seed deep inside your core what forced you to followed him, chanting his name in your own crimson peak.

tags (feel free to ignore if it's not your genre) : @coldnique @gigglingtigger @muddyorbs @gigglingtigger @smolvenger @toozmanykids @lokisgoodgirl @simplyholl

#crimson peak fic #springdandelixn's sleepover #thomas sharpe x yn #thomas sharpe x f!reader #thomas sharpe x reader #thomas sharpe smut #dark!fic #non/dub-con!#fanfic writing #read warnings #18+

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bradshawsbaby · 7 months

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Are you still doing the “Trick or treat!! 🎃” thing? Ahhh… I’ll send it anyways, so Trick or treat!! 🎃 👻 🧙‍♀️

Happy Halloween! 🎃 I’ve got a little bit of Bob for you!

“Um, Bobby?” you murmured, squeezing your boyfriend’s hand as you came to a sudden halt on the dirt path leading towards the aptly named House of Horrors, from which you could already hear shrieks of terror emanating.

You’d been psyching yourself up for this all week. Ever since Fanboy had come up with the idea that all of you should attend a local Halloween festival, featuring a haunted house that had recently been dubbed “the scariest in San Diego,” you’d been mentally preparing yourself to swallow your fear and join your boyfriend and his friends on this terrifying expedition.

But you couldn’t do it. Now that the moment was finally here, your fight or flight instinct was kicking in and telling you to run, run, run.

Bob, instantly picking up on the thread of anxiety in your voice, stopped immediately and turned to look at you, concern glowing in his big blue eyes.

“Hey, guys, wait up!” he called quickly over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off you.

Over his shoulder, you noticed Phoenix turn back and then get the others to stop as well, the group of Daggers standing off to the side of the path up ahead.

“What’s the matter, honey?” Bob asked, his voice gentle and soothing as he rubbed your arm lightly, guiding you off to the side so that others could pass you more easily.

“I can’t do it, Bobby,” you admitted, trembling like a leaf as you heard another round of shrieks coming out of the haunted house. “I’m sorry. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured calmly, wrapping his long arms around you when he realized how much you were shaking. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to ruin everyone else’s good time. I’ll just head back and sit at one of the tables near the food trucks,” you mumbled, embarrassment and guilt coloring your features.

“Not by yourself!” Bob exclaimed, his eyes widening behind his glasses as if he was shocked you would even think to suggest such a thing. “I’ll come with you,” he said, lacing his fingers securely through yours.

“No, stay with your friends,” you insisted, shaking your head. You felt silly for making a scene over your childish fear of haunted houses.

“They have each other. They’ll be fine,” he smiled sweetly, his mouth curving into an adorably crooked grin. “I want to be with you.” Before you could attempt to argue with that logic, he turned to call back to his fellow Daggers. “You guys go on ahead! We’ll meet you by the food trucks after.”

He was met with a chorus of surprised exclamations and groans, but he waved them all off, confidently squeezing your hand and leading you away from the House of Horrors.

“Bobby, I’m so embarrassed,” you confessed, chewing on your bottom lip as you followed along beside him. “I should have just gone inside.”

“Why should you have had to do that?” your boyfriend asked, his voice ringing with sincerity as he asked the question. “For me? I wouldn’t want you putting yourself through something that upsets you for my sake,” he reassured you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and holding you close to his side. “We’re here to have fun. And you know what I think sounds like a lot of fun right now?”

“What?” you asked, snuggling against his shoulder as you relaxed in his arms.

“Getting one of those pumpkin funnel cakes we spotted earlier,” he told you, his eyebrows lifting behind his glasses as he gazed down at you.

Giggling, you nodded in agreement as the two of you headed in that direction.

About ten minutes later, as the two of you sat side by side at a picnic table, your fingers coated in powdered sugar, Bob leaned closer to you and murmured against your ear, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Mhm,” you smiled, munching on another piece of pumpkin funnel cake.

Bob grinned sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning pink. “I didn’t want to go to the haunted house either,” he admitted.

Laughing, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his blushing cheek. “I knew you were perfect for me, Bobby.”

#ask box trick-or-treat 🎃#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob drabble #lewis pullman

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storiesbyjes2g · 12 days

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3.120 Joyous occasion

I woke up, revving with excitement about the day's festivities. Today, we celebrated that blessed day Sophia Aguilar came into the world. Regardless of the circumstance, I was beyond grateful her mother chose to give birth. And now, as Sophia Murillo, we'd also open our home and welcome family and friends for the first time. The icing on the cake would be announcing our new family member. There was nothing about this day that was not joyous. Even the weather was perfect. True, every day in San Sequoia seemed to be perfect, but I couldn't have asked for a better first day of summer. The warm temperature, accompanied by a cool breeze, was perfect for our outdoor festivities.

One by one, our guests trickled in, starting with Rashidah, then Less, Maira, Shirley, and Mama. Shirley was brimming with excitement because it was also her birthday and she couldn't wait to be big, she said. I hadn't known her long, but it was crazy to me how fast children grew up. Actually, all the little girls in my life were grown or near grown now. Chi Chi's daughter, Luna, was a grown woman. Orion, our neighbor, was a teenager, and now Shirley. Wow. Even the little sims in my life were females. Thank Watcher for Dub. I couldn't wait for him and Maia to be our neighbors.

Alessia arrived upset, and I assumed she was still mad about us leaving the bar so abruptly. But it was her pregnancy that had her face all frowned up. She loved Jace and was eager to create a life with him, but children were not part of that equation. I was kind of relieved to hear her sounding more like herself, but I hated she wasn't looking forward to having a baby. If only she knew what Sophia and I went through to get to where we were, maybe she'd appreciate what she accidentally walked into.

As she complained about the changes in her body and being sick all the time, Mama smiled at me as she slipped past us and went into the house. That was weird, so I ditched Less' pity party to go after her. I found her in the kitchen, standing in front of the sink. At first, I thought she was waiting for the tea maker to brew, but she was just standing there staring at nothing. Between her arriving without Dwayne and now this weird behavior, I knew something serious was up. I needed to get started on Sophia's cake anyway, so I gathered my ingredients and tools and got started.

"Is Dwayne running late?" I asked, casually.

"No. Umm...he's not coming."

"Oh. What's going on with you two?"

She sighed. Even with her back toward me, I knew her eyes rolled, and her face wrinkled into a scowl.

"That child... I guess she told you."

"She didn't know the details, but she said she heard you arguing. What happened?"

She hesitated, shifting her weight and sighing some more.

"He's fed up with me."

My imagination formed all kinds of answers to my next question. Most of them involved my dad.

"Why?"

"Because I haven't given him an answer yet."

I almost dropped the egg I was about to crack.

"He proposed?!"

I was oddly excited but also frustrated. I wouldn't say Dwayne and I were friends, but I didn't mind him now. It is what it is, you know? He was the one who made my mom happy. Bonus points for him understanding the situation and being respectful of everyone's feelings. Plus, he really was a good dude. I let all that drama go a while back, so he was welcome in my life if he chose to be part of it. With that in mind, I didn't appreciate Mama stringing him along all that time.

"A while ago," she said. "I wasn't ready then."

"Sounds like you're still not," I spat.

"I don't appreciate your tone, Luca."

"I'm sorry, Mama, but I just don't get it. Everyone has moved on. Even Dad! Why are you still waffling on this? Don't you love him?"

"Of course I do!"

"So what gives??"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be in this position! I want to say yes, but something inside won't let me!"

I didn't mean to upset her and relented.

"Okay. I'm sorry. I just want you to be free of this, Mama."

"That makes two of us. Especially now. I need to get out of that house."

All the alarms began blaring as I entered into protect mode.

"Is it that Jason?? What did he do?"

"Jace. It's not him. It's Alessia. If you and Sophia decided to move back home, I'd be totally fine and comfortable with it. But Alessia is different now, and I'm not comfortable living with them. I feel like a third wheel in my own house. How bad would it be if I accepted the proposal just to get away from them?"

"I'm not even gonna answer that. Besides, you know she's gonna need help with the baby."

"And Sophia won't?"

"Sophia is prepared. Less never wanted this."

"True."

I heard the front door open and shut and wanted to see who arrived.

"Can you finish this?"

"Sure, go ahead. I got it."

I found Dad in the living room, staring out our beautiful window. He turned around when he heard me, and I noticed he shaved down his beard. I smirked at the thought of my parents doing everything they could to keep from looking as old as they were. When I reach their age, I'd like to think I'd embrace the process, but I had no idea what it was like, so we'll see what I do.

"This is such a nice view," he said.

"The best," I replied.

"And the house is gorgeous. You did it all yourselves?"

I laughed at the question hidden between the lines.

"Yes, we did. Mama was not invited this time."

"Good for you. I'm so proud and happy for you two."

In the corner of my eye, I saw Sophia had finally come out of the bathroom and headed upstairs to put on her makeup. She had so much hair and always took her time bending every strand to her will. It was no wonder she always looked amazing.

"You wanna know a secret?" I asked.

I waited until I heard her enter our room to tell him.

"Sophia is pregnant," I whispered. "Mama hasn't seen her yet, so don't say anything."

His eyes watered just as I imagined they would, and he embraced me, squeezing tight.

"Congratulations, son. I am so glad to hear that. My heart is so full!"

"Thanks, Dad. We didn't want to say anything, but it's been quite the journey."

"Oh no. Really?"

"I'll tell you about it someday, but it's behind us now."

"That's right. The little one is here, and it is already so loved."

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #sophia aguilar #emerald pope #ali murillo #alessia amina murillo #I forgot to add the screenshot but mccc says them living apart is causing friction 🤭

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sugoi-and-spice · 8 months

Text

Like my work? Please consider commissioning me or contributing to my Ko-Fi!

Chapter Twenty-Three - I’m Not Okay (I Promise)

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity Kink, Groping, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, Slow Burn, Misogyny

Read Full Chapter on AO3

[excerpt]

Even for a Friday afternoon the arcade was way more crowded than she had expected. The group had originally planned on grabbing a bite at the attached restaurant before gaming, but their new addition had created a bit of a logistical problem.

“I’m so sorry,” the Hostess bowed repeatedly and apologetically, “All of our larger party tables are booked for at least another hour. The most we could fit is a chair on the end of a four person booth.”

“Awww, really? I mean how small are the booths? We’re all friends, we can squeeze!” Nejire insisted, pulling Amajiki into a tight hug at the waist to prove her point, much to the quickly reddening boy’s chagrin.

“That’s against our fire code,” she bowed again, “I’m really so sorry.”

Yuyu, ever the pragmatic one, turned to suggest, “I guess we’re gonna have to split up?”

Nejire pouted, “That’s not really festive.”

Mirio, more than happy to put on a show to either sacrifice one of his friends to table with Shigaraki, or make show of how much he didn’t belong there at the moment, put a hand on Nejire’s shoulder, “Hey, we gotta do what we gotta do, right?”

