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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years

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the closest i’ve been to a bar was at ballet class

summary: just some smut building up to 🎟🩰(that’s a ticket and ballet slippers in case you aren’t reading this on mobile)

pairings: reader x natasha romanoff, reader x steve rogers, reader x carol danvers, reader x ...someone 👀

word count: a little under 12,000

warnings: everything. as usual, all kinds of sex in here. i can’t remember all of it. some is pretty rough so avoid if that is not your thing.

a/n: so...i may have added a fourth and bc i’m a jerk, i’m not yet tagging who... but i’ve been thirsting for this character so hard lately and idk why! i’m done tho, i swear! no more. none.

a/n2: so, obviously there is no show here and they have yet to find out about each other but i started writing that but this all happened first and it would have been like a billion words. so part 3 will be coming!

a/n3: part 1

Your ballet instructor was Natasha’s number one enemy. It had started almost instantly. As with her experiences in ballet, she felt that your instructor was someone who simply needed to be watched. She said ballet instructors were hardly ever completely honest, they always had ulterior motives.

You highly doubted your instructor—a 38-year-old woman with an amazing husband and three adorable children—was up to no good. But you couldn’t take another lecture!

Natasha liked to remind you that she had been at this for a long time. Sure, she was paranoid, sometimes. But other times, she was very much correct and that was enough for her. She just wished you would put your guard up sometimes.

So she claimed, anyway. And she was convincing, but at the end of the day, she was glad you weren’t jaded and cynical. It meant she got to take care of you. It meant that she got to protect you in all the ways she knew how—threats, murder maybe.

She was waiting for you at your apartment around noon after practice was over. Her eyes sought out any signs of stress. You knew you looked tired—a big show was coming up, that same show you knew was going to conclude this whole sneaking around thing you had going on. You also knew there was a huge bruise on your shin and arm that she would be furious about when she undressed you.

"Hungry?" she inquired. No 'hello', no 'I missed you', but Natasha liked to save that for when you were falling asleep. She really thought you wouldn't remember how sappy she'd gotten in the morning. You let her pretend because the alternative was no sappiness.

"Starving. Are we going somewhere?"

"Let’s stay in, I’ll make something."

You opened your apartment for her and she waltzed right in. She directed you to change as she headed for the kitchen.

You didn’t have the energy to try to hide the bruises. It was better to get it out of the way. Besides, were you going to say no when she wanted to fuck you?

You chose a tiny bra top and a pair of tiny shorts. Maybe your ass would distract her.

She was at the counter, waiting to see what you came out in. A box of pasta in front of her, a few jars and a saucepan off to her side. It wasn’t anything too crazy but you were okay with that, and at least she wouldn’t get to tease you in that restaurant she loved taking you to.

Concept: picture that scene from a movie where the rich, white man has his favorite restaurant that he takes his billions of too-young, way-out-of-his-league dates to and the staff is used to not mentioning any of the terrible things they see to his wife. Now, take that vision and place it on Natasha. Subtract all the dates and the wife and that Natasha was out of your league, and that had you sitting at her usual table of her favorite overpriced, noisy, terribly lit restaurant at least once a week. At least you were starting to make friends with all of the hostesses and most of the servers. But they weren't naive, they knew when Natasha was, in a sense, in a mood, and they knew when to be succinct but still helpful. That was what made part of The Incident possible—

"What is that bruise?" she demanded, startling you out of your thoughts.

You contemplated the innocent act for a moment, but you'd rather be dismissive. It was just quicker. "Nat, I'm fine—"

"Did you get that in class?"

"No."

"Where, then?"

You sighed. "When I was leaving class. I fell walking down the stairs."

"Because you’re so tired!"

"I am not that tired," you protested.

"Y/N—"

You sauntered over to her, sliding in between her and the counter. "I guess I am a little tired but only because I’ve had some trouble falling asleep lately."

She already knew where you were going, but she would never refuse one of your challenges. You weren’t in charge, she was, and you wouldn’t know that if she was too soft with you. She sighed, "why is that?"

"Because you haven’t fucked me in so long."

She rolled her eyes.

"When you tire me out, I sleep like a baby. Without you...I have to tire myself out and that can take forever."

She sighed, knowing she was not going to get you on a different path. "Forever, huh?"

You nodded. "I mean...I can think about you when I do it. Your mouth, your fingers... But it’s not the same."

"And how often, exactly, do you think about me?"

It was the closest she was ever going to get to asking where she stood with you. She knew there were others but she wanted to hear that she was special compared to the rest. She was, so special you couldn’t put it into words. But that didn't mean Steve and Carol weren't special in their way as well. You figured they were going to have a hard time wrapping their mind around that when they found out about this. A competition? Sure, they could understand that.

"Very often," you promised. "I missed you."

You craved them exactly as you had gotten used to having them in your life. The mornings had you longing to be with Natasha, staying in bed late while you thought about how she wasn’t going to be walking you to class or waiting for you after. Nights were reserved for Steve when you realized how empty your bed felt and wanted to have one of your under-the-covers conversations with him—a trend started in the winters when he would unintentionally wake you up because he was trying to slip out of bed, it was your way of keeping him there for just a little longer. Then there were weekends, random mid-days, and every Thursday night that Carol had you set aside just for her so she could take you to Maria's for dinner.

Natasha's hands settled on your hips. "I missed you, too. But that doesn’t mean I don't want to hit your damn teacher."

"Why waste time?"

"I’m nearly retired," she countered. "I have the time."

"No, you really don’t." You slowly removed your shirt and then shimmied out of your shorts before kicking them away. "All of your time needs to be spent on me, not worrying about my teacher."

Natasha always looked at you like she’d never seen anything quite so beautiful regardless of how little time elapsed from the last, but there was something different this time. For the first time since she’d met you, your skin was an unpainted canvas. Steve and Carol had been gone as well and that meant there were no bruises anywhere because there was no one else.

Natasha liked marking you up because Steve did—not that she knew that, but it was a possessive outlet for them both. Steve’s marks were always bigger, bigger fingers, bigger love bites, she’d known instantly that he was a man—random, inconsistent. Hers were smaller, healed quicker, but no doubt sent the message that you were fucking a woman. Something she wanted to be known to whoever else was sharing your bed.

She lifted you onto the counter, leaving your hips hanging over the edge as she dropped to her knees. Immediately, her mouth was set to your inner thigh where she nipped at your skin and kissed after. She never once took her eyes off you as she switched legs..

You wouldn’t beg, even after the eighth time she made that switch. You knew she had her plans and not even you could change them. That didn’t mean you weren’t dripping and squirming, cursing her for being so thorough, however.

She shoved your legs apart wide as she stood, dipping down to run her tongue through you slowly, just once.

You shuddered when she caught your clit. "Natasha—"

"Hush." She eyed your pussy, then the rest of you. "You are delicious, baby. I can’t believe I had to go so long without tasting you." She chose your hip bones to mark up next but finally, slid two fingers inside you. She didn’t move them, she just wanted to fill you up a little.

You clenched around them several intentional times and she didn’t bat an eye. She was trying to drive you crazy; she hadn’t said it but the second you tried to take, if you rolled your hips, if you grabbed her arm and attempted to rush her, she would make you wait longer.

She trailed up to your breasts, small kisses scattered without pattern before she started to bite and suck until your skin was numbly tingling. You knew her game was over when she pressed her lips to yours.

You wasted no time, opening your mouth for her tongue and moaning out of the sheerest need. There was just something about Natasha’s lips that could always get you weak. They were beautiful to look at but they felt even better gliding across your skin, kissing, sucking.

She was the one who pulled away, turning down to look at her fingers still inside you. "You are soaking my hand."

Now you grabbed her forearm, pulling her fingers in deeper. "Fuck me, please."

She acted as if she was thinking about it, arched her eyebrow and curled her fingers once, twice, and then yanked them away from you.

Your eyes widened up at her. What the hell?

"Go sit at the table while I finish making the pasta."

Your mouth dropped a little. "Um...?"

"Hurry up," she ordered.

She was serious, dead serious. You slid off the counter, leaning down to reach for your clothes.

"I didn’t tell you to get dressed," she pointed out. With her hands on your arms, she stood you back up and turned you around. You went to move away but she grabbed your ass and leaned down to kiss your cheek, then gently urged you forward. "Sit down, stop pouting. Be a good girl or else I won’t be fucking you, understood?"

No, hell no, not understood. At all! But you didn’t say any of that as you moved for the table. No, no, no way in hell.

Steve teased, even Carol had her tendencies to make you wait, but Natasha was different. After that first time in the studio, she had never again made you wait for something that you wanted. She gave and gave until you shamelessly flaunted how spoiled you were to anyone who would listen—mostly the ballerinas from class. It was that Natasha didn’t need to be as in control as them, it was that it didn’t need to be some power struggle.

Maybe she was trying something different, but that meant that you could do that, too. Instead of sitting in a chair like a boring mouse, you turned to her and sat on the table instead.

She was pouring the box of pasta in the pot, but she turned up to arch an eyebrow at you.

You lifted one leg, then the other, setting the arches of your feet on the edge of the table. You were obscenely spread for her and she acted as if that wasn’t unnatural.

You brought your hand down to your pussy, two fingers slowly tracing circles around your clit. You watched her watching you the entire time, there was never a break in her resolve. But you were too far now to just quit, besides that was more than likely was her feigned indifference was trying for.

She didn’t stop making the pasta either, but that was how you knew you were winning. She was trying to speed dinner along because she was going to remind you that she was in charge.

It was so cute that they believed that. You worried that she may not let you finish that night, so even if you wanted to give her that little bit of obedience you could manage, you weren't convinced it was in your best interest.

Your hand began to move frantically as you cried out her name because you were just mean like that. Your eyes closed and your head fell back as you took in two of your fingers. Your hips rose to grind against the heel of your palm, around that time you were almost certain you’d heard something clatter in the kitchen.

Your finish was little more than a show, an end you’d drawn yourself to many times in their absence but one that you played up. It felt as good as it could have but you needed them, nothing else could suffice. That didn't mean you weren't acting like it was the best orgasm you'd ever had.

You came down quickly and did so without a word or even another glance at her. You climbed off the table, sat in a chair, and looked at her once more.

She looked down at the counter in front of her and shook her head. Yep, you were in major trouble, but you deemed it well worth it.

After an uneventful meal, she took you to the bedroom where she edged you ruthlessly. She was trying to get you to apologize for misbehaving, but you refused. Well, until she told you that she wasn't going to give you the presents she brought you back from Paris. (Later, you opened a new pair of thigh-high boots and a diamond choker with a dangling charm of cursive letters spelling out angel.)

And finally, when you gave in and apologized, she herself was worked up beyond comprehension and set your cunt over her face so she could eat you out until you were crying and delirious. Thankfully, she didn’t stop even though you begged her to, not until she was satisfied.

That was the first night Natasha stayed over. She kept her arms wrapped around your bare torso to keep you pinned to her as tightly as possible. You felt her running her hands through your hair until you fell asleep, enjoying the sound of her breathing in the quiet room.

In the morning, you woke first. You were able to watch her sleep for a while, surprised by how peaceful she looked. And you were caught off by how good she looked in your bed, her red hair fanned out over your pink pillowcases, the sunlight filtering through the blinds and layering her in gold light.

Her arms were slack around you, her right falling away as you sat up. You situated yourself on her side, crossing your top leg over her hip. You took her hand in yours, guiding two of her fingers to your already wet pussy.

You teased your clit for several minutes, careful not to wake her just yet. When you were ready, you slid down on two of her long fingers. Still, she was not woken by you.

You rolled your hips desperately, moaning every time your clit swept against her palm. You felt her fingers curl on their own and moaned louder, an attempt to get her conscious.

When her eyes shot open, they focused on you instantly. You continued to fuck yourself on her fingers, setting your head on the pillow next to hers and staring in her eyes.

"Fuck," she whispered. Then she was up and urging you onto your back. She spread your legs wide and slotted herself between them. She started slow, hands groping your breasts as she dragged her pussy against yours.

She was deliciously slick, you could feel her cunt dripping onto yours. Wet sounds filled the room, along with the small, desperate noises that spilled from your open mouth.

When she knew she was close, she used your thigh as leverage, moving quicker. It was a breath-taking scene when Natasha got lost in pleasure. She shut her eyes, tilted her head back and her red curls lined her back, her breasts bounced hard because that was how she was fucking you. She didn’t stop until you were both screaming each other's name and coming.

She collapsed on top of you, mouth lazily seeking out yours. "That’s the best way I’ve ever been woken up."

You smiled.

"Turn over, let me see your gorgeous ass."

You waited until she stepped off the bed to roll over, eagerly sticking your ass out for her. She had never asked you to do this so you were excited to see where she would take it.

You heard her get back on the bed and then felt her hands gripping your ass hard.

"You have such a beautiful ass."

You smirked, glancing back at her.

She set her body flat against your back and you titled your head just so you could kiss her. She began grinding her cunt against your ass, nipping at your lips as she moaned. One of her hands slithered down between your pussy and the mattress, her fingers circling your sensitive flesh skillfully.

Her soaking pussy brushed over your ass desperately, you could feel her soaking you all the way down the back of your thigh. She got herself off on your skin, never once easing up on your clit even though you’d finished and were terribly oversensitive to her touch. Instead, once again, she stopped only when she wanted to.

And if you thought that would be the end, you didn’t know her very well. She sat up and brought you with her. She took your hips in her hands and situated you over one of her thighs, her front pressed to your back once again. "Come on my thigh, baby, don’t stop until I tell you to."

You leaned over, using your elbows to keep your balance. You rode her thigh hard, making sure to give her quite the show of your ass. When you were reaching your end, you grabbed one of her hands and set it over your ass. She took the cue immediately, grabbing you, digging her fingers in.

When you finished, she shoved you flat onto the mattress. You were only half aware of what she was doing behind you, still floating from your orgasm. You snapped right out of that when you felt her lips against your ass. She kissed you several times before you felt her tongue against your hole.

You startled, hands fisting in the sheets. You were definitely surprised, you guys had never even approached this topic. But just as soon as you had felt her, she was gone. She turned you back over, kissed up your body, stopping only to worship your breasts. When she reached your mouth, she gave you an out-of-place chaste kiss and sat up. "Seriously, we need to get out of bed or I'm never going to stop fucking you."

When Carol opened her apartment door for you, things quickly changed. She gripped your arm and walked you to the couch where she forcefully sat you down. One thing was clear: she was in no mood to hear you speak.

"Stay." She headed to the kitchen where you heard cupboards being opened and slammed shut, the fridge a few times. Mostly, she was just walking around.

Perhaps you should have been scared, but you were just wet. So fucking wet.

She came back with a beer, glanced at you, then began pacing. "You’re..." she trailed off and shook her head before taking a long drink from the bottle in her hand. "I mean, I can’t even..."

It was definitely a mistake to laugh.

Her eyes widened and she turned to you, a clear warning, but one that you would not heed. "Just try to make me understand," she finally settled on. "What possessed you?"

"Well, you were gone for quite a while."

"So, you missed me?"

"Of course."

"So, you decide to be a brat?"

Was that supposed to make you regret acting out? It was a somewhat humiliating thing for her to call you but you didn’t dislike it. "Well, you weren’t paying enough attention to me."

Again, that sharp look that you were sure was supposed to make you backtrack. "I only pay attention to good girls, girls who behave."

You hummed, standing. "I suppose I should go home, then."

"Sit down," she growled.

Instead, you tossed your purse on the couch and slowly removed your jacket. Nat had left you covered in marks but she was secure enough in her place with you that she didn’t need to do so in a way that would inconvenience you. She understood you were a ballerina so she left your neck, shoulders, and chest mostly untouched. Your breasts, stomach, and thighs were another story, but you were still in a tiny ass skirt that allowed Carol to finger you in the car before you’d arrived at another little gathering Maria was having—who had more parties, her or Tony Stark? She was giving him a run for his money.

Which was where you’d started acting out. Carol had picked you up around noon and you were as sweet as could be. But around 3, you were suddenly hit with the realization that you wanted to be fucking her more than anything else. It started with a text about how you had taken off your underwear. She was having none of it, she told you this was not happening. You let her know that the scrap of lace was in her purse.

You sent a picture 30 minutes later. She warned you to stop. You sent a video showing her just how wet you were for her, then told her all the things you wanted her to do to you. All the things you had missed while she was away.

In total, you sent her 27 texts, 2 videos, and 7 pictures. You’d received 4 responses, but the final one was completely out of place. Show me your ass. You obliged but then nothing. She said nothing, she requested nothing further.

Did you feel as though you'd gone too far? Not exactly. Carol was definitely into the most public shit, making possible for the second part of The Incident. You still blushed thinking about that day.

She rolled her eyes at your display of disobedience, bringing the bottle to her lips once more. "Strip."

You didn’t need to be told twice. First, it was the shirt, and you paid no mind at all to what Natasha had left you with, but you noticed Carol's lingering gaze. Next, you pushed your skirt down and stepped out of her pumps you’d borrowed. You loved wearing heels when you were out with Carol, she was taller than you without and sometimes it brought you to her level or made you just a tad taller.

She made her way closer to you, setting her bottle on the coffee table off to her side. Abruptly, she grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you closer to her. "If you wanted me to get rough with, princess, all you had to do was ask."

You didn’t have time to respond before she was kissing you, greedy and demanding. But just as you reached up to touch her face, she yanked back and turned you around with her hands on your shoulders. She grabbed your hair once more and forced you down toward the table.

You were on your knees, bent over the edge, your breasts flat against the freezing glass. Your cheek was pressed so hard against the solid surface you almost couldn’t open your mouth to speak. "Carol—"

"Silence."

It was a while before you heard her move, she got down behind you and kept one hand on your head as the next began to feel through your folds.

She slipped one finger inside you, pulled back, then added another. She curled up against that spot that always made you buck your hips wildly, even though now you were digging into the sharp wooden border of the table she’d bent you over.

"You know how to drive, right, princess?"

You paused for a moment, confused.

"Answer me."

"Um, yes?"

"You know that when you reach a traffic light, green means go and red means stop, don’t you?"

"Yeah..."

"So, right now, bent over this table, your soaking cunt filled with my fingers, you are...?"

She was speaking slowly as if you were a child that could barely comprehend this conversation. Never mind that you were definitely getting lost and her fingers were turning your brain to mush. It was another humiliation tactic and you felt yourself blushing. She’d never been quite so...formal. "Green?"

"Are you asking or telling? Green means that you are still my desperate little whore that needs to be fucked hard."

"I’m green," you assured.

"And if at any point you feel like you need me to slow down or you are beginning to get worried or uncomfortable, if you need any verbal communication, you’re yellow. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"And you understand if you need me to stop, if I’m hurting you or you don’t like what’s going on, you can tell me you are red and you know I won’t get mad at you?"

"Yes."

"One more time, what are you?"

"Green."

She pulled her fingers from inside you. "Arms on the table."

You hurriedly obeyed, gripping the edges hard. Carol never really spoke to you like this, it was all spoiling you in attention and affection. This was something else, something you hadn’t anticipated when you started this game.

She brought her hand down on the right side of your ass, your hips stuttered forward and your gasp and the echo of the smack filled the room. Your cheeks burned and your eyes filled with tears. It didn’t hurt, she was experimenting, but you knew it would eventually.

"And what are you now, princess?"

You swallowed, willing your voice to stay even. "Green."

She finally let go of your hair and you tilted your head a little just to get the pressure off your cheekbone. She repeated the slap on the opposite side with just a bit more pressure.

You shuddered and blurted out the same color. Your skin was stinging but you felt yourself growing wetter, your slick running down your thighs now.

She had you in this cycle until she found enough force that it was barely manageable. Tears were running down your cheeks, landing on the table and she had to hold you up on your knees because you no longer could.

She hummed. "These marks are going to be pretty in the morning."

You realized then where this came from. Had you come to her with the same attitude but without all of those marks Nat left you covered in, you probably never would have pushed Carol to this point. They had both officially found their ways to be just the slightest bit possessive.

"You sorry?"

You snorted. "No...are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You should have fucked me at the party if you really wanted me to stop sending you pictures and videos."

She rolled her eyes. "Stay here. I'm not joking."

You smirked as she stormed off to her bedroom. You knew what she would be coming back with. She returned naked, save for her strap. A smooth red dildo hung between her legs, one of the larger ones she owned.

You went to stand up but she clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Crawl over here."

You lifted your eyebrows—crawl? Hadn't she just called you ‘princess’? But you could be a ‘whore’ since she called you that, too. On hands and knees, you made your way to her.

She reached down to grab your hair, pulling you up to stand on your knees. She said nothing else as she used her other hand to press the tip of the dildo against your lips until you opened your mouth. A struggle that ended with the sounds of you choking on the piece of silicone down your throat.

The rest of the night was spent on the couch. She made you ride her strap until you physically couldn't continue, which ended up being a bit after two in the morning. She didn't tease or edge, she allowed you to come as many times as you wanted to, in fact, she ordered it—unstated, but the threat that would come from not playing her game was clear.

She didn't help, however, she stayed still underneath you and didn't say a word. She just watched you, watched as you pathetically attempted to get her to break. You would kiss her, take her fingers and suck on them, place her hands over your breasts. A few times, you even got up, turning your back to her before sinking back down on the dildo, knowing that she would love the sight of your battered ass.

Steve understood your love of ballet.

Sure, Natasha knew what you were talking about and related to you somewhat, but she also had her opinions about ballet and sometimes she was a little closed off about your dancing. And hell, Carol would support you doing anything. Tap, softball, book club, Broadway, murder, she just wanted you to be happy.

With Steve, well, he sort of understood interests that left you a little battered and bruised. His new obsession (TM) was patching you up through those unanticipated injuries and wrapping your feet before you practiced at home to prevent injuries. It was a careful 20-minute process where he was utterly focused on making sure you were completely protected. And either he paid tremendous attention to you—his skills at quickly prepping your feet was enviable—or he had a thing for ballerinas. You were okay not knowing.

