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shibaraki · 10 months

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LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: slow to heal and forced on sick leave, a lonely Todoroki Shouto decides to download the latest popular app, Enigmail, to cure his boredom. he finds you. the rest is… well. moderately disastrous.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, pen pal au, hero personal assistant reader, prohero shouto, strangers to friends to lovers, injury recovery, online friendship + eventual romance, feelings development, misunderstandings, identity reveal, pining, sexting, masturbation (male chara), making out + heavy petting, getting together, *slaps roof of fic* you can fit so much fluff in this thing

wc: 17K

It started unexpectedly—with a tremor.

Rather, it started with Oda Shuichi, the prolific villain known as Tremor. At the time of the incident his quirk had been unregistered, but doctors quickly found that it severely affected an individual's motor neurons. According to them the length of time that he has a five point touch hold on someone influences how long they will lose motor function—and how poorly their muscles atrophy.

Shouto spent three uninterrupted minutes trapped in his clutches.

“I promise I’ll come by and visit whenever we can. You’ll still get updates and reports through your work email,” Midoriya tried to assure him with that signature smile, brows drawn together into an almost pleading expression. “It’s just for a little while!”

“For a month,” Shouto pointed out petulantly. Nori, his elderly adopted cat, stirred from her place on his stomach while restless fingers combed over her short pale fur.

“A month,” Midoriya parrots. He offers an apologetic grimace and leans over where he lies horizontal, slumped and agitated, to fluff up the couch cushions behind him. The newly crowned Symbol of Peace obviously felt needlessly responsible for the situation at hand. Shouto had only allowed Tremor to grab him so Deku and Suneater could get the hostages out, after all.

“Taking a break isn’t so bad, Shouto. And Hawks told me you’ve yet to actually use any of your vacation days,” he continued. “Even Kacchan takes time off. Do you know how many hours you have to work to outdo Kacchan?”

“I’m sure you could tell me exact numbers”.

“Don’t be mean,” Midoriya said, dithering as he peers around the room, slightly unfamiliar now that the furniture has been temporarily moved around to make navigating the space easier. Thanks to an on-call specialist Shouto would still be able to walk in short bursts, but he’d have to gradually build up strength and stamina over the weeks to come.

A pleased sound reverberated in Midoriya’s throat as he finally discovered the TV remote, setting it beside Shouto’s phone on the arm of the chair. “Okay. There,” he hooked an ankle around the coffee table and dragged it a little closer. “If you need us to get you anything from the store just text us”.

Shouto grumbled. Midoriya sighed, fondly exasperated at the childish display. Before leaving he moved the nearby pair of crutches within reach, listing off all the things he can think of, “Hey, maybe you can catch up on Quirky Hearts now! Or read that series Iida said you’d enjoy. There’s that new app I heard about, too. Enigmail? That might be fun”.

The anonymous pen pal app, Enigmail, exploded in popularity after its release in the spring. Shouto barely knew a thing about it, only that you needed to be over eighteen and chatting partners were assigned at random. Nothing about that sounded tempting.

Midoriya’s suggestion hung over his head for the rest of that afternoon. Quirky Hearts droned on in the background. Halfway through the first episode Shouto had yet to retain any information. Nori hardly left her spot. Jaws stretched wide around a yawn, lips pulled back to display what remained of her teeth. He liked to think she sensed his inner turmoil, though realistically, she was likely too lazy to move.

Curiosity prevailed in the end. The logo featured a pink post mounted mailbox, the slot unhinged to receive a folded paper plane. Shouto opened the app onto a pretty basic interface that followed an almost pastel theme. The profiles are barebones. He supposed that was purposeful. It asked for pronouns and a nickname, offering the option to pick an icon from their default library, but nothing more.

From what he could discern skimming over the rules he would be assigned to a random chat room with another person in a speed dating style interaction. A timer would count down from two minutes and upon completion prompt the user to either switch partners or remain talking.

A simple concept. But anything had sounded better than sulking horizontally and staring dead eyed at reality television for the remainder of his night. And when was the last time he met somebody new?

Almost every username he could think up had been taken. Even his hero name was unavailable. In a last ditch effort he settled on a miraculously accepted Sooba and scrolled through the icons. “Hey, it looks like you,” he murmured, pleased by the regal white cat icon. She hadn’t heard him, but sunk her dull claws into the meat of his forearm as he turned the image to her, those dramatic yellow eyes dilating at his coo, “Don’t worry. You’re the only Nori in my life”.

Shouto clicked start.

The first few users are odd, and without tact. Others communicated in languages he couldn’t understand. He stuck around regardless—luckily the developers had thought to include a translation tool, and Shouto managed to befriend one or two people with innocuous pictures he’d taken on previous patrols alone.

Then there’s…

XpLoveGuest ▻ Hey sexy

By that point early evening had already flooded through his balcony doors and drenched everything in a gauzy orange glow. His nose wrinkled. “You have no idea what I look like,” he thought aloud, switching to his right hand to roll the ache from his left wrist

▻ ASL?

Shouto frowned in faint confusion. He minimised the app to search up the term. Results flowed in, and after a brief look over everything he discovered they all repeated the same description. It’s an old acronym.

His thumbs tapped across the keyboard in quick succession.

Sooba ▻ Age: 27 ▻ Location: Tokyo ▻ Sex: No thank you

The chat immediately disappeared. A loading symbol blinks in the centre of the screen. He snorted, and suddenly a new chat opened with a different username blinking at the top corner. It’s a bit on the nose.

‘InsertNameHere’.

You shared the same default cat icon, which he took as an immediate plus.

But a minute elapsed and nobody spoke. There was an unusual trepidation on your part. Shouto chewed his bottom lip. He contemplated starting the conversation when suddenly three dots skipped across the screen, indicating the other user was typing something.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re not going to send me a picture of your dick, are you? ▻ If you have one that is.

Shouto’s mouth parted in soft surprise, then pressing defensively thin, and he had glanced around his living room as though someone were there to witness this weirdness alongside him.

Sooba ▻ I have one.

InsertNameHere ▻ Ok. Well I don’t want to see it.

Sooba ▻ It sounds like you see a lot of dicks.

Not once taking his eyes away from the screen, Shouto felt for the TV remote and paused the show, brow arching at your next response.

InsertNameHere ▻ And it sounds like you’re new here.

Sooba ▻ I am. My friend recommended I try this to cure my boredom while I recover.

A few beats passed. He eyed the countdown looming over your shared interaction, conscious of how little time is left. You were the first interesting person he’s come across. Though he supposed that isn’t saying much.

InsertNameHere ▻ Recover? That sounds bad. Are you alright?

Sooba ▻ Injury at work. I’ll be fine in a few weeks.

Just as you were beginning to respond, the timer cut out. Shouto reflexively expelled his frustration and Nori lifted her head toward the abrupt movement of his chest, ears twitching. She blinked up at him in disapproval for shaking her. “Sorry sweet girl,” he murmured, wearing a small smile as he scratched under her chin. So temperamental.

A familiar pop up in the cartoonish shape of a postcard covered the chat. Your messages blurred into the background. It read: Do you wish to continue corresponding?

Shouto clicked ‘Yes’. And apparently you did too, because your contact pinned itself to his in-app mailbox.

A melodic chime pinged from his phone. Confetti burst across the off white background in pixelated blooms.

✎ CONGRATULATIONS! You have a new pen pal ✐

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess I can keep you company in the meantime. ▻ You’re the only sane person I’ve come across so far.

Shouto smiled, even as the muscles in his cheeks protested. It’s a stubborn reminder of his condition. He repositioned himself to lessen the strain on his wrists, chin tucked to his chest where his phone is propped, and said:

Sooba ▻ I’d like that. :)

The fortnight that followed is slow to pass. An endless cycle of wake, stretch, eat, lightly exercise as instructed by his physiotherapist, play with Nori, eat, watch Quirky Hearts, stretch. Midoriya stopped by, bringing Iida along with him. Jirou sent him playlists to listen to. Fuyumi called every evening and shared the phone with his mother, gentle in their fretting. He assures them all that he’s coping just fine from the Shouto-shaped depression in his couch cushions.

But there’s also you; the stream of consciousness keeping his seams together, lest he fall apart from the complete and utter boredom he’s been forced to endure. In the beginning he wasn’t sure of the rules. Talking online is not his forte and neither is making new friends. That entire first morning was spent ruminating whether or not texting you ‘good morning’ was strange, and estimating how many times was appropriate to message you before he violated some invisible social boundary.

Normal had been irrelevant until now. Normal, to Shouto, consisted of avoiding his father’s phone calls, sending the occasional concussive text message—indecipherable to even the greatest cryptanalysts—and giving Nori updates in the 1A Grad group chat.

Sometimes he’ll open the app to see you typing, pausing, typing. Imagining you, a faceless someone, equally uncertain about your footing pleases him a little. In the end he figured if you didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t respond. Evidenced by how you often saved him the trouble by messaging first, sometimes as early as five o'clock in the morning. Apparently you worked irregular hours in a rather unpredictable industry. Shouto weighs the possibility that you might be a fellow hero—or something close—more than he cared to admit.

Any trepidation he felt would always dwindle as soon as a notification lit up on the screen. He reads your username and his insides turn over.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve escaped to the break room. ▻ Do you ever think about how we don’t have muscles in our fingers? How fucked up is that?

Shouto smirks, pulled away from the conversation at hand. He unlocks the phone in his lap, beneath the kotatsu to remain hidden, an attempt at being inconspicuous as he replies.

Sooba ▻ I try not to think too much about anything.

You throw back a few laughing emoticons and satisfaction washes over him. “You’ve been texting a lot. Who’s got you smiling like that?” Natsuo asks slyly. He’s cross legged, tie tossed irreverently over his shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, having come straight from work. “A special someone?”

Shouto forces the muscles in his face to relax into feigned nonchalance. “Nobody. Nothing,” he says unconvincingly.

Rei enters the room with a modest tray of dango before Natsuo can open his big mouth. She’s wearing a bi-coloured hoodie. The sleeves slip as she sets the treats down on the table beside the green tea Fuyumi brewed earlier; another gift from Yaoyorozu’s family travels. Natsuo’s face twitches under Shouto’s unbroken stare, which is daring him to bring it up while their mother is here.

Then his phone vibrates and any possibility of peace is shattered.

His mother glances curiously at him, expression soft in the dewy afternoon light, and she smiles. “Are you speaking to one of your friends?” she asks. “Please tell Deku ‘thank you’ for sending me your new Shouto hoodie. It’s very warm”.

The words fill something cavernous inside him. Soothes the ache with gentle wonderment. She smiles down at his hero logo printed proudly across her chest, rubbing the hem between her finger and thumb. A younger Shouto could have only ever imagined it.

“I’m not so sure it’s a friend this time,” Natsuo teases, spoken with a playful, sing-song cadence. “Shouto wouldn’t text at the table and risk facing Fuyumi’s wrath just for a friend”.

Shouto does not pout. “I would risk anything for my friends,” he says, affronted; anything maybe except his older sister's well intentioned nagging. “…It’s a new friend, that’s all”.

Rei perks up, settling on her knees and laying the kotatsu blanket over her thighs. The quiet sound of plates and cups clinking together fade in from the kitchen. Natsuo hums, unconvinced, and hides a smile behind his mug. It's moments like this, when the people he loves are gathered in one place, and he can hear them in every corner of his home, that he’s glad for buying a smaller apartment.

“That’s wonderful, Shouto,” Rei murmurs as Fuyumi pads into the room, Nori not long behind her, threading through his elder sister's ankles. She too arrived right after work, donning a suit-skirt and blouse. “What’s their name?”

His thoughts stutter. Fuyumi’s nose wrinkles seeing the panic stark on his face. “Who are we talking about?”

“Beats me. Ask him,” Natsuo says, taking a stick of dango between his teeth as he tries not to grin when Shouto’s phone vibrates a second time. “I want to know who’s so eager to talk to my little brother”.

InsertNameHere ▻ Sooooobaaaaaaa ▻ I’m on my lunch keep me company

Shouto snatches up his phone to respond. He brings it closer to his face to allow Nori access to his lap. She monopolises the space instantly. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Shouto,” Fuyumi laments. “No phones during family time”.

“I know. I’m sorry, nee-san. I just need to…” his thumbs dance over the keyboard, head ducked in amalgamated shame and apology.

Sooba ▻ Question ▻ InsertNameHere ▻ What is your name?

InsertNameHere ▻ At the personal info stage already? You move fast. ▻ Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.

That stirs a faint unease in his gut and he understands better then. Anonymity is what gives people a sense of security and he isn’t exempt from that. In truth, right now he doesn’t want to know what might change if you knew who was on the other end yet.

Sooba ▻ You can call me whatever you want.

“Shouto”.

InsertNameHere ▻ That’s not even a line is it. ▻ Man. You’re dangerous.

Sooba ▻ ???

Shouto stares at the flickering dots by your username. You type, then stop. Type, then stop. As if you were deleting and starting over again. A habit of yours he’s quite endeared to. “Shouto!” Fuyumi huffs, poking a manicured finger into his side. Though short, the nail still causes him to flinch, and he’s quick to stretch his phone out of reach as her hand swipes through the air. “I mean it!”

Nori is jolted. She voices her immediate displeasure and Rei titters into her sleeve. The sleeve with his name stitched into the fabric. He breath catches, like it always does when his mother laughs. “Shouto doesn’t have to tell us anything until he’s ready,” she assured, offering him a gentle look—a look so sincere he feels awful for being evasive.

And his feeble resolve fractures.

“I don’t know,” he confesses bluntly. Natsuo and Fuyumi frown, at one another and then back at him, in unsettling synchrony cultivated through siblinghood. Shouto shrugs and pulls at a stray thread in his jeans cut loose under Nori’s claws, “I can’t tell you a name because I don’t know it”.

Natsuo appears mildly surprised. Fuyumi sinks into disbelief, feet curled beneath her body, going lax at his side. She drops her arm. “You… don’t know it?” she repeats.

“The app is anonymous,” he supplies hastily, attention flickering to his mother, far more worried about discerning her reaction. She’s unreadable. “My name isn’t on there either. We just talk about stuff”.

“Stuff?” his siblings' voices overlap, told apart only by the difference in tone. Natsuo’s shock has melted into some strange mix of pride and innuendo. “Is it that penpal thing everyone has been talking about? Enigma?”

“Enigmail,” he mutters. Natsuo lights up. Fuyumi does not share the sentiment.

“You’re a hero, Shouto! What if it’s someone with bad intentions?” she frets, brows drawn down and together, mouth pressed thin. “They could be tricking you. The internet is rife with predators, and—!”

“Nee-san. I’m a grown man. I understand the importance of internet safety,” Shouto interjects.

Natsuo slumps onto the table with a mawkish sigh, the sound steeped in fondness. “Let him have fun. You know he’s right, ‘Yumi, he’s an adult. It’s a wonder where all that time went,” he says. A few beats later he’s abruptly straightening his spine, “Gods, Fuyumi. You’re almost thirty five!”

Fuyumi glares from behind her glasses. She reaches across the kotatsu and swats lightly at his bicep, “Do you have to say it like that? You’re thirty one!”

“Please. Stop arguing,” Shouto says. He pets the unperturbed cat curled up on his thighs, “You might startle Nori”.

“Shouto. She’s deaf”.

Rei cuts their bickering short as she breathes, “When did you all get so big…” a serene smile hung on her lips, not a hint of grief to be seen. The answers surrounding your identity—or lack thereof—are lost to the nostalgia cloying in his throat.

They return to enjoying tea and dango after that. Shouto sets his phone face down on the floor and turns off vibrate. For now, he wants to ward off further interrogation.

His mother intuits this and steers the conversation in another direction, “Natsuo, how have things been at your new job? Are they treating you well?”

Things are good. Fuyumi’s class would soon be graduating, an award for Best Teacher polished and positioned on her desk. Natsuo had landed the job he always wanted—a medical welfare officer working closely with trauma survivors—and was already making waves. His mother, Rei, finally finished cultivating her traditional garden, weaving tales of lush foliage and water spouts. Touya too has been improving in his rehabilitation programme, according to his psychiatrist’s reports.

A tremor quakes through the tendons in Shouto’s forearm as he lifts his tea to sip the remaining dregs. Yaoyorozu outdid herself this time. If he hadn’t already known the price he would have discerned it from the refreshing, uniquely sweet taste. Thoughts of you cross his mind in these instances without warning. Would you like it? What’s your favourite tea?

Shouto scrunches his eyes shut as if it might wash those thoughts away. How is it that the stranger in his pocket possesses the ability to awaken such yearning in him; he feels mildly ashamed to have realised his loneliness with an audience.

The hour rolls into another. Shouto scrapes the last dango along the skewer with his teeth, jutting his chin to evade Nori’s curious sniffing. “This was lovely, Shouto. Thank you for having us over,” Fuyumi expressed as she carefully ran her hand along the feline's back.

Sensing the finality, Shouto motions to stand and sets Nori on the couch. Everyone protests it. He huffs, sliding a crutch over from where they lay nearby and letting it take his weight. A good decision, he thinks, inwardly grimacing as the blood rushes to his feet, prickling like violent white noise under his skin, and his knee almost gives out.

“I’m okay. The doctor told me I should be trying to move around more anyway,” he tells them, deigning to mention that he expended most of his energy tidying up this morning before their visit. “You’re my guests. I want to walk you to the door”.

Shouto tries not to bristle under their wary scrutiny. A cool hand slips around his arm then. His mother’s natural chill seeps through the sleeve of his shirt and allays the irritation. “We appreciate it, sweetheart,” she says.

“We do,” Fuyumi gently insists. “We’re happy to see you recovering well. Right, Natsu—?”

“Kiss tax!” Natsuo exclaims, oblivious to his surroundings. He scoops Nori up from the arm of the couch. She is comically tiny pressed against his chest. A continuous indignant drone rumbles in her throat as his brother peppers firm kisses to the top of her head.

“Put my baby down,” Shouto deadpanned.

“She isn’t your baby,” Natsuo slides one hand under Nori, the other carefully tucked into her armpits. He holds her close to Shouto’s face. Dramatic round eyes stare back; a flat expression emphasised by prominent cheekbones. Barely a hair's breadth between them, Nori begins to swipe her rough tongue against his scarred cheek. “See? You’re her baby”.

“Mine, too,” Rei rises to her tiptoes and scratches behind Nori’s ear, turning a smile toward Shouto. That same hand moved to cup his cheek. Though far taller than his mother, Shouto tips his head and finds himself feeling incredibly small as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Your hair is getting long again,” she adds as she pulls away.

“I can trim it if it’s bothering you,” Fuyumi nods, sidling up beside Rei to survey the growth together. She brushes back the wayward strands framing his face and Shouto blinks. “Though, I think I like this look on you. What’s it called? A wolfcut?”

“I’m not sure. This is how Mina cut it a few months ago,” he replies.

Natsuo interjects without Nori in his grasp, now notably covered in short cat hair. He claps Shouto on the back and pulls him into a firm side hug, “She did good. Our handsome little Shouto”.

Initiating physical affection with his family was still a weary affair after all this time, though patently one sided. Having them touch him so freely always left him a little stupefied.

After they depart, Shouto hobbles to find his phone with all the grace of a newborn fawn. It is face down under the kotatsu cover right where he left it. And as it blinks to life, he skips the notifications from the 1A group chat to find your screen name at the bottom.

InsertNameHere ▻ My boss has these awful little nicknames for everyone in the agency. Mine’s ‘Maestro’. Nerd and butterfingers, too, but mostly Maestro. ▻ To do with my quirk and role, I suppose. Good for morale etc. His creativity astounds me (๑ಕ̴ _̆ ಕ̴) ﾝ？ ▻ Not that I don’t appreciate it but. Well shit, what about my morale? Lol ▻ You there? ▻ Sorry if I scared you off by getting personal.

Shouto worries at his bottom lip. Maestro. Something new about you. A foreign feeling churned in his chest. Faint, barely there, but new enough for him to notice. He’s not sure how to pin it; whether your mention of working at an agency bothers him or the fact that others, people who are not Shouto, get to see you everyday, close enough to give you a personal nickname.

Sooba ▻ Sounds like you have a good relationship. I’ve got a close friend who sounds similar. People say it’s just his love language ha ▻ And you didn’t scare me off. I’m the one who asked. Some family came to check on me.

He barely thinks it over before adding:

▻ My mother said hi by the way.

Your reply isn’t immediate but it is quicker than he expects.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re right. I do like my boss sometimes. Maybe. And I love this job but I think it has aged me ten years. My ulcers have ulcers! ▻ Also—telling your family about me now too? We really are moving fast.

A soft huff of laughter jumps in his throat. There’s a distant clamoring near the kitchen. The sound of Nori’s bowl being pushed around the tile. Her absence clicks in place when he looks at the clock. He should feed her soon.

Sooba ▻ Technically it was only my mother, older sister and brother. ▻ But I can relate about the work stuff.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah? You mentioned being on leave because of an injury. Do you like your work?

That’s a question he has never asked himself, nor has he ever felt the need to. Heroism was the path life handed to him. The path he ultimately followed of his own volition. Shouto loves his family, his friends. He’s good at his job—enough to have made it into the top ten. And isn’t that all that matters?

Sometimes he would take a long, weary look out the revolving agency doors, recognise the heaviness in his bones and give the entire thing a second thought. But that never made any difference. Because people needed him. And he needed them too.

There’s a fleeting urge in that instance; a temptation to come clean, if only to sate his own curiosity. To compare the idealised image of what you looked like or how you sounded. He’s spent many a shameful night thinking up romanticised scenarios in his mind about what it would be like to meet you in real life. Shouto always squashes it. He doubts you’d believe him.

Ever perceptive to his moods, Nori chooses that moment to pad in from the kitchen and sit herself directly in his line of sight. She wails, demanding attention and lacking any volume control.

Right now he is not a hero but a man alone on two unsteady legs with a small living thing reliant upon him. He’s just Todoroki Shouto. He’s just—

Sooba ▻ As of right now my occupation is ‘Nori’s dad’. I like it pretty well.

Your reply is immediate.

InsertYourName ▻ Oh you have a kid?

Nori’s frustration grows. Her tail swishes back and forth, agitated. “It isn’t time to eat yet,” Shouto tells her, pulling up his phone camera and zooming in. On her next yowl the shutter goes off. The picture is perfect. Mouth wide open, large ears flat and nose wrinkled in displeasure, lips curled up to display her pink gums.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_0243] ▻ Something like that.

It’s a risk and he knows it. Though infrequently his team has posted Nori to his social media in the past at the delight of his fans—she was younger in those pictures, but if you were well acquainted with him there was the possibility of you putting the puzzle pieces together.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god sooba. She’s so cute. Give her everything she asks for, you monster. ▻ Hey. Are those Ingenium themed crutch pads?

Anxiety rockets through him. He pulls up the photo and sure enough, his crutches are in the corner of the frame, laid within reach beside the couch. Secured around the handles are Ingenium themed pads to cushion his palms.

Sooba ▻ They are.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is he your favourite hero?

He turns his phone over in his hands before he types, overcome by an abrupt restlessness.

Sooba ▻ One of them. ▻ Do you have a favourite hero?

Nori wanders off in his periphery and not long after he hears the telltale sound of cardboard being torn apart. You stop typing, replies coming to a halt. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

It becomes clear you’re offline. Shouto spends the evening imagining your answer—ducking sheepishly at the idea that you might say him, then cringing at his reaction—and reading through his work emails.

Partnering with Hawks hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. Despite his carefree demeanour and general lack of personal space Hawks was professional and meticulous when it came to his work. As promised, Shouto was CC’d into every important thread and forwarded every significant incident report each day. Apparently there’s a big fundraiser tonight that he is unable to attend.

Hawks suggests matching Endeavor’s donation in spirit. Shouto doubles it.

The night air barely touches him. Leaning against the balcony railing he surveys the cityscape. A kaleidoscope canvas. He stares until the pinpricks of light stretch and bend, streaking his vision, regaining shape when he blinks. Nori is curled around his calf, playfully kicking her back legs at his ankle. She’s careful to never break skin.

It’s nearing midnight when you get back to him. A disconcertingly vague reply of:

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve had enough of heroes.

Shouto waits for you to elaborate before presuming anything nefarious. He would hate for Fuyumi to be correct. She’d never let him forget it.

▻ Shit that made me sound bad, didn’t it? I promise I’m not a villain

He snorts, reclining himself into one of the chairs on his patio. Yaoyorozu insisted upon helping decorate the space. This piece in particular had been chosen by Uraraka, if only for its cocoon, egg-like shape. She always sat in it if she came over; Shouto can’t say he blames her, now curling up inside it himself, leaving one foot flat to the floor for Nori to cling to.

Sooba ▻ Only a little bit lol.

InsertNameHere ▻ I just mean for today! I’ve had enough for today! ▻ There’s… a whole lot of them at this work event I’m attending is all. ▻ See! ▻ [IMG_0589]

It’s the first picture you’ve ever sent to him that wasn’t a meme. Your legs are crossed, turned inward to show more of the showroom floor. There are people everywhere. You’ve overturned your lanyard in your lap, straps dotted with the charity logo, to display the back of your security pass. No identification. Just proof that you’re there—

Proof that you’re a real person, giving colour to the vague, shapeless figure in his head. The figure once outlined only by random tidbits, like your favourite food, the music you like, the movies you loved as a child. The figure now clad in tight fitting, seemingly pearlescent sheer material from the waist down.

—Shouto swallows dryly.

You have nice hands. He tries not to linger on that.

▻ That’s why I disappeared, btw. Sorry about that. ▻ I feel weirdly underdressed.

The logo on your lanyard has recognition prickling in the back of his mind. Hours earlier Midoriya had texted him two pictures from the ‘HEROKIND’ fundraiser Hawks mentioned. One being a selfie of him and an aggrieved Bakugo, each wearing their own fitted suit, and another of Uraraka in an evening gown stood behind the imposing silhouette that was his father, stealthily pointing her middle finger at his back.

