#it’s not really a rant but it’s something that’s been weighing heavily on my mind lately

[cosmic-hoboandthehighlander]

I didn’t create tedmort.

I want to make that 100000% clear. I didn’t come up with it, I didn’t write the first fic or draw the first art. I didn’t even come up with the damn ship name! I need all of you to understand something because even if you think it’s not important for me to be clear about this, it really is to me, in my opinion.

I don’t credit tedmort as my ship. It doesn’t belong solely to me: y’all can write it, draw it, headcanon it — it’s not mine and never was! I don’t own it and won’t ever claim that I do. I will never ever gatekeep tedmort because they’re so precious to me and I want all of you to love them and cherish them as much as I do.

Warning: Long post ahead but it’s my feelings and I really hope you all take the time out to read this.

When I called myself the tedmort ship captain, it wasn’t because I was claiming the ship as MY rarepair. It’s me saying listen, I wrote a lot of tedmort and the tags here on tumblr and on ao3 are filled with me screaming into the void about this ship. I am the person standing on the deck of the ship that is the USS Tedmort, if you will, and hyping it up! Calling all of you from the shore to come on, hop aboard, and sail with me, not for me.

I do want to be the captain of the ship, but not in an “I own this!” sort of way, but in a “come, join me!” way. I want to set up the refershment table of headcanons and tell everyone joining up on our ship to “take a headcanon and leave one of your own!” and to joke and laugh over the angst we’ve collectively put our poor middle aged men through. This is a collective and I am not in charge and don’t want to be.

At the end of the day, I do want to be known as the tedmort person. But I really want to be known as more of a guide. A person that anyone in fandom, new or old, feels comfortable with approaching because I want to share tedmort with every single one of you. I write this ship because I love it. I feel the passion that I haven’t in fandom for a long time for these two and I feel free to share it without judgement!

I just love Teddy and Mort, plain and simple. I’m gonna write whether anybody is reading it or not because I’m having fun. But I want you as a fandom to have fun too.

I don’t want anybody to ever feel like they can’t write a ship because it “belongs” to someone else. Because someone has claimed the ship as “theirs.” I know there will always be people like that, in every fandom and every corner of the internet and in every part of the real world - someone who stakes claim because they love something so much, alienating others even when they don’t do mean to. I love being known for tedmort, but other people deserve a chance in the spotlight for their tedmort fics as well.

So maybe this is me saying, I’ll be your guide to tedmort, if you’ll have me, but I will never make this ship out to be mine and mine alone. Tedmort is ours.

#tedmort #bob's burgers #caboose rant #it’s not really a rant but it’s something that’s been weighing heavily on my mind lately #and I hope nothing I said offends anybody because it wasn’t meant to be anything but me assuring all of you that I’m not in charge #I just want everybody to know that just because I’m the loudest doesn’t mean I’m the one who makes all the rules #oh and also a disclaimer!! there is no fandom drama I’m not making fandom drama #I’m just feeling really angsty about myself right now #but if you think there is a problem please just dm me I’m too damn old for the ship drama shit

[remcycl333]

Hello rem. I hope you answer my ask because I think nobody else is gonna. My sc has been really well for the past few days and today it kind of broke down. I tried being not that person who always keeps asking what am I doing wrong or what more can I do. But today I'm seeking help too. Today I realised it's been almost 3 months since I went for my classes because I've been trying the void and failing and now I have lost count of days and months. I didn't have anyone as friends there in my college but I did have people I used to hangout with. I was thinking hey I'm revamping everything so it doesn't matter and then I kind of completely ghosted them out and I was actually afraid I would run into one of them someday because we all live in the same city (yes I'm aware my thoughts created that). I literally have been living a double life. And even though I have successfully managed to escape seeing them 5-6 times sneakily, today one of them saw me and came upto me to talk. I was really nervous throughout the whole interaction because that meant I would've had to explain stuff in case they ask. She didn't ask anything except for what I'm doing now. That shook me to my core. Because apparently they all think I left college and is somewhere else now. No-one including my parents and people I live in that is except for my classmates know I've been bunking classes for like 3 months. Idk what to do. I was planning on entering the void again tonight but somehow that interaction stirred something up in me, almost feeling stupid because that college I'm in now where I'm bunking classes, I manifested that. So that's a shame. I don't have anyone to talk this with and its all on me. If I accept this shitty reality then I'll be a manipulator and considered an ungrateful bitch and a shitty person. I know I'm not. I cannot give up because I don't want to give in to this reality because it's gonna suck really hard. Been trying to hold on but oh my god I feel like it's a dead end. What should I do? It's time for us to pay the fee for this semester and if I don't tell my parents about it everything is gonna turn into a big mess. I'm running out of time. I should enter the void asap. Otherwise I don't know how long I'll be able to live this double life for. I don't want to manifest the usual way because I honestly don't know when the 3d is gonna show that up. I know I shouldn't be concerned about time but I cannot not be because thats the environment here. It's like trying to revise someone's death while being at their funeral. Then again I'm thinking is it possible for me to be that delusional? I don't even care I ranted because I just needed to get it off my chest and its been weighing me down heavily. What should I do? Is there anything you can tell me which can get me out of this mental image? I really really really want to enter the void and infact I'm going to tonight. But to think I've been living like this for 3 months is terrible. Please tell me honestly what I should do?

If you read till here, that itself is a big thing. Thank you for hearing me out. Now can you please help me out by telling me what to do?

hi love!! you can deal with your current reality and still continue to manifest your dream life! tell your parents about the fees before you create even more stress for yourself. then work on your self concept!!! affirm your life is perfect and your 3D conforms instantly. if you really really want to enter the void, put in the work!! you can try the 10k affirmations challenge and affirm for your void concept. saturate your mind with the idea that you can get into the void with ease and that your getting in tonight for a fact. i’m hoping that through sending this ask you were able to get a lot off your chest!! but continuing forward you have to stop complaining and acknowledging all of the stuff you don’t want, bc by doing so you’re manifesting more of it in your reality. you can manifest some things in your 3D being better—such as your relationships with your friends—and still work on getting into the void. you don’t have to choose one or the other!! hopefully through affirming and saturating your mind you can bring back some of your hope. and stop taking no as an answer!!! u can get in the void TONIGHT if u put ur foot down. if you really want it i recommend you put in the effort to work on your void concept!!!

#asks

[robbyrobinson]

The Bagges Take Ostania (Pt. V)

The drive home was a long one for Agent Twilight and Courage. The two hadn’t spoken ever since leaving the headquarters for Westalian Intelligence. Aside from the passing glances, not a word was spoken. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on them, threatening to suffocate them underneath the millstone. As for the computer, it sat in the backseat strapped to a seatbelt. Its keyboard was underneath the seat.  

Courage rubbed his temples with frustration. The invitation was fake, which he already anticipated, but now he learned that the candy was a ticking time bomb. Hundreds could likely die if Jumping Jack was not stopped. It was too much for a little dog like him to deal with.  

“And you are saying that these nanobots are lined with a casing that prevents them from being digested, computer?” Loid asked.  

“That is correct, Mr. Loid,” the computer remarked, “I appreciate how cognitive you are of the information, unlike the twit sitting next to you.”  

Courage turned around and gave the computer an annoyed look. Loid ignored the playful jab the device gave instead focusing on the road. “My daughter Anya will be finishing up at school soon. Do you mind if I drove there?”  

Courage shook his head. The computer brought up images of Eden Academy. “Ah, so your daughter goes to this esteemed school?”  

Loid nodded while not turning around. “Maybe since you will be visiting with us a bit you could help her with some of her homework.”  

“A tutor. Hm... sounds interesting.”  

The car turned to the direction of the academy. Courage sat there hardly moving still processing all the information he had been told. He drifted back to him eavesdropping on Jumping Jack and discovering the corpse of Madison. But his mind still lingered on that spider. That wretched arachnid with its sharp teeth and mandibles and inky-black wings. If not for luck being on his side... Courage shivered as he was unable to think about that thought.  

Loid finally turned to look at Courage. His blue eyes still had their flair of intensity to them, but they also had glints of concern. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Courage.”  

Courage broke out of his mental rambling at the mention of his name. He gave the spy a confused stare.  

“I am very grateful for you getting the evidence for what we are dealing with. I’m just happy that you were able to escape. I don’t know what I would have done or said to your owners if you were killed on the account of me. You must really care for Muriel.”  

Courage nodded. Loid smiled as he turned his sight back to the road.  

“Little dogs like you should not be bothered by the actions that humans cause. You should be happily living your life instead of being caught up in foreign affairs. I am sorry that I scared you about the enemy trying to start a war. I had no intention, but, as you can see, I for one am tired of war. Humans fight each other for such trivial reasons: land, power, glory.”  

Courage and the computer opted to quietly listen. Loid took a temporary pause from his rant to catch his breath before speaking again. 

“Those Westalians have no idea what they are trying to accomplish. They had grown up with privilege and never had to face the hardship of war. To any who think war is something glorious and that you would die for your country...imagine this scenario. You are a child living with a loving, kindly mother, but then one day, you return home only to see that everything is gone. The house is in ruins and unrecognizable. But, worse of all... you find your mother. Your loving, kindly mother who could do no wrong, is lying on the ground. Imagine having a lot of friends, but they all die because some people thought it was for the best of their country. This is why I am doing everything I can: I don’t want any child to suffer the pain that I had.”  

He took one gloved hand and pat Courage’s head. “Sorry for getting heated like that. I’m not even sure you understood everything I was trying to say.”  

Courage nodded. The pink dog may not have gone through something that horrific, but he was all too familiar with losing loved ones. Not a day would go by without him recalling how his parents were stripped away from him by a mad veterinarian who wanted to create space dogs. As morbid as it was, at the least Loid knew what became of his mother. Courage was uncertain if his were still alive. It brought pangs to his gut knowing that, had things been different and he was stronger, his parents would still be here. It was an irrational bout of self-hatred, but the dog would still feel accountable.  

“Eden’s Academy is coming up, Mr. Loid,” the computer announced.  

“Thanks, computer. Just remember that when Anya comes in no talk about the nanobots.”  

“My lips are sealed, sir, on the account that I don’t have a mouth.”  

******************************************************** 

After spending some time getting a hot shower to remove all the dried blood and possum fur off her body, Yor walked out of the bathroom and sighed. As she dried off, Muriel called her.  

“You feel refreshed, dear?”  

“Yes, Miss Muriel, thanks again for the permission to use your bathtub.”  

“No problem, dearie. Your clothes will be in the drying machine for a while. In the mean-time, I had supplied you with some clothes. They are not really fashionable for someone as beautiful as you, but it’s the best that I could manage.”  

Yor noticed the clothes Muriel set out for her folded in a chair. It was a plain-white T-shirt and blue shorts. For whatever reason, the Thorn Princess had the urge to walk into someone and tell them to watch where they were going, but she shrugged. It would suffice. 

After getting dressed, she heads to the kitchen and sees Muriel stirring a pot. “Sorry if the clothes are too tight on you, Yor.”  

Yor laughed awkwardly. The Scottish woman was correct that the clothes were too tight on her. Too tight as in the clothes accentuated her curves. At least it was just her and Muriel there or otherwise she’d feel embarrassed. “What are you making, Miss Muriel?”  

“Vegetable soup,” she replied, “I have some vegetables out that I am intending to use. Perhaps you can help me cut them?”  

“C-cut them?” Yor asked. After all, she was very adept at cutting...up her targets to pieces and casting them into the sea. But cutting vegetables was entirely different. “I don’t know if I’ll do a good job.”  

Muriel smiled. “Don’t worry; I’ll show you the ropes.”  

First, Muriel had a fresh onion. “Careful with this, it makes you cry.”  

“What, is it alive?” Yor stared at the inanimate vegetable with some suspicion.  

“Oh, you are funny, Miss Forger,” Muriel remarked, “I mean cutting it causes your eyes to water up.”  

Yor nodded. “Oh, right, right.”  

Yor stared at the onion for a while unsure on where to start cutting. Muriel hummed a tune to herself while stirring. Sweat beat down from Yor’s forehead with the pupils in her eyes dilating. How could something so easy as cutting up a vegetable be so tedious for the dreaded Thorn Princess? She stared at Muriel for a moment. Her back was turned. She sighed in relief. She formed her hands into fists and squeezed. “Miss Muriel had provided me with clothes and a bath, I have to do this for her.”  

The Thorn Princess grabbed the knife, raised it in the air...and brought it down hard on the onion.  

WAM!!!  

Muriel dropped the ladle in the pot. “Was that a tremor?”  

She turned to look at Yor. “Miss Forger, are you okay?”  

Yor stared back at her with her face flushed in red. Muriel looked down...and saw that the counter was sliced in half. Steam rose up from the rubble to indicate that the event was still fresh. Muriel bends down and pulls out half of the destroyed cutting board. Rummaging around, Muriel recognized the white bulb of the onion with the knife lodged in the middle of it. The tip of the knife also broke off. “Well, would you look at that.”  

Yor clasped her hands together and bowed. “I-I am so sorry, Miss Muriel, I tried to make up for me bothering you earlier, but I ended up making more trouble for you.”  

Yor looked at the ground. Tears began to welt in her red eyes. She was more than certain she had ruined her good standing with Muriel. If the woman did not want to see her again at the threat of further destruction, she understood. She felt something patting her crown. Looking back up, Muriel smiled down and pets her head. “Don’t beat yourself up like that, Yor, accidents happen.”  

“Muriel?”  

“You wanted to pay me back for earlier, and I do appreciate it, but I won’t force you to if it means you’ll be sad.”  

Tears dropped down on the floor in wet puddles. “How can I be like you, Muriel?”  

“Excuse me?”  

Yor reiterated herself. “I have tried being a good wife and mother, but I do not know what I am doing. I have no experience cooking and I am not as gentle and talented as you.”  

Muriel took a moment to process the information. “But, Miss Forger, you shouldn’t try to be me.”  

Yor looked up perplexed. “I-I shouldn’t?”  

Muriel nodded. “From the short amount of time I have since coming to this beautiful country, I have seen that you care so much for your daughter. Your daughter looks up to you an awful lot, doesn’t she?”  

Yor nodded.  

“And you have such a loving husband as well. He’s been nothing but polite with me even when it comes to trying to get along with my husband. You are already a good mother; you just need to convince yourself that you are.”  

Yor looked at the Scottish woman intently. Muriel noticed this immediately. “What’s wrong, dear?”  

“Sorry. You just reminded me a lot of my mother.”  

“Oh, I feel honored that you feel that way,” Muriel replied, “I am certain she was a loving mother to you?”  

“She died a few years ago, leaving just me and my younger brother to fend for ourselves.”  

Muriel frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into your personal life like that. Should we maybe discuss something else?”  

Yor shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I just feel that it is a little silly to ask this.”  

“Ask what?”  

Yor sucked in air and exhaled. “Is it okay...” she began trailing off and darting her eyes around. Muriel patiently waited for her response. “Is it okay that I call you Mom. Or at least a surrogate one.”  

The Thorn Princess resumed staring blankly at the ground. “Sorry if that was too weird.”  

Muriel smiled. “Sure, dearie, I like the sound of that.”  

Yor smiled slowly back. “Still, sorry about the counter.”  

Muriel, without saying a word, took another onion and placed it on the half of the cutting board. “To start with, just cut the ends off like this.”  

Yor quietly watched as Muriel began to chop and dice the onion. “Just watch me for a while, and I can teach you some tricks.”  

*************************************************************** 

“Hey, Bond!”  

The big, fluffy canine was the first thing that the young girl saw as she entered the living room. Bond, who had been sleeping by the couch, awoke and wagged his tail at its young master. Courage, the computer, and Loid also entered the apartment room when the big behemoth tackled Anya in a loving embrace and licking her. While putting his hat away on the rack, Loid noticed a pleasant fragrance dispensing through the room. Anya took notice of the smell as well. The two Forgers looked around for the source of the smell and traced it to the kitchen.  

It was soup. Made by Yor herself? But she was bad at cooking. And yet, they see that she had a big bowl of the vegetable soup sloshing around waiting to be eaten. She turned to smile at the two. “Welcome home, guys.”  

“Yor, did you cook this?” Loid asked. He tried to avoid sounding shocked but his expression betrayed him.  

“Miss Muriel helped teach me how to cook and there was so much left, she let me take some home.”  

“Makes sense.”  

Courage placed the computer in the living room on a table. Yor and Anya walked in seeing the contraption. “Oh, it’s one of those screen things that Bondman uses,” Anya remarked.  

“A computer,” Loid clarified, “but yes.”  

Yor tilted her head. “Why did you bring that in?” 

Loid paused. “Oh, I was just taking some work from the office home.”  

“All the work is inside this thing?”  

Courage and Loid looked at each other and nodded. After setting the device’s instruments up, the computer began to run. “It is a pleasure meeting the wife and daughter of Mr. Loid.”  

Anya’s green eyes twinkled. “It can talk?”  

Yor’s face went blank for a while. Without uttering a word, she takes her leave and exits the living room. They shared a curious expression not saying anything until Yor returned with a butcher’s knife. 

“Is that thing possessed!?”  

Courage jumped in front of the computer screaming his head off while Anya stood horrified by the development of the misunderstanding. She tried stabbing at the computer, but Loid quickly shot his hand out taking her wrist in a grip. “No, no. Don’t worry about it. The kind of computers that I work with can speak. They are interactive assistants.”  

Yor lowered the knife. “Interactive assistants?”  

“Like if I give it a task it can do it.”  

Yor dropped the knife to the ground and exhaled in relief. ���Oh, okay. That’s good then.”  

Anya looked at the computer with amazement. “Can you give me information?”  

“Well, what else would I be good for? Growing legs and taking tap dance lessons?”  

“Then that means you can tell me all that you know about peanuts,” Anya remarked.  

“Look kid, I’m a computer with nearly total omniscience over every subject known to man, not a peanut farmer.”  

With that out of the way, Loid leaned down to Courage’s level and whispered into his ears. “I’ll be letting the computer stay here for a while. I don’t want your owners finding out about the details of the mission.”  

Courage shook his head in understanding. Bond approached the smaller dog barking. Courage immediately puts his full attention on the larger canine. He still had the serious aura spilling from him. “Can the future be changed, Bond?”  

From Loid and Anya’s perspective, Courage was babbling at their dog whilst the latter barked back. It was always interesting to see two dogs having a conversation. You would forfeit anything in the world to learn their language. Courage rubbed his chin. There had to be a way to save Anya from falling from the high plane. From what he knew, the future was certainly not set in stone. Perhaps they could intervene in some fashion.  

“And Muriel is alright I take it?” Loid asked.  

“Yes, she is. She is a very sweet woman.”  

The family and Courage sat down to start eating. Anya started off small but went into consuming massive quantities of the food. “Slow down, Anya,” Loid said, “have some manners.”  

“Sorry, Daddy, but this is just really good.”  

Yor started tearing up again. “Eh? Yor, what’s wrong?” Loid noticed his fake wife crying.  

She shook her head and wiped her tears. “I’m just happy that you all like my cooking.”  

************************************************* 

After dinner, Loid and Courage waited for Yor and Anya to go to their rooms for the night. The secret agent typed on the computer’s keyboard looking up information on Jumping Jack Deen’s Candy Emporium. Unsurprisingly, there was scant much information on the candy factory aside from its opening hours and when the trucks would come in to distribute the sweets.  

“From your searching inquiries, it would seem like they carry the candy out between 10 am and 7 pm,” the computer explained. “It’s odd how it seems like this factory practically just popped up overnight.”  

“Excellent work, computer,” Loid replied. “What we should do is prevent one of the trucks from distributing the candy to stores.”  

Courage nodded. It seemed pretty obvious, but it did make the dog worrisome. But given Loid’s status as the #1 spy for Westalian Intelligence, he was assured that Loid knew what he was doing.  

“Oh, and I appreciate that you were looking over my daughter’s homework, computer.”  

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Loid. I would admit that it was rather tedious to be trying to drill her on fractions. I’ll be honest that she is fortunate that I was going easy on her because she is adorable.”  

“That is my daughter alright,” Loid replied. “From the looks of it, at least she knew how to subtract. Even though that was not how you answer the question.”  

Courage saw that Bond was nestled in a ball of fur sleeping. He barked and growled at different intervals. He would wave his black paws as if running. Courage whimpered. He could only imagine that Bond was dreaming about what was to become of his young master.  

“Anyway, Loid,” the computer began, “since the enemy knows that you are Agent Twilight by apparently catching your face in a surveillance camera, are you fearful that they could probably do research and find out that you are residing here?”  

“I hadn’t neglected the idea that they could likely try to target my family. Is it too much to ask you for one more favor?”  

“You can ask me anything, Mr. Loid.”  

“Is there any way that you could follow Anya to school tomorrow? Jumping Jack is planning to activate the nanobots in 2 days. I need to stop one of the trucks from taking the candy to the markets.”  

“Well...I can’t promise that I will be providing the best disguise, but rest assured, I won’t let anything happen to your daughter, Mr. Loid.”  

Loid smiled. “Thank you.”  

He turned his attention to Courage. “You’ll accompany me won’t you, Courage?”  

Courage thought about it for a moment before nodding.  

#courage the cowardly dog #spy x family #crossover #crossover fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #spyxfamily

[stardewlily]

Chapter Two of My Everlasting Light

A Stardew Valley fan fiction about the relationship between Sebastian and my farmer, Lily.

Synopsis: Lily reveals part of her past and suffers an unwelcome visitor

Cast: Original Female Character, Sebastian

Contents: Mutual Pining, Referenced Abuse & Alcoholism, Mental Health Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship

Warnings: Childhood/Domestic Abuse, Alcoholism (discussed only, no depictions)

Lily's Sadness

It was late evening and dusk had just fallen, the sky was that beautiful twilight blue she loved so much and little squeaking bats were flittering between the tree branches as she made her way down towards the lake. Lily sighed. It was just the kind of night she normally enjoyed and she should have been happy but the events of her day weighed heavily on her mind and her lack of rest only compounded matters. She had been pretty much terminally sleep deprived ever since she met Sebastian, her constant desire to spend time with him leading to her staying up till well past midnight every night and then rising at 6am to get on with her seemingly never-ending farm work. She knew she was probably crazy to keep up this schedule but she didn't care, she loved being with him and, truth be told, the thought of going a day without seeing him made her anxiety rise to even worse levels than it usually did.

Or maybe it was that phone call that was making her feel so anxious tonight…

She sighed again and increased her pace. Seeing Seb would make her feel better. It always did.

She knew just where he would be, she had learned a lot about him in the weeks she had known him, as hungry for knowledge of him as she was for his presence. Just like her he always gravitated towards the quietest places and when she reached the edge of the lake and walked alongside the dark, glassy water there was Sebastian, dressed all in black as usual, standing beneath the spreading branches of an old tree, his tall frame slightly hunched over, the soft glow of his cigarette casting a warm light on his face.

He looked up at the sound of her approach and she felt a little flutter run through her at the smile that crossed his face when he saw her. For some reason it made her want to cry and she bit her lip to stop any treacherous tears that might be thinking of falling.

"Hey Lily!" He threw his cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel as she walked up to him. "Is something wrong?" His face instantly creased with concern when he met her gaze and she caught her breath at how handsome he was, his eyes always so intense on hers.

'Oh Sebby', she thought to herself. 'Why do I feel this way about you?' He was the one and only person she had ever felt so intensely drawn to and so inherently safe with all at the same time.

"How do you know something's wrong?" she asked shyly, looking down at the ground to hide her confusion. After all, they were only friends, she wasn't supposed to be feeling this way about him.

"I notice things," he shrugged, eyes still not leaving her face. "Well… if I care about them."

Her gaze shot up, she couldn't help it. He cared about her? She could feel her face burning and… oh Yoba, his eyes were so beautiful.

"Why don't you tell me what's wrong?" he said. "After all, you're always listening to me rant about my dad and Demetrius being assholes, the least I can do is return the favour."

Lily let her gaze drop again, embarrassed both by his kindness and her reaction to him.

"Come on," he coaxed. "Sit by the lake with me and let's talk, okay?"

"Okay," she felt so relieved to finally be with him after her stressful day that all the strength drained out of her legs and she sank to the ground with a little sigh.

"You've been working too hard, haven't you?" he said with a frown. "Is that what's bothering you? I knew that farm was too much for one person. I could come over and help if you like."

"That's really nice of you, Seb, but it's not that. Well…" she looked down at the ever present dirt she still hadn't managed to completely scrub from her nails. "Maybe it is a little…" she shook her head, angry with herself. That wasn't why she was so sick to her stomach right now. "No… it's…"

He was still looking at her with that same concerned expression and again she felt the urge to cry.

"I… I had a phone call today, one I wasn't expecting. It was from my mom."

"Your mom? Isn't that a good thing?"

Lily laughed humourlessly. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? In any normal family it would be." She hung her head. "But my family's not normal. It never has been." She really did feel like she was going to cry now. What would he think of her when she told him this? She took a deep breath.

"Sebby, I never told you the real reason I came to Pelican Town."

"Wasn't it to take over your grandpa's farm?"

"It wasn't just that. I had other reasons too. One reason… well… I won't tell you about that… but the other reason was that my dad wanted to just sell the whole place up and I didn't want to let that happen. I know what he would do with the money, he'd just… ugh…" she did let out a little sob then and, cursing herself internally, she lifted a hand to scrub at her eyes only to find Sebastian already holding a tissue out to her, his gaze soft as she looked at him in gratitude.

"Take your time," he said.

"Thanks," she took a moment to bury her face in the tissue, amazed to be so overcome and even more amazed that she was telling her story. She always kept everything to herself. Always. Never trusted anyone.

She peered timidly up at him. His face was serene in the moonlight as he gazed patiently at her, his black hair waving gently across his forehead in the breeze. Her sweet boy. She trusted him. So much. Her words started to pour out of her.

"My dad's an asshole, he always has been, ever since I was a little girl, all I remember is him hurting me, drinking, losing his temper, breaking things, hitting things, me and my mom mostly, always spending all our money so we never had anything we needed. Occasionally he'd get so much money he'd be gone for days on a binge and we'd get some relief. We used to hope he'd never come back but he always did. I… I kind of wondered why my mom never left, why she never just left and took me with her, but I guess she was scared of being alone, or maybe that he'd come after us, I don't know… so… things just kind of carried on until I finally left home. I tried to convince my mom to leave too, but she wouldn't, I felt bad for leaving her but…"

She sniffled into the tissue again, unable to look at him for fear of what she might see.

"I spent some time after that working at Joja and… living with someone else… and then I got a letter from Lewis, about my grandpa and the farm, he wanted to leave it to me and that made me so happy because the times I spent on the farm as a little girl were the only happy memories I had from my childhood. I thought if I came here, maybe I could relive some of them, get away from… things… from my past. It was so hard to come here, to finally get away from everything..."

"...My dad got in touch with me after I got here, tried to convince me to sell up, that the farm and the money from it should be his, that it was his dad's after all and so it should all go to him. I just… I felt so confused and scared but I told him no, that gramps had left it to me and I was going to make a go of it! He went quiet after that and I didn't hear from him again. I thought maybe he'd come to terms with it, but today… well, today my mom called and said he's been talking about it again and would I reconsider selling just to help them out? My own mom, Sebby… she sided with him, after… after everything that happened… I know she's probably just scared of him but... she… I... oh…"

She stopped talking and swallowed hard, desperately not wanting to break down in front of him. She looked at her tissue, she'd completely shredded it while talking and the little pieces lay scattered on the ground all around her.

"Can… can I have another tissue?" she asked, still afraid to look up at him.

"Of course you can, here."

His voice was so gentle, she lifted her gaze, immediately lost in his deep, dark eyes.

"You know you've been really brave to come here despite all that, right? To make a new start. I don't think I could have done the same in your shoes."

She stared at him in disbelief. She had spent so much of her life thinking everything was her fault. That she was a bad, weak person.

He handed her the tissue and smiled at her. "Why don't you dry your eyes and then we'll go back inside and raid Demetrius' part of the fridge. He has some of the best stuff and I feel like making today national 'fuck bad dads day'!"

Lily took the tissue and blew her nose. 'Oh Sebby, thank you,' she thought, wondering how she could ever have doubted his reaction. 'I knew you'd make everything all right again.'

She lifted her head higher and forced out a grin, determined to pull herself together. "Sounds good, but let's leave him his bean hotpot, huh?"

"No problem," Sebastian returned her grin with a mischievous one of his own. "He can keep that, but his ice cream is fair game!"

They climbed to their feet and, laughing together, made their way back through the dark towards the house.

It was nearly 11pm the day after their talk at the lake and Lily hadn't visited him. Sebastian lit another cigarette and poked at his phone, bringing the screen flashing into life for about the fiftieth time that night. She hadn't answered any of his messages or picked up his calls either. They'd seen each other every evening since they first met and to say he was distraught would have been the understatement of the century. He felt like someone had reached into his chest and ripped his heart straight out. His ash tray was overflowing. His mind was a mire of fears. Did he say something wrong last night? Did she not like him anymore? Had something happened to her? Was he never going to see her again? The one person he was comfortable with, the one person who actually understood him?

He couldn't bear the thought of that.

He rang her number. She was number one on his speed dial so it didn't take long. Again, no answer. He felt cold inside. He climbed to his feet. 'I'll go to her house,' he thought, then promptly sat back down again. Would that make him look crazy? He felt a little crazy. He didn't give a fuck about seeing anyone else, so why was he so bent out of shape over this?

He ground his latest cigarette into the tray and then almost jumped clear out of his skin when there was a knock at the front door of the house, so loud it reached him even in the basement.

Heart pounding he leapt to his feet, anxiety sky high. What the hell?

Then he heard her voice.

"Somebody… please… let me in!"

He flew up the stairs, his family was visiting with Demetrius' parents for the weekend so he was the only one available to answer. The hammering on the door resumed and he yanked it open to find Lily sitting huddled on the steps, cheeks stained with tears, fists raised to beat on the door again. She stopped when it opened and looked up at him, her eyes huge, red-rimmed and miserable. He gawked back at her, hardly daring to believe that she was actually here after all his worrying.

"Lily!" he dropped to his haunches at her side, wanting to reach out to her but afraid to do so. "You came all the way here in the dark? What happened?"

"My dad," she choked the words out and his heart sank. His worst fears had been realised. He knew he should have gone over there.

"He came on the evening bus, just when I was getting ready to come see you." She coughed and then started talking more, her voice high and trembling, her sentences broken by little hitching sobs. "It was just like being a kid again… he… he'd been drinking of course, he didn't even ask for any money… just started shouting, trashed some crops, smashed most of the stuff in the house… that's why I couldn't call you, he broke my phone too… he even tried to kick Nyx. I… I thought he was going to hit me as well…" she shuddered and looked down. "I did my best to stay away from him but…"

Her sobs started to grow louder. "Why did he come, Seb? Just to do all that? Why would you come all that way just to do that? Why not just leave me alone?"

Sebastian didn't know. He didn't know what to say. He just wished he'd been there to stop it.

"Lily," he said softly. "Come into my room, okay? You can stay as long as you like."

She looked up at him through bleary eyes, biting her lip and he could see how hard she was trying to fight back her tears. He stood and offered her his hand, she took it and he pulled her to her feet and led her carefully through his mom's office and down the basement stairs, afraid she might trip she was so shaky.

She sank onto his couch with a little sniffle. She was shivering badly and he dragged the cover from his bed, sat down next to her and laid it around her shoulders.

"Thanks," she said in a tiny voice, pulling it tighter around herself. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't be bothering you with all this. I tried to cope on my own… I really did, I was trying to put things back together but I didn't know what I was doing, I couldn't think straight and then I got more and more scared and it all got too much and I… I don't know how much time passed after that but I just wanted to see you."

It hurt him to see her like this, he wanted to hold her so bad, wanted to wrap her in his arms and take all her pain away. How long had she spent alone and afraid tonight? The thought horrified him. He lifted a hand before he even knew what he was doing and then dropped it, feeling like he was strangling his heart in his chest as he did so.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled again, then started to rock a little.

"Lily, you don't have to be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

She shivered and whimpered like a wounded animal.

"Hey," he spoke firmly but gently. "Look at me."

She looked up at him with wide eyes and he met that sweet, frightened gaze unwaveringly.

"It's okay. You're safe now. You're with me."

She seemed to relax as her eyes met his, he could almost see the tension leaving her body.

"Sebby," she looked at him wonderingly and it was all he could do to not reach out and touch her pretty little face right then and there.

He forced himself to smile. "Wanna chill and watch some anime with me?"

She nodded, wiped her tears away and smiled in return. His heart melted. He reached for the remote, he didn't know what he'd left on the drive, but right now it didn't matter, he'd watch anything as long as it was with her. He pressed play and sat back on the couch as his TV screen flickered into life then almost had a heart attack when she snuggled up beside him, laying her head on his shoulder with a little sigh.

Sebastian had never felt so many conflicting emotions in his entire life as he did then. Warmth flooded through him, his heart pounded, he wanted to turn to her, stroke her hair, lift her face up to his and kiss her oh so gently, wanted to put his arms around her, pull her close, never let her go. But they were just friends. He couldn't do any of that. He shouldn't be thinking these things. Shouldn't be wanting her so much.

He let out a quavering sigh and looked down at her. She was so beautiful. Did someone like him deserve someone like her? All his life he had felt like he was flawed in some way. Unworthy. Unlovable. Why else would his father have abandoned him? Why else would his stepdad be happier if he weren't even around? Ugh. Here was Lily suffering so much with her dad and he was worrying about himself. He sighed again and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

'Just try to stop thinking for now,' he told himself. 'Just watch the show and forget about everything else.'

Some time later, he didn't know how long, he twitched and woke up from the sleep he must have fallen into. The TV screen was black, the anime finished some time ago. He twisted in his seat to look at the clock. One in the morning. He looked down at Lily who had slid further into him, her hand resting on his chest, her breathing soft and slow. He gulped, reached out and took hold of her hand, he couldn't stop himself. It felt so good in his. He looked down at her, adoring everything he saw, then she started to murmur and shift a little and he guiltily let go.

"Seb…?" she sat up, lifting the same hand he'd just held to rub at her eyes. "Did I fall asleep again?"

"We both did," he said with a wry smile. "It's one in the morning now."

"Oh…" she looked at him, eyes half lidded and weary. "Sebby…" she paused, he saw a little flash of worry crease her brow. "Can… can I stay here tonight? I don't wanna be alone right now."

He felt like crying. Yes, she could stay here. She could stay here forever. He never wanted her to leave.

"Of course you can," he said softly. "You can take my bed, I'll sleep on the couch, okay?"

She smiled at him, eyes bright and liquid. "Thank you." A little tear dropped out of the corner of her eye. "Oh…" she looked to the side, seeming surprised, rubbed it away.

"Come on," he got up and gently helped her to her feet. "Let's get you settled before it gets any later."

She nodded and let him lead her over to his bed. He turned down the sheets for her and then covered her once she'd gotten in. "Will you be okay on the couch?" she asked, her face creased with concern.

"I'll be fine," he fiddled with the comforter to stop himself from wanting to kiss her goodnight. "Don't worry about me, just try to get some sleep."

"Okay," she wriggled down into the bed and he gave her a reassuring smile before switching off the light and moving over to the couch with a spare blanket and pillow.

Fifteen minutes passed in silence and then he could hear the sounds of muffled little sobs coming from the direction of his bed.

He lifted his head, instantly alert to her distress. "Lily? Are you okay?"

"Oh Sebby," she said in a broken voice. "I feel so scared. I can't get back to sleep. Will you play something for me?"

He pushed aside his blanket and padded through the darkness to his keyboard.

Yes. He would play for her. If he couldn't hold her he could at least play for her.

His fingers found their way over the keys, moving from memory, and he started to sing softly, he didn't know how long he played but when he stopped and looked over at the bed he could tell she was quiet now. He stood up and walked over to where she lay. The soft light of his computer's screensaver cast a sheen over her and he could see that she was asleep, tears still rolling slowly down her face.

She looked so right in his bed, hair spread softly over his pillow, one hand under her cheek.

He wanted her there every night of his life. Didn't want to spend a single day without her.

What the hell was he going to do?

It took him a long time to fall back to sleep.

Read Chapter Three

Cute little page dividers by @chachachannah / Boring old plain green ones by me!

#stardew valley sebastian #sdv sebastian #stardew sebastian #sebastian stardew valley #sebastian sdv #sebastian stardew #stardew valley sebastian fanfic #sdv sebastian fanfic #stardew sebastian fanfic #stardew valley sebastian fanfiction #sdv sebastian fanfiction #stardew sebastian fanfiction #stardew valley fanfic #sdv fanfic #stardew fanfic #stardew valley fanfiction #sdv fanfiction #stardew fanfiction #stardew valley sebastian x original female character #sdv sebastian x original female character #seb x lily

[broodingboysimp]

Is It Really For the Best? - pt 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: The mating bond between the reader and Azriel clicks into place, but with the potential war with Hybern on the rise, the risk of having that bond fall into the enemy’s hands has the reader and Azriel questioning their partnership.

*takes place after the events of ACOTAR/ACOMAF*

Warnings: angst

Author’s Note: Hi guys! Thank you for all the kind words about this fic, it means the world! I just wanted to let you guys know that I am trying my best to update as much as I can, but I am a full time student and I work as well so obviously those things come first! Also, I will try my best to keep the story as accurate as I can to the actual books, but sometimes I get things messed up, so please forgive me lol

Weeks flew by in a blur of the same routine: wake up, ignore Az, train, ignore Az, attend meetings with Rhys, ignore Az, sleep, ignore Az…. 

After the events at Rita’s, you could feel remorse tingling down the bond, but you did your best to ignore it. In fact, a good bit of your energy these past weeks had been focused on keeping your end of the connection void of any feelings at all. It had been exhausting, not just the constant effort to keep up the mental shields, but also having to act like you enjoyed playing this stupid game with Azriel.

Truthfully, you didn’t know what you wanted. To keep everyone safe, yes, but at what cost. With increasing discussions of the potential war with Hybern, your anxiety about protecting your friends had skyrocketed. You did it to keep him safe, you had to remind yourself. 

Your mind was still racing as you headed towards Rhys’ study, hoping to rant to your best friend. You stepped through the door, opening your mouth as soon as your foot was inside. 

“I am so fucking over this dumbass bullshi-” You froze as you noticed that Rhys was not alone in the room. Feyre sat at the end of the long table opposite your best friend, pencil in hand.

She looked at you, stunned, as you returned the same shocked look. Her shock turned to a smile, as did yours, as she pushed her chair out and ran in your direction. You did the same, meeting in the middle in an intense hug. 

“At least there’s one good thing about this wretched deal,” She rolled her eyes in Rhys’ direction. Right, the deal that she had made Under the Mountain. Had it really been that long since you returned home?

“I didn’t realize you two were so well acquainted,” Rhys raised an eyebrow, holding his arms crossed in a loosely assertive stance. 

“You weren’t the only one paying visits to the jail during those months,” You looked in his direction, his expression blank. 

Please make her feel welcome here, she needs it, his expression remained solid, but the words seemed almost pleading, desperate. 

You squeezed Feyre’s hands, all remnants of her struggle Under the Mountain having been healed by her fae transformation. 

“Shall we take a tour?” You suggested. Feyre seemed hesitant as she looked from you to Rhys, who gave her a subtle nod. “Wonderful,” You beamed, excited to see your friend for once in a more pleasant setting, “I know where they hide all the fun weapons,” you winked. As you turned towards the door, elbow looped with Feyre’s, you could have sworn you heard a sigh of relief from behind you. 

✦✦✦

As you and Feyre wandered around the house, you realized just how little you knew of the building on top of the mountain. Your friend didn’t seem to mind, too busy chatting to you about her life in the recent months since you had last been together. 

“He interrupted your wedding?!?” You were shocked, knowing Rhys was bold, but that bold?

“Yeah…,” She held her gaze to the floor. Even in the short time you had known Feyre, you could tell something weighed heavily on her.

“You know if you ever need anything from me, all you have to do is ask,” You had stopped in a hallway leading towards the balcony, “You can trust me.” She simply glanced up from the floor and gave you a small smile. 

You continued towards the balcony, excited to share the view of Velaris from up above, when you stopped dead in your tracks. 

Azriel stood, leaning slightly over the balcony, facing out onto the city. His shadows were calm and cool, mimicking the breeze that brushed over your now heated face. You cleared your throat, and he turned.

“Azriel,” his name burned in your throat, and you realized it had been weeks since the two of you exchanged words, “This is Feyre, a friend of Rhysand and I.” She seemed to wince as you included your high lord’s name. 

He was staring at you, gaze unwavering, as he replied, “It’s nice to meet you, Feyre.” His husky voice floated in your direction, meeting you where you stood as still as a statue. 

“It’s polite to look a lady in the eyes when you address her,” I almost sneered in his direction. 

“You would know a thing or two about manners, wouldn’t you,” He turned back towards where he was looking out at the city, his shadows now whipping around him fiercely. 

Your face was hot with rage, clenching your hands tightly until your knuckles turned white. You let your mental shields drop for a fraction of a second, shooting anger down the bond so intensely that his shoulders tensed, before immediately throwing them back up. You didn’t want to hear his excuse, didn’t care what he had to say. How could he embarrass you not only in front of your friend, but someone his own brother cared about?

At that moment, as if sensing the radiating magic from the room, Rhysand entered. He noticed your stance, and how Feyre stood slightly behind you, almost frightened. He strode towards Azriel and placed a firm hand between his shoulders, causing his wings to adjust, and turned towards where you stood.

“Y/N, could you please take Feyre to her bedroom to prepare her things, I think it’s time for her to return to the Spring Court.” You noted how Rhys had neglected to use the word “home.”

You willed your anger to disperse as you turned with Feyre and led her out of the room, not looking back, not daring to think about what Rhys was about to say to his friend. 

✦✦✦

Once you had escorted Feyre to her bedroom, you returned to your own, which was conveniently placed on the opposite side of the hall. All you wanted to do was wash off the stress of the day. You were tired of all this anger, needed a new place to direct it. Playing mercenary for 500 years, then suddenly rerouting and being expected to stand at formal Court appearances, was messing with your head. You needed something to be mad at, which is what led you to make the decision that you would be returning to the Spring Court alongside Feyre.

“This is a dumb idea, Y/N,” Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly stressed after the intense argument that your demand had created. He seemed adamant that you stayed in Velaris, and you couldn’t understand why, “Tensions with the Spring Court are already high enough as it is, Tamlin definitely doesn’t want another one of his enemies relaxing on his estate.”

“Tamlin and I aren’t enemies, Rhys.” You were practically begging at this point, “We’ve known each other for centuries, I’ve stayed at his Court in the past. I promise I’ll be civil.” You remarked with a grin, trying to loosen the mood.

“I guess I just don’t understand why. What’s worth the potential risk?”

“Feyre is,” Rhys now met your eyes, “Something is weighing on her, Rhysand. Something is bothering her. I don’t know if Tamlin is a risk, but we already came close to losing our friend once, let’s not risk it again”

And that was the truth. You were worried for Feyre, as much of a warrior that she was. You knew she could hold her own, but you also knew she was still healing. She deserved a chance to rebuild her peace of mind without the burden of worrying about her life at the same time. 

Also the truth was that you needed a break for yourself. This house, this city, every inch of it reminded you of Azriel. It had been weeks, and the two of you had clearly not made any progress in resolving your lovers quarrel. You needed time to breathe, time to think for yourself. 

His shoulders seemed to tense at the revelation you just shared with him, as if confirming some suspicion he too held but was too afraid to admit, “If anything happens, anything goes wrong, you reach out to me. Understood?”

“Always,” You gave him a thankful grin, turning towards the door to gather your belongings.