When he called you and told you he was coming over, you noticed something in his voice. It was different, not that usual sweet and doting tone, but you'd heard it before. Steve was always confident and assertive, but this was...something else. Something more. When he told you that you needed to get dressed in nothing more than a leotard, you wanted to be a brat and flat out refuse, maybe just tease, but you didn’t. You had enough sense to know that it wouldn’t get you the results you wanted.

You also had reason to be nervous. Carol had left you some nice marks. They didn’t really hurt anymore, but they were there. There was also no false illusion about what they were. Steve would know and you just weren’t sure how he would feel about them. Most of your ass was covered with what you were wearing but there were still the especially dark areas that could be seen through your one-piece, and there were a few bruises that extended the cut of your outfit. Not to mention, there was no way to hide what Natasha left on your upper thighs.

But you just decided to act like it wasn’t an issue. He was the one who said he couldn’t be your boyfriend, right? He couldn’t get upset over others leaving marks behind. At least that was what you kept repeating to yourself as you walked toward your barre in the corner of your apartment living room.

You began going through your usual warm-up routine, only glancing at him when you felt you wouldn’t be caught. He was laid out on the couch, eyes following your legs as if he hadn’t seen you do this a dozen times already. He was already hard, made more noticeable by the one leg draped over the edge of the cushions. His hand was on his thigh, fingers twitching just barely. The control he was trying to maintain was clear on his face, through his sharp blue eyes, his set jaw, and furrowed brow.

It was silent the entire time and your nerves were growing. Eventually, you would have to turn around and he would have the perfect view of your ass. He’d already noticed your thighs, you saw him eyeing you when he was prepping your feet for the pointe shoes. But he didn’t say anything and he wouldn’t, because he wasn’t allowed to. Right?

With a finishing soutenu turn, you were facing the opposite direction. You heard him sit up but then it was completely silent, minus your breathing and your shoes brushing along the floor.

When you were done, you stayed put. You’d gone as far as teaching him a lot of ballet vocabulary because he knew what he wanted to see and after your warm-ups, he would often direct you. It was always somewhat thrilling—apparently, you both shared this depraved ballerina kink. Maybe there had been role play—maybe he was the casting director and you were a desperate ballerina auditioning for a role, willing to do anything to get it, and maybe he pretended he had a million and one critiques for you, and maybe instead of having the talent, you got the role after you sucked him off.

“Face the barre. Run through your pliés.”

You turned to your side, pretending to be focused on keeping your hips squared and your pelvis locked. You could do pliés no problem, but the alternative was meeting his stare in the mirror and you were too nervous to do that. You completed the demi-pliés slowly and the grand pliés much the same. Normally, he would speak during this step, knowing that he wasn’t going to distract you, but nothing.

You waited for more instructions but they never came. You felt his arms wrap around your waist and you startled—you hadn’t heard him get so close.

He just held you for a moment, pinned your back to his chest as he kissed the side of your face. His hands began to squeeze your breasts and you melted into him eagerly. But soon, gentle touching became rough grabbing and all you could do was watch him in the mirror. He looked at you like he was starving and he touched you like it had been ages.

One of his hand dropped down and grabbed your ass. You held on tighter to the barre, shuddering. "What do you call him?"

Because you just didn’t know what was good for you, you laughed. "Are you jealous?"

He gripped you harder, bringing down his other hand to join. "I don’t need to be. What do you call him?"

'I’m not fucking another man," you informed, amusement still clear in your tone. Steve Rogers jealous, you never thought you’d see the day.

"Then what do you call her?"

She had you call her captain, but you couldn’t exactly tell him that. "What do you want me to call you?" you purred. "Sir?"

"No."

You hummed. “Master? You don’t strike me as the type, but you’re weird enough that I wouldn’t be surprised."

"No."

"Then I’m not sure what you want, Steve." You did know, you’d always had the suspicion since he liked to take care of you and loved calling you baby girl.

"I won’t ask you again," he finally said. He didn’t much care what you were doing with other people, but he did have a special liking to your ass. Maybe he was just mad that someone was spanking you before he was.

When it came to Steve, you knew how to get under his skin. You always knew just what to say to shock him and he could pretend all he wanted that he didn’t love when you would say the filthiest things to him, but you knew better. And after he just handed you this, how were you supposed to resist? "I don’t think I’ll have enough time to answer."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Oh, are we on a clock?"

You shrugged, leaning back to set your head on his shoulder. "Well, yeah, if you want to fuck me before mom gets home."

He scoffed, averting his gaze forward.

You knew you’d caught something though, his hands tightened on your hips and his jaw was doing that thing.

"You are sick."

You snorted. "And you’re hard, so."

He turned you abruptly, pinning you between his body and the barre. "Fine, what’s the story?"

You hummed. "You met my mom in a bar, you liked her, you started this all with the purest intentions. But then you stayed over one night, and there I was. You’ve tried fighting it—"

"But you don’t make it easy," he sighed.

You smirked. "I’m sorry, daddy. Really."

Any last reluctance he had was destroyed when you called him daddy. "Well, baby girl, daddy really isn’t okay that you’ve been letting so many other people fuck you."

You shrugged. "Maybe I was practicing."

He scoffed, fully aware of how you were intending to turn this. "Practicing. For what?"

"You. I just wanted to make sure I was good when you fucked me."

He hummed, turning you away once again. "And are you?"

"Good?"

"Mhm."

"The best," you promised.

"Baby, I don’t know how I feel about sharing you. What if I wanted to be your first?"

"I—"

He brought his hand up to your neck and you fell silent. "Daddy is really disappointed."

Rarely did Steve commandeer your scenes. Mostly, he pretended that he was just humoring you, then he fucked you well enough that you weren’t in the position to tease him afterward. It was a great system. But you weren’t complaining that he was suddenly changing things.

"Are you sorry for letting me down?"

You nodded quickly. It was surprising how naturally he could commit to this character.

"How are you going to make it up to me?"

"I’ll do anything," you promised.

He took his other hand, palm sliding over your ass. "Have I ever told you how much I love your ass?"

"No."

"I do... you ever had your ass fucked?"

That was a huge no. The men you had been with up to that point, prior to Steve, did not meet your standards that well. There was lacking trust, skill, most of them couldn’t define 'foreplay' if their lives depended on it. And after, well, Carol was the only one who liked straps so much and she’d never brought it up.

"No."

"No?"

You were about to repeat the answer when his hand came down on your ass. It (illogically) was the last thing you were expecting and you pathetically squeaked before you could stop yourself.

"You know what I want you to call me. Correct?"

"Yes, daddy. No, I’ve never been fucked there."

"You want daddy to fuck you there?"

"Will daddy forgive me?"

"Maybe."

Pouting, right now? Steve Rogers knew no bounds. "Yes, daddy, I want you to fuck me there."

"Spread your legs and hold the barre."

You hurriedly did as he asked, watching his face in the mirror. His eyes were focused on your ass, the way you moved, the way you were teasing him by leaning over just a little.

First, he moved your suit aside and buried two fingers inside you. You were obscenely wet, something he chuckled at.

You would have blushed, had you not already been. He pumped his fingers in and out, ordering you to watch, even though you couldn’t see much with your leotard in the way. When he added another finger, you squirmed a little, trying to get more comfortable.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little, daddy." It always hurt, taking Steve was always an adjustment process. The first few times, uncomfortable, an orgasm without his fingers rubbing quick circles around your clit was impossible. You were getting used to him, it was still a stretch, you’d just grown to like that ounce of pain because you knew how much pleasure was going to follow.

"Well, imagine how they’re going to feel in your ass. Then imagine how my cock will feel. Worried?"

"No, daddy. I like it when you hurt me."

He thrust his fingers a tad indelicately and your hips jerked.

Ass—obviously you’d said that to get a rise out of him, but still, rude. You had completely soaked through your thick suit by the time he pulled his fingers out, and not a single finish to show for it. But you figured he knew what he was doing, he’d probably had experience with this before so you were fine letting him run the show.

He pulled the material over your ass so he could watch you take his fingers.

"Take it off, daddy," you pleaded, voice all weak and breathy. You were pathetic.

"Can’t, baby. If your mom walks in, you can’t be naked."

You whined unintelligibly. Was he serious right now?

"Don’t misbehave," he warned. "I don’t want to have to punish you. Understand?"

"Yes, daddy." You set your forehead to the bar, angling your head so you could still see his face.

"Are you ready?"

You nodded slightly. "Yes, daddy." You startled a bit when you felt his finger, taking a breath when he told you to. The first finger didn’t hurt but you felt impossibly full—he was right, how were you going to take him? There was a sting when he got to his knuckle but he told you to relax so you tried.

His opposite hand reached through the suit where he pressed his fingers flat to your clit and began to massage them over you, back and forth, with a toe-curling pace and pressure. He pumped his finger in and out of your ass until you were crying out about your approaching orgasm. His finger felt different now, better, and you weren’t sure any finish had ever built up so intensely.

Before you could find out, he stopped touching your clit, dipping his first two fingers down to tease your entrance. It was then that he decided to add another finger to the one working on opening your ass for him. He was quick about it, slid one finger out, shoved two in.

You threw your head back, moaning loudly.

"Starting to feel good, baby?"

"Yes, daddy." Maybe just the looming promise of the right kind of pain, but not necessarily good. Not yet.

He continued his pattern of edging you until he had four fingers inside your ass. Your legs were shaking and his other hand was completely soaked. He never stopped talking, telling you about all the times he had thought about fucking you like this, how he touched himself during these fantasies, how he was going to make you feel better than you’d ever felt.

Steve wasn’t the most forthcoming man. He didn’t lie, never, but sometimes he kept things so completely to himself and you never had a clue. When did this obsession with your ass start, and how? And if Carol had never spanked you, would he even be doing this now? What other fantasies was he keeping to himself?

"Do you want to go to your bedroom, doll?"

"Not yet."

"Do you want your mother to catch us?" he joked.

You snorted. "Maybe I do."

He leaned over you, kissing the side of your face. "You know, I’m just saying, if you really did have a mom and I was your stepfather and was trying to fuck you on a clock, we would have definitely been caught by now."

You couldn’t possibly refrain from smiling. "You’re such a dork, Steve."

He smiled a little. "You think you’re ready?"

"Yes."

He arched an eyebrow at you. "Don’t drop the act now, baby girl."

You scoffed. "Yes, daddy. I’m ready." You watched him in the mirror as he moved his pants out of his way, something he eventually had to remove his fingers to do. You immediately missed that full feeling.

He adjusted your leotard out of his way once more, opposite hand leading his cock to you. He pressed in just barely, allowing you time to adjust or to protest if this was a failed experiment. You guys had had a few of those. Beyond handcuffs, he did not like tying you up. You guys actually weren’t overly into public sexual situations, save for the final act of The Incident. And phone sex was something that only occurred in times of true desperation. This would not be making the same list.

He folded his hands over your hip bones, pulling you back further on his cock. Your mouth dropped and your eyes slammed shut. It didn’t feel natural, it was like your body was trying to push back at him but well, Steve was nothing if not stubborn. He just kept pushing and pushing until your ass was flush against him.

It felt like an eternity when he started to pull out and then another eternity when he thrust back in, but you enjoyed every second. You felt high by the time his hips were moving easily, steadily. It was this maddening feeling like you were on the edge of something really good but he wouldn’t touch you anywhere else and it just wasn’t enough to finish. You suspected he knew that.

His hands moved up your hips and your waist until he could grab your shoulders. He stood you up, his hips stilling, your back flat to his chest. Just when you thought you he couldn’t get any deeper inside you. He pressed his hands up until he closed around your breasts. He pinched your nipples through the material, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

"Let’s go to the bedroom."

He would have a much better angle to watch, of course. Two months prior, you were days away from a huge audition so you were either at the studio or at home practicing. One night when you arrived home at nearly 10, it just felt like something wasn't right. Like someone had been in your apartment, nothing looked off. You just felt it.

You didn't lock the door behind you, just in case. You kept hold of your phone. You hadn’t spoken to Natasha that day and you worried she wouldn’t answer, she didn’t generally stay awake so late. And well, it wasn’t like Steve was a stranger to your AM calls or texts. But Carol lived closer and would have been there in a second if you’d needed her.

You made yourself move, tomorrow was another busy day. You flipped on your bedroom light, nearly sprinting straight back out when you saw flowers on your bed. But fear was quickly replaced with all sorts of confusion.

It looked like an expensive bouquet and there was a card right next to it. And see, these were not roses or daisies, these were dahlias—dark red, full, extra flowers. And who was more extra than... As the card read—ding, ding, ding. Steve Rogers.

When you’re not so busy, we’ll try it out.

Fear soon returned. Oh no, you thought to yourself. What could he have possibly done? It took you only three more seconds to find a full ass mirror over your bed. At the moment, you were stunned, but once more, pulled yourself out of it with your insistence of sleep. You did not have time for this.

However, when you were in bed, your phone charging next to you, you just couldn’t fall asleep. Of course. You had to call Steve. He’d broken into your home, or allowed others to break into your home, without your permission. All to put a fucking mirror over the god damn bed? He was insane, you realized.

"Hey, doll."

He sounded so smug. "You’re sick."

"Hmm, does that mean you don’t like it?"

"That means what I said: you’re sick."

"Take your clothes off."

You snorted. "Who said I’m wearing any?"

As mentioned, this wasn’t your usual routine with him. Steve loved seeing you, feeling you—phone sex just didn’t cut it. But who knew when you would have time for him next?

"There are many toys in your bedside table, pick one now."

You eagerly obliged, spreading your legs and fucking yourself with a vibrator he’d used on you several times. He told you to watch, to not take your eyes off the mirror.

The mirror added to discovering that Steve Rogers liked role-play had been some of the most pleasant surprises of your life. It was fun for both of you, never a question about when or where. When either of you wanted it, the other was always up for it. You’d thought it was just a one-time thing after the ballet incident, but then he found handcuffs in your room, which believe it or not, you hadn’t actually been using for sex. They were sex handcuffs, but they were just part of your costume to the Valentine's Day party Carol had taken you to, thrown by the lovely Maria.

Regardless, he asked you about them and you dismissed them. He then “arrested” you for “being a brat”. That got you bent over the kitchen counter as he fucked you from behind. He had you beg him to let you go but didn’t stop until his cum was dripping out of you onto the floor.

Then he’d noticed you were struggling in one of your classes and offered a prize for doing well on an upcoming exam. Of 50 questions, you’d only missed 4. He laid you out on your bed and told you he was going to eat you out. After the first time, you attempted to pull him up to you, gasping about how you needed him inside you, please Steve. He grabbed your hands and held them down, ordering you to call him professor Rogers.

Then there was the loose sugar daddy scene. He’d bought you a diamond choker on one of his trips away and it was stunning. You felt spoiled and wanted him to feel the same. You got on your knees and stayed there until you were sure your jaw was going to suffer permanent damage if you kept your mouth open that wide for much longer. It was three days later that he sent you a screenshot of your Instagram post about the diamond choker and told you to get dressed exactly how you were in the photo. So, in a rose pink wig, a tiny pink satin dress, a dangerously high pair of red heels, and the diamond choker. He didn’t use your name when finally got to your apartment, he called you baby and made you ride him, fully dressed, until you couldn’t sit up on your own.

Then there was the time Steve Rogers actually sent you the address to a sex shop and told you to meet him there. You’d had no idea until you pulled up to the building but you knew immediately that you were going to enjoy this. He asked you to help him find toys that his wife would enjoy—you told yourself you could play along, but you definitely needed to smack him upside the head later. When he got you in the car, after a little back and forth, you being somewhat mouthy, he placed one of the vibrators inside you and wouldn’t turn it off. His fingers paid attention to your clit the entire drive home.

Your payback for that was you dressed as one of his former chorus girls. A designer at the university that you’d met because she always made the costumes for the show was all too happy to help. You sent him a picture of the outfit then flipped the skirt up to show him you weren’t wearing underwear. The absolute last thing you expected was for him to show up in one of his suits. He was wild almost animalistic, he made you scream so loud that three different neighbors came to check if you were okay. Which had been a great source of pride to him.

Then you bought a stripper pole. It took 7 entire classes before you had any idea what you were doing. Though he appreciated it, it was a requirement of patience that he did not want to execute. Natasha, though,

Natasha loved watching you dance. Carol had the same problem as Steve but if you let Natasha, she would watch you for hours.

When you woke up, it was because Steve was getting out of bed. You glanced at the clock, 4 in the morning. He was getting up for his run, then he'd head out to the tower for another day at the office.

He fucked you again before he left. He had you on top of him, chest to chest, his arms wrapped tight around your back, one hand on the back of your head to hold you to the bend of his neck. He liked to do this with the mirror. He liked holding you flat against him and then watching your ass as he fucked you fervidly. He had become wild and insatiable since the mirror's arrival.

Natasha liked to lay you down, tie your legs to the bedpost, sometimes your arms, and would spend hours teasing you with her mouth. Sometimes, when she knew you weren’t too tired, she would tell you to finger yourself and she would stay next to you and watch in the mirror for as long as you would allow it.

Carol liked making you ride her and you couldn’t deny that was a beautiful scene to watch play out from above. She also liked to turn you away from her, settle directly behind you, drape your leg back over her hip, and fuck you with one of her straps.

They had their shared interests, that was undeniable. You still blushed every time you thought about The Incident. It occurred four months ago. They’d been on a short trip; not even a mission, they’d promised, they’d told you it was more politics than saving the world. The first one you saw when they got back was Carol.

She had texted you while you were out with friends and asked where you were. You informed her that you would be shopping alone after lunch. She joined you because she had a present that she just couldn’t wait. It was a vibrator that she could control from her phone. She never used it while you were walking, concerned that you may actually fall and hurt yourself but if you stopped to look at something or sat down for even a second, it was on.

Natasha had taken you to the restaurant. She told you to go to the bathroom and take off your bra and panties and she handed you her purse to place them in. She made you sit down next to her, slipped the same vibrator inside you, then made you sit on her lap for the entire night. She let you watch her phone, let you know when she was going to speed up or slow down, and all she did the entire night was sip on her wine and keep a tight hold on you so you couldn't move away from her.

Two days later, Steve made you wear it to class. Not ballet class, actual classes where you would be sitting down. It was so random when you would feel it and it was terrifying as he wasn't there. You never knew when or where, or if you were standing up and reading! You wanted to hit him when you got back to your apartment and he was waiting for you. You didn't, but you were really upset. Mostly because he hadn't let you come the entire day.

You wanted to know why? You’d asked, but their answers were dismissive and it wasn’t like you could elaborate on what you actually meant. You weren’t just asking why, you were asking why all three? It was just one of those answers you weren’t going to get while you were still keeping secrets from them.

When Natasha showed up after Steve left, it was two hours before class. You were still in bed checking social media when she slipped under the covers and made you come with her mouth and fingers. You’d taken a shower since Steve left, fortunately.

She kissed up your body and settled on top of you. You undressed her, kissing her bare skin as soon as you exposed it, her arms, her chest, her stomach, her legs, her ass, her cunt. She wanted you on top, grinding against her as she watched in the mirror.

She walked you to class and you fingered her in the dimly lit hallway before she left. She picked you up afterward and made you eat since you simply did not have the time to before class. She walked you home, set up her phone on the table next to the couch, sat down, sat you on top of her, and made you ride her fingers. Sometimes, Natasha wanted videos.

In between your second and third lecture classes, the biggest gap in your day, Carol texted. She picked you up in her car and drove out to some hiking trails that she felt were empty enough. In the back of her car, she had you pressed down to the seats, ass up as she fucked you with her strap. She held the side of your face down against the leather, not so much that it would stifle your screams.

When you finished, she made you clean the seat with your tongue. You could distinctly tell the difference between her taste and yours. She watched you as she removed the strap, taking the dildo and fucking herself with it.

She laid back and let you on top, directing you to sink down on the dildo as it was still buried in her pussy. You didn’t stop taking it until your pussy was against hers, thankfully it wasn’t one of the longer ones in her collection. Leaning over, you used the side of the car to keep your balance. She rose onto her elbows, nipping and sucking at your nipples as you ground your wet center against hers.

This was a regular day, one you had grown to love, one you were completely obsessed with. You were scared. You felt that the likelihood of them all being okay with this was low. But you were not so scared that you would ever lie to them. Withhold information? Sure. Lie? Out of the question.

You'd finally confided in the ballerinas. They'd always known about Natasha because she was at practice all of the time, but you only told half-truths about Steve and Carol. You didn't actually want them to know that you were sleeping with three Avengers. Maybe it was because everyone was drunk, but they promised you that Natasha adored you and she wouldn't leave you.

Okay, but what about Steve and Carol? You were stressed, really stressed. During the preparation period for shows, when training was intense, the ballerinas often went out on Saturdays and got wasted and talked. This was why you were in a loud night club with dancing and alcohol, and no one who was going to stop any of you from getting in trouble.

You were impaired but you were not a bad friend. At the bar, you counted all of your friends. They would likely be leaving with someone as they had all found someone to dance with, you would make the rounds in a minute. It was a rule, if they wanted to leave with a guy, that guy had to give you his number. You would verify it right then and there by sending him a text, then they could be on their way.

It was one in the morning when the girls started leaving. You had a drink at your side and five new names (proven by ID) and numbers saved in your notes.

"That's sweet."

You turned to your left, eyebrows shooting up. Gorgeous blue eyes, long brown hair, and beautiful fair skin. Wanda Maximoff was either sitting right next to you at a bar or you were completely imagining her. Given your drunken state and your current obsession with her, it was possible.

"Well, they don't exactly agree...I read stories about guys and bars and how to avoid getting chopped up into little pieces."

