Honestly, you didn’t think anything could startle Lucifer.
He was the Avatar of Pride, after all. The very picture of self-control. Unshakable. Regal. Terrifying, to some. That man could face Diavolo’s unplanned chaos, Mammon’s debts, and The Anti-Lucifer League's pranks all before noon without even blinking.
But apparently… he wasn’t prepared for this.
“Love, can you hand me that quill?”
Silence.
Lucifer—who’d been reviewing a contract across the room—froze. Not visibly, not to most people. But you caught the subtle twitch of his fingers, the way his breath paused just a moment too long.
You glanced up. “What?”
His eyes flicked to you. “What did you just call me?”
You blinked innocently. “Love. The quill?”
He stared at you. Then, without a word, he walked over—slow, deliberate—and handed you the quill.
But the moment it left his fingers, he leaned closer, just enough that you could feel his breath near your ear.
“…Say it again,” he murmured.
You turned your head, confused. “Say what?”
“That name.”
You smiled, amused. “You mean love?”
There it was.
The slight, unmistakable pink at the tips of his ears.
Lucifer cleared his throat and straightened instantly, posture snapping back into place like nothing happened. “Be mindful of how you speak. Such terms… are informal.”
“Hmm.” You tapped the quill against your lip. “So… darling is off the table?”
His eye twitched. “That’s even worse.”
“Honey?”
“No.”
“Baby?”
“Absolutely not.”
You giggled. “Alright, alright. I’ll stick with love, then.”
“I didn’t say that was acceptable either—”
“But your ears turned red when I said it,” you teased.
Lucifer gave you a look that could make lesser demons tremble. “They most certainly did not.”
“They did.”
“…You’re imagining things.”
“Oh, love. You’re adorable when you get flustered.”
His mouth parted like he had a thousand dignified responses ready—and then shut again, lips pressing together in a thin line.
You grinned and reached up, tugging him down by the collar just enough to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
“There. You’ve earned it.”
Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “Have I?”
You tilted your head sweetly. “You did bring me the quill, love.”
This time, the flush crept down his neck.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warned, though his voice had gone lower. Warmer. Almost amused.
You beamed at him. “So you like it.”
He said nothing.
But later, when he passed by your seat and rested a gloved hand on your shoulder, he leaned down and whispered by your ear:
“…Be careful, darling. I may just get used to it.”
And judging by the smirk he wore the rest of the evening, you were certain he already had.
Synopsis. Dearest gentle reader, it is with great pride that we introduce this season’s most eligible bachelor, Duke Nanami Kento. However, ladies be warned, rumors swirl that our most gallant gentleman already has his eyes (and hands) set on a particular chambermaid. You.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!chambermaid!reader, duke!Nanami, BRIDGERTON AU, duke x chambermaid, slight social clashes, he’s SO in love, courting, face-sítting (fem rec.), squírting, spítting, he’s FÉRAL, fíngering, overstím, breaking furniture, dóggy, “just the típ”, manhandIing, HEADLOCKS, creampíes, tummy buIges, chokíng, dúmbifícation, PÚSSYDRÚNK Nanami, the ton, proposals, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 9.0k
A/N. To that one nonnie that made it impossible NOT to think about this…
“And who–pray tell, is that fine gentleman, Shoko?”
“Who?”
“Him.”
It was like watching a parade, of sorts.
Monarchs upon nobles upon countless upper-class elites filtering in and out of the royal palace. Each with a long, satin gown fluttering about, or men with glinting medals that likely cost more than four lifetimes of your wages.
Debutante season had commenced.
And as part of the Queen’s chambermaids, it was your duty to pain-stakingly welcome each special guest deemed worthy of attending her highness’s garden parties.
Which is why - almost on instinct - you’d snapped your head towards the clip-clop! of a carriage steadying to a halt by the hedge-archway entrance. Catching just a flash of sleek blond, who…
Before the footmen swing open the carriage doors, and out steps the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your entire life-
“Oh, him. That’s Duke Nanami Kento.” Shoko drawls underneath her breath, dipping into synchronized curtsy alongside the household staff. “And he’s staring intently right at you.”
Honestly, Shoko might be one of the Queen’s most favored healers- but you really think she’s been neglecting the health of her eyes lately. Daring to elbow her in the side, “Don’t jest!”
She snickers, and you’re sure you detect the nearby daughter of a merchant family haughtily sniff your way—“I do no such thing.” Though, not for too long, fortunately for the two of your necks, because just then Duke Nanami’s stepping into clear view of the party - and you’d never glimpsed so many aristocratic mouths drop.
So many ladies (and some gentlemen) fluster, and so many older heads of families water at the mouth like they’d just spotted the most delectable prey.
Understandable, however.
Because if Nanami was thoroughly agreeable to your eyes in the few peeks you’d stolen at him- then he was almost other-wordly now.
With the most charming, tidy golden hair pushed back, a few curls coiling at the nape of his high collar. A towering stature that made even the most accomplished generals hunch in on themselves, and you nearly audibly gulp at the broad flex of his arms within his navy jacket. Stern. Stoic.
His molten, intense eyes peek over thin-rimmed glasses at the buzzing guests ahead, and you swear that they begin to stray somewhere near you—
“Heavens! Must I repeat myself, you common scullion?”
Ah, at the way Marquess Zenin Naoya was saddled right behind you and spitting hellfire, surely.
You rush to bend into an apologetic bow, so low that the knobs of your spine start to ache- “Please forgive my impudence, My Lord-”
“Have you nothing between your ears but lint?” He’s growling, spindly hands tightening on his empty goblet of wine until you hear the silver material creak. And it’s hitting you right then n’ there that in your haste to ogle Duke Nanami, you must have failed to heed Naoya’s calls for more drink-
He turns his sharp profile to the side and spits on a patch of clean-cut grass, “A servant that knows not her place is no better than dirt. What do you gawk at like so?”
“N-nothing, My Lord.”
And you can only watch, in slow-motion terror, as Naoya flicks his beady gaze behind you- and his sour face tenses at the vision of the tall newcomer that’d easily - and very obviously - ousted his mantle as the most eligible bachelor present. “That ol’ duke? Heh- dreaming that he’d bed a wench, did you?”
“Forgive me, sir, it was not my intent to give offence.” You’re breathing out, first clenching as you feel the withering looks that were starting to prop up around you two. Everybody loved a scandal. Trembling hands reaching out for his cup, “I-if you would allow me to just refill-”
“Don’t touch me!”
CLANG!
It happens all at once.
The heavy goblet clatters to the floor, a warm chest nuzzles your back, and a strong hand was locked right around Naoya’s raised wrist. Right before he could strike.
“It seems her highness’s liquor is exceptionally strong.” Nanami’s deep baritone sounds above your head and makes your skin bead with a blanket of goosebumps.
And it’s slightly husky. So attractive.
Especially when he’s tilting his head down so close, something primal in his eyes that made it feel like he was on the very verge of devouring you whole. Right there in the middle of the bustling garden party. Humming sternly, “Yuji, please escort our impaired marquess somewhere ah…quieter.”