He grasped your wrist firmly and turned you back towards himself, placing both of his hands on your shoulders. His eyes sparkled with beautiful darkness as they looked intently into your own. 

That applies to you too, Y/N. None of your ‘self sacrifice’ bullshit, you hear me? Be safe, you’re important to me. 

You gave him a gentle smile and a nod, I’ll bring us both back safely, no need to worry. I’ll see you in 3 weeks, and  I’ll be expecting a fancy meal to celebrate my return. 

✦✦✦

You expected reservations from your friend as you told her you were coming with, but Feyre seemed almost relieved by your presence.

 You said farewell to Rhysand, your friend not daring to even meet his eyes. He sent you off with one last pleading look.

Be safe.

You gave him a wink in return before grabbing Feyre’s hand, the darkness of winnowing enveloping you both. 

You stepped out just outside the gates of the manor, the bright spring sky an aggressive contrast to what you normally experienced back in your own court. You squinted as you looked ahead at the estate, seeing two figures coming in your direction. 

“Feyre,” Tamlin practically gasped as he reached his betrothed, whose hand you had dropped upon exiting the darkness. His hands grasped every part of your friend, as if searching for an injury, “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What did he do to you?” You rolled your eyes at the insinuated accusations towards Rhysand. 

“No, no I’m fine. He didn’t touch me,” Tamlin sighed, “I did bring someone, hopefully a welcome surprise, as I heard you two had been friends in the past.” She gestured in your direction. 

You were excited to see your old friend, and you could tell by his expression that he was too. 

“Y/N,” he beamed, whisking you into a tight hug, “I-I haven’t talked to you in ages, I have so many questions, starting with how you two even know each other.” He looked between you and Feyre. You realized then that while Tamlin had seen you Under the Mountain, always at Rhysand’s side, he wasn’t aware of the assistance that you had given Feyre. She didn’t meet your eyes as you glanced her way. 

“I think that’s a story for the company of a lot of wine,” You laughed, as did Tamlin. Lucien, standing displaced behind his friend, laughed too. You gave him a smile, perhaps slightly more excited to see him than Tamlin… 

He walked over in your direction, extending an elbow which you happily looped your own around. 

“Shall we?” He gestured towards the manor.

For the first time in a long time,  you felt excited for the next few weeks. Your anxiety was starting to fade as you felt the tightness in your chest loosen.

The faint tug at the end of the bond seemed to pull a bit tighter. 

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel angst #azriel acotar #acotar #acomaf

[xtodorcki]

Hi!! Can I make a request for Levi giving reader back massages from having back pain frequently from training? I love your writing so much 😭😭♥️♥️

“Aftercare,” Levi x Reader

Summary: Levi being the soft boyfriend he is and giving you back massages after a long week of training nonstop🥺

Warnings: nonee

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It had been a draining week, the nonstop getting up before dawn and training all the way till sunset had you beat and even a full nights sleep didn’t help with the aching pain you felt running through your body with each step you took.

You had barged open the door, almost startling Levi who laid in bed with a book in his hands before his eyes moved up to look at you. The painful groan slipped past your parted lip as you kicked the door shut behind you, not even looking his way.

He had furrowed his eyebrows, watching the dramatic state you were in as you stomped your feet where the bed was, huffing and puffing while slipping your shoes and parts of your clothing off.

“Should I even ask what’s wrong?” His eyes had been focused on you since you walked in, he was sure he couldn’t focus on his book now while you stomped around and flop down on the bed.

“My body is in pain and not the good kind.” You mumbled, your half naked body crawling up to his and laying your head down on his shoulder, closing your eyes from how beaten up you were.

The sleep had made your eyes heavy, trying to prevent yourself from falling asleep right then and there as Levi shut his book, setting it aside. He noticed how tired you have been to the point where you can’t even finish ranting about your day to him without instantly being asleep once your face hit the pillow.

He felt guilty with the amount of work you have been doing the last week, he secretly wished he could take your place and deal with all the stress instead so you can rest and sleep as much as you would like.

“Alright, sit up.” He gently patted your cheek, making you sit up on the bed and your hooded eyes met with his.

He had gotten up from the bed you two shared, leaning down to lift you up in his arms and carry you inside the bathroom. He rarely did this, only on special occasions or when you really needed it. He sat you down on the bathroom counter, placing a gentle kiss on your soft lip then turned away to fill up the bath.

Your head leaned back against the mirror, watching him but also feeling how weak you truly felt. You could barely move your arms, everything inside of you was tensed up and in pain. The constant going out there training everyday was painful enough but it was more painful being away from Levi and not being able to spend even ten minutes with him.

Levi was a very observant person, he noticed everything whether it was small or big, he was sure to catch on and keep note of it in his head. So, it wasn’t hard to notice the weight of everything weigh down on heavily on your shoulders.

He sighed, stopping the water once it made it up high enough and he took off the remaining clothes that you had on. He made you stand up straight, helping you inside the bath tub and didn’t take long to get in after you, sitting behind you and pulling your back against his chest.

You couldn’t help the small hum slipping out of your mouth, the hot water easing the pain in your muscles and you sunk against his chest more, your eyes closed.

He made sure to watch over you, making sure you weren’t falling asleep in the tub while his hands traced along your body, pressing his fingers down into your shoulders to take off more of the built up tension in your body.

He stayed quiet, he wanted you to relax as much as possible and he didn’t want to bother you in any way, even though it was be nearly impossible for your boyfriend to annoy you unless he did it on purpose but even then you enjoyed every small moment you two shared.

The way his lips would place quick kisses along your skin, from your cheek down to your shoulder, it made you forget about everything you went through this past week. Every training exercise, every painful workout you did, it all slipped from your mind and out the window.

Levi had sat in the tub with you for nearly half an hour before he had washed you up himself, making sure to scrub your scalp and rinsing the soap off your head and body then finishing off with lifting you up and wrapping a towel around you.

“Thank you, Lev.” You mumbled while he carried you back to bed with both of you just in a towel, his lips had curved into a smile after you kissed his cheek.

“You know you don’t have to thank me every time I do something I should be doing.” He laid you down on the mattress, only slipping a pair of underwear up your legs and throwing his t-shirt on your body.

“Lay on your stomach.” He ordered you while he slid on a pair of sweatpants and crawled up on the bed, watching you do so.

“Is this some freaky position you want to try?” You said into the mattress and that made him laugh, rolling his eyes.

“Jesus- no, I mean,” He started off before shaking his head, his laugh rang through your ears like music and you couldn’t help but sit there and listen at his cute laugh.

“I just wanted to make you feel better before you go to sleep, I know how much pain your muscles are in right now.” He had playfully patted your butt, moving in a position to where he was almost sitting on your back legs and slipped his hands underneath the shirt you were wearing.

“Whatever you say, Captain.” You teased him, feeling his fingertips trace along your back and it had actually made you shiver slightly before he had chosen a spot to give you a deep massage, feeling the knots in your back muscles as he tried to smooth them out.

A few sounds of pleasure had left your lips and muffled into the bed, the way his fingers danced on your skin and eased the pain away made your heart flutter and made you fall even harder for this man if that was even possible. It had made you feel more important the way he listened to your wants and needs and gave you everything you needed to make you feel better.

The way he would cuddle you, kiss you and did everything in his power to make you laugh, to make you feel comfortable and happy made your heart feel like it was going to explode.

As his fingers continued to dip down, smoothing out on your bare back, you couldn’t fight the sleep that washed over you. Levi knew after a while that you had fallen asleep, the soft quiet breaths leaving your mouth made it obvious and his smile had appeared on his face again.

He had stopped after he was sure you were in a deep sleep, not wanting to wake you so he carefully moved you and dropped the blankets on top of your body after he slipped in beside you. His arm instantly wrapping around your small body, planting one last kiss to your head before he slept.

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This was such a cute idea, I’m in love with Levi🤧

• Main Masterlist •

• AOT Masterlist •

#levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman imagines #levi ackerman x reader #levi fanfic #levi ackerman headcanons #levi Ackerman #levi x reader #levi imagines #levi imagine #levi headcanons #aot imagines #aot imagine #aot x reader #aot headcanons

[miraculouspenta]

Different Limits

Original Idea by @jinx-jade​​

Thanks to @moonlitceleste​ for beta reading :D

'What have I done,' Damian thought. Dick was lying on the floor with an arm that was clearly broken. He had surprised Damian with a hug from behind, triggering his instinct to attack. Damian had reacted by twisting his arm, resulting with Dick being on the floor. Jason entered the door when he heard Dick’s shriek of pain. "WHAT THE F*CK, DAMIAN!" he shouted when he saw Dick. His whole family had scolded him, Bruce had benched him for a whole two months, and Alfred had given him a disappointed stare.

Damian couldn't stand it. Not anymore.

He snapped.

He had tried, he really had.

But it was never enough.

As the heir to the Demon's Head, attacking at unknown touch has been burned into him. Touch had always meant danger. It was second nature to him now. Unfortunately, his family did not know nor do they understand. Two years of constant reminders that he had done terrible things. Two years of constant reminders that he was merely a killing machine. Two years of greater expectations, both in standard and amount. He had enough.

Damian said goodbye to his pets and ran.

After a good hour of running, he dropped into an alley and cried.

In his vulnerable state, he didn't see a man creep up. A man holding a gun. The unknown adult was planning to kidnap the boy, but as soon as his hands reached Damian, he reacted. He flipped the man over his shoulder like what he did to Dick earlier. But in his state, it didn't affect much. The man pulled out a knife and stabbed him in his side. It ended the fight.

The kidnapper ended up running away, leaving a heavily injured Damian to slowly watch the world as his vision turned black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette, who had just finished some business with Superman, decided to take a walk in Gotham before going home. Along the way, she spotted a boy covered in blood as she crossed an alleyway. He was already unconscious, and Marinette knew she couldn't just leave him there. So she opened a portal and went through it and carried the boy in her hands. She laid him down in her spare room and left to get her medical supplies.

Approximately six hours later, the boy woke up. His eyes scanned the room as he tried to up and leave. Limping, he tried to head to the window. "Hi sweetie, you need to calm down," Marinette’s soft voice said as she walked slowly to the boy., "You should be resting; moving might agitate your injuries." The boy just stared at her. Marinette stood up slowly and walked over. "May I?" she asked, reaching for his hand. When he nodded, she carefully took his hand and led him to the bed. Once there, she helped Damian into a comfortable position. "Do you have anyone you can call?" she questioned. When he didn't answer, she simply nodded her head and asked him what he would like to eat.

Damian ended up staying for three weeks because Marinette refused to let him leave until he was fully healed. The twelve year old grew closer to the woman. Once healed, he confessed that he has nowhere to stay. Marinette took the information in stride and told him he was more than welcome to stay with her. And stay he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Living with Marinette was incredible. Unlike his grandfather and his father, she didn't place any expectations on him. At one point, he slipped and called her mom. Damian had froze after he said that, scared of how she would react. It ended up with Marinette asking him whether or not he would mind her adopting him. Damian happily agreed and they soon got the paperwork done. (Chloe is conveniently Marinette’s lawyer). Damian wore the Dupain-Cheng name with pride. As Grand Guardian, Marinette took it upon herself to teach Damian magic. Starting with glamour, they covered the basics of magic.

Two weeks after the adoption, while reading the daily news, Damian came across an article on the front page.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Daily Planet

BREAKING NEWS!!

Not more than six weeks ago, twelve year old Damian Wayne was reported missing. The only biological child of Bruce Wayne was suspected to have ran away for an unknown reason. He was last seen running to his room before he left. “Maybe I was a little too harsh,” Bruce Wayne admitted, “But this isn’t the first time I had to ground him because he wasn’t able to control his strength.” The young boy had somehow managed to flip Richard John Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s eldest, when he had surprised him with a hug. “Damian and I may not get along, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care,” Tim Drake, co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises said.

Damian Wayne is a tan boy with dark hair and striking green eyes. He weighs around 90 lbs at 4’9 ft tall. Currently, he is twelve years old. Multiple search parties have been launched. I myself know Damian personally from all the times he has visited my son. If you find the boy, please contact xx-xxx-xxx-xxx and we will get to you as soon as possible.

- Clark Kent

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After reading, Damian had a breakdown. Marinette rushed in when she heard the sobs of her child. She didn’t say anything and instead she approached slowly wrapping him in her arms. She let him cry as she rubbed his back and once he calmed down, he told her his story and why he left.

“All these new expectations were just overwhelming,” he said, “‘No killing’, ‘justice not vengeance’—it’s like they were expecting me to turn back. I never wanted to hurt them, but it’s something that is a reflex now. It’s not easy to let go of a habit.” Marinette was silent throughout his whole rant. She knew how terrible Ra’s and Talia were but that didn’t make it better. She knew the Batman could be cold, but the fact that he didn’t listen and try to understand infuriated her.

“Ra’s and Talia should know not to mess with me, but if I ever see your father I can and will punch him,” she growled. Damian smiled as he nuzzled into his mother’s chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three years passed. Damian and Marinette’s bond grew stronger while the search parties grew hopeless. The Justice League was also involved; so were the Titans and the Young Justice. They concluded that Damian was either dead or hiding really well. The former option was discarded when Zatara and Zatanna had almost managed to track him, but unfortunately the spell suddenly shattered when it was nearing.

Desperate, the batfamily decided to reach out to the Grand Guardian of the Miraculous. Imagine their surprise when they saw Damian on their way to her house. When they ran to him, Damian, now fifteen, went into an alley and disappeared. They rushed to Marinette’s house and knocked. They heard hard breathing and a gentle voice trying to calm the other party down. Leaning towards the door, Dick found that it was unlocked and tumbled in.

What they saw was Damian kneeling on the floor crying in the middle of a breakdown and Marinette trying to soothe him. “Out,” Marinette glared. The boys obeyed and waited anxiously. The person that they had been searching for was under the protection of the Guardian all this time. It made sense why even both Zatara and Zatanna couldn’t track him down.

An hour later, Marinette opened the door telling them to come in and wait. She took some water and placed them on her coffee table saying that Damian was taking a shower. As soon as she sat down the boys began to fire questions. They stopped after a good fifteen minutes and noticing that Marinette wasn’t saying anything. “I know why Damian ran away, yes, but it is not my place to say. I can ask him later, and I will not say anything without his permission. But I will say this,” Marinette said, voice colder than ice, “You f*cked up.” Marinette stood up to check on Damian. “By the way,” she stopped for a moment, “I adopted him three years ago.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian ended up being the one to tell them everything. Everything from why he ran away to why he decided to stay. The Waynes felt bad; they hadn’t even bothered thinking about his perspective. Looking back, Jason and Bruce realized what Damian had said about the League was true. “I’m- We’re sorry Damian,” Dick apologized. “Are you willing to come back?”

“No,” he said. The Waynes were visibly saddened.

“But I am willing to start over.”

1445 words

I had tons of fun writing this fic, hope you guys like it

~Leen

@animegirlweeb @battybatbat @crystalangelluna @dorkus-minimus @galaxylightmoon  @iglowinggemma28  @insane-fangirl-of-everything  @jayjayspixiepop​ @jjmjjktth​ @karukofox21​ @lunathealphafemale​ @megaafangirl​ @miraculouslydumb​ @myazael​ @nickristus-dreamer​ @our-preciousss​ @samiamack​ @sh31bin0​ @user00000003​ @waffleyunsure​

#maribat #mominette

[helaintoloki]

Hi! Could I request #27 from your prompt list with five hargreeves? Thank you! 💗

warnings: slight language, lots of fluff

*#27: “i like your company” // taken from this prompt list

The enchanting voice of Stevie Nicks drifts through the air of the desolate diner and lulls you into a warm, comfortable state of peace. The heat from your mug of hot cocoa rises past the rim and heats your cool cheeks, and Five watches you curiously from across the way as you fight off the sense of fatigue that begins to encompass you. It’s much past your bedtime, but you don’t mind; this isn’t the first time Five has called upon you in the middle of the night, and it certainly won’t be the last.

“Want some coffee?” Five says, subtly pushing his cup an inch closer to you, but you decline his offer with a small shake of your head. “It’ll help with the fatigue.”

“If I drink that now I’ll be up all night,” you argue with a sheepish smile. “Two hours of sleep before school is better than none.”

“Shit, I completely forgot tomorrow’s Monday,” Five curses almost guiltily, his eyes narrowing at your remorseful figure from across the way. Why are you sorry for him dragging you out this late on a school night? “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I knew you’d make me stay home if I did and try to reschedule,” you shrug indifferently. “And our weekly escapades are the only thing keeping you sane as of late.”

“You can say that again,” Five murmurs with a harsh sigh that drowns out as soon as he brings his mug to his lips for a drink of coffee. You watch as he brings his cup back to the table, slender fingers wrapping around the white porcelain in a tight grip. “You know, I was never really much of a coffee person before this. My dad hates caffeine, just like he hates when we’re late to a mission or when we go through his things.”

“I think most parents hate those kinds of things.”

“No, it’s different,” he says with a furrowed brow, his gaze hyper fixated on the black liquid swirling lazily in his cup, “it’s like you’ve let down the entire world just for forgetting to tuck in your vest or leaving your shoes untied. Some of us have it worse than others, but none of us are normal. No, we’re extraordinary, and he expects nothing less.”

A thoughtful hum leaves you then as digest the information given to you in the form of Five’s casual rant. You don’t know much about Reginald Hargreeves or Five’s siblings— he refuses to bring you over and subject you to his dysfunctional family. You’re the one normal thing he has, you haven’t been tainted by the hands of the Umbrella Academy, and he wants to keep it that way for as long as he possibly can— and all you know is what you’ve gathered through his rare and short lived moments of vulnerability. He doesn’t have it easy, and you always do your best to help ease the weight of the world that weighs heavily upon his shoulders. His leather for your lace, as Stevie Nicks so beautifully puts it.

“Why don’t you talk to someone who understands?” You ask sincerely, not because you don’t enjoy his company but because you wonder if you are enough to help soothe his ailments. It’s true when he says you don’t understand, and you’re not offended because you know you never will, but maybe you’re not the right person to be sneaking off with in the middle of the night. He spoke frequently of his sister Vanya, the powerless runt of the superhero litter, and it crossed your mind to ask Five to bring her to your next outing. But before you could even open your mouth Five shrugged, refusing to meet your gaze as he rubbed the corner of a sugar packet between his thumb and index finger.

“I like your company,” he offers lamely, but you don’t miss the redness that blooms along his cheeks. “You listen, and even though you don’t understand you try to. And, I guess you’re different in the good kind of way. I don’t have to be Number Five around you. Just Five.”

“I’ve always loved this song,” you say suddenly, purposefully trying to change the subject because you know Five hates being vulnerable and he’d rather die than have it become a whole thing. He gives you a grateful smile, you know him better than anyone, and lets out a small breath through his nose.

“Can’t say I’m familiar with this one.”

“It’s Stevie Nicks, dummy. Leather and Lace.”

“I’m sure Luther has one of her records somewhere in his room,” Five says with a faint smile.

“I respect that,” you giggle. “Sounds like he has good music taste.”

“I think you’d like him,” Five says, and he leaves it at that. You both know you’ll never get to meet him, and for now that’s okay with you.

“The first time I saw you I knew with you to light my lights somehow I would get by,” you hum softly, gaze glancing out the window before settling upon Five. “It’s a pretty song, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Five nods softly, a far off look in his eyes that lets you know he’s not all there, but perhaps somewhere else. Somewhere better where he wouldn’t have to hide you away, where he could see you without the cover of the night. Wishful thinking, something he only ever seemed to indulge in when you were present.

He sighs then, the kind of sigh that lets you know your night together is coming to an end, and before you can even reach for your money Five is pulling out a crisp ten dollar from his pocket and setting it on the table. There’s no point in arguing over who pays the bill, especially since Five always wins, so you instead opt for grabbing your jacket and following the boy out into the streets.

Stevie Nicks drifts through the open door and trails behind you, but then the doors swing closed and your magical moment is over.

#listen to leather and lace by Stevie nicks to set the tone ;) #idk why i love five and diners so much #five hargreeves #number five #five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #five hargreeves imagine #number five imagine #five #five x reader #five imagine #the umbrella academy #tua #tua x reader #tua imagine

[gallickingun]

stardust in our bones {constellations on our skin} || i.m.

SUMMARY: Izuku Midoriya is a mausoleum of pain, his masterpieces hung in the form of scars and freckled skin. Sometimes he is overwhelmed by the very public display of his failures, unable to be dismissed even from far away. But you are always there to remind him that even if he is a little damaged, he will always be beautiful in your eyes. And maybe he can come to learn that his scars are but reminders that even if you break, you are not broken. 

This is essentially a few different scenes/scenarios all rolled into one fic about Izuku’s freckles and scars. I hope you love it!

PAIRING: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: mentions of blood, language, smut, dom/sub scenes, scars, mild violence mention, breeding kink, daddy kink, etc. WORD COUNT: 28.4k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is in the replies of this post! message me to be added/removed!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the labor of love that i have produced for my other half @freckledoriya ♡ i hope that this meets your expectations, as it is probably one of the only midoriya fics i will ever write lol. katsuki baby i am so sorry also big shoutout to @k-atsukidayo for making this beautiful header image for me and always reminding me that i’m not as garbage as i think i am ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

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Some call him disfigured or discolored.

They focus much too heavily on the outer turmoil taking its toll on his skin instead of the implications of what is happening within his body – the struggle in seeing himself this way and coming to terms with all that he has lost, marked on his body forever in the form of scars.

Marred flesh, crooked knuckles, gnarled bones.

He relives his trauma every time he looks in a mirror, another cut turned to pinkened scar, another use of his quirk marking his body permanently with a plethora of the color red. He wonders for a moment if he will ever feel whole again, or if he will always see himself as this patchwork thing that the universe toys with by ripping apart just to sew it back together again.

Izuku Midoriya is a mausoleum of pain.

And yet, despite all his physical fallacies, you still find him beautiful.

You watched on in horror as his body took on the tolls of being a hero throughout his time at Yuuei. You were but a young, quirkless teenager, begging for a hero who reminded you of what hope used to taste like. Now, after All Might’s demise, your tongue turns sour and anything that might have resembled hope burns to ash in your mouth.

Then Izuku Midoriya became a Pro Hero at the very agency you’ve been working at and you felt that familiar warmth of hope starting to take root in your chest, driving out that darkness that settled once the world lost All Might.

Deku is kind, much kinder than the average man. Or hero, for that matter.

He stops by your desk at least once a week, with either coffee or something sweet, in addition to his paperwork. He’ll chat with you, leaning over your counter with those sparkling emerald eyes, and you start to realize you can get lost in him. He is a gentle reprieve from your otherwise mundane day.

And in the beginning, you saw sun-kissed skin littered with a dark sprinkling of freckles, like little constellations burned into him by the sun. His cheeks are like the expanse of the night sky and you wonder to yourself when he leans in close if you might could find some stars you recognize.

As you grow closer, minutes turned into hours turned into lunch outings, you realize that you truly misjudged how deep his scars run.

They are not just on the surface, but rather cutting deep into his soul until he is marked at the very essence, clouded eyes ever present when he recounts a tale that brought forth yet another scar. You want to reach out and brush his cheeks, but you must restrain yourself because he is a Pro Hero and you are but an office manager, quirkless and insignificant to him.

You busy yourself with memorizing the patterns on his face and neck. You allow your mind to wander from time to time, trailing your gaze down to his exposed collarbones or torso, depending on how rough a mission might leave his suit. When it’s torn at the thighs, you can’t help but to see the smattering of pale freckles against his otherwise tanned skin.

Izuku is kind, you remind yourself as he approaches you with paperwork tucked into his side. There is no other explanation for his long, drawn out talks at your desk, or the flowers currently adorning your countertop.

“Hey, sorry,” he unfurls the bundled package of papers and lays them flat on your desk, “this week has been insane, lots’a villains on the loose. Which I guess just means more paperwork for everyone, huh?”

You chuckle at him, thumbing through the first few sheets to make sure he’s got it all in order. There really is no doubt in your mind that it’s all laid out exactly how it should, that’s just how Deku is, but you want him stationary at your desk for a little while longer, so you check it anyway.

“And more bruises for you heroes,” you smile, tilting your head upward so you can catch the glint in his eyes. “How are you today?”

Midoriya begins to rattle off a long string of muttered words while you check the paperwork. You don’t mind that you can’t necessarily understand everything he’s saying, just to hear the sound of his voice is enough to satiate you for the rest of the day. You smile and nod when you think you should, the smell of the flowers on your desk more intoxicating now that he’s here.

“-I, well, you see, I guess that since I saved their shop, they said I could have unlimited meals, and I, uh, I was wondering if you’d like to go?”

You bite your lip, reigning yourself in because of course he just wants to go out for lunch. There’s nothing more to it. You have been to lunch with him several times, extended breaks thanks to both his hero status and your extra hours you work here and there.

“Sure,” you answer, “we can go over the new manual, I have a few-”

“No.”

You cock your head, brow furrowing, “B-But -I”

Deku shakes his head, green curls bobbing against his forehead, his undercut even more obvious now, “N-No, I mean, I want to go, but like, I want you to go with me.”

“I would be-”

“Without the paperwork.”

“Oh.”

The two of you share a look for longer than necessary and now the flowers’ perfume grows stronger, almost sickeningly sweet as your stomach flips. You rack your brain for the words to say, but each syllable dies on your tongue, sparking against a taste bud. You want to pinch yourself to ground your mind into this version of reality where Deku wants to go on a date with you is the current situation, but you can’t move, frozen in place by his expectant stare.

It must take you too long to respond because Izuku launches into another muttering rant, apologizing profusely as he blushes from head to toe. Your lips tug into a smile at the sight of his freckles against his reddened skin, and that little break from your psychotic prison allows you to reach forward and grasp him by the hand.

Deku’s jaw snaps shut, eyes widened as he looks down at you, gaze piercing through you as if he had slung a spear through your soul. He’s got a hold on you, he has since the day you first met, but now you know that he’s had you hook, line, and sinker and there was no way you could ever come up for air.

Not that you’d want to.

“I’d love to,” you tell him, voice soft.

His smile matches your own and he squeezes your fingers, the scars on his hands rigid against his otherwise smooth skin, “It’s a date.”

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As time passed, the bruised ribs and shattered bones multiple. The Pro Hero, Deku, is well-known for his gnarled hand, knuckles swollen, and scars carved into his body like veins in a slab of marble. He finds you after each mission, wrapped in gauze and taped back together, and you are the one left to mend the untouchable pieces of him once the surgeons have done all that they can for the surface wounds.

“You should be more careful,” you warn him, hands reaching for his face to palm over his cheeks in worry.

Midoriya laughs, but it is cut short by a wince as he grabs for his rib cage. You lurch forward to steady his frame, but it is of no use, his palm already outstretched to keep you at bay. The frown on your face only deepens at his motions, your brow furrowing together to wrinkle the skin of your forehead.

“I’m fine,” he reassures you once he can stand up right to his full height again, “thank you, for coming and picking me up.”

The pads of your hands find his face again, thumbs pressed into his cheeks, fingerprints grazing over the speckled skin. It’s as if you’re counting them to make sure that none of them have been wiped away from the last time you saw him; like you could keep track of them like inventory if you tried hard enough. The furrow in your brow tells him that he hasn’t done a good enough job at reassuring you, so he steps closer, a knee between your thighs, “I promise I’m okay. They patched me up! All better now.”

All better now.

The words seem shallow, like they can’t possibly touch all of the broken pieces between the two of you. Every time he bares his soul on the battlefield, he comes away changed, a different person than you last saw. He won’t show the world, but at least he will show you.

“Yeah?” Your voice is cutting, patience wearing thin, jaw quivering under the sheer force of the bite of your teeth, “And what about the next time, when they can’t fix you?”

Deku does not have an answer for you then, the question weighing between the two of you like the world caught between your shoulders. At least the answer he can think up is not one that he wants you to hear, let alone one you might take in stride.

Instead of trying to babble on about the efficiencies of agency surgeons and statistics and whatnot, he takes you by the wrists, circling his fingers around your pounding pulse. A gentle laugh bubbles in his chest and it makes you forget about the pain he has to be in for but a mere moment as he looks you in the eyes.

“I’m a hero,” Izuku answers, voice grating against his throat as his eyes bore into you like he’s telling you some enormous secret you must keep to yourself, “and the hero always wins. No matter what.”

As much as your bleeding, apologetic heart wants to believe him, to lap up every word that he’s spewing to you like syrup, your mind can’t quite agree. You’ve spent too many late nights lying awake, wondering when you’ll get the call that he has fallen prey to a villain’s decaying touch, or when he will have been captured and tortured to the brink of insanity, a shell of the man he used to be all that’s left when they find him. Every horror story has played out on the back of your eyelids when you fall asleep, and yet you know there will never be anything you can do to put him back in the little box you first found him in, to protect him and keep him safe.

You push all of those thoughts away, knowing that they will only dampen your spirit for now, and you’d much rather focus on his darling freckled face while you take your afternoon walk. He insists, despite his injuries, that he won’t miss an afternoon walk with you. And it appears that he’s healing even as more time passes, the lingering effects of Recovery Girl’s quirk in combination with quirk-laced drugs mending his body after he’s left the operating room.

Taking in the sight before you – this beautiful, Adonis-like man, with golden cheeks and an innocent sheen in his glittering green irises – you’re overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him, so you charge forward and do just that. Your hands find his neck, searching for the hairline lightning strike scars that litter his body from past injuries and fights.

Unbeknownst to him, you keep your eyes open so you can watch as his translucent lids flutter, orbs moving beneath the skin as he’s unsure of what part of you in his imagination to settle on. This way you’re able to see as the apples of his cheeks slowly start to burn deeper shades of red to match his ears and neck.

As you pull away, falling back onto your heels, you drink him in as the light glimmers down on his skin, making him look almost golden in the afternoon sunshine. There is a string connected to your heart that tugs whenever you see the man standing before you, and now is no exception.

“C’mon,” you slot your knuckles between his, tenderly brushing your thumb over the large expanse of scar tissue on the back of his palm, “let’s go.”

Izuku pulls you closer and it’s like another piece of him has fallen into place, your body slotting just right against his side, like you were made for each other. One to match the other, a balance to end all imbalances.

A complete set.

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The knock on your door makes you jump, shuddering beneath your fleece blanket.

You rub your eyes and stand to your feet, leaving the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It’s late, so you imagine it’s most likely just a package delivery.

You’re beyond surprised to see a bleeding Izuku Midoriya slumped forward, using his forearm to hold himself steady in your doorway. You gasp, your blanket dropping away from your shoulders to pool at your feet, launching yourself forward to catch him before he can topple to the ground.

“Izuku,” you gasp, tucking yourself beneath him so he can use you for support.

He laughs, but it turns into a wheezing string of coughs. You help him hobble through the threshold towards the kitchen, sitting him down close to the sink so you can clean him up. Tilting his head back, you look into his eyes and pray that they dilate. When his pupils shrink, you let loose a breath held captive in your lungs.

It’s hard not to think about the reality that this will add another scar to his tally. His whole body seems like a counter, really, with strikes and slashes marring his skin, turning it pink and keeping track of every battle.

Midoriya reaches up to cradle your face in his palm, fingertips brushing over the smooth skin of your cheeks, directly contrasted with his own rough complexion, “I needed to see you.”

“No,” you shake your head and squat down in front of him, tears stinging the backs of your eyes as you try to take in every part of him that’s bleeding, “you need to see a doctor!”

Before you can protest him any further, Izuku leans forward to crush your mouth beneath his own. He whimpers in pain as he kisses you, but it doesn’t stop him. In fact, it almost stirs him forward, spurring him to cup your face with his hands as tears track down to cut through the crimson lines on his cheeks.

Izuku Midoriya is nothing short of an enigma. Here he is, bruised and bleeding, but he wrought his way to find you despite all of the pain. You wish you could burden some of it on his behalf, taking up the mantle of his own personal Atlas, meant to shoulder the weight of his existence so he can catch a quick breath.

His forehead touches yours as he pulls away, a sobbing gasp parting his mouth, “I’ll be fine. I just need you.”

You brush his hair away from his eyes, forcing him to look at you with the tender turn of your wrist. His right eye is bruised and swelling itself shut, blood caked from his brow to his jaw, pouring steadily from the wound he’s got split open on his head.

The only thought running through your mind, creating a path of worn ground against your cerebrum, is that this will be but another one to add to the collection; another piece of art to hang in his mausoleum. Judging by the amount of blood caked in his hair and brow, and the depth of the wound, it will surely leave a tattered scar of flesh behind.

An errant thought crosses your mind then – will he have such painful memories of this specific wound? Or will he recall this one to be the scar that brought him back to you?

You can’t help it when your lower lip trembles. You can never be surprised at the story of this scar’s origin – it will be engrained in your mind forever. Despite your adoration for the hero, you share in his pain, your own body wincing as a new trickle of crimson stains his temple. You tense your jaw, the muscles in your neck quivering under the strain of your ministrations. Even if he remembers this night fondly, you know that every time you glance at the healed section of his body, you’ll remember his tears, his debilitating pain.

“I’m calling Toshinori,” you grit your teeth, steeling your will, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“I let him know I was coming.” Izuku inhales in short bursts; it’s all his chest can handle before splintering pain streaks through his lungs like lightning. He winces as he shifts, one hand drifting to your hip. He dips his thumb beneath the fabric of your top, a shirt he recognizes as his own based on the size of it as it fully engulfs your figure. His logo is on the center, bright green text in stark contrast to the dark grey fabric.

A wave of pride swells within him, starting at the base of his back and building upward like effervescent champagne bubbles floating to the surface. He opens his mouth to set them free in the form of smothering kisses, his lips traveling to every available expanse of your skin he can find.

Deku is a force of nature, a whirlwind you cannot reckon with, so instead you succumb to him.

You allow him to swallow you whole for the first time, diving deeper into the eye of his storm until he is swirling around you and suffocating you. But you do not care. If this is how you have to go, with his tongue holding you hostage, hands like anchors on your hips, dragging you deeper until all you know is the darkness, then you are fine with that.

You’d gladly drown as long as he was the one holding you down.

But Izuku Midoriya is not the dark. He is anything but.

So, instead of burning your breath with his own oxygen, he fills you to the brim with light. He is a sunbeam incarnate, pushing through every crack in your bones to cement them with his kindness. His fingers, while biting into your hips, send a singing sensation up into your skin until you can’t help but smile into his kiss. They are rough with tattered flesh, scars of the past and present plaguing his body like a parasite, eating away at his skin until no longer has anything left to give.

Deku doesn’t wince when you sink down on top of him, settling your body against his thighs. Instead he wraps his arms around you to give you some kind of solace, palms searching your shoulders for the perfect place to rest. His fingers are warm beneath your shirt as his fingers seek out the curve of your spine.

The pure thickness of his body is not lost on you, not now. ­Your hands travel over his shoulders, his muscles rippling beneath the pads of your fingers. You shiver when he holds you closer, your chest flush with his, the tactile pleasure from his rough skin making your toes curl.

His shoulders are riddled with tiny, slicing scars, a light pink color in contrast to his standard tanned skin. You look for scar after scar, appreciating the damaged parts of him just as much as the smooth ones. You moan when both of his hands squeeze your waist, the pure size of him a gentle reminder as his palms engulf your ribs, his knuckles counting the bones as he runs his hands up and down.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs as he disconnects his mouth from yours, tears settled in his irises, making them glassy, “the villain I-I fought, th-they had a canceling quirk, and they almost got me.”

You know that got me is the safer, calmer equivalent of killed me. His kindness oozes like honey into every facet of him, filling the cracks like veins of marble. Your heart squeezes within your chest at the reality that he could have been lost to you, and suddenly the wounds on his body matter a little less.

No, now it is all about having him here, dense and hot beneath your body. Your fingertips tremble at the thought of him being a ghost of the past, something you once had a hold of, but now is nothing but a memory. You feel hot tears drip over your lashes, clumping up at the base of your eyelids as they flow freely. You sniffle, your hands finding the back of his head to cradle tenderly.

Izuku’s voice is soft, his cheeks gleaming red as he admits his next words, “You were all I could think about.”

Your voice breaks with a sob and you hold him tight around the neck, surging forward to kiss him soundly on the mouth. Izuku wraps his arms around your whole body, holding you snugly as he tilts his head for a better angle. You relish in the warmth he provides, his solid presence giving you comfort as you try to drink him in, pushing aside all the thoughts of potentially never having him like this again.

It’s not even about the way your stomach turns as his tongue licks at the seam of your lips, or how hot your body grows as he engulfs you like a flame. No, it is something beautiful and pristine, something that curls around your spine and bolsters it, holding you upright with confidence. Izuku has given you something you haven’t had in so long that you almost can’t put a name to it.

Peace.

There is an undeniable calm that washes over you whenever he is around, whether it be by distance or severe closeness. He suffocates you in his light no matter how far away he is; purely by knowing that he is alive, your heart quiets in your chest. You feel safer as you walk down the streets, the very notion that he will always be there, watching from wherever he may be, builds your bones stronger so you can walk with confidence.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” you gasp, coming up for air. You don’t go far, your nose nudging over his cheek as you pant quickly, your chest heaving. “I-I can’t do this without you.”

“Hey,” Deku’s voice is calm, his palms reaching up the back of your shoulders to cover you entirely in his heat. All you want is to coat yourself in him from top to bottom, let him claim you however he needs to, so you never have to let this go. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You open your eyes as he nudges his nose over the bow of your lips, kissing your chin tenderly. Your pupils dilate as you take in the smattering of dark freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks, painting his skin erratically so that you know he must be a work of art, a gift from the gods down to mankind. He is too perfect to be anything else.

Your forehead drops as you let out a shaky breath, steadying yourself with your grip on his shoulders. “I-I know, I just…”

Izuku repositions his hands so they’re beneath your top, the warm pads of his fingertips leaving a blazing trail of fire behind as he maps out the curves of your body. You watch as his ripped costume falls in tattered shreds on his shoulders, giving way to the pretty expanse of skin usually hidden beneath it.

The sight of his flayed skin, coated in scars and painted with beauty marks, makes your spine rattle within your frame. Your fingers drift to the bared parts of his body on instinct, a primal need settling in the pit of your stomach, and you trace over the white, lightning-like scars. Your thumb brushes over his collarbone, as if you could sweep away his freckles to leave behind unmarked skin.

Your mind wanders, thoughts branching out to wonder if there even is a patch of his skin that is pure, unmarred by any form of markings.

Izuku must follow your train of thought, because he peels his hands away from your body to tug his costume at the waist, unbuckling his belt and letting it fall to the floor before he pulls his shirt over his head, or what remains of it. The tattered fabric is in a bloody, dirty heap on the floor, but you barely have the wherewithal to notice when he is bared in front of you.

A gasp parts your mouth when you take in his nude torso. He is a plethora of contours and shadows, sinew holding his muscles together in a taut fashion. Your hands are hovering in front of his chest, darkened nipples piqued under the cool air blowing from the vent above. You have to force yourself to swallow, pent-up tension making your throat bob.

“See?” Izuku’s voice is hoarse, as if he’s holding himself back from tears, “I’m right here.”

Your eyes try to find a part of him that isn’t doused in speckles, the darkened patches of skin making him look even tanner. He has them sprinkled all over his body, clumps of them gathering together like tiny nebulas. Your gaze slowly drags down from his collarbones to his abdomen, the freckled dots like destinations on a treasure map, leading you to one central location.

When you make eye contact with the trail of dark hair that starts at his navel, thin and then growing thicker, you feel your stomach turn over. You lick your drying lips, a heat beginning to build up in your core. You would clench your thighs together, but the way you’re straddling him currently makes that impossible. Instead, you roll your hips forward so you can scoot further up his lap.

It’s like you don’t believe what you see in front of you – that he’s truly here, open and bare in front of you, vulnerable in every sense of the word. The wound on his head has stopped bleeding, but that doesn’t mean that he’s okay.

“Touch me.”

You tilt your head, confused by his forward command. Your cheeks burn bright with a blush and he chuckles at the sight of you so flustered. Midoriya takes you by the hands, guiding your touch to his chest first.

The tips of your fingers blaze when they find a ragged scar that stretches across the entirety of his pectoral, “I have so many of these ugly things.”

“How many?” you find yourself asking, the filter hard to find when he has you about ready to come undone like this. You feel yourself go lightheaded, hazy at the feel of his rough skin, his heart beating irregularly beneath your touch.

His voice is heavy when he answers, “I lost count.”

Your eyes snap upward to find the usual playful green color of his irises has faded to a pale jade shade, “Izu, hey-”

Deku swallows an emotional lump in his throat, eyelids fluttering at the pain of it before he inhales a full breath. His chest brushes up against yours and you have to withhold the whine that desperately wants to slip from your lips.

“I don’t understand why people are so fascinated with them,” his tone is teetering on the wrong side of angry, lips curled in a downward snarl. He glances south at the rest of his body, pale scars in stark contrast to the rest of his tanned body. “They’re just reminders of my failure.”

You are forceful when you pull his jaw upward, yanking him to face you before you kiss him harshly. Your intense kiss makes him gasp, his hips rolling up into you despite the pain he’s in. Your palms are bruising on his cheeks, but you don’t care because at least he’s kissing you. Deku’s fingertips finally make their way to your hips where he seeks purchase against your ribcage. His digits are tantalizing as he roams the expanse of your midsection.

“You’re my hero,” your voice is breathless and broken when you release him for oxygen. “Don’t you ever call yourself a failure again.”

Izuku’s throat bobs as he basks in your ferocity – eyes ablaze and fingertips harsh as you hold him in place. He finds himself nodding without really knowing what you’ve said, but he supposes that’s just the effect you have on him. You have taken root in his soul, the galaxy in your eyes blacking out everything else in his mind, allowing him not even a moment to let self-doubt creep in and steal away his faith.

After all, in his eyes, you are his whole world, shattered stars and all.

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“You picked dinner, so I get to pick the movie,” you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, your palms splayed against his chest as you press kisses into his shoulder blades.

You’re obsessed with his back, like some little secret you don’t get to see very often. Tonight the two of you were doing yoga before you ate dinner, so he’s currently clad in only a pair of compression pants that reach his mid-calf, leaving his entire upper body for you to appreciate with your gaze and explorative touches.

You nose over the curve of his spine, kisses open-mouthed as he washes the dishes in the sink. You hear his breath hitch and you wonder if now is a good time to start experimenting with how far you can go. Your eyes roam to the base of his spine, the two small dimples at the start of the swell of his ass making your mouth salivate. You relinquish one hand from his chest to dip your thumb into the cavity his muscles have created, brushing against a cluster of freckles.

It has been some time since you’ve seen him with his shirt off, and many times since then, but you’ve never been able to discover what’s below his belt. Your mind wanders as you suppress the itch in the base of your fingerprints, like the very code of you is designed to strip him down to nothing. You want to know how far his freckles truly go.

In your mind, you believe that he is sprinkled with stardust, paler patches of freckles sporadically placed along his body. He is a canvas, fresh and ready for the constellations to burn into his flesh. You want to swirl your hands over the galaxies imprinted upon him by the gods themselves; as if he were made of marble, ready to carve and curate however they may please.

You take a leap of faith when you dip your fingertips beneath the tight waistband of his joggers. The aborted stutter of his hips combined with the sharp intake of breath from his throat tells you all you need to know.

From here you can see clusters of freckles on the globes of his ass, concentrated mostly near the top, where sunlight can penetrate when he’s not in his hero suit. You have to catch yourself before you drip drool onto his curved backside.

The hand on his chest roams until you find his pebbled nipple, the crevices of your palm washing over the flesh until you hear a muted moan shake his throat. You lean forward, forehead tucked between the cartilage of his shoulder blades so you can feel the heat radiating from him even closer now.