She smiled a little. "Who makes sure you get home?"

"I live close."

She hummed. "Were you heading out?"

Yes, you should say yes. You should leave because this could not happen. You didn't know how to explain that you were sleeping with three of them! And Wanda was wearing this red dress that was really tight and so low cut, so, how would you explain four?!

"Maybe...after I finish my drink."

She eyed your glass for a moment. "I'm Wanda."

"I know. I'm Y/N."

"I think you're the first person who's recognized me all night."

"You're stunning. I don't know how anyone wouldn't recognize you."

She smiled slightly, turning back down to her glass.

There was something so wrong with you. Instead of leaving, you just wanted to sit there and drunkenly flirt, clearly.

"Can I buy you another drink?"

No, say no! "Sure."

It was two drinks later, technically three drinks later, since you finished your drink and then she bought you two more. Things were starting to get...closer. You guys were closer. You'd started out at a normal distance, at least you assumed, but the next thing you realized, you were centimeters away from her.

She had her hand on your arm and she'd stopped ordering drinks. She was ready to leave or almost ready to leave. You hadn't neglected your duties as the best friend. You had 12 names and numbers in your notes but now you were realizing that you were all alone and if you wanted to do something, you could.

You'd talked about yourself a little, the usual. You were a student, you were a ballerina. However, you left the part out about your apparent gambling addiction! She didn't share much and you didn't think that was odd, the others didn't for a long while. They had to be a lot more guarded than you. You completely understood.

Wanda glanced at her phone when the conversation died down, or when you stopped babbling like the intoxicated fool you were, before looking back at you. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Yeah." You should still be saying no. You should try being honest. You should say: I'm sleeping with three of your team members and I should go home. But god, she really was fucking stunning.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"I do. I have a boyfriend that I love very much...but sometimes, there are things that I want to try. Things that he doesn't want to try."

"Are you...referring to me?" That was a stupid question, you were almost sure. But was she? Was that what you were supposed to be picking up?

She scoffed. "In a sense, yes. I do think you are beautiful and you're nice, and really cute. I want to have sex with you, but it can't be a relationship. My boyfriend is offering me an open arrangement... I'm still with him, very committed, but sometimes...I would like to call you and meet you. Does that sound like something you would be okay with?"

Should you be offended by how many Avengers didn't want to be in a relationship with you at this point? You may end up dwelling on that later, but now, you were thinking about having sex with her. She looked soft and sweet, very unlike Carol, Steve, and Natasha. You weren't saying she was better or worse, it wasn't like you were comparing them to rank them.

You were just acutely aware of the fact that they were so dominant and you were not. Wanda didn't seem to need that so much, she seemed like she would be fine just having sex. Meaningful sex, but not too meaningful. Soft sex, but not boring. In fact, it sounded like she wanted to try something different, and maybe you wanted to also.

So, you said yes. Mostly because it reminded you that Natasha, Steve, and Carol all said they were not able to be in an actual relationship with you. You were getting ahead of yourself, maybe they wouldn't care at all. Maybe it would be a complete non-issue, and you shouldn't miss out on having sex with Wanda if you don't have any proof that they'll react negatively.

She kissed you the first time while you were both still sitting at the bar. After you'd given her your consent, she set her hand to your cheek and pressed her lips to yours. It was all soft lips and tongue, no teeth, no power play. She tasted like alcohol and lip gloss, at least her mouth did. You wanted to know what her pussy tasted like, which you didn't fail to whisper to her when she pulled away.

She immediately took your hand and led you out of the club. It wasn't terribly cold as you waited for the Uber she sent for. She was just a bit taller than you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders as she leaned down again to kiss you. Your hands started at her hips but soon began to roam, her ass, her waist, her back, her shoulders to pull her down closer.

By the time the driver showed, you were both completely flushed and very ready to find a bed. She was taking you to a hotel. You figured that was best, no need to add any more people to the list of individuals who randomly show up at your apartment without calling or texting.

She kept her hand on your thigh the entire drive there but didn't dare move it underneath your dress. Another point of difference between her and her teammates. Any of the others and you would have already finished at least twice.

Getting up to the room was a blur. Thankfully, she did all the talking. You weren't sure how to function under this kind of calm, steady build. It was always fast and immediately, but Wanda was taking her time and making sure everything was how she wanted it.

When you finally got into the room, she didn't bother turning on the light. She curled one arm around you, the other pulling your hair off to the side as she began to kiss your neck. She held you against her as she walked forward. There was a bed that you supposed was big enough, a small bathroom, a sad excuse for a kitchen, a huge window with dirty curtains shining light on the mattress.

None of that really mattered, anyway. She led you closer to the window, stopping only when she wanted to remove your dress. It hit the floor, she peeled the curtain away from the window, and her hands were all over you. "Is this okay? I like the moonlight tonight."

She waited for your confirmation before she ran her hands up and down your sides, a teasing touch before she grabbed your breasts. She was still kissing your neck, gentle and open-mouthed.

You turned your head upward, catching her mouth. She opened her lips for you instantly and you took full advantage of that with a slow but sloppy kiss. Her fingers trailed down from the middle of your chest, straight down your stomach, and all the way to your pussy.

She hummed when she felt you were wet. The brushes against your clit were faint but somehow it was enough, it didn't take long at all for you to unhurriedly fall apart. Your legs were shaking and your mind was even more blurry than before.

You turned to her to slip her out of her dress. You kissed across her collarbone, then over her chest, glancing up as you closed your lips around one of her nipples. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head fell back, and she opened her beautiful mouth to moan.

Your hands on her hips, you directed her to the bed. She sat down first, grabbing your arms to pull you down with her. Your naked skin was flush against hers and all you did for the longest time was kiss. Hands buried in each other's hair, quiet moans and gasps filling the room, all the while just building up to this intense scene.

When you sat up, she remained on her back. She pushed your hair over your shoulders so she could see your chest and your face. She was right about the moonlight, it washed over her so well.

You kissed her chin, off to the side of her jaw, then down her shoulder and arm until you reached her hand. You took it in yours, the same with the other as you lowered onto your knees on the floor, intertwining your fingers. There was no prelude, you simply took her with your mouth.

She cried out your name, arching her back and squeezing your hands. She tasted sweet, smelled musky and a little like vanilla. You kissed down the length of her soaking cunt, sliding your tongue into her entrance.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped. "Do that again."

You obliged, releasing one of her hands so you could rub her clit with your fingers. She took her newly freed hand and grabbed your hair. She pulled you down harder, rolling her hips up slowly, trying to get your tongue in deeper.

Not even a minute later, she was making you aware of her approaching orgasm, "I'm close, suck my clit--please, fuck! Suck my clit."

You ran your tongue through her as you brought your hand down, you closed your lips around her and began to suck hard. You pressed two fingers inside her and pumped them in and out, moaning when you felt her clenching around them.

She was shaky and smiling as you lazily licked her through her finish. She pulled you up as soon as her brain was working enough to tell her arms to pull you up. "And how do I taste?"

"Amazing."

She smirked.

You had to figure her boyfriend wasn't much for going down on her since she was looking at you like you were the reason the sun would rise tomorrow morning.

You laid on top of her but she quickly rolled over, legs slotting so you could grind against one another's thigh. Her slick center against your skin was almost enough to make you finish. Again, her mouth was on yours and nothing was hurried. You canted your hips, catching your clit on her soft leg, and she did the same.

Soon, your hips started to gain speed, you were close and could tell she was, too. The sounds of wet pussy slapping against thigh nearly drowned out the desperate screams and whines you both made.

You completely soaked her thigh with your orgasm. As she continued pursuing hers, she reached down, hand gliding between you and her wet skin. She brought her fingers up to her mouth, humming and sucking on them. "I can't wait to have you sit on my face." Then she closed her eyes, her hips stuttered, and your leg felt much hotter.

She didn't waste any time at all, she rolled back over and hauled you on top of her. Your hips jerked when you pressed against her, still sensitive from the last finish. She didn't seem to mind, she just placed both hands on your hips and moved you relentlessly against her.

"Hands behind your back, lean onto the mattress," she instructed.

You quickly did so, relieved to have some type of balance.

She loved watching your breasts bounce this way, loved watching your eyes roll to the back of your head. And she especially loved when you sat up again to grab her hands, an attempt to pull away from the overstimulation. She didn't allow it, she kept her grip tight and pulled you in faster as she rolled her hips up.

#natasha romanoff x reader #steve rogers x reader #carol danvers x reader #will tag the fourth a little later bc i believe in surprises #my writing

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Not For Me (Shinsou x Reader)

Pairing: Shinsou x Reader

Purple tear anon requested: “ You are going to kill me for this...Can reader-chan be SUPER scared of Shinsou’s quirk. ”

Genre: Angst

Word count: 896

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: Back on my requests dears! This took a while to do, but I’m glad I got it finished finally! I won’t make a long author’s note bc it’s 4am and I’ve been getting no sleep for the past 3 days, I’m running on fumes. Hope you enjoy!

Shinsou is convinced love isn't meant for him.

He already had a difficult time maintaining friendships in elementary and middle school because of his villainous quirk. Since everyone wanted to either run away from or take advantage of him, it's no wonder why the boy always thought he was meant to be solo for the rest of his life. He never wanted to fall for anyone, he says, it doesn't even bother him.

But one can't help their own feelings from happening. Sometimes your brain takes one look at someone and screams, "Them! I want them!" In Shinsou's case, the one his brain claimed is in the support class, one of Hatsume's much quieter classmates. The boy has seen this reserved support character following behind the pink-haired firecracker, clothes just as dirty and always preoccupied with scribbling in a notebook. He figures they’re the hardworking type, wishing to see what kind of inventions hide in that notebook.

Shinsou wanted to use his private training after the sports festival to better himself, not just physically, but to better the mental image he had of himself. Midoriya already spurred the cogs of change in his mind, he just needed to slick the wheels a little more. Under Aizawa’s care, he worked hard to achieve this; his reward at the end of the tunnel would be to confess his feelings to the lovely support student.

Near the end of the semester after training tirelessly, he felt he was in a good place physically and mentally. Despite everything his traumatized mind was telling him, he argued, No, I deserve to be happy, I deserve to love. He’s convinced the universe has dropped this opportunity on his doorstep to lift him up, something to dig him out of the crippling weight of oppression he’s faced up until now.

He can be happy.

Shinsou approaches the workshop tentatively. He’s rehearsed all his lines in his head down to all his hand gestures and movements in an effort to look cooler in front of them. Not even his nerves can stop him now, it’s now or never.

“I’ll be ready for the Sports Festival next year! I’m gonna be as great as you, Hastume!” he hears his crush announce amongst the sound of grinding metal.

“I’m sure you’ll make it to the final rounds like I did!” Hatsume praises haughtily.

“I should make sure to hone my quirk too, don’t wanna end up a one-trick pony.”

Shinsou unconsciously smiles. That’s exactly what Aizawa tells him as well.

“Like...that kid who fought Midoriya.”

The tone of their voice stabs Shinsou in his chest. It was the embodiment of a frightful flinch from an attacker.

“Yeah, Shinsou’s his name, I believe- Hey, are you okay?” Hatsume sounds alarmed.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just...a little shaken.”

Part of Shinsou wants to comfort them, causing his hand to grab the door frame to launch himself through the door and hold them close.

“I can’t imagine being controlled by such a power. It feels...intrusive. It’s scary to have your agency taken away, even for a moment. How could you do that to someone? I can’t handle that.”

That’s what makes Shinsou’s grip loosen, his head dipped. His world spins as if his one tether is cut, he needs to sit to ground himself. He doesn’t even want to go in there, afraid of seeing whatever mortified face they have and imprinting it into his memory forever. It’s best he doesn’t go in there.

“That’s true,” Hatsume muses sympathetically. “But it would be useful against villains, wouldn’t you agree?”

They don’t answer. Shinsou rises to his feet slowly, although his chest has that familiar sinking again. He’s heard quite enough now.

“I was rooting for Midoriya in that match.”

The boy doesn’t know what hurts more, them being a fan of Midoriya or their voice returning to life at the mere mention of his name.

“Me too! He’s quite the guy, isn’t he? Not to mention he snapped out of that trance Shinsou had him in!” the pink haired girl gushes.

“I was on the edge of my seat when that happened! He’s a true hero to me, he’s my role model.”

Shinsou has to snort to himself, as if this adds insult to injury. He should’ve known that someone who writes in notebooks will be attracted to the other nerd who writes in notebooks, they seem to have that same energy.

He pushes himself off the wall keeping him upright and trudges down the school corridor. All his hype disappeared just like that. How was he supposed to compete with someone who’s the “ultimate hero example” like Deku? The one person who was able to break out of his quirk somehow?

In a way, it was embarrassing, but mostly frustrating. His quirk doesn’t allow him to be a good hero despite all of his training in the past few months, but Midoriya even showed him that he’s a bad villain. He’s doomed to forever be branded by a quirk he didn’t ask for, and it’s interfering with his love life,

His heart sinks knowing that he’ll probably be single for the rest of his life. All he can do now is harden his heart even more, and rescind himself to his fate. If his fate wants him to be a single, bitter person for life, that’s how he’ll be.

#Shinsou x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou angst #gender neutral reader #request #shinsou imagine #shinsou scenario #mha shinsou #bnha shinsou #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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fizzypunks · 4 years

Text

Bad Timing

fandom: My Hero Academia/ Boku No Hero Academia word count: 5k rating: T (cannon description of violence) summary: Shouta has to handle the aftermath of the Nomu attack, and Hizashi has very bad (or good) timing

ship: earsermic

AO3

note: best viewed on Archive bc it keeps the formatting like itallics!

___

The day was finally at its end – the sun set in slats across the teachers lounge, and it was 3:55, when most people were leaving or gathering their lives up in a rush to get home. They’d all already left, urgently trying to beat traffic and make their way to whatever Friday plans they had in store.

Aizawa didn’t have Friday plans – instead of unceremoniously rushing to get home for the weekend, or go drinking to relieve stress, he was instead sitting on the couch. He didn’t have lessons or binders around him, having freed one hand to take out his phone and flip through his lessons that Hizashi kindly spent the time uploading for him.

The screen was bright and blaring and bled color into color into color – it was hard to look at for too long, but it was the only compromise he could make with his body when it came to improvised lesson plans. He’d type it up, with his one hand, a letter at a time, while his body healed enough for him to do better.

This is what it is, no use complaining. Just get it done.

The ache in his eyes he could deal with – he’d be disappointed in himself if he wasn’t used to it at his age, and he’d made peace with the eye strain and pain and dryness and anything else that was unpleasant about his quirk. His body, however, was a new story. It ached in a way he never experienced in his life, deep to the bone and then, maybe, even deeper – not a movement existed that didn’t somehow remind him of his body, his mortality, and it’s still a wonder he even survived.

He stopped asking questions like how a long time ago, though, and he didn’t dare start now. All it did was drive him into crazy circles of what ifs , dead ending in worse case scenarios that were a half inch away from coming to be…

This new burn, this new hurt – it conjured with it the same image – or maybe it was muscle memory – of painful blood splatter in his eyesight. With it came a reel of other horrifics images and feelings and sensations that might have been if…

It doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant...

When he told his class that it didn’t matter that he was teaching, he meant it. It wasn’t what he wanted, but since when did he ever get what he wanted? It’s hero work, and educational duties don’t take a break just because he broke ; they never permitted a break because he wanted and wished.

He broke. Plain, simple – no explanation necessary. That’s a world he’s unfortunate enough to live in, so he grits his teeth and bears it.

It’s all Shouta can do. Bear it, heal as best he can, move on – think about it less and less until it’s just another frame on the wall of memories that like to bug him at night, those few rare ones that let him rest and dream.

Bear it. It didn’t kill you, so bear it.

Still, in the middle of the day, after teaching and improvising and making himself stand upright like he didn’t want to bury himself in sheets, it was a weird sensation. Living through something that almost took his life in the most violent, frightening way possible, all for his kids. He didn’t think this time around, with the mending and the processing and the eventual moving on, would feel so…

Off? Like a buzz on his skin, like time was shifted just a second ahead and he was playing catch up. He didn’t know the right words, couldn’t even explain to himself the things that he was feeling. He finally settled calling it weird. Whatever that meant.

He’d dealt with trauma before, too – but this breed of unease was new, even to him and his seasoned career.

The room was silent, but it felt louder than ever, and his screen had timed out when he realized he’d been staring dryly into it without doing anything.

He refreshed the screen with his thumb, lights bright and vivid again like a train at the end of a tunnel.

He’s stopped regretting his choices, he’s stopped wallowing because after two or three close calls with death, it gets a bit old – but god does he want to wallow now . Now that his body was broken and every movement felt like shattered glass in a windshield, disturbed with every movement but, at least, mercilessly, held together by…

What?

Sheer force of will – he was certain that’s what it was. It wasn’t desire or hope, it wasn’t any positive or cheerful motto – he had time for those later, for now…

He groaned, the weight of his eyes and body finally coaxing a response from him that wasn’t dead. Responses that were complete opposites from that which he always told his peers when they stopped him in the halls or at the end of lectures.

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“It doesn’t matter, now if you wouldn’t mind, I have a class to teach.”

It’s placating, it’s time-buying – other heroes know the drill, so they don’t argue with him too much – they just insist, and hope, that he listens enough to at least rest . He always wanted to sleep, right? He had that stupid sleep disorder that always begs for him to rest his head for just a moment, so why not indulge it now?

He blinked against it – he really did need to sleep, but the screen in his shaking fingers showed that he had plans to finalize, and a fresh round of essay to grade that needed to be graded by the next day.

So much was behind as is – the last essay, the last score for ethics lecture to be dealt out, a new plan for the upcoming week that adjusts for his kids and the stress they just underwent – no, hero work doesn’t forgive very much, and Aizawa would never tell them that he was giving them a break, but he was going to do exactly that and take off a few quizzes to lighten the load…

Shouta leaned back against the sofa, and it wasn’t too soft and without structure, that it actually did do some good for him. He tilted his head back, too, and felt brief relief in the way his head didn’t feel like lobbing off like a hammer to the side of a statue’s temple.

He sighed, and leaned into it, the slightest bit of relief he was able to find.

The one think he was grateful for was that today was better than the beginning of the week. He had a long way to go, but thankfully some of the bandages could be taken off yesterday and today was his first day of being able to fully see – his face was freed, his shoulders lightened and only wrapped with a few white wraps – but it was still a struggle with his arms, his hands – the most damaged parts of his body that were trudging along…

This is unbearable .

But he will bear it.

But, right now, he will not bear it well. Like he broke under the hand of the Nomu, he was breaking again now and nothing was capable of stopping that.

He took in a deep breath, and held it just because it felt good to feel so full. He held it and waited.

This is going to be interesting.

His breath was waning, it’s time slowly slipping by, expiring.

This is going to hurt.

His lungs were wrapped around empty air.

Bad .

He still didn’t let go, even when it ached. He didn’t know if he wanted to, but the red-blackness of his eyelids and the sting in him was a comfortable pain he knew he could release, if he wanted.

Then, finally, he did want, and he let go, shoulders slumping with a harsh exhale.

He opened his eyes to a slit, and saw the sun spots on the ceiling had grown longer. Golden, mingling, patient – he’d stared at them so many times before, grown bored of them between grading and impatience, but now they were a comfort.

Familiar monotony and boredom. It seems that being bored was not always a bad thing, after all.

Early in his career, this might have killed his spirit. His spirit, however, was put back together so many times, and damaged so cruelly and spitefully, that he at least felt some sort of partial happiness knowing it wasn’t possible to batter his spirit any more. It was impossible.

It’s reached its limit years ago, what’s a new bruise on top of the rest?

A sound like shuffling, quiet but distinct, came from behind him – clothes rustling, a distinct stiff sound, all quietly entering from behind; and it was intentional movement, Shouta knew.

His instincts never dulled, even under mountains of bandages. “Hizashi. What are you still doing here?”

His laugh – the one he would never admit to loving so deeply– was soft behind him, closer this time. “Gee, how’d ya know it was me ?”

Shouta wished he could shrug, and instead returned his eyes back to their resting state and closed them lightly. “ Gee , how’d you learn to be quiet? Or, at least, try to be.”

Soft brushing, padding of feet, the ridiculous squeak of leather – Hizashi walked around the couch and when Shouta felt the dip in the seat beside him, a little too close to him, he chuckled. “It’s hard to be, man – you know I’m stuck with my costume! On the clock, I’m Present Mic!”

“I was talking about your mouth, but sure – that too.”

Another laugh came, and it was just as warm and full and bright. Shouta guarded his expression at the sound, because it was too pleasant and he hurt too much to not indulge the pleasant things whenever they did come.

But Mic isn’t Hizashi, and he’s more quiet now, between the two of them. Like he was in hours after sparring through out their friendships and careers, like lazy drawls in the morning when they passed each other, one waking up and one going to bed after a patrol. Quiet and in tune, in a way so few really understood.

That was the part of Hizashi that no one really gets to see – the way he knew silence and patience that would put his hero and radio personality at odds if the public really got to see it. He was calm and reserved and knew which silences and calms to lean into, which ones to sit with, which ones were the important ones...

He knew it right now, which was why he wasn’t on the limits of his own energy, like a battery fed into itself – a never ending feed that could go forever, Shouta thought time and time again. And his comfort in his quirk made it all too easy to emote and exaggerate and be too much for Shouta at times.

Fragile times, like when his mind was barely glued to the body that was just as fractured and splintering around the edges as his spirit.

“My, you think so lowly of me, Shouta.”

“Just being logical. You’re louder more often than not, after all,” he said, and they both knew it was a joking lie. It’s the closest Shouta gets to a joke, anyways.

The silence returned, and Shouta felt the burning questions in the warm body beside him – too close and yet, not really close enough – within arms length, but not within arms...