He saved that one to his camera roll.

Sooba ▻ In that case I will close the HPSC anonymous tip line ▻ Sometimes people try too hard at those events and forget why they’re there. You look good from what I see.

InsertNameHere ▻ How very gracious (´・｀ ) ▻ Sounds like you have some experience with this kind of thing. My condolences lmao ▻ But thank you. I’m glad you think so.

Shouto entertains the idea of sending you something back. His eyes surreptitiously flicker around as though being watched. Nothing revealing who he is, but enough to maybe—

The camera captures a few of the modest flower beds and cat grass lining his balcony, Nori coiled around his bare ankle. He looks at his hand. Shuffles his hips further down to mirror your angle and flexes his fingers in his lap. Heat floods his body, guided by the shameless desire to inform the image you might have of him in your own head, too.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_288] ▻ At least you’re having more fun than I am.

You type for a long ten second interval. Then restart. A tedious minute elapses and just as regret creeps in, your messages come through.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’m not so sure about that. ▻ Actually it would probably be more bearable if you were here with me.

The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. So warm it’s like he’s standing under the sun. Shouto belatedly realises it’s just his quirk, as the steam blows out through his nose. Nori butts his ankle in complaint. He bends to take her into his arms, feeling ridiculous and somewhat bad at being a person.

Sooba ▻ Think so? ▻ Just so you know I have been called socially inept on numerous occasions.

InsertNameHere ▻ Then we can hide together in the corner, get tipsy and sneak bits of the fancy spread.

This—doesn’t happen to Shouto. “Nori. I have feelings for a person I’ve never seen,” he pushes his face into Nori’s fur, and she purrs, feeling the vibrations of his voice. Admitting it aloud only highlights the absurdity. He feels out of his depth. And he decides he’s glad for the anonymity. Grateful, even. Lest he publicly humiliate himself and set off every fire alarm in the vicinity.

Sooba ▻ That sounds perfect.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll hold you to that. There’s another one of these coming up in two weeks. ▻ Prepare yourself (ꈍᴗꈍ)

“You’re really not helping,” he continues. Nori rubs insistently under his chin. “Fine, fine. I get it,” She croaks as he presses into the touch, mimicking her movement and cradling her as he gets up.

Before retiring to bed he pulls up Yaoyorozu’s contact. He settles into a comfortable position in the covers, propping his phone on his stomach, and he types:

Shouto : 00:14

I think I need help.

Consciousness eases into him slowly. It’s a sleepy pastel morning. Dust dances in the soft spotlight cast through his curtains. Shouto’s jaw unhinged to release a long yawn, limbs stretching every which way under the covers as his joints click.

Shouto props up on his elbow, twisting in place to reach and unplug his phone. He blinks away the blurriness hemming his vision and squints at the stack of messages from Enigmail right at the top of his notifications.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh shit. Hero Shouto donated double the amount of what Endeavor gave and he couldn’t even be here tonight. That’s hilarious. Can that guy get any hotter ▻ I didn’t intend for that to be a pun. ▻ These cocktails are becoming suspiciously easy to drink. ▻ You’re probably sleeping like a good boy but I miss you. Wake up! ▻ Have you ever had feelings for someone you’ve never met

The loose tongued messages stop there, at around one o’clock in the morning. Then there’s a seven hour jump to only ten minutes ago.

▻ Oh my god. Please ignore all of that. And then kill me.

Hardly awake, sleepsand still crusty at the corners of his eyes, Shouto’s mind reels as he considers pinching himself. He doesn’t know which part to focus on. Your apparent—and unknowing—attraction to him as a public figure or the implication that you had feelings for Sooba.

But you’re obviously embarrassed. So he bites back a smile and starts with something simple.

Sooba ▻ Good morning to you too ▻ Remember to drink water and take some bufarin.

Sitting upright with legs hung over the bed, Shouto clicks out to his text app by way of distraction. There’s another photo from Midoriya. This time it’s just him. Speckled light glitters along his cheeks, expression beaming as the hero holds a piece of sashimi in front of his pink face. Shouto heart reacts to the text.

InsertNameHere ▻ Send more Nori

He chuckles, sleepy. That makes known Nori’s absence. Strange, he muses. She is usually the one to wake him. Rather than search he scrolls through his albums to find a photo you hadn’t seen yet. It was taken a few months ago. He’d slipped his camera under her chin and pressed the shutter when she looked down, looming over the viewer with a dumbfounded look.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_142]

After a few minutes with no response, assuming that you had accepted his bribe and sought out some painkillers, Shouto braced against his bedside table and stood, phone in hand. Every muscle in his body felt like wet sand, held together by too tight skin. This morning, though, the incessant ache that beat alongside his heart was gone.

Walking still felt as though he was wading through molasses but strength was steadily returning to his physique.

The floor is cool under the soles of his feet as they shuffle down the hallway. There’s a noise in the kitchen that gives Shouto pause. A voice, hushed yet high pitched voice, cooing like someone might to an infant.

He drops into an ungainly defensive stance, pyjama bottoms and all. Worst case scenario they at least hang low on his hips, loose around his legs, leaving room for flexible movement. He rounds the corner without a sound.

And relief beats like a drum in his chest.

Yaoyorozu meets his gaze from the kitchen island where one hand is petting a very happy Nori, sipping from a glass of water with the other. Her face is bare, shadows soft under her eyes, hair pulled haphazardly into a low ponytail as if she had just rolled out of bed and rushed here. Creati in a bleach stained hoodie and leggings. The press would have a field day.

The sight brings a small smile to his face. Their schedules have been misaligned for months. It’s good to see her—if only her expression had not then darkened. “Todoroki Shouto,” she says with all the authority of an older sibling, “What on earth was that text last night? You had me worried sick”.

“Text?” he parrots dumbly, looking to check his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Painkillers acquired. Thank you Nori ▻ I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.

“I let myself in with the key you gave me. I hope that was alright,” she continues, quiet and apologetic now. He skims over your reply and switches to check his text app. Sure enough the last thing he sent to her was an ambiguous plea for help.

“Of course it’s alright,” he replies, regarding her with a meaningful look to cover for how sheepish he truly feels. “I gave you the key because you’re always welcome here”.

Yaoyorozu smiles on the end of an exhale, idle hands smoothing down Nori’s cheeks. “Of course,” she echoes, examining his form closely now her anxiety is assuaged. Over him comes the muted awareness that he’s being judged. “How about we go on a short walk for once, since I’m here? The weather is quite pleasant”.

Shouto steps forward with mouth downturned, “Momo, I assure you I’m fine. You don’t need to walk me like a dog,” he says, wincing thereafter at his bluntness. She only hums.

“When was the last time you went anywhere?”

Very uselessly he replies, “I go places”.

Yaoyorozu’s potential to lead and assert had never escaped him, not even in his teenage years, and it was something he staunchly admired her for. But never has he resented his own affinity for compliance more than he does the moment she ignores his pouting and tells him to finish his morning gait training and get changed.

Dressed casually and statuesque in the centre of his living room, left leg lifted to mimic a flamingo, Shouto’s limbs shake far less than previous days. He can hold his phone while he balances now, too. You haven’t sent any new messages. Probably waiting for him to assure you that he isn’t upset, but even so he’s a smidge disappointed.

Sooba ▻ I’m here. A friend appeared in my kitchen. ▻ You don’t need to apologise for anything, I wasn’t uncomfortable. I've received worse drunk texts I assure you.

He switches to his right leg and chews the inside of his cheek. Facing villainy was far less daunting than navigating his feelings.

▻ I thought it was cute.

That’s about as brave as he felt today.

Yaoyorozu resurfaces from the coat closet with a jacket in hand and a pep in her step. There’s something else coiled around her wrist. Nori’s cat leash, red and attached to a blue harness, matching Shouto’s hero colours.

“Can we bring her along?” she asks, bouncing in place. Upon recognising the leash Nori makes her opinion known, releasing a drawn out yowl. “Oh please, Shouto”.

Nori didn’t regularly enjoy walking but she had been trained to do so from a young age. She was peculiar and picky, and Shouto trusted her to let him know if ever she wanted anything—something she never failed to do.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, bending to tap her nose. It wrinkles, a stray tooth flashing between her lips. “If you get tired I won’t carry you”.

Nori blinks. A lie and they both know it.

Shouto sighs, defeated. “Okay. She hasn’t wanted to in a while so I can’t really deny her”.

“Wonderful,” Yaoyorozu breathes, handing him his jacket before undoing the harness and crouching to slip Nori’s paws through one by one. “We can grab a warm drink to go from the cafe downstairs and talk”.

Shucking the jacket on and flattening the collar, Shouto dithers in the genkan with his crutches nearby. He tucks the wayward strands of hair into a knitted hat and loops his mask around his ears. The scar couldn’t be helped but atleast this way a majority of people would not think to look twice.

They leave the apartment together, all three. In the short time it takes to step out of the building's lobby you still haven’t replied. He shoves his free hand in his pocket, fingers clasped around his phone in case it vibrates.

The establishment across from Shouto’s home has been open for longer than he’s been alive. An elderly couple named Pierre-Louis and Tsutomu run the place. The two men moved back to Japan decades ago to care for Tsutomu’s sick mother, and with Pierre-Louis’ incredibly unusual coffee quirk ‘Bean Boost’, opening a cafe seemed the right route to take.

Since moving here they’ve endeared themselves to Shouto. If they see him on his way to work Tsutomu will often rush to offer him a takeout cup. This morning is no different.

“Mon petit chou!”

Tsutomu slides open the walk up window and calls his name, beckoning them closer. The breeze tousles the short grey curls around his ears. Shouto’s heart near stops when the older man leans out to greet Nori as she stretches upward and almost loses balance. “Tsutomu-san, please be careful,” he says.

“I am still rather spry, young man. Don’t worry about me,” he returns happily, gaze moving to Yaoyorozu when he rights himself. “Lovely to see you again, Momo-chan. Have you come to rescue our prince from his cave?”

Indignant, Shouto grumbles, “I wish you would all stop acting as though I’m a hermit. I haven’t been stuck indoors that long”.

The two level him with a look of doubt. Tsutomu gently pinches his cheek and rubs a thumb over the swell above the mask. “Your pallor betrays you, Shouto. Let the sun kiss you more, no? We worry”.

“Tout va bien?” another voice interjects. Pierre-Louis squeezes up next to his husband, ignoring his disgruntled noise, and brightens when he sees Shouto on the other side. “Mon chou, you’ve emerged! And with two beautiful girls at your side”.

Yaoyorozu muffled a laugh while Nori busied herself chewing on the nearby grass, leash never pulling too far. “Pierre-Louis,” Shouto murmurs, unable to keep the fond lilt out of his voice. “It’s good to see you both”.

“And you,” he beams. The wrinkles by his eyes deepen. Shouto never met his grandparents but he thinks perhaps this is the closest he’ll get. “Are you going anywhere special?”

“We’re just taking a walk, Pierre-Louis. I thought it might be nice to get a warm drink for the journey,” Yaoyorozu spoke warmly and nudged his side. “Where better than here?”

“Bien sûr! Will that be one earl grey and one green tea?”

Shouto nods at her questioning glance, “Loose leaves today, please”, he adds.

Pierre-Louis disappears to make their drinks, shortly returning with two takeout cups, steam pluming softly from the mouth. Shouto swaps his crutch to his right side and accepts the green tea with his left hand, heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.

“How much will it be—?”

“Nonsense,” Tsutomu interrupts with a sudden switch to English. He shakes his finger, silencing any protest, and his husband gives a resolute nod in support. “Take it, mon chou. Call it a family discount”.

Shouto bids them a dazed goodbye, leaving the walk up window; a lump in his throat that he tries to wash down with hot heat, tongue impervious to the temperature. “They’re very sweet. I’m glad you have them,” Yaoyorozu muses. “What is it they call you? ‘Chou’?”

“Mon petit chou,” he repeats clumsily, accent slightly gawky. “I asked Aoyama a while ago and he told me it means ‘my little cabbage’”.

Yaoyorozu pauses and Nori continues ahead, leaping up onto a nearby half wall with her tail hooked high. She pounces on a crack between the bricks, blissfully unaware of the nearby traffic, trying to eat a ladybug.

“My little cabbage?”

Shouto hums, squinting up at the early sun, rising in a blanket of pale blue and mottled grey clouds. The air is refreshingly cool. “Apparently it’s something French parents call their children,” he shrugs, as though he were not then warmed from the inside out at the reminder that they truly did see him as one of their own.

“That’s lovely,” she says, slowing to match his pace. He’s not tired so much as he is enjoying the morning dew. They follow a familiar path. Turning down a hidden narrow walkway that leads to a neighbourhood park. Nori’s chitters fill the spaces left by comfortable silence.

Yaoyorozu suggests sitting at one of the picnic tables. Tall trees flanked the area on either side, columns rising to create a weave of foliage that shrouded them in gold. The old wood is cold under his thighs. Nori hops up onto the bench, ears flat to her head, and hisses at a dog across the way which hasn’t even noticed her presence.

“So,” Shouto glances over toward Yaoyorozu as she speaks. Her arms are settled on the tabletop, fingers curled around the disposable cup and swirling the liquid inside. “Are you going to tell me what you were panicking about last night?”

He picks at the cardboard sleeve, twisting it, and supposes this was inevitable. Slipping down his mask, Shouto brings the tea to his lips in distraction, grasping for a way to articulate his situation without simply saying: “I have feelings for my anonymous online friend”.

In the end he realises there really isn’t any other way.

Yaoyorozu listens intently, as he expected she would. Of all his well intentioned friends Shouto knew she’d be the most open to his reasoning. Her expression visibly softens while he wrings his hands and rambles about the palpable connection that he first attributed to his own loneliness—

Rambles about you; you, the one now carried with him everywhere, the presence weaving his days into tapestry; you, accepting of his random thoughts, giving of your own; you, unintentional charm and bad jokes and sharp wit; you, faceless and voiceless, the one to receive first and last thought.

He expels his fears. Concerns of who you really are. Of what you might think upon learning his identity—if you wouldn’t like him anymore, or if his own feelings might change after meeting you offline, and if that makes him a terrible, shallow person.

Then he mentions the photo from the Herokind event and her head cocks in interest. “May I see?” she asks. Shouto murmurs his agreement and pulls his phone out from his pocket.

You’ve messaged him.

InsertNameHere ▻ Appeared? Like, teleported?? ▻ I’m glad we’re ok. I would miss you otherwise. ▻ But you can’t know I’m cute. You’ve never seen me lol

Shouto is typing back with unfounded confidence before he realises it.

Sooba ▻ I don’t need to see you to know that.

Then his eyes flicker to Nori, staring up at him clad in her Shouto themed harness, lip caught on her scraggle tooth. He takes a quick picture. Examining it before sending, he notices Yaoyorozu’s slender hands in the background, and wonders if you might be jealous.

He scoffs inwardly at his own childishness and sends the photo.

▻ Not teleported hah, just came in with a spare key. We are out walking now.

“Sorry—I just wanted to reply first,” Shouto clears his throat and presses his phone into her now proffered hand. Given without question.

Something flickers in her expression at your photo; it’s a brief shift that flies over her gaze like a shadow. Her thumbs pinch and part on the screen as she zooms in. “I was there for a few hours last night,” she says. “I recognise this outfit. Would it not be easier to check the list of attendants?”

“…That doesn’t feel fair,” he admits soberly. “I know that’s silly”.

“It’s not silly,” she affirms with a small smile, fingers now moving as she types. “You are aware of your position. You have the resources to find them and presumably they do not. Of course it seems unfair”.

It’s testament to their friendship that he feels no need to check what she’s doing. Her brows furrow slightly, then arch into her hairline, eyes brightening. Pleased, Yaoyorozu locks the device and hands it back.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t worry. I didn't do anything untoward,” she replies. “But I do know who you’re talking to now”.

Shouto’s fingers flex around his phone. “You do?” he breathes, incredulous. Just like that?

Yaoyorozu nods, lending her attention to Nori. “I don’t have a name. But if you want to find them I think you’ll want to speak to Bakugo-kun”.

“Bakugo…?” Shouto echoes.

“I believe your friend may work for him,” she clarifies. Ah. The clamouring in his head comes to a halt. In hindsight it’s clear. Your nicknames make sense now.

“I’ll think about it,” he swallows, bringing his tea to his face for another sip. He finds it tepid and warms it again with his quirk. Yaoyorozu doesn’t push.

They spend the hour catching up on the things Shouto has missed in the weeks he’s been absent, and the weeks prior. Midoriya’s claims of him being a workaholic become a reality he can’t outrun. Tea finished, Shouto takes both cups and disposes of them in the recycling bin. Yaoyorozu stands from the picnic table with Nori cradled to her breast—Nori stares back at him, smug—and they make their way back to his apartment.

“Shouto,” she coaxed, now standing outside the tall glass doors leading to the lobby. Nori’s claws sink into the collar of his jacket as she’s passed to him. He takes her leash from Yaoyorozu, bunching it up; and she covers his enclosed fist with her hand.

“Go for it,” she tells him, giving a firm squeeze. “I’m rooting for you. Just be safe”.

Stepping back into his apartment, his cheeks are warm and his limbs are trembling. You’ve buzzed inside his pocket three times.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god. How can such a perfect creature exist? And her harness! Shouto colours? ▻ I hope you’re having fun. <3 ▻ You know, you never answered my question from last night

“You don’t think I’m hopeless, do you Nori?” Shouto asks the thin air—Nori has already scrambled toward the nearby shoebox, bunny kicking at the corner as she chews. He sighs.

Yaoyorozu’s encouragement rings loud in his ears while he replies.

Sooba ▻ Yes. I think I’ve had feelings for a person I’ve never met.

And it feels like a confession.

Shouto sees the week come to an end before he finds enough strength, physically and mentally, to visit Bakugo’s agency.

Your conversations have evolved. They carry a flirty undertone now, the verbal toeing of the line that makes his heart pitter patter. You send pictures throughout the day. Always angled away from your face. Swathes of skin. A pen between your fingers. Stacked paperwork and an empty coffee cup. The burgeoning skies on your walk home. Comfortable at home, your legs crossed over the other, a fluffy slipper hanging at the end of your foot.

He never knew so much thought had to go into making a photo appear candid, effortless. At one point he purposefully shuffled his workout shorts lower on his hips and spent the remainder of the afternoon mortified with his head deep between the couch cushions.

Liking another person is humiliating. He feels exposed, like a flesh wound that you won’t stop prodding.

InsertNameHere ▻ [IMG_412] ▻ I hope you have a good day!

You’re sitting at your desk, presumably. A slide knot bracelet hangs loose around your wrist. Hand held out over the mouse and keyboard, you’ve pinched your thumb and finger—smudged with black in—together to make a heart shape. It’s cute. You’re cute. He files the pose away for any later run-ins with paparazzi. His PR has been getting on about trying harder when they photograph him for months.

Shouto’s body rocks with the train car as it careens down the tracks and readjusts his grip on his crutch. He smiles behind his mask, sinking into the confines of his hood which he has pulled over his cap. There are eyes on him today. It can’t be helped in such close quarters. But they’re uncertain—too afraid to bother him and be wrong about his identity.

Sooba ▻ You too :) ▻ Remember to take breaks. I read that you should spend five minutes away from your screen every hour.

InsertNameHere ▻ You have to stop making me smile at work. My coworkers think I have a secret husband or something.

Sooba ▻ I promise to send you off with a homemade bento tomorrow morning.

InsertNameHere ▻ And a kiss.

Shouto grabs the nearby pole as he is almost knocked on his feet. Passengers board, others depart, and his heart hammers in his throat like a fist.

Sooba ▻ A kiss?

You’re still typing a reply when Shouto hears the hesitant evocation of his name. It’s timid and hushed, belonging to a person trying to restrain their excitement. She covers her mouth with a gasp when he meets her eyes.

“It is you,” she bubbles. A metallic taste pervades the static air around her, short hair wiggling on end as if it were responding directly to her excitement; behaviour unbefitting of a typical reporter, he notes.

Your text box jumps onto the screen in his peripheral vision, bumping up the chat. He jolts and angles the phone away from her just to be safe.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah! A bento box and a kiss to get me through the day, obviously. As my husband.

There are three others a few feet away, huddled together beside a pillar and abuzz with energy. Mild dread churns in his stomach. Definitely not a reporter, then. “If you have a moment…” the young woman spares a glance over her shoulder and her friends excitedly encourage her forward. “Um. Would you maybe be interested in—”

“No,” Shouto replies. The young woman winces at his tone. Ah. She’s embarrassed now. He really should make a habit of lying in consideration for other people's feelings. Fuyumi did mention that, though not in as many words. Before her face can crumple further he continues, “I’m very sorry, that was rude of me. I’m in a bit of a hurry”.

Her relief is palpable, near contagious. Expression softened with understanding she folds her hands against her stomach and ducks into a slight bow. “Of course, I understand,” she says. Somehow it makes him feel worse. “And—I’m glad you’re well, Shouto-san. We’re all wishing you a complete recovery”.

Gratitude bubbles inside him. He smiles, pressing a finger over his mask, and her complexion turns a bright shade of pink. She nods in understanding, scurrying to her friends.

Shouto departs the train without disruption. The conductor takes stock of his gait and the crutch at his side, offering to lay out the ramp, but he politely refuses, stepping onto the platform with ease. He feels good; closer to his other self, the one before his muscles were run through a metaphorical centrifuge.

Sooba ▻ Obviously. ▻ I suppose I can add ‘house husband’ alongside ‘Nori’s dad’ on my list of occupations now.

Blast Zone isn’t far, a fact for which he’s grateful. Bakugo insisted on rooting himself in the centre of the city, right in the spot where all transport routes seemed to meet; there stood the symbol of victory’s headquarters, imposing in the skyline.

According to journalists at PowrStruct magazine The Blast Zone agency is an ode to modern architecture. A steel frame structure surrounded by reinforced concrete, an outer coating embossed with a texture that gives the award winning building the fragile appearance of having been meticulously glued back together while simultaneously being both blast proof and earthquake proof. Shouto cares not for design in general. He does, however, steal a mini Dynamite themed pen from the front desk while he’s waiting to be signed in.

There’s a thin chain attached to the cap with a Chibi Bakugo hung on the end. Sue him.

“He’ll see you now, Shouto-san,” the receptionist states, pupil-less eyes blinking back at him. Shouto tucks the pen into his sleeve, feeling foolish and somewhat nervous. “Head on up to the office on the twelfth floor. He knows you’re on your way”.

Shouto clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says, weakness in his knees that has nothing to do with his nerves. The Ingenium handle pads cushion his palm as he braces onto his crutches, supporting him toward the nearby lift. There are eyes on his back as he goes. They’re heavy, lingering like physical touch. Something in him spoils at the unnecessary pity.

The lift remains mercifully empty. He presses the twelfth floor button and it glows green. The ride up is smooth, and quick. Double doors slide open onto a sprawling office space flooded with natural light. No one bothered to glance in Shouto’s direction as he gawked. If he remembered correctly this area was specifically for employees that worked closest to Bakugo. They’re all so nonplussed and focused. No nonsense. He likes that.

“Loser,” Bakugo grunts. He appeared from thin air, standing aside with arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Shouto’s stiff form with suspicion. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re still on leave”.

Shouto makes a noncommittal noise, inwardly miffed. He straightens his posture and takes more of his own weight. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe I missed you,” he says. Bakugo’s expression suddenly soured, as though he swallowed a lemon, mouth thin against his teeth.

Amusing as it is, acknowledging the disconnect aloud makes him truly accept the distance he had put between himself and his friends; how he’d worked too hard, untied himself from the tangle of their lives and ended up isolated.

“Nori told me to say ‘hi’ by the way”.

Bakugo sweetens. “She like that cardboard house I sent you?”

“She already destroyed it,” Shouto admits. And Bakugo laughs, irritation split by a crooked grin.

“Atta girl,” he nods in approval, turning on his heel and starting toward a pair of towering doors. “Oi. You comin’? Or are you going to stand there all damn day?

Dynamite’s office is anything but corporate. Professional, yes, but it’s also so plainly personal in a way that screams Bakugo. A setup reconfigurable for days that he can’t sit still, a folding treadmill under his large mahogany desk to keep him moving. Bakugo works better on his feet, something Shouto knows well.

Built in shelves line the accent wall, filled with framed pictures of friends and family, newspaper clippings and awards. There are even fan creations—mostly from his debut era, when being favoured felt far more significant, but Shouto finds it sweet all the same.

Walking ahead of him, Shouto approaches the desk. Bakugo lingers for a beat to holler something out the door before returning to his desk.

Two consult chairs face the head office chair opposite. Lowering into one of them, Shouto props his crutch up and takes his phone out of his pocket. Ever hopeful, he unlocks it, opens Enigmail and refreshes the chat list. There are new messages from a few other people he added in the beginning, but nothing from you. He tries not to sigh too obviously.

“What’s got you all fuckin’ mopey?" Bakugo leaned over to look down at the phone. Shouto hastily locked it and the explosive hero narrowed his eyes at the impassive veil Shouto pulled over his face.

“Nothing. How did the first Herokind event go?” he asks, fiddling with his newly acquired Dynamite pen. “Midoriya always sugar coats things for me”.

“Went fine. You didn’t miss anything,” Bakugo waves off. The leather office chair creaks as he leans back. “Boring as all hell since it was just the kickstarter. Food mild enough for a toddler to eat and too much alcohol. The auction will be more interesting. That birdbrain partner of yours was hilarious, though”.

“Hawks?” Shouto’s mouth twitches, failing to conceal his mirth. “What did he do this time?”

“Spent the night antagonising your shitty old man,” Bakugo pauses for a brief moment and rescinds his words. “Or aggressively flirting. Can't tell the difference with him”.

Shouto keeps his thoughts to himself on that one.

“Ended with Endeavor triggering all the sprinklers at the after party though,” Bakugo ends, eyes crinkled under the weight of his wicked grin. Shouto pursed his lips tight. Amusement huffed through his nose. He imagines his father standing in the middle of the room, pathetically soaked through, wisps of smoke rising from his put-out embers, and he laughs.