“Can I-”

“Please.”

You’ve never heard him beg before, at least not like this.

It has been some time since your first date, since the first kiss, since the first confession. Your hands start to sweat at the thought of touching his salacious side, pricking with anticipation as you slowly make your way around his hip towards the bulge in his pants. Your tongue stills within your throat as you brush your thumb against the thick tufts of dark green hair at the base of his stomach beneath his navel.

His body is like a roadmap leading you to one desolate place, his skin singing with heat as you grow closer. You can almost make out a whine that he’s clamped his teeth down on to suppress, but that does nothing to deter you from finding a dozen other ways to elicit an infinite number of those same prurient sounds from his lungs.

When the outside of your palm brushes against the throbbing thickness held tight within his spandex, you feel your whole-body tense. Izuku gulps audibly and you have to hold in something that is a mix of a gasp and a giggle.

You reach your free hand down from his chest to pull at the band of his pants, freeing his cock from the confines of the fabric. You can hear the bob of it against his stomach and you let out a heated breath that spills down over his spine. He shivers and you think that maybe you have him just as captivated as he usually has you.

The thought is thrilling. It bolsters your confidence and allows you the audacity to lean forward and slowly trail your fingers along the base of his cock, tickling him in the most tentative way possible. He grits his teeth and you can feel his buttocks clench in front of you as he tries his hardest not to buck forward and ruin your moment.

You kiss the smattering of freckles near the top of his right shoulder, lavishing the area with your tongue as you trail your thumb up the base of his cock until you reach the tip. You can feel the bead of pre-come beneath the print of your finger and you collect it with the ridges of your digit before dragging it downward to coat him before you begin to pump your hand.

He is thick in your hand, unforgivingly hard as his cock pulses within your grasp. You can tell that it’s taking all of his restraint not to throw his head back and release obscene sounds from his throat, like his desire is caged within his chest, begging to be let out with each erratic heartbeat.

Your tongue licks over his shoulders and you know that he must be imagining what your mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock based on the mewling whimpers that leave his tongue. You can hear him panting, but you want to see him, desperate and whining, so you tug on his waistline with your free palm.

It takes him a moment, his eyes glistening with bliss and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, but you manage to get him turned so he’s facing you. Your eyes drag slowly down the entire expanse of his torso, catching on his pert nipples, bright and pink as they shrink beneath the stinging touch of your fingertips. You catch onto the constellations of freckles drifting along his torso – if you look hard enough, you swear that they move. Your eyes cross when you look too closely, so instead you allow your attention to drop lower.

Izuku’s mouth is wide open as your eyes fall to the vee of his hips, the paler freckles placed there making you smile. You lower yourself to your knees, semi-uncomfortable thanks to the tile of the kitchen, but you don’t care. Right now, your focus is singled in on one thing and one thing alone.

You lick your lips and the closeness of your tongue to his cock makes Izuku blush in expectancy. There is a little line of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth if you blink your eyes free of lust. You pump him another time in your hand, collecting the new wash of pre from his tip to lubricate his cock. As you do so, your eyes drift to the base of him where his green pubic hair collects in a dark tuft. You can’t decide which part of him to focus on because it’s all too much.

Somehow, he has a scar that runs from the innermost part of his thigh upward, just beneath his balls. You wince at the thought of what had to have caused that, and how much it hurt. You allow one hand to drift over the scar as your eyes come into contact with the patch of freckles hidden beneath the trail of dark, coarse hair that is usually hidden by his clothing.

As you pump your hand down to the base of him, you use your thumb to brush some of the hair away, curious as to how dark the freckles are there. Izuku is completely maddened by your touch, fallen under the enchantment of your hands. He doesn’t even mind that you’ve taken a break from dragging your soft hand around his dick, his mind already blitzed from the short burst of ministrations you have already administered.

You hum as you kiss along the taut skin of his lower abdomen, dragging your lips and tongue towards the thick trail of hair that leads you to his cock. It’s almost like the freckled areas taste different, although you’ve probably made all of that up in your mind. And yet, you don’t mind that it’s more of a fantasy instead of a reality, relishing in the sweetness, nonetheless.

“Fuck,” you hear from above you, one of his hands hung in midair, unsure of whether to grab you or the counter. The other palm grips into his hair and the scalp, tugging to keep himself grounded so he does not float away at the gentle caress of your tongue against his skin.

The bow of your lips purses as you kiss upward to the head of his cock, bright red and teeming with pre-come. The silvery, pearlescent bud of arousal makes your mouth water and you find that you can’t help yourself as you encircle your lips around the tip of him.

Izuku is immediately broken from whatever resilience he was able to gather, his hips bucking forward as he slams both hands into the counter. Little broken bits of marble fall into your hair but you don’t care, instead indulging yourself in watching his reaction to your movements. Midoriya’s pupils are blown wide, completely taken over his usually wide irises. The green bleeds black, lust like a cloud misting in his line of sight.

As his upper body tenses, you’re able to see every contour of muscle, every cord of sinew, and you can’t help it when drool dribbles down your chin onto the tile floor. You moan against the head of his cock, taking another inch of him in as you slide forward to get more comfortable. The sound of his nails creaking against the countertop makes your cunt flutter from within the cotton of your panties, clenching around nothing as you imagine the thickness of him in your mouth against your glutinous walls, squeezing him for all the come he can produce.

You trail one hand around the curling scars on his thigh, thumbprint finding the ridges of the expansive scar, the raised skin making your heart ache for a moment before you refocus on his dick. Your eyes almost cross as you try to focus on the freckles now hidden once more by the thick green hair at the bottom of his belly.

As you retreat backward, your line of sight continues down the length of his cock to realize that he has a littering of freckles of varying shapes, sizes, and colors, scattered all along the entire shaft of his dick, and even a few on the tip. You can’t help it when you smile, licking at them as if they could be removed if you lapped at the skin harshly enough.

It is the small things such as this that make your time with Izuku Midoriya so enjoyable. You are learning something about him every day, something even more interesting and exciting than the last.

Before you can slip your lips further down his length, his hand reaches up to clean the debris from your hair, a broken apology parting his lips momentarily. You look up at him, the tenderness in his touch making your heart go soft.

“H-Holy,” his hips buck forward when you blink up at him, the base of his throat bobbing as he curses, “shit.”

As you pull away from his cock, Izuku’s chest shudders as he tries to regulate his breathing. He shifts his feet on the tile beneath you trying to keep himself from pushing up onto the balls of his toes so he can keep some semblance of control as you pleasure him.

Izuku turns away from you and you whine, your tongue licking the underside of his cockhead before you ask, “Why won’t you look at me?”

He can barely force the words out of his throat as he gazes down at you briefly, the sounds coming forth berated and bedraggled, as if he’d dragged barbed wire across the syllables, “I can’t, damn it. I-I’m gonna-”

You take advantage of the line of sight he has on you, opening your mouth wide and taking him in one fell sucking motion.

Midoriya chokes on his own drool, a little silvery string of it falling in midair until it creates a droplet on the crown of your head. He can’t even find the focus to apologize, his knuckles white as he grips the countertop to keep himself sane.

The word he squeaks out next makes you smile, your teeth grazing his dick: “-come.”

You take it as a challenge, gripping his thighs with your nails, digging crescent moons into his pretty tan skin, adding the shapes to his star-like freckled skin, creating a whole galaxy with a simple bruising touch. Izuku can’t help it as his hips stutter forward, the tip of his cock bucking into the back of your mouth to make you gag.

He’s not sure how you do it, with his cock jammed all the way into the back of your throat, but somehow you have the wherewithal to cup his balls in one hand as the other uses his leg like an anchor to stay hovering on your toes. You never cease to amaze him, even now as you’re on your knees and worshipping his cock like your life might depend on it.

“Touch me,” you whimper as you come up for air, “if you won’t look at me, touch me, please.”

Izuku licks his lips and barely has it in him to pull his hand from the counter, but somehow, he manages it. His hand threads through your locks, fingertips buzzing with a mixture of adrenaline and desire. The lust has his whole being singing with anticipation as you bring him to the precipice of arousal. He knows that he won’t last much longer, especially not with you drooling around his cock and bobbing your head in perfect rhythm. And now that he can feel you beneath his fingers, he’s not sure if he’ll even be able to speak coherently when this is all over with.

His hands are exploratory in your hair, dipping in and out of your tresses like waves, finding your scalp to scratch lightly, eliciting a husky moan from your throat. The vibrations of your sounds make his cock pulse, twitching against your tongue as you suck him deeper. Izuku isn’t sure how there is anymore of your throat for him to fuck, but when you hollow out your cheeks, he slides further in, and the pleasure starts to coil around the base of his spine as he’s worked towards his high.

“Baby, I-I’m close,” Izuku manages to blurt when he’s coherent enough, your tongue sweeping down the vein on the underside of his dick. He gasps for breath, his head hanging forward, so his dark curls sweep over his lashes to hide his pretty orbs from you. He grunts, as he ruts up into you, “Real close, hell.”

You take it as a challenge, stiffening your posture so you can force your head up and down, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto your pants, but you don’t care. The way his hands grip into your scalp and the quivering of his thighs as he holds off his own release are but a war cry for you, begging your body to go further, to force that release from within his body.

“Come for me, Izu,” you whimper against his cock, the words muffled by the thick skin of him. You try your best to pout, looking innocent with eyes blown wide, “Please, I wanna taste you. So bad.”

His jaw falls slack, and you know that he’s close, his tip is practically rock hard against your teeth. You hollow out your cheeks and moan as you slowly suck him as hard as you can manage with your jaw starting to ache from the stretch of him. Your pussy clamps around nothing, begging for his girth within your walls.

A few heaving breaths stretch his chest, the muscles of his pectorals rippling in strain as he tries to hold himself back, to respectfully come undone instead of sputtering out like a teenager. You nod with his cock still in your mouth, your tongue padding over the sensitive underside. A wuthering whimper breaks within his throat and you feel his thighs clench one final time before he’s coming apart between your cheeks.

You try to breathe through your nose, his cock buried all the way in your mouth so his come hits in spurts against the back of your throat. You use your hands dug into the plush flesh of his ass to steady yourself, his body uncaring to the pain as long as he’s bucking up into your mouth. His hand in your hair goes tight before falling slack, gentle fingertips wafting through your tresses aimlessly.

You tilt your head back as he begins to soften within your lips, trying to keep his come from dribbling out the corners of your mouth. You catch most of it, the slightly sweet taste of it helping it to go down smoother. You suck him one more time, trying to pull the rest of the arousal from his slit, and a high-pitched whine breaks through the calm of the air like shattering glass.

“S-Sorry,” he moans as his eyes screw shut, one of his palms latching onto the countertop again.

A content laugh turns your lips upward and you kiss the head of his cock before he helps you rise back to your feet. Before you’re upright again, he bolsters forward to kiss you square on the lips. His tongue delves between your teeth, mapping out the curves of your gums as he tastes his spend in each crevice of your mouth.

The moan that reverberates from his chest makes your toes curl, your hands curling to fists against his chest as he presses further into you, trying to be flush with your entire body. You can barely breath as he suffocates you lovingly, bringing stars into your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your hands spread out over the plane of his chest, the tips of your fingers searching for his scars, the placement of them burnt into your mind like a map.

Deku pulls away with a panting string of apologies mixed with appreciation, his irises overtaking his pupils now that he’s come down from his high. His hands search your face and then your arms, taking in every inch of you as he kisses all over your face.

You giggle, wrapping your fingers around his neck to play with the sharp hair at the nape of his neck, the undercut style making his locks dense and coarse up to his ears where the straight line runs.

“What movie do you want to watch?” you ask breathlessly, scrunching your nose as he kisses the tip of it.

Izuku is winded when he nudges his nose against yours, a laugh on the tip of his tongue, “I don’t fucking care.”

You roll your lips together, pushing yourself up on your toes to kiss his mouth chastely, “We might have to do that more often if I’m going to get whatever I want each time.”

The thought of you going down on him makes his heart stutter within the cage of his ribs, stars spread out and blinding against the backs of his lids. He can already imagine the sight of you on your knees, your lips around him as you moan and writhe while he holds your hair tight within his fist…

“Earth to Izuku?” you pat his cheek playfully. “You with us?”

His voice is stuttered as he answers you, a blissful glassiness still coating his irises, “Y-Yeah, I’m right here. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

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“C’mon, Princess, you can take it, I know you can,” he murmurs into midair, voice stern but breathy, sending a shiver down your spine.

You lick at the head of his cock, engorged and bright red, beads of pre-come bubbling out of his slit, awaiting you to catch them with your tongue. You lap over the taut, pinkened skin, eyes fluttering closed at the taste of him – a fine combination of salty and sweet. You can’t help the draw of your attention to the tanned splotches covering him like stardust, mapping out what would seem to be a different set of constellations every time you look too long.

Izuku’s hand is woven into your hair carefully, so he does not pinch your scalp, but he can still hold onto the makeshift ponytail he’s created with his fingers bunched around your tresses. You whimper, eyes torn from his freckled skin, as he guides your mouth closer to his cock, the head of him brushing against your closed lips.

His voice is thick with restraint, his throat bobbing at the sight of your pretty, jeweled irises looking between him and his cock, wondering how you’re going to take the thick of him between your plush little lips. Your eyes are almost crossed as you try to count his freckles, as if you could pay that close of attention when he’s got you on your knees.

“Gonna be a good girl for me, Angel?” Deku is patronizingly kind as he brushes his knuckles over the curve of your jaw. Your eyes zero in on the scarred stripes along his palm and forearm, your fingertips reaching up to slowly drag across the pale lines that tell a story you’ve heard a dozen times. Izuku makes an audible noise of consideration at your marveling, “You were just beggin’ me for my cock, and now you won’t even open your mouth for me?”

He sounds like he’s pouting, lower lip jutted out just enough for it to look convincing. You swallow your inhibitions, throat bobbing when he brushes his cock along the hollows of your cheeks, the head of him smearing what remains of his pre onto your skin. He chuckles as you gasp, your jaw hung open just enough for him to rut up into your mouth.

You gag around him, lurching forward as tears coat your lashes. You whimper, looking up to him like he might save you from what’s to come. But no, you asked for this. You begged him to let you taste his cock, to have him spill his fullest load onto your tongue and force you to swallow.

“Such a pretty girl,” his words turn to a moan as you take him to the base, forcing yourself to breathe evenly so you won’t gag around him again. His hand in your hair tightens and you take a deep breath, the short, stubbled pubic hairs surrounding his cock doing little to hide the freckles on his smooth skin.

You’re not sure why you love them so much – the freckles.

They are such a distraction that you don’t notice Izuku yanking you by the ponytail until you come off his cock with a loud pop. You whine, keening forward to try and lick at his tip, “I-Izu-please.”

“Uh uh,” he cinches his hand around your hair even tighter, tugging your skin backward until it burns. A smirk lilts his lips, “What’s my name, baby girl?”

Your eyes go wide, pupils swallowing your irises whole. Deku almost misses the color, if it not for the fucked out look that takes their place, telling him exactly what he’s done to you. He bites down on his lower lip, half-hooded lids considering you, “You’re already a mess for me, aren’t you baby? I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Your cock,” you whine, squinting your eyes so you don’t have to feel his authoritative penetrating your very being. Your thighs tense, pussy clamping down around nothing but thin air, wet with arousal and begging to be full of him. Before Izuku can tell you to correct yourself with a simple syllable, you repeat yourself, “Your cock, Daddy.”

A satisfied expression smooths his features, the red of his cheeks doing little to hide the smattering of freckles to match those littered across his cock and thighs. You brush your nose against his navel, kissing the gentle swell of muscle beneath it. Izuku licks his lips, hips rolling forward so his cock brushes over the length of your throat.

“That’s’a good girl.” Deku purses his lips as you kiss down his shaft, your tongue lapping over every inch of him. Your eyes are level with his pubic bone, searching for the tanned droplets of sunshine incarnate on his skin, hidden beneath dark tufts of jade hair curled around the base of his cock.

Before you take him between your lips, you lick a stripe from the underside of his shaft up to his navel. You can’t help yourself as the dark smattering of freckles call out to you, a reminder that even though he is tainted by the war of the world, you still have these small victories to come back to. You worship his taut skin with your lips and tongue, the muscle parting your mouth to lick at his body.

Izuku’s fingers weave into the hair at the base of your head, eyes watching you closely as you pay special attention to the various patches of densely packed freckles. You nose over his hipbone, breathing slowly, the wash of warmth prickling his skin and forcing him up on his toes as he reacts to it.

There is a large part of him that wants you to stop. Not because he’s selfish enough to force you to pay attention to the throbbing heat between his legs, but rather because your praise is something that makes him feel even more unworthy. He is self-conscious of his body, both the discolored spots that he’s never able to be rid of in tandem with the ragged rips in his flesh that you seem to love so much. He has never understood your fascination with his body, but you are relentless with your affections.

It comes in many forms. At times it is the way you run your fingertips over his shoulders when you’re laying together, and other times it is your mouth finding his knuckles when you think he’s asleep. You are unashamed to lavish his body with unending passion, and even the smallest of deformities that he believes are his secret, you manage to find.

You loll your tongue out to let the collected spit pool over his length, sucking at the head when you get to it. Deku rubs his thumb against your neck, fingertips searching your hair for purchase. He’s taken aback when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him deep into the heat of your mouth. His eyes go wide, but he’s thankful you can’t see with the way his head is thrown back.

“Fuck, baby,” his hand twitches against your scalp, “fuck, this mouth.”

He starts rolling his hips forward, pumping himself in and out of your mouth like he might your pussy. You feel drool seeping out of the corners of your lips but you don’t dare break away, because that would bring forth a punishment, and your cunt is already sopping wet with the anticipation of his cock buried deep within you. Deku grunts, his chest vibrating with the sound, and he holds you still with the hand against your head.

You reach up to find his free palm, lacing your fingers together at the knuckle, using him as some sort of an anchor to reality as the subservient headspace begins to take over. It washes through you like a balm, a warm sensation that feels like home.  Your eyelids fall over your irises, hiding your expression from him, but he can tell the way you feel by your ministrations against his hand and on his cock. You are desperate for him, one hand clutching his thigh until your nails dig in and leave tiny crescent moon prints behind.

You like to think of his freckles as stars, your marks making him more like the night sky with each grip. You moan as you hold yourself at the base of him, tongue lapping around his length from within your mouth. Your thumb finds a familiar scar on the back of his hand, knuckles marred from battle and bravery.

It’s times like these that you want to cry for him, for what his body has endured. It’s the reason you want to worship every inch of him, to give him what he deserves because god knows the world will never give him back what he’s due. So here you sit, perched in front of him like a little dove, eyes blown to hell and your metaphorical wings spread wide as you take him for all he’s worth.

Izuku can’t take it any longer – the tenderness of your touch mixed with the obedient look in your eyes. It’s all too much, making his head spin at your sincerity.

“C’mere,” he whispers, tugging you by the throat, gently but firmly.

And you follow him, like you would follow him anywhere.

You step forward dumbly, blindly going wherever he tells you. He guides you to the bed, turning you over so your face is pressed into the coolness of the sheets, your bright red cheeks thankful for the change in temperature. You angle your ass upward perfect, round globes ripe for his hands to lay into.

“Such a sloppy little pussy, baby,” he murmurs against the skin of your lower back as he kisses down your spine. His middle finger runs up and down the length of your slit, collecting the silvery strands against his digit, “All this just for me?”

“All for you, Daddy, all for you, promise,” you’re whimpering out, cunt desperately clenched as you try to trap his finger in your heat. “Please, I want you so bad, need your cock, Daddy.”

Izuku pushes his finger into your core, curling it up towards that special spot that it seems only he can find. His finger is thick, knuckle curved in just the right way that it drags along your walls salaciously, eliciting a loud, careening moan from your mouth. You muffle your sounds into the mattress, but Midoriya is having none of that.

He yanks you by the throat, fingers digging deep into your skin until you’re sure that you’ll have bruises, “Nah uh, little one. I want to hear you scream for me.”

Midoriya pumps his finger into you mercilessly, your arousal coating him down to the palm, making your thighs slick. You whimper, your lewd sounds echoing off the walls. You can feel the tip of his cock against your ass, throbbing with heat, and there’s nothing you can do to stop yourself from imagining it in place of his fingers.

“I know you can be louder, slut,” Deku pinches your neck tighter in his grip, “I want the neighbors to know my name when we’re through.”

You try to protest but it’s cut short when his finger rams into you, two knuckles deep, a sharp cry splitting your throat wide open. The sound morphs into a whimper, tears stinging in the corners of your eyes.

Deku leans forward to kiss between your shoulder blades, his voice hoarse with want when he speaks, “That’s my girl. Do it again.”

He relinquishes your throat to start slapping your ass, his eyes unable to fall away from your pretty skin marked red from his ministrations. You grit your teeth together so you can better withstand the pain, giving yourself something else to focus on besides his unrelenting spankings.

“Daddy, harder,” you whine, your ass stinging but not so much that you can’t follow through on your plea.

A dark chuckle reverberates throughout the room, Midoriya’s smirk from earlier returning. If you could see his eyes, you’d notice the way his pupils have completely overtaken his emerald orbs, giving way to the parts of him that want to make you hurt only so he can be the one to soothe you all better.

He indulges you, palm stretched wider so he can land harder smacks to your cheeks. Now he’s got two fingers in you, filling your cunt with his knuckles, the scars against them giving you friction that makes you see stars. He pumps you in time with his spankings, slow but merciless. Deku is careful not to go too far, no matter how difficult that might be with the lust that clouds his vision, painting his sight bright red.

“Good girl,” he rewards you by stopping, grabbing your plush ass in his fingertips, digging blunt nails into your skin so it stings even harsher.

You rut your hips back against his hand at the sudden jolt of pain, tears dripping from your eyelids to the mattress, staining the sheets a darker shade. You whimper, your mind unable to focus on any one stimulation – your ass, your cunt, or your throat.

“You think you’re ready for my cock?” he asks, although you know it to be rhetorical.

You’re nodding your head anyway, desperately begging inaudibly for him to stuff you full, your cunt suffocating around his cock as he pounds into you. Deku slowly drags his hand from your pussy, words dripping just like your core, “What was that, Princess? I couldn’t hear you.”

Now you’re foaming at the mouth to force syllables from between your teeth, blubbering around tears. You sniffle, frustrated with your own headspace and timid with the thought of punishment for not answering quick enough, “Y-Yes, Daddy. I-I’m ready.”

“Hey,” he runs his hand, searing from the spankings, up the length of your spine, fingertips mapping out each vertebra, “you still with me, baby?”

You turn to look over your shoulder when he brushes his thumb over the little blooming bruises on your neck, evidence of his fingers claiming you for his own, “Yeah, I-I’m right here.”

A smile tugs on his lips, his fingers finally pulled from your sopping heat to coat his cock in your slick. You whimper at the loss of contact, cunt fluttering around nothing as you beg for him to fill you up again, any way he chooses.

And he obliges you, bottoming out within the first stroke.

You can’t help it when a fresh set of saltine droplets track down your cheeks, your head thrown back in pleasure as he holds himself steady, his pelvis flush with your ass. It still burns, the stinging of skin-on-skin doing little to quell the ache from his spankings. You lick your lips to try and soothe yourself in some way, your throat already crackling from use.

Licking your lips, you gently move back against him, encouraging him, “Daddy, I want you to fuck me. Please, won’t you fuck me?”

Deku sounds like he’s trying to hold back some sort of salacious sound, a strangled noise caught in his throat like barbed wire. You look back at him, chin pressed against your collarbone. It’s the sight of you that does him in, that wants to claim you for every ounce of what you’ve got to give. He wants to mark your body until there is no color remaining but bright purple and blue and red, bruises and scrapes alike adorning your pretty body, letting the whole world know exactly who you belong to.

The thought of sinking his teeth into every available spot of skin that he can find makes his fingers curl tighter around the supple skin of your thighs until you’re crying out for him. You writhe beneath him as opens his eyes, baring even your soul with his stare. His body squirms as he withstands the desire to launch himself at you, feral and promising with his teeth finding your pristine body and marring it for his own selfish cause.

At least then your bodies would match in their markings.

You’d be his own little galaxy; he muses as his hands massage into your thighs to keep himself busy, so he doesn’t follow through on the yearnings rolling around in his mind. He can see you stood next to him, your body littered in affections – hickeys that are blown out all around your body, little nebulas and planets with their swirling colors of purple and blue; long lines of bright pink scratch marks that streak forward like shooting stars curling around your muscles; pierced tooth marks that scatter across your body like stars.

Even though he’s the Number One Pro Hero, Izuku has never felt so whole until he’s balls deep in your pussy, the tip of him tucked up against your cervix so much so that you swear you feel him in your spine. He takes one palm to gently brush over your stomach, the bulge of his cock making his pride swell almost as much as your belly. You are his whole world, whether or not you are just as bruised and battered as he is. He will bear the burden of the scars if it means he can have you like this forever.

“Take me so well, Princess,” he murmurs into the skin of your shoulders, leaning forward so his chest is pressed flush with your back.

He is hot, but not unbearably so. Almost in a way that reminds you he is still there, an anchor for your soul to latch onto in the darkness of the room, holding you firmly to tether you to this version of reality. You grasp the sheets in your hands, desperate to feel him but unable to from this position, so you settle for the thread count instead.

“Please, Daddy, I want to feel you,” you beg him again, whimpers bubbling up into your chest like champagne bubbles. The effervescent feeling is almost too much, too overwhelming, as it rushes to your head quickly. You have to close your eyes, so you do not get dizzy. You see stars as your lids come down over your pupils and the sight of them reminds you of Izuku’s body. So much so that you want to look up at him again, begging him with your words, “Want to touch you.”

Deku obliges you, slowly pumping his tremoring cock in and out of your heat, coating himself in your slick before twisting your body around so you can peer up at him through half-lidded eyes, “Look at this slutty, sloppy pussy. Such a pathetic little mess for me, aren’t’cha?”

“Yes, Daddy, all for you.” You nod, blinking repeatedly to try and keep your eyesight clear so you can make out his beautiful travesty of a body. Despite the absolute adoration held in your pretty orbs, Deku notices that it is not his face you seek out when you first are turned to look at him, instead your eyes drift to the bared parts of his body that he hates most.

It would seem that each time you find him this way, with your hands mapping out his torso underneath your touch, you find a new part of him, a new marking that you don’t remember being there before. Your breath shudders from your lungs and it feels like thunder erupts in your chest when you breathe, “Please, Daddy.”

You are pouting as you start to run your touch up his arms, starting at his wrists where his palms are pinning your hips into the bed. You swirl your thumbnail around the familiar scars of his hands, those old marks from his time at Yuuei, pushing himself to be the best young hero-in-training there ever was. You recall watching the Sports Festival in his first year, the fight with Todoroki Shouto like a burnt ember settled in the back of your mind. You see the fire and the ice, the shuddering arena shaking with the imminent power of the teenager prodigies.

A hum buzzes in your throat as your fingerprints map out the way to his elbows, finding lengthy scars that make you shudder. Your tongue lolls out against your lips as you wish you could patch his body up with your kiss. You know that he does not marvel at the sight of himself in the same way that you might; you put him up on this pedestal, scars and all, and yet he only sees them as a weakness.

The rough patch of tarnished skin on his right bicep has begun to lose its rigidity as time passes. It was one of his first scars and has been worn down with time. Your hand still finds it, though, even as your eyes are screwed shut and he is angled away from you. It’s like you have a map of his body burned into the back of your eyelids, memorized from all of the times that you’ve fallen apart beneath him or comforted him with your touch.

He is patronizing when he speaks next, eyes blown to hell at the sight of you so far gone for him when he hasn’t even brought you to your first orgasm. He can feel you spasming around him, cunt flexing to try and coax him closer to the edge. He is nowhere near the precipice, holding himself off for your sake, wanton to see you come undone around his cock.

Your pupils try their hardest to focus, begging to be drawn to his bedraggled skin, the stark contrast between tan skin and pale scars heightened even further in your blissed-out state. Your palm flattens against the marking on his bicep, the flayed spot even more expansive than your hand in its entirety. You gasp as he ruts up into you painfully quick, your fingers digging into the rugged flesh, nails biting against the ridges.

When he stills within you, it gives you a moment to slacken your hold and trace the corners of the scar, pretending that he is a patchwork quilt, an antique that you’ll never be able to get enough of. You take a breath and use your free hand to find his chest, a lightning-bolt shaped scar that runs from his collarbone down until it fizzles out into a small scratch near where his taut pectorals meet.

Midoriya trails his thumb downward to your clit, brushing the rough pad of his finger against your sensitive bud. You mewl into the mattress, face turning sideways into the pillow as you no longer are able to hold yourself upright. You beg him to fuck you harder, faster, with something more that you know he has not given you yet.

“What do you want, baby girl? Tell Daddy exactly what you want me to do to this pathetic, slutty little pussy.”

You gasp out words, but he cannot make sense of them as they’re lost in the fabric of the sheets. He slams into you once before dragging his cock outward, slowly skimming the tip between your folds, “Louder. Or else I’m spanking you again.”

He thinks for a moment, tilting his head to consider you as he looks down his nose at you, “And I’m flipping you back over.”

“N-No, please, wanna-” You are begging for breath, your inflamed lungs burning with the lack of oxygen, and you can’t make syllables coherent enough for him to understand. You whimper, squeezing your eyes closed as the brunt of his hand comes down hard over your ass repeatedly until you’re screaming.

Izuku is holding you by the ass, both hands dug deep into the plush skin, “Did I fucking stutter?”

You are able to behold one last gaze of his ethereal body, skin marked like the night sky, before he has you with your face dug into the pillow, his cock and hips jackhammering into you from behind. He does not give you but a moment to breath, the fabric of the pillow stuffing your throat as you try to inhale through your mouth. You cough and it causes your cunt to squeeze around his dick. Deku stutters forward, a choking sound echoing in the back of his throat.

“Holy hell,” he mutters, leaning forward to drape himself across your back, reaching around with his hands to pinch at your nipples. “So fuckin’ tight, little one. Such a good girl for me, yeah?”

You whimper out something that sounds like a response, so he takes the lead and starts rutting into you again, the obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing off of the walls. You can’t help the drool that spills from your tongue, wetting the sheets and sticking to your chin. You’re practically in tears as he abuses your pussy with his cock, it only growing as you feel the buildup of his power starting to swell from within him.

The air turns electric, but not nearly hot enough for you to know that he’s turned his quirk on. You force a glance over your shoulder, mewling out something that sounds like a pleading cry for him to turn you back so you can gaze up at him again.

“But I like taking you like this, Princess,” Izuku runs his thumbs over your ass, using the cusp of his power to strike small lightning bolts of seafoam color against the skin of your backside. You jolt at the pain, bucking your hips back into him and he moans, “There you go, baby.”

You whine, curling your toes against his hips from your position. He chuckles at the sign of desperation, sweat glistening down your back from exertion. His hips slam forward again, and you’re sure he’s bruised your cervix this time with how deep he has buried himself into you. There are ridges of scar tissue around his hip bones that you can feel even as he fucks into you from behind, the raised skin making your ass burn from where he has slapped you with the strength of his quirk.

“Daddy, I wanna,” you are panting like a puppy into the sheets, your pussy dripping onto the mattress beneath you. You huff out a breath and squeal when he splits your pussy open again with a particularly rough thrust forward, “Daddy!”

Deku pinches your backside with both hands, the biting touch of pain making your eyes water until tears are coating your lashes and staining the pillowcase, “What, huh? What more do you want, Princess?”

You know that Izuku is a sucker for your needs. If you whine hard enough, he’ll give you anything you want. So, with that in mind, you pout to give your demeanor an even more innocent aspect, “I-I wanna kiss you, p-please.”

As expected, he stills his hips from where he is bruising your ass with his scars and bones alike. You wonder for a moment if the imprint of his marred skin will leave an impression on you if you could carry around a little piece of him always.

However, this time when he yanks himself from you, a squelching sound echoes throughout the room in tandem with your mewling whine at the loss of heat, and he does not reenter you immediately. You are about to stutter out something akin to a protest, but you feel his fingertips dip into your sides and instead you let loose a yelp.

Deku takes you by the hips, easily yanking you upward and flipping you around so your back is flush with the mattress, the sweat on your spine making the sheets stick to you. Your eyes are wide, hands gripping into his marred biceps like claws sinking into his skin.

“What?” he is smirking as he nudges his nose against yours, the heat of his cock pressed into your folds but not penetrating just yet. “I like this angle better.”

He nips at your skin before pulling himself back, his hand groping your breast with purpose. He is tweaking your nipple under his touch while his other hand runs his cock against your slick heat, teasing you mercilessly. He watches the lips of your pussy tense when he gets close, wavering at the anticipation of his cock dredging into you with force.

“Plus,” Deku tilts his head, palm reaching up from your chest to grab your face between his fingers, “you never answered me.”

His thumb finds your clit again, dick teasing you by resting between your thighs, throbbing and dripping with a mixture of your arousal and his pre. His fingers are intense as they squeeze your cheeks together, lips ballooned out pertly. Deku chuckles at the sight of you, red in the face and begging him for more with the subtlety of your eyes.

Something twinges within him as he can’t keep your focus on his eyes, but rather on his body. He should feel pride swell in his chest at your adoration of his finely tuned body from years of hard work, but he knows that you are focused on the scars of his body and it gives him a sour taste in his mouth.

The thoughts in his mind flee from your pert chest and smooth stomach and instead he wonders what it is about his skin that you find so enticing. You run your fingertips over each ridged scar, finding the different colors of worn skin beneath the pads of your hands, showing them immense affection with just a gentle touch. His whole body shudders at the feel of you appreciating him with massaging motions and tracing, but he wants to ask you the questions he’s been begging silently for months, years even.

You are trying to form words, but the only thing coming from your mouth is spittle, drool seeping through the cracks of your lips until it coats your chin, cool beneath the air conditioning. Slowly your eyes roll forward so you can look into his darkened pupils, the middle of his irises resembling the darkest beauty marks that he has littered throughout his body. You smile at the sight of his intense irises seeking you out.

Midoriya laughs as the heel of his hand sops it up, smearing it back against your lips before cleaning his palm on the bed sheets. He leans forward, his cock sheathed fully within you as he grows closer to your face. Your palm reaches out to cup his jaw, the tips of your fingers finding the familiar pale lines of his skin to trace like it were a nervous tick.

“C’mon, now,” he kisses your nose, an innocent gesture in stark contrast to the intense motions he’s administering to your clit. “Tell Daddy.”

Your mouth splits wide open with the three words, a confession you know that he’s heard you utter before, but it does not come any less lascivious from your lips the more you beg, “One for All.”

He does not respond immediately, pupils dilated as he glances down at you. Your body squirms beneath his lack of movement, begging for some sort of friction on any part of you. The skin of your ass tingles as he presses you down firmer into the mattress, and you want to cry out but all you can blubber is those three words, again and again, as you plead for him to use his quirk on you.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you swear to him, nodding your head enthusiastically, “I want it so bad, Daddy, please, I want you to-”

Your begging is cut short by a sizzling in the air, the familiar popping of his quirk activating making your skin pebble with goosebumps. Your mouth runs dry at the sight of his skin lighting up with those familiar red lines, power coursing through his veins and making his hair stand on end.

Reaching up, you run your fingers through it, nails scraping at his scalp so you can feel the heat of his energy sparking against your fingertips. You arch your back upward to try and catch some of the wayward sparks, the salacious stinging of your skin only furthering the copious amount of slick between your thighs.

Deku tilts his head up to look you in the eyes, pupils shrunken down so his sea green irises can shine bright, glowing in the darkness of your bedroom. The entire room is aglow with his power, the very strength and resilience that has allowed him to build up so much intensity a conduit for your pleasure. His cock pulses against your thighs and you find yourself clenching around him, your body begging for him to stay close, too frightened at what might happen if he were to pull away.

“This what you wanted?”

His voice is deeper now, a rumbling timbre in his chest that makes your toes curl. You are panting at the expectancy of it all, sweat trickling down your temples and spine from the sudden change in temperature. The heat rises the longer he uses his quirk, so much so that you wonder if you could burn from it. The thought excites you, lights up your eyes until you cannot hold it in anymore.

You lean forward to kiss him on the mouth, slotting your lips between his. Pops of electricity stem from his entire body, sparking in midair before fizzling out with a gentle wash of ash. Deku licks at the seam of your lips, pressing his tongue between your teeth to map out every bump of your gums.

“Please,” you whimper against his tongue, “fuck me, hero.”

You have no more than spoken the words when his cock slips into your heat, coated with your arousal as quickly as he can rut forward. He grits his teeth to keep his composure, body trying to crumble between the use of his quirk and the feel of your tight cunt. You can’t help but notice the way he stretches you out even more so now than before, and you know that it’s in part to the fact that his girth has widened even further after he’s summoned his dormant power.

Deku reaches forward to press his glowing palm to your chest, rolling the bud of your breast between his fingertips as he starts to fuck into you. Your body is racked with effort, practically a ragdoll beneath him, all weak joints and jellied bones. And yet he is as powerful as ever between his mouth and his hands and his dick, every part of him built for your utmost undoing.

Lines of electricity fly from his body, bright green lightning strikes making the air pop all around you. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth when the first one stings your skin, lighting up the room in a flash of intense voltage. Izuku pauses, his hips stilling, “Baby?”

“Again,” you are panting, eyes half-closed as you revel in the pleasure from the shockwave. “Please.”

Deku has to focus on the electric side-effect of his quirk, closing his eyes so he can control the power radiating from his body. He starts to roll his hips into you slowly, once he feels settled with the coursing energy brought on by One for All.

You peel your lids back so you can watch as energy rushes through his frame, lighting up his body in such a way that reminds you of the pure power that he keeps hidden from the world most of the day. The light coursing just beneath his skin only serves to further draw out the beauty of his marred skin. His freckles are stars painted against the bright red and green patterns of electricity surging around his body like lightning bolts. You reach up to brush your thumbs against the apples of his cheeks, sucking in a breath at the sheer heat he’s radiating.

The reality that you have the very universe under your touch does not go unnoticed by you. You marvel at the constellations splayed out before you on his skin, giving you a small drop of the milky way right here in your home. It is overwhelming, the thought of it all dizzying as the heat thuds against the back of your eyes. And despite the boulder that sits on your shoulders at the burden of having to hold up his universe, you feel a jolt of exhilaration with the responsibility settling in your belly. You will be the one who he can crumble into when he’s tired of shining out for everyone else.

After all, a star can only be born after a nebula collapses.

Deku’s arms are strong around you as he holds you in place, cock sliding deep into your heated core, collecting your slick and his pre for easier lubrication, the thick vein on the underside of his shaft making you shiver as it drags against your walls. His biceps flex with the use of his quirk and the effort of holding you in midair to keep you snapped up into him and your hands are drawn to his bulging muscles all over again.

There is no doubt that he could keep you safe from any harm – one flick of his fingers, and a villain is rendered to a helpless annoyance.

The notion makes you shiver, reaching your hands up towards his shoulders, caressing his arms to feel the protruding cords of muscle rippling under the stress of his quirk. Your fingerprints find scars, puckered pink and marring his pretty tan skin. Other people might think that these markings make him weak, proving that he is fallible, mortal. But you think that every line on his body is a visible reminder that he has given so much to those who might not ever give it back. He has been beaten, bruised, and broken, and yet here he still stands, tall and proud in the face of danger.

Izuku knows that look in your eyes – wonder, awe, respect.

It swells his pride even further, his chest taut as he puffs himself up at the sight of you with adoration like stars in your irises. His thrusts are more intense now, guiding you closer to the cusp of pleasure, begging your body with the pulse of his cock to come undone.

“I-Izu, please.” You’re pushing your face into the pillow now, the burning hot pool building up steam in your belly becoming too much. He doesn’t even care that you’ve slipped up, not when he’s got you wrapped around him like a coil, working you from the inside out to drag the licentious sounds from your throat.

“Please what, Princess?” His hand sparks electricity around your chest, your nipple now pert with the fizzle of electricity as it creeps beneath your skin and into your veins. “Look at me, c’mon.”

He smacks the side of your breast, watching as the round flesh ripples under his ministrations. He breathes heavy, his chest inflating rapidly as his hips drill mercilessly into you. You clamp around him, quietly pleading with him to stay buried to the hilt so you.

When you don’t respond by turning your head, Midoriya grabs you by the cheeks, dominantly forcing your vision back to him. He’s almost regretful when you whimper, a shining trail of drool spilling from your mouth to pool into the pillowcase. The damp spot draws his attention and his cock twitches within your pussy, brushing up into your cervix and making you cry out, throat so hoarse that your voice cracks.

Izuku blinks hard, pulling his eyes away from the dark circle on the pillow to focus on your face, slipping his thumb into your mouth to press down on the center of your tongue. He smirks, his free hand holding you by the ass now, digging blunt nails into your flesh to create a conduit for his electricity to flow straight to your backside.

You whimper around his digit, the sound muffled by his finger, “G-Gonna come, Daddy.”

“Are you now?” he asks proudly, tilting his head to consider you. “Did I say you could come?”

You’re shaking your head as he grabs your ass harder, bringing tears to your eyes at the immense pressure combined with the raw feeling from his spankings earlier. As if to challenge you, Deku starts jutting forward, driving your hips deeper into the mattress until you feel like you might fall through.

The use of his quirk makes him so much stronger, his corded body trying to restrain from using its full power on you, despite calling all of it forward. He grits his teeth down so hard that you think you hear his jaw creaking, but you hardly have time to notice before you’re having to ward off your own pleasure. Using every ounce of One for All, Izuku bruises your cervix with the engorged head of his cock, the quirk enlarging every part of him.

You beg him with blurred words and hazy vision, whining and keening, until he’s leaning down close to your face, his hand now moved from your mouth to your throat, wet fingers wrapped around your neck.

“Good girl,” he murmurs with his nose against your cheek, lips dancing along your jawline to place feather light kisses, much in contrast to the otherwise bludgeoning intensity of the rest of his ministrations. “Such a pretty little thing.”

Your eyes find his face as he leans back to look down at you, the freckles dusted over his cheeks stark beneath his bright red streaks symbolizing the use of his quirk. You reach upward to tuck your palm against his cheek, cupping the skin burning hot with the coursing energy of his power. Your thumb brushes over the roundest part of his face and his eyes shudder closed at the feeling.

He kisses your wrist, bottoming out into your cunt with a harsh thrust forward. Deku turns his gaze to you, electric irises finding your soul through way of your pupils, “You gonna come when I tell you?”

“Yes, yes,” you’re practically foaming at the mouth, little spit bubbles at the corners of your lips at the thought of coming around his cock, your arousal mixed with his seed as he fills your core with his come. “Please, Daddy, I wanna come for you.”

Izuku nods, kissing your wrist again before falling back on his thick legs to grab you by the thighs, lifting you up off the mattress. It is just a display of his strength, his biceps bulging with effort, but it does what he intends for it to do when he feels your dripping arousal slipping from your slit down to drip onto the mattress.

“Fuck, look at your sloppy little pussy, Princess,” Deku moans at the sight of your silvery slick pouring out of you. He runs his thumb against the curve of your backside to catch what he can, running it over your clit before sucking his digit between his teeth.

Using his damp fingertip, Izuku begins to work at your clit, his other hand still pinning your thighs up in midair. He licks his lips at the sight of you on the cusp of pleasure, your body begging to come undone with the way your pussy clamps around his cock.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes you with a kind voice, electric pops crackling in the air like fireworks. “Come for me.”