Shigaraki was feeling itchier and pricklier by the second. He didn’t particularly enjoy being the center of gawking attention even under the best of circumstances. And this moment — standing awkwardly to the side as a group of kids already way cooler than he could ever hope to be were actively discussing the logistics as to why he was a complete inconvenience to all of them — was far from the best of circumstances.

He leaned into his one spider’s thread of a tie to it all, whispering nervously, “I’ll just go, this is stupid…”

Mirio, somehow hearing him, as if he’d been waiting for those words frowned “sympathetically” at him, “Awww? Are you sure?”

“Uh, y-yeah…” Shigaraki said, even he was a bit taken aback by how quick Mr. ‘Let’s Make Everyone Smile At All Times” was willing to kick him to the curb, “I-I’m making this weird anyway, right?”

Nobody really wanted to answer. That’s what the group of friends did think, after all.

But then she put a hand, a perfectly manicured lifeline, on his shoulder.

“Don’t be silly,” she pointed out, “Look, there’s a two seater right by that booth. Shigaraki and I will take that and then we won’t have to squeeze anywhere.”

The group all looked about each other, shrugging and mumbling positively. That really did seem like the best option. The group that needed to be altogether — the friends since elementary school — were indeed, altogether, and Shigaraki was neither ostracized nor isolated with people he didn’t know. It was a perfectly fine solution for all.

All except Mirio.

“H-Hey, those big party tables aren’t reserved for the night or anything right?” Mirio asked the hostess, and upon a confirming nod, he offered back to the group, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not starving or anything — why don’t we just put our name down and play some games in the meantime? Then nobody has to squeeze or split, you know?”

Another chorus of shrugs and “Yeah, that’s work”’s — and Mirio had his, admittedly, small victory over the situation.

Though it’s not like it lasted long.

Continue on AO3

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evcryopeneye · 1 month

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@spec-b asked: Cloud doesn't realize it as he's sharping his sword, but he's humming "Yuffie's song" under his breath - as it's been dubbed. That tune has been stuck in his head for days though he'd never admit it to her face it was catchy - good, even. Creative. She'd enjoy that way too much and she needs to be kept in check from getting too big a head. "I'm.. so bored, bored right out of my brain.." He mutters, testing the newly sharpened tip.

There was no way.

Absolutely. No. Fucking. Way.

For a moment, Yuffie just watched him, a bright smile slowly spreading across her face as it became certain in her mind - she knew that melody. Oh. This was just about the best day ever, or evening, whatever. It was the best time she could have asked for.

“I knew it, I’m famous.” The grin on her face was something. As if all the firework festivals had come at once.

Sitting down without ceremony, the young Shinobi plopped onto the floor, crossed her legs and smiled. “You know, in another lifetime I would have been an idol.” While she might sound like she’d joking, no, Yuffie was fully convinced of it. If she’d spent as much train training for it as she did to be a Shinobi it would have been a certainty.

“You know,” taking a bite out of the piece of fruit in her hand, she reached forward to point at the materia slots on his weapon. “I should be charging you royalties for this. An orb a song.”

#THIS IS THE HAPPIEST ANYONE WILL SEE HER EVER #the bar has been set high now #&&char: yuffie #spec b

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denimbex1986 · 6 months

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'Writer and poet Benjamin Zephaniah has died aged 65, after being diagnosed with a brain tumour eight weeks ago.

A statement posted on his Instagram account confirmed he died in the early hours of Thursday.

The statement said Zephaniah's wife "was with him throughout and was by his side when he passed".

"We shared him with the world and we know many will be shocked and saddened by this news," it added.

Zephaniah was born and raised in Handsworth, Birmingham, the son of a Barbadian postman and a Jamaican nurse. He was dyslexic and left school aged 13, unable to read or write.

He moved to London aged 22 and published his first book, Pen Rhythm.

His early work used dub poetry, a Jamaican style of work that has evolved into the music genre of the same name, and he would also perform with the group The Benjamin Zephaniah Band.

As Zephaniah's profile grew, he became a familiar face on television and was credited with bringing Dub Poetry into British living rooms.

He also wrote five novels as well as poetry for children, and his first book for younger readers, Talking Turkeys, was a huge success upon its publication in 1994.

On top of his writing work, Zephaniah was an actor and appeared in the BBC drama series Peaky Blinders between 2013 and 2022.

He played Jeremiah "Jimmy" Jesus, appearing in 14 episodes across the six series.

Zephaniah famously rejected an OBE in 2003 due to the association of such an honour with the British Empire and its history of slavery.

"I've been fighting against empire all my life, fighting against slavery and colonialism all my life," he told The Big Narstie Show in 2020.

"I've been writing to connect with people, not to impress governments and monarchy. So I could I then accept an honour that puts the word Empire on to my name? That would be hypocritical.

He often spoke out about issues such as racial abuse and education.

When he was younger, Zephaniah served a prison sentence for burglary and received a criminal record.

In 1982, Zephaniah released an album called Rasta, which featured the Wailers' first recording since the death of Bob Marley.

It also included a tribute to the then-political prisoner Nelson Mandela, who would later become South African president.

In an interview in 2005, Zephaniah said growing up in a violent household led to him assuming that was the norm.

He recalled: "I once asked a friend of mine, 'What do you do when your dad beats your mum?' And he went: 'He doesn't.'

"I said, 'Ah, you come from one of those, like, feminist houses. So, what do you do when your mum beats your dad?'"

In 2012, he was chosen to guest edit an edition of BBC Radio 4's Today programme.

Zephaniah was nominated for autobiography of the year at the National Book Awards for his work, The Life And Rhymes Of Benjamin Zephaniah, which was also shortlisted for the Costa Book Award in 2018.

During a Covid-19 lockdown, Zephaniah recited one of his poems in a video for the Hay Festival.

"Benjamin was a true pioneer and innovator. He gave the world so much," the statement announcing his death said.

"Through an amazing career including a huge body of poems, literature, music, television and radio, Benjamin leaves us with a joyful and fantastic legacy."

A statement from the Black Writers' guild, which Zephaniah helped establish, said: "Our family of writers is in mourning at the loss of a deeply valued friend and a titan of British literature. Benjamin was a man of integrity and an example of how to live your values."

Others paying tribute included author Michael Rosen, who said: "I'm devastated. I admired him, respected him, learnt from him, loved him. Love and condolences to the family and to all who loved him too."

Actress Adjoa Andoh posted: "We have lost a Titan today. Benjamin Zephaniah. Beautiful Poet, Professor, Advocate for love and humanity in all things. Heartbroken. Rest In Your Power - our brother."

Peaky Blinders actor Cillian Murphy said in a statement: "Benjamin was a truly gifted and beautiful human being.

"A generational poet, writer, musician and activist. A proud Brummie and a Peaky Blinder. I'm so saddened by this news."

Broadcaster Trevor Nelson said: "So sad to hear about the passing of Benjamin Zephaniah. Too young, too soon, he had a lot more to give. He was a unique talent."

Singer-songwriter and musician Billy Bragg added: "Very sorry to hear this news. Benjamin Zephaniah was our radical poet laureate. Rest in power, my friend."

Comedian, actor and writer Lenny Henry said: "I was saddened to learn of the passing of my friend Benjamin Zephaniah. His passion for poetry, his advocacy for education for all was tireless."

Writer Nels Abbey said: "To call this crushing news is a massive understatement. He was far too young, far too brilliant and still had so much to offer. A loss we'll never recover from."

The X/Twitter account for Premier League football club Aston Villa, whom Zephaniah supported said everyone at the club was "deeply saddened" by the news.

"Named as one of Britain's top 50 post-war writers in 2008, Benjamin was a lifelong Aston Villa fan and had served as an ambassador for the AVFCFoundation. Our thoughts are with his family and friends at this time."'

#Benjamin Zephaniah #The Benjamin Zephaniah Band #Peaky Blinders #Cillian Murphy #Adjoa Andoh #Michael Rosen #Black Writers Guild #Hay Festival #The Life And Rhymes Of Benjamin Zephaniah #Jeremiah “Jimmy” Jesus #Rasta #Pen Rhythm #Aston Villa #Nels Abbey #Lenny Henry #Billy Bragg #Trevor Nelson

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ace-touya · 6 months

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Dabi, and His Parallels to Early Izuku

Weird start. These are two characters who really don’t seem like they’d be foils of each other. (Dabi has a lot of foils, Shoto being the most obvious, but also Izuku, Keigo, Katsuki, Geten and Toga. If anyone wants me to talk about any of the others, I will. I have a lot of thoughts. But back to Izuku.)

The obvious thing is the disability coding - both are disabled. Dabi has a quirk that is incompatible with hid body, Izuku doesn’t have a quirk at all. Their disabilities both result in them being outcasted. For Touya, this is within his family structure, and for Izuku, it’s at middle school.

When Izuku first gets One For All, their situations become even more similar, as they both have quirks that their bodies cannot handle. Also, when Izuku breaks his bones, it’s shown visually by his skin going purple, just like Dabi’s scars. And both of them are similarly self-destructive.

Take this line from Recovery Girl to All Might in the sports festival arc:

“You lit a fire under this child and pushed him too far. Look at what he’s done to make you proud.”

And compare to these Touya quotes:

“You lit this fire under me, dad!”

“After all these years, you’ll be proud to have me as your son!”

Both of those are from the dub, I don’t know if the sub lines are different but its worth pointing out regardless.

Their physical states aren’t the end-all-be-all of their similarities, though. Perhaps more interesting is the similar determination both middle school Izuku and young Touya have to become heroes, despite everyone around them believing those dreams to be futile.

As far as I can tell it’s a pretty common belief among the fanbase that, if not for Enji, Touya wouldn’t have wanted to be a hero in the first place. Rei says something along these lines herself, about thinking he’s looking to impress his father rather than saving people. There’s obviously no denying that this is a big factor in Touya’s ambition, however, he was clearly enthusiastic about heroism before his disability was diagnosed and before he knew that Enji’s love for him was conditional. He was asking to learn ultimate moves at the age of five, he clearly loved training.

(I may also do an analysis on how Touya’s attitude toward his training affected Enji’s treatment of Shoto, if anyone wants that, because once again, I have thoughts)

I don’t think I need to go into Izuku’s ambitions. We all know being a hero is important to him. But the point is that both of them were surrounded by people who were very adamant they wouldn’t achieve these goals - Katsuki and Enji, respectively (the parallels between those two are even more interesting) - and neither of them let those expectations of failure get in their way.

The difference between Izuku and Touya, the thing that makes them foils, is the vastly different lives they had growing up. Izuku says himself to Shoto in the sports festival that their lives are so different. While he grew up idolising heroes, Touya grew up quickly learning how corrupt they were. That’s the thing that changed Touya’s path in life, just as much as wanting Enji’s attention.