“Y-yes, Nanamin- I mean, Your Grace!”
You’re watching, speechless, as a younger boy with the most vibrant head of pink locks runs up from behind and grabs onto both of Naoya’s shoulders to bodily steer him away from you.
He must have been stronger than he looked, clearly, because the proud heir was being lugged away like a sack of potatoes no matter how much he squirmed and fought - much to the amusement of the party-dwellers. And you.
But you’re quick to bite back your startled laughter once you’re realizing that Nanami Kento was still holding onto you. And not just stood behind- you must have stumbled amidst all the commotion because he had a large hand gripped onto your hip to steady you.
You were in his arms.
Gasping, “O-oh.” You couldn’t have broken off faster from him, knees strangely weak as you’re forcing them into yet another curtsy, “I am so-”
“My deepest apologies, Honorable Miss.” The duke beats you to it, a strange smile playing along his stern lips as he bends into an even deeper bow. “I should have asked prior to touching a lady.”
“A-a lady!” You’re squawking, in what was most definitely an unladylike manner. Hands wringing to gesture him to straighten as much as you could without it being seen as defiance against one of the crème de la crème of nobility. “I assure you I am no such thing, Your Grace.”
Just then he kisses the back of your hand in greeting, “Please, call me ‘Nanami’- or ‘Kento’, should you wish, ma’am.”
“It- it is beneath you to be designated that by me-”
“I insist.”
And if everyone here was watching the upending chaos before, then they simply couldn’t remove their eyes by now.
Whilst Nanami - still bowed - only tilted his head up with a smile, looking at you through his long, pale lashes.
You lift the humble fabrics of your working dress, a thick, dark-colored wool that marked you different from the tittering daughters of the upper-class. “B-but I am only in service to her highness.”
“Is that so?” And you’re breathing a sigh of relief as he stands back to his broad, proud figure- finally, he’s understood and would prance off as all young bachelors did to- “For I only gaze upon the most beautiful lady that has graced the floor this evening, and my blessed gaze.”
What?
“Have a charmed night-” Nanami has a dimple- he has a dimple that winks from the side of his grin as he turns and nods down with the velvety brim of his hat. “-My Lady.”
My Lady.
Utahime’s hands clap down on your rigid shoulders. “Sole heir to the Nanami fortune. Rich, handsome, aware when to cease talking.” Her low whistle rings in the air- tinged with such scandal, “Fiend seize it! I should hasten to practice your new title then, Duchess Nanami.”
“You have a lamentable deficiency in wit-”
Utahime, reputably sensible tutor to the offspring of the royal ladies-in-waiting, and known blockhead around your little trio. “And you have a lamentable deficiency in eyesight.” Sighing, “The look he bestowed upon you, my dear…”
“Or would it be ‘My Lordliness.’” Shoko croons in as well, sipping on a flute of bubbly champagne definitely not meant for her. “Oh-so-beautiful wife of Duke Nanami-”
“Attend to your duties!”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
It has come to my attention - and certainly to that of all the ladies who frequent the halls of Mayfair - something for which you should do well to brace your hearts. Whispers spread that the most eligible bachelor of the season, gentle Duke Nanami Kento, erupted quite the scandal during her majesty’s garden soirée by fixing his much sought-after attentions upon none other than a humble chambermaid.
Yes, you read that correctly, dear reader. For someone reputed in the upper echelons of society for being as stoic as he is handsome, Duke Nanami shares his first spark of interest as he searches for a bride this season.
So heed this author’s advice; as the famed noble resides in the royal palace for the rest of his stay, keep an eye about. For you may just be lucky to be named Duchess of the House of Nanami.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
.
.
.
“This is preposterous!”
“It is absolute truth-”
“It is a sham is what it is.” You’re nearly crying out as you shove Lady Whistledown’s latest scandal sheet back into Shoko’s arms. “He- the duke never fixed his attentions on me.”
And your best friend didn’t spare you a word, only a long, narrowed stare of her intelligent eyes that made your stomach twist.
Did Nanami fix his- no. While you and Shoko huddled into a hidden alcove within the sprawling walls of the palace to read the latest on-dit gossip, you smacked yourself back into reality.
The nobility often did have nothing much to entertain themselves with outside of fanning scandal. He was powerful. He was attractive. And he has as many prospects as there were knights in this palace, surely!
Because - of course, for the universe did love to laugh at your expense - he’d taken residency in the palace until the season ended, as one of the Queen’s guests.
Days later you could count every look, every smile, every bow- goodness, there was that one time that you’d been placing cutlery along the winding royal dinner table. Only for Nanami’s engulfing fingertips to brush against yours and make your skin scorch with his whisper, “Thank you, my lady.”
You’re almost befogged why that wasn’t splashed across Lady Whistledown’s writing- chambermaid loses her wits, hear ye!
“Wh-whichever way one looks at it.” You’re stammering out, realizing that you’d been quiet for much too long. “His grace is simply raising some kind of mischief.”
“Certainly.” She was not certain.
“Just you wait- by the end of this season, Duke Nanami will be married to a lady of high standing and I shall–”
“Be disengaged?” That wasn’t the monotone, sarcastic voice of your longest friend.
It was something masculine, something amused. And it was emanating right from the open space of the corridor reading up to the alcove.
You don’t have to turn your head to realize who it is - Nanami Kento.
Though, you do turn anyway. And you almost regret it when you’re stuck by the sheer intensity of his stare, of his face leaned down so close. So intimately that you can’t stop yourself from flitting a sharp glance down at his plush, curving pink lips.
Perhaps Lady Whistledown wasn’t all that wrong - especially about him being handsome…
“Apologies for startling you, ma’am.” Nanami cuts your traitorous thoughts short by slowly tilting something flat and cream-colored in one hand. “Permit me to explain- will you hopefully be disengaged to attend the upcoming Royal Diamond Ball? Perhaps?”
You’re bowing, confused. “Y-yes, Your Grace. I shall be of service during her highness’s ball.”
It was only the most anticipated assembly this entire year, the annual gathering right in the Queen’s Great Hall to announce the diamond of the season.
And in only a week, every single servant of the palace was to work themselves to the bone - welcoming, chaperoning, making note of the newly-made unions to titter over much later.
“Ah, allow me to clarify.” Rubbing a free hand behind his neck, the famed Nanami Kento almost looks…sheepish. “What I meant was- might you be disengaged to…” Staring right at you, hypnotic. “-join me?”
“…What?”
“Of course, it would be no trouble at all if you can not spare a moment, I should be happy to merely converse with you.”
It slips out- “Th-that’s madness. All those ladies-in-waiting-”
Then he’s clasping your hands, he’s pressing the invitation in- but, more importantly, he’s holding you. “And yet, I would like nothing more than the pleasure of your company.” Close. Too close. His breath wafts your lips, “I hope this is not too forward of me. But should you let yourself, trust that I will take care of everything, My Lady.”