But Hizashi is never one for mincing words or running from questions. “How you doing, Shou?”

Shouta grunted. “Fine.”

“No, no, no, no – I’ve heard you say that all week and, well, it’s crazy to think you’d be okay! I want to know how you’re doing. ”

“Hizashi, do me a favor. Be polite and just take the answer.”

“No,” and the response was so fast, and sounded so bratty, Shouta was tempted to open his eyes and tilt his head to the right – to see if he was as close as he thought he was, if his hair was falling, if he’d taken off his orange tints and was looking at him with those stupid pup eyes.

He didn’t, though.

“What do you want me to say?” He finally said, quietly – maybe Hizashi wouldn’t hear him if he spoke quietly enough. “Obviously, I’m not fine.”

“I know that, and –”

“And it doesn’t matter. So, with that in mind,” and he did open his eyes this time – they stung fresh again, and he blinked, and he turned his head just slightly enough to change his eyes' direction. They stayed fixed in the ceiling, on the honey the sun was spilling, and he said, “I’m fine.”

“Come on, Shou... “

“It’s just…”

Hizashi sighed. “Could you… at least try to take time off or stop studies or something ? I can’t stand – “ and here he goes, he was too emotional –

So annoying.

His voice always shook when he was sad, when he was pretending like he wasn’t going to cry.

So sweet.

“ – I can’t stand this. ”

You and me both.

It never really did any good to cut off Hizashi, and Shouta hates doing it any way. So he didn’t even attempt it. He knew he needed to say what he was saying, to be heard and unburden himself of the fears living in him. He didn’t really have the chance before, and it wasn’t fair to take it from him now. Shouta didn’t have the energy to deny him any of that, anyway, so his eyes shifted to the crease in the ceiling, the border between it and the wall, and just listened.

“Shouta, you were almost killed – it’s… it’s so bad, this time – I’ve patched you up so many times and there wasn’t anything I could have ever done about this , and I want you to stop trying to ignore it. You don’t have to be a hero all the time.”

Shouta couldn’t help the scoff, and it stopped Hizashi for just a moment. “Of course I do.”

He was so bitter, he could taste it like the lingering flavor of cold coffee.

“You literally don’t –”

“Hizashi… I don’t have the energy for this.”

“That’s my point , Shouta! You can’t –”

“Can’t do my job? Give me a better argument next time, Hizashi.”

For whatever reason, that was enough to shut him up. Shouta didn’t want to, but his headache was too strong and his friend’s concern was too soft and he was just a broken vase – hairline cracks that got too big too fast and now shattered at the foundation – unable to hold onto any of it let any of it fill him, so why even try to touch it?

Hizashi does a lot of things loudly, even when he tries not to – it’s a side effect of being the Voice Hero, a natural course of events that would, rationally, lead him to be a vocal and expressive person. He’s sniffling and trying to stop it, trying to reel himself in, and Shouta sighs again, because the Voice Hero shouldn’t be trying to reel himself in at all.

This isn’t what he wanted.

He truthfully didn’t want to be in this position at all, but he’d remembered that he never wanted to spend his time wishing , so he didn’t wish – he couldn’t fix that, or the way Hizashi was hurting for him. But, he could fix…

Whatever this was.

“Hizashi.”

The sniffling stopped for a second, enough for it to be masked in a, “... what, Shouta?”

“Thank you.”

“Hmmph.”

Pouting?

“Don’t do that.”

“Hmmph!”

Pure annoyance drove him to open his eyes, and tilt his head, and level his eyes against his best friend because pouting was so fucking stupid. His eyes widened, though, when he finally met Hizashi’s gaze for the first time that day.

The first thing was that he wasn’t fully in his costume. His speakers were missing, and his hair was fallen to his shoulders in gell-stiff half-mast, finally succumbing to gravity in a way Shouta was certain was due to a hair brush and messily tucked into a hair tie. His tinted glasses were gone, leaving nothing between their eyes as they locked.

He’d hung up his hero costume for the day, and maybe it made sense that he wasn’t talking like Present Mic any more – not as loud, not as joking, just intentions and and heart.

He was half way between the two – between persona and him, and he looked so soft…

But his eyes, his eyes that stare so deeply and knew Shouta so intimately over the years their lives had been intertwined – they were wet and silently overflowing, and Shouta was certain the embarrassment of crying was what was so freely tinting his cheeks. It was a brush of pink over pale, high cheekbones, under crescent eyes that leaked streaks down to his jaw, his chin.

He, however, still had the mind to pout – not that Shouta had anything to say, not with the sudden, brand new pain of his heart aching at seeing his friend like this.

Shouta’s eyes softened, his annoyance gone like dye down a river.

Hizashi, however, wasn’t a coward, and held his gaze because he wanted Shouta to know what he was doing to him.

And all in the glowing sunlight…

Stop...

“Hizashi…”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t try to stop me or tell me I’m wrong or that I’m crying too much or whatever .”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, because he had the mind to say something and that was the brilliant thing he thought of. His shame was hot and fast and his eyes shifted to the side, just off from Hizashi in the best possible way he could manage to face the other. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“Well, congrats, because I feel bad.”

Shouta knitted his brow in anger. “You’re an idiot.”

Don’t make me feel worse.

“What th–”

You always make me feel worse.

“If you’re spending all your tears on me, then yeah. You are.”

Because you’re so good.

Hizashi was crying and clearly upset – anyone could see that – and yet he still decided to furrow his eyebrows and look confused and stupefied all at once. “ Wind it back a few seconds for me, Shou.”

Shouta raised an eyebrow.

“Say that again,” he prompted, shifting to face Shouta even more completely. He leaned forward on his knees, on his elbows as he wiped away the tears.

“I said you’re an idiot.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Friend .

“And?”

“Not even you believe yourself, do you? I’ve seen you cry for me, too.”

Shouta turned his eyes down. That’s different . That’s more than he can ever really explain, and what’s even more, it’s more than he wants to explain. Those words turn into sentences that turn into feelings that can’t be taken back, and he’ll never make the mistake of falling down that slope. So he looked away, anything to feel less guilty and like shit, and shook his head.

Maybe some honesty wouldn’t hurt. “What would you have me do, then? I don’t have options.”

Hizashi saw him dodge the question, the scenario he’d painted – he scooted closer and Shouta felt too alive with envy, wishing there were no barriers, be them white casts and mental blocks, that kept him from bridging the last of that tiny gap.

“I’d have you sleep. I’d have you stay home. I’d have you trust that the faculty, your peers, your friends , could handle you being out for a bit.”

The logic is there…

Still… “No, I need to stay here. My students are back, and I owe them –”

“It would be a week. You’d have your casts off in a week –”

“Who told you that? If Recovery Girl –”

“It’s common knowledge, Shou, I just guessed . But that’s not the point – the point is that I’m right .”

Where does this conversation end? He doesn’t want to say it, he doesn’t want to open himself up again, and he doesn’t want Hizashi to be crying like this. Crying, because of him.

He sighs again. “It’s…”

He clears his throat again. “It’s easier this way. For me.”

Hizashi had already been close, but now he was right beside him, the knee he was folded over now just against his leg. Personal space had never really been a thing for him, and now proved to be no different. His big watery eyes stayed trained on his calculated, intentionally flat ones.

He’s also always been good at picking apart his words to find the realities beneath them. “Distractions, right?”

Shouta didn’t want to admit to it, but he nodded anyway, eyes falling until they settled on Hizashi’s clavicle. His exposed, open clavicle, and he yearns even more to be able to be closer than this. Take comfort in closeness that was 16 years in the making, but never really actualized. Never, really, fully realized , either...

“Yeah… distractions.”

“Say, if I wanted to come over and make dinner and show you baby animal photos, would you let me?”

Shouta blinked, and Hizashi smiled – he looked too pretty, glowing from his tears, and Shouta hates thinking that.

“Don–”

“They’re baby foxes .”

Shouta looked down, and grew pink – it’s pathetic how easily he could be bought, and he wasn’t ever really going to say no to time with his best friend. Even now, he’s always finding himself saying yes to the colorful, often too-loud man.

Hizashi seemed to realize that he’d won, the way his eyebrows stopped dipping, stopped taking such a sad shape. “At least let me do this, Shou – if you’re gonna bring your mummy self into school and yell at kids and threaten expulsion, then let me make stir fry and udon for you.”

Shouta smiled, small, hesitant, but not quite of his own intention; finally breaking – in a different way than he’s used to. “Fine. Just to be clear, it’s only because I want food.”

“ Suuure , that’s the reason.”

And before he could say anything back, Hizashi did that thing that makes his heart weak – the thing he always does when he’s leaning in like this, and it’s too emotional for his own comfort zone, and things are charged with a restless, aching energy. He reached out his left hand and rested it over Shouta’s open one. His phone was already falling from his bruised fingers, so he pushed it down to his lap and held onto the half of his hand that was exposed.

He wants to ask why he does it sometimes, but doesn’t think that now is the time to ask it. Time, place, his broken body, everything was wrong – so he just let himself enjoy the affection, while he can bask in it with legitimate cause.

Then Hizashi had to ruin it. He grinned, a little too proud. “Nervous?”

Shouta tensed, and his body yelled at the pressure in his arms, in his torso. “Excuse me?”

Hizashi laughed a bit, and he was a little flush – from the crying. “You’re a biiiiiit pink. Like, blushing. Like, actually, you’re very –”

“Shut up.”

“You act like any teensy-tiny bit of affection is like poison, Shou – it’s okay if you–”

“I take it back, actually, you can’t come over.”

“Awwww, come on, I just –”

“I mean it, I’ll order from the corner market.”

“Now that you told me how you’ve been feeding yourself, I’m definitely coming over. God, I swear, you should know how to take care of yourself by now, it’s like you hate trying to –”

“Hizashi –”

He stood, really fast, smiling dumb and bright as he stood infront of Shouta. “Now come on! Up! Let’s go to your apartment!”

He offered a hand, but Shouta shook his head. “I can get up fine –”

Hizashi leaned forward, and it was an awkward placement, the way he was balanced, but he took the phone from his lap and tucked it into his pocket before his hand rested just on the side of Shouta’s shoulder. He urged with his eyes as much as with the slight tug at his waist. “Come on!”

Shouta looked down and nodded, a feeling of warmth overcoming him yet again. He heard moreso than saw Hizashi smile, felt him beaming at him at letting him help him up, and then the hand on his shoulder shifted, to the spot of his ribs just above the bandaging.

“Can I pull here?”

“Yeah…”

And he did and it really fucking hurt, little splinters under his skin all over again. He pulled air sharply between his teeth, and let Hizashi hook his elbow around him to stop the recoil.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“It’s –” Deep breath, relax eyes – bear it . “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine, but it’s bearable, so he releases some of the tension he know is sewn into his arms. He opens his eyes, and Hizashi is so close it’s almost startling. His arm still was around him, under his arm, like a brace. Warm, pleasant pressure, pleasant heat...

“I’m fine,” he breathes again, because for once, Hizashi doesn’t have anything to say. He just stares.

“Hey… um…”

“Hizashi…?”

When Hizashi spoke it was quiet, in a way that betrayed his confident words. “Shou… this is not good timing, but…”

This time it was Shouta’s turn for his voice to stop working, and he didn’t have anything to say – all too aware of the soft sound of breathing between them, the way his eyes were overwhelming like never before.

He had nothing to counter him or force him back or make him leave. He just waited, eyes at half mast because that was the only way he could handle Hizashi looking at him like that . Like he always did, with care and adoration, and it just made him sick.

“I almost lost you, and I don’t want to regret not kissing you any more… for years, Shouta, years .”

Shouta deserved a medal for surviving the whiplash of their conversation, from the joking to the serious to the trivial to the important… he couldn’t move much, but he wasn’t sure if that was his body or his anxious nerves speaking, so he just looked down at his lips.

“Tell me it’s okay,” Hizashi said, close but far enough for comfort. Far enough for respect , for hurting and aching Shouta to say yes or no and only then either bridge the gap or depart. His hand was delicate on his side and his finger tips were light, brushing, too much. “Tell me if you want…”

The timing was so awful – Shouta just wanted to move, to take him in right there, to stop him from talking and pull him into himself so harshly and violently that they might become one. Close was never close enough…

“I…”

Hizashi’s free hand came up to his cheek, holding him there gently. His thumb brushed under his scar, over the hot skin that he was certain was an embarrassing shade of pink…

Don’t fuck with me.

“Tell me, Shou…”

He was wiping away a tear, and Shou crumbled at the touch. “Y– yes.”

A sharp breath, then again, louder, stronger, “ Yes. Yes, Hizashi–”

Hizashi wasted no time, and pressed himself closer, and Shouta wasn’t surprised to taste salt on his lips because he’d spent too much time crying, too.

“I’m – not going to change –” Shouta said between breath and kiss, shaking from the anger of just wanting to hold Hizashi and being un able to. “I’m – still a hero – I’m still –”

– Kiss –

“ – still going to work, and – get hurt – and –”

Hizashi retreated, lips hovering for just a moment. “I know, I know –”

Shouta’s breath is heavy, laden with desires and 15 year old feelings and guilt, and doesn’t know where this is supposed to go. He’ll hurt Hizashi like this, he just knows he will – is it wise to let him do this, knowing what, inevitably, is going to happen. He huffs out his nose, trying to find a way to be delicate.

He’s never known how to be delicate, and he just wishes that right now, he could somehow discover the secrets to not breaking his friend’s hearts. “I’m – is this a good idea?”

“Of course –”

“No, I mean it – is it rational , when I’m just – just –”

Hizashi’s hands are at work again, one holding him up, one wiping away tears from a scar.

“I’ll hurt you – I’ll hurt you and it’s inevitable and I can’t –”

“ Shouta ,” and his voice was loud, and commanding, and energized – his quirk at its lowest state.

It worked though – Shouta had no idea how worked up he’d become, how his weaknesses were seeping through like never before; he was broken in so many ways right now and they were all on display, so humiliatingly on display, that he couldn’t even keep himself calm.

Hizashi kissed him again, slower this time because he, shockingly, knew how to slow down. How to be rational when others weren’t.

His lips moved to the side of his mouth, then to his cheek, to his ear – “How long, Shouta?”

“What – do you mean?”

“It’s been fifteen years for me… fifteen years. I was in school looking at you. I was at graduation, looking at you. I shared our first apartment, and was looking at you. I’ve been teaching – and I’ve been looking at you…”

How romantic…

“How long has it been?” He said.

It was too good to be true. It was too sad to be true. They’d put this off for so long, and it took a violent, bloody incident to bring Hizashi to him like this. He’d had his chances too, but he’d always shied away from them because it wasn’t fair.

He’d die a hero one day, and Hizashi didn’t deserve that .

Shouta leaned into the feeling of Hizashi’s lips against his cheek, his ear, and told him what he’d never spoken out loud before. “I… fifteen years. Fifteen years, Hizashi…”

“ God,” and he’s crying now.

Shouta doesn’t want to admit to the few stray tears decorating his eyelashes like spiders on webs, so he doesn’t – he just leans into the soft, awkward embrace from his best friend, and lets him cry because they’ve both been idiots.

The sunlight was long against the walls, and the halls of U.A were quiet, and Shouta, for all the breaking he’s done, has finally found a way to put some of the pieces back together.

#my fic #bnha fic #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #aizawa #hizashi #erasermic #long post #fic length: medium #oneshot

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fuyonggu · 4 years

Text

Preface to the Biographies of the Eight Princes (Book of Jin 59)

自古帝王之臨天下也，皆欲廣樹蕃屏，崇固維城。唐、虞以前，憲章蓋闕，夏、殷以後，遺跡可知。然而玉帛會于塗山，雖云萬國，至於分疆胙土，猶或未詳。泊乎周室，粲焉可觀，封建親賢，並為列國。當其興也，周、召贊其升平；及其衰也，桓、文��其危亂。故得卜世之祚克昌，卜年之基惟永。逮王赧即世，天祿已終，虛位無主，三十餘載。爰及暴秦，併吞天下，戒衰周之削弱，忽帝業之遠圖，謂王室之陵遲，由諸候之強大。於是罷侯置守，獨尊諸己，至乎子弟，並為匹夫，惟欲肆虐陵威，莫顧謀孫翼子。枝葉微弱，宗祐孤危，內無社稷之臣，外闕籓維之助。陳、項一呼，海內沸騰，隕身於望夷，系頸於軹道。事不師古，二世而滅。漢祖勃興，爰革斯弊。於是分王子弟，列建功臣，錫之山川，誓以帶礪。然而矯枉過直，懲羹吹齏，土地封疆，逾越往古。始則韓、彭菹醢，次乃吳、楚稱亂。然雖克滅權偪，猶足維翰王畿。洎成、哀之後，戚籓陵替，君臣乘茲間隙，竊位偷安。光武雄略緯天，慷慨下國，遂能除凶靜亂，復禹配天，休祉盛於兩京，鼎祚隆於四百，宗支繼絕之力，可得而言。魏武忘經國之宏規，行忌刻之小數，功臣無立錐之地，子弟君不使之人，徒分茅社，實傳虛爵，本根無所庇廕，遂乃三葉而亡。

Ever since ancient times, kings and emperors who presided over the realm wished to provide security and protection for their rule by appointing trusted people as feudal lords and placing them in command of strategic locations, like protecting a city by expanding and fortifying its walls.

Though we know little of what took place in the mists of time prior to the sage rulers Tang (Yao) and Yu (Shun), by the time of the Xia and Yin (Shang) dynasties, we see some evidence of this principle already emerging. But although we read that jade and silk were distributed by Yu the Great (the founder of Xia) at Tushan and the records speak of "the myriad fiefs", so that we know that in principle there was a splitting of the land and a distribution of territory, still we do not know the precise details.

Matters become brighter by the dawn of the Zhou dynasty, where all becomes clear; we find the precise details of the organization of the feudal lords and how titles were granted to this relative or that worthy person, and that the realm was divided into particular fiefs and domains. When Zhou was ascendant and peaceful, we see the admirable conduct of the Dukes of Zhou and Shao; when Zhou was in decline, still we find Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin supporting the royal family through times of turmoil and danger. And thus their rulers were blessed with prosperity and success through the ages and the span of their rule was long indeed.

By the time of the last ruler of Zhou, King Nan, the blessings of Heaven had already expired. King Nan perished (in 256 BC), and then the realm had an empty throne and no sovereign for more than thirty years, until in the end the state of Qin conquered and annexed all the realm (in 221) through its violent barbarity. It was the belief of the First Emperor of Qin that the downfall of Zhou had been brought about because of the weakness and isolation of its kings, who had forgotten the farsightedness needed for the imperial enterprise, and that the royal house had become the plaything of the feudal lords, who took advantage to become great and powerful. Thus he did away with the whole feudal system and organized the realm into commandaries under the central control of the court, and he reserved all honor and majesty for himself alone, so that even his brothers and sons were no greater than commoners. In doing these things, it was the First Emperor himself who sought only to indulge his cruelty and flaunt his tyranny, for he gave no consideration of what might happen to his descendants after him. The branches and leaves of the tree of state were flimsy and weak, and the crown had few friends to turn to for aid; within, there were no subjects who would preserve the altars of state, and without, there were no lords who would guard and defend the imperial family. One cry of rebellion from Chen Sheng and Xiang Yu was all it took to set the whole realm within the Seas roiling like a cauldron; the Second Emperor of Qin lost his life at Wangyi Palace, and Ying Ziying surrendered at Zhidao with his seal around his neck. Qin failed to heed the teachings of the ancients, and thus their dynasty perished within two generations.

When Gaozu of Han (Liu Bang) rose to the fore, he made changes to correct these faults. He divided the realm and restored the system of the feudal lords, making princes of his younger relatives and granting fiefs to his accomplished ministers. Rivers and mountains were they granted, to serve as their belts and grindstones. The error of the early Han sovereigns was that they went too far in the other direction, like one who blows on hot soup so much that it grows cold; in the granting of lands and fiefs, they went beyond what the ancients had done. Thus they first had to execute Han Xin and pickle Peng Yue and afterwards experienced the crisis brought on by the Princes of Wu and Chu. But though they eventually stripped the feudal lords of the power to threaten the dynasty, the princes and nobles still retained enough power to protect the royal family from harm. Yet by the time of Emperors Cheng and Ai, again the situation had pivoted to the other extreme; the imperial relatives and feudal lords were oppressed and weak, allowing the great minister (Wang Mang) to take advantage of the opportunity and usurp the throne. Luckily, once Emperor Guangwu stitched the realm back together through his boldness and cunning, he once again generously distributed fiefs across the realm. Thus was he able to purge the wicked and quell the chaos. Han once more received the blessings of Heaven; they enjoyed peace and repose, flourishing between the two capitals (at Luoyang and Chang'an), and their legacy endured for four centuries. One could certainly say that it was because the extended royal clan once again exerted on the dynasty's behalf the strength that they had lost.

We may contrast this with Emperor Wu of Wei (Cao Cao), who was ignorant of the generosity needed to sustain the state and who through his suspicion cut those who might have supported his state down to size. His accomplished subjects never received even a spade of land to call their own, and his younger relatives reigned rather than ruled their domains; they were divvied up and sent off to pitiful dwellings, and their titles were form rather than substance. Wei had no foundation to grant it shelter, and thus it lasted no more than three eras.

有晉思改覆車，復隆磐石，或出擁旄節，蒞岳牧之榮；入踐臺階，居端揆之重。然而付託失所，授任乖方，政令不恆，賞罰斯濫。或有材而不任，或無罪而見誅，朝為伊、周，夕為莽、卓。機權失於上，禍亂作於下。楚、趙諸王，相仍構釁，徒興晉陽之甲，竟匪勤王之師。始則為身擇利，利未加而害及；初乃無心憂國，國非憂而奚拯！遂使昭陽興廢，有甚弈棋；乘輿幽縶，更同羑裏。胡羯陵侮，宗廟丘墟，良可悲也。

The Jin dynasty might have learned from these earlier examples. They were like drivers of a cart in a convoy which, seeing the carts in front of it topple and fall, might have profited by steering clear of the same danger. They could have laid a foundation for themselves solid as a rock. Some of their relatives and accomplished subjects might have been empowered with banner and scepter to lead troops out to the borders and carry out the labor of governing the land and protecting the capital, while others remained behind to serve in the government ministries and provide continuity in the administration.