He decided that he’d rather tear down the system that hurt him rather than work for it, but the realisation of hero society’s dark side came much later for Izuku, and he still believes in the good that it can do.

We know from things like his fight with Shinso at the sports festival, or with Gentle Criminal and La Brava, that Izuku is incredibly empathetic. I’d love for him to have a moment of understanding Dabi, but from the few manga spoilers I haven’t been able to avoid, I doubt it’ll happen.

#touya todoroki #dabi #izuku midoriya #deku #my hero academia #boku no hero acedamia #mha #bnha #mha analysis

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fanficshiddles · 1 year

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Maybe, One Shot

Summary: President Loki had to listen to your Loki variant drone on and on about you and how amazing you were. So when President finally gets out of the Void on Christmas Eve, he decides to pay you a visit to see how great you really are. You feel something is off, but aren’t sure if you want to admit to it or not…

WARNINGS: Dub-Con! Dominant Loki.

Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you all have a lovely time. x

It was Christmas Eve, but you were far from feeling in the festive mood. Even though your decorations were up, the tree was sparkling green and gold, and your food for a Christmas meal tomorrow was all prepped too.

But you weren’t sure if you were going to actually enjoy it. Because Loki was still gone. You hoped every single day that he would return to you. Hopefully today or even tomorrow would be the day he’d come back to you and you could enjoy spending Christmas with him.

Hope was all you were holding on to.

It was starting to get dark, early evening, when you were just pottering about in the living room. Watching TV and doing not much of anything really. Just staring into space. When a loud bang came from the window, like something of substantial size had flown into it.

You ran to the door to see what the hell was going on. Fully expecting to see a big bird or some sort of animal lying there hurt.

But your heart stopped when you saw him getting up to his feet.

‘L… Loki?’ You stammered, eyes watering instantly.

It certainly looked like Loki… Though he wasn’t wearing what he usually wore, he was wearing a slightly torn suit with smaller horns as a headpiece instead of a full-blown helmet like he usually had. But it was him. Wasn’t it?

He raised his head towards you and a smirk spread across his face, his eyes were twinkling with a similar mischief that you were used to.

‘Hello, pet.’

His voice made you shiver. It sounded like Loki, but slightly off at the same time. More growly and a little deeper than usual.

‘Is… Is it really you?’ You asked quietly as you took a few steps closer towards him.

He opened his arms wide, his smirk spreading into a grin. ‘It is me. Loki.’

You weren’t sure why you felt scared to go to him, but there was also a part of you that was just longing to be in his arms again. So you moved forward and hugged him. When he wrapped his arms around you tightly, you heard him growl deep in his chest as he buried his nose into your hair.

It had been a very long time since President Loki had been with a woman. And he was starving for all of it with you, your touch, your softness… Everything. So it was no surprise to him when his arousal was clearly evident, though it did surprise you when you felt it against your stomach.

You let out a small squeak, your cheeks burned as you stepped back quickly.

‘Sorry, pet. It’s been… a while.’ He chuckled.

‘I… I can’t believe you’re back. What happened? Are you ok? What’s with the clothes? Where’s your helmet?’ You blurted out quickly, a mixture of excitement that he was here and also some nerves.

‘Never mind any of that for now, why don’t we reacquaint ourselves, hmm?’ He said suggestively with an eyebrow wiggle as he began stalking towards you.

You backed away from him and headed inside, he followed you in and shut the door behind you.

‘L… Loki… Maybe we could just talk for a bit first? It’s quite a shock that you’re back after so long. It’s been a really tough seven months…’ But he cut you off by moving in on you swiftly, an arm snaked around your waist and he pulled you flush against him as he gripped your chin and forced his lips upon yours.

You tried to push back, though as you then gripped at his torn suit jacket you weren’t really sure if you were trying to push him away or pull him closer. This all seemed rather out of character for your Loki, he was normally very calming and caring with you, making sure you felt safe and secure.

This Loki was rather intimidating and dominating. Though your body was already starting to react well to him. Far too well for your brains liking. But it was him, it had to be. He was here after all, right?

You didn’t make it to the bedroom, instead Loki pushed your shoulders so you fell to your knees on front of him.

‘That’s it, in your rightful place beneath me like a good little girl.’ He growled, stroking your hair before unbuckling his belt and zipper.

He pulled his cock out, but used the belt and wrapped it around your neck, tightening it and using it like a leash and collar. It made your eyes widen as your stomach lurched, slightly fearful. He’d never done anything like this before.

‘Come on, pet. Let’s see what that lovely tongue of yours can do.’ He tugged on his belt and pulled you in closer to him, you had to brace your hands on his thighs to give yourself some support.

Licking your lips, you started with the tip of his cock, just warming up. He started groaning and growling above you, more so the further into your mouth you took him. Now and then you’d feel the belt tightening around your neck, but then at times you’d feel the gentle touch of his fingers gliding through your hair, keeping you calm.

Maybe this was your Loki still, he was just super pent up with sexual frustration. You had no idea where he’d been or what had happened, surely afterwards you’d be able to talk with him properly.

‘That’s it, take me further down. You can do it.’ He said through gritted teeth, he was struggling to contain himself inside your wet, warm mouth.

You lavished your tongue around him as you swallowed and did your best to please him. It seemed to work, because it wasn’t long before he was pumping his cum down your throat, not really giving you much of an option but to swallow it all.

You tried not to gag around him, but he rather enjoyed the feeling when you did slip a little.

He let out a deep growl as he reached down and scooped you up into his arms, then he carried you through to the bedroom, though he did check in the wrong door at first which did make you a little concerned… Loki should know where your bedroom was…

You didn’t get time to contemplate it more as you were tossed onto the bed. And though part of your mind told you to get away, when you attempted to crawl across the bed you were just grabbed by his large hands easily and dragged back to him.

He positioned you on your hands and knees and using his seidr your clothes vanished with a tingle. You attempted to move again, to crawl forward, but a really hard swat to the backside made you freeze.

‘Keep still.’ He snarled at you in warning.

His fingers slowly delved between your folds, finding you wet and ready. He slid his fingers up and down your soft slit a few times and he circled your clit for a minute, till you let out a whimper and hung your head down.

It had been a long time for you too, since Loki left you hadn’t been feeling in the mood to even masturbate. Your body was singing in utter delight at being touched again, and it certainly didn’t mind this new rather firm way it was being handled…

Loki didn’t tease you with his fingers for long before he mounted you. When his cock first slid into you, firmly but slowly, he took your breath away and you began panting like mad as your body adjusted to him.

‘You will take me.’ He growled and bit your shoulder.

You let out another whimper as he didn’t give you long to adjust before he started thrusting into you. His movements were deliberate, but not too fast. He was hitting deep within you, at the perfect angle that was driving you insane.

Your mouth parted but no sounds came out when he slid a hand under you to tease your clit while he picked up the pace a little bit, driving into you like he was trying to get further into you.

‘Mine.’ He said in a far too possessive and rather terrifying tone.

You knew deep down this wasn’t your Loki. You weren’t sure how it was possible for there to even be another. But this wasn’t him…

But you were his, in every aspect of the meaning as he fucked you on your bed and made you cum, hard. Harder than you ever had before. And when he came inside you, he didn’t pull out.

You felt him flood you, even then as he throbbed hotly and came down from his orgasm, he still didn’t pull out of you. But instead, he collapsed to his side and pulled you with him.

To your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you really tightly, holding you close like he was afraid of losing you.

‘You’re mine.’ He spoke again, but quieter. He sounded delicate, for the first time since he arrived. Almost breaking your heart.

This wasn’t your Loki, you knew it… But you didn’t want to admit it. Perhaps he needed you, and you needed him.

Maybe you wouldn’t ask any questions… maybe, just maybe, you could have a nice Christmas with this Loki…

It was Christmas day and President Loki was sipping hot chocolate that you’d made him as he sat on the sofa, he was just watching you prepare the dining table on front of him.

You were a curious little thing he’d decided. He could tell that you knew he wasn’t your Loki. But you didn’t say anything about it, didn’t ask about where he’d been for all this time again. Like you’d just accepted it.

And he wasn’t entirely sure what to think of that yet. Even as you shakily placed an elf hat on his head before continuing on with preparing the table. A small smile on your lips.

Perhaps you were both able to bring one another something that you both craved. That you both needed for now.

But as Loki thought about the many orgasms he’d taken from you last night and this morning already, a sly smirk tugged at his lips. He would quite happily play happy couple if that’s what you needed, if that’s what would bring him what he needed too.

Both of you were blissfully unaware for another minute that a very familiar face indeed was walking up the path, desperate to be home for Christmas with his girl. After being through hell and back.

#Loki #tom hiddleston #president Loki #Loki x you #president loki x you #one shot #maybe

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lazystar · 11 months

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The Office: Romance Day | Or The Office SKZ version

Word count: ~7.2K

Tropes/AU: Friends to Lovers, Fake Dating, Office AU

Age restrictions: 18+ MDNI pls! same w Ageless blogs TY :)

CW/ Content notes: Fem!Reader, ANGST, Himbo Changbin aka LOML, Author not knowing anything about corporate work, Cursing (it’s me y’all be fr), mentions of aliens (don’t ask), mentions of s*x with aliens like 2-3 times (again don’t ask but if you must ask it’s for comedy purposes no alien s*x happening here besties). Alcohol consumption and drunken behavior. Jeongin is a lil toxic when angy, sudden kissing but all parties are okay w/ it.

Y/N = your name, Y/E/C = your eye color, Y/H/C = your hair color

Tumblr operates on a system of re blogs! Support your writers by reblogging, sharing to your friends or commenting to spread your favorite pieces to other readers! Tysm 🫶🏻

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

You had never expected to become an employee at JYP Corp, let alone fresh out of university. You at an office job, in a cubicle? You would have laughed at the notion a couple years ago. But here you were, living in the big city of Seoul, at the top of the sales team at JYP. Before graduating university you had always imagined yourself as a star, or somewhere in the big leagues, but adulthood had changed you, you were happy living that basic life. That is, you were living a basic life until a certain man bumped into you one day three years ago on your way to the copier. That man was Yang Jeongin, a new member to your team who quickly became your best friend both in and out of the office. After the incident of him nearly knocking you over that day he had apologized via coffees and lunches for days and those meals had brought you two close. Conversations began with small talk, then office gossip, to now where you two could debate about if aliens would ever hypothetically be good in bed. He said no but you said yes. Resulting in the random airdrop of pictures of very disturbing fan art of alien characters and a text of “You mean to tell me you would let THAT hit? Side eye Y/N, side EYE.” It was safe to assume work had brought you together with your platonic other half.