And just as soon as you think he’ll kiss you - how uncouth (though, you admittedly wouldn’t complain) - he bends at the waist to gently grasp your hand.
“Everything.” Whispering a soft kiss into the back, Nanami lingers his lips - his gaze - for a long while. “I await eagerly for your word.”
He’s gone almost as softly, and sweetly, as he’d appeared.
Taking with him the scent of golden caramel, and the racing beat of your heart. You swear you’d have been stuck within the alcove staring behind his muscular back until nightfall had it not been for Shoko.
“So…” She plasters a wry smile once you’re turning her way, invitation trembling in your grip. And you’re noticing that upon its envelope dazzles swooping calligraphy of your name, almost certainly written by him. “Would you prefer ‘Your Gracefulness’ or ‘Duchess Nanami’?”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
The ton is abuzz as her majesty the Queen’s Royal Diamond Ball nears closer. And the sole heir to the house of Nanami is certainly no exception.
This author hears directly from a reputable source within her highness’s Chamberlain Office that Duke Nanami Kento was uncharacteristically fastidious in securing himself an extra invitation. Most claim this as confirmation of his grace’s dedication to finding a bride, most also claim they’d seen the aforementioned, infamous chambermaid being handed it.
Take care of artifice; but such intrigue of a commoner attending the most prestigious ball of the year may be much more than my readers may be able to bear.
So, ladies, grab your finest gowns and shortest shawls to make haste for a chance to snag the eligible bachelor’s heart once and for all this season! And I shall, of course, be in attendance to report on all the scandals that unfold.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
.
.
.
“I look…”
“Enchanting.” Utahime nods.
“I was thinking more toad-eaten.” You have to mentally remind yourself to close your maw and do your very best not to gape at the reflection in the decadent mirror displayed in front of you.
Despite your words, even you couldn’t deny that the deep, sapphire-encrusted gown you were donning made you look every bit the noblewoman that you weren’t. Its Empire waist snugly crowning the flowing muslin, sleeves fashionably puffed, with tasteful gold jewelry that you wouldn’t have so much as dared to look at let alone be dolled-up into.
It was made for you.
Quite literally. Utahime had been the one to write your letter of acceptance to Duke Nanami (after shrieking herself hoarse in excitement first.) And through a week of hushed conversation with his grace, the ball evening had crept up closer and you had an army of modistes and maids knocking at your servants’ quarters.
Scrubbing you raw, painting your face, slipping you into a dress he’d ordered tailored to your exact measurements- how did he even know?
Shoko had to let you use her office, and she was deriving her payment back for it by beaming at the sight of you. “And I was thinking more Duchess of the house of Nanami-”
“Cease!”
“Ah, so you observe? You are noble in all but title already.”
Whilst Shoko and Utahime - the traitors - burst out into peels of laughter, you’re left fiddling with the silken coverings of your gloves. “You…you don’t suppose he’s making a mockery out of me, after all?”
That makes them quieten down, and Utahime hugs your shoulders in a way that thoroughly displeases the attendants and their ruffles. “You shine everyone else down, my dear. He should be lucky to have such a lovely date this evening.”
“Quite so.” Shoko nods, “And should he dare fool around, I have long sought a specimen upon whom to test my latest scalpel-”
“Shoko!”
“Do let me join.”
“U-um, ehem.” The tense, honestly frightened clearing of Itadori, his protégé’s, throat cuts your morbid conversation short. And as he looks at you, the poor boy blushes- whispering something shapes strangely like a little—“Divine.”
Before you know it, you’re being escorted down the high-ceiling corridor just as you’d always watched the sisters and wives of nobility being guided so.
It’s a pathway more than familiar to you, yet seems so foreign once you approach the grand, imposing double doors opened to the ballroom. It was a magnificent thing; one of the Queen’s proudest possessions - with diamond chandeliers that dripped yellow light like a second sun, and a grand polished staircase kissing down from the doorway to a dance floor at the bottom.
Faint orchestra and chatter tainting the sparkling atmosphere, you breathe in nervously and even the flower-scented air seems too expensive for you.
Itadori hands the chief footman your invitation - something that makes the latter’s bushy eyebrows raise as he recognizes your name. And then the boy squeezes your hand before he leaves you off at the edge of the entrance, “His grace will be utterly bewitched, My Lady. He already is.”
Oh- what?
In the blink of an eye, he’s melted back into the crowd of other youngsters networking outside. And with nearly every guest already inside - you could only descend.
Down.
Down.
Down, the massive carpeted staircase- and it felt like every pair of eyes were on you. Most stopping mid-dance. Some whispering behind their fans.
And one, Nanami Kento, staring at you breathless and awestruck where he’d been politely conversing with the Queen herself, and a gaggle of entranced admirers. But he only had eyes for you.
Almost frozen. Almost shocked-
Enough so that your satin-covered feet were just a few steps away from reaching down to the marble ballroom floor before you’re thinking of turning right back around and running-
“You.” A hand on your wrist, a soft pair of lips on the back of your hand. Nanami Kento had broken through just about every rule of aristocracy to storm through packs of nobles and catch your wrist before you escaped.
And when he kisses you, it felt like he was finally breathing for the first time after years. “I had- I had not dared to hope that you would truly appear.” Staring at you through thick, golden lashes as he bends deeper into a bow. “You have honored me with the presence of the most beautiful lady to ever grace these floors.”
Languidly, you’re twisting your body back to face him - to face the crowd - and the way that the distracted orchestra has to begin their slow quadrille from the top, several teary debutantes looking between you and Nanami before shoving their faces into their fans, and even Lord Naoya was casting great attention.
Muttering.
‘Might I inquire as to that lady? Does she have prospects-’
‘Do tell- is it true what Lady Whistledown’s paper said- Bollocks! I wanted to bed Duke Nanami.’
‘My, the chambermaid? The scandal! Oh, but they are a most remarkably striking pair…’
You’re gasping when you catch a glimpse of her highness shifting on her throne to peer over curiously. Nanami had authority- but this?
Gulping, “Is this…is this folly really alright?”
“Oh, My Lady.” He fixes you with a lingering look, “For you, nothing would be folly. May I have this dance?”
.
.
.
“M-mmm, Your Grace-”
“What did I tell you, My Lady?” Nanami’s hot, simmering pant tingles your lips as he’s lavishing you with the swirling edge of his tongue. “Call me Kento.”
And you didn’t have any reason not to.
Well, first of all you two were far, far from any of the prying eyes of the ball by now - tucked away inside the empty, luxurious royal office allocated to him by the Queen. And then he had you pushed against the corner of the wide mahogany table in the middle- hands fisted into your gown, mouth searing against yours.
Nanami flicks the slimy edge of his tastebuds between your spit-glossed maw and groans once you’re eagerly sucking. Gasping. Heaving. “O-open your mouth.”
You’d just made the stern, stoic Duke Nanami stutter. And the thought itself is enough for you to knit your brows together and unhinge your jaw even further, “Like this?”
“Wider.”