Bakugo looks rather pleased by the reaction. But then his gaze flickers over Shouto’s shoulder and his brow arches expectantly. “Did’ya need something? I shouted for the Egghead because I thought you were on your break”.

Shouto’s laughter dwindles as he follows Bakugo’s line of sight. His breath catches. An employee stands in the doorway peeking around a tall box of paperwork. Wide eyed as they examine him.

Wrapped around their wrist is a familiar sliding knot bracelet.

“I just—uh…”

His head spins. There’s a smudge on your finger where your pen's ink leaked, just like in the photo. Could this be you? You are—

“What the hell has gotten into everybody today,” Bakugo tuts, pushing up from his desk and striding over to receive the box himself. Your shoulders slump when you are relieved of the weight. Bringing your hands to your chest and massaging the joints.

—still looking right at him. Cute. He cannot help but think how cute you are, tripping over your words, losing your footing.

“Oi, maestro,” Bakugo clicks his fingers in your face and startles you out of your stupor. “Get it together. I need you with a clear head when that sleepy bastard from the HPSC gets here”.

You glare at Bakugo, “Mera-san is the least of your problems, Dynamite. Worry about yourself and the six unanswered emails I forwarded to you from the claims manager”.

You’re beautiful. And your voice, it’s so—his lips part, and he tries to speak, to interrupt Bakugo’s incessant teasing, but words fail him.

“Whatever. Those insurance claims are bullshit and you know it,” Bakugo mutters. He turns and moves to shove the box of paperwork beside the desk. His mouth downturns into a smirk when he stands and notices your attention drawn to Shouto once again.

“Is that everything? I’d appreciate it if you stopped gawking,” Bakugo drawls, a dry rasp to his taunting that seems to embarrass you further. Shouto isn’t sure he’s breathing. You’re right there. You’re within reach and he’s rooted to his chair.

“You’re such a—! Y’know what, no, I’m leaving now,” replying harshly you start toward the open door where you come to an abrupt halt. Shouto feels the distance like the pull of a leash. You incline your head into a short bow, losing strength in your voice as you acknowledge him, “Have a good afternoon, Shouto-san”.

Then you’re gone. He stares after you dumbly. In all the years he has worked in the hero industry Shouto has never been more thankful for choosing to make his given name his brand than he is now.

Bakugou falls heavily in his chair and sighs.

Shouto swallows, “Who was—”

“Don’t,” Bakugo stresses the command, as though telling a dog to heel. Shouto can feel the heat behind his pointed glare. Undeterred, his eyes linger after you, stuck on the spot where you once stood, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing.

“I mean it, Halfie. Run off the only competent PA I’ve ever had with your pisspoor flirting and I will kill you,” Bakugo barrels on. There’s no true malice but it comes through gritted teeth, like he has resigned himself to the impending stupidity. Because Shouto is already looking back at him with that small, impish curl to his lips.

“I’m not that terrible at flirting,” he says.

“Making eye contact for three uninterrupted minutes is not flirting,” Bakugo scoffs.

Shouto hums. “And what is? Pulling their pigtails for ten years?”

“Watch it,” Bakugo grouses, bottom lip jutting. He kicks the leg of Shouto’s chair and he laughs; he’s missed this.

Hoping to get back on track then, Shouto asks, “Will you be attending the charity auction, then?”

The other man grunts an affirmative. “I’ve put some memorabilia and shit up to be sold. Sparky somehow convinced Eijirou to auction himself off for a date,” Bakugo snorts and gives an amused shake of his head. “I’m willing to bet he’ll rake in at least ten million yen. Minimum”.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Shouto agrees. Kirishima had grown a lot since graduation all those years ago. Pair a stocky build with a big hearted guy like him and everyone is tripping over themselves to get a piece. “Is he nervous that he won’t make much?”

Bakugo clicks his teeth, interlocking his hands across his midsection and getting comfortable. “He really hasn’t got a fucking clue. The HPSC schmuck I’ve got to talk to today has already suggested extra security in case certain high profile guests get resentful,” he says. Crimson peeks through narrowed eyes, considering, calculating. “Are you gonna go? You’re looking steady enough”.

The last Bakugo had seen of him was directly after the incident—crumpled into the fetal postion and involuntarily spasming with six second intervals. Unable to speak, to walk, to turn his head. Worst case scenario presented on scene was that he could lose the ability to function at all, and Shouto had been thrown into a pit of depression so oppressive that he withdrew from himself all together.

There’s an underlying relief in Bakugo’s question that comforts him in ways he wasn't aware he’d been seeking. Pleased, Shouto drags his crutch between his thighs and twists at the padding around the handle. “I’ll be in attendance. I plan on bidding on a few things. David Shield’s original design sketches maybe,�� he admits. “…Will ‘maestro’ be there?”

Bakugo seems to parse the response carefully, as if it cracked open a hole into Shouto’s psyche. “Izuku is shooting for those, you know. I’m the one that’s gotta deal with him cryin’ if he loses”.

“I know,” Shouto’s mouth splits in a wry, intentional smile. “If I’m not outbid then I’m happy to give him whatever I win”.

“Shill bidding? Ha. Izuku never believes me when I tell him you’re secretly a dick,” Bakugo smirks. A thought visibly crosses his mind. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his palm and considering Shouto closely. “…My PA will be there for the auction. Working. So if you show me up—”

“I won’t,” Shouto interjects.

“—I will see you to the pearly gates myself,” Bakugo continues, unperturbed. There’s no true malice to his tone, moreso fond resignation, and Shouto’s chest bubbles with affection for his hard headed friend.

“That’s nice of you,” he says sincerely.

“Get fucked. You want an update on the cases we opened this week or did you seriously come here just to annoy me?”

“To annoy you, mostly,” Shouto ducks away from the hand that swiped at him. “Hawks forwarded me the arrest report. Tremor ended up going for a plea deal?”

“Yeah. Sold out the extras that helped him gather the hostages,” a forceful click of the keyboard; Bakugo slaps the spacebar to wake his monitor and makes clear his disapproval. “They went too fuckin’ easy on him,” he sneers. “Deserved a longer sentence”.

“As long as they’re off the streets,” Shouto muses. He isn’t one to hold a grudge against villains who’ve harmed him, but he can understand his friends' frustration. Had it been Bakugo or Midoriya, Shouto too wouldn’t be so quick to accept this outcome.

The gentle light flooding through the office windows recedes a fraction as a dense cloud covers the sun. His visit to the Blast Zone is but a blip of time, cut short by the foreboding ring from Bakugo’s emergency pager. He’s up and moving immediately, routine woven into him like muscle memory, and Shouto can’t help feeling jealous.

Under the door to his office, Bakugo clears his throat. He cocks his head toward the impending rain, “You need me to have someone drive you home?” And appears to regret it right away as Shouto smiles up at him, touched by the suggestion.

“No, thanks but I’ll be fine,” he waves off. Bakugo departs with a grunt, demanding he take an umbrella from the receptionist, because who doesn’t check the weather before they leave the house. The thud of his work boots reverberate off the walls as he disappears around a sharp corner, and Shouto shifts in the residual silence.

He takes out his phone as he pushes upright on his crutch; a habit rather than necessity. You haven’t messaged him since before your paths crossed—though you wouldn’t know that. He sighs. A niggling guilt has burrowed into his chest but it remains largely outweighed by his impatience.

Employees greet him on his short journey to the lift he arrived in. Bowing their heads, evoking his name with appreciation and awe while he’s scanning the space for signs of you. It’s a fruitless affair. Coming up short he steps inside, frown etched into his brow, and presses the ground floor button.

The speaker alerts him that the doors are about to close. He turns on his heel, leaning a hand on the support bar. Looking up from his shoes his eyes fall on your figure. You’ve stepped out from one of the closed off rooms, thumb tapping away at the phone in your hand. Shouto swallows, watching his own with trepidation.

Sensing a heavy gaze your eyes flicker to meet him at the last second, contact through the crack right as it shuts. He can hardly think. If this were a scene in Quirky Hearts he thinks he might just cast aside his dignity and sprint up the fire escape to confront you. The mere idea has heat simmering under his skin; it makes him want to fold himself into singularity. Shouto, a top five hero, a sword without ire.

Waiting dutifully, the receptionist hands him an umbrella from behind the staff desk. He squints at her name tag, muttering “Thank you, Akiyama-san” while he tucks the umbrella under his arm, deigning to mention the murky blueish blush that floods her skin, those pupil-less eyes shimmering. Shouto pulls his mask up over his nose, breath warming his cheeks, and takes a moment to observe the street.

Throngs of people scurry along the pavements to get away from the unforgiving chill. Raindrops can become a thousand paper cuts when the wind wills it. Afternoon starters amble into the lobby with wet shoulders. In his departure nobody so much as looks his way.

Sooba ▻ Hope you didn’t forget an umbrella today. Stay warm.

His thumb stopped mid-air, right above the “send” button. Sparing a lasting glance to the upper floors, Shouto quickly presses it, pockets his phone and opens up the umbrella. Stepping into the storm white noise fills his ears, tapping harshly on the PVC canopy over him.

Shouto tugs his jacket closer to his chest. The pavements are soaked, water fed into the uprooted cracks. He threads through the moving bodies back toward the station. With the streets overcast he feels better concealed.

A train is already waiting at the platform, decorated in yellow. The colour identifies it as a slow running train, taking the local stops route rather than the rapid one. He hides in his collar and stands in the corner of the carriage, umbrella collapsed and hooked over his wrist.

Six stops later—rather than three—and Shouto is closer to home. In the time it took to reach his street the rain had thinned out, now a sparse sun shower as the clouds pushed eastward.

Nori yells accusingly the very second his key slots into the door. He turns the lock and pushes it open, holding out his foot to keep her from rushing past. “I know, I know. I’m sorry sweet girl,” he scratched her head while bent to line up his shoes. “I missed you too. Bakugo said ‘hi’”.

She mewls and circles in place on her delicate paws, flicking her tail at him. Shouto takes it as forgiveness. “I think I met someone special today,” he recites to her, “The one I told you about…”

Stopping in the middle of his warm apartment, Shouto becomes unbearably aware of how damp his clothes are. He fishes his phone and wallet out from his pockets and sets them on the kitchen island before padding toward the bathroom.

A thorough rinse and long soak later, Shouto sprawls himself across his couch, phone laid on his chest and arm hung loosely over the edge while Nori plays with his fingers. She clings to his forearm as he cups her full belly, lazily dragging her back and forth across the floor.

He’s sipping on the mouth of his water bottle, mindlessly watching as Aki-or-something begs for Saeko-or-other to take him back after going on a date with another contestant, when your messages come through on Enigmail.

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess what happened today ▻ Saw Pro Hero Shouto at work. ▻ I think he might hate me? lol

Shouto inhales sharply, choking on his mouthful of water. Tears prickle behind his eyes as his diaphragm spasms, and he tries to catch his breath, fist thudding at his chest. Oscillating between mortification and delight—it really had been you.

Sooba ▻ Why would you think he hates you?

InsertNameHere ▻ I left an awful impression. And he looked at me like this (⊙＿⊙’) the whole time.

Heat burns at his nape; embarrassment spilling over into every crevice of his body. The air around him distorts and he exhales, steam curling from his lips. Nori watches on from the floor in fascination, sparing no sympathy. Maybe Bakugo had a point.

Sooba ▻ Maybe that’s just his face.

InsertNameHere ▻ Maybe… ▻ It is a pretty face though. Prettier in person.

Shouto feels all the air deflate from his body. He sinks into the couch, head lolling against his shoulder as he turns to press a grin into the cushions, gripped by a sudden rush of endorphins. It had been you. You’re real. More importantly, you are attainable.

Now did he want to do anything about it?

Sooba ▻ You think so??

The typing dots bounce along the chat room border as you reply.

InsertNameHere ▻ I know so. I was there. Beautiful even when he is staring right through me (￣ロ￣lll)

The memory of you speaking his name echoes like a broken record. He has yet to tire of it. Though he’s lightheaded and hazy, your features are still clear in his mind. The sure fire in your eyes, your sharp tongue and your pouty lips. A slow, warm tension trickles into his gut, swooping in anticipation and breathless longing as he imagines the face you might make if he touched you.

Sooba ▻ That’s presumptuous. He was staring at you. Why wouldn’t he be

InsertNameHere ▻ I. ▻ You’re so unfair you know that ▻ If you were here I would

His breathing picks up ever so slightly.

Sooba ▻ What would you do with me

InsertNameHere ▻ Are we veering into sexting territory right now

Sooba ▻ Unintentionally.

Shouto shifts his hips. The movement pulls his sweatpants tighter around his hips and a familiar tingling rushes below his waist. When was the last time he touched himself? He brings the phone to his forehead for a moment of clarity, peering up at the screen through his eyelashes.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is this the part where we come full circle and you actually send me a dick pic

He tucks his chin, a lazy smile playing on his lips. The gentle throb in his briefs pulses throughout his body and he answers, reaching to squeeze himself through the fabric, just for relief.

Nori sneezes. He falters, reminded of her presence and overcome by the urge to cover up. Proverbial tail between his legs, Shouto retreats to the privacy of his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Evening filters in through the windows, mauve and rosy. He kneels on the bed and it yields under his weight, frame silent while he crawls to the headboard and reclines back, phone in hand.

▻ Shit, sorry. I was joking you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to

The message goes over his head. He opens the front camera and stares back at his flushed, disheveled face before tilting the device, angling it toward his body.

Frosted fingertips trail up his stomach and it jumps, laying the hem of his shirt across his chest. Down again to the fine dark hair below his belly button, goosebumps rising across skin, blood rushing to the surface. Hooks his thumb suggestively into his waistband, hand splayed across his hip, and takes the photo.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_628] ▻ I want to

Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Abuzz with salacious apprehension he wonders what would it sound like above him? Under him? Breath knocked from your lungs, whining through the motions. He traces the outline of his clock. Covers his eyes with the crook of his arm and releases a shuddered breath, hips rising into the heel of his hand. A hand too big to be yours. Sweatpants pushed halfway down his thighs he pictured it anyway—you laid on your side, at his side, loose fist stroking him root to weeping tip.

Shouto thumbs at the head, smearing precum over his sensitive frenulum. Panting heavier, he squeezes his cock and wonders, would you tease him? Lick into his mouth and tell him not to be quiet?

The phone in his hand buzzes. Anticipation grips his heart. He almost drops it on his face when he squints up to read the screen.

InsertNameHere ▻ Fuck. You’re so gorgeous ▻ I can’t concentrate

Sooba ▻ You like it?

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll show you how much ▻ [IMG_447]

Heat races through him. You’re in a loose tank top, touching yourself over pale boyshorts. The dark straps have fallen around your shoulders in an almost demure manner, collar slipping forward to reveal the soft cleavage of your chest. You’ve mirrored his position, albeit a little higher, enough for your mouth to be in frame. Wet and rouge, if he thinks hard enough he can imagine he left them kiss bitten.

Sooba ▻ I want to touch you

He’s desperate to know what you like. The way you want to be touched, how you might yield under his wandering hands. Patterns dance behind his eyelids as he reaches to knead his pecs, pinching the pert nipple with a breathy moan. He smooths over his abdomen, corded muscle tensing beneath the added sensation, arousal coiling hot in his belly.

InsertNameHere ▻ Touch yourself for me instead, yeah? ▻ Gonna think about you too

“Fuck,” he chokes. Shouto loses his phone amongst the sheets. Feet planted flat to the mattress, his knees spread until the waistband protests. “Please. Please. I’m so close,” he whispers to the image in his mind. His pace stutters, feverish as he fucks his fist. Your lips brush soft along the column of his throat to feel him swallow. He turns into the pillow, mouth parted for heaving breath.

“That’s it Shouto. So beautiful for me,” you’ll murmur, so at home in the crook of his body. Amidst the desperation you’ll straddle his thigh, rhythm synchronized, chests rising. Your hand—his hand—slips further, fingers curled to press up behind his balls. He’s on fire. “Cum for me, baby. Let me see you cum”.

Shouto’s head tips back into the plush of his pillow, every muscle clenched. Pleasure rockets through him. His cock twitches in his grasp. He cums with a strung out moan, breaking into short, wet pants as he catches his breath.

Riding the gentle aftershocks, his arm falls heavily to the side and hits his bedsheets with a quiet thud. The smell of old petrichor blows into his room with the draft draws his attention to the darkened window. Streaks of gold sunlight peak between the buildings across the street where it settles under the horizon.

The stickiness between his fingers is difficult to ignore. Drying steadily on his chest. Reality returns to him slowly as he stares at his soiled hand. After cleaning himself up with the wipes in his bedside table, Shouto tugs up his sweatpants and rubs at the pink splotches leading up his throat. With clarity comes a vague haze of shame and he is loudly alone; something vibrates and he is anything but lonely. He lifts his head, rummaging through the sheets to find his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Want you to feel good ▻ You there baby? ▻ Sooba? ▻ Hm. That’s not the sexiest of names

Shouto laughed through his nose. Endeared by your awkward jump from flirting to nervously making up for a perceived misstep.

Sooba ▻ sorry can’t multitask ▻ shouldnt make fun of your house husbands name

Exiting his bedroom is uncomfortably close to a wall of shame. He drags his feet; gait unsteady for far nicer reasons than a near career ending injury. Nori has acquired his spot on the couch, retaining warmth in his absence. She observes him, all knowing.

InsertNameHere ▻ No capitalised letters? Punctuation? What have you done with my Sooba lol ▻ How are you feeling?

Sooba ▻ really good. sleepy

He wanders to the kitchen and dithers over his next message, leaning his forearms on the cool countertop. This fleeting, unintended conversation could change everything and that fact is starting to nag at him.

▻ what about you

InsertNameHere ▻ I feel really good. And sleepy <3

The implication is not lost on him. He chews his bottom lip, flustered at just how pleased that makes him.

The next burst of chat bubbles appear in an instant, one after another. Typed hastily as though to outrun your own apprehension.

▻ Can I ask you something? ▻ Did you mean it when you said you’d come to the event with me? ▻ I have a plus one. I want to see you. But you don’t have to

Shouto swallows. Tugged between elation and fear. You’ve become all he yearns for and you could be just that, his, yet he panics all the same. Heroism had consistently been his lacquered shield. An excuse for his self isolation that people had to begrudgingly accept. Working himself to the bone afforded the luxury of never having to dwell on it.

Exhaustion aside he was content with the humdrum life he hid behind. Before you, Shouto rarely wanted for anything. He had his family, and good friends, and a job that felt rewarding; it didn’t seem worth it to lay himself bare and be dissected on the off chance that someone new might love him.

Because hectic work and risks aside, he’s profoundly aware of the ghosts he has yet to conquer. That somewhere, there is something fundamentally different inside him that you might find disappointing.

Unthinkingly, Shouto grapples with the courage in him existing on the fringes and replies in much the same way you had.

Sooba ▻ I meant it. I want to see you too. ▻ I’d like to go with you ▻ Don’t worry about a plus one. I’ll meet you there

InsertNameHere ▻ Wow, okay. That was easier than I thought. I’m so excited ▻ And super nervous

As it turns out the impending date motivates Shouto like nothing before. Days pass without fault or interruption. The man-shaped dent in his couch rises without the constant weight. He sticks closely to the routine his physiotherapist drew up for him. Walks longer distances and soaks up the sun daily, to Tsutomu’s great delight.

Too wrapped up in his own coalesced anxiety and elation, he realises he hadn’t found it remotely odd that you hadn’t questioned his ability to get into the auction.

His train of thought is interrupted by a firm hand coming down on his shoulder. “Man of the hour!” A familiar sharp toothed grin blocks his vision. Shouto clenches under the sudden weight to keep himself upright as Kirishima gives him a shake, “We missed you around here. You’re looking good!”

The charity event is in full swing. An anticipatory lull permeates the atmosphere as the chosen guests, heroes and civilians alike, wait for the auction to finally begin. Shouto arrived fashionably late, as Mina called it, after spending nearly three hours on a group call with her, Yaoyorozu, and his sister.

The applause upon his entry had not been expected. His palms are still clammy.

Compared to Shouto's charcoal three piece suit, tailored to precision, Kirishima dons a charmingly loud burgundy blazer over a dark turtleneck, pulled together by a simple chain. The material is tight across his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Kirishima,” Shouto smiles. He looks him over, “You look good too”.

That signature grin grows weary. “You really think so?” Kirishima lowers his voice into a hush, tugging at the loose hair framing his face. “I wasn’t so sure about tying my hair back. What if nobody bids for me? I’m dying inside just thinking about it”.

Shouto turns away from the sea of vibrant clothing and chatter to pat his friend on the arm and level him with a serious look. “A lot of people are going to spend money on you tonight, Kirishima. But in the impossible event that they don’t I’ll bid on you myself,” he tells him. “We can go to Mythoscape and try that new rollercoaster”.

“Bro…” Kirishima’s eyes are wide and glassy. While Shouto expects the firm hug, he is mildly surprised by the long, dramatic kiss to his cheek. His breath smells faintly of white wine. “You’re the best,” he continues as he sets Shouto back on his feet. “But is it really okay for you to do that?”

A flash goes off. Shouto frowns. He scans the crowd and rubs away the wet mark left behind. Yaoyorozu catches his attention with a delicate wave from her place beside Kendo and Uraraka. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, smiling back, yet distracted. You’re still nowhere to be found.

“Well,” Kirishima draws breath through his teeth. “Bakugo kinda told me about your crush on his PA,” whatever he sees pass over Shouto’s expression has him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling to explain. “Nothing bad, man! You know he actually seemed pretty approving of it, in his own way”.

The evermoving mass of bodies sharpens around a few other familiar faces. Midoriya is excitedly gesticulating as he rambles to a visibly overwhelmed HSPC shareholder. Bakugo watches the interaction with no intention of concealing his amusement.

“I’m not sure about that,” Shouto rasps, narrowing his eyes at the man in question, like the pressure behind it might be enough to elicit his attention. Bakugo of all the people here would know where you are. The phone snug in his inside blazer pocket remains silent. A pout works its way onto his lips before he can stop it. “He said I’m bad at flirting”.

Kirishima stifles a laugh and clears his throat when Shouto directs the petulant glare to him. “You are a little bad at it. But only when you’re actually trying! And even then that’s part of what makes it charming, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know”.

“You’re the type to flirt without realising you’re doing it—or atleast people think you are, because you’re handsome and attentive and whatnot. But when you try it’s kinda obvious and bro, please stop looking at me like that,” Kirishima explains clumsily, tone pitching higher the longer he talks.

Shouto’s lips thin as he tries to suppress a smirk. He rights himself as Kirishima nudges his side, catching a smile of his own, “What I meant is you have a chance. And Bakubro thinks so too. He wants you to be happy”.

The sentiment warms him from the inside out. But it also makes apparent something trepid and cold in his gut. Regardless of his friends unfettered support there remains the real possibility that he will be rejected. That you will be disappointed or scared away by his status. That you could do as you please with the intimate parts of his life ‘Sooba’ gave you.

Scarier is the hope that you won’t.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Shouto announces, noticing Endeavor prowling around in his peripheral vision. Kirishima’s brow furrows, mouth parted in confusion, no doubt seeking to reassure him. “I’m okay, Kirishima. I just need something to do with my hands”.

“Alright,” the taller man murmurs. Shouto finds himself at the end of a gentle smile once more. “Make sure to say ‘hi’ to Denks if you see him. He misses you too”.

“I will,” Shouto nods, ducking away from the inexpressible tenderness that has clung to him since stepping into the hall. People part to allow him through. His left leg has already begun to feel weak, not enough to worry but enough to notice, and he hopes he can later blame his gait on the alcohol.

He reaches the bar and wrinkles his nose at the thick amalgamation of perfume, body odour and over-applied cologne. The bartender slides up to him. “Umeshu, please,” he says. “On the rocks”.

Another body settles beside him. He shifts to accommodate them but doesn’t look; too distracted as he inhales deeply through his nose and exhales long out his mouth to allay his beating heart. Pulling his phone out from his inside pocket, the screen lights up and he finds it void of messages.

After the… sexting, things had been fine. Better in a lot of ways. You both felt emboldened to truly act on your feelings. Sharing more pictures, secrets—though never your names—and laughter. It is disconcerting that you would now go silent.

The bartender sets his drink down and Shouto quietly gives his thanks, bringing it to his face, briefly caught in the soft glimmer, cubed ice submerged in liquid gold, tasting the sweet aroma at the back of his throat. He tips it back and drinks.

As the glass hits the surface once more, the person next to him softly asks, “Are you waiting on anyone?”

And his mouth goes dry.

You’re bracing on crossed arms, watching him closely. Speckled in the warm low light reflected on the bar, you are more beautiful than he remembers, and just as nervous. There’s an air of uncertainty about you that shifts as your eyes meet, faint but palpable, encouraged by what he can imagine is the wonder on his own face.

Shouto wets his lips. The plum taste lingers on his tongue. “…I might be,” he murmurs. You brighten at his reciprocation, a more charged kind of nervous—the kind that swoops low in your belly right before you take a leap.

“If I’m wrong don’t laugh and don’t tell Dynamite,” you turn to face him and smooth your hands over your hips. This allows him a better look at your attire. Silken fabrics that form gentle lines around the waist, loose but elegantly so, not in a way that the clothes wear you.

Your eyes dipped low, averted to avoid his stare. He cannot seem to direct it anywhere else. The auction has fallen away in its entirety. As far as Shouto is concerned there’s only you.

“It’s me. And you’re…Sooba?”

The tremble in your voice shrikes through him and it occurs to Shouto that you have always been the brave one.

He leans into your space, enjoying the way you quickly draw breath at his proximity, forced to meet his gaze. Rather than something remotely suave or cool, he dumbly asks, “You knew?”

Part of him wants to tuck his shoulders to his ears as you begin to laugh. They’re warm, undoubtedly red. Amusement is not at all what he prepared for. He thought this might all end up in his scrapbook memory, to be taken out and pined over now and then.