But then even this dynamic was changed when you had caught the eye of one of the marketing team members, Changbin. He was attractive in a way that you couldn’t deny. He was sweet, charming, charismatic, funny, and honestly a great catch. But, he just wasn’t someone you saw yourself dating. However, where Changbin lacked was in his ability to accept a no when it came to dating. His ego was severely inflated, being the office crush for almost every other staff member, he just could not fathom that you didn’t see him that way. You had to take your lunches with Jeongin from the break room to cafès down the street to avoid the ever so charming male. Ranting to Jeongin about your misfortune of catching the eye of the office’s resident Gaston became a daily occurrence. At first Jeongin found it hilarious, but recently he’s begun to tell you to stop worrying about Changbin’s feelings and to focus on yourself. Jeongin had always said you were too nice for your own good and Gaston from Marketing as you two had once drunkenly dubbed Changbin truly started to make you realize this.

Everything changed though one mild December day, you had been able to spend some extra time on your work outfit and makeup before you arrived at the office. Your lips painted a festive red, which stood out against your black office dress and blazer. To put it simply you looked like a dream come true and just so alluring, like a Hollywood starlet, a vixen, the comparisons could go on for days as you seemed to collect admirers with every step. Even Jeongin couldn’t help but stare as you strolled over to your desk and let out a low whistle as you walked by. You let out a laugh setting your bag down and shook your head as he pretended to flex mimicking JYP’s resident macho man. Your laughter quickly fizzled out upon accidentally making eye contact with the marketing department’s resident heartthrob, who smiled at you and began strolling your way with a swagger and confidence that only told you he believed that upon the 83rd attempt to woo you he would finally see success.

As soon as your brain registered that Changbin was walking your way you quickly moved into Jeongin’s cubicle like a scurrying mouse. You didn’t even know why you went to his space other than to hide, even though Changbin had seen you, you two had made eye contact for heaven’s sake! Y/N what are you doing?! You weren’t even sure. What you knew was at this point you had exhausted every excuse, every gentle let down, basically every option you could think of to explain to the sweet muscular male that you were not interested in him being your office fling, rendezvous, anything more than a friend. Every option beside looking him in the eyes and explaining you were not the Belle to his Gaston, nor the Beauty to his Beast had been utilized and those last two were a bit harsh by your standards. So now you had to pull at straws for the one option you had left and it was the one you had come up with in the seconds you had before another riveting wink, smirk, “Meet me for dinner and drinks after work gorgeous?” combo came your way.

In Jeongin’s cubicle you met his raised brow and opening lips with a move that may just change your friendship as you know it, but like many great heroes in history you knew desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Don’t ask me any questions just please kiss me right now!” The panic in your whispered voice, your hand on his necktie, the pleading look in your eye’s conveyed to Jeongin your desperation in the moment. As Changbin’s footsteps approached closer and closer you pulled on Jeongin’s tie to bring his face closer to yours, he couldn’t help but smirk at your panic, his smirk was also was in response to the fact that you chose him to play your office lover, even if it was to get the office Adonis off your case.

“I have several questions, comments, and concerns but…okay.” He teasingly whispered back and cupped your cheeks, the warmth of his hands eased your rapidly firing brain synapses and his lips met yours. Your eyes naturally closed and you couldn’t fight the smile that made its way to your lips as you two shared the kiss. Your hands had almost settled on his arms when an awkward cough behind you cut off the moment between you and your best friend of two years.

“You know you really could have just said you and Jeongin were a thing, instead of giving me the run around Y/N.” Changbin grumbled. “I’m happy for the two of you though, genuinely, you make a cute couple.” His Hollywood smile shone at the two of you. His voice was bright and cheerful, but it also was loud, thus it carried across the whole sales department floor.

Soon enough the ruckus of “Wait Jeongin and Y/N are together?!” and similar statements rang over the clatter of keyboards and other office equipment. Your “relationship” became the coffee pot, water cooler, lunch room, basically entire office gossip. Floor by floor it became the hottest ticket at JYP Corp. The “Jim and Pam” of JYP, Y/N and Jeongin.

Two nights later over some wine and shitty reality T.V. you broached the subject with Jeongin. Pausing the latest episode of whatever toxic show you two had chosen to roast that month you looked at him, “Might as well play into it so why don’t we just be one another’s fake office date until it blows over?” your shrug and blunt tone baffled Jeongin ever so slightly. You didn’t seem to care one way or the other but it seemed like the logical solution to being the subjects of office drama.

“You’re fucking crazy Y/N, you know that? But fuck it, let’s do this.” He somehow had conjured up some legal pads and pens like a wizard, he scooted over so he sat closer to you as he drew up the “Jim and Pam Rules” which he had dubbed the guidelines to your forays into acting. The rules of fake dating in the corporate rule.

Rule Number 1. No stupid ass pet names

“Waitttttt. This means I can’t call you my pookie bear?” you pouted playfully.

“Y/N call me that and I’m exposing your alien fetish.” He deadpanned.

“IT’S NOT A FETISH I JUST THINK ALIENS WOULD HYPOTHETICALLY FUCK LIKE GODS!” A swift and perfectly aimed pillow to the head shut you up from your impending one-woman-debate regarding alien prowess in bed.

Rule Number 2. No catching feelings.

“Jeongin this isn’t some slow burn fanfiction or teen romance novel. You’ve seen me puke and cry simultaneously because that one ex boyfriend I had said I had weird eyebrows two years ago.”

“So this should be easy for me to follow.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?! Nevermind I don’t wanna know…I should have asked Felix from the Social Media team to pretend to date me instead. At least he would have been nice to me.”

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW! WORST FAKE GIRLFRIEND EVER ALREADY”

“RIGHT BACK AT YOU MEANIE”

Rule Number 3. We “break up” before the company New Year’s Party.

This way you two don’t risk getting into any cheating rumors if you somehow get drunk and find someone else attractive.

The two of you didn’t need to debate or bicker over this rule, it was logical, you wanted to subdue drama, not create more. So putting an end date on a fake relationship made sense.

Rule 4. Nobody can know it’s fake.

Self explanatory.

You didn’t create rules about cuddling, holding hands, kissing, or other forms of physical affection, because those had become staples in your friendship. Plus couples are affectionate, you need this to look real.

With rules in place everything seemed like it would go perfectly, nothing to lose, peace at work to gain. Like you had said this wasn’t a drama or like that. So you both set off on Operation Jim and Pam not knowing how truly drama-esque things would become.

A few days had passed and to your relief Changbin had been leaving you alone, as were any of the other office flirts and nosy colleagues you seemed to attract. This was more than likely due to how the office gossip began to report on your relationship with Jeongin. The talk of the office was now always about his morning routine that as your romance became public, revolved around you. Every morning you would find Jeongin waiting for you with your favorite coffee and pastry in his hands. He would escort you to your cubicle, pull out your chair, hang your coat up, and make sure you had what you needed. Before he would begin his work he would leave a sweet note on your desk stating how you were amazing at your job and to have a great day. At the end of the day he would wait for you to carry your purse, give you a sweet kiss on the cheek, and walk you home. He was the boyfriend drama script writers dreamed of. But you knew it was an act, but forgetting sometimes didn’t hurt, you were allowed to delude yourself that everything was real for a few moments a day. It was only fair that you permitted yourself that speck of happiness.

Outside of work he would be your best friend who would laugh with you about your odd obsession with aliens, who would rewatch Twilight, the Office, and other early 2010s media with you. This brought you to right now, the next meeting of the Jim and Pam Operation. You two had been invited to drinks with your coworkers the following weekend to celebrate surpassing your quotas last month and seeing a rise in profit margins over the past few weeks. The two of you had easily been able to use the quotas as an excuse to avoid answering relationship questions but now you would be unable to make excuses whilst surrounded by everyone who was a part of making these victories happen.

“How we met will be easy, everyone knows we met at the office. Hyunjin saw us bump into one another. He told me the other week if he had known you and I would have ended up dating he would have tried to play cupid so he could brag about it.” He noted sipping his glass of wine as the television flashed the iconic blue hues of the first installment of the Twilight series. “Pfft who really thought this movie was going to be so iconic? The plot though is atrocious. Think about it, Bella should’ve picked them both. Polyamory exists and it would have saved us so much bad writing. I stand by my idea that they honestly should have just dated each other. Bella gets two hot boyfriends, Jacob wouldn’t have been attracted to Refrigerator or whatever the hellspawn’s name was. So no creepy subplot to worry about. All would have been right in the world. ” You snorted at his monologue of how he would have made the Twilight universe sane with the introduction of polyamorous relationships and pelted him with a piece of popcorn. It hit him square in the cheek and you couldn’t help but laugh harder at his whiny pout as he rubbed where the kernel hit him.

“Focus Innie we need a solid story so we don’t get the office detective squad on our cases about how we aren’t actually dating. So we met at work, who confessed first, when did they confess, how, you know the details every grandma asks?” You count on your hands as he nods along. Neither of you had thought this part out before now.

“Okay let’s say I confess while we were having one of our lunches,you looked so beautiful in the sun at the café. Your eyes sparkled [Y/E/C] your hair looked so gorgeous and like a [Y/H/C] halp in the light. I was mesmerized and I just couldn’t stop myself and I confessed how I always found you beautiful and adored your personality as we got closer as friends. You returned my feelings, we hugged and kissed and the world stopped for a moment. Bam! Now here we are madly in love making everyone jealous of how perfect we are.” He smiled and you couldn’t help but blush and look away for a moment. You had this strange feeling in your chest and you couldn’t understand why his explanation made your heart beat just that much faster. You covertly pinched yourself and brought yourself back into the moment and looked back at him.

“U-hum yeah that-that’s perfect. When should we say you confessed, like how long had we been dating?” You stuttered through the question internally cursing yourself for being so affected by his words.This was all an act, this wasn’t real, don’t act like it’s real. You kept mentally repeating those phases like a prayer to the universe above. Until a snap, snap in front of our face brought you back to the present.

“Y/N are you okay? You spaced out for a moment”.” You nodded, not trusting your voice for fear it would crack and so would your ability to hold back on your newfound crush. He smiled and continued. “I said we should say 2 months ago, we loved the café during the fall so that makes sense and the time frame would be logical for keeping things low key until now.” You agreed, the conversation was over as was the film. The two of you cleaned up your mess and he left hugging you good night. You felt this odd weight in your chest. You didn’t know why, everything you and Jeongin are doing is pretend, so why does it feel so real sometimes?

Drinks were flowing as the celebration at Bar Levanter began to get rowdier. You had been glued to Jeongin’s side the entire night, his hand resting on your lower back, your arms wrapped around his bicep. You reminded yourself several times to begin asking him when he took up weightlifting as his muscles felt firm under your grip. You two easily bounced your story of your whirlwind romance from coworker to coworker. Until Changin swaggered up to the two of you. Bang Chan was trailing behind him shaking his head and pinching his nose bridge in frustration. Changbin and Bang Chan were best friends and the whole office knew it, however unlike Gaston’s sidekick LeFou in the movies, Chan didn’t go along happily with all of the antics Changbin would get into.