“Mmm- like-” A glittery ribbon of saliva slicks down the corner of your lips the moment he’s parting his plump, puckered mouth and kissing you in a way you’d never even heard of. “-this?”
So primal. So heated. He’s huffing out a clouded breath through his flared nostrils, and you’re all but melting with each sleazy scour of his tongue.
“Yeah, wider. Lest I be thought ungentlemanly-” With a thumb latching onto the point of your chin, he has one hand angling your face, and the other curving ‘round your waist to support your weakening knees easily. “Suck on my tongue, ma’am.”
Kissing you and kissing you like he’s parched and every drop of sweet, syrupy water was just drooling from your mouth.
Your whirling head barely even realizes when Nanami has you softly falling back onto the frigid surface of the table. Splayed out completely. His beefy forearm eases the impact, mouth decorating with a few strings of spittle when he’s pulling back with a dampened pwah!
Lungs still clouding out in scorching breezes, “If you would allow it, My Lady.” And you’re whimpering when the doughy mountain of his palm comes rovering down your front. Not resting for a split-second until it was right between your poor legs- “I confess, not a morsel crossed my lips throughout the ball- and I find myself quite famished.”
You’re gasping, trying to close your legs- but it’s like his palm was glued to your drivelling core. Hungry. Desperate. “B-but it is beneath your touch to do such a thing-”
“You’re never beneath my touch.” You swear you catch him look down at your clothed cunt and gulp. Fawny irises dark and dilated, “Never.”
And almost as if he’s proving his point, his free, left hand clasps around your own and flies down gingerly to the absolutely massive bulging tenting Nanami’s trousers.
Oh.
He groans.
Oh.
And he’s looking at you through narrowed, predatory eyes- words so gentle even though the way the thick cylindrical curve of his erection was anything but. “See how you make me?” And with a teary nod, your hips find themselves bucking- “Witness how you- ah.”
Rutting.
So carnally, with your gown and chemise falling back, it makes Nanami snap his half-lidded eyes down at you like he’d just stumbled upon a five-course meal. A predator blood-thirsty for prey.
Drooling in a thin, slow trail, he hastily wipes it away like a gentleman. He wasn’t just famished - he was starved.
And by the way his touch shakes ever-so-slightly on your body, it’s a damn miracle that he hasn’t just lost it right now. “We wouldn’t want to waste your talents on just my hand, ma’am.”
Before you can even begin to wonder what his cryptic words meant, Nanami’s making use of the years of his noble training in combat.
Flipping your two positions, laying himself out on the far table, clinging onto your squirming waist to seat you right above his heavily respiring mouth. With your chemise tugged off with one hand, he’s stealing a good look at your naked, geysering pussy and moaning–
“I-I really am quite famished.”
And his voice breaks.
Making you jerk your hips in a slight gyration- unsure where to rest. “Wh-what are you going to- oh.” Whimpering, once he’s planting a firm kiss near the inner parts of your thighs where slick travelled like an adhesive sheen. Only pushing your gown to bunch upwards, “Please!”
“I shall be having my dinner, My Lady.” Lurching you ever-closer, he had your knees straddling each side of his face and it still wasn’t close enough. “Bon appétit.”
All five of his coarse fingerpads digging into the cheeks of your ass, he flicks his wrist and drags you straight into the gaping cavern of his maw. His glistening tongue was propped out just right to spank the surface of your pussylips on his tastebuds.
“A-ah.” Thighs trembling, it feels so strangely and erotically wet with him salivating all over.
He feels a slippery splosh of your juices leak from your slit and straight into his gullet, the creamy taste flooding up his tongue. “O-ohhh–” Savoring. “Has anyone ever made you feel like hah- this?”
“N-not at all, Your Gr-”
“Kento.”
“K-Kento–!” It’s all that you can squeal when the flexible tendril of his muscle crowns your hole and you’re seeing stars. His tongue is just so long n’ girthy that it makes your poor, filthy entrance clench when he’s slipping just an inch inside. “Fuck- n-ngh- fuck–!”
“Charmed you’re enjoying, ma’am.” And he sounds so genuinely elated - breathy, shaken - at the pretty moans falling from your mouth like music.
Though, it’s not enough.
It might never be enough, so the duke can only prop up slightly on one of his strong elbows just to angle his mouth into the perfect French kiss with your cunt. Slapping his tongue right over the puffy folds of your pussy, he’s licking and licking each stray bead of slick bubbling out of you until you’re all tender and glossy.
Only then is he wafting his right thumb vertically down your cute slit, “Though, not to overwork my dear lady- but might you mind lending me a…hand?”
You’re snapping your head down so fast that your chin knocks against your heaving chest, “Wh-what do you need, Your- ah, Kento?”
“Oh, nothing much, my darling. Just…” Tilting his head, Nanami’s rendering you stupidly dizzy each time he twists the callused knob of his thumb in and out of your folds. “Spit in my mouth.”
“Wh-would that be appropriate?” He was filthy.
Feral. “I would love nothing more.”
And he meant it- he truly, completely, and utterly meant it. You’re watching his prominent Adam’s apple bob greedily once the bead of pearly saliva bubbles between your lips and dead-on into his mouth. Only swirlin’ inside for a mere second before spitting right back into your polished cunt. Hard.
Letting the fat wad slip between your lips, and Nanami doesn’t waste a single second before pushing his rugged middle finger inside your hole.
“There we go.” Gazing in pure lecherous wonderment at the way your needy ring of muscle was swallowing him up, every single solid inch right down to his mountainous knuckle. What a tight fit. “There- there, atta girl.”
“It just feels so- ngh- so-” You don’t even know how to control yourself, hips jerking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until the globes of your ass strike his chin and make you keen. “Ah!”
“Eeeeeasy does it, ma’am.”
And he’s still grunting your name out with that title- even as he’s pryin’ apart your bloated lips and sticking in yet another digit. The fat ends of his index swiping across, engraving his family signet ring against your very walls-
“This is only a prelude, darling.” You’re flinching at the chilling scrape of the band on his second finger, and he grins. Glueing that very grin against your throbbing clit, he spits again- “Only just getting started.”
“Fuck- fuck!” Going against every policy you’d learned in polite society, you’re throwing your hips back and gyrating out looong sloppy drags of your cunt.
Straight from the treacly base of your pussy to where Nanami was nuzzling your sensitive clit with his nose. Again. And again and again- the duke’s kiss-bitten lips were burning and he’s still craning his neck for more. Panting, “Make a mess of me, My Lady. S’what I’m hah- here for.”
“N-ngh, it feels so gooood, Kento.”
And you don’t even have any inhibitions about that little slip-up of titles anymore, back arching into a perfect curvy ‘S’ shape at the way he’s salivating all over your pussy.
Rovering the ridged edges of his tongue in a cutesy lil’ heart over your clit, pressing down just enough pressure on it like a button. And it’s exactly what he needs to make you gasp, your hole winking- so that he can easily slide-slide-sliiide a third finger in with a resonating squelch!