Instead, the opposite took place. Positions and appointments once granted were as soon withdrawn, and people were chosen for this role or that based only on the expediency of the moment; the government and its policies were inconstant, and rewards and punishments swirled together. Some with talent were never employed; some innocent of any crime were executed regardless. Those who in the morning were honored as the peers of Yi Yin or the Duke of Zhou were denounced by the same evening as the equals of Wang Mang or Dong Zhuo. Power and authority were surrendered above, while chaos and disaster spread below.

The Princes of Chu, Zhao, and all the rest sought one after another to sow dissension; they acted righteous as though they were imitating the old "call to arms at Jinyang", but they never exhibited the conduct of cautious lords. They undertook their designs to grasp at profit for themselves, yet before the gains were in hand, doom overtook them; they never showed any concern for the state, so how could the state help but suffer calamity? Power changed hands more drastically than the pieces flip in a game of weiqi; men rose to power and were cast into prison with more dizzying speed than King Wen of Zhou's stint in the jail at Yuli. And in the end, the Xiongnu and the Jie pillaged and plundered the realm and the dynasty's ancestral temples were left empty and bare. Truly, a pitiful thought.

夫為國之有籓屏，猶濟川之有舟楫，安危成敗，義實相資。舟楫且完，波濤不足稱其險；籓屏式固，禍亂何以成其階！向使八王之中，一籓繄賴，如梁王之禦大故，若硃虛之除大憝，則外寇焉敢憑陵，內難奚由竊發！縱令天子暗劣，鼎臣奢放，雖或顛沛，未至土崩。何以言之？琅邪譬彼諸王，權輕眾寡，度長絜大，不可同年。遂能匹馬濟江，奄有吳會，存重宗社，百有餘年。雖曰天時，抑亦人事。豈如趙倫、齊冏之輩，河間、東海之徒，家國俱亡，身名並滅。善惡之數，此非其效歟！西晉之政亂朝危，雖由時主，然而煽其風，速其禍者，咎在八王，故序而論之，總為其傳云耳。

For those who serve the state by acting as its shield and screen are like the rowers on a boat crossing a river. Whether the boat enjoys peace or suffers calamity is entirely up to the collective efforts of the rowers. If they dip their oars in unison, though the river might have waves, they will not be enough to threaten the ship. And if the feudal lords act in unison to protect the state, how could turmoil ever grow so dire as to bring down the dynasty?

During the Han dynasty, there were the examples of the Prince of Liang (Liu Wu), who served without to oppose the treason of the Princes of Wu and Chu in their effort to overthrow the dynasty, and the Marquis of Zhuxu (Liu Zhang), who acted within to purge the Lü clan in their attempt to usurp the throne. If only these Eight Princes of Jin had done as they did! Though there might be foreign threats, if the Princes were united, how could such threats dare to despoil the realm? Or if there were internal dangers, even so, how could they have seized power? Even if the Son of Heaven was a blind fool or the chief ministers were arrogant and unrestrained, such things could have been dealt with; there might be shocks and quakes, but it would not have caused the mountain to collapse.

What is the proof of this? Consider how the Prince of Langye (Sima Rui) compared to the Eight Princes. His authority was less than theirs, and he had fewer troops than they did; he was a more distant relative than they, nor did he have their seniority. Yet he was able to cross south of the Yangzi by himself, take control of the regions of Wu and Kuaiji, and preserve and revive the imperial family, thus prolonging the dynasty for another century and more. Though one could argue that Heaven was helping him, still it required his own efforts to make it so. He was far different from the likes of Sima Lun or Sima Jiong or the ilk of Sima Yong or Sima Yue, who brought about the destruction of their families and their state and the annihilation of their lives and their honor! Could there be any clearer examples of the differences between good and evil?

Circumstance itself may have been the primary factor that caused the turmoil in Western Jin and the instability of its court. Yet it was these Eight Princes who fanned the flames of its destruction and hastened its demise. And having prefaced the discussion with these remarks, we have gathered their biographies here to illustrate our argument.

#Book of Jin #Jinshu #Eight Princes #War of the Eight Princes

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hollowempire · 4 years

Text

The Best Adventure || Illinois x Reader

Request: Okayyyy. But could you please write a fluffy fic with Illinois x Reader where he takes her on their first date and almost *everything* goes wrong and he’s all upset about it and ranting and she just pulls him down into a kiss and tells him it’s okay? Bc I need that. Also I love you, babes. 💙💙

Summary: Illinois reveals his softer side for once

Word Count: 1,020

A/n: If you squint this is a part 2 to lost (ily2 babes and ty for helping me write this)

Exactly 7:00. That’s what Illinois promised when he first asked y/n out.

And he kept to his promise. At exactly 7:00, Illinois was waiting for her. He was actually dressed in something other than his earthy tones, now donning a black suit. His cowboy hat hadn’t been left behind, though.

As y/n approached him, it became known to her that Illinois knew nothing about suits. His pants didn’t fit quite right and he couldn’t even close the wait coat. He still put in the effort, and y/n couldn’t really blame him for not being good with them. His career didn’t really allow for wearing a suit. It might be difficult.

“Well, this is different,” she remarked as she approached his car. She was dressed nicely, too, as per Illinois’s request.

“I thought I’d change it up a little,” he said. “this is how people date, right?”

It had been so long since his last proper date Illinois really had no idea. Again, y/n didn’t blame him.

“Hell if I know,”

It had been a while for her too.

“But I like it,” she said, stepping into the car as Illinois held the door open for her. “What’ve you got planned?”

“Some dinner, perhaps a walk after,” Illinois told her as he sat down in the driver’s seat of his pick-up. He even cleaned it for the occasion. It was usually littered with plans and tools for adventures. This day was going to be quite the opposite of their regular adventures.

The ride to the restaurant was mostly silent, both pondering the next couple hours. Being with each other was going to make the whole night wonderful, and nothing could put a damper in their moods. It made them smile just thinking about finally getting to go on an actual date.

A few minutes later, Illinois ram into a problem. Really heavy traffic.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said with a sigh. Y/n groaned and let her head fall back against the seat with a loud thud in frustration.

And then, once at the restaurant, someone drove through a large puddle by the curb and sent the water flying all over y/n and Illinois, mostly soaking y/n because she was nearest. Illinois dragged a hand over his face and let it rest over his chin. He felt awful about not being able to keep her dry, so he just took her hand and pulled her into the restaurant to avoid any other set backs that may occur.

“Hi, uh, we had a reservation for 7:30 but unfortunately got caught in traffic... is there any way we’re still able to get in?” Illinois asked the hostess at the front. She simply smiled and nodded after checking up on their names, then led them further into the restaurant. Y/n gave Illinois a reassuring glance and squeezed his hands, saying that thing were finally looking up. The evening wasn’t totally ruined (but y/n’s outfit totally was).

The date when a lot smoother from that point in. The couple sat down, talked, ordered their food, received it. And it was delicious.

Or at least it was for a while. As y/n and Illinois laughed over a story they were recalling from an adventure, a waitress walked by with a large platter of food and was rudely tripped by a teen customer that thought he was funny. Y/n was the unfortunate victim of the food’s impact, which covered her from head to toe in soups, dips, and sides.

Illinois drew in a shaky breath and slapped some cash on the table, then promptly ran out of the restaurant. Y/n apologized to everyone around the table and followed him out, brushing food off as she went.

Outside, she found Illinois sitting on the hood of his pick-up with his face in his hands.

“Are you okay, hon?” y/n asked. She refrained from hopping up and sitting next to him, not wanting to dirty his car.

“I just wanted this day to be special,” he mumbled, barely audible behind his hands. “and then it’s ruined by... by all this shit.”

Y/n couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips. Had this really upset him so much that he swore for quite possibly the first time in his entire life?

“What?”

“Theres no need to be so upset,” y/n said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s no big deal,”

“I know, but I had this wonderful date planned out and then...”

Illinois looked up as he felt the first few raindrops fall on his skin, which then became heavier and heavier until both of them were completely soaked.

“See? It’s fine now,” y/n said. And she was right. When Illinois looked over at her all the food had been washed off and was now running down the street as the rain water rushed for the drain.

Illinois was silent for a moment, but when he saw y/n laughing he did too. Y/n extended her hands to him and pulled him off the truck, causing him to topple into her arms.

“Hey this is my job,” he said coolly.

“Well, then lead the way,” y/n said, putting her arms over his shoulder. “What happens next, cowboy?” she teased, sending a suggestive wink at him.

“I think it goes a little like this...”

As he drifted off on the last word, Illinois slowly moved his face closer to y/n’s, stopping right by her lips. He looked into her eyes for permission and as soon as she nodded slightly he closed the space and connected their lips.

“I’m really sorry about all this,” Illinois said as he pulled y/n into a tight hug. The rain still beat down on them hard, but it was soothing. They felt invincible and happy, despite how the previous events had gone.

“Illy, don’t worry about it. This was by far the best adventure you could’ve taken me on.”

Maybe it wasn’t really, but at that moment it sure felt like it. There they stood in the rain as y/n and Illinois: the adventurers who could take on anything. Even a messed up date.

#Illinois x reader #illinois ahwm #ahwm illinois #illinois #ahwm #a heist with markiplier

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sunshinewhale · 5 years

Text

selfless [complete work]

fallen hearts are bound together just to break

pairing: onesided hyungwon x reader, kihyun x reader pov: unnamed reader, hyungwon-centric, third person

genre: angst lol words: ~6200

*optional* follow-up to [ selfish ], but can be read standalone

warnings: slowburn? self-insecurities, unhappy open-ending, romanticism about insecurities, you may need a tissue

notes: was i uploading this in parts? yes. did I give up finish the rest in one go and post it as a whole work? yes. give me some love guys, i need validation for subsistence.

(writing gets worse as it goes fyi, bc i gave up lol)

Hyungwon realizes, she must be special somehow, because Kihyun brings her home.

He’s not exactly surprised. They all have some loves, some secretive, fleeting, some lost. The thing is, it’s Kihyun, and the ones that Kihyun brings home are few and even farther in between.

There is nothing particularly distinctive about her. She’s pretty in her own way, a little shy, but pleasant in her politeness and perfectly amiable. At second glance, she’s not really the type Kihyun usually goes for, either.

Albeit a little wary, he is neutral. Relationships for people like them were always a tough ocean to weather, intricately complicated, too often ending in sunken shipwreck. For Hyungwon, fallen hearts are just too difficult, bound together just to break and he has no qualms about breaking others to keep his own safe.

But that’s no fault of hers, and the one she beats for is not him but Kihyun, so he has no reason for animosity.

When Kihyun leaves to prepare dinner, she doesn’t follow him into the kitchen. She settles a careful distance next to him on the wrinkled leather couch, away from the chattering noise of Minhyuk and Changkyun at war in the game room. A seeker of silence, he observes as he raises his head and her eyes meet his. The contact has her taken aback, her pupils rounded and wide with innocent alarm. He gives a nonchalant, non-committal nod, and she slowly blinks back, owlish.

It’s so oddly adorable, he’s secretly charmed.

He leans back and lets his eyelids lower.

The silence isn’t awkward at all. In the most unexpected way, her quiet presence is comforting. There’s a slight crick in his neck, but his consciousness drifts off as he listens the faint rhythm of her breathing. A blissful haze creeps over his mind, he’s about to dip into the sweet nothingness of sleep when a hand presses against his cheek gently. Without thinking, he nuzzles into the warm skin.

Still gentle, the hand shifts his position. He grunts in drowsy protest, nudging his face against the direction of the guided push. It refuses to let up, and he squints open in quick irritation, attack ready on his tongue.

All he can see is her.

A small pull is at the corner of her lips, and amusement gleams in her eyes.

“I’m sorry for bothering you, but it’s bad for your neck if you sleep like that,” she says softly, and Hyungwon only hears kindness.

His irritation vanishes into thin air, as quick as it came, and he allows her to move his head to lie on the cushioned armrest. She’ll be good for Kihyun, he thinks.

His eyelids close heavy. His muddled consciousness melts a crack in his guarded armour, and his lips are too loose. He finds himself mumbling out loud, look after him, Kihyun can be difficult, he means well, he’s usually too busy looking after us to look after himself.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to look after him for long,” she whispers. It’s almost inaudible in the silence.

He knows she’s telling herself rather than answering him.

Hyungwon doesn’t really understand, but he recognizes sadness and he thinks he feels a dull stirring in his chest—

Then, his unconsciousness takes him completely.

“Why are you here alone?”

His voice comes out raspy and it makes him sound cranky and ill-tempered. It’s well past noon, but he had just rolled out of bed. He’s still bleary eyed with the hangover of sleep, and a sleepy Hyungwon is never a happy Hyungwon.

Startled, like a deer in the headlights, she meets his gaze from her spot at the kitchen table.

“Kihyun is out on a schedule with Minhyuk and Hyunwoo. He asked me to wait for him to come back,” she pauses in meek hesitance. Her lips part again as if she had more to say, but she purses them and looks away instead.

Hyungwon too, turns away without replying. The silence that floods the room is awkward enough that he feels some sort of internal cringe, but he does nothing to alleviate it. Everything is making his head hurt. He rubs out an oncoming migraine, and scuffing of wood against tile fills the soundlessness.

She’s out of her seat and rummaging around the kitchen cabinets. Tension is knitted between the blades of her shoulders, caution in every movement.

Distance.

He's all too aware. He sees the signs, the weight of reservation within, will withering at the pressure of possibly being unwanted.

A part of him gives way, and he sighs through his softness. He doesn’t intend to regularly involve her in his life (like Minhyuk) or instant acceptance into a blossoming friendship (like Jooheon) just because she’s dating one of his members, but he (admittedly) loves and respects Kihyun. He would like to be on good terms with her, something along the lines of the closer side of close acquaintances, and Hyungwon definitely doesn’t want her to feel unwelcome.

“You don’t have to be so formal, and you don’t have to explain to me why you’re here. Relax, you’re with Kihyun.”

She stiffens completely, arm frozen midair and hand disappeared in the depths of a cupboard. She doesn’t turn her head to look at him.

“You don’t need to distance yourself,” Hyungwon continues, “we’re all glad that you’re here. Kihyun’s been really happy these weeks.”

He hears her inhale deeply, a little shaky and unsteady, but she still doesn’t turn around. Maybe he overstepped his bounds.

Unbidden, he walks out of the kitchen. He plops himself onto the leather couch, and he groans in frustration as he buries his face into his hands. He thinks of her back, her shoulders curled in, on guard and awaiting hostility. You’ve just made things worse. Why can’t you just get along—

“Hyungwon.”

He spreads his fingers and peeks at her between the gaps.

“Hyungwon,” she says again, somewhat shy. Her voice has always been soothing to his ears, but hearing his name was another experience. It’s not quite a smile yet, but her mouth lifts slightly upwards.

She holds out a mug to him. It’s his mug, sleek black with C.H.W. engraved on the handle that had been gifted to him for his birthday.

He’s a little perplexed. “Why are you making me coffee?” he can’t help but ask, but he easily accepts the mug from her, touched by the detail.

She’s nowhere near as bright as the afternoon sun, but he thinks her eyes twinkle.

“You’re with Kihyun, too. Shouldn’t I look after you the way he will?”

She smiles, cheeky. It’s a small smile, but it’s a start.

He blinks. He’s not sure if its the aroma of coffee or if Kihyun had cleaned yesterday, but the light from the glass windows seem to sparkle gently.

He brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip.

Strange.

It’s black coffee. It’s black coffee, but it tastes somehow sweet.

Even stranger, Hyungwon doesn’t mind the sweetness.

Hyungwon is at the wrong place at the wrong time.

He’s a simple man, really. All he wants is his daily dose of caffeine in tranquility and peace, accompanied by the quiet buzz of city life. As fate would have it, a cruel mistress indeed, he ends up at the same cafe as her and Kihyun. They don’t notice him, but drama finds him wherever he goes.

He watches as a girl saunters up to her, shoulders squared with arrogance, her perfect manicure tipped with cruelty. Dread dips down his spine as he recognizes her as one of Kihyun’s past loves, one of the ill-fated that ended messy and met death with spite.

“I still can’t believe it, but word has it someone like you is Yoo Kihyun’s new other,” the girl bites to maim, voice sharp and steel-bladed. “Are you?”

He grits his teeth.

Where on earth did Kihyun go?

He’s not involved but he doesn’t exactly feel uninvolved. He wants to embrace the bliss of ignorance, blind his eyes and deafen his ears, to pass her off as another stranger. He doesn’t know her well enough, he has no right to be involved, so it has nothing to do with him.

(He ignores the Kihyun would expect you to be involved lurking in the depths of his mind.)

He’s always been passive in nature, unbothered by conflict, ready to run to keep the comfort of his status quo. A prey in a predator’s disguise.

But Hyunwon’s body refuses to obey him, and his sight can’t seem to focus anywhere else.

She looks up from her hot chocolate, bewildered at the hostility. Her pupils shake for a second, two, and then her expression shifts into an impasse, neutral without any trace of any emotion.

“I am.”

“What makes you think you’re good enough for him?” The girl snarls, clearly airing out her disdain with no sense of misplaced blame.

It has nothing to do with me, don’t get involved, nothing to do with me, repeats in his head but the anger is thrumming through his veins and his blood screams at him to do something. He pushes his chair back before he knows it, feet firm on wooden ground as he strides a long step forward—

“I don’t,” she says quietly, but it rings loud against the noisy silence of the cafe business, “I never thought I was.”

—and he stops.

Her level gaze never falters, but the softness of her words don’t match how hard and deep they strike him to the core. "Why do you think I'll meet a different end than you?" She shakes her head offers a bittersweet smile, more bitter than sweet, “I can assure you our endings won’t be much different.”

“Kihyun isn’t the type to change.”

The girl looks a little taken aback, but her tongue is tied and her malice breathing its last, dying breath.

The tension fizzles out like that.

“I’m so sorry, I left you alone in such a common place with so much traffic,” comes Kihyun’s worried, worried voice, warm and filled to the brim with genuine concern. “I saw her on my way back, did she talk to you? Did she give you any trouble?”

“No, Kihyun. She didn’t mean it. She’s was hurt, that’s all, still not over her heartbreak.”

Kihyun scoffs, “Hurt? Not over her heartbreak? She gave me the dirtiest stink eye earlier, if eyes had lasers I would be nothing but ashes.”

She sighs, but it’s fond.

Hyungwon can physically hear the way she folds and tucks away her raw ruefulness underneath a smile. “We just talked a little, she reminded me how lucky I am for being with you.”

Kihyun laughs in love, amused and overflowing with happiness. Hyungwon wonders how Kihyun fails to pinpoint the uncertainty weighing her shoulders and the missing beats of her heart.

Why do you think I’ll meet a different end than you?

But it has nothing to do with him, so he takes a sip of his coffee.

Our endings won’t be much different.

Cold.

Hyungwon finds it difficult to swallow.

In his carelessness, he drops a glass.

Hyungwon sees the way the glass shatters onto the white tile floor in slow motion. Completeness, a whole, then imperfect, unmatched fragments, breaking into pieces and parts, parts and pieces—

In a million diamond pieces, it glitters with breathtaking beauty and hidden cruelty, and in that beautiful cruelness, he cuts himself on the shattered shards.

Don’t broken pieces combine into completeness? Aren’t shattered shards an imperfect piece of perfection?

Rich redness dribbles down his palm, and he follows the blood flow, but his mind, lost, wandering in wonder.

A whole is a sum of its parts. How are parts summed together to make a whole?

A gasp.

“Hyungwon!”

He turns to the kitchen doorway, and she stands, struck, face colourless with concern.

How can you fix broken perfection when you’re missing shattered parts?

“You need to be careful, Hyungwon.”

“It’s just a small wound,” he protests, indignation sparking alive, “it’ll heal in no time.”

She huffs, blown up and adorably miffed as she blots liquid redness away from the bleeding cut on his palm. It’s not like he wants an injury on his hand either, but Hyungwon can’t help the upwards curl of his mouth as he watches her administer first aid.

“It will heal,” she sighs, “you don’t need to get stitches, at least. But why were you letting yourself bleed out all over the glass?”

He laughs a little nervously. Well.

“I got lost in thought for a second...maybe?”

...

“Maybe you need to wean off your coffee addiction. On the contrary to popular belief, I think too much caffeine makes you lag.”

In mid scoff, an involuntary hiss escapes him as she dabs alcohol over the open skin. She looks up with a playful frown on her face, “Does it hurt, you big baby?”

“You’re being mean,” he jokes, “my heart hurts.”

But she agrees, humming nonchalantly, almost too nonchalant for the sudden depth to her voice. “The worst wounds are the ones you can’t see. The ones that hurt the most are the wounds that hurt the heart.”

“And wounds that hurt the heart,” she says, final, cradling his hand gently, “are the ones that others can’t help you heal.”

He falls quiet, because he’s not quite sure how to respond. There’s too many secrets hidden among too many doors, and Hyungwon doesn’t want to knock too hard and suddenly find himself an intruder. She finishes the wrapping of white bandages with a clean knot, tucking loose ends neatly into place, “Well, that’s that.”