“Well well well if it isn’t the happy couple everyone’s been talking about! I didn’t get to ask you two how this,” he gestured towards your embrace with Jeongin, “happened. So tell me everything. I love romance stories and to be honest your relationship is adorable.” You and Jeongin went the extra mile cutting off one another’s sentences and giggling when you said the same things at the same time. To an outsider it truly did look like you both were infatuated with one another. It seemed to solidify yo Changbin that you were not interested in him nor would you be for a long time. You sipped a couple more cocktails, growing tired from the alcohol and socialization you found yourself curled up closer to Jeongin on the long bench of the booth you were sitting in. The two of you looked quite intimate, your chest was pressed against his left arm. Your right hand was playing with his hair at the base of his neck, the other playing with his fingers lazily. A soft yawn escaped your lips which you had taken your right hand from his hair to cover. He looked down at you, an endearing look on his face as your eyes met his, a grin spread across both your faces and giggles erupted between the two of you. The night was winding down and coworkers were pouring out the doors saying their goodbyes.

Jeongin kissed your forehead and tried to get you on your feet. He stood next to the booth encouraging you to get up so he could walk you home, he grew a tad frustrated as he spent minute after minute tugging on your hand. His frustrations faded fast as he began chuckling at how your tipsy state reduced the put together woman he knew as his best friend to a woman with the same level of pouty as a toddler. He’s seen you drunk on more than one occasion and he knew alcohol took your walls down and made you lose your sense of maturity, and your sense of reason when it came to doing a non preferred task. Jeongin sighed shaking his head, then tilting it he silently beckoned you to leave. He went so far as to raise a brow giving his “Y/N this is your last warning face.”. But you ignored it and wanting to stay in your comfy spot on the bench.

“Innieee I don’t wanna leaveee!” You stomped your heel clad foot on the hardwood, sticky floor of the bar, your arms were crossed with an exaggerated pout on your lips. You repeated the motions a few more times, shaking your head in protest.. Before you could escalate to a drunk toddler tantrum, Jeongin tsked at your behavior and cut you off.

“Darling it’s late, it’s almost midnight, I need to get your drunk cute little butt home before you do anything stupid, and so I know you make it home safe baby.” He chastised you. A giggle rang from your lips at his words, his choice to mention your ass of all things was incredibly surprising.

“Wait YOU just said my BUTT is cute?! You never say stuff like that to me, Innie!” You bowled over cackling like it was the funniest thing you ever heard. Jeongin sighed, rubbed his temples, and proceeded to scoop you up bridal style in his arms. He tightened his grip on your legs and torso as you briefly thrashed about. He hated playing babysitter but for you he would do it all, plus he got to make fun of your antics whilst you complained about your hangover.

“PUT ME DOWN! HEY!” Jeongin shook his head and carried you out of the bar. Your exclamations of protest and questions of what Jeongin meant by you having a “cute butt” fading away as you two left the bar.

Changbin had watched the scene and your response to Jeongin made him question the whole relationship you apparently had with Jeongin. He looked over to Chan.

“If you had been dating someone for say two almost three months you’d probably accept that they’d compliment your body right?” He asked, taking a swig of his beer.

“Yeah? Why?” The Aussie member of marketing responded.

“Y/N seemed almost shocked Jeongin ‘said she had a cute butt’. Now don’t get me wrong she’s adorable, you know how big my crush was on her for months.” Changbin sighed thinking briefly about if he had made a better move before Jeongin, he would have been the one you looked at with stars in your eyes and he would have been the one to carry you home tonight.

“I mean it’s their relationship but that is a little weird if you ask me. It did seem kind of sudden that they amped up the romance factor after you saw them kissing, and the kiss kind of came around when you tried to rev up your terrible ways of asking her out.” Chan pointed out.

“That’s the last time I take dating advice from Seungmin and Han. Yikes. But you’re right something seems a little fishy. I don’t want to start picking it apart though. It’s not our place to do that.” As Changbin said, the little devil on his shoulder began to speak right in his ear. Well whose place is it but yours, this could be your chance to get in between them.

Nothing between you and Jeongin had changed after that night. You two still had your movie nights, karaoke, lunches, and your other activities. While smiling with him on the outside, on the inside your heart was slowly breaking, time was flying and the party was now only two weeks away. The past few weeks had made you notice more of the features in your best friend that you overlooked previously. How his dimples grew deeper as he grinned, the way his eyes would smile with him, the way his hair fell in soft waves, the smell of his musky yet floral cologne, the way he’ll subtly smell the perfume you wear by nuzzling into the crook of your neck during hugs. Most of all you noticed how he made you feel like home. You had broken the most sacred rule among the ones you and Jeongin drafted. Rule number 2, you had caught feelings. You knew you had to end things fast, you couldn’t risk dragging your heart through this any longer. The next day you had told Jeongin to meet you outside for lunch instead of walking with you from your desk like usual. He didn’t say anything but the quirk of his brow before the thumbs up he gave in response told you he knew something wasn’t right.

You urged him over to the side instead of heading to your usual café right away, this made his suspicions grow even more and the classic eyebrow quirk and questioning gaze you had grown infatuated with almost made you decide to go back on your plan but you stood firm. You knew for the sake of the ruse you had to end things publicly with some coworkers in earshot so you chose the front of the building on the benches.

“Jeongin, we should break up. This needs to end.” You said as soon as both reached the cold gray concrete benches that resided just outside the behemoth office building. His eyes widened in horror, his hands slightly shook, he gaped at you, he had several questions milling around his mind. He had forgotten the inevitable break up, having fallen into a happy routine by your side. You knew you had to rip the bandaid off no time like the present to do so. He sat down, body shaking with emotion and he looked to you, your calm expression making him wonder what you felt to lead to this choice. Was this the end of your friendship?

“What do you mean? We’ve been so good together, this has been working so well? Why?! Give me a reason, something! You can’t just drop this on me like it’s okay!” His voice was quiet and cracking from the turmoil that fueled him with every syllable. He looked everywhere but at your face as he spoke, you were grateful he didn’t look at you. If he did you would have probably taken your words back and apologized whilst covering his face with lipstick coated kisses. You had to remain firm, you were hurting yourself with this plan, you had gotten so caught up in the act of lying you had forgotten to be true to yourself and now two people were hurt. You were breaking your own heart, you didn’t know however, how badly you had destroyed his.

“It’s time Jeongin, you and I both know what I mean. I adore you but it’s time to call it quits, you’re my best friend and I think we should go back to being friends.” You practically whispered. “Thank you for everything you have done for me, you will always be my best friend, never forget that.I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you beforehand. I couldn’t think of how to approach this, please understand this is for the best.” You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft squeeze before bundling your coat up tighter and walking through the cold late December snow. The white surrounding you glistened as the tears fell down your face. With every step the cracks in your heart deepened, every sniffle burned from the harsh winter air. It was like Mother Nature was punishing you for breaking your own heart. Your tears froze to your cheeks like icicles of heartache. The air in your lungs burned with every breath. Your walk home took much longer than usual, you had to stop and sit on snow coated benches to avoid running into others from how blurry the tears had made your vision. You were a wreck, shaking and sobbing, gathering looks from strangers. You couldn’t tell any of your friends the real reason you were so torn apart about this “breakup” without breaking a rule. You were in limbo grieving your romance that never was on your couch, alone. Absolutely heartbroken and alone.

Meanwhile on the bench Jeongin was still sitting, he shivered with every breath and his head was clutched in his hands. His teeth chattered from the cold wind whipping around him as his own tears froze to his skin. His chest felt empty, his heart cracked with each shaky breath he took in. His friend Hyunjin found him outside in his office coat shivering from the tears combined with the cold December air. Hyunjin consoled him for what felt like hours, holding Jeongin to his chest and rocking him like a child as the younger male sobbed.

After calming down Hyunjin escorted Jeongin to the sales team manager to discuss transferring teams. After discussing the matter the sales team manager Lee Minho knew for team morale and for two of the best employees at JYP it’d be best to keep you two apart in the office while you both healed. Minho emailed you too telling you he had some extra PTO in the budget and due to your diligence you had earned a few days off. You knew he likely saw everything as your breaks overlapped but accepted his show of sympathy as it granted you time to cry in peace.

Your long weekend ended the following Wednesday. You now had only seven days until the party and your heart was still smashed like a piece of pottery on the floor. Your ticket had long since been paid for as was the show stopping dress you had bought for the black tie affair. Every time you looked at that dress hanging in your closet encased in its garment bag you broke down. Jeongin went with you to find your party dress, the dress code had just gone out that day.

•Just after you two began fake dating•

“Black Tie? What does that mean, like we are all expected to be dressing like we are Will Smith in ‘Men in Black’?” Jeongin asks you as you both look at your phones reading the email. You point out the bottom where dress code guidelines are given and he gives a dramatic exclaim of, “Oooooohhh I get it now!” That same day you both go around Gangnam looking for gala appropriate clothing, thankfully your bosses had given company wide raises which allowed even menial employees like the two of you the luxury to afford clothing in the most expensive shopping district in Seoul. Jeongin had chosen his suit already and was waiting on you to try your final dress before you would resort to begging a friend for a gala gown of theirs. When you had stepped out in the dress you had chosen as your final pick Jeongin immediately faked a dramatic swoon and began to act as if he was worshiping you. You laughed slightly at his exaggerated reaction to the dress, he ended his little performance and sat back down in his seat to watch your own reaction to the dress.

You stood on the small podium in the shop and turned in a small circle showing off the dress’ ability to accentuate your curves and the right aspects of your body. The dress was a long slightly fitted gown with bishop sleeves, buttons down the bodice that perfectly matched the shade of the fabric, giving the gown a subtle classic touch. The deep v neckline accented your chest in a classy way that didn’t draw too much attention. The crimson color of the fabric enhanced every ounce of your beauty, looking in the mirror you didn’t see yourself the way you usually did. In that mirror wasn’t “Y/N the young woman working in a corporate job who was content with living a mundane life.” No, before you in your reflection was “Y/N, the young woman who had made early adult life her bitch” You felt like a queen, an ethereal goddess, a gorgeous, and powerful woman. You felt like every woman you had looked up to as you stared at your reflection.

You bought that red dress, but you didn’t buy the confidence it gave you. You couldn’t transfer the way you felt on that podium to your mental bank account to use as needed.

You didn’t know it at the time, but that confidence came from your hype man Jeongin’s support, and you couldn’t buy that either. you went home with a gorgeous gown and an air of elation around you.