“So wet. So divine.” He’s groaning at the sight of you suckling in on him and all his inches. Fitted in so deeply that your orifice is struggling to even squeeze, thighs clamping over his sweaty temples. Feeling inside you. Searching. “I must ask that you ruin me, darlin’. Ride me faster.”
Thighs aching, breaths shortening. His metal glasses thump the scorching front of your cunt and you whine.
“Faster.”
“P-pleeease!”
It’s like he’s ravaging your pussy with his thrusts, blond brows furrowing in so tight as he’s leaning in even closer. Tuggin’ apart your folds, he’s discovering every sleek, leaking inch of your cunt like he didn’t have enough time. Never would.
And it’s with only spank after spank of his metallic ring that he’s somehow skidding it right down your saccharine walls and directly into your g-spot. “H-here.”
“There.” Even with the kaleidoscope of tears dazzling your vision, you can make out the completely pussydrunken grin that smears across his face.
Rutting up against the swollen slope of your pussy, he laps up every sodden ounce of slick that escapes you once he hits his slimy target. “With greater fervour now, My Lady.” Your throat clogs up every time he reels his fingerpads down to the curvaceous edges and slams back in. “Harder-”
You grip onto the straight ends of his deltoids, flexing with muscular strength. “I-I’m not sure if that is possible-”
“Do not be gentle with me.” And it almost sounds like a command. Though he’s acting upon it like it’s a complete beg- swerving his palm to sticky clammily onto your left ass cheek and pushing you. “Let yourself hah- go. Give me all of you, I beg.”
You had the most powerful, stoic duke of all the season begging.
And he needed it- he was toying with the lacy circle of your garter and snapping it down onto your flesh with a flick of his fingers.
Only to make you wetter.
So wet with sappy, meady slick that he’s gulping down like his favorite liquor- splashing down between his lips and making him more n’ more inebriated by the second.
Glasses still on. Pumping his hips up into the empty air, all he could do was fuck his fingers into your hotly-glossed walls and pretend he’s doing it all with his aching cock. “Do you think you can handle a fourth, darling?”
Gasping, “P-perhaps-”
“Then…brace yourself…”
You couldn’t brace yourself. You couldn’t even intake a steady breath even if you tried.
Because while you’re perching your dripping pussy near the line of his straight nosebridge, Nanami’s slipping in the coiled edge of his lengthy tongue. Not his fingers. His tongue.
In addition to all he was rummaging your melty insides with, he swabs over the texture of his tastebuds down where you were the most delicate and strokes his tongue inside—
“Sh-shit- shit shit shit-” Your mouth juts out into such an adorable pout that makes the man beneath you thrusts his rugged hips upwards. “I-I think I’m…close, Kento.”
“S’that so? Gonna cum?”
So difficult to even breathe when he’s strobing his fingertips down your bulging g-spot, already battered and bruised with the slamming impacts. With the way he swats the side of your thighs stinging with your garter, “Mhm—hck!”
Probin’ every velvety nook and cranny with his touch, Nanami can’t have you on his weeping cock so he’s twisting all his three- now four fingers, and his tongue inside until his wrist aches. His jaw strained. Tastebuds raw, just as much as your pussy was.
“The orchestra is playing, you can be as loud as your heart desires. Say the words, ma’am- I beg of you to please just hah! say the words.”
It makes your vulnerable lips tremble just to formulate the next few scandalous words, never before having been so fucked-out. “Y-yes. Yes, please. Gonna…cum.”
And you swear that the ever-sensible Nanami Kento is gurgling out a wet giggle right between the space of your puffy pussylips, sending white-hot shockwaves down your bowed spine. “I would be-” He wetly gasps out, before slapping his handsome features right back down.
Addicted. He can’t even move.
“I would- hah- I would be quite-” And his spectacles dig in deep until the metal surface sizzles against your core, pushing and pushing himself back. His tongue’s going wild, stirring around with the wettest slurps. “I would be quite offended if you didn’t, my love.”
He doesn’t just mutter the words - he’s biting them right ‘round the perky knob of your clit. Teething his glinting canines just hard enough while he’s slipping his tongue back out - right on time, right at the very second to tastefully receive the way you throw your head back and squirt.
Hot. Hard.
It feels like your entire body’s caught on fire and no matter how much you’re slobbering your hips to the front n’ back, it only makes the sensation worse.
Your eyes water, mouth hanging open stupidly. “Yes- yes yes yes yes- I’m cumming-” Thighs trembling down upon either side of his eardrums at the friction- tight, and he doesn’t even care. “I-I’m cumming.”
“Squirting, My Lady.” Nanami corrects you, gently. Though, it’s a fucking miracle he even had the patience to considering that he’s gasping and panting for air but only pushin’ himself closer to the oodles of cute slick seeping out from you.
He doesn’t even care.
Doesn’t even need air- not when he can perk his head just right and push against your thighs. Wide maw unfastened gluttonously ajar to let the thick trickles of sap drip into his mouth after each zap! of bliss. Drowning him.
Mouth sagging further open, lungs screaming at him. So many bucketloads of syrupy sweet sap that sprays his features until they’re all glittery. “Squirt- oh. You’re- ngh-”
And something’s breaking at the back of his throat when he’s roaming his dexterous, looong tongue between the plumpness of your pussylips, and you’re taking him in so easily.
Overstimulated till you can let off only whines n’ sobs when he’s lazily dabbing his way inside your quivering hole.
“I’m so ruined, Kento.” Riding and riding. He wanted you to use him and you were- “It feels s-so strange.” The peak of your high was one big wave, and it tingles underneath your skin and makes your eyes roll.
Never - even during all those long, lonely nights with your hand slipped underneath the covers - did it ever feel like this. Never were you leaking your essence this much, with your sappy juices falling all down the sides of his rosy red lips. “Never f-felt this ngh- way before, Ken.”
And that makes him groan.
Slowly, gingerly - almost like it hurt for him to detach his hungry lips with yours, he’s pulling you off with one hand stuck to your hips. Surging backwards with- no, he can’t surge backwards.
The duke’s planting one more firm kiss onto your cunt, open-mouthed. And then jerking back- and forth. Another kiss. Another repeat until about five times later and he’s finally ready to say goodbye to your sweet, overspilling pussy.
But he’s not done with his little show- oh, the moment you’re finally spying a good, long look at him, you think you might cum again from just that.
Because Nanami Kento was ruined - blond hair astray, spectacles drooping down his nose, your pussy juices worn all over from the apples of his blushin’ cheeks down to his jawline like a lewd medal.
Waterfalling between the curves of his pectorals, gleaming wherever his pale skin was flushed. He looked as if there was a part of him that was feverish - barely even registering what he’s doing once he’s tugging off his slick-glazed glasses and sucking those pearly beads off of the frame.
Licking his completely wet glasses clean, Nanami tilts his head with a grin like he’s never been more accomplished. “I only live to please you, ma’am.”