You quit holding back, letting your body rush with a mix of adrenaline and pleasure. Every part of you is on fire, from his touch mixed with the searing heat of his body and the green lightning that strikes your body to leave tiny pink pucker marks. The sight of you marked up by his teeth and tongue and quirk bring him to his own heightened arousal, unable to hold back when he feels you gush with come from within the confine of your walls.

The glowing iridescent light making the room fluorescent fades into the dark with every spurt of his come into your cunt until he is no longer using One for All.

“Good girl,” he kisses your cheek, “now let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

You’re not sure what flips the switch within you – whether it’s the tight look of his uniform showing off the peaked buds of his nipples and the engorged head of his cock, or if it’s the blush on his freckled cheeks, making him look so much younger than the twenty plus years old he is now.

Whatever it is, it makes your mouth water and your fingertips buzz.

“Bedroom. Now.”

“B-But, the pad tha-”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

Izuku’s thighs spasm at the authoritative tone of your voice and suddenly he feels about two inches tall despite towering over you no matter the situation. He tucks his head downward as he walks past you, down the hall towards the bedroom the two of you now share. Usually he is the one speaking those words as he stands over the top of you, his hand stinging red from spanking your ass as he orders you around, but the way they sound from your tone of voice makes his entire body quake.

The soft click of the door as it slips shut makes goosebumps rise on his skin, the stubbled hair on the back of his neck standing as upright as possible. There is a grunt from your mouth and a shuffling of your feet on the carpet as you kick off your shoes.

“B-Baby, I-”

Somehow you have shoved your foot into the crook of his knee, toppling him over onto the bed so he’s face first into the mattress, his ass perked upward as he tries to balance himself so he does not fall over. The globes of his backside are stretched tight within the spandex of his uniform, and you know the beautiful expanses of freckled skin that lay beneath the material.

Izuku looks over his shoulder, attempting to protest or ask you what is wrong, but you don’t want to hear it, so you lean forward and press your palm against his cheek, “You don’t speak unless spoken to, do you understand?”

He’s whimpering under your harsh touch, but the way his pupils dilate tells you that he’s enjoying it at least enough to test it out. You shove yourself backward, centered between his ass cheeks as your knees dig into the edge of the mattress. The tips of your fingernails run over the plush flesh of his backside, digging in to make him gasp and writhe beneath you.

Your heart hammers in your chest at seeing the up and coming Pro Hero wriggling like a frightened animal under your ministrations, and you’ve barely laid a hand on him yet. You run your knuckle up his spine, “Take your top off.”

The way he balances his head on the mattress and grapples with his shirt in an attempt to take it off is almost comical, so you crack a smile, thankful that he can’t see you. You lick your lips and drag your hand back down his back to rest at the base of his spine as he scrambles to take the shirt off, but he’s too flustered and it ends up bunched up around his neck and shoulders.

Finally, he gets so frustrated that he rips the fabric in half, shreds of thread falling against his skin and the sheets. You feel heat flood to your core, your spine white hot within your body, the tingles of heat spreading from the center of you outward until your fingertips and toes are blazing with fire.

You hum in appreciation at the sight of his rippling shoulders and trap muscles, his body shifting to dip back into the mattress, balancing all of his weight on his forearms as he leans forward. Your touch drifts from his shoulders to his obliques, the bumps of muscle corded beneath your digits. You watch as his body ripples with a shiver, every one of his muscles tensing as your fingers pad over his freckles, finding patches of darker skin to administer affection to.

It must be the pure anticipation that has his frame tense and quivering, the smallest of muscles twitching as you work your hands around his body. You settle your palms at his hips, flattening your hand against the expanse of skin at the center of his torso, “Baby, relax.”

You lean forward and kiss the dense smattering of freckles between his shoulder blades, “Now be a good little hero and take off your pants.”

The way you say it sends another wave of pleasure straight to his cock, the already throbbing organ about ready to bust from arousal and you haven’t even disrobed him yet.

Your feet pad against the carpet as you find your way to the edge of the bed, stripping out of your outerwear until you’re left in only a dark lace set, the filigree bringing out the beauty of your skin. Izuku goes dumb at the sight, turning his head just enough to get an eyeful of your chest area. His eyes about bug out of his head, wide and blown with lust as his tongue lolls over his lips, dripping a silvery string of drool onto the bed sheets.

“C’mon, Deku,” you force the word to come out in a patronizing tone, “strip for me.”

He swallows, his throat bobbing, but somehow manages to push through the aroused haze clouding his judgment to wriggle himself out of his tight-fitting hero suit. The bright green fabric is left in a pool on the floor, tattered clothes just the start of your destruction.

The head of his cock is bright red and there is a part of you that falters, wanting to beg him to take control and absolutely demolish your pussy with his harsh, controlling movements and his filthy mouth. It lasts but a moment, and yet he can still see it. There is a shift in his eyes, the way he considers you, and he leans forward to say something, but you’re grabbing him by the face, cheeks between your fingers, before he can speak.

“Roll over.”

Izuku does as told with little hesitation, flopping his shoulders around so his ass is once again in the air, primes and ready for your palm to lavish with spankings. Your breath shudders from your lungs and you lock your thighs in place by tensing them, centering yourself between his knees. The balls of his heels come into contact with your hips as he sways slightly, his mind dizzy from the promise of pleasure.

“How many?” you ask, your voice low and sultry, surprising even you with the depth of it.

A choking noise can be heard, but it’s muffled by the pillow. You chuckle, patting his ass prospectively, feeling the flesh ripple beneath your complacent prodding. Dipping forward, your chest falls flush with his back as you press feathery kisses over his midsection, finding the freckles like little gold pieces, adding each one to your treasure chest as you kiss it.

Izuku manages to spit out a number, something reasonable, and so you add a few more on top of it in your mind, smirking even though he cannot see you. You run the pads of your fingers down from the tops of his shoulders to the globes of his ass, the perky, round muscles making your stomach flip. You can’t wait to see the way his bruised ass mixed with the dark brown freckles of his skin – how beautiful the colors will be, how it might actually look more like a galaxy with shades of purple and blue as an accent to the brunette freckles dotting his skin like the night sky currently.

You reach your hands back and start to lay into him, counting the spankings in your head without keeping track of them aloud. You stop after you’re satisfied with his whimpering cries, his face buried deeper into the pillow with each endearing smack.

An errant thought crosses your mind and you can’t help but to dwell on it. If Izuku is already blubbering, how much farther can you take this before he’s crying into the pillow? The idea that you can bring one of the strongest men in the world to tears sets off a string of dynamite in your heart, the fuse triggering something akin to pride in your chest. You feel your whole body swell at the thought and you know that you must make it a reality tonight.

“How many was that?” you ask patronizingly, digging your nails into his ass to hear him squeak.

Your hands are already raw, burning at the feel of slapping his muscled backside repeatedly. Still, you knead your hands into him to elicit a pained whine. He writhes under you, his hands curling around the sheets until they’re beginning to rip under his tight grip.

“I-I dunno,” he blurts, a curt sob breaking his words. “I’m sorry!”

You chuckle and it comes out much darker than you originally intended. You release his ass, the thick of it jiggling as you let go. The pads of your fingers are gentle as you wash your touch over him, appreciating the way the redness of his freshly spanked cheeks brings out the deep color of his freckles, the splotches even more prevalent now that his body has been momentarily abused.

“Oh, you’re gonna be sorry, baby,” you kiss each of his ass cheeks, flicking your tongue out to tease the heated skin, “you better start counting.”

Just as you punctuate your sentence with a sigh, your hands begin to strike him repeatedly. You struggle to keep count, desperately wanting to listen to his moans and whimpers as he gasps, mewling with both pain and pleasure as you lay into his backside. Midoriya is already misty-eyed, the feel of your domineering touch just enough to bring him to a subservient headspace, his spirit wallowing in the pain that your hands are doling out.

You barely have time to stop before he’s blurting out the number that matches the one you’ve counted. You smirk, leaning forward so your nipples scrape against his skin, “Good job, baby.”

The heels of your palms are what is stinging the most, so you can only imagine how his ass feels. You have a momentary relapse in thought, wondering if maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, if maybe you’re going to push him to an edge he can’t come back from.

Although, when too much silence has passed and he is turning to gaze up at you over his shoulder, every inhibition you have flies directly out of the room through the crack in the door. His eyes are blitzed, lust making his pupils swallow the color of his irises, forehead crinkled in desperation as he attempts to form words to beg you back to him.

You rub at the pert skin, brushing your thumbs over the smattering of freckles on the roundest parts of his ass. Deku is whimpering beneath you, calf muscles fully flexed as he rocks back and forth in anticipation of your next slap.

“Such a good little hero,” you murmur, massaging your hands into his glute muscles. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Izuku whines, toes curling up beside your hips. He huffs but you can’t see his face to notice how fucked-out his eyes have become. You dig your fingernails into the flesh of his ass, and he preens, eyes bulging out of their sockets at the sudden stinging sensation.

You answer him with a resounding smack on his backside, making sure that your fingertips are curved just right, along with your palm, to make it sound much worse than it truly is, praying that you can manipulate his mind into believing that you’ve marked him for longer than a few moments.

The way the freckles on his skin trail from the top of his body to the bottom is nothing short of enticing. It brings about a certain innocence to him, something hidden that only you are allowed to know of. Your eyes can’t stop trying to put together a map of his body, begging to know just where the freckles begin and end. He is littered with them, his body darkening from time spent in the sun.

“P-Please,” his whole body is convulsing in pleasure. You can see his cock throbbing between his thighs and the mattress, his balls weighty with the impending excitement of his release. The bedsheet have a damp spot near the tip of his cock, most likely from his pre dripping at the sudden shakes of his body from your spankings, “I-I want more, Princess. Please!”

You smirk, hand hot from repeated spankings, “What’s your number?”

Deku pants, digging his nose into the mattress as if that might save him from having to answer. His hands are clamped around the sheets, nails threatening to rip into the thread count mercilessly, “I-I dunno, I don’t know!”

Your hand comes down over his ass repeatedly, unrelenting in your ministrations as you mark his backside bright red. You know that there will be little busted blood vessels to mix along with his freckled skin, purple lightning strikes that serve as a reminder to the way you broke down his resolve and conquered his body.

“P-Princess,” he whines, voice cracking in the midst of his sentence as he tries to beg for repentance, “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

You curve your fingernails into his skin, uncaring to the way his body fully tenses, dips and curves of muscle and sinew on full display as he lays completely bare against the mattress. You want to strew yourself across him to feel the ripples of his muscles as he tenses under your touch, to know the reactions of his body as they are happening firsthand. A chill tremors down your spine at the thought of him, all dense and thick beneath you, and how you have complete and utter control over him. You hold his pleasure in your hands, he’s entrusted himself to you in this very vulnerable situation, and the reality of it almost brings tears to your eyes.

Instead you focus your energy into snarling around your teeth, sneering his name like slander, “C’mon, Deku, be a good little bitch and tell me what you think you can handle.”

He is verbally silent, the only thing you can make out from his face smushed into the sheets is mewling whimpers to match the way his body quivers. You teasingly stroke your thumbnail over the blushed skin of his backside, bouncing your touch from freckle-to-freckle as you scrape your nails into him.

Another couple of seconds pass by before you snatch your hand from his ass so you can slap him again when he spurts out an answer, “Th-Thirty!”

“Fifty it is,” you chuff, digging your fingertips into his buttocks in a massaging motion, preparing him for the next round of spankings. He pants, rutting his hips forward into the mattress for some sort of friction against his throbbing erection, balls weighty with his release as they slap between his legs.

You tap his hip, letting him know that you want him to readjust himself. Izuku bends at the waist, seething as the bruised skin of his bottom stretches with the motion. You resituate yourself between his knees, ass directly in front of your face. A gentle kiss is pressed to either of his cheeks, eyelashes daintily brushing over his throbbing flesh, and he jolts his hips back into you until your teeth graze his skin.

“Eager little thing,” you tut your tongue, grabbing him harshly by the hips.

You selfishly want to mark him up, to remind the world that he belongs to you no matter how much of himself he gives away every other moment of his life. When the sun goes down, when the bright sky bleeds into the night, he comes home to you and the both of you fall asleep under the stars, wrapped in one another’s arms.

Izuku’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, sweat dripping down his spine as you press up into him, “Such a slut for me, huh, honey?”

The next time he backs into you, you pinch his ass between your fingers on one side and on the other cheek you bite down hard into his skin. Midoriya bucks forward at the sudden jolt of pain, only worsening the scratches left behind by your canines. He grinds his face into the mattress, pressing the mix of his tears and sweat into the sheets, begging for a cool release from the heat of his body as he searches for it in the mattress. You swear that he sobs into the pillow, begging you for something, but you can’t quite make out all of the syllables.

You line up behind him, your lower abdomen flush with his round, freckled bottom, “You ready, baby?”

“Princess, please,” his voice is hoarse now, all jagged around the edges as he begs you for more, “I-I want you to be rough with me, please? I wan’ you to mark me up.”

On command, your fingernails dig into the flesh at the curves of his shoulders, raking down the length of his back in one elongated swoop. He cries out, throwing his head back so his green curls brush the piques of his shoulders, and he grinds his hips back into you. You can’t help the low growl that claws at your throat as you trail your index finger down over the ghostly sight that your nails have left behind. He seethes through his teeth at the burning sensation lighting his back on fire, but he still does not complain.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you handled, okay?” Your hands find purchase on the curves of his obliques, fingernails burrowing into the taut skin of his abdomen, crescent moon patterns left in the wake of you. “I’m gonna make sure all the other heroes know who you belong to.”

Your name bubbles from his lips, a prayer he’s pushing to the heavens, blessing the stars with his babbling. In the midst of one of his mutterings, you begin your next round of pert spanks to his ass. You give him little reprieve, counting in your head as you go along.

He’s a blubbering mess, all mismatched syllables and grunts and moans tearing his throat apart until he’s crying for you to mark him as yours, to claim him in a way that leaves no question as to who he belongs to. The echoes of please, please, please bounce off every wall, a cacophony of sound making the hair on your neck stand erect.

When you finish, your hands are stinging profusely, but you make sure to soothe your palms over his bottom, the flesh bright red and angry. His freckles look even darker now that his skin has been accented with the beginnings of purple bruises and crimson handprints left behind. You coo, leaning forward to kiss the center of his back, pressing your body into him so you’re flush with every inch of him that you can find, “What do you say, pretty boy?”

When Midoriya turns to look at you over his shoulder, his eyes blissed-out so his pupils swallow his viridescent irises whole, he gargles the words, “thank you,” in a cracked whisper. You nod, trailing a row over kisses down the dip of his spine, nudging your nose over his muscled body, silently telling him to relax.

“You want more?” you ask him quietly, your hands digging into any surface of him that you can find to try and release some of the tension built up from the time spent together. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Please, Princess, please,” he’s blubbering out the words, thick and heavy with the emotion pent-up in his throat, “I just wan’ be good for you, whatever you want.”

You tilt your head, brows furrowing in playful contemplation, “Whatever I want, huh?”

He’s nodding ferociously, his chin knocking into his chest with his enthusiastic actions. You know part of it is to make up for the lack of words that he can’t force through his teeth, so you merely chuckle and give him one final spank to his backside, “Roll over then.”

The speed with which he fumbles into rolling over onto his back is comical. You watch as a flurry of limbs wind together only to come apart again when he’s on his back. Izuku is wincing, the glassiness in his eyes reminiscent of tears and he’s trying his hardest to come across like he’s not in pain, although you see the way that he favors putting more of his weight on his shoulders instead of his ass so he’s bent at an odd angle.

“Whatever you want,” he is gasping the words out, puffs of exaggerated but necessary breath forcing his cheeks to inflate. “I’m yours.”

The words make your whole body puff up, heat starting in your core and creating steam that rises from your esophagus to your brain. It becomes muddled and you’re hazy now, drunk off of the power that he has given you with those five words. You reach forward and slide your thumb against his piqued nipple, licking your lips as you think of what you’re going to do to him not that you have him to use however you please.

“All mine?” you ask, your voice grating against the front of your throat harshly. You hum, “What do you want me to do to you then, baby?”

He’s breathing heavily through his nose now, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath, “I w-want you to use me, please, Princess, want you to use my pathetic cock to make yourself feel good.”

You reach forward and guide his scarred hand towards your cunt, “Touch me.”

Izuku is eager to please, so he’s fumbling forward until his thumb finds your clit, ministrations errant and disastrous. It’s adorable, really, the enthusiasm with which he seeks you out only doing further service to your ego. You feel your head grow dizzier as your core turns with tumultuous heat. You know that you do not want to drag this out too far as you already can feel the twitch of an impending crest of pleasure building from within you.

His thick finger slides up into your heated core and it takes all of your self-restraint to keep your moans between your teeth, holding the sounds captive like they might tell all of your secrets if you let them loose. You bite your lip, sucking the skin into the bite of your teeth, tilting your head back so you can close your eyes and enjoy the pleasure as it comes.

“Maybe if you touch me just right, I’ll let you feel my pussy on your cock, huh?” You have to face him, have to see his reaction, “How does that sound?”

Midoriya is bobbing his head, agreeing to whatever words you’re speaking, he can’t quite make out any one syllable with the way his brain is drowning with the sight of you straddling him. He’s not sure what it is about you, but he absolutely adores the idea of you holding your own against him, wrapping your body around him and denying him of whatever control he normally possesses.

And maybe that is what gets you wet too, because you know that he could fling you off of him with a simple flick of his wrist, and yet here he is, letting you demolish every last shred of his self-respect.

You can’t help it, with the way he’s already beginning to drool and the sight of his eyes drinking in your semi-naked body, you have to feel the soft heat of his mouth around your fingers. It is too quick, the way you jolt forward and press the pads of your digits against his soft mouth. He moans, realizing just what you’re trying to do because he’s done it countless times himself, and opens his mouth wide.

Your fingers slip inside the seeping heat of his tongue and cheeks, the muscle lapping at your digits until they’re soaked and knuckle deep. You lean down so you are but inches from his face, the squelching sounds that your pussy and his mouth make together doing little to still the erection pressed against your ass from behind and the absolute waterfall between your thighs.

Every muscle in your body is screaming at you to sink down on top of his twitching cock and let him have his way with you, to rock yourself along his length until you’re both finding that beautiful high together. But you know that if you wait, if you drag this out and force him to bend to your will, then it will bring you both to your knees.

“So pretty with my fingers in your mouth, Izu,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth.

He attempts feebly to kiss you, turning his head, but your fingers catch on the corners of his lips and stretch the pink skin until it is pale. Your eyes flicker toward the bow of his mouth where a thin, white scar resides. You remember seeing this one when you first kissed him, and the memory of it makes you nostalgic, the years you’ve spent together built up much like his scars.

You lick a warm stripe up the column of his neck, feeling the muscles and veins throb underneath your ministrations. The heat of your breath combined with the slick of your spit makes Deku’s hips jut upward, his balls slapping loudly against your ass as he ruts into you painfully.

“Did I say you could move?” You are leant back now, your fingers still in his mouth but otherwise you are parted from him. Deku’s face pales, eyes widening in fear as he shakes his head, apologies tumbling in tandem with his spit from his lips, drool seeping down his chin until it is shiny.

The heel of your palm comes underneath his chin, so you have your hand wrapped around the lower part of his mouth, controlling his head with the simple turn of your wrist. You tilt his head upward so he can no longer see you, and pick up your hips to reposition yourself so you are hovering above him, just enough so you can start to tease the head of his cock against your slick slit.

He’s whimpering, “Please, Princess. I wanna touch you so bad, please, I wanna make you feel good.”

You let him beg for you, pumping your hand up and down his cock while you brush the angry red head over the gathering silver slick at your entrance.  You chuckle as his hips shuffle in the slightest, his discomfort obvious as he is practically vibrating with the desire to take over.

“What is it, baby? Eager?” You sink yourself down far enough to take the head of his cock within your walls, clamping down hard enough to make him whine. “I can’t wait to fuck myself on this pathetic little cock, Izu. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll have to call in sick tomorrow.”

Another round of blathering drivel is boasted into the air, his words muffled by your fingers, but he still forces them out, nonetheless. His tongue continues to curl around your knuckles and lavish the pads of your digits, sucking on them in between heaving breaths. You let a small moan shake your throat, rolling your hips forward to take another bit of his dick but not all of it, not yet. The enjoyment you’re getting from his stuttering whimpers and moans only heightening your senses and arousal.

“Princess, please, I-I think I’m gonna-” An aborted rut of his hips dies when you rake your nails down the entirety of his chest. Your fingers catch on the rigid edges of some of his scars, but otherwise you turn lines of his tanned flesh red from your scratching.

Izuku whimpers, his body arching upward as he tries to take it all in stride. In doing so, he sheathes his cock completely within you, the base of his shaft now flush with your lips. You cry out at the sudden stretch, throwing your head back in pleasure as a wave of white-hot arousal makes your thighs glossy with a new wash of slick.

When you come to, you lean forward to place a palm on either side of his head, holding yourself up so you are loitering over him like a shadow, praying that you are as every bit as menacing as you’re attempting to be. You grit your teeth and roll your hips several times, unbending to even his hands on your body, relentlessly fucking his cock until he’s screaming for you to stop.

“C’mon, little hero, I thought you’d be better than this,” you take his earlobe between your teeth and tug, “I thought you’d have more will power. You’ll never be number one if you can’t even last this long beneath me.”

Izuku shakes his head, “I-I can, I can do it, I-I promise. Please, just let-”

“I don’t think you understand,” your voice is low, menacing as you nudge your nose against the bridge of his face, nuzzling the freckled skin. The intimate act is far more tender than your tone, and it gives Izuku chills that you can display such dual sides of yourself simultaneously. “I’m not letting you do anything.”

His eyes go wide as he realizes that there is nothing that he can do to change your mind, at least not in this setting. Deku’s hands still on your hips, his thumbs rubbing circular motions into your skin in a way that seems to be grounding him as much as it is stimulating you. You press a chaste kiss to his mouth before beginning to snap your hips upward and then back down onto his cock, clamping your walls around him when you feel the head of him press into that spongy spot hidden all the way in the back of your core.

You kiss all over his neck, finding clumps of freckles and stranded singular ones, lavishing the same amount of affection over each of them. Your mouth finds scars, both tiny, hairline fractures in the marble of his skin, as well as large, patchy ones that mar large splotches of his skin.

Even in these moments when you are the one doling out commands, you still find ways to appreciate his body. Your touch roams along the dips and contours of his torso, the rough ridges of your fingerprints searching for the matching ragged lines on his skin. You sigh into his throat and he slips a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, begging for you to come undone around his cock, praying that you’ll let him please you.

One of your hands wraps around his throat until you hear him choke, and then you speed up the pace of your hips until he’s begging through wheezes for you to relent. You lean back and he hikes up his legs so you can rest against his thighs, your body on full display in front of him. His eyes do not know where to land and neither do yours as you map out the various textures and colors of his skin – from the pale lightning strikes of his scars to the darker scattered splotches of freckles.

Izuku Midoriya is a vessel for the travesties of the world.

But you will spend the rest of your life trying to make up for its mistakes.

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One day it slips.

You don’t think much of it, because in the heat of the moment, with him buried at the hilt and you crying for release, the words don’t stick out very starkly against the other filth spewing from either of your mouths.

“Gonna stuff that pretty pussy full of my come, baby,” he bites your earlobe as he ruts into you mercilessly, “You’re gonna be so round and full of me.”

At the time, you thought he meant that you would be full of his cock and come, but after he starts to show particular attention to your stomach during sex, you wonder if there’s something else going on.

When he has you beneath him the next time, you drag his palm to your belly and look him in the eyes, “I want you.”

His freckles burn beneath his blush, much starker against his tanned skin thanks to the flush of warmth. Izuku tilts his head, the dark curls framing his forehead bobbing with the motion, “You have me, baby.”

You shake your head and whine at the lack of contact once he’s stilled. You bite your lip and push the heel of his palm into the gentle swell of your belly beneath your navel. He swallows, gulping so hard that his throat bobs. You lick your lips and take a short breath as he shifts above you, his knees digging into the mattress on either side of your body.

“I want you to come in me,” you murmur, tugging him downward with the gentle grip of your hand on his neck. You kiss him square on the mouth and his fingers reach to find your folds, middle and index finger parting you so they can slip inside to curl against your heat. You whine, the sound amplified as his tongue searches your teeth, “P-Please, Izu.”

Midoriya’s fingers thrust forward in you so intensely that he can feel his fingertips bulging your belly with the palm that’s pressed against your navel. His eyes widen at the sensation and it only spurs him into kissing you more fervently, teeth and tongue clashing as he tries to overwhelm every sense you possess.

You protest as he pulls his fingers from you, your eyes screwed shut as you whine. He tuts his tongue against his teeth, nudging his nose along the curve of your jaw as he places biting kisses along the bone, “Hush. Do you really think I won’t give you what you need?”

The authoritative tone in his voice brings you to silence, eyelids fluttering open so you can look him in the eyes as he leans back to balance himself on his thick thighs. Your touch is pulled from him as he goes further away, your fingers aching in midair for something to ground yourself with. Otherwise you just feel like you’re going to float away, your mind hazy with the effervescent bubbles of euphoria that travel up from your throat.

Before you have another moment to keen at the loss of his heat, he’s piercing your pussy with the head of his cock, butterflying your lips wide open so he can rut up into you with ease. The combination of his bubbling pre-come and your already slick arousal dripping from your cunt make the slam of his hips easier to take, easier to beg for.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” Izuku coos in your ear, dropping his head to your shoulder to suck on the skin of your collarbone.

The jut of his cockhead into your core makes it difficult to think, let alone form fully coherent sentences. Izuku seems to relish in this, though, because he does not slow the drag of his cock or the flow of his words. He continues to goad you into begging for his release, for what you truly want, and it’s maddening. Your eyes cross beneath your lids at the overstimulation of it all until you’re blurting out the first thing on your mind.

“I wan’ you to breed me, Daddy!”

Izuku falters for a moment at the brashness of your words, but you barely have time to feel bashful before he’s rolling his hips again, growling near your ear with a ferocity you’ve never felt from him before.

“That’s my good girl,” he mutters while trailing his lips down to your breast. He lavishes your nipple with the rough pad of his tongue, lapping over the skin carefully so you’re begging him for more. “How am I supposed to breed you, honey? Tell me.”

The patronizing tone of his voice tells you that he knows exactly what you want, but he would rather hear the request coming in the form of panting words and wanton moans from your lips. You sniffle, your eyes watering at the bruising pace he’s setting. His hands drift down the tops of your thighs, thumbs brushing against the innermost part where your skin is the most sensitive. Your cunt clamps down around him, fluttering at the ghostly feel of his tantalizing touch.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unable to think of something to say to fill the void. You bite your lip as his mouth works at your chest, tonguing your nipple before biting at the mound of skin to drive a yelp from your lips. “I want you to c-come in me, Daddy! I want you to stuff me full o-of your come, please!”

He pouts around your nipple, leaving the small space he’s just sucked a hickey into in favor of your pert bud, “I already come in you, baby girl, what do you really want me to do?”

You bite your lip and fist the sheets at your sides when you feel frustration and embarrassment wash over you. Izuku nudges his nose along the swell of your chest before leaning up to kiss your chin, hovering like a menacing shadow. His smile does little to quell the bubbling intensity in your belly.

“You can do it, sweetheart,” he’s gentler now, breaking his more dominating side so he can reassure you, “I know you can. Just tell me what you want.”

The shining in his irises makes your knees weak but bolsters your spine to force you into uttering the next words, no matter how uncomfortable they might sit in your belly. You take a breath and look up into his eyes, “I want you to put a baby in me, Izu.”

“Good girl,” he manages to muster out the words with restraining the growl that aches at the back of his throat.

His hips cant forward, fingertips now just under your knees. Your breath comes in shaking pants, your chest shuddering under your confession. Izuku kisses your cheek and then your nose, positioning his hands while he has you distracted. His mouth ascends down upon your own as his fingers dip into the supple skin and muscle of your thighs, bruising the underside with the ghost of his fingerprints as he pushes your knees back until they’re almost touching your chest or the mattress.

You gulp in pain as his cock stretches you out in a whole new way with your body flayed out like this. You look like a butterfly, your wings spread so he can smother you with his movements. Deku licks at the seam of your lips and you gasp, your mouth parting so he can delve his tongue inside. Your whole body shakes at the intensity of his thrusts, your irises swallowed whole by your pupils as they dilate at the feel of your cunt trying and failing to clamp around his cock to keep him still so you can adjust.

“Say it again,” Deku encourages you, his voice breathless as he ruts you into the mattress.

Your shoulders and the curve of your ass are pressed so deep into the cushion that you swear you might fall through to the floor. You curl your toes and try to angle your hips forward to no avail. He has you fully enraptured in the way he wants, his body practically controlling the movements you’re allowed to make with how he’s pressed and holding onto every part of you.

“I-I want you to put a baby in me, Izuku,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

A pert slap lands on the outside of your thigh and you whimper at the thought you’ve done something wrong. Your eyes water and you look up at him, emerald irises glowering down at you with a mix of primal need and control.

His voice is nothing short of a growl when he commands, “Who am I?”

Your eyes go wide, forehead creasing at the realization of your slip up. You can’t form the words fast enough, scrambling within your subservient brain to find the right phrase. You bite your lip as his hips still upon your silence, practically begging him with your body to keep going.

The echo of another smacking of his palm against your leg resounds in the room, sending a shudder down your spine. A new wave of arousal coats his cock from where he’s buried within you. He smirks, “Such a sloppy pussy, baby girl. You’re so filthy, getting off on me smacking you around.”

He leans close into you, removing one hand from your thigh to frame your face, his thumb dug into the soft flesh beneath your chin so he can force you to look into his eyes. “Now, I’ll say it again, who am I?”

You gulp, your lower lip trembling at the sight of him, and your voice cracks when you speak, “D-Daddy, I-I’m sorry.”

Izuku kisses your bottom lip before showing the same affection to the top. His gentle ministrations are rather contrasting to the way your hips sting with the memory of his spankings. You blink slowly, taking him in from this close angle.

He’s so pretty, you know this even though your mind is hazy with subservient want. His freckles and scars stand out so pertly against his skin, showing you a roadmap to someplace you know you’ll get to someday. You reach up to frame his face with one hand, thumb brushing over the speckled spots along the bridge of his nose and cheek, marveling at the sight of his beauty.

Deku turns his face to kiss your wrist, “What’re you thinking?”

“You’re pretty,” you blurt, voice almost childish in the way you say it with such wonder.

The phrase stills his nose against your palm, his breath hot as it rolls down your wrist and forearm. You feel your pulse beat harshly within your veins at the change in temperature, emotion swelling in your throat until your neck bobs as you try to swallow it.

It’s not the stereotypical compliment that he might receive, however that does not change its weight. Izuku takes a short breath before he begins to kiss down the length of your arm, nuzzling your elbow once he’s pressed there. He looks up into your eyes and the absolute adoration that is settled into your irises, bejeweling them until he is wondering if they might actually be gems, gives him the effervescent sensation all over again.

Pretty.

The word plays on loop in his mind, until he has dissected all six letters of it down to their very essence. The combination of your tone and expression as you admit what’s truly on your mind causes his heart to tear into his rib cage with the speed at which it beats. He breathes in short, heaving gasps, the warmth of his breath spilling over your chest, nipples pebbling beneath him.

If you were to try and pin down his appearance, you might say it were bashful. You have seen several sides to Izuku, but the bright red tinge on his cheeks, creeping up his neck until his ears are burnt with the color, makes him seem much younger, much more innocent. It’s hardly innocent, the way that he’s bludgeoning your cunt with his cock, but you take this moment to remove yourself from that fact entirely, instead focusing on the wobble of his chin and the mist in his eyes.

In addition to the shyness, you also see doubt, conflict.

You push your fingers into the hair behind his ear, beckoning him closer so you can appreciate him closer. Your opposite hand presses against his cheek, the scar that runs along his jaw ragged under your touch. Midoriya’s lips part, the tip of his tongue hidden just behind his teeth.

“Pretty,” he echoes the word, unintentionally, you believe, by the way his face screws up once he realizes he’s said it aloud. Midoriya reels back from you, sitting back on his thighs, the tip of his cock twitching from within your core.

Your face goes bright red at the admission, your hand falling away from his face in shame. You gulp, readying yourself for another smack to your leg in admonishment at your confession. You wince, hiding yourself as best you can with him looking down at you in such an intimidating way by turning your face into the pillow, closing your eyes.

The wait feels like forever, as if he’s going to edge you with anticipation until you’ve gone blue in the face from holding your own breath. He surprises you with a gentle laugh parting his lips, screwing his eyes shut.

You take a chance and open your eyes, blinking slowly so you aren’t shocked at the expression on his face if it contrasts the giggle that sets off another round of arousal between your thighs. You lick your lips and bare your soul when you ask, “Y-You’re laughing?”

“You’re so cute, baby,” Izuku kisses your nose, his grip resetting to your thigh.

The bruising hold he has on you reminds you that even though he might come across as twinkling eyes and a mop of curls, he is the strongest hero alive, and he could crush you like a bug if he truly desired.

He tilts his head, “I think you’re pretty too.”

“Y-You’re not mad?”

Izuku furrows his brow and leans back so he can study your face in its entirety, “No, Princess, I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”

“I-I just ruined the mood by calling you pretty,” you have the urge to ask him to put his fingers in your mouth just to get you to be quiet. Anything to staunch the flow of these ­superfluous words that won’t stop tumbling from your lips.

His thumb brushes along the curve of your jaw until his fingertip is pressuring your lip to stay open so he can study your teeth and gums, “Nah, you didn’t ruin the mood. Answer me this – who do you belong to?”

Instantly your thighs try to clamp together, knees wobbling at the statement and the firmness in his tone when he says it. You swallow, eyes blown wide, your tongue suddenly becoming very heavy in your own mouth. You want to whine, to cant forward and take as much of him as you can but he has you held still with a palm in the center of your chest, pinning you to the mattress as he waits for his answer.

Your hand covers his own, fingers slipping between his palm and knuckles so you can anchor yourself to him, even in this moment. Your middle and index fingers swipe back and forth over the back of his hand, finding the familiar triangular scars and tracing over them with purpose. They ground you, somehow, when your mind starts to flutter off into this subservient space and you can’t feel anything from your knees down.

“Y-You,” you manage to stutter, thighs wobbling with the stress of pinning him between your knees. Your eyelids prick with tears from the embarrassment you felt earlier, and Izuku tuts his tongue against his teeth, “Why’re you crying, pretty girl?”

You shake your head and he kneels forward to kiss you on the lips, chastely, “Or should I give you something to cry about?”

Before you can answer, he simultaneously lands a harsh slap to the inside of your thigh with one hand while pinning your neck to the pillow with the other, applying enough pressure that you wheeze. Izuku smirks down at you, watching as tears well up in your eyes and cause them to look like glassy marbles. He trails his fingertip along the inside of your thigh, your entire body quivering with the anticipation of when he will strike next.

His cock twitches within you and the movement makes your muscles jolt. Your hand smacks against his thigh as you dig your fingertips into the dense sinew. You breathe in heavily, your chest expanding, “Daddy, please.”

Izuku begins to rock back and forth slowly, dragging his cock salaciously along your inner walls, the veins and curves of his cock making your cunt flutter around his girth. You whine at the slow pace, your palms studying his skin as a distraction to keep your dirty mouth satiated. You want to beg him to go faster, to give you more friction, something, but you know better than to ask him for anything in this moment.

“If I’m Daddy,” he muses in your ear, his breath a hot wave of desire as it rolls down your neck to splay out at your shoulder, “then it’s only fair that we give you a name too, right, Princess?”

The suggestion he’s making sends a shiver down your spine and you clamp down on his cock as he slips all the way into you, the base of him flush with your lips. You grapple onto him for fear that he might pull out of you again, but you want him to be fully sheathed in you when he snarls out his next words.

In digging your nails into his skin, you find a new scar on his shoulder that you hadn’t noticed before. It is thin, just slight enough that it slipped from your radar. It is a single ridge of skin running from the back of his shoulder to his collarbone, streaking his skin with a pink color in contrast to his normally tan color. Your middle and index fingers focus on it, mapping out each bump like your life depends on it.

As his body tilts forward, your eyes catch along a patch of intense freckles at the tops of his shoulders, where the sun shines most concentrated. Your exhale, eyelids fluttering as you feel his weight press down into you the closer he comes. The palm of your hand travels to this smattering of freckles, digging into his muscles in a massaging way as you force your touch downward. Izuku’s breath hitches as you circle the pad of your middle finger tenderly over the flesh, eyelids snapping open so he can look down at you in something akin to shock.

He melts into your touch when your ankle digs into the dimples at the base of his back, yet another scar providing friction against your skin. You whimper as his hips buck forward on instinct alone, the pressure of your body pulling him forward.

Midoriya nudges his nose sweetly along the column of your throat, open-mouthed kisses placed against your main vein that leads him to your heart. He breathes slowly over your chest, nipping at the skin closest to your nipple, but far enough away that he won’t hurt you if he bites down too hard.

“Mm,” he hums as he dips his head further, curling his spine so he can kiss the top of your belly, above your navel. His palm pushes into the supple skin, thumb drifting over where your uterus sits beneath your skin, “I can’t wait to fuck you ‘till you’re full of me, Princess. Isn’t that what you want?”

You’re begging him silently with ferocious nods, dipping the pads of your fingers into his shoulder blades to pull him closer once more so he can rut into you with his strong hips. You feel the head of his cock brush against you from the inside, and that along with the added pressure of his palm pushing into you, makes you keen loudly, a whine rippling through your lungs.

At that sound, Izuku loses any and all control he might have had on his body before, one of his hands now holding your thigh up so he can dominate you from above, your ass not even flat against the mattress anymore. It’s a good reprieve from the suffocating heat beneath your back, but the only thing you can truly focus on is the way that his hips drive into you in midair, his knees bolstering him forward to fuck into you relentlessly.

“You’ll be so fuckin’ pretty with my come dripping out of this sloppy pussy,” Izuku’s voice is slurred with pleasure, his eyes closed as he ruts into you from above. You whine, your chin ducked into your chest at this angle, but it doesn’t matter that it’s slightly uncomfortable; the only thing you can pay attention to is the way he fills you up, stretching your pussy with his thick cock.

Pulling almost all the way out only to slam into you again makes your cunt clench when he’s fully sheathed to try and keep him captive. He’s too strong, though, and he pulls away easily, the added tension only providing the both of you with further pleasure. You both whine, Izuku’s head dropping so you can no longer see his eyes, forehead covered completely by dark curls caked with sweat and sticking to his skin.

Deku licks his lips and you watch as he tilts his head to gaze down at you, the primal need to see you full giving his eyes a deeper color, a green so dark it’s almost black. The sight of him so overcome with arousal makes your stomach turn, a fresh wave of heat coating your inner walls and slipping down his cock in the form of silvery slick.

He pants, his jaw hung open, “You want me to fill you up? Come in you over and over until you can’t take it anymore, until your pretty belly is bulging with my come?”

You don’t have the chance to respond when he bottoms out within you, stretching you out even further as his cock spasms with desire. It’s like he’s growing within you even more so now that he’s imagining your tummy swollen from his come. Your jaw hangs open even as you throw your head back, your hands flying to the comforter to snag what you can beneath your fingernails.

Izuku does not waste the sight of your neck, bare and open, practically begging for him to claim as his canvas. With his next stroke he is careening forward to latch his tongue and teeth onto the sensitive skin, your jugular pulsing beneath his mouth. Your hand flies upward to tug at the wild curls near the back of his scalp, your thighs held in place by his hips as he continues into you at a steady pace.

“I can’t wait to put a baby in you, Princess,” Izuku is panting in your ear now, the lewd sounds of his hips bucking into yours the only other sound you can make out. Your shoulders shudder underneath his weight but he is holding you like an anchor, so you know that you are safe in his embrace. You turn your head, so your cheek is pressing into his, leeching the heat from his skin until your own flesh is burning.

“Fuck,” Deku laps at your throat aimlessly, as if he can’t quite get where he wants, but he doesn’t know what else to do, “Gonna fill you up every time I get the chance, breed you until you’re begging for me to stop. Pump that pretty pussy full of my come until you can’t walk straight.”

Your cunt spasms around his cock and he knows that means you’re close to coming. He’s pushed off his own release in favor of coming in tandem with you, so he starts to pump into you faster, drifting a hand down to your clit to try and stimulate you closer to the precipice of pleasure. You’re whining, nails dragging against his biceps unforgivingly, “Daddy, c’mon, I want you to come in me. Please, won’t you come in me? Fuck me full of your come, please!”

The entirety of your mouth is sandpaper dry with your insistent begging. You lick your lips at the feel of his cock spasming within your core, the tip of him brushing against your cervix in a bruising manner. “I-I wanna make you a Daddy for real, please, won’t you put a baby in me?”

A feral growl parts his lips at your request, and your body clenches from head to toe at the sound. You can’t breathe, your entire being is suffocated by the essence of him – body, mind, soul. He is everything and it covers you like a hot blanket, searing into your skin until you’re branded for him.

“You want this load?” he asks breathlessly. “Want me to breed you up good?”

He is barely able to look at you when you whimper out your response. Goosebumps cover the expanse of his body as he thinks about what you’d look like, swollen with the imminent promise of his baby growing in you. Something digs into him at the base of his spine, something that makes him ache with the need to see you waddling around, unable to see your ankles as you rest your palm on the top of your tummy. Izuku squeezes his eyes shut so he can listen to your wanton desperation, sweat making the two of you stick together at every juncture.

Deku grunts one last time before all his resolve floods from his body, “Here you go, Princess, don’t waste it.”

The angle he has your body in, folded up like a pretzel, would usually make it hard for you to waste any of it, but the sheer amount of come being pumped into you makes you nervous. You feel the familiar seeping of his seed from your cunt and you reach down to try and sop it up, but Izuku beats you to it. He uses his thumb to collect the milky fluid, rubbing it over your clit to use as lubricant as his dick continues to pump the rest of his load into your abused hole.

“Good girl,” he whispers absentmindedly as he fucks you through his aftershocks, the pad of his thumb driving you crazy as you squirm beneath him. Izuku can tell by the sheer force with which you’re clamped down on him that you’re chasing your own high, your eyes squinted closed so you can focus on orgasming until you’ve coated his cock with your arousal.

Izuku fights through the bliss that’s clouding his mind to lean down and kiss over your face, “C’mon, Princess, come for me.”

When your eyes split open, the first thing you notice is the scar that cuts from his hairline down over his eyebrow, separating the tail of his brow from the base. You reach up to brush your fingertip over it, your heels dug into the curve of his ass to bring yourself closer to him, if that were at all possible. Your mouth hangs open as your thumb maps out the scar, ragged flesh the very opposite of the remaining smooth plane of his body.

“I love you,” you whisper, silent silver tears leaking from your eyes as the combination of all of your senses being stimulated pushes you over the crest, drowning you in the waves of pleasure he creates by rocking into you.

It has taken years for Izuku to understand that you paying attention to the jagged parts of his body does not mean that you would not love him if he were any less broken.

Your vision passes over each inch of his body, taking inventory of the markings on his body – freckles, blemishes, scars – as if they might have changed since the last time you looked. Your hands roam over his shoulders, finding the pale scars and dipping your fingertips against them to feel the ridges against the rough pad of your digits.

Midoriya melds his mouth against yours, lost in the taste of you as his cock spasms within your tight heat. Your entire bodies are coated in a mixture of tears and sweat and slick, but you don’t care as he lowers himself down on top of you until you’re flush with one another from shoulder to ankle.

His tongue is mapping the curvatures of your teeth when he responds in kind, “I love you, too.”