•End Flashback•

The office felt lonely. You missed your friend, you missed your notes and coffees, you missed Jeongin being Jeongin. When you had come in you were quickly informed that Jeongin had transferred over to the international sales team and was the talk of their section of the buildingHe was a valuable new asset but he was apparently very quiet and avoidant of conversation. With his absence and the rumors already circulating about the breakup, Changbin had already swung back into action. He walked over to you as you were at the coffee machine preparing a cup to get you through the work you missed. Upon seeing him you began to abandon your Holy Grail of caffeine and walk toward your desk. He caught your wrist and gave you a pleading look.

“Hey Y/N, sorry about what I heard about you and Jeongin. Wait! Don’t leave just yet! Please! I have a little more I NEED to say. I’m sorry for not initially respecting you and your boundaries, I got some stupid advice and I uh have learned now not to take advice from others when one suggestion from them doesn’t work the first time around. Oh and uh not to keep asking someone out when they said no the first time.” His hand awkwardly rubbed against the back of his neck and he looked down. THE Changbin was nervous, looking like the human embodiment of the sweat drop emoji? Letting his guard down around you? You placed a gentle hand on his bicep and gave him the best smile you could. you knew that he needed some comfort. You could tell that this was eating at him a lot.

“Thank you Changbin, really. You’re actually the first person to just briefly talk to me about the breakup, everyone keeps asking questions instead of just saying

‘I heard about the breakup, that sucks. I hope you both are doing okay. let me know what I can do to help.’’ So thank you for just talking about something else even if it’s still dating related.” You mirthfully laugh and give his arm a soft squeeze and smiled kindly at him again. “You know I think we got off on the wrong foot Seo Changbin, friends?”

“Friends.” With grins on both of your faces you interlocked hands and shook like it was a business deal.

Your new friendship with Changbin was nothing like your friendship with Jeongin. Changbin would drag you to his workouts to teach you new techniques to add to your own very mild workout routine. He would be your cooking guinea pig. He would be the more wild person to get you out of your shell. But he wasn’t Jeongin, he wasn’t someone who knew you like the back of his hand, wasn’t as in sync with you, he was different. But leading up to the party, different was good, different was what you needed. Different wasn’t what caused your pain.

Jeongin heard about your friendship with Changbin and was seething. His mind raced with so many emotions and questions. Had you replaced him? Had he been so naive? Did he mean nothing to you? Was this all just a game? Had you ended both the ‘relationship’ and your friendship without really explaining to him? Was any of it real to you? The relationship with you was real from the moment he was able to kiss you better than the panicked one the day this fiasco began. To Jeongin it was real each time he would play with your hands and envelop your fingers in his. It was real the first moment he smelled the way your scented shampoo and perfume lived in harmony whilst you hugged. He was infatuated with everything about you, he wrote that rule whilst breaking it, he had loved you from the moment he agreed to kissing you. Now here you were playfully elbowing the man you wanted Jeongin to help you push away. Was this all a joke? Did you use him to get Changbin to change his strategy? He had no clue what to think or feel. All he knew was he was upset and he needed the truth.

The night of the party came and you and Changbin walked into the beautiful venue arm in arm. The company booked a glorious ballroom in a high rise building in Gangnam, with beautiful chandeliers and a balcony overlooking the city. The windows have a perfect view of what would be the midnight fireworks. The setting was glorious, the food was spread through the room so guests could mingle, and of course the alcohol was bottomless. A recipe for either a magical night, or a tragic night, you as the chef had to decide.

You and Changbin made your way to the balcony and he wrapped his suit jacket around you and you leaned your head on his shoulder. For a while you sat in silence watching the bustling city below you. The sounds of honking cars, drunken cheers, and music lulled you into a sense of melancholic peace.

“Y/N, so never told you but I figured out you and Jeongin weren’t actually dating.” He muttered quietly so no one else would hear him, unfortunately you were not so tactful. The gulp of champagne you had just taken was still in your mouth, however it quickly flew out of your mouth and onto the immaculate marble floor. No one thankfully saw your spit take. Trying to regain composure, you dabbed your mouth clean with a napkin and gave your friend a shocked glare.

“Wait, what, how, what, again huh?!” You harshly sputtered in confusion and slight panic. You were careful to keep your voice hushed even though you wanted to squawk like a panicked bird at this revelation.

“It was the bar night, you drunkenly questioned a compliment from Jeongin and acted like he never complimented you or your physical features and Chan and I found it weird and basically we ended up kinda analyzing how you two interacted. It almost seemed like you were faking a relationship, but I can see now your feelings for him were so real. You really loved him didn’t you?” Changbin opened his arms and you quickly found purchase gripping his shirt and nodding, you focused on holding the tears in as to preserve your makeup and his shirt. Changbin softly rubbed your back and whispered soft affirmations to you to help ease the pain. After seeing how hurt your breakup, if you could realistically call it that made you feel he knew he couldn’t have you, and he was more than okay with just seeing you happy, even if you had found that happiness in another man’s arms. He had mentally moved on from you being the object of his affection and already saw you as a good friend. His affections for you, now platonic felt much better. You gave Changbin a small smile, it didn’t quite reach your eyes. He gave you a knowing one back and brushed off your whispered words of gratitude.

The heartfelt interaction between you two was cut short by an angry Jeongin storming over. “Changbin, if you could excuse us for a few moments I need to steal Y/N for a few minutes to talk.”

“I- Y/N are you okay with this?” Changbin’s apprehension seemed to make the tension among the three of you grow like a bamboo stalk, sharply and quickly. You knew Jeongin and you needed to talk, you just wish it wasn’t right here and right now.

“Binnie I can do this, go have fun. We can talk later. I promise I’ll be okay.” You whisper and hand him back his coat. You quickly followed Jeongin down a corridor far enough from the gala to have a private talk.

“So I see you found a new best friend, or is Binnie your new boyfriend?” Jeongin’s voice was sharp as a blade, cutting you down with each word. Hurt and shock must’ve flashed in your eyes because before you knew it he had stepped back to add more distance between you two. He backed up against a wall trying to not make eye contact with you. “I’m hurt Y/N, fucking broken, you didn’t just fake breakup with me you ditched me for the next best thing, you fucking replaced me. For all I know I was a pawn to make him realize how you wanted to be treated, I could have been a tool to show him how desirable you were, or a tool to make yourself look better to others?! YOU GAVE ME NO REASON! Nothing! No communication either. You never once took a moment to check in on me, not a single time were you asking about my department change, it was like the next shiny thing came and I was forgotten in the mud like a toy, Y/N. Were you too absorbed in yourself to notice I was dying out there?” Your knees gave out as you slumped to the floor and sobs wracked your body. you had selfishly tried to guard your heart, and in the process you broke his and your own if you had been honest and told him your feelings, this wouldn’t have happened and you knew that.

“I don’t even know what to say to explain to you how undeniably sorry I am for what I did. I didn’t want our fake relationship to ruin our very real friendship and I guess it kind of did.” Your words cut Jeongin as did your tone of hurt and reluctant acceptance. You reminded him of how he never had gotten to really call you his, and him raising his voice in hurt may have made things worse. With nothing to lose he continued laying it all out to you.

“I guess you’re right. Well at least you’re happier now with him huh?” He sneered looking down at your shaking form. Your red dress was pitched up as you clutched your knees to your chest. All he could compare you to in his mind was the saddest gumdrop he had ever seen, and he just wanted to take it all back and hold you and say everything was fine. But it wasn’t fine and he was too far gone to stop.

“Why are you so upset I worked it out with Changbin and we’re friends now? Why is that such an issue to you? Communication is a two way street Jeongin and you never once reached out to me either. But that I guess is whatever, what isn’t is you being so mad I made a friend when I was also hurting. So again… Why. Do. You. Care?” By the end of your rant your finger was poking his chest on each of those four words. Your eyes boring into his and your glare matching his. The next thing you knew two hands were clutching your face and your back was pressed against the wall where he was previously standing. You both exchanged a heated kiss, teeth clashing together in an uncoordinated embrace, the kiss went from messy to passionate as you both found rhythm. Hands wandered briefly, panting breaths were exchanged. Saliva transferred from one mouth to the other as his tongue began to find its home in your mouth. It was a crescendo of emotions and need, the days of pining, embarrassment, and turmoil being left behind in exchange for desire, adoration, and pure magic. Your fingers quickly found his hair and his stayed on your cheeks gripping onto your skin like if he wasn’t holding you down you would slip through his fingers. He put every emotion he had into the kiss. Both of you felt hot salty tears run from your eyes as you parted to take deep breaths. Before Jeongin let his desire to kiss you again take hold of him, he knew he had to explain himself, he wish he could throw all of his mistakes into an abyss, but he knew he had to tell you the truth.

“Because I am so undeniably in love with you. I realized right after our plan was underway. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was instantly drawn to you, I truly didn’t know it was possible to meet a piece of heaven until I met you. That’s why I’m mad, because I could lose you, and losing you to him would break me beyond repair.” His voice cracked and cut in and out due to how hard he was fighting more tears.

“Jeongin look at me. Baby, look. at. me.” You tilted his chin with your fingers and looked directly into his watery eyes. “I ran away because I was scared, falling in love with your best friend is terrifying, the day I ended the fake dating was just after I realized how much I loved you. The day we got this dress, I realized I only wanted your opinion on my event wear because you made me feel beautiful. I fucking love you Yang Jeongin and that is terrifying to me.” At your confession, he pulled you into a warm embrace and nuzzled his head to your neck and inhaled the comforting scent of your perfume while you listened to his heartbeat as it settled. As you both hugged and whispered sweet words affirming your feelings for one another you heard a some exclamations coming from behind Jeongin. You had an instinct to look over his shoulder and there were Chan and Changbin exchanging cash with some other coworkers who had all bet on your relationship actually coming into fruition. As you smiled at the sight, you made eye contact with a beaming Changbin who held a big double thumbs up your way, you giggled and shook your head and looked up at your boyfriend, who was now very real. He smiled down at you and shared in your giggles of pure joy. The party began to grow into a full roar as midnight grew closer.

“5….4….3….2….1! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

As one chapter of life closed and another opened, you shared your first very real kiss, of your now very real relationship. No rules, no faking, no bad pickup lines, and to Jeongin’s chagrin; a beefy new friend to help you get strong enough to carry Jeongin out of the bar when he’s too drunk. Who would have thought a less than stellar acting performance, coupled with some jealousy and a himbo sidekick was what was needed for JYP’s resident versions of Pam and Jim to get together after all.

The End

Tag List:

@veryjeongintxtkid @thisisnotjacinta @shycreationdreamland

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©️ LazyStar

Disclaimer.

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Please do not share my work on any other platform without my express written permission. Please do not translate my work and repost it to another website. Do not place ANY of my work into Chat GPT or similar AI programs.

This is a work of fiction any real people mentioned (Stray Kids) are characters in this piece. This is not to be used for any real comparisons or depictions of the real people mentioned:)

No one sue me pls i am poor.