“But that’s not fair.” You huff out a stubborn breath, shuffling down his tall body to try and cup the bulging outline between his legs that almost looked painful. “I, too, wish to-”
“Tonight is not the night, I’m hah- afraid.” He’s cleanly cutting off both your plea and your palm. Instead bringing up your shaky hand to kiss the inside of your wrist. Gloves off, his eyes primal and dead set on you. “I could never ask you to get on your knees. Tonight, I only ask that you let me drive you wild, darling. Let me devour you whole.”
And he meant it.
Oh, within sultry seconds Nanami was moving himself off of the tabletop and standing adjacent. Tall. Strong. Not letting you lift a single finger before he loops two hands underneath your thighs and draaaags you to the very edge.
Moistened thighs pasting to his obliques, “Pray, allow me to see to it. To everything.”
And you just wanted to rip the gossamer fabric of your dress off, but Nanami was oh-so-delicate with his hands all over you. Even though he’s fitting himself animalistically between your lewd legs and rutting-
“Why-” His breath catches once your petticoat and stocking are peeled off, both thumbs spreading your swollen pussylips like a lotus. Completely exposed now. “-hello, my love.”
Your mouth parts when you’re realizing that he’s not just talking to you- he’s talking to your cunt. Maw stretched into a smile so utterly lovin’, Nanami keeps that same dopey grin on as he’s leering his face down to spit.
Again.
“Please, Kento.” You’re bucking your hips up impatiently, still shaky with the aftershocks of your high but you wanted more more more. Needed it. “P-put it in.”
He groans- oh, was it him that taught your sweet mouth to say those words. Corrupting you with every second he’s drawing soppy circles on your wet outer pussy, the duke can only tear down his dress coat and his trousers. Careful with yours but he was ripping his own clothes off. “As you wish, my darling.”
It’s just then that he’s finishing tugging down his sensually tight breeches—and you’re drinking in all of him. And fuck- was it a sight only for your most light-skirted dreams.
Because Nanami Kento was naturally chiseled, to the point where you could count each of his eight washboard abs. Every dip and muscular curve of his hardened front just tensed when the cool air hit him, leading a path of gold along his middle.
A light happy trail down, down, down to where his red n’ aching cock sat heavily, so hard that his bulging tip looked just about ready to burst. Eight maybe even nine inches long, and so girthy that it made your mouth drop as if you wanted him fitted inside already.
You’re watching as his pre-glazed tip only coats an even more glistening layer of sap at your sinful attention. Trickling all the way down to his tightening balls, “You’re staring—”
“C-can you blame me?”
“I suppose not.” And the warmth of his towering proximity hits your body like a furnace, making you squirm restlessly when Nanami’s leaning over the edge of the table to tap-tap-tap his thick cockhead down between your legs. Rock-hard. “Brace yourself, ma’am, mhm?”
Then he’s splitting you apart-
And then he’s arching his sculpted shoulders to cage you underneath him and swearing–“Fuck.”
The first time ever that you’re hearing him spew profanities, just barely slipping the pointed globe of his shaft past the texture of your tight, hot cunt was ruining him.
“I-I apologize, My Lady.” It was making him gasp, “I apologize, how uncouth of my character. I didn’t mean to-” It was making him urgently snap his head down in panic and watch with primal awe as he ruts- deeper. “F-fuck!”
“Oh my god-” You’re throwing your head back at the pressure, only to be grappled back in by Nanami just so that he can sliiide his lips across yours. Open-mouthed. “H-how are you going in so deep-”
“I cannot help myself.” Grunting, Nanami doesn’t even feel the stinging pain when he’s slamming his capped knee down on the plane of the desk. Angling his slender hips to shove the slimy crown of his tip into your gooey entrance, “It’s simply- it’s just-”
And Nanami Kento, so articulate and calm, doesn’t have the damn words anymore.
Stuttering, falling over his panic to thrust in and in between your trembling legs. He feels the cute rimming circle of your cunt tighten ‘round his fattened girth, and snaps his head down in panic. Spitting. “I-I must have it fit inside, darling. Please, allow me just the tip, at least.”
“Will- ngh! will it even-”
“Of course.” And he’ll apologize for interrupting your sentence later - much, much later.
But for right now, the only thing that sparks in his fuzzy mind was to raise his toned left forearm up to your drivelling maw. Where you start gnawing wetly down on his skin, he spits-
“Bite down. Harder.” Hips sloppy, knee hiking up even further to maze his flared cock inside. You feel your elastic hole stretch a wider diameter as he’s slipping yet another solid inch in. “Come now, harder. You can ngh- take it.”
“It’s going in.” And you don’t know whether you wanted to slam your hips forwards or jerk vulnerably at the sheer weight of his body leaning down.
He breathes, “Yes- yes.” The breeze of his pants fanning your face, making your entire body erupt in flames by the time he’s squeezing past the tender slit carved onto his shaft. Cementing the bulging edge of his cocktip to the roof of your pussy with a raw sluuurp. “I have you. shall not let you fall- bite.”
And it’s all that you can do.
Because Nanami’s fucking you into office table like he wanted you to splinter straight through.
The half-lidded peripherals of his eyes latching onto where you were speared open like he was watching his personal show, “I hope you know…I’m no- hah- easily satiated man, my love.”
“Wh-what do you- fuck!”
Just on cue, he’s slamming the lines of his hardened hipbones against your inner thighs and making you recoil back near the edge of the table. Dangerously. Barely even giving you a second to pick yourself back up before he reaches over to lace both his rugged palms on top of your clammy scalp. Intertwining. Holding you there.
‘Just the tip’ he said. And yet here he was, pinning you down just to bully his vein-covered length between your snugly stubborn lips.
“Do not think to run from me-”
“Could never- ngh- could never-” You’re babbling easily at this point, because the curvy trails that his veins left along your walls were only driving you mad. “Just want more, Kento.”
“…Pardon?”
You blink your teary eyes up at him in a way that makes his throbbing girth fatten up, every ounce of blood in the duke’s head rushing to the ballooned-up knob of his tip. “M-more, I say-”
“More.” He’s echoing out, more to himself. Higher-pitched. Almost tasting the pure need in that one word, and the very repetition makes him half-thrust straight into the goopy depths of your pussy. “More…more.”
Nanami pants out a husky giggle—“More.” Oh, he’s just so in love with the way your cunt was struggling to swallow him whole n’ yet squeezing as you try. He leans back down and spits once more, thoroughly ungentleman-like. “Forgive my haste. You just m-make- me-”
And you swear you hear the tail end of that particular sentence break off into a whine once he’s finally, finally bottoming out.
So sensitive that all it takes is one, two, three lucious swabs of his drivelling orifice to get you to cum. Throat torn with hoarse moans, head throwing back- “I’m- once more…?”
“F-fuck. You are.” Easing in the girth of his cockhead to be spanked against your cervix and make you see stars. Nanami’s already flooding your pussy with a pour of his scalding hot precum. “What a wonder this enchanting body is for me.”
Again. He has you orgasming all over him again.
He’s feeling just a twinge of disappointment in himself for not making you squirt yet another time- but the night was still young. And your sappy cunt was already so wet, with beads of sparkly juices smearing down his happy trail every time he’s whipping his hips forwards.