He slows once he realizes you’ve both been milked of whatever else you might have left to give. Your body is gently placed back down on the bed, hot sweat sticking to the cooled sheets. Izuku kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, lavishing each inch with the utmost affection, it could make you cry.

Your hands work through his hair, curls falling silkily between your knuckles. You lean forward and kiss the spot on his forehead where his brows are furrowed. At the feel of your affections, his expression softens and the creases on his skin soften into nothing but fine lines. Izuku smiles up at you, nuzzling your cheek, “You did so good, baby, you’re always such a good girl for me.”

“Mhm, you make it easy,” you croon into the shell of his ear as he tilts himself forward, still buried in you even as his cock goes soft. You tilt your head, curling a finger around a lock of his hair, “W-Were you serious?”

Izuku catches a glint of the diamond on your left hand, a proud grin bringing out his dimples, “You’ll know in, what, four weeks?”

The whole thing is too exciting, and you know that even though you’re still on contraceptives, it could happen. He doesn’t move to correct himself, instead waiting on your answer.

“F-Four weeks,” you nod, your tongue sitting heavy and dry in between your teeth.

Midoriya catches your hesitation, “We won’t change anything, except how many times a day I bury my cock into that pretty little pussy of yours. We’ll see if I can beat out the statistics on your medication.”

You know he’s talking about the one-in-whatever chance that your birth control doesn’t work, but the way he says it drags shivers up your spine. You curl both hands into his hair and swallow the thick emotion pent up in your throat, “You meant what you said?”

“Four weeks,” he echoes as if it should be an answer. Izuku knows better than to have a permanent conversation with you when your eyes are still glassy like this, your mind still submerged in that headspace he puts you in when the two of you fuck this way, rough and merciless. All he can do now is remember to talk to you about this once you’re both calm and rational.

Your eyes fill with a fresh set of tears and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to the base of your throat, “I’m gonna fill you up with so much come, baby. We might have to get you a plug.”

You tighten every orifice of your body, fingers dug deeper into the muscle of his shoulders. Your thumb catches on the curve of one of his particularly deep scars, slicing into him like veins on a marble slab. In your heightened state, it’s easy to feel like you’re floating in midair and might never come down, but the tactile reminder of his body beneath your fingertips gives you that anchor that you need to keep yourself from drifting too far.

Methodically, you drift the pads of your digits back and forth, a melody playing in your head that you play out against his body. The rigidity of his form, strong and barring as he loiters over you, only adds to the calm that you feel wash over your frame, settling into your bones like stardust. You feel lightheaded, but in a giddy way, the warmth of Midoriya’s body just as soothing as the patterns you’re marking into his body.

Two tears drip over the edges of your eyes and you look up at him, bringing a thumb up to brush his hair out of his eyes, “I-I wanna make you a Daddy. For real.”

You think back to the day you first met – how he stole your heart with one simple look. He has always been it for you, that you now realize. From the first syllable to now, he has reigned you in, held you beneath his thumb in such a captivating way that you don’t ever want to escape.

You want to give back to him what the world never could – a little hero of his own.

It’s a blank slate, a place to start anew. Something that the burdens of Izuku’s past can never bury under layers of scar tissue and regret. The giddiness that makes your heartbeat in a frenzy only gives you more confidence to reach forward and wrap yourself around him like an animal begging for comfort. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, “You deserve this, Izu, you deserve to be happy.”

“Hey,” he calls down to you, upturning your face with the gentle pressure of his thumb underneath your chin, “I am happy, here with you.”

Your face grows hot at his confession, and you wonder if you misconstrued your words. You swallow, rolling your hips upward to reconnect your bodies at the waist, trying to convey that you can give him so much more, that you’re offering up your body to be a martyr. Your eyes water as you link your hands around his neck, thumbing at the crest of his undercut.

“Please,” you whisper, voice broken but beautiful as your single syllable speaks volumes even in the quiet of your shared bedroom.

There is a growl that erupts in his throat and he lunges forward, sucking and licking at your neck. You whimper, falling slack in his touch as you try to keep yourself anchored to him with biting, blunt fingernails. Your jaw hangs open just enough that he can see the pink of your tongue if he leans far enough back.

As Deku reclaims your mouth in his own, the primal thing burning deep in his belly spurring his cock to go for round two, he can’t help but think to himself that he’s going to make you a momma, no matter how hard he has to try, or how long it takes.

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“Why are you so enamored by them?”

You still your hand over his bare chest, your index finger tracing the ridge of one of his biggest scars – a rippling cut straight through his pectoral, the tip of it disappearing in the curve of his muscles as they meet in the middle.

When you don’t answer, Izuku swallows the lump in his throat and sits up a little straighter, leaning his shoulders back against the headboard. He looks down his nose at you, shallow breaths making his chest inflate quickly, “I guess I just don’t understand what could be so fascinating about them. Why do you like to touch them all the time?”

You turn so you are strewn across his abdomen, your chin rested in the seam of his pectorals as you look up at him, “I guess they make me feel things.”

“F-Feel things?” Izuku’s face scrunches up in confusion, the wrinkles of his nose making you smile.

Tenderly, you brush your thumb over the creases of his forehead until he relaxes, and then you start mapping out the scarred lines on his face and taking inventory of his freckled cheeks. You sigh, chewing on your lower lip, “It depends on what’s going on, but when I look at you, I feel any plethora of things – sadness, joy, horniness…”

“My scars make you horny?”

You let out a laugh and drop your forehead down and bury it in his chest to hide the blush on your cheeks. Your palm falls from his face to his collarbone, gripping his shoulder as best you can. Midoriya joins you in laughter, tucking his nose into the crown of your head so he can plant kisses into your hair. He is always so soft and kind with you, especially in these moments after you’ve been conjoined by the hips for hours on end, your heart beating in time with his as you lay pressed flush against one another. There are moments when you are a cage of limbs and you do not know where he ends and you begin, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Seeing you all roughed up just does something to me, I dunno!” You tilt your head back so you can look him in the eye, “I like knowing that you can handle yourself, and each scar has a story and we’ve been together for years and I still don’t think I’ve heard them all.”

It looks like there is something on his mind, with the way his face tenses up as soon as you stop laughing together. You rub your ankle against his calf and force him to look you in the eyes with a gentle nudging of your knuckle against his jawline, “Hey, what’re you thinking?”

Izuku is not normally speechless or lacking in things to say. In fact, more often than not, you have to gently place your hand on his shoulder to remind him that everyone can hear his loud mutterings, or that sometimes there are more appropriate times to speak your mind. This time, his tongue lolls around within his cheeks as he tries to come up with the right thing to say.  The pattering of your heart grows faster the longer he is silenced, your pulse thudding like thunder in your ears as you anticipate what could possibly be plaguing his mind at a time like this.

Your thumb brushes against a scar near his ear and he circles his fingers around your wrist, “Would you still love me if I didn’t have them? If my skin was perfect, like Kacchan or Todoroki?”

“First of all, Todoroki has a big ass scar on his face, so jot that down,” you tease, pushing yourself up to kiss him square on the lips. You pull away from him but not entirely, still brushing your nose along the bridge of his cheeks, “And Bakugou has a stupid quirk that gives him great skin, so he’s an awful example.”

Midoriya rolls his eyes and shoves your hand away from his face, sitting up even further so you fall away from him, curling yourself into the sheets. His countenance looks overly contemplative, and it’s beginning to worry you. You sit up in the bed, grabbing his shirt off the nightstand to cover yourself with, tossing it over your head with ease. The fabric pools at your waist but it smells intoxicating, just like him, his warmth from earlier in the night somehow still sticking to the fabric to provide you comfort.

“You know what I mean,” he grits his teeth, unable to look at you as he poses the question, “I-I just…I wonder if you love them more than you love me, sometimes, is all.”

It does not take long for you to redirect his attention back to you, turning his face with a rough yank of your wrist. You look him in the eyes, and he is but a broken little boy in this moment, begging for you to piece him back together.

The thought that he is nothing more than patchwork put back together by the scars on his body makes you feel hollow inside. How can a man who has given up so much feel like so small in a moment of pure reflection? Does he not see all the good he brings to the world, and yet how little it ever dares to give back to him?

“Izuku Midoriya,” your voice is stern, and you watch as he bolsters his spine as if he were talking to a Pro Hero, “I would love you if your whole body was covered in scars or if you had perfect skin. Why would you say something like that?”

Before he can give you some long-winded answer, you throw a leg across his lap so you’re straddling him and he has nowhere to run to, nowhere to divert his attention. Your palms are on his face, cupping his cheeks and making sure to look him dead in the eyes as you give him a dose of the truth. Still, you fear your words may not be enough to satiate his wounded pride, his blistered ego.

“When I look at you, I see how much the universe has stolen from you, how much of your body the world has taken, and how everyone else just takes you for granted.” Your voice grows heavier with each word, the threat of tears sitting in your eyelids, making your face warm. “I see a man who, time and time again, gives everything up to save the world, and all it does in return is take.”

You intake a short breath, trying to calm yourself because this is his moment to ache until his heart feels like it might burst out of his chest. Now it is your job to soothe his burning soul with the salve of your reassurance, mending his inner turmoil with a metaphoric touch that you pray can seep into the cracks of his resolve until he’s full once more.

Brushing his hair away from his face, you lean in closer so you can speak softly, “You once called them ugly. I think that every single scar is a reminder of something that happened in the past. I love to hear your stories of how you got them, each heroic act displayed on your body like a little lightning bolt of truth.”

A sigh parts your lips and you drop your gaze to his chest, finding the familiar ridges of flayed skin easily. You lick your lip and trace your thumb over a few of them, relishing in the quiet moments before you have to speak again.

“I don’t love your scars, I love you.” You press your palms flat to his chest so you can cover the expanse of his pectorals beneath your hands, the heel of your palm against the swell of his chest, “I would ask you for all of your stories even if I never touched a single scar, even if I never saw one. I’d ask you because I want to know you.”

Your hands travel north towards his neck, delicately roaming over the thin skin of his throat before winding into the hair at the back of his head, “I’m so fascinated by them because I want you to know that I don’t think any less of you for them, that I don’t believe you to be weak just because you’re marked by your experiences. If anything, I think it’s beautiful, that you’ve been given this burden like Atlas, to carry around the weight of each on one your shoulders.

“But even though it’s beautiful, that does not mean that it’s right,” your voice turns cold, hard and jagged as you speak through your teeth, “How much more can you be expected to give? Does the universe not see what it’s done to you? What it’s asking of you to continue doing? I just can’t imag-oh.”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his hands traveling up your spine beneath your shirt, palming at the skin of your shoulders. Izuku nips your lower lip and you are melting in his touch like always, “I love you.”

You tilt your head, gasping as he starts down the column of your neck, biting kisses in a warm, wet line as he descends. You echo out the sentiment in return, barely able to make out syllables with the salacious way his lips and tongue are working at your skin. Your hands twist in his hair and he pulls you flush with him so he can nudge the collar of the shirt aside to show your collarbones the same attention as your neck.

“Oh!” you pipe up, your voice hardly more than a squeak, “And I love your freckles too. They’re so cute and I love how they’re literally everywhere, even your dic-”

“Less talking,” Izuku takes you by surprise, tackling you back into the mattress, “more kissing.”

And you happily oblige.

Besides, you have the rest of your life to tell him how much you love his freckles.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

a/n: all right. that’s it. never writing deku fic EVER again. phew. kacchan, please don’t be mad, honey, it was for a friend, i swear!!!!!

also it’s almost 4 am when i’m posting this so if the last section doesn’t make sense i’m sORRY!!!

taglist: 

@tui-lah @viviankennedy @bnha-homeroom @frogsmarch @anxietys-a-bitch @succulent-momma @albuquerquemalu @ali-on-reverie @iamthe-leaf @kamehamethot @hoe-biscus @ux-l3ee @lovelustdollsworld @bigbootyconnections @alexandria-selina @eianthedumbass @sanguinekeigo @desia2 @loveydoveythot @shoutosplaything @thatloserweeb @kittysocks20 @jayetheanimefreek101 @toastedpopsicles @riotfuckery @spidrskarma @panbaigel @unsafetypin @peltho @mes-bisous @ee-blue @mildlyman @moondust-and-starlight @ihaileysenpai @hijackedreese @vampiregirl70 @gwizzpanda @powderedjellidoughnut @salemthewitch​ @unknown-girlie​ @mea-100​ @crystal-is-in-the-digiworld​ @phantomjeans​ @lozmarton​ @bananayogurtbitch​ @wwhndsome​ @violeteyedkeith​ @pumapurman​ @stfucanunot​

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #izuku smut #deku smut #deku x reader #midoriya smut #midoriya izuku x reader #bnha x reader #izuku x you #midoriya x you #bnha x you #mha x reader #mha x you #morgan writes bnha #my writing

[ficcrimes]

junctures

Fandom: Helluva Boss Characters: Blitzo, Stolas; mentions of Stella, Octavia, Moxxie, Millie and Loona Ship: Stolas/Blitzo A/N: this is my piece for the Stolitz zine, Seasons, over on twitter! My bit’s finally been released, so I can publish this here now!  Summary: To everything, there is a season. 

——————————————————————————

i. summer

It was supposed to be a one night stand, and nothing more than that.

When presented with the opportunity to get his hands on that one particular grimoire, Blitzo didn’t think twice about worming his way into the Geotian Prince’s bed. What was one hot night with an ancient, entitled demon? Of course, he hadn’t stopped to question just why it had all happened the way it had, either. Whatever made Stolas not only agree to but pursue this whole lewd affair was really none of Blitzo’s business. Maybe he had a thing for imps, or some sort of weird, classist fetish. It really didn’t matter. At a glance, and that was all Blitzo had allowed himself to take when it all started, it seemed simple enough.

But it didn’t quite turn out that way, did it?

What started as something that had been meant to be short and sweet and fleeting turned into much more than Blitzo had bargained for. It’s nothing he can’t handle, of course, but Stolas calls on him frequently and comes on incredibly strong. It’s a little jarring, to say the least, but Blitzo can’t bring himself to outright turn the advances away.

He needs the book, after all. And, all things considered, this isn’t the worst possible thing he could have been doing to keep it. This is what he tells himself, anyway.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that, for all the fuss he puts up whenever Stolas calls, at least Stolas makes him feel… something. Wanted. Needed. Even if it’s only physically. Even if it’s only temporary.

But then Stolas makes the once-a-month arrangement with him, and an already hazy situation becomes a little hotter and a little heavier. Their meetings are no longer quick and to the point. Suddenly Stolas wants to have fun with it; he incorporates games and costumes and silly little things into the affair that Blitzo’s not above or below doing. He’s a performer, after all - and at least Stolas seems to be enjoying the act.

He spends the night and wakes up in Stolas’ bed more times than he’d like to admit. Most of the time, he’ll leave before Stolas wakes up. But there are some days when he wakes up to Stolas propped up and leaning over him, all four of his red eyes heavy-lidded and bleary with something Blitzo pretends isn’t there.

He also pretends the rush of heat that surges up his spine isn’t there, and that it doesn’t count for anything.

As sleazy as it all is, it’s a good business deal and he wants to milk it for all it’s worth while it lasts - because he’s sure that it won’t. Nothing that burns this hot for too long is meant to last.

ii. fall

There is something so incredibly and unconventionally charming about the little imp.

It’s not every day someone like Stolas came across someone like Blitzo, and he’d been intrigued almost immediately by him. He was crass and rude and didn’t seem to think twice before speaking whatever happened to be on his mind in the moment, and Stolas found himself liking that more than he should have.

So, when Blitzo made his interest in the grimoire known, and it was evident all he had to offer in exchange for it was his own body, Stolas didn’t put up much of a fight or fuss. He knew he shouldn’t have been traipsing about behind Stella’s back and closed doors, but the supposed-one-night-stand promised to be the most exciting thing he’d experienced in a long, long while.

That first night with Blitzo had been unlike anything Stolas had ever had before, with his wife or otherwise. The sheer amount of skill the little creature had was surprising, and the way Stolas’ body had ached for him after he’d gone spoke in volumes.

Maybe it’s not in his best interest, or even in good taste, to start calling on Blitzo whenever he feels himself craving what only the imp can give him. And maybe he should learn how to properly manage and articulate the desperate desires he feels, instead of going off on long, unfiltered, filthy rants.

But Blitzo never explicitly tells him to stop, and so he doesn’t.

There’s a part of Stolas that understands Blitzo seems to merely put up with these antics so he can continue to use the book, and that’s alright. For a while, anyway. The more Stolas finds himself thinking about that, the more he can feel something creeping up on him, slow and steady. The ache he feels for Blitzo starts to change, and it’s not just his body that needs him.

He doesn’t really notice at first, continues to mistake the desperate need for the imp’s attention as something carnal and older than even himself. How silly to think his entire foundation could be shaken after so, so long, and by such a small and silly creature. And yet, eventually he catches himself drawing silly little caricatures on important papers of the two of them. Or he finds himself staring longingly at his phone when he can’t seem to get a hold of Blitzo.

By the time he’s suggesting they make their meetings a little more frequent and planned, Stolas realizes he’s in over his head. Or, perhaps he’s just head over heels. There’s really no difference here.

The whole situation is a little messier and more complicated than he would have liked it to be, but Stolas tells himself it will be worth it in the end. Until then, though, even if it’s only once a month, he feels like his walls can come down and he can be himself while Blitzo shares his bed.

He doesn’t mind when he wakes up to find the imp’s already left him. He understands. But it’s when he wakes up to find Blitzo still in bed beside him that makes his heart swell with something unspeakable.

He thinks, if things were just a little different, he could have this feeling always.

But Blitzo always leaves, and Stolas is always left with the weight of this feeling that’s too big for either of them.

iii. winter

Blitzo is right in thinking that things couldn’t stay so simple forever.

An already complicated situation gets that much worse when things like feelings and wives and daughters get caught up in the mix.

When Stolas calls him up out of the blue one day and says, very quietly, very seriously, that they “need to talk,” Blitzo almost wishes it had been one of his usual calls. Something cold and dreadful shoots up his spine by the time the call ends, and he’s already preparing himself for the worst. His mind is already racing, torn between coming up with some other lucrative back up plan and trying to persuade Stolas not to do this.

However he chooses to define ‘this’ in the moment, he doesn’t spend too much time thinking about it.

Stolas is quiet as Blitzo lets himself into his office space, book tucked under one arm. There’s no coy smile tugging at his beak.

Blitzo knows, and so he drops the book onto the desk that separates them. “I figured it’d only be a matter of time before you called this shit off,” he says through a sneer.

Stolas winces, and draws the book just a little closer to himself, fingering the crescent moon. He can’t bring himself to make eye contact.

“It’s not - You wouldn’t understand,” he sighs quietly.

“Oh, you’d think so, huh?” Blitzo replies, because he understands more than Stolas thinks. Stolas doesn’t know anything he doesn’t want him to know - and maybe this is happening because of that. Maybe if he’d been just a little less guarded and a little more obvious, things could have been different.

However… None of that would have changed the fact Stolas was a Prince, with a wife and child. And Blitzo understands that, too.

“No, no. I get it,” Blitzo starts, and waves Stolas off with one hand. “You got your weird royal bird shit to do, and fucking an imp on the side’s getting in the way.”

Stolas wants to say something else, Blitzo can see it in his eyes when all four finally meet his, but what actually comes out of his mouth is a quiet, “...that’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

“Yeah, yeah. Quit looking like some sort of kicked hellpup. It’s not like you’re losing anything by taking the book back.” Blitzo almost regrets those words the moment they leave his mouth, but decides maybe they’re for the best. If Stolas is angry instead of just sad, it will make this easier.

But Stolas doesn’t get angry; he just looks all the more hurt. He sighs and steels himself. “I’ll see what I can do about loaning you my grimoire in the future, Blitz,” he says, “but for now, I can’t allow it.”

Hearing Stolas call him by his name instead of ‘Blitzy’ is what turns that cold trickle into a flash flood of ice. Something cold and hollow fills him, and Blitzo wishes it didn’t sting the way that it does, wishes he could feel anger instead of this.

“Sure thing, Your Highness,” Blitzo mumbles back, flipping Stolas off with one shaking hand. “If that’s all you got me penned in for today, I’ll see myself the fuck out. Thanks.”

Blitzo slams the office door on his way out, and Stolas can hear Stella screaming after him as he leaves. It’s only a small relief to hear Octavia chime in, telling her mother to leave him alone.

“At least he’s leaving,” Stolas hears her say, and he wishes she were just that little bit older so she’d understand this situation better. He had ever slept with Blitzo because he didn’t love her, but because he’d long since fallen out of love with her mother - but a royal marriage was not so easily left behind.

He sinks back in his seat and sighs heavily, pinching the bridge between his eyes. His heart no longer feels airy and light; instead it feels heavy, like it’s sinking into the pit of himself and weighing him down.

iv. spring

It’s weeks later and well into a work day when Blitzo emerges from his office. The first thing he notices is that his employees all seem to have disappeared, though he doesn’t have much time to wonder about that. His foot catches on something, and he stumbles forward, barely catching himself on a nearby desk. He twists around to look at the offending object that he knows should not be there, and sees that it’s a package of some sort. Brown paper-wrapped and addressed to him, and distinctly book-shaped.

He groans inwardly and hefts it up, the weight familiar, and the scent clinging to the wrapping even more so. Not that the break had been clean, but of course Stolas would have to go and try and make things complicated.

He doesn’t know if Stolas dropped it off personally or had it specially delivered, but he understands why the others left when it got there. Had he been in their shoes, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to risk it, either.

There’s no call or warning before he shows up at Stolas’ mansion, book in tow. He doesn’t use the front door, because he knows other, quicker ways to get to Stolas personally. And, surprisingly, none of those ways have been deterred or altered. It’s almost like Stolas had hoped he wouldn’t actually stay away.

It doesn’t take him very long at all to find Stolas, in his bedroom and lounging about as though he hadn’t just tried to lay some sort of intricate trap. It says something that the Prince’s surprise is entirely feigned, and there’s a grin tugging at his beak as Blitzo kicks the bedroom door shut.

“Ooh, what a surprise~” he coos, and Blitzo rolls his eyes.

“Cut the crap,” Blitzo mutters, dropping the book heavily onto the bed.

Stolas smiles and shrugs his shoulders. The robe he’s wearing slips from one lithe shoulder, and he doesn’t bother to adjust it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. That,” he gestures to the book, “is just a gift. Circumstance aside, I’d hate to see your business fail.”

Blitzo snorts and grins in a way that shows his teeth. “Don’t you worry about I.M.P. We’re doing just fine without your borrowed little magic tricks.”

For just a moment, Stolas seems to falter, frustrated - not with Blitzo, but the situation itself.

“You really couldn’t think of any other way to get my attention, besides throwing me your scraps?” Blitzo presses on, crossing his arms over his chest, one brow raised.

“I didn’t think you’d return a call, or want to see me,” Stolas admits, and makes a vague gesture to the mansion. “And inviting you back here seemed… uncouth, at the very least.”

“Never stopped you before, did it?” But now Blitzo’s grin seems a little less antagonistic, a little more playful.

Stolas lets out an airy, half-laugh. “You’re not wrong.” He finally adjusts the shoulder of his robe, and rubs a hand against the back of his neck. “I’ve just spent a lot of time thinking about… Well, us. And I was thinking that, maybe we could… I mean, to start, we never should have - but…”

He sighs, and offers Blitzo a weak smile.

“I’ve missed you, Blitzy.”

It’s short and sweet and simple - just like this whole mess should have been from the start. But it’s not, and it never will be, because those three words and that sickeningly sweet rendition of his name coming out of that horrid bird’s mouth send that familiar warm rush right through Blitzo’s entire body.

“I see what you’re doing,” Blitzo says quickly, narrowing his eyes.

Stolas chuckles, shrugging. “I’d like to try again. Only no strings attached this time.” To make his point, he raises one hand and urges the grimoire over to himself, letting it hover between the two of them. “You’d be free to use this whenever you like, and though I would greatly appreciate your… company, there’s no need for a strict schedule.”

Blitzo eyes the book for a moment, and then shoves the magically aloft object aside. “And what about your ball and chain? You sure you wanna put up with her conniption fits?”

“You let me worry about Stella,” Stolas waves the thought aside. “A very serious discussion is long overdue, anyway.”

“And your kid?”

“Via will be okay. She’s young, but getting old enough to understand, I think.”

Blitzo looks the owl demon up and down, then shrugs a little himself. “Not the freshest start of the ages, but I’ll take it.”

Stolas smiles and breathes a sigh of obvious relief. “I’m glad,” he says quietly and moves closer. He lets one hand wander admiringly over one of Blitzo’s horns - and, for the imp’s sake, pretends he doesn’t notice the way he leans in to the touch.

“I have to wonder, though,” Stolas says after a moment, before the quiet becomes too much too soon, idly stroking the inner curvature of the horn, “how did you manage to keep I.M.P afloat without my grimoire?”

Blitzo leans away from the taller demon, and he grins again, wide and sharp. “I copied the spells out of it ages ago,” he admits, shrugging one shoulder. “Just in case this whole shebang went down the shitter.”

Stolas stares at him, a grin of his own tugging at his beak. “Oh, you clever little thing,” he muses, reaching out and taking Blitzo’s face into his hands. One thumb moves gently over where white meets red.

Blitzo has a nasty habit of speaking before he thinks, and Stolas has to wonder if he realizes what he’s admitted to. If he’d had the pages copied this whole time, either he’s a very dedicated actor and didn’t want to tip Stolas off - or, perhaps, it was all just a very convoluted excuse to keep coming back.

A blush starts to bruise the bridge of Blitzo’s nose. Stolas smiles.

“And here I thought you’d needed the book,” he says. “How silly of me.”

#helluva boss #stolas #blitzo #stolitz #fanfic

[tmntxreader]

title : untitled.  rating : 18+ only, using the tag “mature” from here on out to avoid getting flagged by this hellsite.  context: donnie... but he smells how wet u are for him, and nobody does anything because y/n and him are both cowards and so they both blue ball each other 

you had been watching in the distance as donnie trained in the dojo, it was rare to find him anywhere other than the lab - but it seems even he craved the change up from being hunched over a computer screen, seeing him somewhere other than that setting was refreshing to everyone, really. you took your time to absolutely drink in the display that was blessed before your eyes, sight trained on him and refusing to leave his form, almost as if glancing away would cause you to miss the biggest event of the year. as if donatello knew your focus was on him, his shoulders tensed when lifting up the weight he had prepared for himself, your tongue poking out of lips at the slight sheen along skin that seemed to highlight his arms, sweat trailing down in a slow leisure that felt like it was personally meant to taunt you. it caused a hitch in the back of throat, cheeks already red from what was happening, it was an accidental sinful show, and oh weren’t they just the best ? 

you had known the turtles for the same amount of time april has. it was a case of being dragged along for the ride : being best friends and room mates with a reporter certainly made for some adventures, which is exactly what you were craving at the time she began ranting about them. in that time, unique bonds have been made, yet donatello’s was certainly the odd one out. fondness turned into attraction, attraction has turned into an embarrassing crush that made you gawk at the guy from across the room : it felt like school again, and it was certainly not something missed. 

imagination took hold of you from there, imagining all the dirty and wonderful things you wanted the purple turtle to do to you. oh how you craved to be thrown over a desk - or... oh, riding him in his chair in the lab - that was a favorite, donnie teasingly tracing form and kissing down neck, cupping tits with those big hands enough to make back arch and a mewl escape bruised, heavily kissed lips, but having to have a hand placed over mouth in an attempt to quiet them down, because “sweetheart, we didn’t lock the door, anyone could walk in ~”  but it would be so hard to stay quiet with how beautifully his cock stretches you out. on cue, donnie let out a small grunt as the weight was dropped on the floor. it caused your core to clench around nothing - having to bite lip at the whimper that threatened to spill from lips. this was torture, but whose fault is it, really ?

unbeknownst to you, that grunt wasn’t at the weights, it was at you. donnie was mostly in own world too, highly focused on training and trying to focus on getting stronger - but the work out session is cut short by the sweet smell that hangs in the air, it’s heavy and it’s enough to make him drool. body twitched in the direction it seemed to be, only being greeted by an innocent looking you that was merely day dreaming... but you can’t hide, not from his sense of smell, what was it ? what was causing his body to pay attention to you, what was it that made his chest puff out and breathing hitch ? it took a moment, only a moment, especially with that subconscious little shuffle you made in chair... oh, oh my. 

you were turned on, he could smell how wet you were, can imagine it. has many times before, but this was different. he couldn’t pin point what exactly resulted in you smelling so sweet, but it was certainly addicting - to busy self, he picked up the water bottle and took a drink from it, trying to focus mind, trying to think rationally instead of with his twitching dick. eye trained locked on you, though your eyes remained hazed - pupils were dilated, then his sight couldn’t help but peak at your legs under the table, the way thighs squeezed together... do you need help, darling ? was the first thought, but words are caught in throat, trying to hold back such familiarity. it would be too embarrassing having to deal with this, you could be thinking about anyone ! so it’s time to put his experiment hat on... he had to know, he had to. for his own sanity. 

so the weights are back in focus, not too much, hearing was all on you. his hands wrapped around the weight once more, taking a moment to calm self down before continuing - lifting up the metal with a grunt that came from core, though it was less at the weights and more at the smell in the air, and oh... the smell got more intense, it covered the room and it was both suffocating and not enough all at once. he prayed you couldn’t see his semi erect cock, twitching under shorts and simply begging for your attention. 

“ (y/n), we gotta head out, dinner is in two hours ! “ aprils voice rang through the cave, causing your eyes to move away from donnie and into the other room. it took a moment, blinking a few times trying to get mind to come back to reality. then, there was a sigh, trying to act as normal as possible, as if you weren’t just vividly thinking about the turtle in every way possible. 

“okay, coming!” standing up from the chair, your legs feeling at bit weak but somehow you persisted “i’ll see you later, donnie!” trying to sound normal, though it was hard with how airy it seemed to leave lips, a breathless goodbye that sounded like you ran a marathon. you think and hope he doesn’t notice, but he does, and it results in a husky “i’ll speak to you tomorrow” and  the minute you leave, dontello can’t help the needy whine that escapes the back of throat as your smell lingered, but weakened all at once. the weighs dropping on the floor recklessly as he took a few steps forward to follow you, but an invisible wall stops him. his rationality, mostly.

he never thought he’d be addicted to something, but he was now addicted to your smell, and he wanted to smell it more. 

#i simply. write smut. its what i DO ! #yall im shaking i just turned misen on #HOISDHPOSHDHSDO #donatello x reader #donnie x reader #mature #tagging content as mature so i dont get flagged OHSDOHSOIDH #TMNT x reader #tmntxreader

[jamiedc-they-them]

The Little Things (Platonic)

Requested Imagine: “Could you please do an agents of shield x reader in season 4 when the reader got taken by Aida early in the season and was replaced with an Lmd so when daisy and jemma are escaping the base and coulson is chasing them the reader is with may and sacrifices herself with her. So when daisy and jemma find her in the framework it’s just sad and a happy reunion?”

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 Anniversaries where weird, they came around every year and yet you were expected to do something different for them; maybe a party or going out for the night or whatever.

There were different kinds too; Birthdays, holiday seasons, time since abandonment/ death.

Wait, what?

Daisy had been celebrating the last and final time she had been abandoned and sent back to sent back to the orphanage. At least that one made her runaway and meet you guys.

Speaking of you guys, she was currently looking at a photo of you and your father that you had in your room. She knew that the death of him still weighed on you heavily. She had wanted to find you and try and provide some comfort but had instead found an empty room with that photo.

 “Hey,” Daisy said in greeting to her scientist best friend. Jemma looked at her with a smile in greeting, “Have you noticed anything different about Y/N?” Jemma furrowed her eyebrows in thought at the question.

“I’m….not too sure. I haven’t seen her much. Maybe she’s busy.” Jemma suggested, but Daisy could tell her friend was now trying to piece it together.

“I mean, sure. But, with what? We’re all trying to stop the Watchdogs here. To my knowledge, there’s not much else going on really.

“There she is.” Daisy said, moving over to you when you entered the lab in a more dejected fashion, “Hey, Y/nn.” She said, giving you a friendly smile.

Yours was timid, but it was expected, “Hey.” You said in your naturally soft voice.

Daisy fought the urge to look back to Simmons, despite knowing her friend’s eyes were on you both like a hawk, “So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something….Are you ok?” She was blunt, both because she didn’t have another way to phrase it, and she just genuinely wanted to know what was hurting another of her best friends.

She knew Jemma was the same when someone she cared about was hurting, so she knew the British woman would back her up if needed.

You went to answer, but your eyes glossed over a little. She turned to see who it was, only to see Coulson talking to Simmons.

When Daisy looked back to you, she saw you gulp back those tears that had piled up. It was then that it hit her on what the issue was.

She softened her eyes and posture as it hit her, “Oh, Y/nn.” She said in a softened voice, as if not to scare a wounded animal.

“I’m sorry.” You said, as if at fault. But you had a slight laugh at the end of it, even if a teary one.

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for! We should’ve noticed –”

“It’s ok.” You assured her, but you could tell she didn’t fully believe it, “Daisy, I’m fine, really. It’s just a thing I’m going through. I’m not just this, you know.” You told her. You then left, not wanting to be reminded of your dad any longer.

She watched you leave, but her gaze was worried. She was older, so it was her job to look out for you. She knew how you could be at times.

 It had been a few days since that time, and the sister figures had done a decent job of dealing with this latest issue while also helping you deal with your own. Or, rather, they thought they had been.

They both watched as you walked with more of a confident one. Don’t get them wrong, they were kind of glad to see it. But they couldn’t help the nagging feeling they both seemed to share when they met each other’s gazes with a look.

The look that conveyed that both thought something was wrong. They just weren’t sure on what that was.

“She seems….happy.” Daisy didn’t really have another way to put it. Part of her did feel a little envois of it.

Fitz, seemingly realising this, approached her and put a hand on her shoulder, “Maybe she’s found some peace with it. Grieving is different for everyone.” He reminded her, gently. Trying not to cross a line that had been drawn in the sand the second Lincoln had died.

She put a hand on Fitz’s, squeezing it. She did appreciate her brother’s attempt at comfort, really, “I know….it’s just, I didn’t expect it this quick.” She admitted.

Jemma couldn’t help the nod, “Y/N always feels before she acts. She never did leave things on the best of footings.” She didn’t exactly want to talk about this behind your back. But, the three seemed to agree one thing, anyway.

This flip of yours wasn’t normal.

 It was later still, and everything was falling apart. Jemma and Daisy’s hunch was right, you were an LMD (a Life Model Decoy. A robot version of yourself essentially) and so where most of the team. Everything was spiralling. But none so more than Jemma Simmons.

The woman had just ‘killed’ the love of her life in a bid of survival. Daisy had watched it happen, the two sisters at each other’s throats for a moment. However, they soon realised that they were all that was left of the crew and were the only ones capable of bringing everyone else back.

“Hey, Jem, we will get Y/N back, alright? I promise you.” She said, firmly standing by that belief.

“I can’t lose you, either of you, Daisy! Please don’t do this!” Jemma begged one of her sister figures, the one she could save right now to not risk it all and die.

“I made you a promise Jemma, ok? Now, I can’t get out of here without your help. But, once we do, we will find the others. We will find Y/N and we will bring her home.”

She held out a hand for Jemma, one that was then clasped as the two rose up off of the floor, “We got this.” She assured her.

She was sure of it; she was going to bring you all home.

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Jemma and Daisy had met you at the same time, on the BUS when the team was first formed. You had been with SHIELD for a while, but you always seemed to be a background extra type of agent, you just kept your head down and did the work.

This would be your first time as a main and in the spotlight.

Skye was new, thrown into the deep end and told to swim. So far, she had managed to, barely. But, barely being above water was always more preferable than being under it and drowning.

When she saw you, though, she saw someone else who was slightly over in their head and out of their element. Hell, even the people she’d come to see as the siblings she never had (Fitzsimmons, but that list included you) seemed it as well.

Still, you succeeded in your mission, bringing Mike Peterson in non-lethally. However, it was what happened after that made Daisy want to befriend you both.

It wasn’t just that you both shared the same sense of humour, or that Jemma was one of the kindest souls she knew.

No, it was the way you all took care of each other. It was the way Jemma seemed to notice that you were a bit shaken. So, in her own awkward way that she had back then, she took you into the lab and helped calm you by injecting you with something to calm you with.

She then sat with you and got to know you, letting you rant and get it all out of your system. However, what made Daisy smile the most was the way she didn’t mind; she was more than wiling to lend an ear.

Who was there to talk to Skye when she relapsed a little with some of her old coping mechanisms? Jemma.

Who was there to pick her up when she fell or failed at a thing Ward wanted her to do? You were.

Who was there when you had a panic attack or had a depressive episode? They were.

Your sister hood was born through all of those factors.

 They had released the sleeping gas, and it had worked on some of the agents. Other than that, it had alerted everyone else to their presence.

LMD Mace (the new face of SHIELD) made a b-line for Daisy. She didn’t mind, she was more then ready to kick fake-Mace’s ass anyway. It would help her vent her frustration over this whole mess anyway.

Plus, she knew it was something you’d do, it was a trick you’d picked up from the academy; to channel your pain and anger into your opponents, but not letting it rule and ruin you.

Still, pain was pain and pain hurt. It especially hurt more when the emotional turned physical. For her, it was when she was shot in the back by LMD Coulson, then by LMD Mack. Two of her closest friends coming to bring an end to her.

No, she had the real versions to save. She had a family to bring back home.

So, she channelled all that pain and hurt; the abandonment and scars she had endured and gathered over her time before she met you all, and put it into her Quake that sent the both flying backwards and threw the glass, shattering that that wasn’t already in that state.

Slowly, she got to her feet. She was bleeding from the bullet wounds, but also the scratches and bruises were finally catching up with her. She made her way to the door, having to lean against the doorway to steady herself.

As she did, Jemma noticed her and helped guide her to the cart they were pushing. They then hatched a vague plan of Agent Davis flying them out. He hadn’t had much experience, but she didn’t care at this point.

 Daisy hit the floor, groaning as she did so. A hand was offered to her, she took it graciously. Once she was up, she faced you once again, “Neat trick, where’d you learn that one?” She asked. The trick in question was a bit of foul play in terms of getting your opponent on the ground. Something SHIELD definitely would frown upon.

“Dad.” You said, wanting to leave it at that.

Daisy, with her experience of parents, nodded and let it go, “He would always take me out to a place like this and train me. Told me it’d help calm me when I was anything but. He only did it when he saw that I was getting stressed, though.”

“No other time other than that?”

“No other time. I got myself through those one’s though.” You said with a cheery smile. Daisy mirrored it, but it wasn’t as bright.

‘You shouldn’t have had to, though’ she thought to herself.

 One obstacle she didn’t bank on (or want to) deal with, was LMD you. However, it seemed you were a packaged deal in his one; with LMD you came LMD May.

And, with that deal, came a remote detonator in your hands.

“Y/N….May.” She said, brain working overtime to try and find a way out of this that didn’t involve getting blown up, “You don’t wanna do this.” She said, opting on that one.

“We have no other option.” LMD you said, “Coulson told us to stay here and stop you if you tried to leave, we’re doing just that.”

“But you don’t want to hurt us, right?” Jemma asked, trembling smile on her face as she looked between you both.

“Coulson says that doesn’t matter.” LMD May replied with.

“That doesn’t sound like Coulson.” Daisy argued.

“Either way, we won’t have to regret this decision.” May said, putting her finger closer to it.

“Wait!” Daisy called out, “You have to feel something.” She tried.

“Y/N, I need you to look at me,” You complied, “You have to feel something right now, right?” She was tired, oh so tired. But she was so close.

She saw something glimmer in your eye, “Something.” You agreed.

“That’s love, Y/N. That’s love for us and the team, you’re family. I know you care about us, and that you don’t want to hurt us. Please Y/N….” She watched you as the conflict in you grew and grew.

  They made their way up the ramp, Daisy almost collapsing as Jemma held her, shouldering her weight. She was bleeding badly, borderline passing out.

However, she had bought them the time they needed to start up the Quinjet and have it rise out just as the explosions rocked the base, “Thank you Y/N….I’m coming.” She said in a tired voice as she gulped, finally processing the fact that her plan had worked.

 She found you sat in an unused Quinjet (something she’d then do herself much later on in time) and just sitting there. You were spaced out, as something had clearly hurt you.

Jemma was sat next to you, hand holding your own as you seemed to hold it like a lifeline, your head rested on her shoulder. Her head rested atop your own.

She made her way over, sitting on your other side and grabbing your other hand. She didn’t ask the cliché question; she just held your hand.

“My dad……he -- he….” You couldn’t get through it without choking on the words. However, it was all Jemma and Daisy needed to know as they both tightened their hold on your hands.

“We’ve got you.” Daisy promised you, “You have us.”

“….I know, thank you both. You guys being the closest things I’ve had to sisters and you’re all the closest thing I’ve had to a stable family.” You said, giving them all a teary smile. They mirrored it.

“Of course, that’s what friends are for.” Jemma pulled you both into a hug at the words.

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The framework was a world that they, obviously, didn’t know. They were outsiders here, having to adapt to a new world that they barely knew the rules of.

What they did know, was that HYDRA were in control and all of their friends were scattered all over the place.

So, they were off to a great start, it seemed.

 Daisy had found May, but quickly learnt that the woman didn’t know anything about the other world. She was then called into a meeting. Following May, she found someone else she was looking for. That being you.

You were quieter in this world. You didn’t seem to really have any friends, you seemed to just keep to yourself.

She sat down in the chair and listened to the briefing, but you ignored her gaze as it flickered to you every now and then.

As she did what she could to really pay attention to the briefing on the target, she couldn’t help but wonder one thing: where you always like this? Was this a side to you she either didn’t know about or didn’t want to acknowledge?

 You had, obviously, been in the field for longer than Daisy had. Still, she saw the way you handled yourself on the field like any other agent. They were still pieces of the person she saw, though, the friend she had made and the sister she had grown to know and love. It was in the blush you’d get at praise, or the way you would always give her an encouraging look whenever she was send off on a mission.

 She had been found out trying to help Mack, only to find that he was forced into going with what she said. It had led to her being the cell.

AIDA had walked in, trying to offer a life with Lincoln. As much as she wanted it, she knew it wouldn’t be worth letting the rest of you all die. Lincoln wouldn’t want that.

So, AIDA tried something else, “You know….that Y/N sure is a tricky person to work out,” She smirked at the way Daisy fixed her with a dark look, “So many layers to unpack. Seemed her father was just the tip of the iceberg.” She seemed to enjoy the taunting.

“Leave her out of this.” Daisy tried to muster up as much hate as she could, but the beatings had taken it out of her.

AIDA, however, seemed a bit impressed, “Still got it, don’t you? That fire and spark, yet a caring and protective side as well?”

“If you touch even one hair on her head –”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t hurt her. She’s living without her regret of opening up,” Daisy looked shocked at the news, “That’s right, she wished she was a little less open. Now, I wouldn’t have gone with that with everything she’s been through. But people can be surprising.” AIDA then got up, “Hope he doesn’t kill you.” With that, she walked away.

She was left in the hands of Fitz, hands that used to be caring but now were used for hurting. The darkness that Fitz had always struggled with had come to the surface, and this one seemed to relish in it.  

She was alone, clinging onto what life was left within her. She was, at least, until the doors opened. Looking up, she saw not only May, but you as well.

A moment later, she had her powers back and the three of you were breaking out. She sent AIDA through the glass and looked at the body on the floor with a sense of triumph.

You were here, and you were on her side. Don’t get her wrong, she was happy May was too. But May wasn’t the name used to make her give into AIDA’s demands.

Turns out the robot was wrong, which Daisy was thankful for.