#stray kids x reader #lazystarwrites #skz fanfic #jeongin x reader #skz x reader #kpop x reader #office romance #“y/n needs to be in the eras tour - my homie #jeongin be kinda a bitch - one of my beta readers

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avanatural · 2 years

Text

Mind Games

Part 2

Series summary: Set in 1984. It’s that time of the year – the supes are having the time of their lives at the Herogasm festival. Soldier Boy seems to have taken a special interest in Y/N, a fellow superhero.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x female Reader

Category: Angst, smut, 18+

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smoking, mentions of sex, attempted sexual coercion, cursing, violence, Soldier Boy crossing boundaries, dub-con elements

A/N: This story contains sexual content! Do not read if you’re under the age of 18! Part two to celebrate reaching over 800 followers! 💃 You guys are amazing, thank you so much for supporting me! 💖 I hope you enjoy! Wanna be added to my Soldier Boy tag list? Send me an ask!

Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Soldier Boy Masterlist | Part 3

Main Masterlist

♩ Solid Gold ♩

“It’s Solid Gold! Starring Marilyn McCoo, Kim Karnes, The Oak Ridge Boys, Waylan Flowers & Madame, the Solid Gold dancers, and very special guest… Soldier Boy!”

I grunted internally, resisting the urge to toss my head back against the worn-out couch. He was everywhere. And I mean everywhere. On posters, in theaters, even on goddamn lunch boxes, and now on Solid Gold, hence, in my tiny fucking living room. On a Saturday night, nonetheless, when all I wanted was to relax and drink my goddamn wine in peace.

From the corner of my eye, I could see my twelve-year-old sister’s eyes light up as Soldier Boy showed up on the tv-screen. He waltzed onto that stage like he owned it, holding a microphone, smiling that stupidly attractive smile. He looked straight into the camera, his eyes framed by a brand-new helmet. My insides started to tingle as I recalled how I had broken his previous helmet at Herogasm.

Soldier Boy’s deep voice echoed through the small living room as he spoke, “Good evening, everyone! I wanna dedicate this performance to a very special someone…”

My eyes wanted to roll to the back of my head. He was surely talking about Crimson Countess again. I knew that at this point, the two of them were only required to keep up their little romance for the public eye. Which, by the way, annoyed the fuck out of her.

Soldier Boy proved me very, very wrong, though. The tingling sensation in my belly intensified a thousandfold as he continued, “She likes to wear leather, and her eyes can light up any room she enters, literally! She’s a force to be reckoned with, let me tell ya. Trouble, this one’s for you!” He winked at the camera as if it was the most natural thing and started to perform “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon.

Meanwhile, my blood felt as though it had turned into thick ice cubes. My eyes went round as I repeated his words in my mind. Trouble was my supe name, my persona, if you will, and Soldier Boy had just mentioned me to the world. Light up any room, my ass. He made me want to light up his fucking mind.

“What- Whoa! Did he just say Trouble?”, Lily, my little sister, inquired, her voice rising like a phoenix from the ashes. She almost jumped up off the couch.

I just observed the screen, watching Soldier Boy sway his hips with a look of pure bewilderment on my face. What the actual fuck?

Lily shook my arm, effectively dragging me out of my trance. “Y/N-“

“No. No, just forget it. He wasn’t talking about me,” I quickly brushed her off and reached for the remote.

In true annoying-little-sister fashion, Lily snatched the remote from my hand, wearing that big puppy-frown on her face. “Y/N! You know Soldier Boy and you didn’t tell me about it?”

Oh, yeah, did I mention my sister was Payback’s number one fan? All her life, she’d dreamed about having superpowers like me and being friends with great heroes like Soldier Boy.

I sighed, pushing some exhausted air from my lungs. “It’s no big deal, okay?”

“No- No big deal? He acknowledged you on tv! How long have you known him? Wait, are you dating or something??”, she rambled, the questions flowing out of her mouth like one single word.

My nose wrinkled. “God, no.” That asshole just played with my feelings at a fucking superhero orgy. “He’s just messing with me.”

“So, you’re friends?”

“No, we’re not.” I sighed again and got up from the couch, trying to wrap my head around the fact that Soldier Boy had addressed me on television. I didn’t know what his intention was, and it was driving me insane. Did he want to put some kind of pressure on me? “I’m gonna make you some dinner, okay?”, I suggested to my sister, needing to distract myself, already heading for the kitchen.

“Is this about the letter you got?”, Lily blurted, sitting up straight on the couch.

I paused, holding my breath for a second, and slowly spun around to face her. “What?”

“The letter,” she repeated and gave me a shrug so innocent that I almost couldn’t be mad at her for knowing my little secret. Almost. “From… From Vought.”

With a creased brow, I took a step closer to her, raising my voice. “You went through my mail?”

“I just…” Lily shrugged again, her face turning apologetic. “I saw the Vought logo on it. I couldn’t help it! You’d already opened it. I only read a few lines, I swear.”

“Lily, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

I took a deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest, thinking about my next move as Soldier Boy danced across my tv screen without a care in the world. God, he was infuriating, putting me from one uncomfortable position into the next.

“But Y/N, they want you to sign a contract!”, Lily exclaimed, her little face lighting up with excitement. Of course, she would think this was all a dream come true.

“They want me to join Payback,” I clarified. My stomach fluttered nervously as I said it out loud for the very first time. For the past two weeks, I had kept the letter to myself, just brooding on my own.

My sister got up from the couch with a little bounce. “You have to do it! Oh my God, that’s so fucking cool!”

“Language.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I can’t join Payback.”

“But… I thought you’d want to work for Vought,” my sister argued. Her eyes were wide with misunderstanding.

I couldn’t blame her for not getting it. But I couldn’t tell her about my encounter with Soldier Boy. I couldn’t tell her that I got a fucked-up vibe from him. And I certainly couldn’t tell her how he’d used my powers against me at Herogasm. She was just a kid. I wanted her to be able to keep enjoying all that supe stuff as long as possible.

With a scowl on my face, I thought back to my last conversation with Payback’s leader. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

A month earlier

“For the record, I see why they fucking call you Trouble,” Soldier Boy stated, his voice deep and gravelly as he pointed his finger at his broken helmet on the floor.

My jaw was clenched so tightly that it ached. I could still feel the electricity pumping through my veins. I absolutely hated the effect that this guy had on me. I hated what he brought out in me. I didn’t want to be this impulsive, angry supe anymore. “Are we done here?”, I asked cautiously, my body still tense as a fucking brick, ready to fight.

“Oh, I don’t think we are.” Soldier Boy took a step towards me, his bright green eyes sparkling darkly. He took my chin between his fingers and made me look at him. His spicy scent hit me again, mingling with the smell of the cigars he’d been smoking. “You ever thought about joining my team? Hm?”

I held his gaze, unwilling to miss even the slightest change in his eyes. I knew I was in danger right now. But so was he. “Once or twice.”

His tongue slid along his lips, so slowly that it seemed like he was tasting something he wanted to savor. “What if I told you I knew a way for you to get in?”

I didn’t reply. No, I just eyed him, trying desperately to figure him out. He was riling me up, humoring me, baiting me, all at once.

“What if I told you…,” he continued, his penetrating green stare not wavering in the slightest, “That I could make a personal recommendation for you to join Payback? Swatto’s basically on his way out, anyway. That stupid fucker. They’re all a bunch of pussies, really.”

Joining the most famous, best paid team of superheroes? Any other supe would surely sink their teeth into that offer like a starving hyena. But this kind of thing definitely didn’t just happen to you. No, it took years to achieve a goal like that. It took an amount of effort that I had never been willing to put into anything my entire life. “What’s the catch?”

He scoffed, his gaze dropping to my mouth. His hand wandered, slowly slipping from my chin down to my throat. He didn’t grab it, didn’t squeeze it, no, his hand just laid on my throat, resting there in an alarmingly calm manner. “No fucking catch. Just glory.”

“You would do that for me?”, I asked, my voice laced with distrust, “After what I just did?”

“That little fucking stunt you just pulled… I gotta say you’re… intriguing.” For a brief second, his hand curled around my throat, giving a small squeeze, but then it went back to just resting there. “You could be of service to us. To me.”

I arched my eyebrows as his blunt fingertips left a tingling sensation on my skin. “What are you suggesting?”

“You and I…” He licked his lips again, his fingers sneaking lower to brush the top of my cleavage. “We’re gonna have a fun little chat upstairs. In private.”

I covered his hand with mine and pushed his fingers away from my skin. He’d just taken me right to the edge again. My anger rushed back to the surface, making my blood feel like it was boiling. Who the hell did the think he was? “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Soldier Boy huffed, his broad shoulders twitching with cockiness. “You’re a tough one to crack. But I like a fucking challenge.” His eyebrows and lips curled smugly as he stepped away from me. “I’ll be seein’ you around, Y/N. That’s a fucking promise.”

Present

“Why wouldn’t you wanna work for Vought?”, Lily inquired, her brows twirling with confusion, her long ponytail swaying back and forth as she shook her head, “You’d be famous!”

I inhaled slowly, trying to think of an excuse I could tell my sister. Sure, if I joined Payback, our financial problems would disappear into thin air. I'd be able to offer Lily a stable home. I wouldn’t have to struggle to hold down a job. I wouldn’t need to partake in stupid casting shows in the hopes of getting a spot in a shitty superhero team. Not that I’d ever been welcomed into any superhero team. Rising from literally nothing to Payback? The offer sounded too good to be true. And also shady as hell. I had zero field experience, and now fucking Vought came knocking on my door?

“I don’t wanna be famous.” I shrugged my shoulders, close to being at a loss for words. I didn’t wanna be famous. Did I? It suddenly occurred to me that I had no goddamn clue what I truly wanted. All I knew was that Soldier Boy and Vought’s attention flattered me more than I would have liked to admit.

I was almost grateful when the telephone started to ring, interrupting my train wreck of thoughts. On somewhat wobbly legs, I walked into the hallway, whose walls were painted a horrendous dirty white color. I reached for the telephone, which was placed on an old little side table next to our battered shoe cabinet. “Hello?”

“This is Stanford Edgar,” a male voice echoed through my ear, “I’m an associate with Vought American. I wish to speak to Y/N Y/L/N.”

“You’re talking to her,” I replied, pressing the phone closer to my ear and curling my free hand around the phone cord.

“Miss Y/L/N, it was brought to my attention that you have been contacted by our company.”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and threw a quick glance towards the living room, hoping that my eavesdropper of a sister was keeping herself in check. “I got your letter.”

“I see. I’m really sorry to tell you that the letter you received contained false information.”

What, now? I could feel the line between my eyebrows wrinkle. I could practically hear my mother’s disapproving voice in my head, saying, ‘It makes you look unpleasant, dear.’ I sighed out loud. “Come again?”

“We would like to apologize and rectify our mistake. And we would like to do so by offering you what one could call a… trial run.”

“A trial run?”