“Shouto-san with all due respect, you came to my workplace with your very recognisable crutches and stared at me like a deer in headlights”.

“Shouto,” he says.

Your laughter simmers, “Hm?”

“Just call me Shouto,” he tells you, equal parts relieved and embarrassed.

“Shouto,” you smile at him with a fondness that derails his thoughts. He has the vague urge to whine when it wanes. “I’m—I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. I swear I didn’t know until after you visited the agency. It all made sense after I looked up your socials and saw some old pictures of Nori”.

“It’s alright. I knew and didn’t say anything either,” Shouto inclines his head, abashed. Then with a sudden sharp sort of clarity, he continues, “So then you knew, when you asked for a dick—?”

Words evade him under the warm press of your hand as you quickly cover his mouth. You glance around the room, closer than before, and you don’t seem to realise. Cautious, he touches your waist; he puckers his lips to kiss your palm; he feels your stomach jump under the silky fabrics.

Your eyes darken, swallowed by pupil. “You’re a menace,” you simper, and reluctantly pull away. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere with less…cameras”.

Umeshu abandoned, Shouto wraps an arm around your lower back and allows you to direct him through the crowd. You weave through the moving bodies like thread through a needle, at one point reaching behind to take his wrist, becoming his tether.

Bakugo meets his gaze from across the room. His eyes flit to you, widening in surprise. Shouto flashes a boyish grin before disappearing through the side door.

The door you choose next opens to a private bathroom. Shouto surges forward, taking you by the hips and crowding you against the bathroom counter, overcome by the need to feel everything that you are pressing into everything that is him.

He kicks the door behind him and settles in the clutch of your thighs as you scramble to balance on the marble edge. Your hands slide over his shoulders, splaying over each cheek. You’re both breathing heavily despite having done nothing at all.

“I said talk,” you remind him with a tremulous smile. Shouto knows you’re being playful. He apologises anyway; rests his head in the crook of your neck, letting the moment simmer, and you comb through his hair with your fingers. A shiver rolls down his spine.

“Did you know it was me? Before you came to the agency, I mean”.

He reclines from his crook to look at you. Eye level, silhouetted by the cheap bathroom luminescence. “When I saw you in there—and put it together I was so scared,” you continued.

“Scared?” he echoed with a frown, knuckles brushing your cheek.

“Not like that. I was scared of what you might think,” you turn into his caress and his pinched expression falls away. He can’t stop touching you and he can’t bring himself to be sorry about it. “I mean, I looked terrible that day, and you appeared out of nowhere and I wasn’t mad it was you. I was just…”

You swallow thickly, emotion swelling in your eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners. “You’re so big and bright. I didn’t want you to be disappointed”.

You were unaware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. How even in anonymity, your incorporeal fingers always seemed to find it. Even now, as you echo his own fears.

“Momo first mentioned you might work for Bakugo. I didn’t know before I saw you that day. I still wasn’t certain until tonight”. You peer at him through your lashes then, listening intently. He brings your foreheads together and tells you, “There is no way you could’ve disappointed me”.

“Oh? I could’ve been a villain”.

“My oldest brother was a villain,” he monotoned, wandering hands squeezing intermittently at your waist as though to make sure you’re still there. “My capacity for love and forgiveness knows no bounds”.

You snort. The sound is abrupt and the force knocks your skulls together. “Oh—ow,” he grins, insides melting. Together you dissolve into a warm fit of laughter.

“Hey, Shouto?”

He hums in acknowledgment, eyes fluttering as your thumb swipes over the red mark below his hairline. “I like you,” you murmur. “I like you so much it’s stupid”.

Plunged into an ice cold realisation, Shouto freezes to process your words. “You—like me?”

“Yeah?” you said it like he was dense, like it was clear all along. “I can’t help it when you’re so…yourself”

And isn’t that all he’s ever wanted? To be loved without pretense, without a winner. To be special to someone for no special reason.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Me too. I like you. I want—” his fingers flex at your hips, grounding. He blinks. “I don’t know your name yet”.

Affection colours your features. Shouto likes you best like this—sure of yourself, of his feelings for you. You recite your name. He repeats it endlessly in his mind and rolls it around his teeth. He calls to you even when you’re right in front of him.

“Can I kiss you now?”

“You were waiting?” you laugh, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s such a novel thing but it makes something monumental swell in his chest. “Kiss me. I want you to”.

Given permission, Shouto traces the curve of your jaw with a bold shyness, from the sensitive skin below your ear to your chin. His finger hooks beneath. You’re lovely. He thinks he could spend an hour describing your demure half smile, how your lips yield under the light pressure of his thumb; your tongue darting out reflexively.

He shakes at the desire that fills him. He’s not used to it—this wanting. It feels like a thousand insatiable butterflies in his chest. Dipping into your magnetism, his heart beat faster and faster with the simple brush of your lips. He kissed you, innocent and honest, and then he kissed you again, licking the seam of your mouth, arms coiling around your middle as you cling to him.

You tip forward. Your thighs clench at his waist and drag him impossibly close. It brings you chest to chest. He tries to hold you steadfast as your hand wraps around his nape, softly scratching his scalp; he feels you smile against his lips when he shudders.

You break for air. Arousal shoots through him at your half moan, the sound tapering into a happy hum the instant his lips trail down your neck, tasting your pulse before making his way down to your exposed collar. He peppers kiss after kiss on every swathe of skin he can reach, sinking teeth into every little reaction you give him.

Big hands at your lower back arch your body into his. You yield, tension sapped from your limbs, grappling his shoulders to keep yourself from falling while you grind down on his lap. Shouto groans, grip slipping lower to cup your ass.

“We’re getting carried away,” you gasp between kisses. That alone was obvious. His cock strains uselessly in his suit pants. But the light glints tantalisingly along your mouth, swollen and wet with saliva. Shouto kisses you again so you won’t have to tell him to attend to his responsibilities.

A warm breath scores his cheek as you huff through your nose, nipping firmly at his lower lip. “I mean it. I am technically still at work,” you try again, voice lacking strength. “Dynamite will knock on every door in this building—don’t wrinkle your nose, you know I’m right”.

“Alright. I know,” he rasps, barely an exhale. It takes all his willpower to pull away. He steadies you on your feet, smoothing out the creases in your formal attire while you are quite pleased to simply watch on as he adjusts himself in his pants. “I’m glad my suffering is funny to you”.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you murmur, pecking the corner of his mouth. “I'll hide with you in the corner like I promised I would. We can make up for lost time after the auction. You know. The one for charity”.

Shouto hums and reaches for the door, knowing you’ve won. “Oh. I told Kirishima I’d bid for his date night,” he recalls as he turns the handle. “Would that bother you?”

“Of course not baby,” you reply and take one last look at your reflection, less disheveled than before. The endearment ‘baby’ almost has him walking into the doorframe.

You straighten up. Shouto thinks he must look incredibly dumbstruck, if your concerned expression is any indication. “You okay?” you ask, proffering your hand. “You didn’t bring your crutches tonight, did you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he intertwines your fingers, dizzy as you squeeze around him.

“It’s just a tremor”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader

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bitchy-craft · 9 months

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Let's Get You Hyped Up | Pick A Pile

Hello and welcome to this Pick A Pile! In here you'll find a few things that'll hype you up. I hope you guys enjoy and find this useful. Do make sure to leave comments down below on your experience! I do want to remind you all that this is a General Pick A Pile which means this is for a lot of people; therefore keep what resonates and leave what doesn't.

Masterlist > Questions > Paid Readings

Pick A Pile!

Pile 1:

You're a force to be reckoned with, a spark of potential waiting to ignite the world with your brilliance. Each day is a canvas, and you hold the brush. The universe has bestowed you with unique talents and dreams, and it's time to unleash them with unbridled passion. Remember, challenges are just stepping stones on the path to your success. Embrace them, conquer them, and let them mold you into the unstoppable individual you are meant to be.

You've already overcome obstacles that once seemed insurmountable, proving your resilience and determination. Your journey is a testament to your unwavering spirit. Visualize your goals, for that's the first step in manifesting them into reality. The world eagerly awaits the mark you'll leave upon it. Your story is one of inspiration, growth, and triumph. Believe in yourself, as others believe in you too. The energy you radiate is infectious, and your impact is boundless.

So go forth with confidence, head held high, and a heart full of determination. Every effort you put forth, every leap you take, is a leap towards greatness. You've got this!

Pile 2:

You're a dynamo of potential, a powerhouse of creativity just waiting to explode onto the scene. Every sunrise brings a fresh chance to seize the day and make it your own. Embrace the challenges that come your way, for they're the secret ingredients that shape your success story.

Life's journey is a rollercoaster of experiences, and you're fearlessly riding every twist and turn. Your ability to adapt and thrive in the face of uncertainty is awe-inspiring. Remember, you're not just a participant in life – you're the director, crafting your narrative with every decision you make.

Dream big and dream often, because those dreams are the blueprints of your destiny. As you forge your path, know that your enthusiasm is contagious and your potential limitless. Your actions have a ripple effect that extend far beyond your awareness, touching lives and igniting the flames of possibility in others.

So march ahead with unwavering confidence, a trailblazer towards your goals. With every stride you take, you're paving the way to the extraordinary. Believe in yourself, as others believe in you too. You're a beacon of light, illuminating the world with your radiance!

Pile 3:

You are a constellation of infinite possibilities, a symphony of potential waiting to be composed. Your uniqueness is a gift to the world, a mosaic of experiences that only you can bring to life. Every day is an opportunity to add a new chapter to your story, and you hold the pen. Embrace the unknown with excitement, for within it lies your next adventure.

Life's challenges are like the weights that sculpt a strong and resilient spirit. With each trial you face, you're refining your character and gaining the tools to conquer even greater feats. You've already shown your capability to adapt and overcome, proving time and again that you're not just a passenger in this journey – you're the driver.

Visualize your aspirations vividly, for the mind is a powerful magnet that attracts the future you desire. As you walk your path, remember that your enthusiasm is contagious, and your potential knows no bounds. The ripples of your actions extend far beyond what you can see, touching lives and inspiring others to chase their dreams.

So stride forward with courage, a trailblazer on the path to your aspirations. Every step you take, every dream you chase, brings you closer to the extraordinary life you're crafting. Believe in yourself, as others believe in you too. You're a shooting star, lighting up the universe with your brilliance!

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littlemissmarvelous · 1 year

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Ruins

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

If you have any sort of triggers regarding SA or have PTSD DO NOT READ.

I went through something a few years ago and I’ve been plagued with it a lot recently and so I tried to write it out to relieve my PTSD.

Your skin felt grimy.

Bile was in your throat threatening to spill from your mouth.

Your heart lies within your stomach in pieces.

The trip home from the solo mission was full of you not facing the reality of the situation. What they did. Even at the thought of them, the tears sting your eyes and your chest is tight and all of a sudden you can feel every single forced touch.

You rushed to your room as soon as your jet landed, disarming and stripping yourself of your blood soaked clothes. You’re numb as you subconsciously drag yourself into the bathroom and turn on the tub to watch the hot water rise. Sinking into it, you feel your muscles relax but your insides are still a mess. Your eyes travel to your skin and it’s like their fingerprints are everywhere painting your skin.

next thing you know your skin is red and raw and you’re holding the loofah. you shudder as tears stream down your face silently.

you find your face in the mirror in front of you, a stranger stares right back.

Days blend together as you find yourself staying in your room rather than visiting with the team but you can’t seem to care if they noticed. You couldn’t find yourself caring about anything lately really. Steve noticed this and took you off missions to see if he could maybe get a reaction out of you. To his dismay, you simply shrugged and retreated right back to your room. Him and Nat shared concerned glances with each other and Bucky stared after you with concern. You hadn’t spoken much about the mission, just simply handed them the drive and muttered, “mission complete”.

The break from missions gave you even more time to fall deeper into the hole you were digging yourself and you were too tired to stop yourself. You were a stranger to yourself and now your friends. The eyes in the mirror were not your own, but the pain they held was all that was left of you. Your knives stayed in their sheaths, your books in the shelf, your pen and journal in their drawer. A ghost has began to reside where you once did as more and more of yourself died.

How many days had passed? was it weeks? you weren’t sure. it was all a blur as you walked mindlessly through the tower. Eyes fell upon you and you knew they were curious but you couldn’t open your mouth to explain why.

you weren’t ready yet.

would you ever be?

You’re making yourself coffee when he says your name.

“Y/n.” Steve says sternly.

Your grip tightens on your mug but you do not turn. “Yes Steve?”

“what is going on with you lately? what’s wrong with you?” He asks and you know he’s frustrated. You have to remind yourself he doesn’t know.

“i’m fine.” you simply reply and give your signature shrug.

This however made steve MAD.

“Fine?! You were barely training, your missions became sloppy, you haven’t been talking to any of your teammates! You could have gotten yourself or any one of us killed on those missions if you had gone, you weren’t even trying at training!”

you know he wants a rise out of you. you know he wants you to show that you care but you’re so numb that you simply stand their and take his rant. He was right. Nat is staring at you worried from the couch and Bucky finds himself gravitating towards you to comfort you.

“Seriously y/n, do you not even care? about us? about being an avenger? Maybe we made a mistake making you one of us. Maybe you don’t belong here.” Steve seethes.

The last straw inside you breaks.

“I was FUCKING RAPED STEVE! Is that what you wanted to hear?!” You explode and he stares at you in shock, eyes wide. “Did you want me to tell you how they forced themselves upon me and i can’t get the disgusting feeling of their hands off my skin? or how they cut my skin if I tried to fight back? Or maybe you wanted to hear how they loved when I screamed in pain until I was sobbing? Or MAYBE you wanted me to tell you how i can’t even fucking look in the mirror anymore without seeing how utterly broken I am. Is that it? is that enough of a fucking reaction that you wanted out of me?” Your chest is heaving and your cheeks are wet with tears, the room silent after your outburst.

It’s then you realize just how many people now know happened to you. You quickly turn to run out of the room, only to slam into Bucky.

“Doll i’m so-“he begins.

“just leave me ALONE!” you yell and let your feet carry you to your room where you immediately shut and lock the door before screaming your lungs out.

The truth was out. they knew how dirty you were. How disgraced and disgusting you felt. Broken. Useless.

Your scream echoed so loud you’re sure the whole compound could hear it.

There’s a knock at your door and you freeze. No no no, you weren’t ready for this yet. The pity was not something you wanted to experience right now.

“Y/N, it’s me, Nat.” Her voice travels through the door, “I know you might not want to talk to us but I just want you to listen to me for a little bit okay? can I come in?”

Your brain screamed at you to not let her in. Solitude will heal, it yelled. Nobody wants to hear about what happened. What were you supposed to say anyways? How weak you were? You couldn’t hear anyone tell you how this was your fault…it would surely break whatever you had left. You cover your mouth as a sob escapes your mouth and your heart clenches in pain.

“I can’t. I can’t.”

You hope she hears the whimpers because you can’t find it in you to speak anymore. Sinking down to the floor you let silent tears stream down your cheeks as you heard her steps take her body away from your door. You hated that you were pushing away your best friend but you couldn’t let anyone near you, get close to you. Not yet.

Two days later another knock at the door.

“Go away, please…” you call.

“Y/n? It’s Dr. Cho…I need to examine you, if that’s okay. I want to make sure you don’t have any lasting injuries from…the incident. It’s just me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath before dragging yourself to your door and opening it a crack. “You promise you’re alone?”

Helen nods with a warm small smile and you step to the side and open the door more to let her in, closing the door and locking it after she passes you.

She sets her medical back on your chair and looks around to see the best place to examine you and you’re suddenly aware your room was a catastrophe. You hang your head in embarrassment and apologize quickly, “I’m sorry for the mess Helen…it’s been a rough few days.”

She shakes her head and reassures you, “It’s okay, how about we clear off a space on the bed and set up there?”

You simply nod and quickly strip the bed of the excess mess so Helen can lay out what she needed. She softly tells you to strip down from the waist down, not trying to upset you. Your hands shakily strip and take the sheet from the doctor hands that she offers you.

“Just lay back and relax okay? I will be as quick as I can.”

You nod and close your eyes as she begins the exam, tears silently starting to leak out as you realize she is going to know the full extent of what happened. The damage. Ten minutes later she hands you your bottoms back and writes a few things down before facing you again. Her eyes were sad as she grabbed your hand.

“I am so sorry that this happened to you, y/n. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I’m going to leave a card for a really great therapist, okay? Use it only when you’re ready.”

I nod at her words, unable to find enough air in my lungs to form words. Her caring words just made you want to cry more, made it more real. You find yourself staring into space as her figure disappears and you hear your door close. Mumbled voices on the other side of the door, one you recognized distinctly as bucky.

“Please Helen, how is she? Can I see her?” He begs.

Helen shakes her head. “No, I’m afraid you can’t Sergeant Barnes. She needs space and time to heal, and to be frank…I don’t think she wants any…male attention right now.”

Turning her head to Tony who stood a few feet away with his eyes glued to the floor and hands in his pocket. “Tony, can I speak to you and Dr. Banner alone?”

Tony simply nods and sends a quick text to Bruce to let him know to meet them in his office. Once gathered, Helen shut the door, locked it, and turned to the two men. Before she could speak Tony interrupts, “before you start… I think it’s best Nat be in attendance. If this is about y/n, then another woman should be present so she can be more helpful.”

Helen nods and unlocks the door, opening it to see Nat already standing there. Giving here a sad subtle smile, Nat walks In and Helen locks the door once again. Now facing the three she took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she spoke, “After further examination of Agent (y/l/n), it’s come to my attention that her injuries were far more severe than I thought.”

“How bad?” Nat asks shakily.

When Helen’s eyes open, they’re full of tears. “I don’t want to go into exact details but the damage done was significantly extensive. The scarring is…immense. I could potentially help heal with the cradle but she is no where near ready for that. I’m afraid her mind is what took the most damage. I left her Doctor Raynors card for her but I’m not sure when or if she’s going to be up to it.”

Tony sighs and let’s his face fall into his hands. “So what do we do now?”

“Now you just let her know you’re there and wait for her to be ready. Dr. Banner you should run routine check ups on her, her nutrition is below what I would like for her. Agent Romanoff can help you with that,” She turned to face Nat, “You’re one of the only women here so you are going to be better at getting close to her than anyone else. She’s going to need you.”

Nat nods as tears slowly paint her cheeks and nails dig into her palms. Bruce places a hand on her back in comfort while he tries to keep his own cool.

After Helen leaves and it’s just the three remaining, a angsty silence fills the room. They knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but their hurting hearts wanted to save you from the abyss that was swallowing you whole.

One week passed.

Nat knocked every day, no answer. Friday ran a health check as best she could. Bucky slept on the floor just outside your door just in case you needed him.

Two weeks passed.

Nat knocked every day, no answer. Friday kept running health checks as best she could. Buckys back was feeling it from the sleeping on the floor. But it was worth it if you might need him. Even if you hadn’t called for him.

The third week came.

Nat knocked every day.

It was a Wednesday when you finally opened the door. Nat had to keep her face from falling at the sight of you. Face pale, eyes dead with bags under them from no sleep, and she could tell you had lost weight in an alarming way.

Smiling weakly you say, “Hey Nat. Come in.”

You open the door wider and step to the side to let her past. As you do your eyes find bucky on the floor and your heart aches but you can’t bring yourself to call to him. Not yet.

Closing the door behind you, you sigh and turn to face her. “I know it probably is a mess in here for you and I look terrible I really apologize.”

Nats voice trembles as she asks, “can I hug you? Is that okay?”

Your face pales even more but you nod with a gulp and the next thing you knew the redheads arms were encasing your frame.

“Don’t ever apologize for anything, okay? If anything I’m sorry you had to go through all of it. I know you know that I understand what you went through more than anyone else here. So I want you to know that I’m here throughout it all, okay? You aren’t alone in this. You never have to be alone again.” Her tears are wetting your shirt as she speaks just like you know you’re now wetting hers.

Sobs wrack your body as you cling to your best friend for dear life. “No matter what I do I keep seeing it. Feeling it. I can’t escape it! I feel their touches like they were burned into my skin and it makes me sick…and scared. I wasn’t strong enough to stop them, they kept telling me I was weak over and over. And you know what? They’re right. I couldn’t protect myself. What good am I to the team at that point?”

Her arms grip you tighter at your words, holding your shaking body as the sobs kept coming before leaning back to be able to grab your face to force you to meet her eyes. “You are the best teammate we have, do you understand me? This is not your fault and it doesn’t say anything about who you are or what you can do. This does not define you. Ask anyone, y/n, they will tell you that you’re the most kind, skilled, and strongest agent we have. They were the weak ones, not you. Do not forget that…Please don’t forget that.”

You simply close your eyes as more tears cascade down your now rosy cheeks. “I just don’t know what I did to deserve this. I keep asking myself why over and over and I just…I can’t.”

“Some people are just evil. The world unfortunately holds some truly vile people who want to steal your light. But you can’t let them win. And if you need any help keeping that light alive then please do not hesitate to come to me or anyone here. Please.” Nats begging at this point and you can’t help but sob more at your incredibly supportive friend. You were so grateful, the shame you felt melting away as you finally had someone who understood and supported you in a way none else ever could.

“I love you, Nat. You really are my best friend.” You sniffle as you admit with a small smile. It felt good to smile for once.

“I love you too, kid. You already know you’re my best friend too,” Nat admits with a matching smile before continuing, “I just have to ask though…you do have a massive super soldier sleeping outside of your room the past few weeks that has been worried sick…are you ready to see him? If not it’s okay and I’ll tell him. We don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

At the mention of bucky your heart squeezed tightly and you swear you almost lose all the air in your lungs. You hadn’t had even processed that yet! How he would react was your biggest concern. Would he hate you? Would he be disgusted? Would he break up with you?

Sensing your distress Nats eyes go wide as she exclaimed, “it’s okay! I’ll tell him no. Y/n I swear it’s okay.”

You shook your head despite the anxiety that had consumed you. “No, no I need to talk to him. It’s okay. Please send him in.”

She nods and replies, “okay , just holler if you change your mind okay?”

You nod and watch as she walks to the door and steps out. A bunch of murmurs before your hear him loudly get up quickly and rush into the doorway of your room.

You stood with your arms around your torso in attempt to hold yourself together as you felt his gaze go over you. Eyes glued to the ground, your breaths were ragged as the silence plagued the air.

“Doll…”Bucky calls out, his voice heavy with emotion but raspy from sleep.

At the sound of his voice you break into a whole new level of sobs. Rushing to your side he reaches out and almost touches your skin, but instantly realizes before yanking them back.

Your brain automatically channels this as him being disgusted by you which fuels your sobs even more. “I’m so sorry,” you cry out, “I’m so fucking sorry. You think I’m revolting.”

What? Bucky thinks to himself. He couldn’t believe those words left your mouth. Tears pooled in his eyes and he let out a ragged breath before saying, “please don’t say that, doll. You have no reason to be sorry. This isn’t your fault. Do you hear me?” He takes a careful step closer to you to bring himself within arms distance between you. “This isn’t your fault. It never has been.”

Your arms wrap tighter around your torso like you’re trying to keep the pieces together and to prevent him from seeing that if you let go, you’d fall to pieces all over the hardwood floor beneath your feet. Your chest is tight as you try to contain your sobs but they continue to rip you apart piece by piece. “They ruined me for you, bucky. I can’t…you won’t want me anymore.” You cry.

His tears are now waterfalls upon his cheeks as his heart is being torn to shreds at your words. “No, no, no… please don’t talk like that. I will never not want you…can I…can I hold you?”

You’re unsure but find yourself nodding. It was difficult at first but as his arms wrapped around you and held you close it felt like glue was being poured within your cracks and your wounds were temporarily numbed.

“You are the most important thing in my life. Compared to you, the missions, the job, heck even the world are nothing. Meaningless to me because if I didnt have you I can promise you I would be the most miserable man in the universe. What happened to you was traumatic and terrible and I am so incredibly sorry I wasn’t able to protect you this time. But that doesn’t make you any less beautiful, any less amazing, any less perfect to me…” leaning back, he put a finger underneath your Chin to raise your eyes to his, “I love you and I will love you forever, through every timeline that exists. It will always be you. So please understand that no matter what happens, you are my person and I’m here for it all. The bad, the good, the ugly. I promise I will be here to help you through this is the ways that I can and give you whatever space you need when you need it.”

His words found home in you as your arms released your middle and inch by inch encircled his before squeezing him tight. No words were spoken for a while as you simply held each other and cried.

A while later you both sat on the floor by your bed side by side in silence. It was comforting and simply something you didn’t know you needed from him until now.

Turning your head to him you say , “I’ve been told we are going to share the same therapist these days.”

Bucky turned his head to look at you and smiles, “I’m glad you’re taking up the offer. I’m proud of you. She might be a pain in the ass for you though.”

You raise your eyebrow, “more than you?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and wraps an arm around your shoulder to pull you close. “I’ll take being a pain in your ass any day. My favorite job.”

You shake your head with a small smile. You didn’t know how you were going to heal from this but you know that between Nat, Bucky, and the others…you would get there one day. You weren’t alone.

#marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #avengers imagine #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #marvel fic #steve rogers imagine #bucky barns imagine #avengers fanfiction #buckynat #bucky imagine #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky angst #bucky masterlist

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kcyars19992 · 7 months

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10 CRIMINALLY UNDERRATED RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE SONGS

photograph by Lindsay Brice/Getty Images

Follow Rage Against the Machi…

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text ELI ENIS

July 11, 2022

Rage Against the Machine don't have a bad song to speak of. Throughout their four-album catalog — including 2000 covers record, Renegades — the band's winning formula of righteous, riff-slingin' rap-metal and bird-flippin' attitude aimed toward the powers that be hasn't yielded a single cut that truly feels underwhelming. Still, there're definitely several that don't get their deserved amount of time in the spotlight.