Slam after slam.
Your entire body twitches with startles of euphoria, mewling. “Th-there’s so much- so- ah.”
Ah, how he would love to reach his hands over and wipe away the glistening tears streaming down your pretty face.
But no, right now he had them locked on top of your head and was using the leverage to pound you stupid. Harder. Spiking the peaks of your high with each thorough probe of his stout, mushroom tip. “I know. I know I know I-”
CRACK!
Oh.
The desk.
It takes a split-second for both your hazed minds to realize that the ancient mahogany table was sagging on one end, Nanami’s raw natural strength too much for it to handle. And then not even that for him to pull out his cock with a wet plop!
Manhandling you down onto the hardwood floors like a doll, on all fours. It’s such a sinfully new angle to have him looming behind you, tense core plastered against your back once his lengthy cock siiiinks in-
Orgasm still dwindling, entire body shaking. “Fuck- nghhh- fuck, Kento–!”
“You are doing so well, darling.” One hand glues onto the side of your left ass cheek and tugs you back down with his grip. The other carefully rovers just underneath your tummy, “M-makes it so easy to wish to hah- give away to my inclinations.”
A primal sob wrenches from your throat when you’re feeling the slimy drag of his globular, pointed tip. Drawin’ out a zig-zag down and down where you were most delicate, until he reaches the target of your cervix, spank! “Th-then proceed- I beg of you.”
You didn’t know what those guttural words would mean. You didn’t even know if you would make it out alive- but right now you’re starting to doubt it once Nanami gasps.
Once he’s slamming one of his flattened feets by the side of your thigh, deeper. The raw, sensual feeling so much that he can’t control himself. Rutting and rutting away as if he’s gone feral—
“Is this to- to your liking then, ma’am?” The duke’s gurgling out through a translucent froth of spittle, splat-splattering right down the middle of your arched spine. “H-how about now?”
He shutters his eyes furiously and rams the remaining few inches of his cock. Bottomed out and still trying to probe even deeper inside, so all he can do is plant his sock-covered foot over the top of your head and press. Bending. “N-now?”
Proudly, Nanami dares to snicker as his left thumb brushes down the plump, roaming tummy bulge he was fucking into you. Pushin’ down just on the curvy tip of where you could feel his split-ended cockhead thrashing your poor insides. “And I should love to hah! make this gorgeous cunt mine- make you mine.”
And he was a man of action.
It was high time you realized that, because within exactly three repeated swats of his plummy, rose-colored shaft- he’s discovering your g-spot. He’s kissing that bullseye with a looong, soppy glide.
“Though…that is what I am doing, that should be no hngh- sham.”
Feeling all the crimson rush to your head, he presses down just as his aching hot cock presses in. “It’s- it’s just- fuck.”
Faster. Harder. So sloppy that the planks of the floorboards start to sing out in singing creaks of protest, soiling with a trickle of syrupy precum and slick being poured from straight between your legs. Constantly.
Rubbing himself swollen n’ redly raw on the cavern of your tight pussy, Nanami doesn’t even want to blink to break his staring contest with your bulging pussylips.
Milking himself.
The sweetest smooch for your sweetest spot, Nanami coos as you shake- struggling to keep your weakened arms straight as you hold yourself up in this lecherous position. “Come now.” Your overstimulated vision spots with pure white as he darts the hand at your stomach to loop around your throat like a necklace - a headlock. Springing you upright—“I have you, My Lady.”
Spittle waterfalls in embarrassing bucketloads from your mouth and stains the front of his beefy forearm, squeezing your airway. Dilated pupils swirlin’ stupidly every time his strawberry divot circles the entrance to your womb. Squealing, “Y-you…ngh!…mm–”
“Hmmm—?”
“You- hck! please, Ken-”
His warm, ravaging cock was so big that the constant stretch of your walls finally had you stupid. Your brain nothing but a pulp of melted mush every time he snaps his clammy hips to your ass with a stinging pap! of skin-on-skin.
“Me…I’m-” And it’s like each time the puffy veins decorating each side of his overworked shaft gets squeezed, Nanami finds himself seeing stars. Sweaty, bulging biceps tightening on your throat even harder- you scream. “I have you, My Lady- I’m yours.”
Your hole gaping, thighs wet. Just taking everything he’s giving as he finally cums—and you do, too.
Though, you’re not registering it at first.
Not when that leaky hole at the very end of his cherry-red shaft pipes out a creamy icing of cum, layering thickly across every inch and cranny of your rummaged insides. Pump after pump- each one has your pathetic pussy overspilling with so many knotted wads of seed, and yet he always had so much more more more-
“O-oh.” He’s grunting out, feeling a particularly big splash of sap at the base of his cock- and it’s only then that you’re both realizing that you’d just squirted. All over again.
It’s traveling down like a flood between your thighs, painting a glistening ring on the tawny curls at his hilt. Soaking him utterly n’ completely that Nanami finds each thrust to let off the most primal sluuuurp!
“You- you really are the most beautiful hck! lady that has graced this Earth, my love.” Your gaze, your smile, that soul. It was your soul he found most beautiful, the instant he laid his eyes upon you.
He simply knew.
“Y-yet, I’m a chambermaid-”
“I care not.”
“You’re just-” It’s a damn wonder that you even could still speak by now, because every rubbin’ massage of his fat cock only left your mind blank. “-saying- mmm- saying that, Kento.”
“I fear you are mistaken.”
His veins indent your walls with lightning bolts, his cum cobwebbed across your spongy cervix and was splashing after each jackhammer.
Nanami drills into you low and slow now just to help your dripping wet cunt suck him dry. Loving the cute, velvety way you were clamping around his rovering shaft tiredly, “Only allow me to prove my ngh- heart.”
You’re so fucked-out that you’re barely even flinching when he’s finally freeing you of his sinful headlock. Taking mere nanoseconds to pluck that infamous House of Nanami signet ring off of his finger- and pushing it straight down the ring finger on your left.
An engagement. A promise.
“I shall get you another ring- one that is proper, one you deserve, when- if you shall have me, My Lady.” The smoky tone of Nanami Kento’s bass tickles the side of your stinging throat, almost a purr. “I swear it upon my word-” He guides that very same boneless hand of yours to cup his plush, thumping left pectoral. “-and my heart, to forever keep you the most beautiful lady upon this Earth. You shall never want, for I pledge to you my body, my soul for your happiness.”
You whimper, thighs still shaking with your high. Tears slipping down your face that he kisses away, “I-if you’ll have me, Your Grace.”
“Kento.”
“Kento.”