Nodding, Hyungwon rises to clean up the mess still on the floor, but she scrunches her nose and huffs at him, a silent bid to sit back down. He’s too tired to argue, so he does, and swallows the little bit of guilt that lingers. He watches her pick up the glass, one cautious shard by shard, and he thinks she looks like she’s collecting broken pieces of herself. His heart squeezes, he takes a deep breath, and—

“The gossip. Those rumors. You don’t have to take that kind of behaviour from his exes, strangers, staff, whatever.”

She hums in true nonchalance, “I’m fine, really. They’re not asking the wrong questions, either.”

She sweeps up the remaining minuscule cuts on the floor, invisible to the eye but still shimmering, glinting with subdued beauty in the passover of light.

Then softer, like a little secret told out loud, “They’re asking the same questions I ask myself.”

It’s the fact that Hyungwon knows she fully means every single word she says that makes his simmering emotions bubble over and burst.

“Why? Why are you letting them hurt you? Why don’t you tell Kihyun?”

“It doesn’t hurt me—”

“You should tell Kihyun anyways, he would want to know!”

If I were Kihyun, I would want to know. I would need to know.

“I don’t want to worry him when it doesn't bother me, and,” she stops, blinks once, and exhales the tiniest quiver in her voice away to calmness—

“I’ll just be another goodbye in the end, anyway.”

It’s absolutely absurd to Hyungwon. He doesn’t know much about relationships, sure, he doesn’t know much about love, but he knows Yoo Kihyun.

“I’ve never seen him love anyone like he loves you,” he confesses, “you have nothing to be afraid of.”

She looks at him, and his breath loses itself to the glint of soft tragedy in her eyes. He sees hopelessness at peace, he thinks she’s too restrained for a heart that Kihyun’s so careful not to shatter—

Hyungwon realizes she’s been shattered all along, by her own hands.

Like broken glass pieces, sadness sparkling on cold tile floors.

“I’m not afraid he’ll leave me,” she whispers, barely, and it’s the only thing that falls from her lips with complete certainty, “I’m waiting for when he will.”

Something stirs in his chest again.

This time, it aches.

The sun dips lower into the horizon, and the sunset stars flicker. Something about the dying light and the golden glow caught in the tangles of her hair pulls him in too deep and under the edge, the sky a thousand novas for a thousand old wounds gasping to resurface, and Hyungwon is just so tired of toeing lines.

Do you hate yourself?

The question leaves his lips before he realizes, four rogue little words escaping without a destination to cross an invisible boundary, but forever searching, searching and searching.

Her eyes lower to secrets and unspoken wisdom, and the corners of her lips pull up. Hyungwon holds his breath because, for a moment, he can’t see starlight reflected in the glassy distance of her pupils. It’s a complex blend of bittersweetness, the smile that she forms; a little amusement, a little morbidness, and his chest aches as he can’t even begin to unravel everything in between. Then, she’s so unbearably soft, almost unheard in the wind but piercing through the confines of his heart.

“Why did you hate yourself, Hyungwon?”

He freezes. The orange afterglow of setting sunlight is still warm, but a tentative chill settles in icy pricks along his skin.

He remembers long nights, hard nights, sleepless nights, when exhaustion of the body and mind rooted so far into his soul that he just couldn’t rest. He remembers moonlight misery reflecting off his glass windows, ghost whispers of not being good enough, not measuring up, never ever catching the trailing threads of success. Fake it until you make it, was what he was taught, but some part of him screamed he would never make it, and all his efforts, futile. He still doesn’t know how he managed to pretend he glittered gold for so long while he believed he was dirt. She eyes him in his memories, all too knowing for someone that has not been through those experiences, and Hyungwon can’t help but shudder.

“You have that look, too. That look of someone who is going through or have gone through it. It’s an almost crippling uncertainty, but it’s also not baseless insecurity, isn’t it? The uneasiness can dull to almost nothing, but it never quite leaves—”

She breathes out into dusk, and shifts her head to hold his sight. He almost flinches, almost shys away from her eyes. For once, she’s holding nothing back, and the bareness makes him feel too exposed, his steel armours overturned and vulnerabilities unearthed.

“You have it, Hoseok has it, Minhyuk has it too, but Kihyun’s not one of you,” she says, dead center bullseye and an arrow straight through his heart. The way her voice floods with unconditional love and acceptance wants to bring Hyungwon on his knees. “You know this better than I do as Kihyun’s longtime friend, don’t you? This little something Kihyun can’t understand, never will understand. He knows he’s someone the universe made to shine.”

She laughs lightly, fond but a bit dry, and stars are lost in the crescents of her eyes.

“I’m not as extreme as you seem to think, though. I don’t hate myself, not at all. I wouldn’t have said yes to Kihyun if it was like that.”

Confusion bursts, because Hyungwon just knows there’s something more. His forehead wrinkles, concern flooding in his voice as he starts, “But you...you’re not okay—”

His thoughts fade out into white noise as she raises her hand towards him and tiptoes. His pulse quickens seeing her so close, and he blinks in subtle panic. Then, he feels the warmth of her fingertips gently smoothing the tension folded between his brows away, and he just stares.

“It’s not so bad, Hyungwon, don’t waste your worries on me,” she says, all quiet and tender, as if that could soften the hard blow to the hard truth—

”I just don’t know how to love myself.”

That’s even more awful, not knowing how, Hyunwon wants to argue, anger alive on her behalf, but he sees her sorrow and her unshed tears and the words die on his tongue. Instead, he reaches up and takes her hand into his.

Hyungwon gives her a gentle squeeze. Hating would be easier. There’s a thin line between love and hate. Love can bloom into hate and hate can grow into love, but what can be molded when it comes to an I don’t know?

She gives him another bittersweet smile, understanding, and slips her hand away. The memory of warmth lingers on his skin with the sudden emptiness.

He watches her turn back out to the sky, but when he follows her gaze, the sky has already darkened several shades of night, the stars are not brighter but bleaker, and it feels like he’s falling.

Hyungwon dreams of broken glass, of gentle hands, of a beating heart that loves bravely without loving itself.

He collects the pieces of glittering glass into his hands, and it glows with injured iridescence in the mild lull of sunlight at dusk. Then, there’s a heart in his hands, beating bare and bleeding.

It won’t stop beating even though it bleeds.

It bleeds through angry out-of-place stitches, too clean and disturbingly artificial. The thin threads do nothing but wound the heart more, tearing the flesh in uneven gashes at the seams.

With docile fingers, Hyungwon removes the stitches and lets it bleed, and the blood flow begins to lessen, from a rough river to a gentle trickle. His hands stain wet red, but soft pulses flutter against the skin of his palm and for a moment, he thinks the heart is beating for him.

He almost forgets how to breathe. His own heartbeat skips four times, and with each missed beat, he yearns harder and he falls deeper.

He thinks he would give his own to keep the heart beating.

I love you. I love you, I love you—

I l o v e y o u.

He dreams.

It’s just a dream.

Bad days come and bad days go. His bad days catch up to him to seize him at gunpoint, and Hyungwon surrenders without a fight. A dejavu to his silly teenage years, again, he’s a self-caged captive with invisible chains and no one else to blame.

Pathetic.

There’s a pit in his stomach, a void in his chest, darker than black and an endless hole. He wants to cry but his veins are bloodless, his emotions in overdrive and he feels too much and nothing all at once.

He curls into himself more and he wishes everything would just stop and go away—

He groans inwardly when he hears the unmistakable click of the apartment door. A quick mental count of schedules tells him it has to be Minhyuk or Kihyun or both, and he really does not feel like humouring either in his current state. Then, he hears distinctly feminine footsteps and for some reason, relief stirs in the numbness of his core.

“Hyungwon…?”

She’s peering at him from the doorway. Her brows are furrowed, lips twisted into a frowning pout and Hyungwon knows she can tell something is wrong. She disappears down the hallway, and returns with a pillow and a blanket.

Hyungwon lets her maneuver him around, obediently lifting his head so she can slide the pillow underneath. She tucks the blanket up to his chin and makes sure his head properly supported by the pillow, and her easy acceptance already makes something in him more grounded.

“Do you need some time alone?”

He shakes his head, “Can you stay?”

He only needs to ask once. Without question, she settles on the floor next to him. Normally, Hyungwon would be a little unnerved at the way she was watching him so carefully, but he knows her now and her kindness, so he finds himself relaxing in her air of concern and comfort instead.

In a smaller voice, he admits, “I don’t think I want to be alone right now.”

Hyungwon thinks he’s a grown man and he still can’t handle the width of his emotions, can’t hide them or mask them long enough without cracking miserably at the edges.

“I’m pathetic, aren’t I,” he turns to her and his eyes water.

“Oh Hyungwon,” she coos with a sigh, leaning closer, she brushes wisps of his hair out of his face, “of course not. It's okay not to be okay.”

Her fingers kiss his eyelids so he lets his eyes falls shut and listens to her over the beat of his pulse.

“You’re more than what anything thinks of you, Hyungwon,” her touch trails the curve of his nose, “You’re more and what you think of you.”

“You’re doing your best, and that’s enough.”

At that, he opens his eyes to look at her, pointedly.

“You should tell that to yourself, too. Take your own advice,” he huffs.

She smiles back, amused but a little sullen. She presses a finger against the thickness of his lips. “That’s the secret, isn’t it? The fight between what you know and what you feel. It’s a losing war for my knows, though.”

His lips tingle at the phantom touch of her fingertips.

Her eyes are clear and deep with untold insecurities that he thinks he could drown in them. He wants to drown in them. He doesn’t understand why Kihyun can’t see them, even if he doesn’t understand them.

His heart skips, falling, and he’s not sure if he’s anchoring himself or his heart when he reaches out and grasps at the soft knit of her sweater. She gently pats his arm in a soothing gesture, “It’s okay, I’ll stay, Hyungwon.”

He closes his eyes again. He doesn’t let go and he seals his fate, fallen.

I love you.

It’s not just a dream.

When he wakes, she’s still on the floor next to him, but her fingers are slotted in-between his. She’s asleep and her cheek is nestled close by his side; Hyungwon can’t help but smile at the soft little exhales of her breathing. He keeps their fingers entwined while he collects his consciousness, then, he notes, there’s a blanket carefully draped over her.

He hears Kihyun singing from the kitchen, the faint sizzling of stir-fry, along with muffled clatters of pots and pans. Hyungwon slips his hand away.

Later, he realizes they cancelled their date. She waves him off and just asks if he’s feeling better. Kihyun too, is not bothered at all, tells him to take care of himself and never asks for an explanation.

Love fills him, and Hyungwon knows he matters to both of them, but reality checks and remorse quickly follows.

He can’t do this to Kihyun.

Kihyun doesn’t understand, but he does.

Uncertainty. Uneasiness. Insecurity. The cycle of having doubt constantly clawing at your insides, stitching invisible wounds, then waking up next to anxiety and bringing misery to bed.

He’s past that. He’s supposed to be past that. It’s been years since he had last seen the stranger of insecurity and self-hate, but he still remembers the struggle as vividly as yesterday.

It’s been a long time since Hyungwon had truly hated himself.

The clock turns three am and he thinks of her. He thinks of gentleness and unconditional acceptance, of her eyes and her smile. He thinks of the way she’s broken without bleeding, of how she’s so capable of holding herself so sturdy in her uncertainty.

And hate crawls out of his grave, his familiar stranger. His ears ring to the trembling noise thrumming in his veins, his heart flutters painfully, and there’s something he’s been denying for far too long.

Hyungwon realizes, he knows why he’s been hating, why hate has slithered out of his slumbering shadows to strangle him blue.

He hates himself—

He hates himself for falling in love with a heart that belongs to someone else.

He hates himself for falling in love so completely, so irreversibly, that he would be okay with anything as long as that someone else learns how to love happily.

Maybe, most of all, he hates himself for loving so selflessly.

Fallen hearts are bound together just to break, he believed.

He was wrong.

Hyungwon isn’t bounded, but he would still break his fallen heart and hand it over on a golden platter if his broken pieces could fix hers.

The walls in their home are too thin.

“I don’t know, Kihyun. I can’t, not yet.”

“Why not? You get along fine with my members. My family isn’t much different.”

“It’s not that. It’s just. I. I don’t know if I’m confident enough.”

The adoration in Kihyun’s chuckles are hardly filtered out by the walls.

“It’s fine, I'm confident one. I have enough confidence for the both of us. It’s like how I love you and how I’m loving enough for the both of us.”

No, Hyungwon thinks, that’s not helping her at all.

“You’ll be fine because I’m by your side. For now, just think about it, okay?”

He hears her breathe out, long and winded.

“Okay, I’ll think about it, but give me a little more time.”

He doesn’t find the embrace of sleep, that night.

What is love when you love something broken?

Is it love for what is was before it became shattered parts and pieces? The memories of when it was whole?

Is it love for what it could be if it was built back together whole? The potential of being fixed?

Or is it love because it’s broken?

Love for it being broken, love because the brokenness is in your hands to break further or to fix.

Kihyun, Hyungwon wants to plead, wants to ask, wants to beg, don’t just love her for being broken.

She looks like she wants to cry.

Her eyes are dry, but something about the way she blinks and squeezes her eyes shut gives her away.

His heart hurts, seeing her like this. He wishes he could cradle her face in his hands and tenderly rub the exhaustion out of her eyes. Instead, he takes a seat next to her and purses his lips.

“Are you okay?”

She shakes her head, “No, I don't think I am.”

Hyungwon frowns. He spreads his arms and pats his chest, an open invitation. She takes it, leaning in, tucking herself under his chin and resting her forehead on his shoulder. She inhales, shaky and unsteady.

“Kihyun tells that I’ll be okay because he’s with me, because he loves me. Does that mean I won’t be okay if it’s just me? That’s not right, isn’t it? But then, without him, what am I?”

“You’re just you,” he says, and he wishes he was wiser, with more words to give, “that’s already more than enough.”

He feels her eyes close against his collarbone, a brief flutter of lashes and she admits, “I don’t think I can learn how to love myself.”

“Why? I was worse than you, I hated myself. I’m past it now, and you can too.”

Against him, she shakes, and her voice rises a pitch higher, a touch more frantic, “It seems like such a faraway never and I don’t believe in myself. How can I believe he loves me when I don’t love myself? I know he does. It’s not about him, I’m not insecure about him loving me.”

And Hyungwon knows. When it came to Kihyun’s love, for her, it was never insecurity.

“I know Kihyun and I can’t go on like this. He doesn’t understand and I thought it was okay but it’s not. I don’t expect anything of him, but I’ll still hurt when it ends. But it can’t hurt any worse than now, can it?”

She shudders, hands clutching at his shirt as she buries her face in it. Even muffled, the way her voice breaks off is strikingly clear.

“I love him, Hyungwon. But loving him is hurting me.”

His heart throbs in waves of unadulterated pain, a dagger’s gash through muscle.

She’s close to tears. A dry sob leaves her lips, and he hates the sound of her giving up.

“I can’t do this, Hyungwon.”

“You can,” he says, patting her back. Because I love you, he wants to say, because I can see the whole picture from your broken parts. A different sort of beauty, shattered but complete like a stained glass mosaic, lit up in colour at sunset. I will wait while you piece them together, a puzzle, one step at a time.

“It would be so much easier if I could believe you,” she whispers.

Hyungwon wishes he could hold her forever, chase away her demons and make her believe.

Hyungwon finds himself at the wrong place at the wrong time.

He’s entering the key pin when the door pushes open with a resounding click. Kihyun doesn’t see him, his sharp profile facing straight ahead and somewhat in a trance. He’s one feet out the door, but the other foot lags behind, hesitant, as if he can’t bear to exit. He stays like that for a few minutes, and Hyungwon can’t bring himself to move.

Then, Kihyun sees him, but he squints as if he’s not sure he’s really there. Hyungwon can see wet complication glistening against the redness of his eyes, and the shorter man quickly blinks a few times.

“Make sure she’s okay,” he says, thickly, and he swallows and stops as if each word caused him torment, “please.”

Oh.

Even if it had to happen, he didn’t think it would happen this soon.

Hyungwon can only nod.

Kihyun turns and leaves, and he looks like he’s leaving something for eternity, as if he was going somewhere he could never return. He can see the shorter man’s shoulders heave, but he never looks back.

Hyungwon knows.

If Kihyun looked back, he would stay.

Hyungwon has never seen prideful Kihyun look so small, so defeated, so wounded.

He finds her fading into the dim glow of the kitchen. Her face is passive, blank eyes unfocused. She’s staring off into glazed memories, lost in newfound nothingness. His searching gaze zeros in to her hands, her fingers pressured white from their grip on the marble counter, clutching the edge for life as if she would fall forever, a bottomless drop.

He hears her breathing quiver, and dread builds heavy in the pit of his stomach, queasy.

He clears his throat hesitantly, swallowing some uneasiness.

At his cue, she turns towards him, and all he can see are defeated eyes, bleary but glossy, glistening with heartbreak. His chest squeezes, tight and with worry.

“Hyungwon,” her voice is so drenched, trembling with weakness but still feebly trying to hold herself together. She takes another breath, and he can physically see something in her break. “Hyungwon,” she whispers his name in a small, wobbly breath, and he hates the way it sounds.

In haste, he approaches her and places an unsteady arm around her shoulders.

It’s the final straw that breaks her completely.

She curls into him, as if seeking comfort to ease the chaos in her mind and the war in her heart. He can almost hear her shattering, and her already shattered pieces grinding into dust.

“Hyungwon,” she tries again, “Kihyun—”

Her voice breaks with wetness. He hugs her closer to him.

“I know, it’s okay,” he soothes, “You don’t have to say it. I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He tucks her head under his chin, his hand a supporting pillar against a crumbling building at her back. She’s shaking, unbearably tiny and he wonders how he can keep her from falling apart in his arms, from whole to pieces and from pieces to scattered ashes.

A whimper escapes her, then a sob, another, louder, and it escalates into hysteria.

He purses his lips, the beat of his pulse pounding with second-hand pain. The saltine wetness that seeps through his shirt burns hot acid on his skin. Each sob is a poisoned dart aimed straight at his vitals, and he keens and keens. His own eyes sting and he lowers his eyelids with heavy exhale.

It hurts.

Even if it meant his heart breaking on the sidelines, he wishes they ended with a happily ever after. He knows it’s out of his hands, but he wishes he could’ve done more for her and Kihyun.

Still, a stupidly selfless fool.

She chokes on her own tears and her hand fists into the fabric of his jacket. Her grief trembles right into his chest, right next to his heart, and his heart palpitates with torment. He wonders if it is possible for his heart explode from the anguish.

This hurts so much more.

His stupid heart, fallen and still falling, bleeding with cupid’s poisoned arrow shot through his pulsing flesh.

Hyungwon realizes, he would rather have his heart breaking over a million times than watch hers break once.

#monsta x #monsta x imagines #monsta x fanfic #hyungwon #monsta x x reader #angst #grew into a huge word monster #i had planned to finish this like 4 months ago but i lost inspiration #i had such a hard time writing this you have no idea #minesw

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alrightinbed-betterwithapen · 5 years

Text

in response to getting another guy in ur life

i'm submitting this bc it's tough trying to squeeze everything into one ask. as i kept going the pov would lowkey switch back and forth pls ignore i am kind of sleepy

i think it would be rough on him. any normal person would assume it'd be because he had feelings for you, which of course wouldn't be true, but he'd be hurt and he'd feel conflicted about it.

he'd know there were no strings, and of course you'd both had that conversation of "if you find somebody that's fine, but this is just for us at this point in time" and he always had that looming in the back of his mind. but when you stop texting him, calling him, and only see him for work, it'd kind of infuriate him. you could have at least told him if you no longer wanted to do anything with him or if you found someone.

aside from that, he'd miss it. he'd miss the sneaking around, buying things for you, making you cum with just his fingers...he'd almost feel like it was a waste of time. he knew your body like the back of his hand. he knew what made you shiver and what made you cringe. he knew exactly how to fuck you, when to fuck you, and where to fuck you. he knew you liked it when his fingers would find your necklace charm, rolling it through his fingers before continuing to work his way down. he knew how to fuck your throat, what your limits were, and how long you could take it before you needed air. he knew that as much as you loved when he came in you (most of the time before you go out so when he sticks his hand up his skirt to feel you up, he still feels himself dripping out) you also loved when he'd cum on your stomach, continuously dipping his finger in it and putting it in your mouth. he knew you loved when he kissed you after you swallowed. he knew you loved to taste yourself on his lips. he knew what positions you liked, how tight to tie your wrists to the headboard. he knew how hard to choke you and he could tell when it was too much. even when he bit your lip so hard it started bleeding and you told him, very enthusiastically, to keep going (he learned lots that night). he knew so much and vice versa.

you knew he loved feeling your hands on his chest. you knew he loved the rush of cockiness telling you what to do (and you obeying) gave him. if you didn't obey, you knew he loved punishing you. you knew he loved when your actions made him tie you up, spank you till you're dripping, or fuck your throat till you can't speak. you knew he loved the aftercare, having you sit on his lap in the bath, pressing lightly into bruises and scratches and bite marks until you hiss and smack his hands away while he giggles, saying, "you wanted them!" you knew he loved when, one night, after losing a bet with you, he let you dom him and you knew he hadn't ever cum that hard with you before (even still, he refused to admit that and continued his normal domming afterwards). you knew he loved when you talked back to him. you knew he loved when his hips would still at your hilt, a glorious groan escaping his lips, nails digging into your skin, as he finally cums in you. you knew he loved that first time you sucked his dick, realizing you took it all your first try. you knew he loved when the tears would run down your cheeks from being fucked so good. you knew he loved the walk of shame (as he sleepily watched with a smile on his face) out of his bedroom.

it'd almost be like it went on too long. you knew each others bodies too well, which made you such great lovers in the bedroom but you'd never end in a relationship. it'd be hard to navigate.

i think his breaking point would be when you bring the new guy by his house when jason is there, saying, "hey jason, just telling you this is the guy i met because of you!" you'd hug this guy's chest, smiling, as your eyes land on david's. it'd be the first time he'd look away from you. jason is eager and happy for you, joking that maybe you'll start being uptight again. (once you'd started fucking david on the regular, both of you had been consistently relieving stress, allowing both of you to work better, both together & individually)

david would say, completely fake, "i'm happy for you. hey, uh can you come show me how to do this thing on final cut?" you'd be reluctant as he pulls you into his room.