Beyond "Bulls on Parade" and "Killing in the Name," these are 10 incredible, catchy, hard-hitting, lyrically nourishing Rage anthemsthat feel criminally underrated within the general discourse about this iconic band.

"Fistful of Steel"

Rage Against the Machine's 1992 debut is their most universally beloved release, so there aren't too many songs on this front-to-back masterpiece that truly don't get their shine. "Fistful of Steel," however, is one that gets sometimes lost in the outstanding shuffle. It doesn't have a signature one-liner or an animalistic breakdown — just a great riff with plenty of meat on its bones and a groove that swings like a pickaxe hitting cold, hard dirt.

"Township Rebellilon"

"Township Rebellion" is another overlooked deep cut from their self-titled album that's every bit as heavy and incisive as the celebrated bangers that precede it. Its instructive refrain — "Why stand on a silent platform?/Fight the war, fuck the norm" — is a salient retort to anyone who questions the band's productive feistiness. And that screamed climax is chilling.

"Down Rodeo"

Rage's second album, 1996's Evil Empire, boasts one of their most iconic anthems, "Bulls on Parade," but overall, the record is less immediate and more cerebral than their debut, with instrumentation that's built to serve de la Rocha's increasingly dense rapping, and therefore features less of Morello's hard-rock riffing. It can get glossed over for that reason, which is unfair to a funky all-timer like "Down Rodeo," featuring what's perhaps de la Rocha's deepest-cutting lyric — "These people ain't seen a brown-skin man since their grandparents bought one."

"Wind Below"

"Wind Below" is an even more criminally overlooked piece of gold from Evil Empire. Morello's ringing lick sounds like John Carpenter murder scene music, while Tim Commerford's bassline sounds aqueous, bubbly and melt-in-your-speakers sexy. Of course, de la Rocha is up there rapping presciently about trade deals that fucked over workers and calling out corporations like "ABC's new thrill rides of trials and lies."

"No Shelter"

Beyond being a kickass song that sits nicely between the elastic funk of Evil Empire and the hair-whipping rock of the Ballad of Los Angeles, "No Shelter" might be the greatest protest maneuver the band have ever pulled off. It was written for the soundtrack of the 1998 Godzilla film, but rather than submitting a vapid banger to soundtrack reptilian carnage, the track is a vicious takedown of corporate cinema, decrying "the thin line between entertainment and war" and even going so far as to call out the film cutting the check — "Godzilla, pure mothafuckin' filler/To keep ya eyes off the real killer." Righteous.

"Born of a Broken Man"

On 1999's the Battle of Los Angeles, Rage's third and final album of original material, they leaned into many of the more accessible hard-rock elements of their debut, penning stadium-ready rippers like "Guerilla Radio" and "Sleep Now in the Fire" that understandably became fan favorites. "Born of a Broken Man" should be, too. The way de la Rocha's whispery verses explode into full-throated yells when the main riff detonates is utterly thrilling, and the dynamics of this song overall are some of their most subtle and musically rewarding.

"New Millenium Homes"

With a front half as energetic and anthemic as the Battle of Los Angeles', it's no wonder that the album's more subdued side B gets overlooked in the grand scheme of their catalog. That's too bad, because a track like "New Millennium Homes" has the funky-ass riff, catchy-ass delivery, and incendiary lyrics — "Violence in all hands/Embrace it if need be" — to compete with the likes of "Testify" and "Know Your Enemy."

"Ashes in the Fall"

The next song on Battle might be even better. The freaky delay on Morello's squeaky lick gives it a psychedelic, alien-like effect, and the drumming has a jazzy freeness to it that isn't common in Rage songs of this era. Morello goes full Hendrix as the song builds with a jittery unpredictability, and de la Rocha offers up hip-hop meta-ness with his repetition of, "This is the new sound/Just like the old sound." It's a bit experimental, and it pays off.

"Street Fighting Man"

While Rage Against the Machine and the Rolling Stones certainly emanate similar levels of swagger and have a shared love of the blues, the former were always more interested in providing a soundtrack for property destruction than the sex-and-drug-filled parties of the latter. Therefore, it was the Stones' protest jam, "Street Fighting Man," that Rage gravitated to for Renegades. Of all the heavy transformations on the covers LP, the band are content to just boogie here, resulting in one of their most purely fun rippers.

"Darkness"

Before Rage Against the Machine reworked and re-recorded it for the soundtrack to Nineties goth touchstone The Crow, "Darkness" was known as "Darkness of Greed" and appeared on the L.A. political firebrands' 1991 demo tape. But even before that, it was played live in a rawer, more uptempo form by de la Rocha's O.C. hardcore-punk band Inside Out. While still characteristically scathing and seething, Rage's version features a uniquely mellow and jazzy verse instrumentation, making for a true standout.

Rage Against the Machine

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glorioustimeswithdrew · 2 months

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Drew and the Dirty Lies of John Cusack

Originally published August 5th, 2013

I was spraying my shoes with a fire hose when 6-^8Y approached me.

"Hey there, 6-^8Y!" I enthusiastically shouted. "Look, I stole another fire truck!" "LIKE, TOTALLY LOL," 6-^8Y computed in its cute little robot voice. "OMG LOOK AT JOHN CUSACK'S FACEBOOK STATUS." I could feel my teeth grinding, which the dentist said I shouldn't do. John Cusack. If my blood was made out of glitter and rainbows, John Cusack would give me cancer. I hated that guy.

"What did that no good so-and-so do this time?" I hissed as 6-^8Y lit up the screen on his stomach. I read the status.

"Like lol ya'll, totally just went to Mars, yee-haw tell me I am cool please?"

I could feel my fists clenching, which the dentist said I shouldn't do before I punched her box of floss. "There's no way he went to Mars!" I shouted. "John Cusack isn't an astronaut!" "LIKE LOL, I TOTES THINK HE IS GAY COOL. LOOK AT HIS LIKES, HE IS 100% POPULAR."

I looked at who had liked the status. 15,000 people, and counting. I was so mad that I could purchase a modestly priced box of jelly beans, and then put anthrax in the jelly beans, and then light the store that I bought them in on fire, and then put out the fire with the fire trucks I stole, and then feed the survivors my jelly beans.

"6-^8Y, I think it's time I exposed this John Cusack knucklehead for the phony he is," I said with a purpose. "LIKE WTF, DREW, THAT IS AFFIRMATIVE DUMB AS HELL. GTFO U R A VAGINA." "Shut up, 6-^8Y! You're adopted!" 6-^8Y started to cry and I didn't even feel bad about it. I pulled out my magic whistle and gave it a majestic toot. Within seconds, a giant group of butterflies came to my aid and grabbed me by my clothes. Soon we were airborne. "Onward!" I shouted. "Onward to wherever John Cusack is!"

I was lucky that the butterflies had a people GPS with them because they were able to take me right to John Cusack's exact location: Times Square. What a dunce, I thought. Prancing around in Times Square? What does he think he is, a Prancing Person?

I hopped off the butterflies and presented them with a small infant girl as payment, which they graciously accepted as a delicious sacrifice. "Thank you, Drew," said the butterflies, "But where's our payment for last time?" "Don't worry, butterflies. I'll get you your fix." "You have one week, Drew!" the butterflies merrily chirped, and with that, the group flew off. I looked around. For Times Square, there sure weren't that many Indians. That's when I noticed a very peculiar sign.

"Mars 2112 Restaurant"

I took out my rocket launcher and shot it at the building. Unfortunately my rocket launcher was actually a ballpoint pen and nothing exploded. I took out my notebook and wrote "Stop mistaking rocket launcher for pen," then I bolted toward the entrance.

I crashed through the door, shattering the glass. An alarm went off. It was the late afternoon, but nobody was inside the restaurant. Except for John Cusack.

"We meet again, Drew!" he said while sipping a Yoohoo at the counter and wearing a really ugly shirt. "Fuck you, John Cusack!" I shouted, picking shards of glass out of my face. "You're a giant liar and you know it!" John Cusack chuckled darkly as he twirled his dripping greasy hair. "Oh, Drew. That's not what the people think," he cooed. "You're just sitting in a restaurant that has Mars in the title and misleading people into thinking you went to Mars!" I shouted as I tried swallowing the piece of glass that had went down my throat. It was actually one of my teeth, and I started to regret punching my dentist’s floss box while she was drilling inside of my mouth. John Cusack just sat there, jirating his body in an empty seat. I noticed a sign leaning against the counter that I had knocked over while bursting through the doors

"Closed since January 2012."

"What the firetruck, John Cusack?! This place has been closed for two years!" I exclaimed. "I know!" said John Cusack. "And there's nothing you can do to stop me!" With that, he removed his giant ugly shirt and revealed a jetpack. With the push of a button he began propelling toward the open ceiling. Not today, I thought.

I used the sign as a makeshift ramp, sprinting onto the counter and running across it. I leapt in John Cusack's direction--and managed to grab hold of one of his untied shoelaces.

John Cusack scowled down at me, trying to shake me loose as the jetpack took him past the ceiling. I clung tenaciously to his stray lace and began climbing up his body. John Cusack kicked himself about, but I continued to climb. The jetpack continued to propel him upwards, though spiraling in a haphazard way. He scratched at my face, deepening some of the cuts I already had from glass shards. I grabbed at his hair and pulled, struggling to keep a grip as his hair was so moist with grease.

"You will not win!" he screeched as he sank his teeth into my neck. I howled in pain, releasing his hair. I tried gripping onto other parts of his body for support, but my hands were too slippery from handling John Cusack's grungy mane.

John Cusack released his jaw and I began plummeting toward Earth. Freefalling to my death was not nearly as fun as the Bible had made it sound. I was going to die. For reals this time. But even though John Cusack was soaring above me, I would not let him win. With one last breath, I blew ferociously into my special whistle.

"Now I'm tweeting about how I discovered the cure to AIDS, Drew!" John Cusack shouted as he punched into his phone. "Because this jetpack is AIDING me! Get it?!" But before John Cusack could send the tweet, a group of butterflies surrounded him and began devouring his body.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" said John Cusack as butterflies devoured him from the inside out. "You debt is paid!" said the hungry butterflies.

I was happy, but I was also about to die, so I was kind of not happy. Out of nowhere, I felt a spank reach my fundament. I thought it was a death spank, but it turned out it was something else.

6-^8Y had caught me, rocketing through the sky with its built-in rockets.

"6-^8Y!" I stammered, overwhelmed with disbelief. "I'm sorry I said you were adopted--" "DON'T SPEAK, MY FRIEND," 6-^8Y computed. I felt a warm fuzzy feeling inside, and it wasn't because butterflies had devoured my internal organs. "6-^8Y, deploy one of your space helmets," I commanded. "WHY DO YOU WISH FOR THIS?" 6-^8Y inquired. "Because," I said, "We're actually going to Mars."

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ilovevape · 3 months

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Unveiling the Hulk Hogan Vape: Exploring the Iconic Wrestler's Entry into the Vaping Industry

Step into the ring, vape enthusiasts! We have some electrifying news that will knock you out of your seat. The vaping industry is about to get a heavyweight addition as none other than the iconic Hulk Hogan steps into the spotlight with his very own vape brand. That's right, folks - Hulkamania is going digital with the introduction of the Hulk Hogan Vape ! In this blog post, we'll delve into the rise of the vaping industry, uncover the inspiration behind Hulk Hogan's foray into this booming market, and explore how he plans to revolutionize it like only he can. Get ready to puff clouds of excitement and join us on this thrilling journey through all things "Hulk Hogan Vape"!

The Rise of the Vaping Industry

The vaping industry has exploded onto the scene in recent years, capturing the attention of smokers and non-smokers alike. With its promise of a less harmful alternative to traditional cigarettes, vaping quickly gained popularity as a trendy and socially acceptable way to satisfy nicotine cravings. One of the driving factors behind this rapid growth is the allure of customization. Vapers can choose from an endless variety of flavors, ranging from classic tobacco to mouth-watering fruity concoctions. This level of personalization allows individuals to tailor their vaping experience to suit their preferences, making it an appealing option for those looking for more control over their smoking habits. Additionally, advancements in technology have played a significant role in shaping the vaping landscape. Gone are the days of clunky e-cigarettes; sleek and compact vape pens now dominate the market. These devices offer portability and discretion while still delivering a satisfying hit. Furthermore, social media platforms have facilitated widespread awareness and engagement within the vaping community. Influencers share their experiences with different brands and flavors, creating a sense of camaraderie among vapers worldwide.

The Inspiration Behind Hulk Hogan's Vape Brand When it comes to iconic figures, few can match the larger-than-life persona of Hulk Hogan. Known for his incredible strength and flamboyant personality in the wrestling ring, it may come as a surprise that he has ventured into the vaping industry. But what inspired this legendary wrestler to enter this booming market? Hulk Hogan's passion for vaping stems from his own personal journey towards improved health and well-being. After facing various health issues caused by years of intense physicality in the wrestling world, Hogan turned to vaping as an alternative to traditional smoking. By embracing vaping, Hogan experienced firsthand the positive impact it had on his overall wellness and quality of life. Determined to share these benefits with others, he decided to launch his own vape brand – a brand that embodies both his fierce resilience and commitment to promoting healthier alternatives. Drawing inspiration from his wrestling career, Hulk Hogan's vape brand reflects his larger-than-life personality through its bold flavors and unique product designs. Each vape flavor is carefully crafted to deliver a powerful punch reminiscent of Hogan's signature moves in the ring. Moreover, Hulk Hogan’s strong dedication to giving back is evident in every aspect of his vape brand. A portion of proceeds from each sale goes towards supporting charitable organizations focused on improving health outcomes for individuals worldwide. So next time you take a puff from your favorite Hulk Hogan vape flavor, remember that behind each cloud lies an inspiring story fueled by resilience and determination—an unmistakable reminder that even giants like The Hulkster are committed advocates for change.

How Hulk Hogan is Revolutionizing the Vaping Industry

In a world where vaping has gained immense popularity, Hulk Hogan's entry into the industry is nothing short of revolutionary. With his iconic status as a wrestling legend, he brings a new level of excitement and energy to the vaping scene. Hulk Hogan's vape brand not only captures his larger-than-life personality but also embodies his commitment to quality and innovation. By creating unique flavors that cater to different tastes and preferences, he ensures that vapers have an unforgettable experience with each puff. But it doesn't stop there. Hulk Hogan is not just another celebrity endorsing a product; he is actively involved in every aspect of his vape brand. From product development to marketing strategies, he puts his heart and soul into making sure that vapers get the best possible experience. By leveraging his massive fanbase and influence, Hulk Hogan opens up new avenues for promoting vaping as a healthier alternative to smoking. His presence in the industry helps break down barriers and reduce stigmas associated with vaping. Moreover, by championing transparency in manufacturing processes and using high-quality ingredients, Hulk Hogan sets a standard for other vape brands to follow. He emphasizes safety measures, ensuring that customers can trust the products they are consuming. Through collaborations with reputable experts in the field of e-cigarettes, Hulk Hogan constantly strives for innovation within the vaping industry. Whether it's introducing cutting-edge technology or exploring new ways to enhance flavor profiles, he pushes boundaries like only The Hulkster can. With every cloud produced from a Hulk Hogan Vape device comes a sense of empowerment - empowering vapers around the world to embrace their individuality while enjoying their favorite flavors without compromising on quality or safety.

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elia-de-silentio · 2 years

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Cuore

Franti, Expelled From School

Only one could laugh as Derossi spoke about the King's funeral, and Franti laughed. I hate him. He is evil. When a father comes to the school to scold his son, he rejoyces; when one cries, he laughs. He trembles in front of Garrone, and he beats up the little builder because he’s small; he torments Crossi because his arm is dead; he mocks even Precossi, who everybody respects; he pranks even Robetti, the one from second grade, who walks with crutches for having saved a child. He provokes all those weaker than him, and when he fights, he gets furious and aims to hurt. There’s something that disgusts in that low forehead, those dark eyes, which he almost hides under that tarpaulin cap. He fears nothing, laughs at the teacher’s face, steals whenever he can, he lies with a straight face, he’s always fighting with someone, brings school some spikes to pinch those next to him, tears at his jacket’s buttons, tears those of the others, and he plays with them, and he has backpack, notebooks, textbook, all crumpled, torn, dirty, a notched ruler, a chewed-on pen, chewed-on nails, the clothes full of stains and holes he makes in the fights. They say his mother has fallen ill from the pains he gives her, and his father has chased him from home three times; his mother sometimes comes to ask for information, and always goes away crying. He hates the school, hates the classmates, hates the teacher. Sometimes the teacher pretends not to see his pranks, and he does worse. He tried to get to him with good manners, and he mocked him. He said terrible words to him, and he covered his face with his hands, as if he was crying, but he was laughing. He was suspended from school for three days, and he came back meaner and more insolent than before. One day Derosse told him “Quit it, don’t you see that the teacher suffers too much for this” and he threatened to stab him in the belly with a nail. But this morning, finally, he got himself thrown away like a dog. While the teacher gave Garrone the draft of the Tamburino Sardo, January’s monthly tale, he threw a firecracker that exploded like a gunshot for the school. All the class was terribly shaken. The teacher jumped to his feet and cried “Franti! Out of school!” He answered “It wasn’t me!” But he was laughing. The teacher repeated “Get out!” “I’m not moving!” he answered. Then the teacher lost his marbles, lunged at him, grabbed him by the arms, ripped him from the desk. He trashed, gritting his teeth: he got himself dragged out by force. The teacher almost dragged him to the headmaster, then he returned to class and sat at the front desk, taking his head in his hands, panting, with such a tired and afflicted expression, it was painful to see. “After thirty years I have been teaching!” he cried sadly, shaking his head. Nobody even breathed. His hands shook from the wrath, and that straight wrinkle he has across the forehead was so deep, it looked like a wound. Poor teacher! Everybody suffered for him. Derossi rose and said “Mister teacher, don’t be sad. We love you” And so he calmed a little and said “Let’s reprise the lesson, kids”

In a didascalic novel for children, Franti represents everything De Amicis didn’t want children to be: noisy, disrespectful, aggressive, unclean. And laughing. Now, the interesting thing is that from a modern standpoint some of the things Franti does are truly terrible - like insulting disabled students or bullying - but others less so, some speak more of an actually difficult family situation (there are other children from poor families, but Franti is the only one so clearly uncared for; to us, the fact that his father throws him out of home speaks worse about the man than the child), and some are completely innocuous, like the constant laughing. Again, there’s this particular fixation on sadness and crying as signs of goodness, and so its opposite, the laughter, goes straight into the characterization of the Evil Incarnate within this novel.

Thank you for reading. If you liked my translation, please consider offering me a coffee (link in first reblog).

#de amicis cuore #italian literature #19th century #elia's translations

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lyssahlyssah · 3 years

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Obey Me! Lucifer's Dream

a/n: This is a piece for the lead-up to Kinktober. I wanted to bring the unevolved, evil, and dangerous Lucifer out in a safe environment where no one actually ends up getting hurt. The timeframe is just after MC arrives in the devildom and meets everyone, but hasn't had time to get close and develop relationships. Thanks to @theinariakuma for beta-ing.

Trigger warnings: fantasy violence, implied fantasy murder, implied fantasy rape, sadism, anger, dark themes.

Pairing: F!MC x Lucifer

Category: not suitable for work, dark fantasy

Midnight rolled around again and Lucifer rubbed his temples with gloved fingers. With no sun, day and night had little meaning here, but even so, he had been awake for five straight days, a full two days longer than his normal and it was starting to show.

Irritably, he signed his name to the latest document in front of him and with a scowl, snapped the pen in two between his fingers. I mean, how much was a demon supposed to take?

First, there was helping Diavolo with his extra paperwork since Barbatos was on vacation, then overseeing the RAD student council... Mammon playing the fool... and now babysitting the new human exchange student. The last one took an enormous amount of his resources because she was just so damn fragile. He was always having to watch over her, keep lesser demons from devouring her, creating special education for her, and most of all, controlling his own temper so he wouldn't kill or frighten her. She obviously didn't belong here, but Diavolo was firm with his instructions regarding the human, she was to be treated as gently as if she was back in her own world.

He scoffed, irritation sliding into anger. Something about interworld relations. Really, who cares at all about that. If his time in the Celestial Realm had taught him anything, it was that humans were weak, unworthy of his time, and invited trouble. Trouble was already something they had plenty of, thanks to Mammon.

And he certainly didn't care about maintaining relations with the Celestial Realm, he didn't want to see another angel for the rest of his life.

He resented the extra intrusion on his time. Solomon was a different story, he could take care of himself and required very little attention, and as far as Lucifer cared, could stay as long as he liked, so long as he didn't try to cook.

Uninvited, her face floated into his mind and he angrily stuffed the thought away. MC... What kind of a name is MC anyway, he thought.

He got up and walked to the piano, sitting down in front of the keys, hoping some music could help clear and calm his head. Playing a few bars of his favorite composer, De La Lordo, he closed his eyes and leaned into the music. However, his anger continued to throb and as it did so, his fingers tripped over one another causing a shriek of dissonance that cut through the silence of his office like a knife.

Irritation exploding, he slammed down the lid to the keys. Even his favorite classical music couldn't cool him down. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw HER face. HER body. HER skin. He didn't understand. He was the chosen one of his father's creations, the strongest, the most beautiful, the most talented, the most intelligent. His burgeoning attraction to something so unremarkable sent waves of revulsion and confusion tumbling through him.

Unable to control his anger and disgust, he rampaged through his office; and only after his curtains and furniture were hanging in shreds with several new vase-shaped holes in the walls did he finally sit down hard in the armchair by his fireplace, leather creaking to accommodate his weight. He hadn't lost his temper like this for a long time, but he knew his brothers wouldn't dare approach his door after hearing his wrath. Spent, he pushed his sweaty hair out of his face and leaned his head back against the soft surface, eyes closing.

...squeals in the dark.

Everything was fuzzy. He shook his head roughly to clear it, but the cloudiness stubbornly held on. Hazily, he pushed through long-limbed bushes that grasped at his hair and clothes into a woody clearing and there she was. Small, perfect, tearful eyes wide, gag tightening into the sides of her mouth, hands tied in front of her. She's naked. A fire to one side, casting flickering shadows that danced across her terrified face.

His heart started to race and his breathing quickened. This is a dream, he thought.

Touching his tongue to his upper lip, and then dragging it across the top of his lower teeth, he continued to watch her struggle. He felt dark urges bubbling up within him...he wanted to hurt her. Use her. Feed off her fear. The longer he watched, the stronger the urges became.

His fingers curled up in tight fists at his side. How good it would feel to let go...stop controlling himself for once. Stop doing what everyone expected of him. Just be free. Free to hate. Free to rage. Free to destroy.

The passion was too intoxicating to resist. With eyes closed, he let the anger take him. Roaring, he exploded into fire, white-hot flames threatening to sear his bones to ash. His handsome face melted into a horrific ghastly caricature of its former self. Pain as blackened wing tips burst through the taut skin of his back leaving bloody and ragged holes around them, pain as one curled horn ground its way free of the top of his head, then the other. Pain as his bones stretched to make him larger, thicker, new muscles pulsating with power. Pain as his claws burst from his fingertips impaling themselves on his palms as he ground his fists with rage.

All was pain and he drank it in like a man dying of thirst. His transformation complete, he throbbed with energy, heat, and rage.

The poor girl had yet to see him emerge from the darkness, but emerge he did, at last, a red glow upon the ground and an earth-shaking tremor heralding his arrival. Her already widened eyes, bulged from their sockets. Too scared to make a noise, strangled whimpers were all that emerged from around the gag.

Standing tall in all his terrible glory before her, her fear increases his desire.

He frees himself from his pants and masturbates furiously. He can't remember how long it's been since he touched himself like this, with an anger and intent. Or at all, for that matter. Passion had all but dried up for him after his fall from grace. Life had become controlling his brothers and the mundane of Diavolo's paperwork. It felt good just to feel anything again.

Sadistically, he chuckled lowly. His beautiful, terrible eyes narrowing, he lets loose his enormous hard cock, where it hangs heavily erect against his leg, waiting. Her eyes follow its movements and he revels in her horror. She knows what's going to happen and that she has absolutely no way to stop it.

Even through her fear and almost as a betrayal to herself, she can't help but feel a supernatural attraction to him, his power, his beauty. He can sense it as well, and it increases his contempt for her.

It's only too easy, he thinks arrogantly. She can't help but want me, even like this. I can smell it all over her. She wants to get fucked by a monster.

It confirms all of his previously-held beliefs that humans are inferior. He sneers, face contorting. Pitiful. So weak...so insignificant. Utterly disposable.

That last thought ignited his lust to new levels. Here was a toy he could abuse with no repercussions to his conscience. She wasn't worth consideration or care. Since she was beneath his respect, he could be himself completely.

Dark excitement pushing him forward, he took a quick step towards her, and she cringed backward against her restraints, desperate to flee.

He smiles. "It's no use trying to escape, little one," he said cruelly, his soft words contradicted by his harsh tone."Escape doesn't exist for you anymore. You're mine. "

Her screams echo throughout the woods, full of terror and ecstasy.

Hours later, the screams fade as a long howl rises. The girl's mangled body lies still on the ground, every orifice stuffed full and dripping, blood on the ground. Her face is quiet, eyes glassy with rapture, expression frozen in terror. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

His violence finally sated, Lucifer stands with his bloody cock dripping, drenched in sweat and other fluids, parts of himself slipping back into human form. An unexpected warm rush fills him as he looks at her, and impulsively, he leans down and tenderly kisses her cooling cheek.

At the touch of her flesh, his eyes open and he is back in his office chair. His grandfather clock lets him know morning has come.

The chair lies in ruins around his outline, he had transformed outside of his dream as well. He shifts in the chair and his pants catch against him uncomfortably, sticky, full of his cum several times over. He feels an overwhelming sense of release, of a long-overdue itch scratched, a boiling tea kettle that has let off its steam. Feeling powerful and confident, he rises to clean himself and get ready for the day.