The way back was met with danger, but what was new? Well, mainly your cynicism.

They were talking about the Patriot (Mace’s alter ego in this world) having been killed in an airstrike. As you spoke about it, May revealed some key information on it. That being that it was her who had caused the death.

“You couldn’t have known.” Daisy comforted, looking at you as if expecting the same.

“She did, but she did it anyway.” She definitely didn’t expect that. May, however, nodded at it.

Seemed the cold and warmth you both had was swapped to a degree.

“What?” You asked her, finally confronting her on her staring and look she was giving you.

“Nothing.” She said, looking away.

 You made it to the TV station, going in and uploading the footage May had that would put HYDRA in the ground.

When Daisy left the room after her talk with Ward, she saw you looking at the footage with an expression of anger. She approached you, “What’s wrong?” She asked as she came beside you.

“My dad was killed by HYDRA, turns out,” You said bluntly. Daisy was lightly taken aback by it, you had never been like that before in this type of fashion, “And only now am I just hearing about it.”

“I’m sorry.” She offered in a heartfelt gesture to try and find the sisterly bond you had back home.

You shook your head, “Yeah, well, I’m more pissed at just finding out now than the event itself. We were never the closest, so….” You said in a flat tone.

“Family is family.”

“Sure.” She could tell you just wanted to move on. So, she let that request be followed through with.

 You had made it back to the base, where Daisy reunited with Jemma. She had a large smile when she saw that it was you, pulling you in for a hug. You may not have known who she was, but you returned it, for her sake. She seemed like she could need it if she was honest.

She pulled away, seemingly giving you a once over with a beaming smile at the fact you were there. As said, you didn’t know who she was, but this meant something to her, so you just let her have this moment.

 Daisy and the team where waiting for you at the entrance to the base, you were coming home from a few months of undercover work and they all stood eagerly awaiting you.

The door had opened, but they had gotten their hopes up before only to be disappointed before. Still, they looked, and this time it was you.

You had a conflicted look on your face, but a smile was on your face as your eyes went glassy. Daisy was right over, embracing you, one you returned tightly.

“This is new.” She joked, in reference to how tightly you hugged.

“Just….I need this.” She complied with it, tightening her own hug as well.

Her family was whole once again, that was all that mattered.

 She was then arguing with Jemma about how they unfortunately couldn’t save Fitz, when she said something that she wasn’t meant to, “We need to get everyone out first! Then we can save Fitz! Look, this Y/N isn’t the one we know, Jemma. I need my sister back the way she was.” She didn’t even think about it, she just wanted to get you all back home and get her family back.

However, at a scoff, they both looked and saw you stood a small distance away, clearly having heard those words as you shook your head.

“So, what, I’m the broken one?” You didn’t even give her a chance as you then walked away. Jemma took a shaky breath as she looked to Daisy, the two sister’s having a silent discussion about who should see you.

In the end, it was Jemma who had left.

 Daisy sat on one of the spare beds, mind racing with thoughts of how to proceed. She knew that you guys needed to know eventually that this place wasn’t real, but she didn’t expect you to find out like that. Hell, she definitely didn’t expect the reaction she got from you, the scoff, and the look of anger.

A moment later, however, you came and sat next to her. She almost didn’t believe it, that you were here. But she only waited for you to talk. Now, she expected anything.

“So….was I like a square peg in ‘the real word’?” You asked, keeping your eyes straight ahead, but you decided to just be blunt in this moment.

Daisy chuckled a bit, lowering her head to the ground as she did so, “Yeah, or I thought you were anyway. Stupid, huh?” She chastised herself.

“Nah,” Now you both met eyes, “You….I only showed you part of who I was. But, there’s more to me than my dad’s death. I appreciate the help that you apparently gave me there, I do really appreciate it. But, that’s not the only thing I’ve got going on. Just like I’m sure that you’ve suffered a lot more than you’ll ever let on, which I respect not wanting to go into. But, there’s to us then one thing.”

She nodded, “I know, and I’m sorry that I did that. I just wanted to help.”

“I know you did, but I’m not always going to be that sad person you need to protect. I can do that myself, just like you can too.” You told her.

“Ok.” She said, finally letting herself believe it that she didn’t know everything about you.

She then moved it onto the issue at hand, “So….now you know….What do you think?” She asked.

You gave it some thought, “Oh, you know, it’s out there. Then again, most things here have been.” You gave her one of your soft smiles that she was used to.

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So, you had come around to it, and you were now all packing up to leave through a backdoor that Doctor Radcliff (one of the creators of this place) had left for you all to get out.

Now, you just had to get to that place. So, you all got the crew together, boarded the Quinjet, then went to that place.

That place was a factory, but you weren’t one to judge. Or, rather, this version of you wasn’t? Maybe? You didn’t know, no one had really told you. All you knew was that Jemma had approached this version of you the way you were here, which was nice.

On the way, Daisy had started to do that, you saw it was a pain and struggle, but she was trying. That was all you could thank her for.

 You all entered the warehouse, with the gateway being a drop into lava. Not the best exit, but a way out was a way out.

Mack had then found out, and he wasn’t exactly taking it well. Like, not well at all. You, however, kept an eye out, it was going too well.

And it was, as HYDRA agents stormed the place and fired at you all. You all went for cover as you did what you could to keep them off Daisy as she held out her hand, her power opening the portal.

As you all did what you could, members slowly went through; May and Coulson were first, then a bleeding Fitz and Jemma, then it was all of you that were left.

As you made your way to it, a bullet struck you, taking you to the ground. Daisy wanted to stop and run over, but she then saw the look in your eyes that told her one thing; keep going.

You were bleeding, and you weren’t doing great on the moving department at first, but you then started to. Mack was still covering you, even grabbing your gun as a backup.

As you moved and Mack covered, she took a breath before putting her hand back out as the power left her hands again a hit the portal.

As it opened, she checked on you again. She knew some part of you would want help, but right now that part wasn’t the one that was there. This was the one that cared more about others, the one that let them be helped instead of you.

You finally made it to the portal, you gave her a look, “See you on the other side.” She smiled at you. Then, you fell into it.

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You were all out, and AIDA was defeated. You all sat at a bar, with your family. Daisy looked at your food, different from what you’d normally get.

“Look at you, being all reckless.” She joked.

“Maybe for today, sure.”

She smiled and shook her head. She didn’t know what else you had to show her that was new, but she was willing to see. She knew people couldn’t just be codified and put in a box. People were different, they grew and changed.

#agents of shield imagine #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d imagine #daisy johnson x reader #daisy johnson imagine

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG183!

- I’m not sure I can manage to put it into words quite right but: sounds-wise, this episode’s domain didn’t feel mind-blowingly new, it wasn’t something that felt “Oh! I’ve never heard something like this before!”? But the echoes, grinding and scratching were timed so well, giving so much strength and gravitas to the conversations, that it perfectly scratched an itch. I could hear that there was something close to Jon and Martin, that it was big, and mostly deserted, that it stood eerily in the overall wasteland, that they were two people alone against a whole world, a whole machine with gears and a mechanism ready to crush anyone?

- I LIVE for artist!Martin giving his commentary and overall throwing shade at the Fears’ taking of artistic licence liberties:

(MAG183) MARTIN: Oh, bugger off! ARCHIVIST: Everything all right? MARTIN: Oh, no, what e–, what e–, what even is that? It, it’s like Escher ate a bad cathedral and threw up everywhere.

He had shown interest in the Stranger’s carousel upon learning that the statements had been a poem, but shots fired for that tower, uh.

- Jon and Martin were so cute starting the episode! Their quick banter was adorable!

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: It’s a building. A tower. … In a sense. MARTIN: Oh yeah? A–and what sense might that be? ARCHIVIST: [FAINTLY OMINOUS] … The Tarot sense. MARTIN: [SPLUTTERS WITH LAUGHTER] Really? ARCHIVIST: Wha–? No? Sorry, it… felt like a good line…! MARTIN: No, no, it was, I just… I dunno, I… [FOND EXHALE] You did the look, and…! It’s fine, sorry.

Martin being IN LOVE and appreciating Jon’s cuteness! The return of Jon showing that he’s an occult/horror nerd! We had seen in season 2 that he was generally very knowledgeable about anything related to the supernatural, and in season 4 that he was into Neil Lagorio’s movies, I’m happy to get another trace of it!

(MAG076) MELANIE: So I came here to dig a bit deeper. ARCHIVIST: Really? Our… our library is extensive, but it’s hardly focused on the Second World War. MELANIE: No, but the most detailed description of the crash that I could find came from the report of a man called William W. Hay. And later in life William Hay… ARCHIVIST: Became a noted occultist, whose memoirs and researches were only ever published in a heavily edited form. And we have unexpurgated copies. MELANIE: Exactly.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Statement ends. Hm. Neil Lagorio… You ever see any of his work? DAISY: No. Not really into films. ARCHIVIST: Oh, they were… Well, let’s just say that it’s not a complete shock there was something unnatural to them. Didn’t know we had copies in the Institute, though; let alone original cuts. [CHUCKLE] Records indicate they [PAPER RUSTLING] ended up in… Artefact Storage. DAISY: Probably best that they stay there. ARCHIVIST: … Yeah. Yes, of course.

But SOB x2 since:

* Tower-in-the-tarot-sense meaning ominous stuff… and change. (While Jon knew they would soon come face to face with the choice to take the route through Martin’s domain.)

* Crying over the fact that we’ve seen and learned quite a few outside-of-the-job aspects of Jon this season, comparatively to the previous ones? He’s cute! He’s making jokes! He mentioned his student days a bit in MAG165, and visiting Upton House as a kid in MAG180! And this is happening when the world has been forked over and Jon&Martin certainly won’t survive together past MAG200, which means they have at most seventeen episodes together remaining. Martin, and we alongside him, are seeing so many different, more casual aspects of Jon, and it’s at the end of things…

- I really like how information bounced around in this episode? It felt even more dynamic than usual, quickly shifting depending on some reaction, or going from an association to another:

(MAG183) MARTIN: What, what’s the deal, though? Parts of it almost look like– ARCHIVIST: The Institute. MARTIN: Yeah…! ARCHIVIST: Yes. [INHALE] It makes sense, after all it was… built on the ruins of what Robert Smirke constructed…! MARTIN: Smirke? … What, no! But, but, surely he’s– ARCHIVIST: Dead, yeah, I mean, yes. [CHUCKLING] Very much so! This place is… an homage, shall we say. A monument. To him, and those like him, who tried to… categorise the world with themselves at the centre. In so doing, constructed the architecture of its suffering…!

Ohohoh about Martin feeling like the tower looked a bit like the Institute, and Jon drawing similarities through Smirke – the Institute being built on the ruins of a Smirke building, and the current domain being dedicated to people like him. The Institute is coming closer and weighing on their minds, isn’t it? I really like that Martin immediately worried about Smirke potentially being alive-ish, since:

(MAG138) MARTIN: “The Eye has marked me for something, of this I have no doubt. My… humble hope is that it may be a swift death, an accidental effect of your own researches, which I once again implore you to abandon. It is likely too late for me, but I will not…” [PAPER RUSTLE] Uh… [INHALE] The, hum… The letter ends there. Uh… Ap–apparently Robert Smirke was found collapsed in his study that evening, dead of, uh… [FLIPPING THROUGH PAPERS] Apoplexy. Mm. I–I don’t know how the letter reached the Archives, I mean… Well, I can guess, but…

… he had read Smirke’s last words before he died. (But Martin has seen enough by now to know that there is always a risk for people to not have actually died; on that front, we’re safe, Jon confirmed! Loving Jon’s chuckle: ah yeah, no, Smirke, “very much so” dead from Jonah.)

(Also loved the “[those] who tried to categorise the world with themselves at the centre” shade: yep! That’s West-Eurocentrism and Smirke’s little gang for you!)

- About the way the world works now since the Change, I’m curious about Jon’s wording as “the architecture of [the world’s] suffering”, since it’s echoing the title of Smirke’s statement, “The Architecture of Fear”: my understanding is that right now, the world is mostly running on a loop of people’s fears => feeding and shaping the landscape => which hurts people by turning those realised fears against them => squeezing the fear out of them => feeding the landscape, etc.

What is quite curious is the status of Smirke’s taxonomy in the current world. Jon went off on a rant about how Smirke and people who attempted to classify had been wrong all along because it was meant to fail… while he himself has persistently been using the very same classifications during this very season:

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: Look, we can talk about it later, we’re– coming to a… “domain of The Buried”, and [STATIC RISES] I would really rather… […] God, I hate The Buried. [DEEP BREATHS] … End recording.

(MAG172) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] “Knowing”, “seeing”… i–it’s not the same thing as… understanding. Every time I try to know what The Web’s plan is, if it can even be called a plan, I see… a hundred thousand events and causes and links, an impossibly intricate pattern of consequences and subtle nudges, but I–I can’t…! … I can’t hold them all in my head at the same time. There’s no way to see the “whole”, the, the point of it all. I can see all the details, but it doesn’t… provide… context or… intention. I suppose The Web doesn’t work in knowledge, not in the same way.

(MAG173) MARTIN: That’s the avatar for this place? ARCHIVIST: Callum Brodie, thirteen years old. He guides the children through their fears of The Dark.

(MAG174) ARCHIVIST: I’m not entirely sure what you were expecting, it’s The Vast. The clue is in the name! MARTIN: Yes, all right…!

(MAG176) MARTIN: … Besides, I thought The Hunt was meant to make you go faster. ARCHIVIST: Depends on the type of pursuit. [INHALE] Besides, the chase isn’t… really the point of this particular place.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Bad therapists. Let’s just say it’s the fear of bad therapists, filtered through The Spiral. BASIRA: That’s… a lot more nuance than I’ve gotten used to since everything went wrong. ARCHIVIST: Yes, well. The Spiral is nothing if not insidious. […] You just heard what The Spiral does to people, you can’t… trust her.

“constructed the architecture of [the world’s] suffering” kind of implies that they did manage something, even if it doomed the world? Is it specifically about Jonah using the division into 14 in his incantation? We’ve seen that that one had limitations, since The Extinction also got there anyway… But at the same time, true that at this point, we would still force-apply Smirke’s labels to anything anyway.

- Loved Jon sounding awfully pedantic and (fake-)poetic at the same time:

(MAG183) MARTIN: [SIGH] Bit of a mouthful. ARCHIVIST: Would you prefer I described it as a… “cascading recursion of shifting arrogance and hubristic dead-ends”? [STATIC RISES] [THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN] [CONSTANT HIGH-PITCHED FREQUENCY] HELEN: I would. [FOOTSTEPS] [THE DOOR SHUTS] [STATIC FADES] MARTIN: [SIGH] Hello, Helen.

AND HELEN HAVING THE BEST ENTRANCES. It also cleared up something for me (unless I had already realised it and forgot about it since then): the high-pitched sound we hear when she’s around is the mark of Helen and Michael, not of the corridors – if the door is open or characters are inside of the hallways, we’ll hear some of the usual crackling static, but we heard it rise when Helen arrived and fade when the door shut behind her (and same thing with her departure, it was briefly heard when she opened the door).

- Shots fired, MARTIN PLEASE:

(MAG183) MARTIN: [SIGH] Hello, Helen. Might have guessed you’d be into weird architecture. Very much your area of expertise, no? HELEN: Hmm, depends! Would you describe “petulant poet” as your area of expertise? I am weird architecture.

And Helen went equally incisive on that one, but also UUUUUH WAS IT A SPECIFIC REFERENCE TO PETER’S COMMENT ABOUT MARTIN…

(MAG158) MARTIN: I’m… saying no. I refuse! Game over. [KNIFE CLATTERING ON THE GROUND] PETER: Martin, this is not the time for petulance; there are bigger things at stake, here.

This was the only time someone referred to Martin as (acting) petulant… I mean, Helen not missing one second of MAG158 wouldn’t be surprising (she did tell Jon at the end of MAG157 that she would be enjoying the show), but ;; Little chilling when remembering Elias-Peter-Martin in the Panopticon and Martin refusing to kill Jonah there…

- I was right to suspect that Helen might have been unable to know where Jon&Martin were over their stay at Upton House, and that she wouldn’t be pleased about it!

(MAG183) HELEN: Anyway, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you, but you both just vanished. ARCHIVIST: Aaah… Right, I see…! HELEN: I was so looking forward to catching up after that whole Basira and Daisy thing, but then, pfft! You both disappear. I’d be very keen to know how you managed that little trick. MARTIN: Why, it caught us by surprise too, I mean, we, we actually ended– ARCHIVIST: [FIRMLY] We found somewhere to rest. That’s all. MARTIN: … Oh, yeah. Ah, yes, hm. HELEN: Fine. Be like that. I can appreciate the particular pleasure of a kept secret. ARCHIVIST: I’m sure you can.

* Salesa’s zone seems to be protected as long as you don’t physically find it? I wonder how Annabelle managed to find it, still, since Jon only become aware of that blind spot when they arrived nearby; how did she become aware of it in the first place? Did it feel like a hole in the world’s web?

* Awww for Jon keeping the secret and conveying to Martin that they should keep quiet about it ;w;

* AHAHAHHAHA for Jon’s “aaah”, which was absolutely a mischievous grandpa sound. Jon ready to cause trouble, with a smug smile on his face.

- … I love how Helen could observe that the dynamic of the exchange was slipping out of her control (Jon&Martin knew something that she didn’t, didn’t feel threatened by her, and Jon was amused to keep it out of her reach) and immediately tried to go for the throat again:

(MAG183) HELEN: Anyway. Such a shame about Basira and Daisy. I was really rooting for them to make up. MARTIN: [SPLUTTERS] Since when? What happened to– I mean, how did you put it… a, “a quick shot to the back of her head, and then back in time for tea”, or whatever?

Martin: Forgive and forget? NO, RESENT AND REMEMBER AHAHAHAHAH.

Direct reference to the fact that Helen indeed ~offered her door to Basira~ to quickly get to Daisy and execute her:

(MAG177) HELEN: I can offer a shortcut. Take you right to that murder machine you call a partner. MARTIN: Basira… Jon can’t go through Helen’s doors, we, we couldn’t come with you. HELEN: Basira is a strong, independent woman. She doesn’t need you two holding her hand. Anyway, it’ll be dead quick. Two minutes, door-to-door, quick shot to the back of Daisy’s head, and we’ll be home before you know it!

Laughing that Martin added the tea mention (Martin, you single-track minded tea-aficionado), but I’m glad that he remembered it full well to throw it in her face; it wasn’t even a personal attack towards Martin, it was something Helen tried to do to Basira, I’m glad that Martin is still absolutely offended about it ;w;

- I felt like Jon and Helen had two definitions of “what we want”: Helen potentially talking about quick, short-term wants (even if they turn out to be self-destructive), while Jon was more about well-thought decisions and choices?

(MAG183) HELEN: [EXASPERATED SIGH] Oh, give over. I was obviously just prodding her, trying to make a point. She didn’t want to kill her. ARCHIVIST: What we want doesn’t matter much these days. HELEN: Oh, [RASPBERRY NOISE], nonsense. What we want is the only thing that matters these days. And Basira wanted to join Daisy. ARCHIVIST: She made her choice. HELEN: With your assistance. ARCHIVIST: It was still her choice. HELEN: [SIGH] What a waste. ARCHIVIST: No. [INHALE] It wasn’t.

There have been a lot of discussions about “choices” and “wants” throughout the series (with big moments in MAG092, MAG117 and MAG147), so it felt a bit nice that Jon seems to have reached a point where he could draw a line between both? Jon, Martin and Basira didn’t want this world, don’t want the way it operates and what it inflicts on them; it doesn’t mean they can’t weigh options and make specific decisions – Basira, to honour her promise to Daisy and kill the monster she had become; Jon, to not smite for revenge (and Martin, to face his own domain).

I LOVE HOW JON WAS FIRM ABOUT BASIRA’S CHOICE MATTERING ;w; It once again reminds me of Martin’s line to Simon: “I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.” (MAG151); the little things, the individual existences and choices, their own stories, still having value in the expanse of the universe…

- Martin! It’s a delight to see him so firm, having faith in Basira although he’s been so worried for her:

(MAG179) ARCHIVIST: Martin, this is what she needs. MARTIN: No, no! I–it’s…! BASIRA: It’ll… MARTIN: It’s completely– […] … We’re not doing this. BASIRA: [SOFTLY] Martin. Please. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … [SIGH] You’d better look after yourself. BASIRA: I will.

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: How are you doing? About… MARTIN: Yeah, yeah. Yeah. I’m… I don’t know. I’m–I’m not sure how to feel; just… pressing on, you know? ARCHIVIST: I do. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Do you think she’ll be okay without us? ARCHIVIST: Oh, she’s made it this far. MARTIN: … Yeah. I just worry.

(MAG183) MARTIN: Basira is… She’s going to be okay.

And then pointing out that he was involved in the discussion too and that he wanted to know what the other two knew already and not be kept out of the loop:

(MAG183) HELEN: Oh. Is she? Do you want me to tell you what she’s been up to while you were “resting”? Where she is right now? ARCHIVIST: You don’t need to. I already know. MARTIN: I don’t. [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: She’s currently moving through, uh… “The Void.” [STATIC FADES] Hungry shadows drifting in the dark. She’s been there a long time now, struggling to find the path. MARTIN: But she will? ARCHIVIST: I think so. HELEN: Yeah, she does always seem to manage, doesn’t she? It’s impressive. Although a little bit… tempting at times.

I’m not absoooolutely sure about Basira’s status: is “the void” a space between domains, or is it a Dark domain that Basira is having trouble finding the exit of, since unlike Jon, she can’t just “know” the paths? I suspect the latter but I’m not 100% certain. If it’s indeed The Dark, that’s a close to home one for her, since she had a few brushes with it over the course of the show – the Section 31 expedition to save Callum Brodie, leading to Rayner’s death and Basira’s decision to quit the police, her research to find out more about the People’s Church of the Divine Host (as shown in season 3) and her overall worry about them, which allowed Elias to convince her that they would attempt another ritual in Ny-Ålesund, leading to her discovering what “Rayner” was and travelling there with Jon, finding Manuela and the Dark Sun mid-season 4…

;ww; for Jon having faith in Basira, too… And the fact that once again, Basira has it a bit rougher than Jon&Martin (Jon had already told Martin that it had been a difficult journey for her, before they reunited). Helen does have a point that Basira seems to manage to find her way out in general: she had successfully escaped The Unknowing on her own, she had survived The Flesh’s attack on the Institute, she had pursued Daisy in the apocalypse… Basira has already gone through Helen’s corridors (offscreen at the end of MAG143, to return to the Institute), I’m YIKES about Helen implying that it would be “tempting” to grab her. (… But at the same time, why hasn’t she done it already, if she is capable of doing it? It might be a bit more complicated than that?)

- … I love Martin, I love that he was RIGHT to point out that Helen had just waltzed in to try and steer chaos:

(MAG183) MARTIN: Look, Helen, what do you even want? Okay, you keep turning up like a bad penny and, honestly, it, it seems like it’s… it’s just to be a dick! HELEN: Gasp! I am trying to be friends, Martin. Forever is a long time. And I occasionally like to have some company that isn’t… screaming. MARTIN: … What do you even think friendship is? HELEN: I dunno, do I? The only personhood I have is from someone I ate.

It feels like Helen has REALLY tried hard to make up for the weeks(?) she couldn’t find Jon and Martin? She went extra-hard on them: first with Basira, then implying to Jon that he had manipulated her into killing Daisy, then pointing out that Basira was not safe at the moment and still at risk of falling prey to other Fears (including herself), then trying to mock Martin about his domain, trying to guilt-trip Jon for not having told him about it yet, and when she finally managed to get Martin shocked and upset… job done, byebye.

Is it that she’s trying to get Jon so riled up he ends her? “Helen” used to like Jon and to turn to him (MAG101: “Helen liked you so… there’s a lot to consider. But I will help you leave.” / MAG115: “Before, talking to you made Helen feel better.”), before she was absolutely Down With Doors And Murders (MAG146: “We do what we need to do when it comes to feeding, don’t we? … Don’t we, Archivist?”), is it a remnant of that? Or is it really just an attempt at confusing Jon and Martin further, feeding from them Spiral-style?

- More about Martin’s domain later, but the reveal was BRUTAL, and yet not coming out of nowhere; we knew he had one, we knew he had almost been trapped in the Lonely house in MAG170 and the question was whether or not it had been (/was still) his domain once Martin got freed from it, but there was also the question of how Martin was able to walk in the apocalypse unharmed (was it due to Jon’s proximity, Martin’s connection to The Eye as an assistant, etc.), and Basira’s own status after Daisy’s death… so, yay! Answers and clarifications, and as usual, nothing feeling like a plot-twist, just things that make sense, and that we already had most of the information about!

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: Martin… MARTIN: Are there people, Jon? ARCHIVIST: What? MARTIN: Are there people in my domain? ARCHIVIST: Not many. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Do you need to do your… your thing? Make a statement about whatever’s going on in there? … I could use a moment to think. ARCHIVIST: Sure thing. Yeah, I–I’ll… [INHALE] Yeah. [EXHALE] [BAG JOSTLING] [DEPARTING FOOTSTEPS]

Sobbing a bit about Martin’s priorities (“Are there people, Jon?”) and Martin asking for a quick me-time. It wasn’t ice-cold, Martin turned it into something useful for both of them (expecting that Jon would have to give his statement anyway), but aouch, he sounded absolutely shattered inside while blank on the surface…

- Yes, yes, yes, reminder that Smirke’s categorisation is arbitrary and just like the Doctor’s theory, sometimes just doesn’t work, because it’s trying to force-apply rules and a classification over something that resists it (and because the classification is not perfect from the start), but hey, that’s most theories and classifications out there anyway, so: Escher reference, the functioning of the Tower reminding me of the Great Twisting, and the reasonings sometimes reminding me of Gabriel’s work (MAG126), plus Helen popping by – it was Spiral stuff, right?

Well! I felt like it looks like Spiral, but the Doctor’s fears by themselves:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: “But it is not the fall that terrifies him, not the pain of the impacts, but the fact that none of them should be there. That it doesn’t make sense, and it must make sense, there must be a system, there must be, because if there isn’t– [THE BODY LANDS WETLY] He lands with a heavy smack onto rough limestone, and lies still, his body twisted and broken. He knows it will knit itself back together, slowly, painfully, as it always has before. But the thought of starting over, of composing yet another theory, fills him with a deep dread.”

… are more something I would identify as Eye (fear of a truth) and Hunt (fear of having to return to the start, to have to elaborate a new theory from scratch, again and again, of being trapped forever)?

It was really reminiscent of Smirke thinking back over his life, his hubris and the pride of being the one who would have found the answer, to the point where he would reject reality if it didn’t match his taxonomy (refusing to, well… do what you do with a theory: change, or evolve and perfect it when its flaws are pointed out):

(MAG138, Robert Smirke) “I believed then, as I still believe now, that these places I saw were the Powers themselves, expressed in their truest form, far more entirely than any ‘secret book’ can claim. And if, as I came to believe, the Dread Powers were themselves places of a sort, then surely with the right space, the right architecture, they could be contained. Channelled. Harnessed. So yes. Hubris. Not simply in that, I suppose, but in believing that those I brought into my confidence shared my lofty goals. […] Would you have me separate The Corruption between insects, dirt and disease? To, to divide the fungal bloom from the maggot? No. No, I… stand by my work. And thus, we must conclude that the only explanation is a new Power, created from what was once others, yet also distinct. And if such change is possible, how then can any “true balance” be achieved through immutable, unchanging stone…?”

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: “If they are feeling very confident, they may lean down and stretch a curious tongue beyond their chipped teeth and rotten gums, desperate to add another sense to their observances – more evidence to support their declaration of what the world must be. […] They must simply study and learn, if they are to escape the labyrinth. They will be the first to escape. The one who sits in the central chamber cannot remember his name. But he knows that people called him “doctor”. He made sure of that; to ignore it would have been the greatest disrespect, and he will not be disrespected. […] He knows, for a fact, that this is the central chamber because he is the one sat here. […] They’ll all remember him forever, the first to escape the Monument. His name will be hallowed with the greats: Doctor, uh… Doctor…”

Same old pride, Leitner knew that well too (MAG080: “But I think, in my heart, I dreamed of my work becoming known. That ‘The Library of Jurgen Leitner’ would stand as a symbol of courage and protection. Hubris.”) and Gerry didn’t have many nice things to say about it (MAG111: “Flamsteed, Smirke, Leitner. Idiots who destroyed themselves chasing a secret that wasn’t worth knowing.”). Loved how the statements came for Smirke’s life and was absolutely ruthless about it – but maayyybe a bit too ruthless, even? Jon didn’t express much sympathy for “fools like Smirke” either, and this is a rare case in season 5 where I find that the statement was a bit lacking in empathy for… people who were technically victims. I mean! Insufferable pedantic academics sure are a type, they’re really not having the worst life out there, but it makes me feel a bit weird, with season 5’s overall tone, that the episode had that vibe of “serves them well, they’re insufferable” about people who were technically still trapped in a domain and suffering from it?

… I still laughed a lot about the Doctor vs. Professor rivalry and how they solved their argument:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: “The doctor that lies on the floor has recovered, just enough to laugh. ‘You’re still working on mineral theory? How painfully outdated.’ A flash of genuine fear crosses the face of the professor at this dismissal, before he picks up his chunk of granite, and begins to smash the doctor’s head in, yet again.” [SOUNDS OF BRUTAL PEER REVIEW]

Academia unleashed.

(- OKAY, I HAVE TO CONFESS that when the character could only remember his title as “Doctor”, with Smirke having been mentioned earlier, my mind just jumped to Doctor Fanshawe… ;; He had left a strong impression on me, okay.)

- ;w; Over the fact that Martin got his me-time and that it was enough: he was clearly tense, but he came back with direct questions and knew what he wanted cleared up…

(MAG183) MARTIN: Finished? ARCHIVIST: Yes. MARTIN: Good. … I need you to explain something to me. ARCHIVIST: All right.

- I can’t believe that Martin Global Heartthrob Blackwood made The Eye FALL FOR HIM too:

(MAG183) MARTIN: How do I have a domain? That doesn’t make any sense. ARCHIVIST: It’s like I said. [INHALE] Everything here is either watcher, or watched. MARTIN: [SIGH] Subject or object, yes, I know, we’ve been over this. ARCHIVIST: Well, you’re a watcher, Martin. You worked for the Institute, you read statements, The Eye is… fond of you. You’re not getting thrown into your own personal hell, which means…

Jane, Peter, Simon, Elias, Salesa, Annabelle, now Beholding – do you have any limit, Martin.

!! I’m excited over the fact that Martin’s entanglement with Beholding stuff was acknowledged! Comparatively, Melanie had read 2 statements (MAG086, MAG106) and Basira 1 (MAG112). Meanwhile, Martin had read 12; plus, although Tim, Melanie, Martin and Basira had taken (… or tried to take) one live statement each in MAG100, Martin had also taken 3 additional full statements:

MAG084, Adrian Weiss (Corruption) MAG088, Enrique MacMillan (Buried) MAG090, Ross Davenport (Flesh) MAG095, Luca Moretti (Slaughter) MAG098, Doctor Algernon Moss (Dark) MAG100 (live), Lynne Hammond (Desolation) MAG104 (live), Tim Stoker (Stranger) MAG108, Adonis Biros (Lonely) MAG110, Alexia Crawley (Web) MAG134, Adelard Dekker (Extinction) MAG138, Robert Smirke (Eye) MAG142 (live), Jess Tyrell (Buried, Eye) MAG144, Gary Boylan (Extinction) MAG149, Judith O’Neill (Extinction) MAG151 (live), Simon Fairchild (Vast) MAG156, Adelard Dekker (Extinction)

With Simon highlighting that Beholding had compelled him through Martin:

(MAG151) SIMON: Hm! No wonder I’m so sympathetic to The Lonely. You know: this really is a place for self-discovery, isn’t it? [CHUCKLE] “Statement ends”, I suppose! MARTIN: Uh… I’m sorry? SIMON: Oh! Nothing, just my own hubris. I should have known. When I came here, I said to myself: “Simon,” I said, “you’re going to answer this young man’s questions, but you’re not going to give The Watcher a statement. You’re better than that.” But it’s a hard one to resist, isn’t it? You get in the flow of talking about yourself, and it all just… tumbles out. MARTIN: Mm, does seem like it.

Elias might have been eyeing him as back-up Archivist, too (although since then, we’ve learned of his bet with Peter which would have already been running at the time – it might have been that Elias mostly wanted to ensure that Martin wouldn’t die during the Unknowing because he’d be needing him afterwards):

(MAG116) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] What about Martin? MARTIN: What about me? ARCHIVIST: He should stay behind. MARTIN: What?! ELIAS: Really. MARTIN: Why? ARCHIVIST: Too many people might attract attention. MARTIN: No, no, I can help, I’ve been reading the statements! ELIAS: … Quite right, er, probably best he does stay behind. BASIRA: What, so you have a backup if Jon doesn’t make it? ELIAS: I’m sure that won’t be necessary.

Martin did a lot of research, read these statements aloud, took live statements, was hinted as a potential replacement; tape recorders have spawned around him like they do with Jon, even outside of statements, and Martin had been exceptionally kind towards them on multiple occasions; there had been that little moment of Martin somehow knowing that Jon was alive back in season 3 (MAG088: “It’s the not knowing, you know? I mean, Jon’s still alive. Not sure why, but I’m sure of that. But Sasha, I…”), shortly before we had learned about Jon’s own Knowing powers developing; we don’t know why and whether that was Beholding or The Web or something else, but Martin had been able to know how to get Jon out of the Coffin in season 4:

(MAG134) PETER: What does puzzle me, though, and I mean that genuinely, is… why you were piling tape recorders onto the coffin, while Jon was in there. [PAUSE] It’s a question, Martin, it’s– it’s not an accusation. MARTIN: I don’t know. And I just… felt like it might help. He’s always recording, I thought… it–it might help him… find his way out. PETER: Interesting. Were you compelled? MARTIN: [SULLEN] … I don’t know. … M–maybe? I–I, I definitely wanted to do it… PETER: But? MARTIN: I’m… I’m not sure where the idea came from. PETER: You should watch out for that. Could be something dangerous. MARTIN: Sure.

… And Peter’s whole plan relied on the fact that Martin was initially touched by Beholding:

(MAG134) PETER: [BREATHES] I’m still working out some of the kinks. But I believe I have a plan. However, it requires this place, and it requires someone touched by The Beholding. Elias was, perhaps unsurprisingly, unwilling to help.

(MAG158) PETER: It’s quite simple, really…! I want to use the powers of this place to learn about The Extinction: what it’s doing, where it’s manifesting. Then we can stop it. MARTIN: And you need me for this? PETER: Correct! Without a connection to The Eye, any attempt to use it would likely end… very messily indeed! But thankfully, it just so happens that you hold such a connection. MARTIN: So that’s it… Both “lonely” and “watching”. PETER: You must admit you’re the perfect candidate. MARTIN: I suppose I am.

Beholding baby!! Now coming in an additional Lonely flavour.

- Mmmmmmmm… The way Jon put it, it seems that Beholding is consciously rewarding its servant and:

* It could be Jon trying to make sense of something else, that he doesn’t understand? Gertrude didn’t think that the Fears were able to “think” at all (MAG145: “Sometimes, I think They understand us as… little as we understand Them. We don’t think like They do.” “I’m not actually convinced they “think” at all.”); reward&affection could be primitive enough feelings for a blob of terrors to work out (Martin fed Beholding as an assistant by reading statements => Beholding grants him things in the hope of getting fed even more?), but I don’t know, I can’t help but wonder if this is just Jon humanising the Fears a bit too much? It’s curious that Beholding got “fond” of Martin precisely when Jon himself fell in love with him – could Jon’s feelings have influenced Martin’s position in the apocalypse, could Jon be having a bit more power over the landscape than he realises?

* … If Beholding is rewarding its servants, that doesn’t bode well for Elias. WELL, no, I mean: it might mean that Elias is having a Great Time as a Beholding acolyte, which means it doesn’t bode well for my desire to see Elias get absolutely wrecked and wrong about being the “king of a ruined world”. I want him to have miscalculated, damnit! x’D

- I’m having so many feelings over Martin himself being unsure of what he wants, whether it’s better to know or to remain ignorant…

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: It’s like I said. [INHALE] Everything here is either watcher, or watched. MARTIN: [SIGH] Subject or object, yes, I know, we’ve been over this. ARCHIVIST: Well, you’re a watcher, Martin. You worked for the Institute, you read statements, The Eye is… fond of you. You’re not getting thrown into your own personal hell, which means… MARTIN: [QUIETLY] That one of them belongs to me. But that’s… Ho–how can I be a “Watcher”? I, I didn’t even know it existed! ARCHIVIST: But you’ve suspected for a while now, haven’t you? MARTIN: Maybe? But that’s not “watching”! ARCHIVIST: Do you want me to tell you about it? MARTIN: No. … Yes. N–no, no, I don’t know, I don’t know. [SIGH]

Is it a remnant of his discussions with Tim in season 3? He’s basically gone the reverse of Tim about it:

(MAG098) MARTIN: Y’know, I think he thinks that the distance keeps us safe, you know? Like, like, if he just makes sure that we’re not involved, we’re somehow fine. TIM: He’s an idiot. Look, we didn’t know what that door was, and it still trapped us. Ignorance isn’t going to save anyone. MARTIN: No, I mean, you’re right, I guess.

Martin has seen enough to know now that ignorance doesn’t protect anyone, but also that knowledge can be used as a weapon – that the horrors are just made to hurt. I feel like, in his situation, noping out of Jon’s statements was one of his only ways to assert his boundaries (which had been denied from him — and from others — for a long time)? But here, the situation is different; it’s about Martin’s own involvement, he knew the knowledge would hurt anyway… but it’s also his load to bear? To at least face what is happening, since he’s benefitting from it, since he’s been made complicit (without ever wanting to)? It still goes perfectly with the exploration of exploitative and oppressive systems: Martin, unknowingly and unwillingly inflicting hurt, still being in a better situation than others… while not being directly responsible for it, not wanting to benefit from it. It really makes me want to see Jon&Martin find a way to reverse or improve things, to get people out of the domains or giving them the keys to escape them, and I don’t know if I can even hope something about this ;; (On the Jon&Martin front, things are so good; but it still feels so unfair for… everyone else.)

- Martin having a domain and being classified as a “watcher” finally explains why he hadn’t been impacted by the apocalypse since the Change! He had been able to get out of the domains’ grasp even when he wasn’t around Jon (he had fallen behind at the end of MAG163, he wandered around in the Web’s theatre, he left Jon alone for most of the statements), and there was still the question of… how he was still surviving without eating, and at the same time wasn’t (at least as far as we knew) trapped in a domain:

(MAG161) MARTIN: [MIRTHLESS HUFF] What about food? ARCHIVIST: What about it? When’s the last time you thought to eat, o–or even felt hungry? MARTIN: [FAINT] What…? Wha… Uh… I don’t know. ARCHIVIST: No. Whatever is sustaining us now doesn’t need us to eat. MARTIN: That… that can’t be possible– ARCHIVIST: It’s a new world, Martin, the natural laws are whatever they want them to be. And I suspect they don’t much care to keep humanity fed and watered.

I was wondering if it was Jon’s influence, or Martin being “trapped” in Jon’s domain, and Jon had also alluded to the possibility that they were themselves trapped in their quest towards the Panopticon:

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “Free” doesn’t really exist in this place. MARTIN: Apart from us. ARCHIVIST: I suppose. I–in a sense, though… [CHUCKLING] how much of that is because we are trapped in our own quest to– MARTIN: Okay, let’s, let’s not dive into another… ontological debate right now, not here. ARCHIVIST: Fair enough.

And Jon had even specifically told Martin that he had a domain, shortly before Martin got almost imprisoned in the Lonely house:

(MAG167) ARCHIVIST: We all have a domain here, Martin. The place that feeds us. MARTIN: Oh. [PAUSE] Where’s yours? ARCHIVIST: [MIRTHLESS CHUCKLE] I mean, we’re… traveling towards it. MARTIN: Oh! Right, obviously. [CHUCKLING] Duh. Hum… What about me? ARCHIVIST: … Would you… like me to… ? MARTIN: No, no. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. ARCHIVIST: … Okay!

(MAG170) ARCHIVIST: I, I didn’t want to… look too ha–, I–I–I promised I wouldn’t… know you, and, and with the fog in all–all the rooms, I’ll, I just, I lost y–, I… I–I’m sorry. MARTIN: It’s okay. ARCHIVIST: … No, I… I tried to use the… to know where you were, but… it was… You–you were faint. It was so strange, i–it took me so long just to find you…! [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] MARTIN: Jon, it’s… okay. I promise it’s okay. This place tried, it really did, and honestly I… I wanted to believe it. But I didn’t. ARCHIVIST: This… “place”, i–it… [STATIC] My god…! […] I, I just… I wanted to make sure that you knew what this place was. MARTIN: It’s The Lonely, Jon. It’s me. ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Not anymore. MARTIN: Hm! No. [LONG INHALE, EXHALE] No…! Not anymore.

And alright, that finally answers it: the Lonely house wasn’t his domain, wasn’t meant to be (but he was susceptible to it, got almost trapped in it as a “watched” although he eventually managed to reject and break free from it). His own domain was elsewhere, and Martin himself was amongst the “watchers” all along; Martin is living a bit like Helen in this apocalypse, having a fixed domain, but able to navigate elsewhere.

Aouch for Martin, since he had been encouraging Jon to smite domains’ rulers as soon as he discovered that Jon could do it; it was already murky territory for Jon himself (if the “avatars” and “monsters” just deserve to die, what about Jon?), it was awful with Callum (Martin himself drew the line at smiting a kid)… but now, we know it was directly including him, too, and that he had been fed through people’s pain all along. No wonder Helen had encouraged the smiting so hard, if she already knew they were kind of neighbours…

… Double-aouch for Jon, because he had offered twice the option for Martin to stay elsewhere, permanently:

(MAG170) ARCHIVIST: M–Martin, if you… did; i–if you wanted to forget… a–all of it, stay here and just… escape. I… I would understand. MARTIN: … N–no…! It’s comforting here, leaving all those… painful memories behind, but… It’s not a good comfort, it’s… I–it’s the kind that makes you fade, makes you… dim and… distant.

(MAG181) ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry, I… It would have been nice to stay. MARTIN: [WISTFULLY] Yeah… I’d almost forgotten what it was like, you know? A bit of peace, eh! ARCHIVIST: I mean, you could have… MARTIN: No, don’t say it, Jon. You know I never would. I–I can’t just “forget” about all the people out here! Besides, I’d rather be trapped in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with you than spend one more moment in paradise with her.

And Jon probably didn’t know what Martin’s domain was exactly, back then, since we heard the knowing static kick in when he described the domain in this episode? But he probably knew, already, that Martin having a domain didn’t mean that he belonged to it as a victim, but as a ruler, and that it would hurt Martin so much. (“No one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most! … Even me.”, indeed ;;)

- I AM HAVING SO MANY FEELINGS OVER THE DESCRIPTION OF MARTIN’S DOMAIN…

(MAG183) [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: It’s a small domain. A swirling mix of The Eye and The Lonely. Inhabited by a few lost souls whose fear is not of their isolation or their agonies, but that no-one… will ever know of them. That they shall suffer in silence, and be mourned by nobody. That’s why you can’t really see it. It’s why even if we do travel through it, you won’t be able to see… any of the people trapped there.

… It reminds me so much of what Martin probably experienced in his own flat, when Prentiss besieged him for two weeks and Martin was unable to contact anyone, and nobody came to check on him? Did Martin’s domain grow from his own old fears…?