"so, uh," he'd clear his throat, "what's this guy's name?"

"um. david." you shifted in your seat on his bed. he was standing in front of you, slowly pacing.

"what?"

"no, like. his name is david." his eyes would widen. instantly, he hears you moaning his name. that was supposed to be reserved for him. he doesn't tell you that, though.

"oh. why didn't you tell me anything? like, that's what we agreed on. i would've liked that more than just you leaving me in the dark. it's not that hard. also, of all places, why my fucking house?"

"david. don't get pissed-"

"i am pissed."

"why? did you have feelings for me or something?"

"no, you know i didn't, i just- it feels like it was a waste of time."

"why?"

"are you and this dude official?"

"not yet."

"so i could still fuck you?"

"davey, baby-" at this point, it was an argument. albeit, a whispered one.

"you don't get to do that! i can-"

"why are you so upset?"

"because i know everything about your body. you will never find anyone who can make you cum as hard as i can. it goes both ways. i've fucked a few girls since you, but none of them fuck the way you do."

"so what am i supposed to do, dave? not find love because you know how to make me cum better than anyone?" he went quiet. a few moments passed.

"he's a real asswipe."

"you don't even know him!"

“well, he exudes it, okay?”

"you're an asswipe, too, you know?"

"maybe. an asswipe who knows how to fuck."

"i don't know what you want me to do, dave."

"tell him to go home, i'll send jason home, tell natalie to go out all night, and i will fuck the living daylights out of you." you groaned and put a hand over your face. you were getting a headache. you knew you didn't have to do it. he knew it too. but he stared all wide, like a deer in headlights, meeting your eyes for the second time that night.

at that moment, jason would walk in the bedroom door, asking what's taking so long. the other david would follow him, leaning in the door frame. david was right, that's a really asswipey move in a house that's not your own, especially in a room that's not your own.

you smiled sweetly, "david, i'm gonna have to stay here. sorry. it's work. he's having a few issues. i need to help him so his vlog can go up on time. i'll see you later. you can see yourself out."

your david beamed.

#⁉️#anon #submission #david dobrik smut #david dobrik blurb #perfect #this is utter perfection

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zhenyakatava · 6 years

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the bajeks ||| 2 sisters

filip bajek and ania bajek met in poland during ania’s summer abroad before his freshman year of college at brown. her parents were second-generation immigrants who had forced her to venture to the homeland during his trek across europe — and she was glad she did, since she met flip there. she ended up spending the whole summer there getting to know him and, subsequently, falling in love with him. they bonded over their similar childhoods, nostalgic ways and love for classic literature, along with what felt like a million other things. when she had to return back for school, they continued to correspond through letters for the next two years until filip finally applied to schools in the states. she was at brown, he at yale, and they met up on weekends at their respective schools. when ania graduated from brown, filip proposed to her, and when he, in turn, graduated, they got married the following month in a small service abroad in poland.

they didn’t take long to start having children - filip enrolled in graduate school at columbia, where ania was finishing up the last two years of her masters degree. she got pregnant - entirely unexpectedly - in her junior year, but neither of them ever stopped. determined as hell, ania had their first child, a daughter, the summer before her senior year and graduated with distinction. back at home and working on a book, she got pregnant with and had two more children in the following few years, resulting in a healthy family of five at the end of it all.

back in new york city - filip’s hometown - for good, they settled down into an apartment in morningside heights. filip and ania had a very hands-off approach with their children, allowing them free reign of the apartment and, when the time came, of the entire city. they never had many rules, their parents trusting them to know wrong from right from the example they set. they’ve always been almost more like friends than they were ever parents, which caused issues here and there throughout the kids’ teenage years but they more than likely haven’t carried over into their adulthood.

the ellises (ania’s sister’s kids) have always been a part of their life, almost more like siblings than cousins. any time their dad (if you could even call him that smh) decided to dip out on them, they always knew they would be welcome with the bajeks!!

tl;dr just a cute, happy family that’s probably a little too comfortable with each other?? it’s definitely not unusual for them to divulge personal information to each other that other siblings/cousins/kids/parents wouldn’t, and they have no idea why other people in their lives think it’s weird that they do it. they’re all more like best friends than siblings or cousins and they need each other to survive bc they’re codependent as hell

*all faces don’t absolutely have to be ashkenazi jewish if there’s not a perfect face that fits but it’s definitely preferred! the first suggestion for each sister below is my preference but i’m 1000% open to talking about it!! feel free to message me here or on discord (morg#3278) if you’re interested or have any questions!!

sister bajek, 25+, occupation (halston sage, reserved for erin)

chad bajek, 21, college student (timothee chalamet, morgan)

sister bajek, 18-21 or 22-24, occupation

suggested faces: odeya rush, nicola peltz, kat langford, ella purnell

autumn ellis (cousin), ##, journalist @ glow mag (zoey deutch, maddie)

molly ellis (cousin), ##, occupation (bridget satterlee, alex)

#likegoldrp #chad #likegoldrp request

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breeeliss · 7 years

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[Miraculous Ladybug]: Never Make Deals with Mermaids

a.k.a. Gabie’s Obligatory Mermaid/Pirate AU feat. Adrienette!

inspired bc i wanted a mermaid au where mermaids were badass, bloodthirsty, and had a certified license to kill. it was supposed to be a one-shot, but let’s ignore that bit for now.

i know that there are a million and one pirate/mermaid au’s but i’d appreciate some likes/reblogs/comments if you happen to read on! :) at the rate this is going, this is gonna be a beast of a fic.

–

[Next: Chapter 2]

Link to Archive of Our Own: [AO3]

–

Title: Never Make Deals with Mermaids

Summary: The only reason Adrien came up with such an elaborate trap for a mermaid was to sell her on the market, rake in some gold, and get a new ship to help him carry out some business. Simple as that.

The plan wasn’t for this mermaid to attack his crew, hold him at sword point, and steal his maps for some ridiculous mission involving magical stones, egomaniacal pirates, and a plot to stop the end of the world.

This beautifully dangerous creature was certainly going to be the end of him.

Chapter 1: Capturing a Mermaid

“Adrien, let me be the first to say that I still think this is a ridiculously stupid idea.”

Adrien pulled the flask out of his coat and pulled the cork out with his teeth. “Aw, come on, Nino. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“My sense of adventure is perfectly intact, thank you very much,” Nino frowned. “So is my sense of self preservation. This is a suicide mission, you idiot!”

“It’s only a suicide mission if I screw it up. And for your information, I’ve thought this out meticulously. It’ll work. Besides, I know you’re secretly hoping that we pull this off. You know how much we need the money.”

Nino sighed as Adrien shed his captain’s hat and his coat and draped them in Nino’s arms. “There are other ways to fund a journey to the Eastern Seas, you know. It doesn’t have to include chasing after a fairytale.”

“It’s not a fairytale,” Adrien insisted, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it over Nino’s head. “I’ve done my research. Went to a library and everything.”

“Yeah! You did research! Based on the drunken ramblings of past sailors! That hardly counts. You’re putting your life on the line for this.“

“You worry too much, buddy. I’ve got this under control.” Adrien turned around to the rest of his crew and held up the knife he kept strapped to his thigh. “Alright gentlemen, listen up! There are rumors of mermaids in this part of the sea, so we’ve got one chance to do this right.” He pointed the knife at Kim. “Are the nets ready?”

“Yes captain!” Kim smirked. “Got them off a cool chick from the last port town we stopped at. She promised me they’re as strong as they come. We’ll let them down when you give the signal.”

“Perfect,” Adrien grinned. He moved his knife across the crowd. “Max!”

“We’ll be tying you to the mast of the ship,” Max announced. “I took a few gun holsters and refashioned them into a sling that should let us pull you out of the water if anything goes wrong.” He threw the tangle of leather straps at Adrien. “But….try not to let anything go wrong.”

Adrien stepped through the sling and started to tighten it around his waist. “No promises. Ivan! Keep this ship nice and steady!”

“Yes captain!” Ivan saluted back, moving over with four other crew members while Adrien called over to Nathanael.

“Nath, I’m gonna need you to have those ropes ready to tie her hands when we catch her, okay? I don’t need her tearing this crew apart with those claws of hers.”

Nathanael patted the ropes hanging off of his belt. “At the ready, captain. Don’t you worry.”

“Perfect.” Adrien patted Nino on the shoulder. “You’re in charge and you call the shots until I come back.”

“You better not screw this up,” Nino warned.

“Relax!” Adrien laughed. “I trust you all to pull me up if anything goes wrong. You have the satchel?”

“Yeah, everything’s in there,” he said, handing it over to Adrien who made sure to tighten the strap as he slung it across his chest. “You’re all set, I guess.”

“Looks like it. Just the bait left.” Adrien closed his hand around his knife, bit his lip, and sliced his palm open. He handed the knife off to one of his crew members as he closed his fist and dripped his blood into the empty flask until it was halfway full. He reached down, ripped a small trip of fabric from the ends of his trousers, and tied it around his wound before climbing up on the rail. “Alright, men. Keep that rope taut. Not planning on going more than six meters under. Be at the ready.”

Adrien gripped the flask of his blood tightly and threw it as far as he could away from the ship and into the ocean. He gave one final salute to his crew before he bent his knees and dove head first into the ocean below.

There wasn’t a lot of information on mermaids — Adrien knew only what his mother told him when he was a little boy and what he read in old sailor and captain logs. They weren’t the beautiful and kind creatures that were featured in his old storybooks. They were vain, bloodthirsty monsters who enjoyed collecting treasure, sinking ships, and drowning sailors before eating them for supper. They weren’t many sailors alive who’ve seen a mermaid because mermaids made it a point to make sure to leave no survivors when they were bored, hungry, and in the mood for plundering pirate ships for gold.

But Adrien wasn’t one who liked dwelling on the negatives. Amidst all that talk, he knew of sailors who’ve walked away with satchels full of gold just from putting a few scales, teeth, and claws on the market. He could practically see the carts full of gold that would be coming to him if he managed to sell an entire mermaid, intact from head to tail. That would be more than enough money to buy a new ship to take him across the Eastern Seas and finally get back what was stolen from him.

Of course, the trick was to first capture a mermaid.

Adrien swam until he was far away enough from the ship for the thick fog to completely obscure the ship and leave him bobbing in the water alone. He only had a vague sense of where he threw the flask of his blood, but he knew he didn’t have to worry about trying to spot a mermaid if one decided to come. A mermaid’s scales glimmered and glowed bright enough to be seen even through the thickest of fogs. If one was in the water nearby, he’d see it.

He stayed bobbing above the surface for only a few more minutes before a glimmer of red caught his eye. It was barely anything — probably half a second of color — but it was enough for Adrien. He dipped half his face under the water so that he was only visible from the nose up and watched the same spot once more. He had to physically hold in his excitement and not make any noise when he saw a red tail flip out of the water and dip back underneath the surface. That certainly wasn’t a dolphin, a whale, or any kind of fish that Adrien had ever heard of. He took a deep breath, and slipped underneath the water, getting as far from the surface as he dared.

Adrien’s eyes stung as he opened his eyes to see past the salt water, but as his eyes adjusted, he was rewarded for all his efforts with the sight of a mermaid — an actual honest to God mermaid — sticking her finger inside the flask and licking up all the blood she was able to find in there.

He wasn’t sure how it was possible for something to look so frightening and so stunningly beautiful at the same time, but this creature was proof of it. Her tail was covered in red and black scales that spread up her stomach, across her breasts and down her forearms where more fins sprouted from here her wrist bones should’ve been. Her hair was long and black and floated around her face as she tipped her head to peer into the lip of the bottle, almost put off that there wasn’t more blood for her to eat. She snarled, and it was then that Adrien was able to see her horribly sharp teeth and her long, black, terrible claws that looked like they were made specifically for stripping skin off of human bones. Her eyes were the worst part — brilliantly blue, but slitted and positively sinister. She was everything all his research prepared him for and didn’t.

Adrien quietly opened the satchel still strapped to him and pulled out his second form of bait — a silver mirror that Adrien hired a metalworker to encrust with strings of pearls, gold coins, and silver chains that he had found during his years of raiding other ships and ports for anything of value. Apparently, there was one thing that mermaids may have liked more than the stench of human flesh, and that was themselves and anything precious, shiny, and of worth.

He held the mirror up in front of him so that it concealed his face, waiting for the mermaid to notice it. Sure enough, she turned her head and immediately blinked, smiled, and started fiddling with her hair when she noticed her reflection in the mirror. She started to swim closer to him, and Adrien took that as his queue to start slowly swimming back towards the ship.

The mermaid happily followed, probably assuming that the mirror was floating away with the tides of the sea and not being controlled by a mere pirate. He had to be sure to not move too quickly or too suddenly. One wrong move, and his crew would be pulling up a skeleton instead of their captain. But Adrien had practiced this maneuver in the water plenty of times before today, despite all of Nino’s reservations. He’d been preparing for this. Nothing was going to get in the way of him catching this mermaid.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the ship coming up behind him. He reached up and tugged on his rope three times, alerting his crew that the mermaid was in place and that they should be ready to pull the nets up and capture her. But it seemed that movement was a little too obvious, because the mermaid in front of him frowned, reached her hand towards the mirror, and lowered it so that Adrien’s face was showing.

Adrien’s eyes widened and he gasped, accidentally letting out the last precious bits of air that he had left in his lungs to last him until his crew could come pick him up. He was about to yank on the rope again and tell them to hurry, but for some reason it didn’t seem like the mermaid was intent on devouring him, at least not yet. She tilted her head this way and that, as if admiring his face like it was some strange, fascinating creature she’d never seen before. She reached out towards him with one black claw, and Adrien flinched when she gently dragged it down his cheek and across his jaw, drawing no blood and leaving not a single mark. She laughed at the look on his face, cupped his cheeks with both of her cold, scaly hands, and breathed out under her breathe. “ Perfect.”

Her voice was beautifully melodic, but was ruined with the sound of her teeth grinding together, still red from the blood she’d been eating just moments before. Her nails started digging painfully into his cheeks, and her smile turned cruel when she reached forward as if to start feasting on his face first, but Adrien figured that his distraction had stretched on for long enough. Using all of his strength, he lifted his knee and kicked his boot right into the stomach of the mermaid, leaving her to lurch backwards. She shook her head and growled, her eyes almost glowing with her anger, but it was already too late.

Adrien already felt the rope pulling him up out of the water at the same time he saw the nets planted by his crew hoist up and tangle around the mermaid. The moment he broke the surface he started gasping for breath and reached to his side for the rope ladder that Nino had dropped. “Fuck, Adrien! Are you alright?”

“Just peachy,” he coughed out. Next to him, he saw the mermaid screaming and snarling in the nets, already trying to use her claws to slice through the ropes and escape. “Hurry up and get her on deck! And tie her hands up, she’s already eviscerating that net!”

He struggled to fit his feet on the rungs and get back up towards the rail, but luckily Nino’s hand was waiting for him to help pull him onto the deck. Nino shoved a cup of something warm in his hands and draped his captain’s coat over his shoulders to keep him dry. “You’re the stupidest thing alive, I swear.”

Adrien laughed brightly. “Hey, what’d I tell ya? It worked, didn’t it?” He turned to look at the scene in front of him that consisted of Ivan pressing his boot down into the mermaid’s shoulder blades to give Nathanael room to quickly tie her hands behind her back in a series of complicated knots that even her claws couldn’t reach. She was gnashing and snapping her teeth at them, but eventually they all backed away from her and left her squirming around on the deck, completely defenseless.

“Shit,” Nathanael panted. “She’s strong! ”

“She’s a deadly beast that drags sailors down to the bottom of the ocean,” Adrien explained. “She better be strong. I hope none of you laid a sword on her.”

“Not a scratch, captain,” Ivan sighed, wincing at the gash on his left arm. “Can’t say the same for ourselves.”

Adrien lifted a hand towards the pinpricks of blood on the side of his face left by her claws as he walked towards the mermaid. She ceased her thrashing the moment he stepped in front of her, instead choosing to glare at them with those deep, terrifying eyes. He kneeled down and stroked his chin. “How much do you think she’ll go on the market for?”

“Catching just the scales of a mermaid is almost unheard of, let alone the whole thing,” Nino explained. “I’m almost afraid people won’t believe us.”

“There’s no faking this,” Adrien said. “Even I can’t believe it but she’s right here in front of us.”

“In that case,” Nino sighed. “More money than we can ever imagine. Plenty for a bigger ship. More crew members. Rations to last us years. New weapons. We’ll be more than set to head for the Eastern Sea.”

“Which means Hawkmoth is in for a rude awakening soon,” Adrien smirked. He stood up and pulled his arms through the sleeves of his coat. “Help me bring her into the navigation room. She won’t cause any trouble there.”

Adrien and Nino grabbed the robes of the nets and dragged the mermaid below deck, pulling her past the crew’s quarters, past the captain’s quarters, and towards Adrien’s navigation room. Strangely enough, she’d grown completely silent and had stopped all her thrashing, letting Adrien and Nino deposit her in the corner of the room so that she could sit up straight and lean against the wall. Nino wiped his forehead and whistled under his breath. “She’s a fucking scary little thing to look at.”

“She’s not going to do anything,” Adrien assured. “Not like she can move much in all those ropes.”

They both jumped back in shock when she snapped her teeth together and screeched, her voice sounding broken and high pitched now that it was out of the ocean. “You two are lucky!” she hissed out, making both men lift their hands to their ears to stop the discordant noise from bursting their ear drums. “I could kill you both in seconds!”

“God! Fucking gag her or something!” Adrien shouted. “She’s giving me a headache!”

Nino looked around the room, pulled a handkerchief off of Adrien’s desk of maps, and stuffed it into the mermaids mouth, tying it behind her head and keeping her silent. “Jesus Christ, she’s gonna be a fucking delight to travel with. You sure you don’t want to just — ”

“If buyers prefer her dead, we’ll kill her when we get there,” Adrien insisted. “But something tells me she’s of more value alive. So she lives until we get back to the city.”

Nino wrinkled his nose in her direction when she glared at him and tried to move the gag out the way. “And until then?”

Adrien shrugged. “Get Mikael and Jean to bring her some raw meat or something. Or get her a barrel to swim around in. I don’t care. I’m going to my quarters to change.”

“So we’re just going to leave her here?”

“She’s a mermaid stuck on a ship, gagged and bound with ropes,” Adrien pointed out. “What harm could she possibly cause?”

Adrien was actively dreading heading back North to the city where he grew up, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He was from one of the richest port towns in the world, and if he was hoping to get a sizeable reward for the mermaid he caught, it was best to offer her up to merchants who were willing to lay down a decent amount of gold in exchange.

That being said, it wasn’t as if Adrien was just another citizen. News of him coming back to the city would no doubt reach his father, and he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to avoid his father scouring every single bar, pub, and inn to find his son and convince him that his foolish seafaring was not only childish but certifiable to get him killed. Gabriel Agreste was much more interested in seeing his son finish school, become a scholar, take over their tailoring business, or even weasel his way into the courts of the king further West. God knows his father had an entire list of things he would’ve rather seen his son doing than sailing around the world for thrills and treasure.

“You know, I kinda miss your dad,” Nino chuckled, leaning against the rails and looking out at the sea next to Adrien. “He’s got a stick so far up his ass it’s kinda funny to take the piss out on him.”

Adrien snorted. “Well, I’m glad you find him amusing. I’m going to come home and face the music of how much of a disappointment I am. But hey! At least he’s consistent.”

Nino frowned. “Not that I’m defending him or anything because, trust me, the man makes me want to vomit on sight. But, as high strung as he is, I think he does honestly worry for you. Being a merchant or a tailor or a scholar is a lot safer than getting into sword fights with other pirates.”

“It’s also more boring,” Adrien pointed out. “I get that he worries, but I’m a big boy. Just hit the age of majority and everything. I have a right to go after what I want, and that doesn’t involve staying in that city and giving my father more of a reason to control what I do. At least out here, I get to breathe.”

“And steal maps, books, gold, pearls, and fancy swords for you to ogle.”

“Hey, you like the swords too.”

“What can I say, they’re cool and it’s not like my mom liked the idea of me picking fights with people down by the port for the sake of a thrill. I’m on your side.”

Adrien bumped his shoulder with Nino’s and chuckled. He sighed and stared down into the dark water, the moon already high in the sky. “Anyway….you know this voyage is important to me. I have to find Hawkmoth.”

Nino sighed. “Adrien, you don’t even know if he still has it. This could be a huge waste of time.”

“No, I know he still has it,” Adrien said assuredly. “He knows how valuable it is. It’s been in the Agreste family for years.”

“I don’t get it dude,” Nino said. “No offense to your family’s heirloom or whatever, but they’re not that valuable. What else would he do with it but sell it? I mean, even if he’s a stupid pirate that just goes after anything that seems precious, he’s not going to get much out of this. Surely he knows that.”

“I don’t know,” Adrien admitted. “Hawkmoth isn’t the type to just go for money. There’s more to it than that. I don’t know what he’s planning, but it doesn’t matter. He’s stolen one too many things from me and I want it back. Last port town we were at, a bunch of pirates said they heard he was heading towards the Eastern Isles looking for someone. That’s our best bet to get it back and figure out what he’s up to. My guess it’s nothing good.”

“Look, I’m with you until the end on this buddy,” Nino told him. “Just….make sure you don’t get yourself tied up in anything dangerous. There are worse things out there than nasty pirates, and not a lot of people have navigated towards the Eastern Isles because the journey is so long and dangerous. Who knows what’s out there. Shit, if mermaids exist, who knows what else we might run into?”