Later

"Once again, Lucifer will be providing you with your lessons and general protection this week," Diavolo said conversationally to the girl. All three of them were sitting in Diavolo's office, sipping tea kept at the perfect temperature by Barbatos's careful attentions. The girl hesitantly looked over her teacup towards Lucifer, remembering the handsome demon's obvious irritation the week before.

"I'm at your command," Lucifer said silkily, cooly polite. He showed none of the irritation from before, and in fact...looked perfectly content with his extra duties.

For a second, she thought she heard something odd in his tone...what, she wasn't sure.

She glanced his way again, and shivered as she saw he was watching her...a faint smile on his lips, red eyes glowing.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me smut #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #lucifer x mc #obey me reader insert #lucifer obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me lucifer smut #obey me dark

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toweroftickles · 3 years

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DISTRACTIONS (Frozen Tickle Fic)

Requested by @sapphicsierramist !

Work, work, work; nothing but work.

That’s all Elsa did.

She sat in her study at the polished oaken desk, writing with her long brown quill. Every day was like the other. Early morning sun from the massive wall-sized window stroked the right side of her face. The queen of Arendelle had barely woken up for the day...her braid was loosely tied, her periwinkle nightgown fluttering around her bare ankles...and she was already scribbling her way through mountains of royal decrees. Next to her, antsy as ever, sat her sister.

Anna’s cheek rested in her left palm and her face settled into a dull, emotionless stare. But Elsa didn’t even seem to notice.

“And therefore as we the people of...no, the community...of Arendelle......must....convene....” Elsa muttered under her breath, barely audible. Like all tiny repetitive noises, her whispers danced around in Anna’s eardrums until they seemed loud enough to shatter boulders.

“You still talk out loud when you write?” Anna blurted.

Elsa’s concentration broke, and she frowned.

“It helps me organize my thoughts,” Elsa snapped defensively. “....I don’t HAVE to.” She returned to writing, a bit more self-consciously.

Anna rolled her eyes and rocked in her seat. She tapped her fingers against the desk, and against the unsigned property treaties in front of her. She played with her tied-up hair, twirled her own feather pen in between her fingers, and even picked her nose once or twice. But nothing relieved the boredom.

“UUUUGGGGHHH; come on, Elsa. If I have to read one more of these things my eyes are going to pop out. Let’s play a board game.”

Once again the snow queen snapped out of her work-induced trance.

“Anna, please, we have a lot of these to go over! We can goof around later, but this is important,” Elsa sighed frustratedly.

Anna was downcast. Since their reunion, she had hoped that Elsa would loosen up and have fun again. But all their time was occupied by the endless tedium of governance and paperwork. She’d simply traded Elsa’s locked bedroom for another, less-physical one.

Her tongue involuntarily clicked to the rhythm of the nearby wall clock...something which visibly began to annoy Elsa. The queen kept pausing and stumbling over her words when Anna clicked.

“And...this celebration of....rrrrg...this celeb shall be...ugh....a highly...a highly...gah!....A celebration of a highly relished fart! ....ART!”

Anna burst into giggles. Elsa blushed.

“Please stop doing that,” she moaned.

“Oh, cheer up! Being a queen is supposed to be fun.”

“Anna, I want to have fun with you but we’ve both been given so many responsibilities! Can’t you grow up a little?”

Elsa returned to her work. Anna pouted and wiggled her feather on the end Elsa’s nose.

“Gah, stop it! You have work of your own to do!”

Frustrated, Anna stood up and stepped away. All she wanted was to make her sis smile. Then she looked down.

Beneath Elsa’s chair, her bare feet rested on their toes and swayed back and forth over one another. They squirmed and wiggled as the busy queen tensed up. As Anna glanced at the long, thin feather in her hand, a big grin stretched across her face.

Without making a sound, Anna flattened herself against the crimson carpet and crawled forward on her belly until she was just behind her sister’s chair. She had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. It had to be a surprise attack. The tip of the feather wiggled in the air as she reached forward, until finally, it made contact with the arch of Elsa’s foot.

Elsa gasped. Something felt funny. But she shook it off and kept writing.

No real response.

Anna wiggled the feather again. Harder this time.

“G-HAH!” A sudden laugh burst out of Elsa. She looked horrified. “Anna, what are you doing?!”

“Heheh-Heh; you can’t get away now!” Anna giggled and grabbed Elsa’s right ankle. The queen’s pale skin always felt so cold to the touch.

“Anna, please don’t. Leave me alone,” Elsa stammered.

“Ok...I won’t leave you alone!” Anna immediately began to stroke her sister’s sole with the feather.

Elsa’s whole body twitched. But she couldn’t let Anna get to her. Maintain composure, she told herself. If she could just focus on her documents, she was sure she could ignore the tickling.

“Hooooo...At this next juncture in our history, we as countryhee...we m-hust...mmm...we mhuhust....!” Elsa jumped in her chair and covered her mouth. The feather caressed her heel, her arch, her toes...it tickled so bad. Having been locked in a room for so many years, with so little contact and such little outdoor life, Elsa’s skin was smooth, unscarred, uncalloused, inexperienced...highly sensitive to touch. She couldn’t pry her ankle from Anna’s grip.

Keep writing. Keep writing!

“Wheee must join together and remain f-hirm in our values. As a country uhundergoing a sh-hift in regiheehime...!”

Elsa buried her face in her hands and bit her lip, desperately trying to contain the helpless giggles bubbling up in her tummy.

“Come oooonnn; I know you’re ticklish right heee-errrrrrre...” Anna teased in a gratingly sing-songy voice. The tip of the feather danced around on Elsa’s bare foot, stroking the tender spot just below her toes. It was all the Snow Queen could handle.

She struggled. She fought valiantly. But she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha-Ha! *gasp*Ah Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha! Ahanna! Ahanna, stop!”

The drawback to such a husky, melodious voice...in Elsa’s mind...was how well it carried. When she laughed, she was sure the entire palace could hear her, and this notion embarrassed her to no end. She blushed.

“Heheh! Cootchie cootchie cootchie cootchie cooo!” Anna giggled excitedly.

“L-hee...leave my feet alone, Ha-Ha Ha-Ha!” By this point Elsa was doubled over against her desk, her ticklish toes desperate to escape. Her feet wiggled and kicked, but her right ankle was held still by Anna’s iron grip, and that feather was relentless. “Aha-Haha Ha-Ha Ha! I c-han’t...I can’t!”

Suddenly the tickling stopped.

Elsa gasped for air, still overcome by giggles. She fanned herself with her hand and tried to catch her breath. But in doing so, she didn’t notice Anna standing up behind her.

“You still feel like goofing off later?” Anna giggled. Snapping like a crab, Anna pressed her fingertips into Elsa’s sides and wiggled them furiously.

“Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha! Heehee! Cut it ou-hout! STOP!”

A wave of snow and icy air exploded out of the queen’s quivering frame, and without warning, Anna was thrown back 15 feet onto the floor.

But far from being hurt, Anna could only laugh hysterically. It had been so long, over a decade, since their last tickle fight. For all the changes, it was nice to know that she could still make her big sis lose control.

Suddenly Elsa’s head snapped around, and her eyes glinted with burning ice. Her scowl could have melted Marshmallow. Her breathing was heavy, labored, like an angry bull. It slowed. Anna’s playful demeanor vanished as she retreated into herself, overcome by visions of what punishment awaited her. She backed up on her hands, prepared to run from some expression of icy wrath.

But to her surprise, Elsa’s frown became a wicked smirk.

“So that’s how you want to play, huh?” From behind her, Elsa’s right hand emerged to reveal its own long quill, which she wiggled menacingly in the air.

Anna panicked.

“Wait...no....nonononono; NO....”

But it was too late. Elsa had already dived on her sister and pinned her to the floor, and her sharp fingernails dug their way into Anna’s tummy.

“AHH!! Heehee-Heehee Haha-Haha Ha! No fair! No fahair!”

“No fair? Oh, it’s not funny anymore, is it?” Elsa giggled.

“Heehee-HEE! Heheh, Heh; Haha-Haha Ha! Ah! Ok-hay, ok, I’m sorry!”

“Sooo, is this still your weak spot?” Elsa poked the sharp stem of her quill just to the side of Anna’s belly button.

“GAAAHHH, Haha-Ha! *gasp* Whoa-hoho; not there not there not there! *squeak* Ha-Ha Ha-Ha!”

“Hmm....ok! Let’s try something else.” With that threat, Elsa spun around, still sitting on her sister’s knees, and pulled off Anna’s green slippers.

“Wait wait...I lied! Go back to my belly!” Anna giggled. Despite her protests, she was having fun.

With one hand, Elsa began to viciously tickle Anna’s soles with her fingers. With the other hand, Elsa sawed the feather quill back and forth between her toes.

“AAHH! *squeak* HA-HA HA-HA! *gasp*Heehee-Haha Haha! St-hop, stop!”

“Cootchie cootchie coo!”

As the sisters laughed and wrestled, they were interrupted by an unexpected guest...a knock at the door.

“Your highnesses?” It was the voice of a soldier.

They froze perfectly still, and didn’t even need Elsa’s magic to do it. In a flurry of panic, the princess sisters straightened their hair, pressed wrinkles out of their gowns, slipped on shoes. Anna spit on her index finger and even made a half-hearted attempt to brush her teeth with it. Elsa pretended not to notice. 20 seconds had passed, and the door creaked opened.

“Um, yes?” Elsa said in as official a tone as she could muster.

The guard before her coughed awkwardly.

“The, um, the visiting royal family of Corona has arrived early. They’ll be at the castle within 5 minutes.”

“Oh! Ok, uh, well, show them in and give them a tour, and we’ll be down to entertain them in a few minutes.”

“Yes, your highness.”

The door shut with a loud click. Elsa looked back at her sister.

“Alright, enough horsing around. Get going so I can get dressed,” she laughed. Anna eagerly skipped toward the door.

“So I won, right? I totally won.” Her freckled smile could have lit up the room all on its own.

“Oh, get out,” Elsa replied, opening the door.

Instead of obeying, Anna simply stood there and gawked. Both sisters were visibly trying not to giggle, each wondering if the other would slip up first.

Anna didn’t wait for fate to decide. She jabbed her finger into Elsa’s tummy and then ran out the door like a shot.

“AH! Heheh!” Elsa yelped and reflexively bent over. By the time she steadied herself, Anna was already halfway down the hall.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it now!” Elsa chased after her sister, both of them laughing like little girls, the halls echoing with their reminiscing and their joy.

And so the day marched on.

These two are so cute though 😆

#tickle blog #tickling #ticklish #tickle #tickling community #tickle fic #ticklish feet #foot tickling #ticklefic #frozen #frozen elsa #elsa and anna #anna #frozen disney #feather tickling #tickle fight

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

On closer inspection, the house in the middle of the field was quite pretty. Simple, white, well kept. A secondary building with metal walls sat adjacent to the house – a garage, perhaps. Waiting on the porch was the man from earlier. Baekhyun. Now you remembered his name. He was joined by a few others – Chanyeol, Sehun, and one you didn’t know – who stared at you in curious wonder. Their eyes were wide and investigative, as if you were the supernatural creature and not Minseok.

“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag,” Baekhyun said with a snicker.

“Or pup, in this case,” said the one you didn’t know. Black hair that fell over his forehead and an upturn sat in both corners of his lips, though he wasn’t smiling.

Minseok merely shook his head as he pushed past them into the house. The screen door shut with a loud slam. You flinched at the noise. Chanyeol sighed as he glanced at you. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please,” you nodded. He motioned for you to follow him inside.

Through a short front parlor and a cozy living room, he led you into the kitchen where you stood awkwardly. The only noise came from the water flowing from the refrigerator spicket. The ice clinked as it moved around the glass. Your eyes wandered across the large, open space. Sunlight poured in from the windows in the two outer walls. It gave the whole room a yellow hue despite the white and light gray coloring of the cabinets and backsplash. Whoever had last designed this room had done so in a way to make it feel bigger and open, welcoming even. You wondered if there must have been a woman living here to give the finer touches. Minseok hadn’t mentioned anyone beyond his male roommates. The thought of a woman living amongst them made you slightly jealous, but you shoved it aside when Chanyeol held out the glass for you.

“Thank you,” you murmured before taking a sip.

He nodded shyly. His foot tapped lightly against the hard wood floor with his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked everywhere except for at you. Feeling eyes on you anyway, you glanced over your shoulder just in time to see several crops of hair disappear from the hallway entrance.

You scoffed. “You guys act like you’ve never seen a female before.”

“Not one like you.”

Minseok stepped into the room wearing a t-shirt with frayed edges where the sleeves had been cut off and a pair of basketball shorts. As angry as you were with him, the distrust still very much apparent, you were fighting the urge to run to him. What was this stupid, conflicting feeling? Making eye contact with Minseok, Chanyeol ducked his head and hurriedly left the kitchen.

“So,” you crossed your arms after putting down the glass and leaned against the counter, “is this the part where you explain to me what the hell is going on?”

“I will, but not here.”

“No, you don’t get to do that!” you snapped. “You didn’t want to tell me in the forest, so we came back here and now you don’t want to tell me here?”

Minseok shrunk back. “I just meant down here. Can we go upstairs? Away from where the others can hear?”

That suggestion could be accepted. Actually, you felt a little bad for exploding, but could you really be blamed? Given the information dump you were steadily receiving today? “Oh. Okay. Lead the way.”

Minseok’s hand twitched at his side, but he kept it in check as he turned and headed back up the stairs. The top spilled out into a hallway lined with doors. This space wasn’t as bright as the kitchen. Different shades of dark brown covered the wooden floor and plaster walls. No windows gave view to the outside making you feel trapped. “This one’s mine,” Minseok said. He held on to a handle of one of the middle doors and waited for you to come closer before pushing it open. When you saw what lied beyond the door, you nearly smiled.

On the walls were posters of famous soccer players and indie movies you’d never heard of. The bed was made with military precision, not a creased comforter or half-strewn pillow in sight. Against the far wall under a singular window was a desk. The notebooks were stacked in the top right corner, the edges so straight a ruler wouldn’t be able to find fault. Pens and pencils occupied a small cup to keep the rest of the desk clear.

“Not what you expected?” Minseok asked as he closed the door.

“Yes and no.” You stole a glance at him over your shoulder. “It’s very… neat.”

Minseok smiled shyly. He shuffled over to the bed and sat down. If he expected you to take the spot next to him, he was wrong. Instead, you chose the chair. A precaution for yourself.

Neither of you knew where to start. Who was supposed to talk first? What part should even be considered the beginning? Unable to continue in this awkward silence, you jumped in feet first.

“You can really… turn into a wolf?” The words felt like glue in your throat. Creatures like that belonged in fairytales and fantasy films, not a college campus.

“Yeah,” Minseok said. “We all can. All nine of us.”

“All nine.” Oh, great. A whole pack of them. “Even the one’s I met?” Stupid question. He’d already answered that, technically. But Minseok simply nodded instead of calling out the redundancy. “So, were you all bitten or-” You felt ridiculous basing the current situation on myth and legend, but what else did you have to go on?

“We’re all born this way. You can’t be like us from a bite or a scratch. It has to be in your DNA.” He snuck a peek before beating you to the next question. “The moon doesn’t really influence us either. I mean, its easier to see by at night in the forest, but it doesn’t force us to change. We can do that whenever we want. Witches have more of a connection with the giant rock in the sky.”

“Witches! They’re real, too? What else is real? Vampires? Dragons? Goblins?” What kind of world had you stumbled into?

Minseok flinched. “Maybe we should stick to one subject at a time.”

“Right.” That was probably best for your sanity. “So, if you have to be born like,” you gestured to him, “… this, does that mean both of your parents were, too?”

“Just my dad,” Minseok said. “Females wolves are extremely rare.”

“Well, that’s sexist.”

“Hey, we didn’t make up the rules. It’s genetics.” He scratched the back of his neck, twitching his lips from side to side. “I guess I should say that silver doesn’t bother us either.”

Why did you feel relieved at that random fact? It didn’t matter, as that wasn’t the most pressing issue to you. “Earlier you mentioned that it wasn’t you killing the campers-”

“It wasn’t any of us!”

“I believe you.” The words tumbled off your lips. And you realized that it was true. You couldn’t twist the nervous, sweet guy in front of you into a mindless killer. The way he was explaining everything slowly, cautiously, giving you time to understand. He wasn’t hiding anything from you. Not anymore. “I’m just confused when you said it was an omega?”

“Its just a ranking system within a pack,” he explained. “Alpha, beta, MR, omega. Junmyeon’s the alpha of our pack, he’s in charge. Yixing and I are betas, second in command. We help enforce Junmyeon’s word and keep an eye on the younger wolves who like to cause mischief.” He chuckled, as if remembering times when said mischief occurred. “The rest are all MR – Mid-ranking. They all have their own duties should they be needed. Well, except for Jongin and Sehun. They’re the youngest wolves so they get special treatment most of the time. Its okay, though. They kind of make you want to take care of them, the way they are.”

You nodded filing all the information away for later recall. “And the omega?”

“A wolf without a pack. Nine times out of ten they were kicked out for defying the alpha, for putting their own interests ahead of the pack. Without that structure, a lot of them turn feral.”

“Nine times out of ten?”

“It’s extremely rare, but sometimes a wolf will choose to never join a pack in the first place. It’s nearly unheard of though. We’re too social of creatures. Nine-point-five out of ten would probably be a better number.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that came out. Of course he would bring up math in a time like this. Minseok laughed along with you. Eventually, though, it died out, along with the smile that had been growing on his lips. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

Picking up on his mood, you tilted your head to the side. “I don’t think anything else could take me by surprise at this point.” Minseok stared at you pointedly. Your stomach began to sink. What other little secret could he possibly be harboring at this point? You didn’t think anything could be as shocking as his shapeshifting abilities.

“Have you ever heard the expression ‘wolves mate for life’?” he asked cryptically.

“Yeah?”

“Well-” he shifted, crinkling the perfect comforter in the process. “We don’t know why it happens. Junmyeon thinks its nature’s way of compensating our ‘otherness’ while Jongdae just thinks it’s another level of torture.” An uncomfortable laugh. “But, um, every wolf has their own mate. Just one, that they stick with for the rest of their lives.”

Unable to keep looking at him, you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “So, are you saying that you all get to pick whoever you want as your mate and that’s it? You claim them because of what you are?”

“No!” Minseok jumped to his feet. Swallowing visibly, he cleared his throat, but remained standing. “No, we don’t get to pick. It happens out of nowhere. Our mates are chosen for us before either is born. And we can meet them under any circumstances. Some favorable, some… not so much.”

You looked up at him “What are you trying to say, Minseok?”

He walked up to you, each step hesitant, each step full of fear. Crouching down, he sighed as he looked into your eyes. “What I’m trying to say, (y/n), is that… you’re my mate.”

At first, you only blinked. The words had to be soaked in one at a time before you could piece them together and understand the sentence as a whole. “I- what? How do you even know?”

Reaching out, Minseok took ahold of your hand. You didn’t fight it. The electricity was practically singing between your skins. “Really, all it takes is one look. A few seconds of eye contact and the pull takes hold. But this feeling we both get when we touch, its confirmation. And then there’s this.”

He pulled your hand closer, pressing your palm against his chest. The heat transferring through the thin fabric was enough to make you sweat, but that wasn’t the point of this exercise. It was the rate of which his heart was beating. As he stared at you with awe, his heart sprinted as if it were in second place of a race and needed to pass just one more runner to win.

“Every time I see you, this happens,” Minseok whispered. “It doesn’t matter how good my day has been, its always better when I’m with you.”

“We haven’t even known each other that long.”

“It doesn’t take long, apparently.”

You frowned, confused. “Apparently?”

A small smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. “I’m the first one in the pack to find my mate. The first one to experience this.”

The first…. You wanted to laugh at the romantic angle your brain was seeing this.

A knock came from the door. Minseok stood up, reluctantly dropping your hand before answering the intrusion. “Yeah?”

Several roommates were standing in the hall, all peering around Minseok to get a better look at you.

“Kyungsoo said it was time for dinner,” one of them said. “And that he could hear your mate’s empty stomach from downstairs.”

“And it took all of you to come tell us?” Minseok questioned as he folded his arms. He shifted to block more of the doorway, shielding you from their stares.

“It was an important job,” another one said.

Minseok looked back at you before sighing. “Tell Kyungsoo that I’ll be down in a second.”

“But-”

The door was shut before the argument could be finished. The rush of footsteps faded in the background until it was only the two of you once again.

“Are you hungry?” Minseok asked. You nodded sheepishly. “You don’t have to go downstairs. You can stay here and I’ll bring it up to. Kyungsoo’s a good cook so whatever he made will be delicious.”

“Actually, I’ll go down with you,” you said, to the surprise of both of you. Everything Minseok had told you was still sinking in. There was too much to process and completely comprehend, but the pieces were fitting together. And you were curious about life here. If you really were meant to be his mate, maybe you should know where that road led. It was the right at the fork. You’d uncovered a sign that gave you a clue to where it was headed. You wanted to follow it.

Minseok waited patiently as you stood up and walked towards him. He let you out the door first. There was a moment where your fingers brushed as you passed. You could feel the muscles in his hand tighten. He wanted to take your hand again – and you almost let him. But you held back. There was still something stopping you. Or, rather, a who.

The noise hit you halfway down the stairs. Being told that nine people lived together and truly witnessing it were two very different concepts. There was no order that you could see. Most of the boys sat around the table, conducting multiple conversations at once that overlapped that you had to wonder how they could understand each other. A few sat in a small booth off to the side in a world of their own. It was the kind of breakfast nook you’d only seen before in home magazines. Two boys stood at the counters, their backs to the chaos behind them.

One of them – sporting a very well put together look and black rimmed glasses – turned and smiled at you and Minseok. “There you are. Glad to see you came down.” He held his hand out to you. “I’m Junmyeon.”

“The alpha,” you said as you shook his hand.

“I see Minseok told you most of it,” Junmeyon said.

“Pretty much everything,” Minseok corrected.

You felt your face contort as you tried to pinpoint where you’d seen this man before. “Wait. Aren’t you a professor?”

Junmyeon laughed. “Yeah, I am. In the literature department. Folklore, to be exactly. But I’d prefer if we kept this between us.” He sent you a wink to show he was teasing. Behind you, Misneok growled, making you jump. “I’m just playing, Minseok.”

“And I’m sure he’ll be playing when he rips your head off,” the other stove-top occupant stated. He held out a plate for you piled high with food. There was no way you would be able to eat all of that. “I’m Kyungsoo, by the way.”

“(y/n),” you greeted back. “It’s nice to meet you.” Taking the plate, you tried to hand it off to Minseok.

“No, that’s yours.”

Not wanting to be rude, you said between gritted teeth, “I can’t eat all of this.”

Minseok pinched his face as if debating on something. “Fine. We’ll share.”

“Are you sure about that?” Junmyeon asked. “There won’t be any left over for seconds. You know that.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Shaking his head, Kyungsoo held on to one side of the plate and added another scoop of rice and meat each. “Just in case.”

After thanking him, Minseok guided you over to the table with a hand hovering over your lower back. Even without the contact, you could feel the heat coming from his palm. Or maybe it was just your imagination filling in. Minseok pulled out a chair for you on the empty end before sitting next you. It was obvious he’d purposefully placed you away from the others.

“Possessive much?” Baekhyun snorted as he dug into a plate of his own.

“I’m sure it’s just instinct.” The comment came from one of the more slender boys – Boys? Wolves? You weren’t sure how to address them properly. Maybe later. Your brain needed a break. The one who had spoken had a very pointed face, but in a way that was still handsome. You weren’t sure if you’d seen him before or not.

“That’s Yixing,” Minseok said. “And the last one to meet, I guess, is Jongdae.”

Jongdae turned out to be the curled-lip one who still wasn’t smiling. In fact, he was the only one not in some level of a cheerful mood as he sat in the breakfast booth. He barely looked at you while everyone else was. Some were even blatantly staring at you as they shoveled in food to their mouths.

“You should eat.” Minseok picked up a fork and stabbed a slice of marinade-covered meat, holding it out for you to eat like a child.

“I can do that myself, thanks.” You took the fork and chewed slowly on the meat. It was good. More than good, really, so you took another bite and another. Soon, you were full, though there was more than half a plate left. You scooted the plate over to Minseok. “Okay, your turn.”

“You’re done? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m stuffed.”

Minseok didn’t reach for the other fork he’d grabbed, as if giving you a chance to change your mind. When you made no such move, he dug in. You smiled at the way he ate, enjoying every bite with satisfaction. At the sight of every plate being empty, Baekhyun stood up. “I’m going to watch a movie,” he announced.

“Oh, that sounds like a good idea!” Jongin said.

Yixing asked, “Which one?”

Baekhyun shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever’s new. (Y/n), want to join us?”

Minseok cut in. “I don’t know if that-”

“I’d love to!” You turned to Minseok and gave him a cheeky smile. It felt a bit defiant. Perhaps he wanted to explain more to you or spend time with you alone in general, but you wanted to know how this group operated together. You wanted insight to their normalcy. Getting to your feet, you picked up the plate, but Junmyeon reached over and took it from you.

“Don’t worry about this. We’ll clean up.”

“But-”

The alpha wouldn’t have it. “You’re the guest. Shoo.”

More than happy with that argument (dishes weren’t your thing by a long shot), you followed the cluster of excited men to the living room. They crashed on nearly every surface – the couch, the chairs, the floor, anywhere they could fit. Minseok approached Jongin and Sehun who had taken a corner of the long couch.

“Move,” he ordered.

“But we were here first!” Sehun whined. Jongin look over to you and then got up without a word, sitting down on the floor with his back against the coffee table.

“Sehun….”

“You’re really going to kick the youngest off the comfortable seat?”

You tried to break up the awkward exchange. Well, it was awkward for you since you were the reason for the discussion. “It’s fine, really. I can sit on the floor.”

“You’re not sitting on the floor,” Minseok told you. To Sehun, he said, “I’m the eldest and she’s a guest. Please move.”