It also reminds me a bit of Naomi’s brush with The Lonely:

(MAG013) NAOMI: The fog seemed to follow me as went and seemed to swirl around with a strange, deliberate motion. You’ll probably think me an idiot, but it felt almost malicious. I don’t know what it wanted, but somehow I was sure it wanted something. There was no presence to it, though, it wasn’t as though another person was there, it was… It made me feel utterly forsaken.

Overall, the description is extremely… typical from what we’ve seen of The Lonely: there was Naomi’s misadventure, Ethan disappeared and nobody even claimed his backpack (MAG048), Yetunde Uthman had “disappeared a year ago. And nobody noticed” (MAG150)…

(But from that description alone, it doesn’t sound very Beholding, despite what Jon said? I’m curious about the Eye aspect of it…)

- Can’t believe that Martin canonically turns out to be the Lonely Eyes love(hate)child, gdi. It really was a custody battle in MAG158.

- Extra-sad that Jon warned Martin that there was meaning in the fact that Martin didn’t know anything about his domain, and wouldn’t even be able to see people in there… It’s just so cruel, both for them, and for Martin, to learn that he’s been unknowingly contributing to their misery (because they fed him and he didn’t even know about them)?

Pretty sure that Martin will stay with Jon to hear that statement, at the very least ;; (Or could he ask for something more? We’ve seen Jon extracting Breekon’s statement in MAG128, I wonder if he could put something into someone’s head like Elias had done, allowing Martin to give that statement himself…)

- I’m wondering about Jon’s own domain, too, now! He said they were heading towards it, so it’s either the Panopticon, the Institute or the Archives, or a mix of those… or something close to it, on their way to it. If Martin’s domain is a mix of Lonely&Eye, is Jon’s pure Eye? A mix of the 14/15? A Web&Eye mix, given Jon’s own personal fears?

I know that Jonny (lovingly) called out the obsessive classification in this episode through Jon, who went off on a rant about the “neat little boxes”, but he’s still using the Smirke classification this season:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: It’s a small domain. A swirling mix of The Eye and The Lonely.

(AND IN THIS VERY EPISODE… Jon…)

- On the one hand: feeling directly called out by Jon’s rant about how the divisions between avatars/monsters/humans/victims wasn’t and isn’t working, that reality escapes that division because it’s much more complicated than this:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: [HEATED] Avatar isn’t a thing, Martin, it’s not–! It’s just a word. A word used by… fools like Smirke to try and sort everything into neat little boxes, to reduce the messy spray of human fear into a checklist: Human, avatar, monster, victim. Only now, now, there’s a binary. There’s finally a clear dividing line and… [SIGH] Well. I’m sorry you’re not happy with which side you’ve ended up on.

(It felt especially relevant with Callum Brodie: could we really tell that he was an “avatar” when he was still a freshly wounded kid, even if a tormentor himself?)

On the other hand, well, that was still a useful distinction to have to identify servants, and mostly, I’m not extremely convinced by Jon arguing that there is now a Clear BinaryTM in the new world, between the “watchers” and the “watched”, since:

1°) Helen herself explained the dichotomy to Martin (MAG166: “And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid.”). Given that she mostly tries to confuse them… that’s a red flag.

2°) Despite Jon defending that binary, we’ve run into plenty of examples of things… not fitting into that new classification. He himself acknowledged that Basira’s status wasn’t established yet; we’ve seen Salesa, protected by his camera from the chaos; Jon has been unable to know about Georgie and Melanie, only hypothesising that they might in what-used-to-be-London; Martin, a watcher, could still have fallen prey to another domain… That’s already a lot of special cases around that “clear dividing line”…

3°) Somethingsomethingsomething about how it’s in Beholding’s best interest that Jon believes in a clear, unchangeable, dividing line which serves Beholding’s own interests. If things feel fixed and unchangeable, then there is no point trying to fight against it or find a loophole, right?

Given that a Watcher can get trapped in another domain… does that mean that it could be the case for Jon, too? We got a threat of it in MAG172, when Jon began to give the statement of the following act – if Martin hadn’t interrupted him, would Jon have ever been able to stop?

- Confirmation that Daisy had “trapped” Basira in her Hunt! I was suspecting it since Jon’s first wording:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Is Basira alive? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] MARTIN: Is she… in… o–one of these places? [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: She’s alive. Out there, not… trapped in a–a hellscape, but… moving. [STATIC DECREASES] Hunting. She’s… she’s looking for Daisy. She’s a few steps behind.

(MAG183) MARTIN: … What about Daisy? Or Basira? ARCHIVIST: Daisy carved through the domains of others. Basira… well… In a very real way she was a sufferer in Daisy’s domain. Maybe the only one. Hunting, following, hurting. Now Daisy’s dead, she’s… free. Sort of. She’s inherited something of Daisy’s ability to move through the other domains. For now, she’ll… feed off what she sees in them. As to whether the Eye ultimately gives her a domain of her own… I don’t know yet.

* And now, Basira seems to have a peculiar status… Is it because she killed Daisy? Is it because she killed the ruler of her domain? Jon explained that a ruler’s death didn’t change much for the domain itself, but maybe it operates differently if a victim kills a ruler (… they become the new ruler?)

* Another reminder that Jon cannot see the future.

* Big Eyeball didn’t immediately give Basira a domain, but Martin got one. I see that favouritism, uh. (Joke, it does make sense given how Martin recorded a lot of statements and had worked at the Institute for years and years.)

- I love how Jon managed to explain why he hadn’t told Martin everything, and how Martin… indeed agreed that Jon had been mostly trying to respect his wishes about not knowing ;; It’s true that Martin had been adamant about not hearing much of the horror:

(MAG163) MARTIN: J–Jon, enough! Enough! [STATIC FADES] … Please don’t tell me these things. ARCHIVIST: I… I’m sorry, I– There’s just so much! There’s so much, Martin, and I know all of it, I can see all of it, and I– It’s filling me up, I need to let it out! MARTIN: I’m sorry, but tough. Okay? Tha–that’s not what I’m here for. [VOICE IN THE DISTANCE: “No… No!”] MARTIN: I can’t be that for you, I–I just can’t.

(MAG167) MARTIN: Oh! Right, obviously. [CHUCKLING] Duh. Hum… What about me? ARCHIVIST: … Would you… like me to… ? MARTIN: No, no. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. ARCHIVIST: … Okay!

(MAG183) MARTIN: You didn’t tell her any of that. ARCHIVIST: I didn’t think the metaphysics of her place in the fear ecosystem was something she’d be particularly interested in at that moment. MARTIN: Fair. But you seem very reluctant to tell anyone any of this stuff. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I did try, right at the start, but y–you didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so I didn’t push it. It’s hard, I have so much knowledge but… how do I decide what people want me to share, and what they never want to know?. MARTIN: I guess that makes sense.

But Martin seems to acknowledge that indeed, Jon had been trying his best about it…

(And now, I wonder if there is still other stuff that Jon hadn’t told Martin, in the same vein…)

- First choice for Martin:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I was going to bring it up at the crossroads. Inside. I only just realised we would be going this way. […] MARTIN: I guess that makes sense. … So what did you mean about the crossroads? When you were talking to Helen. ARCHIVIST: It’s a maze in there, something between a, a Rubik’s Cube and a Magic Eye picture. I can find us the way through easily enough but… well. For us, there are two ways out. Two paths to London. MARTIN: What are the choices? ARCHIVIST: One would be a long, winding route, we’d see a lot of horrors, but remain… personally untouched. MARTIN: And the other is my domain. ARCHIVIST: Eventually. It’s a shorter path, with faces we know along the way. Including Helen. MARTIN: I thought Helen was her domain, wi–with all the doors and that? ARCHIVIST: She is, but she has a… position within this pseudo-landscape, like any other. MARTIN: O–okay. [INHALE] So, so, I mean, I suppose we’ve got to do that one, right? ARCHIVIST: We don’t have to, w–we–we could just– MARTIN: What, what? We could, we could dodge around it? Take the path of denial? I guess, but… what is it you keep harping on about? “The journey will be the journey”? [SIGH] I mean… It’s pretty obvious that this one is my journey.

! Glad that Martin didn’t hesitate and immediately understood what it was about – that it mattered to do it that way, that Martin had to face it, that this is how this world works. No hesitation about it. He got a demonstration with Basira, but still, he was quick to accept it.

I’m expecting a few episodes before Martin’s domain, so… with the overall rhythm of the season, they might reach the Institute by MAG189? And Hill Top Road during Act III?

- Since Jon mentioned that the path Martin ended up choosing had:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: Eventually. It’s a shorter path, with faces we know along the way. Including Helen.

I wonder about those “faces we know”, since we’re running super-low on ~avatars~. Different options:

* Institute staff. Rosiiiie?

* Melanie&Georgie. A bit unlikely, given that Jon had trouble knowing what was the deal with them, I feel?

* Since Helen will be there, people who gave live statements to Jon and were trapped in his nightmare zoo. I’m mostly thinking about this one, especially since Jon’s “No one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most! … Even me.”… (And if it’s about an internal and metaphorical journey, I feel like having to face people that Jon hurt, first unaware (he didn’t know about the nightmare zoo when he signed to become the Head Archivist), then partially unwilling but still doing it (he felt guilty about it but still hid it, still chose self-preservation instead of warning the others about it), would have its place…)

- In the same fashion, who is trapped in Martin’s domain? Unrelated people? Live statement-givers? (;; I’m thinking of Jess, who had the misfortune of being compelled by Jon and of giving a statement to Martin…)

… Given that it’s confirmed to be a “journey” for Martin too, I can’t help but squint at Jon’s wording, because. “Faces we know”. The only thing we know of Martin’s father is the fact that he looks like Martin… (MAG118: “The thing is, though, Martin: if you ever do want to know exactly what your father looked like… all you have to do is look in a mirror~ The resemblance is quite uncanny. The face of the man she hates, who destroyed her life, watching over her, feeding her, cleaning her, looking down on her with such pity–”)

- I’ll be having Annabelle’s words stuck in my head (ha) for a long time but:

(MAG181) ANNABELLE: Don’t worry, Martin. We’ll meet again. Hopefully when you’re feeling a little bit more… open-minded…! MARTIN: I wouldn’t count on it. ANNABELLE: I would. MARTIN: [SIGH]

… Was it a reference to Martin learning about his own domain and about how the world operates, his place in it? I think that Martin might be even more resolved to turn the world back at whatever cost, now that he knows that he is himself sustained by fear…

(LISTEN, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY HOW WEB!MARTIN CAN STILL WI–)

- !! Footage of Martin saying “I love you” for the first time ;w; I love how it was the thing he was certain about, both a slight decompressing joke and a true statement, a reminder that he has faith in Jon, that he has something to cling to?

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: If you’re sure. MARTIN: … I’m sure I love you. [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: I love you too. [FABRIC RUSTLES] Let’s go.

(He had mentioned that he was “in love” in MAG170, I’m happy to hear him telling Jon, too!) And the fabric RUSTLED, SO LONG AND SO HARD, AND AT LEAST TWICE!! I love how the tension from right before and after the statement had faded by the end of the episode ;w; Rollercoaster of little emotions…

MAG184’s makes me think of something Leitner had said (more lore about the Fearpocalypse?), and of Vast and Corruption… with very different vibes. If Corruption, and keeping in mind that Jon has announced that they will be encountering “faces [they] know along the way”, it cooould contain Jordan Kennedy, the exterminator from Pest Control…? Especially given that both Jon and Martin had met him (Jon took his live statement, and Martin pleaded offscreen for him to get them the jar of Prentiss’s ashes to comfort Jon).

(Yessss, I am absolutely aware of the irony of still using Smirke’s categorisation after another episode in which we were told again that it is bollocks, but if Jon himself still occasionally labels the domain as one of the 15, so can I ♥)

#long post/ #tma liveblog #mag183 #tma season 5 #the magnus archives #tma spoilers/

[kisskissbanggang]

Standby pt. 5 -- The Finale

[30+ Min Read/10.2K Words – Bang Chan x Female Reader – Idol!AU – Half Plot, Half NSFW/Smut – Unresolved Pining, Soul Searching, Confrontation, Regrettable Situations, Rough Encounters, Role Reversal, Epilogue]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Masterlist | Feedback

You felt cold as you half-heartedly browsed the racks of CDs, and it wasn't just because of the dumping rain outside. This wasn't anywhere near the list of things you wanted to do today, yet here you were. Chris had blandly explained Hyunjae promised to take him to the music store on the way to the studio, that he would only need a ride there since he could more safely get back by himself later that night. However, Hyunjae got called away to one of her hundreds of meetings, and you were reluctantly roped in. It was the only thing he’d said to you since you both came back to Seoul. The car ride had been painfully silent. Chris hadn't even worn headphones. He just stared out the window as you drove. 

Chris’ browsing brought him closer down the aisle  to you. You’d had enough. It’d been rough trying to navigate this chasm between you and you just wanted to see him put at ease. 

“I'm sorry,” you said quietly, not looking up from the display as you browsed. 

“You don't have to say that,” Chris replied coolly. 

“What do you want me to say?” You prodded. Chris just flipped through CDs.

“I don't want you to say anything.”

A sigh sank heavily from your lips. “I just feel really bad--”

“That's fine,” Chris firmly snapped at you, “It's fine that you feel bad, because stringing me along like you have been doesn't feel very good for me either.”

“Stringing you along?!” You hated this. All of this. You hated Chris being hurt, but most of all you hated how confused you still were about everything. And now Chris would barely even look at you, let alone talk to you. 

“Yeah,” Chris nodded enthusiastically, “I took all this time, stupidly thinking we were developing something, really putting myself out there like an idiot just because of what you said on the plane, and--”

You looked up to see what had made Chris stop mid-rant. The cameras were here. He sheepishly bit down his anger and engrossed himself in the CDs. Each plastic case clacking against each other made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. 

It was prudent to always be on the lookout for cameras in public, so you should've still expected them even after there appeared to be none when you arrived. You tried to appear to be intently browsing the racks when an obnoxious voice came behind you. 

“Can I see the happy couple?”

Oh god. Not this guy. You noticed Chris’ shoulders tense along with yours. This guy was awful, this balding frog of a man who was outsourced by a couple fansites to take pictures during school days. You both tried your hardest to focus on your shopping. The guy prodded up against you, only backing off when you shot him a glare. 

“Awh, trouble in paradise?” The frog man laughed, still snapping pictures. 

“Can you leave us alone, please?” You asked begrudgingly. 

“What’s the matter?” The guy condescended, “is boyfriend Chan not getting you the CD you wanted?” This time, the awful man pulled on your sleeve, moving you out of the way to get a picture. 

“Excuse me!” You sharply interjected, stepping back in his frame, “That was extremely rude of you. Please leave us alone.”

“Just a couple of pictures and I'll be out of your way,” he grumbled, elbowing you back to the side. A small crowd was gathering now, despite the distance they kept. You spied a couple of cell phones being whipped out, and the fire in your chest burned a little hotter. 

“I really don’t think so--” you insisted, interrupted as Chris anxiously tugged on the loop of your backpack. Your feet remained planted firmly in place between the two men. 

“Come on,” Chris murmured behind you, “walk away. It’s not worth it.”

“It really isn’t.” The photographer chuckled, now grabbing onto your arm. 

“Let go,” you stiffly ordered, trying to sound as confident as you hoped you could be. 

“Then move,” he challenged. 

“You’re hurting me,” you warned. 

“All the more reason to let me do my job.”

“Fine,” you replied curtly, gaining all the willpower you could, “you do your job, and I'll do mine.”

That was it. You were done. You weren’t dealing with this today -- or anymore, for that matter. Stepping forward, you stomped onto the photographer’s foot, grabbing his camera and shoving it back into his face until he tripped back onto the floor. Your ears perked at Chris’ sharp gasp and whispered string of curses behind you. You grabbed his hand and moved to step around the man, letting out a startled scream as he grabbed onto the leg of your jeans. 

“Cheap move, you little bit--”

Chris stepped forward, getting an arm around you to pull you away. He grabbed ahold of your hand, yanking you back toward the rear exit and away from the assembled onlookers and their cell phones. He slammed open the back door of the store as the photographer got up to his feet and barreled after you. Thankfully the company car was nearby, having chosen to park out of direct view of the street behind the store. You sprinted around and dove into the driver side of the car while Chris scrambled into the passenger seat, your sweating fingers fumbling with the keys as the frog man caught up and attempted to pull the handle. You screamed again, quickly sorting through the keys as Chris reached across you and locked the door. There practically seemed to be three times as many keys as you guessed were necessary. Finally, you got a firm hold of the right key and stabbed it into the ignition. Exhaust spilled out from behind the car as you punched the gas, peeling out of the back parking lot and leaving the photographer in your wake. 

“Why did you get involved?!” You asked Chris, still breathing hard in all the adrenaline as you drove. 

“Me?! Why did you even start it?!” He shot back at you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you let out a crazed laugh, “not all of us are insistent on being so congenial and noble at all times.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I'm not someone who’s going to let people walk all over me just so I can look good.”

“You sure are lucky to have that privilege, aren’t you?” Chris slouched down in the passenger seat, flushed from his anger. “I mean, be condescending all you want, but it works. The pictures speak for themselves. Stay can always tell when I'm not having a good time, even when I wish they couldn’t.” You bit your lip, noticing him fiddling with his fingers and clearly preoccupied with something. The car ride was silent after that, up until you pulled up to the studio. Chris wordlessly opened the door and shouldered his bag. The need to say something, anything, was eating at you as he turned to walk inside. 

“Chris--”

“What?” He asked bluntly, pausing, his hand still about to swing the passenger door shut. He looked so thoroughly exhausted. 

“I'm sorry.”

Chris shrugged. “You couldn't help it.” He looked at you now, really looking at you for the first time in days. Surely, he must've seen how hurt and lost you looked as he shut the door and walked away. 

Your drive back to the dorm felt like a dream, like you were sleepwalking until the moment you walked inside and Hyunjae stormed over to you, apparently back from her meeting. She had yelled and berated you, scolding you for being so stubborn and reckless. Hyunjae shoved her phone in your face, flicking through photos and videos of you and Chris and the photographer. It was useless to tell her you were defending yourself. He was right: the pictures spoke for themselves. You knew you had made a dangerous decision, that the prudent thing to do would’ve been to bite your tongue and do nothing. 

And then she passed the news along. You were too much trouble right now. You were suspended indefinitely while the company figured out how to get rid of you. 

It would take too much of your energy to cry about it. Really, all you could manage to do was catch your bus back to your cold apartment, still sleepwalking as you walked inside. Even though it was your home, it felt so empty. You supposed it was from the lack of people you usually had around, but you knew that in the end, you were just stupid enough to get wrapped up in the wrong good intention. 

Days passed and your friends slowly realized you were back home. The beeping on your phone eventually fizzled from a storm to a light rain, occasionally buzzing as someone wondered where you were, if you were free to catch up. All you could do was drift from the couch to the bathtub to the bed, occasionally heading downstairs to the convenience store on the corner when you noticed you were hungry. It was getting to be too much, weighing on you and insisting upon itself. None of the texts that popped up on your phone were Chris, and they wouldn’t be. You had to finally see that. You resolved to answer the next text that came, praying to feel anything but lost and numb for the first time in weeks. 

Come out tonight, came the next message, we miss you, dummy. You sighed, begrudgingly thankful it was this and not someone inviting themselves over with ice cream and wine. Still, you fussed over an outfit to wear, even if you were quietly glad to be distracted. You settled on a simple and fun dress with some heels you hadn't worn in forever. You finally took the time to fully clean yourself up, even going so far as to put on some more makeup than your usual. The person in the mirror looked vaguely more put together than you felt, which was just what you needed as you ordered an Uber. 

The club was noisy and crowded, which you knew to expect, but it was bearable to have friends there. Everyone was gracious enough to give you two minutes of personal gushing and pecking and prying before the matter on everyone’s minds finally came tumbling out: Chris or, rather, Bang Chan. Were you dating, were you fucking, were you still together? You dragged your friends into a booth before you finally explained all you were willing to be held accountable for: it was complicated, and it wasn’t what it looked like, and it wouldn't be smart to say anything more. Your friends just about murdered you for such an apparent cop-out, but it was true. You couldn’t afford to give anyone the wrong idea, even if that meant telling them virtually nothing. It was dumb to keep things like this secret, but everyone knew that by this point, no amount of backlash could be cancelled out by now. You were obviously something, but saying that out loud — no matter if it was nothing or whatever it was they thought — would be falling off a tightrope. 

Everyone was pressing you for more details when your phone rang. No one ever called you. Who would be calling you? You checked, your eyes widening in surprise. 

Chris. 

You made an excuse to run off to the bathroom, shutting yourself into the last stall and talking low. 

“Hello?” You asked, attempting not to get your hopes up. 

“I’m in a fucking bind,” came Chris on the other end, distressed and yelling over music in the background. Where was he? “Can you help me?”

“How bad is it?” 

“Bad enough for me to be calling you.”

Despite the sting, you understood, snapping back into professional mode. It felt like being launched from underwater and back onto the beach as you grabbed a pad and pen from your purse and took notes. Wherever Chris was, it was only a few blocks away. 

Your friends all booed, trying to be understanding despite their frustration at your leaving so soon. You’d been a hermit for a week and suddenly you come out for a night, only to be whisked away once again. The cold air of the street stung as you stepped onto the sidewalk, your heels clicking on the asphalt as you shrugged on your regrettably light jacket. You knew you could walk in the time it would take to wait for a car so you hurried along, dodging passersby and praying it wouldn’t rain. 

You were surprised to find yourself standing in front of another nightclub and you made sure you had the right address. Sure enough, this was the place. You were bewildered as you walked through, grumbling as you dug out a couple bills to pay the cover charge and trying to peer through the dim lighting. The cacophony and drunks were just as annoying as the last club you were in. Chris almost never expressed much interest in going to places like this, so what was he doing here? You combed the whole place, even asking a bartender for a “friend” who just happened to match Chris’ description, when you finally heard a commotion behind you. 

Sure enough, there was Chris, Jisung, and Changbin, all holding back Hyunjae as she clawed at a bouncer. The boys were obviously trying to lay low with their face masks still on. Changbin had the brim of his baseball cap pulled low on his face, and Jisung had his hoodie pulled up. Somehow, the three of them were having a hard time calming down the small woman. 

“I shouldn’t have to leave! Let go of me!” Hyunjae drunkenly screeched, kicking and swinging as the boys tried to keep her contained. She accidently pulled at Chris’ face mask, ripping it off and making Jisung’s hood fall back. Right on cue, the cell phones whipped out and a crowd gathered on the fringes. You stepped forward, and the boys all looked up as they noticed you. Thinking fast, you did the first thing that came to mind: you punched Hyunjae right under the sternum, hard enough to knock the air out of her. The boys quickly grabbed her as she crumpled, slinging her over Chris’s shoulder and Changbin picking up her bag. They followed you out, running out to find the company car while onlookers still followed and tittered behind. 

“Car?” You breathlessly asked the boys behind you. 

“Around the corner, one block down on the left,” Jisung blurted out as he followed. 

And, of course, the photographers, having hidden away in the corners of the club, made their way to the front of the assembled crowd, snapping photos. You fell behind now, trying to get space between them and the boys until they ran up to the car. Jisung yanked Hyunjae’s bag off of Changbin’s arm, digging around until he found the keys and beeped the car open. Hyunjae was loaded into the back, Jisung and Changbin getting in on either side of her as Chris jumped into the front seat. Once they were safely inside, you ran up as quickly as you could in your high heels and fell into the driver's seat. You all fumbled to get the keys into your hand and into the ignition, cursing and yelling as the photographers caught up to you when you finally got the car started. You blasted the horn to disperse the swarming crowd and threw the car in reverse, feeling a bizarre sense of deja vu as you peeled out of the parking lot and onto the street. 

“Where are we going?!” Jisung asked from the backseat. 

“Hyunjae’s place,” you firmly decided, “we can’t let anyone else see her like this. We’ll get her inside and I’ll get you all a ride while I stay with her.”

“Are you sure?” Changbin asked. You nodded definitively. 

“Absolutely. She would do the same.”

You shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat as your dress hugged your legs together more than you’d like. You tried to be sneaky as you slid the hem up a few inches, just enough to get more comfortable as you sped along, but you still noticed Chris out of the corner of your eye, absently watching the extra flash of skin. His attention hurt for some reason, having proof that he still was capable of looking at you that way but not wanting to. 

“Tell me what happened,” you prodded, getting his attention back. He shrugged with a sigh, broad shoulders softening. 

“We were out meeting a producer down the street,” he explained. “Hyunjae-noona’s been acting weird all day, and she said she would wait at the club for us since we were having dinner and would be a while. I thought it was weird at the time, but… I guess I didn't realize what a bad idea it was.”

“It's fine,” you consoled, “your intentions were good. Hyunjae fucked up, not you.”

The boys worked to bring Hyunjae after you as you parked in her building's garage and headed to the elevator. You'd only been here one or two times, but you were still impressed with how humbly nice her place was. You were sure to be quiet as you silently moved down the hallway. 

Until you dropped the keys on the front doormat. 

Hyunjae roused as you hurried to pick up the keys, instantly getting rowdy again. The boys all jumped to attention, doing their best to shush her again as you got the door open. It was so polite of her to decide now was the time to finally lurch. 

“Bathroom, quick,” you directed, Chris following your pointed finger down the hallway. He unloaded Hyunjae off his shoulder and onto the floor besides the toilet and you leapt down beside her, getting her to retch inside. You all took a moment to breathe before Chris surprised you with an offered hand to help you up. 

“I think she's got it from here,” he panted with a small smile. You nodded, exhausted, pulling your phone from your purse and dialing for a car. This was a case of calling on a trusted company, and not just a ride share. The two of you walked back down the hallway, catching Jisung and Changbin collapsed on the couch in the small living room. You directed him to the tiny kitchen, letting yourself fall into a chair at the table. 

“You look really good, by the way,” Chris remarked, but he wasn't quite looking at you as he finally relaxed into the seat on the other side of the small table. 

“So do you,” you replied awkwardly. He really did. He was obviously sleeping and eating and staying active -- he was fine, just like you knew he'd be.

“I'm sorry if I dragged you away from your plans.”

“I was just out with some friends,” you waved him off, “I wasn't having an amazing time anyway.” His eyebrow perked up at the mention of ‘friends’, but what did that mean? 

“How have you been? The others have missed you.”

What about you, you wanted to ask, didn't you miss me? You thought against it. “I'm fine,” you shrugged, “I'm looking for new work.”

“What?” Chris did look at you now, surprised and a little hurt. 

“Well, yeah,” you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, “I can't stick around and keep causing trouble. Tonight definitely won't help that.”

“Okay then, that's fine,” Chris shrugged, “so you’re looking at other companies?”

“Not exactly,” you admitted.

“Oh. So you’re switching tracks, then? You’d do great in marketing.”

“No, same track…  But somewhere else. When I was first getting into trouble when we were abroad… Hyunjae mentioned a friend at a production agency in L.A. I actually have a letter of recommendation I want Hyunjae to sign. I even brought it out to show my friends tonight.”

“What?!”

You reached forward, pressing a finger to Chris’ lips and he smacked it away. “Will you quiet down, please?” You pleaded. He looked at you, aghast as he shook his head. “I’m sure you're even madder at me, from the sound of it,” you frowned. He shook his head again.

“No. I'm mad at myself. I'm mad that I let myself think if I got this behind me, that we could... It’s stupid. This is honestly stupid. I should've never let myself love you. It’s just made everything that much more difficult.”

“What?” You asked, dumbfounded. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” Chris reeled, “I’m sorry, but I really am starting to regret falling for you.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. You don’t love me,” you insisted. Chris let out an indignant laugh as he got up. 

“I can't believe you,” he scoffed. “Fine. Tell me what to do. I don’t love you. Whatever. I'm getting the guys and waiting downstairs.”

You watched, feeling a bizarre sense of heartache as Chris pushed himself away from the table and stormed off. There was a quiet argument in the living room, and the front door finally swung open and shut. A heavy sigh fell from your gut as you got up. You eventually had to check on Hyunjae; everything had been too quiet. You padded down the hall into her bedroom, sliding open her organized drawers to find her some pajamas. You kicked off your tall shoes before heading back down the hall. 

Hyunjae lay in a heap against the wall next to the toilet, cheeks flushed but otherwise looking alright. 

“When did you get here?” She slurred tiredly as you worked on getting her dirty blouse off. 

“You’re a mess,” you said, feeling almost stronger for saying it out loud. “You caused a lot of fucking trouble tonight. I'm glad it wasn't me for once.”

“I just missed my baby,” she whined, her head lolling back down to her chest as you wrestled a pajama top onto her. 

“Ugh,” you wrinkled your nose, “don’t call me that.”

“Not you, stupid,” she scolded. She kicked you off as she searched for her bag. When she couldn’t find it, she slumped back against the wall, lazily gesturing out to the hallway as she shimmied off her jeans. “In my bag… My baby.”

Whatever. You could leave your letter of recommendation in there for her to sign, but you mostly wanted to know what the hell she was talking about. You found the bag sitting on the couch in the living room where Jisung must’ve left it. Carefully, you shifted around the jostled contents until something caught your eye -- an envelope. Another letter? You slipped it open, wondering exactly what you were looking at when inside was just a picture of a little girl. 

“See, stupid?” Hyunjae asked from behind you. She was fully dressed in her pajamas, leaning against the doorway to the living room. “My baby.”

“I don’t understand,” you shook your head.

“You wouldn’t,” she laughed meanly. “She’s six years old now. I get a picture of her every year. Look on the back. She likes to ride horses and her favorite color is blue.”

“Why isn’t she with you?” You sat on the couch, looking at the picture of the little girl. Hyunjae collapsed onto the couch beside you. 

“Her father knew what was best. He always told me that he would do right by me. We’re not together, and she’s with a family that isn’t stupid like we were. So I guess that’s what was right.”

“Who is--”

“The father? We met when I first became a manager. He was mature and nice and getting divorced. He’s still at JYP.”

You stared, eyes shaking a little as you looked from Hyunjae to the picture and back again. “But who--”

“None of your fucking business,” Hyunjae spat. “He doesn’t get pictures. Just me. I had her by myself, no one else was at the hospital with me. She was my little secret, and now she’s my six-year old little secret.”

“Why stay there, though?” You asked incredulously. “You could work anywhere.”

“I love my job. It’s my whole life. I told him I'd give up the baby if he kept my job. I shouldn't have to leave because I made a mistake.”

You blinked hard at the irony, shaking your head at the absolute audacity of the mental gymnastics at play here. All this time you’d hoped that Hyunjae was acting from a place of platonic admiration, a kind of kinship making her want you to succeed… Not some sort of bitter vendetta against her own mistakes. She ardently believed you couldn't help it just because she couldn’t. That realization burned, but it didn’t manifest as more anger. You pitied Hyunjae, and this didn't feel unlike the moment you’d realized your parents were flawed adults doing their best. Hyunjae interrupted your thinking with her miserable snoring from her end of the couch and, after making sure she was bundled up in a blanket and propped on her side, you found a bucket in her cleaning supplies to set by her. You grabbed a sports drink from her fridge and placed it on the coffee table. To top it off, you dug your letter of recommendation out of your purse, slipping the envelope under the picture of Hyunjae’s six year-old little secret and ultimately helping yourself to the bedroom. 

Nights passed and you didn’t hear from anyone. The morning after you bailed out Hyunjae, you’d slipped your shoes back on and caught an Uber home without rousing her. You didn’t hear from Chris or any of the members, you didn’t hear from Hyunjae, and you didn’t hear from any of your friends because while you were bailing out Hyunjae, you bailed out on them, and they assumed you wanted space. And maybe you did. You threw yourself into your schoolwork, almost forgetting in all this madness that graduation was fast approaching. Normally, you’d be looking forward to becoming a full-time manager, but now you had no idea what would become of you. You checked and rechecked and triple-checked all your graduation materials, refusing to mess anything else up. After all these years of hard work, you would at least walk out with the degree you were entitled to, if not for losing your dream job in the process. 

Graduation itself was almost a relief. Your family got stuck mid-travel and couldn’t make it, but you were being assured through multiple texts during the ceremony that one of your friends was keeping them in the loop and sending pictures. This was puzzling, considering you were currently sitting with most of your friends. It hurt to not have your family in attendance after all this work, but it was nice to know they were trying. You couldn’t shake the fact, though, that this felt like a post-mortem. After this was some ominous void that looked like it could swallow you whole. Years of careful planning, and now you were jobless and directionless. There was really no telling how difficult it would be to find a job with your current reputation if you didn't have someone vouching for you, and the idea of switching tracks entirely felt like failure. 

An elbow in poking into your arm let you know that your existential crisis was almost holding up your row of students. You quietly apologized, quickly getting up and falling into line towards the stage. You still couldn’t focus, lost in how going back to making coffee for bratty teens and huffy professionals would only remind you of how short you cut yourself off. Everything only became more fully realized as you crossed the stage and accepted your diploma. You smiled and waved for the event photographer, but were starkly distracted by something beyond the barrier, towards the back of the grand lawn where the ceremony was being held. A shock of blonde hair and some broad shoulders clad in black caught your eye, only blurred by the distance, but an odd shape that looked eerily like Hyunjae’s giant purse only made you feel even crazier. It would be a bit ridiculous to ghost you and suddenly show up on the fringes of your graduation. Chris, maybe, but absolutely not Hyunjae. Clearly, you had just imagined it, and you shook your head, ready to just head back to your apartment. 

No school and no job would end up being a huge learning curve to get used to. Waking up and having nothing was a bizarre feeling, and it made you a bit anxious, feeling even more lost than you already had. You tried going back to the gym. You tried going for walks, even when rain was dumping down outside. You got together your resume and a CV and portfolio materials. Nothing was helping fill this vacuum you’d created. For a couple days you severely considered texting Chris, your finger hovering over the send button but never going through with it. Again, he was fine. He would be fine, and once you moved on with everything, you'd be fine, too. 

Another rainy night arrived, this time seemingly out of nowhere, and you were taking firm stock of your cabin fever. What could be changed before you eventually had to move? You could get some plants, you supposed, maybe liven up this oddly cold apartment that didn’t look like anyone of substance actually lived here, when a knock sounded at the door. You tried peering out the front window which looked out at the walkway outside, but whoever was at the door was just out of sight. Carefully, slowly, you cracked open the door and peered out. You gasped. 

Chris. 

He was soaked, having apparently been caught in the sudden downpour. You both stood on either side of the threshold and warily regarding each other. Chris moved first, unable to keep still any longer and he stepped through your doorway, taking your face in his hands and kissing you back into your apartment. Your hands covered his, unsure if you wanted to tear them off of you or hold on tight. You did, however, finally let logic rule for a moment. Your hands drifted down to his chest, his drenched shirt under his open jacket clammy on your fingers as you gently pushed him back. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, unsure if you were speaking quietly or if your heart was just beating too loudly in your ears. 

“It’s okay,” he panted, “I’m supposed to be out with a friend right now.”

“No, Chris,” you shook your head, “why are you here?”

“I…” He paused, biting at his lip as he thought. Were those raindrops on his cheeks? “I heard Hyunjae on the phone earlier. She was talking to her friend in L.A., and I realized you’re really leaving and I might never see you again, and…” He paused again, a little more choked up and frazzled now. 

You took his hand, softly massaging his fingers in your grip. “Chris, Hyunjae isn’t going to just ship me off to L.A. She’s too bitter for that. I don’t know what you heard earlier, but you didn’t have to come here--”

“No,” Chris insisted, “Don't condescend to me. I had to come. No matter what, that moment just solidified that I--.”

You shook your head, letting go of Chris’ hand before he held onto you himself. “Don't say it--”

“Oh, don't you start with that again,” he shushed you. “Would you stop and listen to me for once? If you don't let someone in you're going to end up just as miserable as she is.”

“Fine,” you huffed, wrenching your hands out of his, “I can let someone in, but it doesn't have to be you and I don't have to ruin your career in the process.”

“Would you stop being such a martyr?!” Chris reeled. “Stop being so stubborn and let me be the one to do right by you for once. Don't treat me like I'm so precious, alright?! I'm so tired of being your little secret.”

“Secret? People know, Chris.”

“Then why are you still pretending you don't have any sort of real feelings for me?! What you say and what you do practically never line up and it's driving me absolutely insane. You're so insistent that you're the only one making sacrifices here and I've had it.”

You folded your arms, waiting and praying you were masking the fire raging just under your skin. “Fine. You've made sacrifices, too. Did you get that out of your system? Are you finished?”

“Holy shit!” Chris sputtered. “Would you come off it already? I come out here to tell you I fucking love you and you are being the biggest dick about it!”

“Stop saying that!” You sighed heavily. By this point you were both pacing your tiny apartment. 

“Stop?! This is the first time I could even try to get you to listen after last time, you nag!”

“If you’re going to be calling me names, maybe you should get the hell out,” you ordered, thrusting a pointed finger at the door. 

“Fine!” Chris spat, turning to leave. “Maybe I spoke too soon. You're already plenty like Hyunjae. She must be carting you off because she can’t stand having competition for Most Selfless Asshole.”

That did it. The fire under your skin shot up to your eyes and all you saw was red. You reached past him, grabbing the door handle for him and moving to shove him outside yourself. 

“Hey, would--? Would you -- fucking stop it!” Chris struggled against you. He attempted to push you back so he could actually leave, only to be met with your grappling hands every time he tried to create distance. He sighed. “I’m sorry for what I said. I was mad and it was terrible to say. Please calm down?”

“No!” You roared, startling him. You were too heightened by now, bristling with distress from all sorts of directions. Doing the only thing he could think to do, he tackled forward, hoisting you over his shoulder and trying to ignore your yelling and thumping fists on his back as he marched you across the floor to your bed. He unceremoniously tipped you down, letting you bounce onto the mattress before catching your flailing hands in his again and pressing them into the sheets. 

“Now can you please calm down?” Chris tried again, and you thrashed in his grip. 

“No!” You yelled again. “I can’t believe you would just come here and try to pull this on me.”

“Pull what?” Chris fretted. “I’ve made myself more than clear this entire time. I’ve never played games, or let you believe that I feel one way and act against that.”

“Oh, excuse me for trying to remain professional!” You shouted as you tried to wrestle Chris off of you.

“What in the fuck has been professional about this?!” He asked, bewildered. 

“I’m doing my best, alright?!” You shot back, “It’s fucking complicated. You know exactly how I feel and what I'm having to deal with.”

“How would I know how you feel?! You won’t tell me anything! I’m not a fucking mind-reader, and I’m not about to just assume because look where the hell that got me.”

“Well, maybe fucking consider that admitting I love you would feel like creating a giant goddamn detour from what we’re both working for,” you blurted before you could catch the words falling out of your mouth. Your eyes bore into each other, watching, waiting, before he finally had enough and dove into you, his lips back on yours like he was coming home. 

“Say it again,” he urged against you. 

“Say what again,” you challenged, “I didn’t admit anything.” You wrenched a hand out of his grip and shoved it down between your bodies, pushing past where his rain-soaked shirt was sticking to your stomach where your hoodie had ridden up in your scuffle. He gave a yelp as you tried to clutch tight onto him between his legs. It was a dirty play, but you wanted nothing more than to not have to confront this right now. 

“What the fuck?” Chris groaned against your lips as he tried to pull out of your grasp, only succeeding in his foot slipping in your bedsheets and falling back into your hand wrapped around him in a vice. “I hate how much I missed you,” he spat at you, his tongue nonetheless mingling hot with yours at your insistence. 

“You can’t just get me to do what you want by strong-arming me,” you fired back, your grip on his cock through his jeans only getting worse as you began to massage his length. 

“Don’t distract me,” he panted, but it sounded more like a plea, “and I'm not trying to make you do anything.” Finally, he let out a thorough groan at your rubbing, reacting enough for his grip to falter on your other wrist. You took the opportunity to kick him off the bed and onto the floor before you pounced on him, your soft lounge shorts not doing much to protect you from his rigid length rubbing hard between your legs as you pinned him. His hands scrambled to stop you again as you kept him distracted, rolling your hips on top of his and hating how much you missed him, too. 

“It’s so easy for you,” you hissed as you grinded down against him, only letting his restrained moans fuel you more, “you can come here and profess your feelings for me, but I'm the one who’ll get heat for this if we try to make it happen and people know. You’re famous, Chris, and I'm just staff. Or at least I was. No matter what, I'll be some dumb girl, or some monster, who couldn't fucking help it, and either I took advantage of you, or I was too dumb to stop this, but no matter what I'll come out worse than you will. This can be a bump in the road for you but this is already ruining all my hard work.”

Chris finally bucked you off, getting up and grabbing your arm to drag you back to the bed. He easily tossed you back onto the mattress, slapping your hands away as he tried to regain control. It was almost gross, how good fighting like this felt for some reason, but seeing how bad he wanted you only pulled harder on that gut feeling you kept trying to shut up. 

“You know, plenty of people think we’re just fine. We’d have support,” he huffed as he pinned your hips to the bed. 

“Yeah,” you struggled to pry his fingers off of you, “but any amount of dissent is going to be enough to ensure I never get to do the work I want in this entire goddamn country.”

“Holy shit, you’re so stubborn,” he growled, exclaiming when you tried to shove your knee between the both of you to throw him off again. He kicked your ankles apart, settling between your legs. His jeans were rough against you where his hips met yours. 

“Do you hate it?” You challenged him. 

“Not at all,” he grinned spitefully, and you realized  his smirk matched your own, “in fact, I love it. Because, for some reason, instead of talking like rational people, you're fighting me pretty hard just to not say you don’t love me.”

“Right,” you tripped over your thoughts in an attempt to follow his new tactic, “but you’re the one who kissed me as soon as I opened the door, so who started it?” 

“Fine,” his wicked smile grew along with his confidence, “then tell me you don’t.” Chris rolled you both over, holding you up on his lap with both your wrists in one of his hands. “You’re on top. You've had no problem telling me how it is, so tell me you don’t love me and I’ll leave.”

“It’s not that easy,” you stumbled through your words as you tried to tug your wrists out of his hold. As you stilled, you gradually sank into him. 

“Why?” He asked as he let you sink further against his chest. 

“Because…” You bit at your lip, really thinking of how to go about this. The way he looked up into your eyes made your whole body ignite. His grip on your wrists loosened and you melted against him, your fingers weaving into his hair that was still damp, smelling of rain and sweat as you kissed his brow. “I feel like I’m giving everything up if I say it.”

“It’s not forever,” Chris reassured you as he closed his eyes to accept your lips on his face, “this isn’t a contract. It’s just one day at a time, or a week, or a month, or however long it can be. I want you, even just for a little bit.”

Your lips on his brow traveled down to his cheek, pressing a kiss there as well in a gesture you realized you rarely practiced. Finally, apprehensively, your lips hovered only moments apart from his, hanging in a loaded silence that was threatening to swallow you whole. “Fine,” you carefully announced, “I love you. I'm not sure when exactly it happened, but it did and I've been miserable over you.”

Chris’ grin cracked into a wide smile as he took your face in his hands again. “Oh, babygirl, I’ve been miserable, too,” he laughed as you teasingly swatted him for the name, the actual joy in his voice shooting straight through your heart as he kissed you again. “Say it again.”

“You got one, don’t get greedy,” you jokingly warned, gasping as he rolled you back over in bed. Chris’ hips pressed into yours as his lips traced the line of your cheek down to your neck. 

“I’m so greedy for it. Please say it again,” he asked against your skin, his breath tickling you and making you laugh. You finally made the decision to push him up from you and grabbing his jacket and pulling it off of him. He playfully cried out as you rolled him off of you and sat yourself back on his hips, taking it upon yourself to peel his wet shirt off of him, just as it was finally beginning to dry. “See? If you’re going to strip me then I deserve at least one more.”