“Well,” Adrien chuckled. “We wouldn’t be pirates if we didn’t have a death wish every once in awhile.”

“You’re impossible,” Nino said, shaking his head. “Alright man! I’ll humor you, but I’m telling you. Your ass gets killed, I’m gonna kill you.”

Adrien held out his fist and waited for Nino to bump it. “It’s a bet.”

“Captain!”

Adrien turned around and saw Kim running across the deck towards him. “What’s up, Kim?”

“Know when dinner’s going to go on? The rest of us are starving.”

“I thought Mikael and the rest of the boys were handling that,” he frowned.

“Yeah, about that,” Kim winced. “I can’t find Mikael and Jean. They’re in charge of dinner today aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Nino confirmed. “They should’ve started about an hour ago. What the hell are those two doing?”

“I mean last I saw them was when you sent them to give food to the mermaid….” Adrien’s sentence trailed off, eyes widening in horror as he turned his head towards the steps that led down below deck. “Shit, you don’t think….”

Nino pulled the cap off his head. “Oh fuck me, how long have they been gone?”

“Son of a bitch!” Adrien shouted. He pulled his sword out of the scabbard hanging on his hip and ran for the stairs. “Keep everyone away from the navigation room and keep everyone above deck! I’ll be right back!”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“We might have to kill this thing earlier than I planned.”

Adrien jumped down the stairs, sword brandished, and sprinted towards the navigation room, quickly passing by all his crew members meandering around the halls wondering when dinner was going to be served in the dining room. He yelled at all of them to head back up on deck and steer clear of the rooms until he bashed a boot into the door navigation room and watched the door burst open. He walked in with the sharp point of his sword thrust out in front of him, but was taken aback when he was also met face to face with the end of another sword.

“Careful, Captain. You’re not the only one who knows their way around a blade.”

Evidently, it seemed as if Adrien didn’t know as much about mermaids as he thought, because none of the books and sightings had ever told him that mermaids had the ability to sprout legs and look wholly human .

But there was no mistaking that this was the mermaid he’d just caught. She was sitting atop his desk covered with his maps, legs — very long, very human legs — crossed daintily at the knee, wearing one of his coats that he’d left hanging on the hook by the door, and brandishing one of his swords that he’d left strapped to the underside of his navigation table for emergencies only. Her voice no longer sounded like broken glass grinding together, but it no longer held the melodic and almost hypnotic quality that it held when he found her underwater. It was no more remarkable than his own voice, and her gills, scales, and fins were all gone to leave nothing more than stretches of smooth, pale skin. Her eyes were no longer slitted and looked human as well, but they were still hauntingly and unnaturally blue.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Adrien demanded. “What, you things can sprout legs?”

The mermaid chuckled, her teeth no more extraordinary than his own and her claws retracted back into short, pink nails. “Aw, did your little pirate tales not warn you about that? It’s admittedly not a very common skill, but when you’re as old as me, you learn a few tricks when you venture onto shore. Let our tails get dry and legs are soon to follow. You might want to take note before you leave me bound and gagged in a corner like a dead fish.”

“And I’m assuming walking amongst humans allowed you pick up on a few tricks.” He jutted his chin towards her sword. “Do you know how to handle that thing?”

“Don’t patronize me, human,” she frowned. “You’d be surprised how dangerous I can be even without my tail. Your crew members were very much caught by surprise.”

Adrien gritted his teeth. “Where are they?”

The mermaid smiled cruelly, hopped down from her perch, and kept her sword pointed at Adrien. “Oh, they’d come down here saying you sent them to bring me my dinner. Sweet boys. I appreciated the snack.”

“Don’t tell me you fucking — ”

“Oh come on!” she laughed, leaning down behind the navigation table and pulling on the collar of what was once Jean — now with huge chunks of his neck torn out and parts of his chest and stomach slashed open and eviscerated like he’d been subject to a rather enthusiastic meal. “Did you really think your animal meat was going to be enough to feed me when you bring such deliciously strapping gentlemen to me instead?”

Adrien moved to the side so that he could get a better view behind the navigation table, and he felt bile rise in his throat when he saw Mikael in a similar state. They were just boys, new recruits on his ship who’d only been here for a few months. They’d heard stories of Adrien and his crew and came to him excitedly asking for an opportunity to sail the seas with him. He’d taken them on and promised that he’d protect them and never let anything happen to them. He promised them. And now they were dead and gutted on his floor.

He moved closer to the mermaid and touched the tip of his blade under her chin, but not before he pressed her own sword right against his Adam’s apple. “I should kill you for this!”

“For what?” she snarled. “For surviving? For doing what’s in my nature? Those are tall words coming from a human who was planning to chop my tail off and sell it to the highest bidder in exchange for money to feed his own greed. You’re angry at me for this? I should kill you .”

Adrien snickered. “You kill me and my whole crew will come down here seeking out your life. And I don’t care how dangerous you think you are. I know you can’t face down an entire crew of men by yourself.”

The mermaid hesitated, and suddenly her teeth had morphed into the sharp rows of teeth that he’d recognized under the waters. “Watch your tone with me human!”

“Lower your sword!” he demanded. “I’ll do the same. And then we can talk. No more blood. No more violence. Can we agree to that?”

“My kind don’t make a habit of making deals with pirates,” the mermaid snarled.

“And I don’t make a habit of making deals with killers, yet here we are. Lower. Your. Sword.”

The mermaid set her jaw, teeth reverting back to normal. “You first.”

“And give you the chance to eat me?” Adrien asked. “No thank you.”

“I understand that humans are all liars and thieves, but I can assure you that my word is one you can trust. I won’t kill you. Lower your sword first. Otherwise I cut you down right here.”

This was not how any of this was supposed to go. He assumed a mermaid out of water was about as harmless as a fly, but evidently he supposed Nino was right about messing around with things he knew nothing about. But there was no sense in trying to piss off a creature that had more powers and secrets than he had initially anticipated. If he didn’t play along with her, there was a chance that she could serve as a threat to the rest of his crew and Adrien couldn’t let that happen. He swallowed, pursed his lips, and carefully lowered his sword, slipping it back into its scabbard. He unclipped it from his belt, threw it into the corner of the room, and raised both of his hands. “There. You said you’d keep your word.”

The mermaid didn’t look amused, but she expertly flipped the sword around, slipped it into its scabbard, and threw it aside as well. “I did indeed.”

Adrien slowly started backing up towards the door, hands still in the air, until his lower back connected with the knob. “Considering you’ve already killed two of my men, I think I reserve the right to lock us in here to keep them safe.”

“Aren’t you honorable,” she said. “Fine. If you think that’ll keep you all safe, it’s of no consequence to me.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the key to the navigation room, and locked it from the inside before pocketing the key again. He’d much rather take his chances facing off against this mermaid on his own rather than giving her the opportunity to race up to his deck and harm anyone else. Although, considering how volatile this creature was, Adrien wasn’t feeling too optimistic about his chances. Best thing to do was to keep her calm and figure a way out of this without being made into a meal.

“How about we start with names?” Adrien suggested.

“Adrien Agreste,” the mermaid finished. “You’re from the Northern Islands, probably one of the port towns judging from your accent. I believe this ship of yours is called the Chat Noir. You’re a pirate. Men of the sea speak highly of you.”

“Well,” he smirked. “Good to know I have a reputation. I wasn’t expecting a mermaid to be privy to that.”

“We don’t enjoy humans as anything other than a meal, but we do hear stories,” the mermaid explained. “You must be skilled.”

“You flatter me,” he winked. “Do you have a name, my Lady?”

She sighed out roughly through her nose, as if debating whether or not to share the information. “Marinette,” she replied finally. “And I’m not your Lady. I’m one of the most dangerous mermaids you’ll ever come across on these seas. You’ll treat me with respect.”

Adrien laughed. “So dangerous that you were caught in a measly fisherman’s net?”

“Oh, how cute,” Marinette teased. “You actually think you went and tricked me.”

“I was the one who pulled it off,” Adrien said. “You seemed plenty enamoured with your reflection and all the pretty little jewels I left there for you. Or was I imagining your preening?”

Marinette’s cheeks flushed in parts anger and embarrassment and Adrien let his chest fill with pride at the petty dig. At least there were some things about mermaids that were still true.

“Minor detail,” Marinette insisted, her voice coming out with a bite. “Rest assured, you caught me in your net because I let you.”

“Oh, this should be good,” Adrien said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the door. “Why would a mermaid want to be captured in a sailor’s net?”

Marinette lifted her chin. “You have something I need.”

Adrien raised a brow. “I’m sure you have treasures far more valuable than anything I have. Try again.”

“Statement stands,” Marinette shrugged, moving over to the wall of maps that Adrien kept rolled up in slots along the wall. Her fingers started brushing over the labels before she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “May I?”

“No!” he barked. “Those are valuable.”

Marinette shrugged. “Oh, calm down, I’m not going to do anything to them. But I heard rumors that you came across one map in particular that I’ve been searching after for months.”

“I come across a lot of maps. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Marinette pulled a map out of its slot, unrolled it, and appraised it quickly before rolling it back up and putting it back. “How much do you know about Miraculous Cove, human?”

Adrien shook his head. “It’s….a folktale at best. Some brilliant story that mothers tell their children before bed.”

“It's hardly a folktale. It's very much real,” Marinette continued. “That cove holds the entrance to a labyrinth of caves found on the Eastern Seas that are imbued with a kind of magic you couldn’t even begin to fathom.”

“Magic?” Adrien snorted. “No such thing.”

Marinette glared at him. “Oh and I suppose I was swimming around in a fish costume and quickly slipped myself out of it to reveal these lovely legs of mine.”

He snapped his mouth shut. “Touché.”

“They’re thousands of years old, and it was said that warriors travelled for years to reach those caves and gain immense strength and knowledge to aid them in their battles. But eventually, humans began to abuse the powers of Miraculous Cove, and the gods and goddesses who watched over the cove felt it necessary to keep anything like that from happening again. So they concealed the cove from humans, pulled all the magic from within those caves, and sealed them within seven — ”

“Seven stones which were then called the Miraculous Stones,” Adrien finished. “They were scattered across the seven seas to locations unknown so that humans would never be able to abuse their powers. If found and collected and brought back to the cove, the magic would be restored and anyone could gain unimaginable power. Yeah, I’ve heard this before. You’re telling me this is actually real?”

“Quite,” Marinette said distractedly, scrutinizing another map before returning it to its slot. “As I understand it there’s a pesky pirate on these seas that’s dead set on finding all of these stones. Eagle something or other….”

Adrien frowned. “Hawkmoth.”

“That’s the one!”

“Wait a minute,” Adrien said. “You’re telling me Hawkmoth is looking for Miraculous stones? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re certainly right,” Marinette agreed. “You can’t do anything with the stones if you can’t find the cove. He’s an idiot. Seems to be a common theme amongst your species.”

“The Miraculous stones don’t exist!” Adrien exclaimed. “What on Earth are you even talking about?”

Marinette rolled her eyes, reached into the pocket of the captain’s coat she was wearing, and pulled out what looked to be a pair of ruby earrings strung on a golden chain. “You’re looking at one right now.”

Adrien scoffed. “A pair of earrings. How cute. I could buy ones similar at a port town for the half the price of a hard cider.”

Marinette grinned, looked around the room, and found a pair of glasses lying on the table that were cracked and mangled. “Yours?” she asked.

“My first mate’s,” Adrien answered. “He broke them a few weeks back before we got him a new pair. What’s your point?”

She clutched the earrings in her hand and held up the ruined glasses. “Then perhaps a demonstration is in order.”

Suddenly, the ordinary looking ruby earrings slowly began to glow and emanate a light that inexplicably glowed bright red. Adrien reached up to rub his eyes to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on him, but the earrings were in fact glowing, and so were the glasses that Marinette was holding. Adrien felt his jaw drop when he saw the bent frames of the glasses slowly start to straighten. The cracks in the lenses started to retreat and mend themselves, and the glass seemed to mold itself to fill all the holes created by the missing shards of glass that were lost when they were initially broken. Marinette released her grip on the stones and the glowing lights immediately ceased. She turned the glasses around in her hands and tossed them to Adrien. “They should be right as rain now.”

Adrien unfolded the glasses and peered through the frames. They were just as new as the day Nino had originally bought them. “What on God’s green Earth — ”

“This is the Ladybug Miraculous,” Marinette explained. “Its powers are good fortune and creation. They’re decent if you need a spot of good luck, but more importantly they’re useful for reversing any damage. It’s one of the most powerful stones, second only to the Cat Miraculous.”

“And what does that one do?”

“It’s powers are in bad fortune and destruction. The exact opposite of the Ladybug miraculous. I believe it’s in the form of a black ring with a green jewel.”

Adrien paused. “Wait. A black ring?”

“Yes.”

“Does it have markings on it?” Adrien asked quickly. “Engraved on the side. Cats. All the way around the band.”

Marinette turned to him in shock. “You’re telling me you’ve seen it?”

“I have it.” He shook his head. “W-Well. Used to have it. It was stolen from me.”

“Let me guess,” Marinette sighed. “This Hawkmoth character?”

Adrien gestured to Marinette. “The plan was to sell you for cash to buy a boat to get to the Eastern Isles to go after him and get it back. You ruined that rather thoroughly, thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome,” Marinette spat. “He probably thinks he can find the rest of them in the Eastern Seas. Or maybe he’s looking for Miraculous Cove. Either way, it does us no good for him to collect all of them.”

“Can he….do what you just did?”

“If he knew how to use it? Unfortunately, yes,” Marinette admitted. “Hopefully I’ll be able to get to him before that happens.” Her eyes brightened when she found the map she was looking for and pulled it from the shelf. “Here we are!”

“That’s a map I pulled from a nothing town down South,” Adrien frowned. “It’s got almost nothing on it. I don’t know where in the seas that is.”

“That’s because it’s purposefully hiding something from you. You need a Miraculous stone to be able to read it. With the Ladybug Miraculous I should be able to….” She clutched the stones again, and brushed her hand over the map, closing her eyes and creasing her forehead in concentration. Suddenly the lines on the map started moving and forming to create islands, notes, markings, and arrows pointed all over the map.

Adrien leaned over the map on the other side of the table and watched in awe as the map morphed itself into a detailed layout of the Eastern Seas. “This is ridiculous….” he breathed out.

Marinette pointed to a point on the map that was circled in what looked to be multicolored ink that seemed only possible through some form of magic. “This is where I need to go. There’s someone here who knows the secret to Miraculous Cove. They might also know the location of the other stones. Rumor has it that his family was entrusted with the information thousands of years ago by the gods and goddesses that originally looked over the cove and has been sworn to secrecy to this day.”

“Where you need to go?” Adrien frowned. “Wait a minute, hold on a sec. Why is this your mission? Why do you have a stone to begin with?”

“I imagine that ring of yours has been with your family for a long time?”

“Family heirloom.”

“Same with my family,” Marinette said. “These stones have been with us since they were created. When it was spread to the seven seas it was given to my family to watch over and ensure that it didn’t get into the wrong hands, just like the Cat Miraculous was given to another family to watch over until it eventually passed down to you. Great job at taking care of it, by the way. Now it’s in the hands of an egomaniac.”

“Hey that’s not my fault!” Adrien demanded. “He ambushed my ship! I want it back just as badly as you do. Besides, you haven’t answered my question. Why are you trying to go after Hawkmoth so badly? Shouldn’t getting all these stones back and stopping him be the job of that person you were talking about? The one in charge of holding all these secrets?”

“I’m not going to sit around and wait for that to happen,” Marinette insisted. “No one back home seems to think that a human is capable of collecting all the stones or causing any real damage, but I know better. You humans are a selfish lot. I have no doubt he’d cause immense amounts of damage with these stones. So I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

Adrien was silent for a moment and tried to let all this information process. “Wait a minute. You knew who I was….”

“Excuse me?”

“You knew exactly who I was when you saw me!” Adrien exclaimed. “You knew I had that map! That’s why you let me capture you, you wanted on my ship to get that map for yourself.”

Marinette smirked. “Look at you. You’re not so dull after all. Like I said, sailors love to tell stories. I’ve been tracking that map for close to a year, and I finally found out that Captain Agreste of the Chat Noir was the last one to have his hands on it. Running into you here was pure luck.” She pocketed the Ladybug Miraculous with a smile. “These things really are a wonder.”

“So what?” Adrien snorted. “You’re just going to make off with my map? I don’t think so.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

“Let’s put it this way,” Adrien explained. “Seems we share a common goal. We’re both hunting down Hawkmoth. Seems to me like it’s in your best interest to travel on my ship with a large crew of men rather than go at it alone. Besides, what are you planning on doing when you find him? He’s got a crew much bigger than mine. Pretending to get captured is only going to work once, you know.”

Marinette gritted her teeth. “I have friends I could call!”

“Unless it’s an army, you’re out of your element, my Lady ,” he teased. “Besides, nothing’s stopping me from throwing you back into the ocean and harpooning you for a fortune. I still need that ship.”

Marinette rounded the table and came face to face with him, her nose only coming to his collarbone but still making up for the height difference with a snarl that admittedly made the hair on his arms stand on end. “Don’t forget that I can kill you right now, you brute!”

“I already told you what would happen to you if you did that,” Adrien explained.

“And you don’t think I don’t have friends who wouldn’t be happy to sink your ship and drown your crew?” Marinette replied. “Don’t underestimate me.”

“Well, all that means is that it’s in our best interests to keep each other alive.”

Marinette looked like she was about to open her mouth to protest, but Adrien knew that he had a point. If he was being honest, he was still convinced that he was dreaming and that all of this talk about mermaids who could sprout legs, gods and goddesses, and stones that apparently possessed unimaginable amounts of magic was starting to make him think he drowned when he jumped into the ocean earlier. But if all of this was true, then it seemed like it was all the more important to steal back what was his and make sure that Hawkmoth knew not to mess with Captain Agreste and his crew. Plus, it seemed like this was a lot bigger than just getting back what belonged to him.

He’d run into Hawkmoth a few times, and he was a ridiculously annoying pirate with an ego larger than the seven seas and a desire to be the most feared pirate for miles. Adrien never took him seriously, but this was way beyond what he thought Hawkmoth was capable of. Most of this talk of magic was beyond him, but Adrien at least understood one thing: there was no way he was going to let Hawkmoth get away with trying to steal more of what wasn’t his like he had any rights to it. More than anything, Adrien was interested in knocking Hawkmoth down a few pegs.

“So you’re telling me,” Adrien continued, “that if Hawkmoth gets his hands on all these stones, he could get his hands on unimaginable power?”

“Exactly,” Marinette replied. “I’m sure you have a pretty good sense of this man’s personality. I’m guessing that something like this wouldn’t be used for good.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “No, you’re right. He’s an egomaniac. If you’re being serious about this, there’s no telling what he’d do with it.”

Marinette closed her eyes and sighed. “As much as it kills me to say this, it seems like we’re both better off if we work together.”

Adrien grinned wolfishly. “Well, now that you mention it, I have been itching for a good adventure. It’s been a slow few weeks.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Typical pirate.” She straightened her shoulders and held out her hand. “Fine. I won’t kill you and will agree to travel with you if you promise not to kill me.”

“And I won’t kill you and will agree to help you with this….crazy and frankly completely insane plan of yours if you promise not to kill me or anymore of my men. I’ve got a personal interest in seeing Hawkmoth eat sand if I’m being completely honest. The man’s a damn parasite.”

They met in the middle and shook hands, a gentleman’s agreement. “Well, Adrien Agreste, this was definitely not according to plan. I was just going to eat you and take the map.”

“Calm down there, my Lady. A promise is a promise.”

“I said I’d behave,” Marinette muttered. “And….if it’s worth anything….I suppose I apologize for eating your men.”

“You’re not sorry you ate them, you’re sorry you were caught.”

Marinette grinned. “You said it, not me.”

Adrien massaged his temples. “Look, you’re gonna face some pretty pissed off and distrustful pirates up there. The fact that I’m letting you stay with us after that stunt you pulled is already grounds for me to lose my head. I’ll admit, it was my fault for sending them down here alone to deal with you, but don’t make me regret trusting you.”

“I already said I’ll be on my best behavior,” Marinette said, laying a hand over her heart. “Now if you’re serious about helping me, then might I suggest following through with your original intentions first and getting the Cat Miraculous back. I have a feeling it’d be in our best interest to get that one back first. Then we can go follow this map and learn more.”

“You know I’m game to get my ring back,” Adrien agreed. He walked over to the navigation table, pulled out a chair and straddled the back of it. “However, I’ve got one last bone to pick with you.”

“And what’s that, human?”

Adrien held up a hand. “Listen. If you’re going to be bunking here, it’s either Captain or Adrien.”

Marinette huffed. “Fine. Adrien . What is it?”

“Well since I’ve stupidly agreed to not kill you and sell you for a ridiculous fortune, that leaves me short on cash to buy a new ship and a bigger crew which we’re going to need unless you’re interested in turning going after Hawkmoth into a suicide mission. So how do you suppose we get around that?”

Marinette crossed her arms and sighed. “I guess ….if you needed gold….you could follow me back to my home so that I can look through my vaults. It’s only half a day’s journey from here.”

Adrien sat up straight. “Vaults?”

“What did you think we did with all the treasure aboard all those ships we sink?” Marinette asked. “I’m willing to part with some of it if it means stopping Hawkmoth.”

Adrien suddenly felt himself grow giddy, already imagining the goddamn gorgeous ship he’d be able to buy with the conquests of an actual mermaid who’d probably caused countless shipwrecks. His hands were already itching to smooth his hands over the fresh, polished wood of the wheel. “My Lady, that is the most beautiful thing you’ve said to me all day.”

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