For a second nothing happened. Then Sehun huffed. “Fine.” He got up and joined Jongin on the floor. He lied down on his stomach and pulled out his phone, over it already. You felt bad but saw no point in arguing. Minseok let you sit first and then, once again, sat between you and Chanyeol, who happily occupied the other side of the couch.

Baekhyun flipped through a streaming service until he landed on a superhero movie. Everyone cheered at the choice, then quieted down as he pressed play. Someone turned out the lights so only the glow of the television remained.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg, you were hyper aware of Minseok. Arms crossed over your stomach and fists clenched, you told yourself repeatedly not to reach for his hand or lean on his shoulder no matter how heavy your eyelids were getting. Erik may have hit pause on your relationship, but there wasn’t much of a discussion of lines. You didn’t know the rules of that scenario and what was and wasn’t allowed. But as your tiredness grew, your willpower weakened. After a few bobs, your head landed softly on Minseok’s shoulder. It was too comfortable to move. It felt too nice, too right. Like his shoulder was the one you were always supposed to lean on. And that was when Minseok made a move of his own.

Holding your head up, he adjusted his arm so it was now draped over your shoulders. Your head rested against his chest when he laid you back down. Something vibrated against your cheek. Was that… purring? No, it had to be the booming from the movie. Right?

It didn’t take long for you drift into sleep. The movie was one you’d seen before so you couldn’t use that as an excuse to stay awake. You weren’t sure how long it had been. A slight bopping motion roused you. In the shallowness of your conscious you made out that you were being carried. Carried up stairs… and into a bedroom. While still holding you, that person managed to pull back the covers and tuck you into bed. As the arm slipped away you grabbed hold of the wrist. Through the slightest slits in your eyes you could make out Minseok’s silhouette.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep. I’ll take the couch downstairs.”

“No. Stay.”

He froze at your request. “Are you sure?”

“Please.”

Even in the darkness, you could see him smiling. “Okay.” Shutting the door, he peeled back the covers once more and slid in beside you. Happy wasn’t even close to how you felt when he pulled you in close to his chest. You drifted back to sleep with a smile on your face.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #minseok #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo supernatural au #exo series #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #The Untamed Universe #Catching Rain

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dindjarindiaries · 4 years

Text

Pretty Please

gif via @pedropcl

summary: You’ve developed feelings for Javier, but you’ve been great at concealing them—until now. You find yourself wanting him now more than ever, and you’re not sure you can take it anymore. (As inspired by Dua Lipa’s “Pretty Please”)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

warnings: sexual themes, pining, non-descriptive sexual content

rating: R

word count: 4.256k

masterlist

You must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning—or, rather, inside the wrong bed.

The feeling is sudden and it’s sticking within you. Even as you’re rushing through your morning routine as usual, sliding on your tight-fitted jeans and buttoning up your three quarter-sleeve dress shirt, you can’t help thinking about them coming right back off. You’ve even decided on wearing your best matching set, hopeful that the black lace still remains concealed underneath the purple hue of your shirt. Though, you wouldn’t mind a certain pair of eyes noticing.

You blink a few times, shaking your head. No, you chastise yourself. You can’t give in. You can’t do this.

But you know the truth. You can’t resist anymore. You need Javier fucking Peña just as badly as he needs his cigarettes.

You’ve been trying to avoid this for so long. Coming to work in Colombia wasn’t supposed to mean pining after one of your new partners, but almost as soon as you acquainted yourself with Javier, you were a sucker. His charm, his wit, and his goddamn sex appeal were just too much to resist. It only got worse when you actually learned more about him, joining him and Steve on after-work ventures either to a bar or just a restaurant to get away from the stress of work. You’ve discovered that he’s extremely protective, quite caring, and very passionate—and that just makes you want him more. In multiple ways.

Today, a certain way seems to be making itself very known as your mind can barely focus on whatever you’re doing. When you’re brushing your fingers through your hair and adjusting it to your usual style, you imagine his fingers running through it, tugging on it, even panting into it. When you’re applying your light lipstick, you picture the way his lips would look after crashing against yours, taking some of the color onto his own but caring less in the heat of desire. Even when you’re grabbing your keys and getting into your car, you imagine yourself trapped between the seat and him, hands exploring each other with absolutely no destination in mind.

You try to think about anything else, but you can’t. You continually curse to yourself under your breath. If you can’t get rid of these thoughts, then work’s going to be a shitshow, considering you have to stare at Javier’s face the entire day whenever you’re at your desk. With absolutely no interesting information on Escobar, you know you’re bound to another day full of paperwork at your desk with Javier sitting just a few feet away—which means you’re in deep shit if you can’t get your frustrations under control.

Once you get to the office, you park and take a deep breath, looking at yourself in the rearview mirror and flashing a confident smile. That look falters when you notice Javier’s car pulling in from behind you, and your head turns to see him pulling up right next to you. Swallowing hard, you instantly look back to the wheel. Calm down, you tell yourself. It’s fine. You’ve worked here everyday with this man for months now. It won’t be any different today.

But then he gets out of his car flaunting a bright red shirt, and damn, does red look good on him. You find yourself biting the corner of your lip as you practically undress him with your eyes, studying the usual way he leaves a few buttons undone. You’re lucky he never notices as he strolls inside, especially since your eyes fell to his ass quite a few moments ago. With yet another shake of your head, you curse and slam your hands against the wheel, squeezing your eyes shut tightly.

When you manage to at least fool yourself into thinking you’re composed, you finally step out of your car and start to head inside. Your mind goes blank as your eyes watch the tile floor underneath your feet, and you only look up when you know you’re coming upon your cluster of desks. Steve and Javier are both there, and Javier’s already on his first cigarette as you toss your keys onto your desk and pull out your chair.

“You’re later than usual,” Steve observes, looking at you with a raised brow. “Usually Javi’s the one I gotta worry about.”

“Oh, fuck off, Murphy,” Javier jokes, scoffing as he takes a drag of his cigarette. You sit down slowly as you watch his action more closely than usual, seeing the way his lips close around the cigarette and then separate ever so slightly to let the smoke escape.

No, fuck me.

Your eyes widen at your own thoughts, your eyes darting away from Javier quickly as you instead look blankly at the files already awaiting you on your desk. You almost think you’ve somehow managed to get away with your strange behavior until Steve speaks again. “You good over there?” You look up, seeing Steve looking at you through narrowed eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a goddamn ghost or something’.”

You chuckle, hoping it doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels as you open up your first file. “I’m fine,” you assure him. “Let’s just say I had a rough night.”

Steve whistles, and Javier sets his cigarette onto the ashtray as he looks over at you with a single raised brow. You try to ignore the way your entire body practically hums at his attention. “Who was it?” Javier asks, the simple sound of his roughened voice practically making you beg for him right then and there.

Yet, still confused by his question, you tilt your head at him. “What?”

“Who’d you fuck?” Javier’s voice is casual, but with all the thoughts that have been swimming through your mind so far today, you nearly choke upon hearing the words. You manage to grit your teeth before you can get the words I wish it was you out of your mouth.

“Jack Daniels,” you confess, impressed with the way you’ve lied so effortlessly. Steve chuckles, and Javier’s mouth makes an “o” in understanding as he turns back to his work. The action still makes you bite your lip, and you start to bury yourself into your work before your mind can think up more things to drive you absolutely crazy.

After at least an hour spent in silence while the three of you shuffle through paperwork and try to ignore the fact you’re bored out of your minds, Steve breaks it. “I can already feel this damn heatwave,” he mutters, starting to fan himself with an empty folder.

“Heatwave?” you echo, looking up from your paperwork curiously.

“Yeah,” Steve responds. “It’s supposed to be hot as hell tonight. I was trying to get Connie to cancel our date because of it, but she’s a stubborn one. You didn’t hear about it?”

You let out a huff. “No, I must’ve missed it somehow.” You curse to yourself, suddenly feeling the intensified heat as you adjust yourself in your chair.

“I’m surprised,” Javier’s voice suddenly joins in, and you look over to see him giving you an amused expression. You practically melt into your chair upon seeing the way his dark gaze glitters at you. “You’re always on top of things.”

I’d like to be on top of you. Your mind thinks the words without hesitation, and you nearly spit them out before you manage to catch yourself again. “Like I said before, rough night.”

Javier lets out a low chuckle, a sound that practically radiates from your head down to your very toes. “Sounds like it.” He pauses for a moment, flipping open a file and looking at you briefly between his lashes. “Should’ve invited me.”

You nearly gasp upon hearing his words, instead managing to keep it cool as you shrug. “Next time.”

Javier offers you a small smile, returning to his work shortly thereafter. You know that on any other occasion, that whole exchange would’ve been fine—but now, with your mind running in such an intense direction, you feel as if you’re about to explode on the spot. The rising temperature of the building doesn’t help, and soon you’re joining Steve in the attempt to fan yourself with a nearby folder.

Things only worsen as the day continues. The heat’s getting unbearable, and the three of you are now visibly being affected by it. Your sinful gaze, of course, continually glances towards Javier, and you shrink a bit in your seat when you observe the bead of sweat that falls from his temple. It moves slowly against his tanned skin, as if mocking you for being unable to touch his skin in such a manner, and dips over his jaw to his neck. You lick your lips as you watch it travel down the length of his throat, finally pooling into the notch of his jugular and joining the rest of the perspiration on his glowing, exposed chest.

Damn.

You have to drop the pen that’s been in your hand and rest your elbow against the desk, pinching the bridge of your nose as you squeeze your eyes shut. The fact that this is affecting your work is making it dangerous, but you can’t help it. You need him. It’s so overwhelming that it’s practically suffocating you—but you can’t give in. It’ll be like giving oxygen to a raging fire. You have to keep it concealed.

Willing the strength to do just that, you take a deep breath, opening your eyes again and letting your arm fall from the desk. You use your hand to release a few of the buttons on your shirt, needing to let your chest breathe in the midst of this heat. It would’ve been fine had you not felt a burning gaze coming from the same direction you’ve been looking in all day, and when your eyes raise to view him again, you notice him watching you from his peripherals. Thinking he likely hasn’t noticed you’ve caught him, you see his eyes explore whatever he can of your exposed chest, and his Adam’s apple bounces as he swallows hard and looks back to his own files.

You nearly collapse from your chair on the spot. Holy fuck.

Staying concealed is suddenly a lost cause. The temperature feels as if it’s risen by tenfold, and you find yourself brushing away a bead of sweat from your forehead as you try your very best to focus on your work. Things are muffled, but you manage to make some progress for another hour until you notice Javier staring again. This time, though, he’s truly looking at whatever you’re reading, as if he’s studying the words on the page. His gaze then looks up to yours, and it’s almost as if you see a light bulb go off over his head.

“Hey, do you mind if I take that for a second?” Javier asks you, gesturing to the file you have opened.

How about you take me right here, right now, on this desk? You make a valiant effort to swallow the words back. “Yeah, of course,” you answer, handing the file over to him. Javier gives you a nod in thanks, and you simply manage your best smile as you watch him look between the file you’ve given him and the papers on his desk. His eyes widen, and soon he’s standing up to walk over to your desk. He places the papers side-by-side in front of you, one of his hands leaning on your desk as the other rests on the back of your chair. You nearly freeze, squeezing your legs together at his sudden close presence.

“See this?” Javier questions, looking over to see if you’re following where he’s now pointing his finger. You nod—knowing your brain’s in a complete fog and you’re definitely not going to process anything he says next—and you resist the urge to completely breathe in the smell of his fading cologne and smoke. Javier goes on to point out some kind of consistency between the two files, but all you can do is focus on the heat that radiates from him and nod as if you understand. It gets especially difficult when he brings one of his hands to his forehead, wiping away some of the sweat that’s gathered there. You bite your lip, trying harder than ever to focus on the papers.

But you just can’t. I can’t fucking take it anymore.

You’re about to whisper something dangerous into his ear when he suddenly pulls away, taking the files from your desk. “I’ll type something up,” he tells you, returning to his desk as he reaches for his typewriter.

“That’ll be great, Javier,” you say, earning a nod as he focuses in on typing whatever the hell he’d been trying to tell you earlier. You let out a huff, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking from the brief interaction.

This man’s going to be the end of you.

It’s nearing the end of the work day, and Javier’s still typing away vigorously. You’ve noticed that he’s been sweating a lot more just from taking up a slightly more demanding task, and you’ve tried to stop watching the beads of sweat fall down his face—but it’s not to much avail. At one point, though, he stops typing, leaning his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. His mouth opens just a bit, and you bite the inside of your cheek hard to try to keep your mind from running. Yet, it’s already taken off. You’re suddenly wishing you could be under his desk.

“It’s so fucking hot,” Javier grumbles, wiping his hands over his face and wiping them on his thighs. He looks over at you, gesturing to the longer sleeves on your shirt. “I don’t know how the hell you do it.”

You shrug, trying to get words through your tightened throat. “You get used to it.”

“You’d think she’s the one that’s been living here longer,” Steve jokes, standing up from his desk and collecting his things as he speaks. He looks up to see Javier giving him the finger, causing him to snort. “I’ll see you two tomorrow. Let’s hope I don’t burn to death on this date.”

“I hope you do!” Javier calls after him.

“Fuck you, Peña!” Steve remarks without looking back.

“Gladly!” Javier exclaims, laughing to himself before he returns to his typing.

It’s finally your chance to escape the hell that’s been today’s torture. You stand up and get your belongings together, watching to see if Javier looks your way. He doesn’t, as he’s already focused back in to his work. “I’m headed home,” you inform him. You successfully draw his attention, almost falling to your knees when you catch his gaze looking you up and down momentarily. “Don’t stay here all night, Javi.”

Javier chuckles and gives you a reassuring smile. “I’ll try not to.”

You try to return his look, beginning to turn and walk out. You stall, however, when Javier calls out your name quickly. Your head turns to face him, and you see his brow lifted in concern.

“I just wanted to ask, are you sure you’re okay?” Javier’s dark gaze is sparkling with hope—hope that you’ll tell the truth. You swallow hard. “You just don’t seem like yourself today.”

You want to melt upon receiving his tender care, especially when you hear the sincerity in his tone. Yet, you know you can’t tell him the truth, and so you give him a nod. “I’m alright, Javi. Just succumbing to this goddamn heatwave.”

Javier exhales and widens his eyes for a moment. “Understandable.” He nods once. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You simply choose to give him yet another nod, turning back around and nearly speed-walking to your car. Once inside, you let out a heavy breath, running your hands down your face. You can’t believe you’ve managed to make it through the day, and you can only hope that you get your act together. Still, you can feel yourself wishing you’d gotten what you needed, but you push back the feeling as you head back to your apartment.

Once inside, all you can think about is the heatwave. The air conditioning unit in your apartment does a relatively good job at keeping you cool, but it’s still much hotter than usual, and you find yourself quickly exchanging your work clothes for a simple pair of cloth shorts and a V-neck as you prepare yourself a small dinner. By the time you finish, Javier’s completely left your mind for the first time today, and all you can think about is drowning yourself in the glass of condensing water you have in your hand.

Suddenly, a knock sounds at your door. You put down the glass and furrow your brow, walking over to it and checking the peephole. You’re in disbelief when you see who it is, and you open the door quickly to see a disgruntled Javier standing there.

“I’m sorry to… uh, interrupt.” You watch as his gaze temporarily falls from your eyes to your chest, and you look down to see part of the lace from your bra peaking out from the collar of the shirt. Your cheeks heat up, and when you look back up at Javier, you see that his gaze has returned to yours. He clears his throat. “I just—my air conditioner’s a piece of shit, and it just broke. I was wondering if I could crash here until I cools down later tonight.” He holds up the bottle he has in his hand. “I brought some whiskey.”

You laugh, stepping aside to make room for him. “Of course, Javi.” He walks through the door, and you close and secure it behind him, taking a deep breath as you close your eyes. Keep yourself together, you tell yourself. You can’t think like you did earlier. Yet, as soon as you turn back around, you notice that Javier’s now unbuttoned practically half of his red shirt, exposing a much larger amount of his chest to the cooler air of your apartment.

Well, fuck.

You stroll over to where Javier’s sitting at your kitchen island, grabbing two clean glasses from the cupboard and letting Javier distribute some of the whiskey into them. You start to sip at yours, completely unable to think of anything rational to say. All you want to do is admit that you’d rather taste his lips than the whiskey, but you know you can’t, and so you continue to let the alcohol burn down your throat. You watch as Javier observes this, soon letting a low chuckle rumble from his chest.

“You know, it’s real funny to me,” Javier suddenly says, letting out a sigh as he leans back in his chair. He takes a swig of his whiskey, and you raise an eyebrow in confusion. “I just can’t believe you’re standing here right now, not mentioning anything about today.”

You swallow hard, slowly resting the glass of whiskey onto the counter as your gaze with him never breaks. “What do you mean? The files?”

Javier shakes his head, a smirk stuck on his lips as he also rests his glass onto the countertop. “No, not the goddamn files.” He raises his eyebrow back at you. “The eye-fucking.”

Your eyes nearly double in size at his words. “Javi, what the hell are you talking about?”

Javier sighs as he stands from his chair, slowly making his way over to you. “You really thought I didn’t notice all of that?” He lets out another chuckle, shaking his head as he looks down at you. “You were practically in a daze, hermosa. I’d recognize that look anywhere.” Your gaze falls to the floor, embarrassment pulsing through you as you stand dumbfounded at the counter. You see his feet stop just in front of you. “I thought maybe you’d tell me earlier, but you’re a tough one to crack.”

You look back up but continue to avoid his gaze. “I’m so sorry, Javi, I don’t know what got into me today. I just—.”

You stop when you feel Javier’s fingers touch your chin, forcing you to look back into his eyes. His gaze is even darker than usual, and your stomach twists in pleasant knots when you study his expression further. “What you didn’t realize was that I was doing the same exact thing back to you.” His hand brushes up along your jaw, his fingertips sending shivers through your spine as he tucks your hair behind your ear. He leans forward so that his lips are brushing against your ear. “Were you also imagining those different scenarios? Sneaking away to the car, or just being taken right there on the desk?” Javier pauses to chuckle lightly. “You were driving me crazy.”

Unable to believe it’s actually happening, you let out a struggled breath, watching Javier’s gaze only darken more at the sight of your pure instability at his words and touches. He pulls himself completely away from you, raising his brow at you once again.

“Is that what you want? Do you want me, hermosa?”

You’re so close to just flinging yourself onto him, but you try to retain some sort of self-control, swallowing hard as you finally get the words out. “Please,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper.

“What was that?” Javier teases, stepping even closer to you. You’re eye-level with his glistening chest now, and you’re absolutely certain you’re going to fall apart at the seams.

“Pretty please,” you nearly whimper, unable to hold yourself back any longer.

“Since you asked so kindly,” Javier assures you, and no later does his arm wrap around your waist as he pulls your body flush against his. Within seconds, his mouth’s on yours, and you drown in the taste of whiskey and cigarettes on his breath as you press your tongue against his. You nearly melt at the relieving feeling of his touch, especially as his hands glide over your ass and touch the bare skin of your thighs. He lifts you so that your legs wrap around his waist, allowing you to deepen the kiss as your hands—once unable to leave his face—start trying to unbutton the rest of his shirt. Javier stops the kiss to laugh against your lips, starting to make his way towards your bedroom. “At least wait until we get somewhere, hermosa.”

You let out a curt laugh before reattaching your lips to his, unable to get enough of the feeling. As soon as you’re inside your bedroom and Javier’s eased your back onto the bed, all clothing’s strewn to the floor and you’re sure you’re not helping Javier with the situation of trying to stay cool. Your lips are already swollen when he pulls away to rest his sweating forehead against yours, looking deep in your eyes for a moment.

“Before we go any further,” Javier starts breathlessly, “I need you to know that I haven’t been wanting you like this just because of your body, like you might think.” Javier pauses, as if he’s searching for the right words to say. “I’ve wanted you in this way and many more for a long time now. I—.”

“This is all really sweet, Javi, and I’d love to hear more,” you cut him off. “But please, I’ve been waiting for this for way too fucking long, so please wait to tell me the rest after.”

Javier chuckles at your desperation, giving you a reassuring nod as he reconnects his lips with yours. The next few minutes feel like heaven on earth, even if the temperature represents something more like hell. Your bodies together create a heat that rivals the wave spreading throughout Medellín, and even hotter are the words you share with each other. The confessions, the utterances, the way you say each other’s names—it’s enough to turn this heaven into something much more sinful. Everything that’s been building up for so long is seeking release, and you can feel the opportunity approaching the faster things start to go. With your fingers practically embedded into his slick back and his holding you in place beneath him, Javier urges you to finally follow through with what you’ve been waiting for so relentlessly. His mouth covers yours just in time to muffle your voice, and he’s not too far behind from getting that same relief before he rests beside you. He looks over at you, laughing a bit as his fingers brush over your cheek.

“Was it worth the wait?” Javier questions, and you giggle as you let your face fall into his slick neck.

“Hell yeah,” you admit, feeling his throat vibrate against your lips as he chuckles. You close your eyes as you absorb the euphoric feeling you’re drowning in. “So, can I hear the rest of that speech now?”

Javier runs a hand through your messy hair. “What’s the magic word?”

You smile against his neck. “Pretty please?”

#I don't know what to say other than WOW #a MAN #javier peña #javier pena #javier peña x reader #javier peña fic #javie #narcos

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justcourttee · 4 years

Text

And They Were Roommates-Pt 2

Marinette woke to the piercing ring from her alarm clock. With a groan, she blindly hit her nightstand, trying to find the snooze.

“Marinette! If you snooze, you’ll be late again! Professor Brookes may like you, but she did threaten that one more tardy to the meetings and you’ll be fired!”

Tikki pulled at a strand of Marinette’s hair trying to pull the girl from her bed.

“Tikki it’s just five more minutes, please!”

“Dupen-Chang, Tikki wanted to wake you the nice way but if you don’t get your ass out of bed in the next five seconds, I will dump a cup of ice down your shirt.”

Marinette’s eyes flew open as she sat straight up, scowling at the sight of Chloe and Tikki high-fiving.

“I hate you two.”

“Mhm, now go shower. You look and smell like you just wrestled with pigs.”

Chloe’s nose scrunched up as she threw a towel at the girl. Marinette rolled out of bed with a heavy sigh, trudging to the bathroom.

“Chloe, will you pick me out an outfit?”

“Already done, now hurry up!”

Turning on the water, Marinette noticed the dark ink covering her skin. A beautiful robin stretched from her wrist to her elbow, every last detail drawn with care. She sucked in a sharp breath as she allowed her fingers to trace over the artwork. As she stepped into the shower, her eyes never left the picture, scared her soulmate would erase it before she had a chance to photograph it for later inspiration.

Turning off the water, she wrapped her towel around her body tightly before racing back to her room, almost diving for her phone. Her tongue stuck out of her mouth from the pure concentration of capturing the art at the right angle. Once she was sure it was photographed properly, she fumbled for the pen on her nightstand.

“I love waking up to your artwork, would you mind leaving it for the day?”

She stared intently at her hand, waiting for his response that couldn’t seem to come fast enough.

“Dupen-Chang! If you want a ride, you better be dressed in the next five minutes!”

Chloe's voice echoed through the apartment, snapping Marinette out of her trance. Within three minutes, she pulled on the dress Chloe had laid out and managed to pull her hair back in a messy bun, sticking a pen through it just in case. She was working on the heels when she finally felt the tingle.

“Sorry Angel, important interview today. I’ll leave you something tomorrow though. Promise”

Marinette let out a defeated sigh, but tried to push it out of her mind. After all, she couldn’t be mad, he had a life too, one he didn’t want to publicize and she could respect that. Putting the final touches on her outfit, she grabbed her purse, leaning down beside the dollhouse to allow Tikki to fly in.

“Dupen-Chang!”

“Coming Chloe!”

Tikki let out a giggle as Marinette rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long day.

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

“Ms. Dupen-Chang, can I see you in my office please?”

Marinette internally groaned as she plastered a smile on her face. She picked up her design book, throwing a cover over the mannequin before she turned to walk toward the professor's office.

“What can I do for you Professor Brookes?” Her smile was sickly sweet as she stared down at the woman.

“Sit, please.” Brookes didn’t even look up from her paperwork, just made a vague gesture to the seat in front of her desk. After several minutes, she finally looked up, making a show of clicking her pen shut.

“Do you know why I called you in Marinette?”

“Because you were lonely and wanted someone to talk to?”

She offered the woman a pity smile, but Professor Brookes was not having it.

“You have refused every offer I have arranged for you in the past three months. Marinette, what did I tell you when you accepted this position in my work field for young entrepreneurs?”

Marinette let out a sigh, her eyes falling to the ground.

“It’s easier to work under a big name and break away than it is to build your own empire. But Professor-”

“Exactly. So tell me, why exactly have you refused not only Giorgio Armani and Karl Lagerfeld, but now I hear that Audrey Bourgeois has been after you for years now and you’ve refused her as well!”

Marinette bit her lip, trying her best to level her breathing before she snapped at the woman.

“With all due respect Professor Brookes, they don’t want my name on the designs. I can’t make a name for myself if everyone else is taking credit for my work. If there’s any way you can find me an internship under someone who will let me be myself I’d be more than glad to take them on.”

It was Professor Brookes turn to sigh as she slipped off her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’re a talented girl Marinette, nobody is denying that. But you just don’t understand how the business world works. This work field is for entrepreneurs who will listen to my advice, not do everything in their power to ignore it.”

“I understand if you want me to relinquish my position Professor Brookes. I’m sure you could fill it easily.”

The professor looked up, her face unreadable as she stared down the designer. Several minutes passed and a sinking feeling began to settle in Marinette’s gut.

“Ms. Dupen-Chang, what you’re asking me to do is to find you a sponsor. They’ll put their good name on the line for you, allow you to take credit for your work, and in return you’ll give them a portion of your profit. That’s anywhere from 5%-25% depending on how the sponsor operates. If I do this for you, you are going to have to up your production levels from one outfit a week to three, which means you’ll need to be here for three days instead of just one. Is this something you really want?”