“Yes. Vought American would like to welcome you to the movie set of Payback Rising.”

Payback Rising. Another one of those super popular Vought movies that was currently being filmed. I’d seen the announcement in the newspaper.

“You’ll have a small speaking role, meet the team,” Edgar continued, “Meet important associates.”

My fist closed around the phone cord. “I thought I was being invited to join the team, not act in their newest movie. I wanna know what’s going on, Mr. Edgar. Right now.” There was a short sigh on the other end of the line. Surely, I was being an inconvenience to his company. That was fine, though. I’d never been anything other than an inconvenience my entire life.

“That letter…”, he spoke, “It was sent to you before Vought had a chance to authorize it. I would like to personally apologize for the misunderstanding. If it’s any consolation, we do believe that your powers could be an enrichment for Payback. We’d just like to get to know you first. We will not leave you without compensation, of course.”

I arched my eyebrows. And since I couldn’t see Edgar, I arched them at Lily’s newest poster of the TNT Twins that she’d put up the day before. “Compensation?”

“Financial compensation for your troubles.”

“Uhm…” I paused for a second. Even though I had no desire to learn lines and act in a superhero movie, compensation did sound tempting. I needed money to pay the bills. I needed money for my sister. She needed new shoes, new school supplies. It was just me and her. I had already fucked up her life enough with my irresponsibility. “How much money are we talking?”

Two weeks later

I arched my eyebrows as his blunt fingertips left a tingling sensation on my skin. “What are you suggesting?”

“You and I…” He licked his lips again, his fingers wandering lower to brush the top of my cleavage. “We’re gonna have a fun little chat upstairs. In private.”

My hand collided with his cheek in an instant. Soldier Boy’s face turned to the side, the impact powerful enough to make him lose his balance a bit. He was caught off guard, so I took my chance to hit him again, using my fist this time. He groaned in pain as it collided with his cheekbone.

The sound of his pained grunt was music to my fucking ears. And then I just kept punching him, pushing him, kicking him until the blood started to flow.

Again.

And again.

And-

With each harsh thrust of his hips, he went deeper, knocking the air from my lungs, making the wall shake. All I could to was gasp and groan, time and time again.

“Look at me,” he kept repeating, demanding that I try to keep up the eye contact. He was so rough that I expected him to break me. But he didn’t. My wetness took all of him until he was buried so deeply inside of me that-

“Y/N?”

I snapped out of my visions and looked up, disoriented. Then I remembered that I was on the set of Payback Rising, sitting in front of a mirror. The make-up artist, Jeanine, was gazing down at me with a concerned look on her face. My hands were digging into the armrests of my make-up chair.

Had I just envisioned beating the crap out of Soldier Boy? Yes. Had my mind gone an entirely different route by reliving Soldier Boy’s mental images from Herogasm instead? Also, yes.

“I’m good,” I replied, squinting up at Jeanine. I may have been able to enter other people’s minds, but I myself had a very vivid imagination, too. When I got lost in a daydream, it could be hard to get a hold of me and pull me back to reality. As a kid, I’d spent hours just hanging out in my very own comfort fantasies.

“Are you sure?”, she asked.

I brushed her off with a small wave of my hand. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Before she could ask any more questions, a male voice entered our conversation. “Well, well, well, and what do we have here? Who is this pretty lady?”

I turned around in my chair and saw a tall man who had to be 30-ish trudge towards us. He wore a black suit, a big pair of brown sunglasses, and carried a cigar between his fingers. With a casual gesture of his hand, he signaled for Jeanine to leave. She followed his request immediately, zero hesitation, and walked right off.

“I’m new here,” I replied drily, looking up at the man.

He pointed his finger at me, casually wriggling it from side to side with a smile on his face. “You must be Trouble. I’ve been looking for you fucking everywhere. I’m Vought’s VP of hero management.”

Well, that certainly rang a bell. My eyebrows climbed up my forehead. “You’re The Legend.”

He pulled on his cigar, quickly pushed the smoke back out, and placed his hand over his heart. “That’s exactly who the fuck I am, doll. I’m supposed to apologize for that misunderstanding with your letter. A real fucking shame, if you ask me.”

The way he emphasized the word ‘misunderstanding’ caught my attention. My eyes narrowed at him. “What do you know about that?”

He chuckled and used his cigar to point at my face. “I see you’re a cut to the chase-kinda girl. I get why the fuck chose you.”

“Chose me?”

The Legend shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant fashion. A whole cloud of heavy cigar scent surrounded him. “Yeah. Soldier Boy.”

Hearing his name made me hold my breath for a second. So far, I hadn’t met him on the set. Thank fuck. I looked around to see if anyone could have been listening to us. Lowering my voice, I asked, “So, he really recommended me to Vought?”

The Legend tilted his head at me. “Is that so surprising?”

“It is, actually,” I responded, “Him and I… We kinda started off on the wrong foot. And that’s probably an understatement. Is he out to get me? Is he trying to humiliate me or something?” If I needed to watch out, I wanted to at least be prepared.

The Legend laughed. “Hold your fucking horses, Sweetheart. Soldier Boy likes to play! The harder you are to break, the easier it’ll be for him to keep you in mind. He likes the assertive type. To a certain extent, at least. You’re his new plaything, his most recent obsession. That shit usually doesn’t last too long.”

“So, what am I really doing here?”, I demanded, subtly shaking my head, “This can’t actually be a trial run.”

“Well, Edgar wasn’t too happy that Soldier Boy made an assistant write that fucking letter to you, without Vought’s knowledge. You seem like a smart girl. You can figure it out. What the fuck do you think this is?”

I didn’t need to read his mind to comprehend what he was getting at. Honestly, I’d had a bad feeling ever since I’d arrived on the movie set. No one had really spoken to me, and definitely no Vought associates. Oh, and my role was trash. I was gonna be ‘saved’ by none other than the great Soldier Boy himself. I ran my tongue along my lips and shortly closed my eyes. It was official – I was a fucking dumbass that had been baited with money. “They’re gonna make me ‘damsel in distress number thirteen’ in the movie and throw me out like garbage.” These bastards really thought that by giving me the time of day, they could get rid of me.

He clicked his tongue and pointed his cigar at me. “You’re indeed a smart one, doll. Swatto may be about to lose his fucking job, but Vought’s certainly not looking for a second Mindstorm to replace him. No offense.”

I scoffed, but couldn’t hide away my smile. His straightforwardness was refreshing in this whole goddamn mess.

The Legend smirked back at me. “Let me give you one little piece of advice, okay?” He leaned closer to me. So close that I could see his pale blue eyes underneath his brown sunglasses. “Never take anyone’s shit. Doesn’t matter if it’s Stan fucking Edgar or Soldier Boy or the goddamn Pope, for Christ’s sake. Give ‘em hell. That’s how you make it in this God-forsaken world. You do whatever the fuck you need to do, just don’t ever take anyone’s shit. Keep that in mind. And quote me on that. Fucking inspiring shit.” As he sent a wink in my direction, his mouth closed around the cigar again. He then walked away, looking free as a bird, as if he hadn’t just told me to give the Pope hell.

I looked into the mirror in front of me, barely recognizing myself. Not because I looked different, no, the make-up artist had barely gone to work. No, when I stared back at myself, I couldn’t find my spirit. My defiance. The Legend was right. I was not going to take anyone’s shit on this set. I clenched my jaw and pushed myself up off my chair.

With my hands balled into fists, I walked in between the trailers, trying to find a very specific one.

The movie set was surrounded by nature. Wherever you looked, you were met with green beauty. But I couldn’t see any of that. I just wanted to act on my impulses and get my rage out of my system. Old habits die hard, indeed.

I didn’t need to search for him very hard. In the distance, I was quick to spot his giant frame. My eyes morphed into two angry slits as I hurried towards him, my cautions thrown overboard. For now, at least.

Soldier Boy was standing in front of his trailer, carrying a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. His helmet was off, his long strands of hair a little tousled as he treated himself to a break. A break that I was fully intending to interrupt.

“Hey!”

He looked up as he drew on his cigarette, pulling the smoke into his mouth. A look of recognition passed his face as he released the smoke, creating waves of faint fog around his face. “Y/N!”, he exclaimed, dragging out the sound of my name. One look at my angry face, and he taunted, “Am I in trouble?”, his tongue peeking out between his ample lips.

“What are you doing?” I got straight to the point, knowing that if I hesitated for just a second, the fear would sink in and inhibit my courage.

Soldier Boy stood tall, his back straightened with confidence, as he stalked closer to me on his bowlegs. “What’s it fucking look like?”

“It looks like you’re trying to play games with me,” I replied honestly, looking up at him with as much bravery as I could muster. His beard had grown out more since the last time I’d seen him. He looked good. But also tired.

“Games, huh?” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and slowly let his eyes roam the open space surrounding us.

There was no one else there but the two of us. As I took notice of the vulnerable position I’d put myself in, my stomach took a small turn. My shield of courage was slowly being crushed by the weight that was the dark aura surrounding Soldier Boy. But I would have been damned if I’d let it show.

“Last time I checked,” Soldier Boy continued, narrowing both his voice and his emerald eyes at me, “You were the one playing fucking games.”

“Me?” He couldn’t be serious, could he? “You were the one who-“

“You were the one who teased me,” he talked over me. His kept a straight face, but I could see how much he was enjoying this. There was a sparkle in his eyes, and I hated him for it. “With that little fucking dress.” He pointed at my white leather dress. “And that death stare, you were practically begging for me to screw your brains out. And now you’re gonna act fucking coy, huh?”

“Listen,” I said, causing him to raise his eyebrows at me expectantly, “You people can’t make and withdraw offers as you please. I’m a person, not a toy. And I have a kid to look out for.”

Wrinkles of surprise emerged on his forehead. “You’re a mom, huh?” He went from surprised to pleased, his mouth twisting into a slight grin.

“I’m a sister. And Vought is doing nothing but waste my time with this whole ‘You’re special, but oh, wait, we don’t care after all!’-crap.”

Soldier Boy wet his lips and then pursed them. “You know… I just can’t seem to decide,” he stated, his voice having dropped seductively.

“Decide what?”, I demanded.

“If I wanna bend you or break you.”

A hot shiver shot up my spine. Pictures of him taking me against the wall rushed through my mind, like a wound being reopened. Yes, I had recalled his mental images of us many times after Herogasm. He was an ass, but I was attracted to the danger he radiated. I had a stupid weakness for the bad ones.

Soldier Boy took another step closer, making me jump into action and take a step back in response. “I’m outta here,” I stated weakly. I didn’t know if I wanted to hurt or fuck him. But I had gotten what I’d wanted to say off my chest, so I knew it was time to get the hell away before I was going to regret my little rant.

I turned on my white leather boots, but I only got to take one step before Soldier Boy called after me, saying the magic words that could always persuade me.

“Care for a drink?”

Part 3

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