“Make me,” you triumphantly laughed, letting out a pathetic squeak as he quickly tugged your hoodie off over your head. His eyes slowly roamed over you as his fingers played with the hem of your thin tank top underneath. The moment you moaned at the feel of his hand on your breast, that mischievous grin returned as he pinned you back to the bed once more. He let himself get distracted as you slipped off your tank top, his eyes searching you ravenously. Your hands quickly searched for the button of his jeans as he nuzzled and nipped at your breasts, a gasp jumping from him as you finally released his cock and began massaging his bare length in your hands. “Give up yet?” You coaxed him, jumping as he swiftly pulled off your lounge shorts along with your panties. 

“Not at all,” he smirked as he sat back. He kicked off his shoes and jeans and quickly stripped off his briefs before climbing back between your legs, only to be met with your foot pushing him back. You took in the sight of each other, finally fully exposed in the dim light of your tiny apartment. Your eyes pored over his bobbing Adam's apple, down to his heaving chest and following the lines of his abdomen down to his flushed and leaking erection. He looked incredible in this moment, and you let yourself finally feel like he was yours, even for just a little bit. “You’re asking for it,” he laughed, pulling you back to reality, “I’ll make you say it.” 

Before you could get another crack in, he leaned down, kissing your knee and ghosting his lips over your skin on his way up to cage you in his arms on the bed. “Fat chance--” you attempted to tease, the words caught in your throat as Chris’ firm cock prodded into your soaked entrance. His lips pressed to yours as he slowly slid inside you. You never realized how much you’d been yearning for this stretch again, to feel him filling you out as he held you. 

“Say it,” he breathed, that handsome flush that you’d noticed when he was aroused taking over his body and crawling up his chest to his neck and cheeks. “Say it or you're not getting anymore.”

“No no no,” you laughed desperately, “please, please give it to me.”

“I’m sorry, babygirl,” he smiled, “you're not getting any until you say it.”

“No, please,” you begged as you attempted to roll your hips onto his cock from under him. “Please please please.”

“That's really too bad,” he shrugged, “it would’ve been so good.”

“No no, please,” you pouted, “fuck me, please, I love you, fuck me.”

“There we go,” he groaned instantly as he immediately began thrusting deep into you, “was that so hard? Now try it when I say it.” He kissed you deep again, his hand trailing down to make sure you were spread wide for him as he fucked you. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you said, breathless, loving the feeling of giving yourself in to this moment. Chris moaned on top of you, the way the walls of your pussy massaged his cock making him almost wince from the pleasure. It was so good, you managed to still push him over onto his back, your hot depths still impaled on his length as you began to ride him. You rolled your hips hard onto his, savoring his moans and repeated affirmations of affection made under his breath as he gripped the sheets. You guided him a bit more forwardly, leading one hand to your clit as you grinded down against his length. 

“Since when did you get back on top?” Chris laughed. In this light, you could see how blown out his pupils were, how drunk on you he was that he could barely keep up. “I think I should get to be on top at least once in our lives, don’t you?”

He pushed you back over, taking a moment to tease your nipples with his tongue before he pulled out of you, smiling devilishly at your whines before he moved further down the bed. His tongue nudged in between your legs and your fingers were instantly in his hair, your back arching as he expertly laved at you. 

“Remember the first time I made you cum?” Chris smiled, picking his head up from your pussy and pumping into you with his fingers. You nodded timidly, watching and waiting to see what he was up to as his thumb drew firm circles on your clit. “I don’t think I've gotten to cum with you once since that first night backstage, but ever since I got you to cum I've thought about doing this.”

“Doing what?” You asked. This feeling of giving up control to him was keeping you alert, the vulnerability making you feel like you were spread open for him in more ways than one. He licked deep between your legs once more before coming up for air again, his chin slick with you. 

“I thought you’d remember,” he teasingly pouted, “that first day I made you cum on my tongue, I said that even after you were done, we weren't finished until I did.” Before you could question him, he held tight onto your thighs, keeping you open so he could lick and nibble at your sensitive clit as he pumped his fingers back inside you. Your head pushed back into the pillow, your eyes squeezed shut from trying not to moan too loud as Chris worked you over. All you could do was squeal and curse under your breath, completely at his mercy as his tongue pushed you dangerously closer towards your orgasm. 

“Chris, slow down,” you meagerly begged. 

“I got you, don’t worry,” he soothed, “I love you. You’re going to cum, and I’ve missed it so much. Now say it again.”

And you did. “I love you.” It began as a hushed whisper, then progressed to desperate whines and moans. He had such an affectionate power over you that you would do anything he said. Finally, just like he said would happen, he held you down and licked you through it as you couldn’t hold back your near-scream, your thighs clenching as your orgasm rocked through your body. And, just like he said he would, he didn’t stop. Chris kept licking and fingering your spasming pussy and you could almost feel his proud smile against you until he finally relented. 

You gasped for breath as Chris climbed back on top of you, his thick length almost intimidating now as he pushed up against you. He pet your hair, caressing your flushed face as you took an agonizing time to come down. “You’re being so open with me,” he marveled quietly. 

You nodded shallowly, still attempting to catch your breath. “Of course,” you breathed, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he grinned, almost as if he still didn’t believe this was happening. In a way, neither did you, until his rigid cock slid back into your aching pussy. You cried out, your hands clutching onto his arms as you were heavily overstimulated. “I got you,” he reassured you again, kissing your face as he fucked you into the mattress, “it’s so good.” He sighed into the crook of your neck, his hips rolling deep into yours. 

“It’s too much,” you whined desperately. 

“No no no, baby, you’re taking it so well,” he soothed, gently rolling you both over so you were perched on his hips once again. From this angle he was somehow even deeper inside you, filling out every inch of you that you didn’t even realize could be. “There,” he soothed, still easily bouncing you on his cock, “you have more control now.”

And, somehow, that move and remark put together made the overstimulation go from near-pain to near-bliss. In fact, in a bizarrely rare turn of events, you felt another orgasm mounting. Chris’ eyes lit up as you thrust along with him. “How close are you?” You asked, your nails beginning to dig into the lines of his chest as your momentum built. 

“Soon, baby, soon,” he struggled, moaning and squeezing his eyes shut as he clutched tight onto your hips, “you’re going to make me cum so hard.”

“Good,” you desperately panted, “me, too.”

Chris’ eyes snapped open, “You’re what?”

“I’m going to cum again,” you whined, trying to match his faster rhythm. 

“Holy shit, I love you,” he smiled, “cum with me.”

You both settled into this faster rhythm, trying to keep up with each other as you both neared your peaks. Chris slowed just the smallest bit, his breath hitching and steadying again as he tried to make sure you would cum together. He listened close for the changes in your sighs and moans, the twinges of your fingers on his skin giving him hints of when you were getting closer. You gasped as he pulled you down to wrap his arms around you, his lips finding yours as you both grew even nearer. 

“Now,” he breathed against you as he felt your walls clench around him, “cum with me now, I’m gonna--!” Chris threw his head back in the pillow, letting out a deep groan as he thrust his orgasm up inside you and savoring your impassioned moans as you came along with him. He held you tight to him, his hands running up your back and into your hair to caress your face as he kissed you through his peak, breathless as his cum flowed into you. 

The air of your tiny apartment was electric as you laid together in your bed, tangled in each other, as well as the bedsheets and your discarded clothes. You rolled off him and laid at his side, keeping a hand pressed to his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Wordlessly, he turned to face you, closing his eyes and grabbing for one of your shuffled blankets. He pulled it up over you both before taking your hand, pulling you to his chest as you both recovered. 

 And you woke up like that. It really was that easy. The two of you had fallen asleep basking in this liberating glow of letting yourselves have what you both wanted, and now you were waking up to the sun already streaming in through the blinds. Your apartment suddenly felt homier, almost like when you first moved in. You looked over Chris’ face, still just as close to yours as when he drifted off to sleep, studying to see how asleep he truly was. Skipping the sweetness, you pinched his nose. 

“No,” he shook his head as he pulled you closer, “I'm sleeping.”

“You’re awake,” you smiled as you grabbed your phone off the bedside, “and I'm ordering breakfast.”

“Oh thank god,” he murmured as he willed you to fall back asleep in his arms. 

“Was last night good?” You softly asked, unable to fight off the smile on your face as your eyes were still waking up. Chris turned his head more into the pillow in an attempt to stay asleep as long as possible. He lazily nodded. 

“So good. About time, too,” he grumbled with the faintest ghost of a laugh. 

“I never asked,” you said quietly, stroking his hair as you breathed him in, “how did you find my apartment?”

“Hyunjae wanted to talk to you about the job thing but she’s too proud to not fight with herself about it. I convinced her that it was her idea to try and find you at your graduation, and when she chickened out of that, she sat parked in the company car in front of your building for like… I want to say twenty minutes. I almost dragged her up here myself.”

“She wanted to talk?”

“She did,” Chris nodded, finally giving in and opening his eyes. He sat up in your bed and stretched as he rested his head back against the wall. “I don’t know what to tell you. She really was talking to her friend in L.A. last night.”

You dragged each other out of bed, at least enough to each put on at least some form of clothing as you prepared some coffee. He watched intently as you slipped on your bathrobe, but he got distracted by all the parts of your apartment you never really considered before -- the framed pictures, the books, the way you organized your desk. Suddenly, his attention in you and your space made you take a second to remember how lost you'd been feeling lately, if maybe it was just a symptom of something less sinister than mediocrity. 

“What now, you think?” Chris finally asked you. You set a cup of coffee in his hands, trying to focus on this moment so you’d always remember it: Chris, in only his underwear, hair a mess and drinking a cup of coffee while bundled up in your bed. 

“It depends,” you ruminated, “how long can you last?”

“Me? As long as you want, I guess,” he half-shrugged, “as long as we want, really. I just want you to be happy. I'll be happy knowing you’re happy.”

You held back as you considered all the factors at hand, not wanting to let yourself get distracted by getting nearer to him right now. “What if… What if L.A. makes me happy, but you do, too?”

“Then pick L.A… and me, too, if you’d like. You don’t have to stick with one thing -- or two things -- forever. I'll be happy even having you for a little bit, remember?”

“It won’t be easy,” you warned. 

“Has any of this been easy?” He laughed and you had to agree. You nodded, finally giving yourself permission to draw closer and get swept up in him again when the buzzer on your door sounded. 

“Hyunjae!” Chris scrambled, setting his cup of coffee on your bedside and lunging for his jeans, “Holy shit, she probably tore the city apart looking for me.”

“Not Hyunjae. Food,” you gently reminded him, and he let out a gigantic sigh before collapsing back on your bed. You opened the door. 

Hyunjae. 

“Unnie,” you dumbly greeted, and you heard Chris thunk onto the floor behind you as he frantically reached for his jeans again.

“Little sister,” she awkwardly greeted in return, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Bang Chan.”

“Noona,” Chris nodded in her direction from behind you, still shirtless and horrified as he made a measly excuse to use your bathroom.  

You straightened up as Hyunjae looked you up and down, as well as Chris as he scampered out of her line of vision. This was your home, and you felt like you were on a little better footing against Hyunjae after that night at her apartment. “I guess I couldn’t help it,” you smiled demurely. 

“I’m sorry--” Hyunjae blurted. She tried again. “I’m sorry, little sister… I realized I’ve been too hard on you. As a supervisor, as a mentor… And maybe even as a friend. I was unfair to you. I'm not very good at this, so…” She slipped an envelope from her purse and into your hands. “You write well, but we already know that, and I made some grammatical revisions, and we both already know that as well. This is just a copy, of course. I already sent the original to a friend in L.A. who’s looking forward to hearing from you.”

“I know,” you replied confidently, excitement brimming under the surface, especially as Hyunjae uncharacteristically had a hard time maintaining eye contact with you. 

“I'm proud of you, little sister,” she finally said, and she nearly took a step back as you gently took her hand in yours. 

“Thank you, unnie. I appreciate that.”

Chris cautiously exited your bathroom, fully dressed in last night’s clothes. He looked back and forth between you and Hyunjae, trying to decipher how civil things were at the moment. “I’ll -- should we…? I could --”

“You'll call me,” you smiled reassuringly as you smoothed out his rumpled shirt, “and I'm going to make a phone call of my own, and in a few days you're going to help me pack, and a few nights after that you're going to take me out before I leave.”

“Yes,” Chris beamed at you, “that. All that.”

Hyunjae modestly looked away and began heading back downstairs as you insisted on kissing Chris goodbye, and you waved him off, feeling a weight lifting off your shoulders to a point that you could swear you were floating. You were capable, and for the first time, you believed it. 

Standby: An Epilogue

All these credentials, and you were suddenly a glorified intern. You fumed at whichever idiot’s bright idea it was to transform all your production assistants into liaison staff for groups and their management teams for an event like this. Nevermind that only a fraction of your team were bilingual, but only a smaller fraction were bilingual in a way that actually mattered in an event like this. That meant hiring translators, and that meant hiring temp teamsters to serve in place of your production staff, and that meant no one was prepping green rooms. Your actual staff was out fetching coffee and finding emergency hair products, so you were left grabbing groups for standby for various events of the day. You were walk/jogging to your next green room when your phone buzzed with a text. 

>>It was an absolute disaster at the hotel this morning, hope you’re having better luck out there. 

You smiled at Chris’ text, despite the stress coursing through you. Making it work like this had been hard for the past year, but predicting that and doing your best to roll with it had been helpful. 

>Disaster out here, too. Can’t we just skip to tonight?

>>Sorry, babygirl, I know you're just dying without me. 

>Stop that. I'm just looking out for you and your blue balls. 

You allowed yourself a relieved giggle at your text exchange before your earpiece crackled. 

“Green Room 4 for standby, banquet hall B.”

You clicked the chirp on your receiver twice, letting the channel know you were on your way. 

“Already got Room 4,” someone else came through. You paused in the service hallway you were currently occupying. 

“Partial 4,” a different director corrected. You clicked the chirp twice again, jogging down the hall in your regrettably inappropriate skirt and heels for this type of work before you rapped at the green room door. When no answer came, you flipped through your keys for the green room skeleton key and got the door open, gasping and quickly clapping a hand over your eyes before meekly apologizing as you turned back to face the hallway. 

“Sorry!” You called over your shoulder, “Final call for standby.”

A surprised chuckle came from behind you, instantly melting your heart before you even turned around. There was Chris, his face an incriminating shade of red where he sat at the vanity. “Babygirl,” Chris let out a relieved laugh with a smile, “I’m in a bind. Can you help me?”

#skzsmutnet #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids #bang chan #bang chan smut #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan breakdown #honestly you don't know how much writing this has meant to me like I am SO happy I've done this and if you've enjoyed it that's even better

[awhilde]

down, down the rabbit hole

pairings: none, but the characters include mingyu. wonwoo, jihoon, jeonghan (from svt) and an oc

genre(s): thriller, gore (tiny bit). a made-in-abyss!au :D

warnings: because of the previously mentioned gore, readers discretion is advised. also swearing!

word count: 4.06k words

synopsis: in which mingyu and his friends allow their naivety and curiosity to drive them forward, dropping them down a 20,000 metre abyss where the abnormal becomes far too evident. stumbling through nature’s phenomenon, the group is forced to experience horrors that sombre their once exhilarating endeavours. will they be able to be decisive when their friend’s life is on the line, and who is this red-eyed creature that promises them sanctuary? 

author’s note: hey guys! unfortunately, this isn’t the genshin au i promised however i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! i believe i published this a while ago on another account but i’m posting it again for content <3 also it was originally a y/n piece so please tell me if there’s a “you” or “your” that i’ve missed in my brief editing!  the genshin au will come out soon :)

mingyu struggled to pinpoint an exact moment in his life which he could blame for his current circumstances.

it was as easy for him to say that sneaking into his good friends wonwoo and jihoon’s room past the stroke of midnight was the cause, as it were to say growing up at his local orphanage was at fault. hell, if the reasoning travelled down this path, it could also be justified that by simply existing he’d cause himself to arrive at his current position. perhaps this was his destiny, every event of his life leading up to this climax, worthless in the grand scheme of fate for every decision he had believed to have made was manipulated for the sole purpose of mingyu in the situation he was in as of present; torn with the constant conflict of emotion he was experiencing.

this was where his life had led him, 20,000 metres deep into a swirling, unforgiving vortex where the abnormal became evident with every blink of the eye, and where it intended to end, it seemed.  

the sky overhead had vanished from sight two layers into the unnatural phenomenon, when the fog by their feet had thickened to a substance that clung moist against every vulnerable patch of skin and surface. mingyu never thought he would come to miss the cloudy skies of his mediocre hometown. where had his thirst for adrenaline gone now? but after a tormenting week treading deeper and deeper into the abyss’ claws, mingyu had yearned for familiarity.

when his stomach gave way on the third layer, mingyu missed most the plain bowl of congee the orphanage served to him every morning despite its lack of taste and colour.

when his eyes started to leak pus and blood, mingyu missed most the shimmering sun, burning on the edge of the horizon every evening despite its glare on his skin.

there was much the boy felt grateful for, oh how he only came to this realisation now, 20,000 metres far from home. his goal to reach the very depth of the abyss slipped from his hands like running water, gathered only by the company his friends provided him. mingyu never felt more grateful that he hadn’t entered alone.

if his naivety had gotten away from him yet again, mingyu shivered at the prospect of descending without the companionship of his three closest friends, wonwoo, jihoon and lyra. he never sourced his complaints outside of his head, for every disaster that he experienced, he knew his friends experienced the same suffering alongside him, comfort in the form of unspoken understanding. mingyu knew he would be able to overcome these mishaps as long as their companionship never left him.  

however, god’s sense of humour must be twisted for the first night of the fifth layer, the last layer of mingyu’s sanity thinned.

“fuck!” jihoon swore. his hand shook in the tangles of his hair, the other hovering over wonwoo’s body as if uncertain. “fuck, fuck, fuck!”

mingyu heard jihoon’s cursing as if submerged underwater for his head went static from his own worry. he tipped his backpack upside down in desperation, seeking an item his sub-conscious knew didn’t exist. hadn’t they packed an antidote for this specific reason? but it had been long gone, shattered and spilt over the edge of a crumbling cliff after a desperate struggle of power between a gnarly beast and mingyu’s life. that mistake could possibly cost his friend’s life.

lyre caressed wonwoo’s hair as his head laid like deadweight on her lap, mouth dry against the dense air, chest heaving harsh pants. his eyes, heavily diluted, seemed to stare past her head at empty space and lyre may have lost all hope had it not been for the ghost of determination underlining the furrow of his brows. “wonwoo, i swear you’ll be okay, just hold on a little longer. mingyu’s getting the antidote now, he’s just a little slow. you know how clumsy he can get, just hang on, okay?”

but wonwoo had stopped giving replies ten minutes ago.

her hands, like her voice, trembled under the weight of a moist cloth, aiming to replace the steaming one on his head but fear diverted its path with every shake. doubt threatened to choke her of her words, leaving lyre curled up by the side of the abnormal rainforest, the world never viewed the same again. but she knew, if not marginally, that panic wouldn’t do the situation any more good.

jihoon seemed to have lost all sense of this concept however, as he continued to alternate between standing and pacing the grounds. “there has to be something i’ve forgotten, something that can help. think, jihoon, think!”

wonwoo hissed in pain then, and all three of his friends turned in fright. his arm had swelled to an abnormal size, pulsing liquid under his skin and shaded a dark purple.

“jihoon.” lyre called after the boy had settled, voice wavering. “wasn’t there something we learnt at school? something about the poison of []’s?”

“i know there was something, i know! but i can’t remember it!” jihoon let his words explode from his chest yet he heeds no apology. “damn it, what was it?” his eyes found mingyu across the field, still digging through the contents of their shared bags. “for fuck’s sake, leave the fucking bags, mingyu! they’re worthless right now.”  

mingyu glanced up from his own world of regret and doubt, torment swimming in the pools of his eyes. the situation looked hopeless no matter what angle he portrayed it in. and, this had been his fault. his own carelessness, his naivety had prompted the death of his best friend. why hadn’t he listened to them all when they told him to step back from the pond? what had his mind been doing, telling him to continue his reckless behaviour just for the short lived praise he might have received? he had been pushed to the side when the lone [ ] had arrived at the scene, a creature so foreign and unknown that fear had short-circuited his actions.

he had stood frozen in the line of danger, horror encasing his body in suffocating crystals. it was wonwoo that had moved first, wonwoo who had considered all possible options which led him to sacrifice his own body for mingyu’s, wonwoo that had thrown himself at the creature, mingyu’s life and not his own being the only thing weighing on hid mind.

what had his last words been? the thought dawned on mingyu, like a nostalgic taste on the tip of his tongue. “don’t sulk, you look super dumb?” no, there was something else. something of potential importance, yet it mocked his grasp when he neared the truth. wonwoo’s whines of pain sounded as background noise at the point of his pondering, so familiar and yet gruelling at the pits of his stomach.

“something…” he mumbled, and lyre and jihoon looked up at the sound of his voice. “wonwoo said something before he couldn’t speak, what was it?”

“is this really the time?” jihoon snapped. “this isn’t the time.”

“jihoon, shut up. there was something he said before he became like this. i have a feeling he was trying to tell us how to deal with the situation.”

lyre turned her head from mingyu to the pale boy in her lap, a concentrated look evident in the crease between her eyebrows. mingyu caught the movement from the corner of his eye and clicked his finger at her. “lyre, you were the closest to him at the time. do you remember what it was?”

at the sudden spotlight, her mind blanked. there had been something previously, but the thought taunted and danced around the perimeter of her head as she tried, and failed, to chase it. “his arm, he mentioned something about his arm.” she finally blurted, his voice entering her head.

jihoon practically growled at the words. “well geez, that solves everything, doesn’t it? thanks for wasting our time, mingyu.” both mingyu and lyre took no offense to his harsh words; someone had to be the angry one in the current situation. lyre continued that train of thought, blocking out the noise of jihoon’s ranting, mingyu’s mumbling and wonwoo’s whimpers. she hoped that fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to give her this sliver of hope, thin and feeble in her hands, and that the solution to this dawning terror would be solved with the following revelation. “breaking something… he mentioned breaking something. what was it? a tree branch? true, the antidote of a beast should be found around the region so that its prey may survive from its poison. otherwise, the ecosystem would fail. but which tree? in this rainforest, what tree are we talking about. breaking apart… a bug? another small mammal? no, you wouldn’t break something with flesh, you would break something that’s hard. breaking… like snapping? breaking…”

jihoon continued to pace around you and wonwoo, head spinning in constant agony. there was fault coloured in the pale flush of his cheeks, why didn’t he know how to solve this issue? why didn’t he pull mingyu aside when the monster had first showed itself? and worse, why hadn’t he been the one to risk his life? why had he froze, selfish in the way that he valued his life over his dear friend’s, opting instead to leave someone else to do the harsh deed. why hadn’t he moved and pull wonwoo who laid by his feet out of harm’s way, instead standing still and letting the monster take a fierce chomp out of wonwoo’s arm? there was no doubt that if he had successfully performed the manoeuvre, wonwoo wouldn’t be in the position he was in now.

his feet crunched against a fallen stick as he paced and the noise triggered a thought in lyre’s head, her eyes widening in disbelief as it all clicked together.

“oh my god, his arm.” she murmured.

jihoon goes to quieten her, goes to tell her to stop obsessing over the idea of his arm when a tear slips from her eyes. the sheer terror from the thought evoked strong pulses of emotion to leak from lyre’s eyes like bleeding cyanide, but she pushed through regardless. how selfish would it be to only think of yourself whilst your friend suffered on the brink of death?

she looked jihoon in the eyes and repeated herself. “his arm. he wants us to snap his arm before the poison reaches his brain.”

lyre gave the boys no time to digest this new sliver of information, working instead to tear off a section of your shirt and wrapping it tightly where the poison had evidently stopped on his arm, black and purple, budging skin pressed against the material. in truth, lyre had no idea what she was doing, simply relying on memory and the many shows she’d watched to guide her movements as she tightened the knot.

the still silence broke when mingyu began to protest against the speculation, fearing the consequence of the action, but jihoon had moved to her side without further protest.

“guys, what are you doing? this isn’t right, we’ll just be killing him instead! guys, please stop, don’t think like that, there’ll be another way, please…” mingyu’s words failed to comprehend through his friends’ ears.

jihoon’s hands replaced lyra’s on the fabric and took over the job, eyes empty as he worked. only lyre saw the tremor in his hands as he tore more fabric and secured the separation of skin. his eyes meet the shivering girl’s over wonwoo’s body. “can you do this?”

her intake of breath is loud in the air shared between the two of you. clearly, jihoon had no idea what he was doing either, despite being the token medical friend. despite knowing that it was her idea, lyre shook her head softly.

“i’m going to use the axe that we kept to break his bones. can you help snap the rest?”

his words were gruesome, sickening to its core but wonwoo’s cries answered his question before she was able to, and she nodded seconds after. hesitance could cost wonwoo’s life.

     mingyu stood over the two of them, passing the axe to jihoon with a grimace on his face. “god this is wrong, god this is so, so wrong.” but the transition is smooth as he lets the axe fall into his friend’s hands.

jihoon acknowledged the fact with an incoherent mumble before adjusting his grip on the tool. “mingyu, get me some water. we may not have disinfectants but if we don’t wash it, bacteria will kill him instead.”

the boy’s shadow left the trio. lyra  placed a hand over wonwoo’s eyes, hoping that he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of what was to come. was he even conscious in the process? what if she had been wrong to think that his last words demanded the loss of a limb. this was by no means a perfectly successful strategy, but as it was all they had, so regardless of any .lingering whips of doubt, she held onto it like a lifeline.

“ready?” jihoon murmured.

the both of them nodded their heads slightly; there was no way they would be completely ready. but lyra’s hands found wonwoo’s biceps and they stayed there, stayed there until the axe swung up into the air, metal glinting in the reflection of the sun before falling from the force of gravity and the aid of jihoon’s strength. stayed there until the axe fell and met his flesh with a sickening thud.

a thud.

a blunt thud.

wonwoo’s shrill screams pierced through the previously tranquil atmosphere of the rainforest. his back lurched forward but mingyu had some sense to hold down his body before the axe had fallen. though mingyu had held down his body, wonwoo didn’t halt thrashing around. his arms pulsed under lyra’s hands and his legs kicked out for an escape.

“oh god.” jihoon exclaimed in horror, white sheet evident against his face. his hands shook and the axe fell to the floor.

underneath where the blade of the axe had fallen, crimson paint blossomed leaving a trail of broken skin and something else twisted. his flesh peaked from under the flabs of his skin, untainted until it was, blood and pus swimming from his arm.

wonwoo couldn’t stop screaming.

it was clear that jihoon had failed to touch the bone.

wonwoo’s eyes felt wet under lyra’s hands and she let out a weak sob.

jihoon froze.

mingyu struggled under wonwoo’s flailing figure.

“give it here!” mingyu was quick to shout, snatching the axe from the ground without a response, forcing jihoon to quickly melt his terror from his skin and throw himself onto wonwoo’s body.  

wonwoo cries were deafening, coarse now from use and the strength in his limbs had weakened, allowing jihoon to hold down his body with more ease despite the weight difference.

mingyu swung without any indication of doing so, hard and fast against the same spot jihoon had attacked. this time, he pulled away with a weak crack. he whimpered at the noise but raised it again.

“oh my god.” lyra whimpered. “oh my god, why did we use a blunt axe?”

but mingyu doesn’t stop. he continued to swing the axe, up and down, letting the momentum aid his strength, letting wonwoo’s protests to stop fuel his stamina. there is a squelch among the splinters, a cry amongst the shouts but mingyu never falters. he doesn’t falter when lyra moved her own hands to help settle the body, avid to stop his movements. he doesn’t stop when wonwoo’s voice crack, soundless screams like the cries of tormenting ghosts whispering regret and fault into his ears. he doesn’t stop when the boy’s eyes roll back into his head, revealing murky white. and he doesn’t stop when wonwoo’s body finally falls slack on the floor, limp and drained of all energy from the continued torture he had undergone.

he only stopped when the arm separates completely from the body, a tattered arm lying lifelessly away from its previously conjoined biceps, adorned with the colour of fresh blood and oozing pus. the wound pulsated with flowing blood.

“water!” mingyu cried. he turned to a shell-shocked jihoon whose eyes had watched without blinking. “get the water, goddamnit!”

perhaps it was his tear-stricken face, or his eyes that reflected a haunted expression due to the fact he axed away at his friend, but jihoon finally moved. he’d leapt to grab their source of water and begun to pour it without thought at the injury.

lyra gasped, taking in the oxygen that your body severely lacked. “stop, you’re wasting it! put the bottle closer!”

truthfully, half of the spent water and rushed and spilt onto the jungle floor, worthless to their current situation. the boy instantly followed after your words, edging nearer to the smell of rotting flesh and decay. the boy felt faint at the scent, more so at the sight. god, there was so much blood.

mingyu rebooted and finally began to move again. “tear off your shirt.”

the girl hesitated at his words.

“tear off your shirt!” he repeated with more intended force.

she was quick to break out of her trance and began to tear long stripes of cotton from her attire, mingyu doing the same. in a clumsy, almost child-like way, the three of you attempt to bandage the leaking wound as best as you can, but the white cloth turns scarlet red as soon as its placed. a hopeless sob escaped your throat. had you just murdered your friend?

the almost lifeless body laid like a corpse on the ground, pale in his complexion and unconscious. he would have been mistaken for dead had it not been for the shallow breaths the three of them heard occasionally. when the sun had fallen, the bleeding had eased. simply for a lack of supple, lyra wondered in half-hearted ponder. she felt lightheaded in the sense that thought ran away from her. she wished for water, but they had used the majority in hopes of washing wonwoo’s wound.

it seemed hopeless all over again.

“oh my. perhaps it’s finally my time to step in.”

lost in her own world of panic, lyra missed the words of a newcomer though it appeared jihoon hadn’t.

“who are you?” jihoon asked, successfully gaining lyra’s and mingyu’s attention away from the body though it lingers on their minds. hostility crept into the boy’s voice as he continued. “what do you want?”

the source of the unfamiliar voice stemmed from a figure hidden within the shadows of the towering trees. none of the three could determine the identity of the creature causing suspicion to raise.

the creature walked from beneath the tree’s shade, a smug-like expression adorning their face. they appeared human-like, sharing similar features with the humans lyra was familiar with. they had normal curly, black hair that tickled the tips of his ears, eyes that curved like crescents and a mouth in which appeared to be in a constant mocking state. they would have come off as human save for the sharp teeth that glimmered in his grin and the red, hungry look in his eyes. “my name is jeonghan.” he explained.

“are you… human?” mingyu wondered.

the thing chuckled as if he found something the boy said humorous. “that’s funny, as if i could possibly downgrade.”

jihoon positioned his boy to protectively angle his body against the strange creature. “what do you want from us?”

jeonghan tilted his head. “why, what does it look like i’m doing?”

“it looks like you’re being a nuisance.” he answered. grabbing at the axe, he placed it between the four of you and the red eyed beast. wonwoo’s blood dripped from the edge of the blade to which jeonghan raised his eyebrows at. “stay back.” but jihoon’s voice betrayed his attitude and cracked under the pressure.

“put the axe down, jihoon.” jeonghan warned, taking a step forward. despite his firm voice, his lips wavered as if to conceal a smile.

“how do you know my name?” the boy replied instead of complying. despite jeonghan stepping closer, jihoon’s threats made no appearance. he had entered the abyss in hopes to solve the lifelong mystery of where it came from, not to fight a mystical creature. nothing in his life had trained him for this

“you two were screaming it so much it was hard to miss. it would be, rather, more shocking if i hadn’t heard it.” jeonghan said, gesturing to lyra and mingyu. “you two should really keep it down, by the way, or you’ll wake stronger beasts than the one you encountered before, you know, the one that bit your friend? and then even i wouldn’t be able to save you from them.” he hesitated and you flinched from his words. “well, maybe i could.”

mingyu took the silence that followed after as an opportunity to speak. “this sounds like you’re here to help us?”

jeonghan shrugged and mingyu noticed that he had been steadily closing the gap between him and the group but he let the thought slide. he were tired, oh so tired from the fear of losing his friend, the adrenaline from contributing to said friend’s loss of a limb and now this, a potential threat. perhaps death called, though it couldn’t be so bad if it promised a peaceful rest.

           “i would simply be delighted to aid you in your…” he glanced around jihoon’s guarding figure to wonwoo’s body. “successful attempt to save your friend.” he finally spoke, words coming out rather slowly. “however, my buddy jihoon here, seems to be opposed against my gracious decision. perhaps you want wonwoo to die, jihoon buddy ol’ pal?”

jihoon looked to be physically in pain, teeth grinding upon each other. his mouth opened to say more but mingyu placed a firm hand on his arm. “we’ll accept.” mingyu said. “please save our friend.” the boy glanced at jihoon and shook his head desperately. “wonwoo doesn’t have time for us to argue.” he offered as explanation and when jihoon sighted wonwoo, he found himself agreeing.

“fine. please help us, jeonghan.” he muttered, hands still tightening on the handle of the axe though he lets his arm drop.

the creature clapped his hands in excitement. “excellent! i knew you would come around, jihoon.”

lyra cut into the conversation before jihoon could take the bait and bite back. “how are you going to save him? what are you going to do?”

the desperateness must have coloured her tone for jeonghan turned to face her. his eyes were haunting when they settled on hers for the first time, seemingly delving deep into her soul and prying deep into her memories. they left no surface unturned, a hurricane in his wake, the smile engraved into the crevices of her mind as he spoke once more. “come back with me and i’ll show you.”

lyra watched as jeonghan turned from her, colour returning into her sight as his figure began to disappear against the backdrop of the rainforest. she heard only her faint breaths and the whistle of perching birds, heads tilted in curiosity as they watched the event that occurred in the world beneath them. her eyes find mingyu’s which have been hardened beyond recognition and the two of you knew that the moment would forever be etched into the wrinkles of their brains. if they were to ever survive this, it would only mean elongated suffering.

there were tears in lyra’s eyes at the prospect of failing their initial endeveurs to explore the hidden depths of the unknown phenomenon. hadn’t they only wanted to explore what the abyss had offer? hadn’t they simply wanted the thrill of adventuring with your childhood friends, seeking out a journey that would be inked in history? and now the reality of the world had sunken into their bones like cement.

the four of them had barely descended past the fifth layer, edging on the boundaries and the concept of returning knocked on your mind like an unwanted friend.

jihoon stood, rustling the wind at the sudden disturbance. he swung wonwoo’s only arm over his shoulder and wordlessly trekked after jeonghan whose back was almost consumed by the forest’s shadows. there was only one option and jihoon knew this, knew this before the rest of his friends did.

mingyu followed after jihoon, zipping up his backpack and tossing it over his shoulder. he offered lyra a hand as he passed her on the floor, which she accepted. an unspoken nod is bounced back between the two, something like determination and acceptance in the gesture.

whatever was in their path of destiny had to be overcome no matter its challenge, for the four of them had descended so far to die only at its fifth layer.

#seventeen #seventeenfic #seventeenthriller #seventeenau #madeinabyss #madeinabyssau #jeonghan #jihoon #woozi #wonwoo #wonwu #mingyu #oc #animefic #anime #kinda an old piece but #it should be okay #mingyu fic #svt #angst #character death #mingyu angst #jihoon angst #svt imagines #svtcreations #svt mingyu #svt jihoon #svt wonwoo #seventeen horror #svt horror

[lixiefe]

Can’t Touch - k.sm

Chapter Sixteen: Square One

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: umm, i probably shouldn’t have this anymore. 

Also, I think I’m going to re-edit the previous chapters because I literally had a cringe session last night. I am so sorry to the people who read it, but I’ll try to make it better.

You fluttered your eyes open, a prolix smile instantly gracing your lips. Stretching your arms with perpendicular force, you kicked your legs, the blanket flying over as it doubled on your own lap. Failure. You sat up in a slouched ball, head giddy and body enthusiastic for an obscure reason. 

It was a vague yet such a lucid dream that sprung up in your mind first thing in the morning. You couldn’t properly remember what you saw, heard or felt, but you remembered a sultry voice professing sweet words to you in the intended silence; just like the honey it radiated. And you felt a kiss being placed on your forehead, lovingly. The dream made you giddy with happiness. Because you knew who it was, whose voice you’d heard and whose sincerity you’d felt. It was all too familiar, all too much of a portrayal of your deepest desires. 

It wasn’t a dream whatsoever.

Everything went back to just how they were with the natural flow of time. Both you and Seungmin spent leisure hours and gossiped like before, except he came home much earlier and he talked more than you’d thought he could. It was an addicting addition to your reason of bliss. He shared stories of his stubborn childhood, high school and complained about the stupidity of the rather smart Han Jisung.

“Han had the strangest opinions, and he had opinions on the most unnecessary things ever. He wrote the wrong answer on exam willfully just because the answer was 27, which he hated.”

You comprehended that a huge part of your husband’s life revolved around his best friend and a strictly studious environment. You came to know that Jisung rejected quite a few famous job offers to work under Seungmin with an obstinate passion. He mentioned Han’s pay wasn’t that nice initially, but his friend was more than ecstatic to join their company. Seungmin also mentioned how Jisung had the biggest part in developing the company into what it was now. And yet, he wasn’t reaping what he sew, because he was very much selfless in every way.

You also came to know, Seungmin had quite a sensitive mind, but he did not show it. Everything that went wrong in his plates, he’d thought it was him. And that came naturally. It was established right then that he actually did have emotional vulnerability, much more profuse than any others you’d seen. 

You little interactions didn’t seem to bother him anymore and the lightest of accidental touches didn’t send him in a jumbled frenzy. He seemed much more casual around you, much more free, and much more reciprocative. He’d blow it off naturally if you crossed the boundaries he still couldn’t get over, would laugh it off if his hands flinched in playful squabbles. You were okay with it, in fact, you were happy with it. You’d thought that your husband was getting better, not marginally, but with a substantial progress that you hadn’t envisaged. 

That was until, almost a month later, he seemed to expand his precincts once again. You’d found it unusual, but didn’t want to speak up. So, you decided to keep it within yourself, which was until you talked it out with Jisung.

It was another usual day of yours at the company in your free time, except you were forcefully dragging a nonchalant Jisung to the coffee room. The said man wasn’t complaining either, possibly quite used to being the medium of all solutions.

“Miss me? Seungmin’s gonna be jealous man.” Jisung spoke, casually taking a seat on the puff sofa as he propped one leg atop the other, his standard posture. You looked at him with monochrome glare, lifting an eyebrow. “Don’t call me that.”

“Well, elegant lady.” He said, offering you a flirtatious wink, which you knew better than to believe. With a following roll of eyes, you sat down opposite of him.

“I think I know what you will be asking about.” He stated, taking you off guard. Sure, it was no mystery that Han Jisung was always a step ahead of everybody, and seemed to know things beforehand. But still, you wanted to rant out all the tensions off of your mind. If he knew, he’d have to know again. Except, this time he didn’t.

“If you want to know about-” Seungmin’s recovery then I’m so happy you’ve finally decided to ask, I was waiting for this,

“Did you see that? Is Seungmin doing it to you too?” 

Wrong, he was so definitely wrong. 

Even though you sounded rather worried, with a trace of disappointment lagging behind, you seemed like you were about to file a complaint. Jisung knits his brows at you.

“He.. He seems distant again. He was being quite close to me for a time being, then. I don’t know what happened. Did he tell you anything about it?” this time, your worrisome tone overlapped your disappointment. But Jisung couldn’t tell you. Like- hey, Seungmin has his reasons, so he hopes you’ll co-operate. That wasn’t right. Even though he was done with both of you restricting your secrets, there wasn’t a second warning for him to betray Seungmin. Seungmin trusted him as much as to let go with one ‘please don’t tell her’ and he wasn’t about to break his trust. He had no choice but to tell you to have patience.

“Y/N, trust me. It’s going to be fine after a while. Seungmin has his reasons.” Jisung assured, leaning in as he held the both of your hands. You were almost self-inclined to believe him, tempted to end the discussion right there, but somehow you couldn’t. You felt as if, everything was not going to be alright; it was just false hopes, false everything. There was something that you didn’t know, and it was exactly what could ruin everything.

“What if it’s not going to be fine? Will you be responsible?” you snapped. You didn’t know what had come to you, or what weighed above your shoulder so heavily that you were in stubborn denial; going as far as to spew rudeness to the one you found most reliable. 

Jisung was startled at your harsh voice, but he knew better than to retort when you were temporarily frustrated. He squeezed your hands in reassurance. “Trust me. He’s doing his best. We both don’t know how much he’s trying.” He enunciated with genuineness.

You let out a sigh. What was the try? Was distancing himself, trying? You didn’t get just how he was trying. It seemed more like he was being self-centered, not trying at all. When you did your part of research about him, you were convinced what he had was a phobia. But phobias were conquerable, as long as they’re trying and they had determination for it. And it was never like they’d suddenly return to square one. 

“Is he really?” 

Jisung was disappointed in you. He released his hold on your hands, leaning back as he heaved a breath. “He is! Believe me, I know.” Jisung stated with a newfound pressure. You only stared at him with empty eyes, not giving him a reply. He licked his lips as he asked you, “Do you have feelings for him? Kim Seungmin? Do you love him?” – like he loves you? 

If only you knew about the innocent forehead kisses and night confessions. He wanted to tell you how Seungmin described every part of you, in a completely smitten way that had him going nauseous, but he’d refrained. He wanted to let you know that your husband loved you greatly, long before you caught feelings. But it wasn’t his part, sadly.

Jisung followed as you cast your eyes down. He searched for your eyes, watching as you bit your lips, pain engulfing your expression. By your behavior, he already knew your answer that you were afraid to speak out. And as you lifted up your head to look at him, he was baffled to see the moist in your eyes, to see the conflicted emotions dancing in your pupils. Right then, he needed no other confirmations that your answer was undeniably yes.

“Y/N, trust Seungmin. Trust me. It’s not my place to say this, but he’s undergoing the therapy sessions. I hope you rethink this through. You’ll understand if you do.”

Jisung looked for any sign that you’d understood him. He awaited your response as you sat in the silence for a few moments before giving him a subtle nod. Jisung prayed to whoever that you were smarter than his dense friend, who needed girl-conflict to make him reflect. He wished that you’d know what he was talking about and be able to contribute.  

But he was wrong. 

As you were left in the basking silence of the confined room, you pondered relentlessly. But you could get nothing. The only conclusion you could get to was that your feelings were one-sided, unrequited. And even if your husband cared about you, you figured it was his civility and kindness. You could have been anyone else, and he’d be the same.

That thought left an unsettling feeling in your guts. You felt inferior; small and minimal. You couldn’t bring yourself to believe Jisung whole-heartedly. You didn’t know if it was for the disorderly emotions residing in you, or your stubbornness.

Maybe you weren’t the one he needed. Maybe he didn’t want you at all. Maybe this wasn’t going to last.

 But baby, I want you to know. I love you to the moon and back, it’s limitless. I will hold you like the night embraces the moon. Like the sun sacrifices itself for the rise of the moon And whisper in your ear How much I love you. My love, I hope our eternity won’t be just a few months. Baby, I want you to know.

#stray kids quotes #skz seungmin #skz #skzwritersclub #stray kids seungmin #kim seungmin #seungmin x reader #han jisung #stray kids han #skz jisung #seungmin #arranged marriage au #ceo au #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids fanfiction #seungmin fluff #seungmin angst #skz fanfic #skz fluff #skz angst #i love stray kids #but i hate this chapter #but I'm taking too long #so might as well update