Marinette’s heart pounded in her chest as she felt her body flood with relief.

“It is. I really want a sponsor.”

“Then it’s settled, I’ll need you to complete a portfolio including pictures of models wearing your designs and at least three test designs that I can send to possible contenders. The test designs allow them to view your work up close and personal to look at stitchwork and such. I’m assuming you already have models in mind seeing as you live with two of them?”

Marinette nodded, her heart feeling as if it were about to explode with joy.

“I won’t let you down Professor Brookes.”

The designer stood hastily, practically running back to her workstation.

“I’ll need all of that before the first day of spring semester Marinette!”

The professor's voice echoed in her ears but she was too stunned to care. She was getting a real chance and that meant she had to put everything into the next month. Sitting on the spinning chair, Marinette pulled out her phone to view the picture she had taken earlier. Admiring his sketch, an idea began to form in her head as she cleared the workstation, laying out her various pencils.

After a couple minutes of sketching, her phone began to buzz. At first she ignored it, trying to focus on her design, but after the third time, she finally gave in.

“Chloe, I’m sorry, I know I said 3 but it’s looking like 5 or 6 instead, I finally got the break I was hoping for.”

“Well that’s great Dupen-Chang, but you see, I have a guy here responding to the ad placed this morning and I just wanted to ask if we could interview him without you.”

Marinette sat down her pencil, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. She distinctly remembered emailing Julia for the spot, but she never sent in the ad. So either Julia’s newest boyfriend was applying or someone from the news team was.

“He’s not dating Julia is he?”

“I don’t know, let me ask. Hey! You! You’re not dating Julia, right? No? He said no.”

Marinette shook her head as she looked up at the ceiling, trying her best to send apologies to the boy.

“So?”

“Go ahead Chloe, that’s assuming you haven’t chased him off already. I’ll be ready to go in an hour.”

“Great, you’re the best. Congrats on your break, I’ll order some food from that italian restaurant near our apartment to celebrate.”

Before Marinette could even respond, the line went dead, leaving her to stare at her sketchbook in slight despair. The poor guy would be scared senseless before she even got a chance to meet him. With a sigh, she returned to her sketch, determined to finish at least one design before she left for the day.

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

Marinette waved bye to Professor Brookes before she made her way up the stairs to her apartment. She had texted both Chloe and Adrien several times, but neither came to pick her up, something she was going to lay into them for.

“Hey guys what’s the deal-”

She stopped in her tracks as her eyes couldn’t process the sight in front of her. Adrien was playing Ultimate Mecha Strike V, but that wasn’t the problem. No, the problem lied in the fact that some guy she had never seen before was battling him using her lucky controller.

“Hey Mari! Meet Damian Al Ghul, our new roommate!”

The guy stood up, offering his hand, but Marinette’s eyes weren’t focused on his. Instead, she watched in horror as he tossed her control backwards onto the couch, the force sending it flying to the floor.

“Damian huh?” She pushed past his outstretched hand to pick up her controller, examining it for any cracks or chips in the paint job.

“Yes?” He moved his hand to awkwardly rub the back of his neck, trying to figure out what he had done wrong.

Marinette sent a sour look at Adrien who only shrugged.

“Damian is a double major as well Mari, history and business, sound familiar?”

“I hear you are quite competent in both subjects.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, setting her controller on the coffee table before standing to face the man.

“I’m more than ‘competent’, I excel in both with a perfect 4.0 GPA.”

Damian scoffed sending a wave of fury through the girl. Just who did this guy think he was? Adrien watched the interaction, amusement clearly written on his face.

“So Mari, you want to play the winner of this round?”

“No, thanks. I’m going to study. My first final is on Tuesday, just ask Chloe to leave my food in the microwave, I’ll get to it later.”

Without another word, she marched back to her bedroom, shutting the door harder than she meant to. She pulled out her sketchbook, opening it to her unfinished design from earlier. Her pencil hovered over the page as she tried to remember the feeling she had earlier.

“Tikki, how did I manage to let him get under my skin in less than five minutes?”

She let out a groan as she fell backwards onto her bed as the kwamii let out a giggle.

“He’s got a unique personality, very straightforward Marinette. He almost reminds me of Chloe when I first met her.”

“That has to be it. PTSD from when I was 13 and Chloe was still a menace. I just don’t think I’m going to be able to get back into this design tonight.”

“That’s okay Marinette, let’s work on the last essay for your Grad school application!”

Marinette sat up to reach for her laptop, pulling up her browser that never closed. The Metropolis University website was still up, her application reading 95% complete. She clicked on the textbox and attempted to zoom in on the final question that had been bugging her for a week now.

‘How will you use your education to benefit the world?’

“Why does my degree have to benefit the world Tikki? I just want to do something I love, can’t that just be enough?”

“You’ll think of something Marinette, you always do!”

“Yeah,” the girl huffed out a puff of air, leaning forward to reread the question for the hundredth time. “I always do.”

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

Around 10:30, Chloe stumbled into their room, tearing through her closest.

“Marinette, come clubbing with me and Adrikins! He needs a distraction for the night or two if you know what I mean.”

She let out a giggle as she pulled out her favorite dress, not even bothering to shut the bedroom door before throwing off her top.

“Chloe! We’re living with another guy now!”

“Yeah yeah Mari, you’re the only straight one here so there’s no problem!”

“Just because you’re not straight, doesn’t mean he can’t oogle at you.”

Chloe stood up, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the girl.

“Oogle? How old are you? 75?”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she stood up to pull her dress over her head. With her help, Chloe finished touching up her makeup.

“So you gonna come with us?”

Marinette shook her head at her, earning a pout from the blonde.

“Boo, you and Damian are both lame.”

Picking up her clutch, she opened it long enough for Pollen to fly in before shutting it tight.

“You losers have fun tonight staying home.”

“I think I’ll just barricade myself in here instead.”

“Whatever.”

Adrien appeared in their doorway, equally tipsy as he offered Chloe his hand. Marinette watched with worry as they made their way to the front door, both stumbling over their feet at every other step.

“Are you guys taking an Uber at least?”

“Yes mom!” They both looked at each other in shock before dissolving in a fit of laughter. Marinette rolled her eyes, waving goodbye as they slammed the front door shut.

With a sigh, she made her way to the microwave, hitting the reheat button for her pasta inside.

“Is that an every weekend occurrence?”

Marinette jumped, whipping around to find Damian leaning against the kitchen counter, his face expressionless.

“How about next time a warning like ‘Hey Marinette’ or ‘Whatcha doing?”

He didn’t reply, just remained stoic as he waited for her answer.

“No, it's not, just an occurrence whenever Adrien gets his heart broken. So try a monthly thing.”

He nodded in response, watching her carefully. Marinette shifted under his gaze, trying to keep her cool and not melt into a puddle. He may be a jerk, but he was still a hot jerk. The ding of the microwave severed the tension between them as she opened the drawer beside her, pulling out a fork. Sliding out her pasta, she didn’t even check to see if it had heated all the way through before she rushed past Damian and back to the safety of her room.

He didn’t follow, but she heard him let out a thoughtful hum before he made his way back to his room, shutting his door. Letting out a sigh, she stirred through her pasta, reaching for the pen beside her bed.

“How’d your interview go?”

She was halfway through her pasta when she felt the tingling.

“Aced it. How was your day Angel? I apologize for not writing sooner.”

She rolled her eyes at his formalness, trying not to let her smile get the best of her.

“I finally got my break. I’ll be getting a sponsor!”

Finishing the last bite of her pasta, Marinette weighed the risk of running into Damian again if she went to put up her dishes. Deciding it was too great, she set the plate on her nightstand, mentally preparing herself for the backlash she would get from hungover Chloe in the morning.

“That’s fantastic, I hope it works in your favor habibti.”

A shiver ran down her spin as her cheeks flushed red. She had used google translate a few times of the names he gave her and was surprised to find the Arabic traces. When she asked him about it, he just brushed it off to being from his mother’s side, never bringing it up again. Picking up her pen, she etched a small Robin on her arm, leaving a space beside it to write;

“Your pictures always inspire my designs. I can’t wait to see what you leave me tomorrow.”

A minute hadn’t even passed before he responded.

“If you wash your arm off now, you won’t have to wait.”

Her heart picked up pace as she rushed into the bathroom, scrubbing furiously at her arm. She returned to her bed, toweling off the few wet spots as she watched in awe as pen strokes tickled her skin.

“He’s so talented Marinette!”

Marinette smiled as she watched his delicate art slowly cover her arm, her mind drifting from the stress of the day.

“He really is Tikki, he really is.”

Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ladybug-182 @fusser90 @thestressmademedoit @dast218 @thezestywalru @jardimazul @olynix @dorkus-minimus @xahriia @kris-pines04 @urbanpineapplefarmer @moonlightstar64 @itsmeevie01 @little-lady-bird @alexandriamw @lozzybowe @emmdaenovice @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @jessigurl-design @aegyobutpsycho2 @stark-morgoona @kris-pines04 @rebecarojas07

#daminette #maribat #roommates

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kryzobi-wan · 3 years

Text

Dancing in the Dark

"What kind of monster was he, to wish for beauty?"

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Just a whole lotta touch-starved, lonely Ben Solo feeling a lot of feels when the Force decides to connect him to Rey <3 Completely self-indulgent Reylo angst and fluff. Plus a little slow dancing 🥲

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Ben Solo had learned what it meant to be lonely. Growing up surrounded by droids instead of family taught a kid that particular lesson pretty quickly. Still, that aching longing for human connection never quite left him, even after so many years of immersing himself in the cool, unfeeling darkness in hopes that it would drown out that part of himself. He had everything he had ever wanted, he tried to convince himself. Power, control, strength… it should have been enough.

But that flicker of light—of warmth—within him that he never could quite get rid of felt like the piercing, burning bite of a lightsaber wound on his flesh. If the light was supposed to bring comfort and peace, then why did its presence hurt so much?

After his solitary childhood and early adulthood, it shouldn’t have been possible to feel any more lonely than he already did. Then she had come crashing into his life, entangling their respective destinies in a mess of unacceptable feelings and emotions, and leaving Kylo more unbalanced than he had ever been since joining the First Order. Her light had illuminated the truth of every crude approximation of connection Kylo had forged over the years in his chosen place of belonging. Where once the officers of the First Order, the Knights of Ren, even Hux, had provided some semblance of stability and companionship, he now saw them for what they were: hollow, resentful beings who couldn’t care less if he lived or if he died.

For a few brief moments he had thought that Rey might fill the gaping hole this realization left in the very depths of his soul. How naïve that had been. Now she had left him, scorned him, and he was truly on his own, with not even the sickening but constant presence of Snoke to keep him company.

Weeks passed. Hux had finally stopped reprimanding Kylo for his failure on Crait, and in fact hadn’t spoken to him in days, leaving him without even that sense of consistency. In the quiet isolation of his chambers, the weight of his father’s death at his hand finally settled firmly on his shoulders. With Snoke gone, his recollection of that fateful moment came with a different kind of clarity that was most unwelcome. This kind of introspection was dangerous, and he did his best not to entertain it. But he was weak. His thoughts involuntarily drifted to those peaceful moments in his childhood—as rare as they were—where for just one moment he thought his parents might really care, that he wasn’t truly alone. The ache of soured happiness came attached with those memories, now that he had been disillusioned from their lies.

Looking at him now, it was hard to believe that he had once believed in the beauty of the galaxy. Ben—Kylo—remembered a time when the stars seemed brighter, the air more pure and refreshing. When he could feel the bubbling of joy and frivolity in his chest, giving him the sensation of weightlessness as he passed through life ignorant of how truly alone he was.

Oh, how he longed for that beauty.

He had always been drawn to such things. The artful strokes of calligraphy, flowing from the tip of his pen. The feeling of soft, green grass between his fingers, and the touch of cold, crisp water on his toes. The gentle lilt of music playing somewhere in the distance, the tune floating through his bedroom window as he closed his eyes in sleep.

What kind of monster was he, to wish for beauty?

There was no such thing. Kylo Ren could never be worthy of it. Every beautiful thing he touched met its end sooner or later. He was poison to it, so fundamentally contrary to everything it stood for that it could be corrupted by his mere presence.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Rey had closed their connection. Since that moment on Crait when she looked down on him in his defeat, he had only seen her a handful of times, and only long enough for her to scowl at him and shut him out.

So he was alone. As usual.

Wandering the halls of the new flagship star destroyer, Kylo was acutely aware of this fact. Some days were worse than others, but this was bad as it got. Something inside him was begging for someone—anyone—to see him. To remind him that he wasn’t just some ghostly apparition with no corporeal form.

Not a single passing trooper or officer acknowledged him.

Perhaps it was his own fault. After all, you can’t have both the fear of your subordinates and the good opinion of them. He had chosen what made sense for the leader of an army, and he refused to consider any other option. He was the Supreme Leader of the First Order. He did what he had to do.

As it turns out, it’s lonely to be the one on top of the pyramid.

Kylo passed by a group of stormtroopers, his cape billowing behind him. They seemed to be celebrating something, perhaps one of them had received a promotion or passed a particularly difficult round of training. They patted each other on the back, excitedly chattering in low whispers about whatever it was that spurred this reaction. Despite the armor and helmets, he could see the camaraderie they shared. They were happy.

That was enough to trigger another episode.

They were coming more frequently now. It was different than his bursts of anger and violence, where he could reach some sort of catharsis by tearing apart his immediate surroundings with the slash of his fiery weapon. This kind of attack did quite the opposite, causing him to shut down completely, barely able to move or speak until he could manage to calm himself down to an acceptable level. His breathing quickened and he was forced to grab onto the wall to stabilize himself.

Kylo sucked in a deep breath as he willed the prickling of tears in his eyes to go away. He felt exposed without his mask. His traitorous expressive face betrayed every emotion that he felt, leaving him vulnerable. He couldn’t let his subordinates see this weakness, or he’d be ousted by a mutiny before the end of the day cycle. No, he had to get away before he went catatonic. Stumbling and suddenly dizzy, Kylo made his way toward his chambers. The lights on the walls and ceiling swirled in his vision like the flash of stars through hyperspace, and it was all he could do to remain upright as he burst into his quarters and shut the door behind him. Immediately upon entering, he ripped his cape and the outer layer of his tunic off, feeling suffocated by them. Removing his heavy boots, he focused on the chill of the cold durasteel floors seeping through his dark socks, connecting him to his surroundings.

With a flick of his wrist, he turned out the lights and collapsed onto the nearest chair, resting his head atop his knees, and clasping his hands behind his head as he tried his best to stop trembling. He allowed the quiet darkness to envelop him like a blanket, hiding the tears as they streamed from his eyes.

Whenever this happened, it felt as if the air around him was pressing inwards as it slowly crushed him. He needed something real, something physical to ground him. No matter how tightly he clutched at his own body, how much he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes in an effort to stem the flow of tears, it was not enough. The pain radiated outward from himself. It was as if he were a bomb threatening to explode at any moment, at which point he would cease to exist entirely. He could be floating in the lifeless vacuum of space for all that he felt. There was nothing to hold him together.

Completely and utterly alone.

He was well-practiced by now in self-treating these sudden attacks. It may take several minutes, but eventually he would be able to breathe out one last shuddering breath and still the shaking in his shoulders and knees. The floor stilled beneath him, and he no longer felt like his screams were trapped inside his body, begging to be let out.

All he felt in the wake of an episode like this, was numb.

He stared tiredly at the floor, now propping his head up on his hands as exhaustion flooded his body.

It was frustrating, feeling so out of control of one’s emotions. Despite the fact that his master was now dead and gone, he could still feel the disappointment he would have had in his apprentice. The words Snoke would have said echoed through his mind.

Pathetic. Weak. You are too unstable. The darkness will reject you. Your emotions cause you to fail. Everyone who ever claimed to care about you threw you away like garbage, but you can’t stop needing them.

Perhaps he had been projecting a little when he said those last words to Rey.

As if his thoughts had caused it, he suddenly felt the familiar shift in the Force that signaled the start of a connection. The rumbling sounds of his ship faded into a comfortable silence that was, for once, welcome in the aftermath of his anxiety attack.

He breathed out a sigh of relief before opening his bleary eyes and lifting his head slightly to peer about his room. She was nowhere to be seen.

Just as he was about to stand to go look for her, Rey appeared in his doorway, looking irritated and disappointed as usual as her eyes settled on him. She promptly turned with a huff and disappeared from view as fast as she had come, though the connection remained open.

“Rey, wait,” Ben (because he was always Ben during these connections) called out to her before she could shut him out. He stood abruptly, rushing to stand in the doorway. She stilled, her back to him and apparently awaiting his next words before she decided to leave him anyway or not. “Please don’t go,” he hated how fragile the words sounded as they escaped his lips.

Rey let out a tired breath. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Panic began to rise in Ben’s stomach again as he felt Rey start to force the connection closed. “Stay! Please, just for a few more moments,” he said desperately. He was starting to feel dizzy again. He wanted to pretend just for a little while that he wasn’t alone. Once he regained his stability, she could leave if she wanted. He just needed someone for a few minutes to keep him from falling apart.

As if she could sense this, she turned to face him, setting her jaw firmly as she stared at him with caution behind her eyes. Relief flooded his veins, and before he could stop himself, he reached out with one hand and clutched Rey’s arm, using it to keep himself upright. She didn’t move a muscle, though she stared at him as if she wanted nothing more than to step away from him. He bowed his head, breathing deep, calming breaths in and out.

“Thank you,” he said softly after a moment.

Rey nodded once but said nothing. Her silence had become the usual ever since Crait, and as much as it pained him, he was grateful that this time she at least acknowledged his existence.

Once upon a time, she had told him he wasn’t alone. That had meant everything to him, even if it didn’t mean the same things to her. He just wanted to feel like he did in that moment. When they had touched hands, he felt a flutter of happiness and a spark of hope that he never thought he’d feel again. He saw a flash of beauty, like something had peeled back the dark shroud that obscured his view of the galaxy. For the briefest of moments, he thought he could be happy with her. That neither of them would ever have to be alone for the rest of their days.

Ben’s eyes flashed up to where his gloved hand met her skin, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, a chill running up his spine. He lost himself in the feel of human contact, nearly becoming overwhelmed by the sensation after so long without it. Perhaps the only thing keeping him from completely breaking down was that layer of leather still between them.

Slowly, as if he were not even in control of his own movements, his other hand gingerly brushed against the same arm, inspecting the fresh scar there. His hands were trembling as they traced the contours of her arm, down, down, down to her hand where they stopped, cradling her fingers with the softest touch.

“Ben?” Rey finally spoke, breaking him out of his entranced state. He looked up to her, tears pooling in his eyes once more. His hand instinctively tightened around hers.

“Will you dance with me?”

His words were unexpected. There was something about being there, with her, that made him wish more than ever for the things of beauty in this galaxy. They seemed to have reached a temporary truce, considering the fact that Rey hadn’t ripped her hand away from his yet. He couldn’t help himself.

“What?” Rey asked incredulously. She looked at him as if he had grown a second head. Ben began to feel the tug of her hand against his, hesitating but wanting to let go.

“I just—” Ben stepped closer, patting her hand lightly with one of his and bowing his head again to look only at their hands rather than her face. He shook his head in disappointment with himself as it became clear that he didn’t have the words to articulate what he was trying to say.

I need you, he finished in his mind, but Rey seemed to hear it loud and clear. Her eyes softened, though a hint of hesitation remained.

“Okay.”

Ben’s gaze snapped back to hers, his mouth parted slightly in surprise that she had actually said yes. Something like nervousness or excitement fluttered in his stomach, leaving him momentarily breathless.

He nodded, speechless and blurry-eyed, and dropped her hand long enough only to remove his dark gloves, casting them carelessly on the floor. When he stepped into her space again, the corners of his trembling lips teased the smallest hint of a smile, which was reflected in his widened, somehow younger-looking eyes.

Slowly, in his disbelief that this was really happening, Ben scooped up each of her hands in his own, clutching them to his sweater-clad chest. There was no music, but the beating of their hearts seemed to be amplified in the space that stretched between them and their bond. It was the only sound they could hear, aside from the shaky breaths each was breathing in anticipation for this new closeness, this tender moment.

Rey moved one hand to Ben’s shoulder, allowing him to wrap his arm around her. His palm splayed across her back, reveling in the feeling of her textured taupe-colored wrappings on his fingertips. Electricity sparked where their hands met, and he saw it again. A vision of beauty. Togetherness. The rightness of it all.

He pulled her in close, resting his cheek against her silky brown hair and closing his eyes to soak in the peacefulness of the moment as they began to sway. Fresh tears trailed down his cheek, mingling with her hair. She hesitantly leaned her head into his chest and brought her hand up to the hair at the nape of his neck, stroking it comfortingly. It was almost as if she knew exactly what he was feeling, exactly why he had asked her to stay. Could she really see through him that easily? Or was the bond stronger than they thought? If so, what could that mean?

He knew who she was. She was a nobody, right? Then why did she feel like everything to him?

Oh, he was in so much trouble.

They danced, in the calming darkness of the night. Peace washed over Ben Solo, evening his breathing to quiet, content breaths. There were so many things he wanted to say; confessions he needed to get off his chest, apologies, explanations… but nothing could get past the lump in his throat. Instead, he contented himself with looking out the viewport behind Rey, taking in the majesty of the stars beyond. Long ago, he had lost the sense of wonder and awe he used to feel when immersed in the view of open space. The endless black expanse began to feel empty and cold. It reflected his own loneliness back at him.

How had he missed the numerous stars and planets that dotted the sky? They shone brightly, their warmth reminding him that there would always be life, hope, and a future—beyond.

Skywalker… Ben heard an unfamiliar voice, gravelly but laced with amusement. Still looking to the horizon…

The world around them had disappeared. The two swayed and twirled amidst the infinite vastness of space, and Ben felt weightless, like they were floating through the galaxy without a single worry or care. There was no Resistance, no First Order, no Jedi, and no Sith. There was only Rey, and the stars that illuminated her glistening eyes.

That same sense of awe, the hope and contentment of his boyhood innocence, filled his heart with every brush of her hand against his, every time their eyes met, the beating of her heart next to his own…

Rey pulled back a few inches, enough that she could tilt her head back to study his face. The hand he was holding in his dropped before she placed it on his other shoulder, her hands firmly but gently gripping them. If Ben were told that her touch was the one thing keeping him from shattering into a billion pieces, literallyholding him together, he would believe it without question. Her fingers tangled in the loose fabric of his thin sweater, rubbing soft circles over his skin. It was a comfort he was not used to, a balm for the crawling discomfort of starvation from human contact which he had felt for so long.

His eyes fluttered closed and he could scarcely breathe. They continued to sway as Ben moved his free hand up to Rey’s face, experimentally trailing his fingertips over her skin with a touch so light, she might not have even noticed had she not been so in tune with what he was feeling.

When he opened his eyes again, he observed her image through his lashes, unbothered by the sadness or pity she held for him in her eyes. He did not care what thoughts or emotions kept her here, he was just glad that she was.

In his exploration of the contours of her face, his hand brushed against a stray piece of her hair, drawing his intense focus away from her soft skin. He held it lightly between his thumb and forefinger in fascination and wonder, tousling it gently before following the path of her hair to the three buns at the back, which he threaded between his fingers.

Following his lead, Rey cupped a hand over his jaw, setting his nervous system ablaze. It was almost too much to handle. His head dipped forward until his forehead was practically touching hers, all the while they continued to sway. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, mere inches separating their lips from each other’s.

Before the situation could slip any further out of Ben’s control than it already had, Rey pulled back, her body stilling as she stared at him as if in study. His arms felt suddenly empty, but the sharp pain of loneliness from earlier had faded to a dull ache. He no longer felt like he was at risk of imploding, which was a relief to his tormented soul.

Eyes meeting hers, he silently conveyed his gratefulness for what she had done, finding words to be insufficient. He worked his jaw absentmindedly as his gaze flicked over her features, trying to gauge what she might be thinking in that beautiful mind of hers.

Without warning, she rushed forward and enveloped him in her arms, wrapping them around his neck and holding him tightly. The embrace was as short as it was sudden, but it was like heaven coming down to him. He had barely managed to reciprocate the action before she released him and stepped back, seemingly unsure of what to say.

Her voice came back in little more than a whisper, and he thought he saw a tear escape from the corner of her eye. “I understand,” was all she said, her jaw firmly set in that look of determination that Ben was so used to seeing.

And maybe she did.

Of all the people in the universe, Rey would know the heartache of loneliness better than anyone. All those years alone, waiting for the return of those who could never come back… Maybe she needed this as much as he did.

Rey stared intently into his eyes, and it felt like she was able to see directly into his soul. She nodded, perhaps in answer to his line of thinking. Perhaps it was just a gesture to reassure Ben that everything would be okay. Either way, he felt a part of himself melt away under the influence of her light, leaving him with a sense of peace unlike anything he’d ever felt.

With that, she closed her eyes and bowed her head, disappearing without consequence.

Ben breathed out a breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding, stumbling backwards to his couch to think. The ghost of her touch on his skin remained, and it brought him a lasting comfort.

He should have felt scared, or worried, that his mortal enemy knew his vulnerabilities and sorrows so intimately, but he wasn’t. He had shared with her a moment of beauty and of happiness, and something about it told him it would be a significant turning point in the story of the Jedi Killer and the Last Jedi.

As he drifted off to sleep that night, he could have sworn that he felt her gentle touch on his forehead, brushing through his dark wavy hair in comforting strokes. Tender words of encouragement graced his ears, and whether they were real or imagined, he took them to heart.

He dreamed.

Of the cool, still waters of a lake.

The light of the moon reflecting on its glassy surface.

The velvety blackness of the night sky,

Decorated with the pinpricks of diamonds glittering from above.

And the mountains,

Standing strong and steadfast in the distance,

A friendly shadow on the horizon.

He dreamed.

The woman in his arms,

Illuminating the world around her,

Her light shining like the sun,