And by the time the last of his wadded ounces of cum had finished spraying out, Nanami pulls his hips back with a bellowing squelch that makes your body heat flare. Such a creamy mess of ivory glossing your pussylips that he’s taking one glimpse at and gasping-
You mewl, “K-Ken, what are you-”
“It seems…” He drawls, manhandling you spread-out onto your back with his sculptured hands. Snaking his face down to mouth a hot puff over your swollen folds that stick together. Tasting. Drooling like he’d just happened across his favorite dessert. “-that the ball is far from finished, my wife.”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
It seems we have a rather special (and scandalously romantic!) special announcement. Yes, whilst your lips were whispering at her majesty the Queen’s Royal Diamond Ball the previous night, those of his grace, Duke Nanami Kento, have certainly been up to worse.
The ton reached new heights of hysteria over Duke Nanami’s attendance of the ball with his lovely chambermaid acquaintance. This author personally confirms that her highness’s royal orchestra was barely audible over the sound of shattering hearts!
However, if this was where the story ended, dear readers, we would still possess our wits. Not only had her highness titled this unnamed belle of the ball as the Diamond of the season; aforementioned diamond was not in audience of her naming!
Where was she, you might ask? Why, nowhere else but bedding a certain handsome duke—or so palace patrol whisper amongst the halls.
An impatient dalliance or stirring the pot? You tell me, dear reader, though it certainly doesn’t help that said new diamond was spotted near the end of the evening with both a real diamond and the Nanami signet ring upon one’s betrothal finger!
It’s said that the House of Nanami - and particularly a once-stoic Duke Nanami Kento - has been exceptionally lively in preparation for the blessed union and his new bride.
On the other hand, this author shall have to purchase new robes for a summer wedding.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
A/N. Tell me why it was SAUR difficult to write in regency speak I feel like I don’t even know this language anymore pls-
synopsis ✿ it’s been a rough night. your heart is still recovering from being broken, you need an uber home, your phone is dead, and everyone else has already left the class 1-a yearly reunion. well—everyone except bakugou. he gives you not just a ride home, but a solution to your lonely predicament
✿ BEFORE YOU READ ── female reader ; pro hero bakugou + pro hero reader ; reader was in class 1-a ; reader has a quirk (she's stretchy - think like elastigirl from the incredibles LOL) ; reader gets her heart broken by an unnamed random guy + has insecurities ; bakugou is silently pining (and quite good at hiding it tbh) ; friends (sort of) to lovers ; cunnilingus ; p in v ; creampie ; morning after ; confessions (sort of. its bakugou ok) ; getting together ; the class 1-a girls are gossips
꒰ word count ꒱ 12.0k words — give it a chance plssss
꒰ commentary ꒱ hi my name is riv and i am going thru mental breakdown after mental breakdown about my life but it wont stop me from writing about letting bkg hit
Class 1-A is trauma-bonded for life—it’s this invisible, untraceable, yet undeniable thing.
Sure, years pass. Adulthood kicks in. Lives become busier, more hectic, more demanding. Time is a funny thing—nine years ago, you were sitting in a classroom with these people, learning how to be a hero. Nine years later, you’re sitting in a rented-out bar, sharing a drink with them as they trade hero stories like it’s part of the average day.
Then again, you suppose it is the average day for pros. Wake up, go to work, save people, crack cases, go on patrol, and go to sleep. Repeat.
Adulthood is a bummer. Everything is so different now—you don’t gossip with Toru every day or giggle with Mina in passing periods. You don’t tease Ochako about her rapidly growing crush or share headphones with Kyoka during lunch. You don’t study with Yaomomo or sit in Tsu’s room and have deep discussions about philosophy. Class 1B isn’t there to rival you and your peers. Mister Aizawa isn’t popping around at the oddest moments in that ridiculous sleeping bag.
And then adulthood is nice. Some things never change—Bakugou is yelling about something in the distance like a maniac, while Midoriya rubs his neck sheepishly. Todoroki says something with that deadpan face of his, and that only seems to set the blonde off even more. You can’t help but huff, rolling your eyes fondly.
Class 1-A is trauma-bonded, and fuck if it’s not one hell of a bond—adulthood claiming your lives and free time or not. You’ll find the time to get together like this at least once a year—with someone as good at planning as Yaomomo and someone as persistent and vocal as Iida, everyone makes it to the Class 1-A routine meet-up.
If only you weren’t so fucking devastated at this meet-up, you could have appreciated it properly. But you are, and there’s nothing to do about it now but suck it up—and hey, there’s always next year, right?
That’s what you tell yourself as you robotically hug each girl goodbye. That’s what you tell yourself as you watch your former classmates—turned occasional colleagues—file out of the bar and head off in different directions, dispersing along all the paths life has dragged them down separately.
You stand there for a good second after everyone leaves—you’re the only one left, you’re sure. Alone. As always, you think with a self-deprecating scoff, you’re alone. Even when you’re surrounded by a room full of people, you’re alone.
You should just get an Uber home. It’s late, you have morning patrol, and it’s getting really fucking cold, the night breeze biting at your skin. But you stand there anyway, stiff and unresponsive, because you are, despite trying to shove it all aside for one night, devastated. And so fucking alone.
“The hell are you still standing out here for?” comes a gruff voice from behind you.
You jolt—and that’s how out of it you are, because who the hell sneaks up on you so easily? You’ve honed your fighting abilities and reflexes better than that. You’ve made sure your skills are good enough that you aren’t crept on so easily. So why didn’t you hear Bakugou coming up behind you? You have no clue.
“Bakugou,” you mumble, “why are you still here?”
“Hah?” He looks at you, mildly irritated. “I asked you first, Stretchy. Answer me before you ask me stupid questions.”
Stretchy. Even after all these years, Bakugou calls everyone by those obnoxious nicknames he comes up with instead of their actual names. You’ve noticed a long time ago that he always goes one of two routes when picking his stupid little names: by physical appearance or by quirk. It just so happens he chose to use the latter for you—ever since the day your body stretches out like elastic in front of him for the first time, you’ve been Stretchy. Have been nothing else. Will probably never be anything else.
If you weren’t so emotionally downcast, you might’ve rolled your eyes and snapped back: my name is not Stretchy! But you don’t have it in you. So you just mutter, “I’m getting an Uber.”
“So get it, then,” he grumbles. “The hell are you waiting for? It’s the middle of the fucking night.”
You don’t point out that it’s…kind of sweet, in a blunt, Bakugou sort of way, that he’s concerned about your safety. Or that it’s pointless to be, considering you’re a pro hero too—one who patrols in the middle of the night on a regular basis. But anyone who’s shared years with him, classroom and battlefield alike, knows better than to argue with him over meaningless things if they value their eardrums.
“Yeah, whatever,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to call the damn Uber. You should’ve just driven yourself, but you’d been too exhausted—and, frankly, too sad—to deal with the thirty-minute drive. It’s not like you can’t afford to waste the money, anyway.
You tap your screen once. Then twice. Nothing.
Huh.
You press and hold the power button. Still nothing. You’ve got to be fucking kidding, you think.
As if your week couldn’t have gotten any worse.
First, you get ghosted by your almost-but-not-quite boyfriend, who was never really your boyfriend, but that’s not the important part. The important part is that he almost, just almost, was by anyone’s standards. Then, after he gets you fucking attached, you find out he ghosted you for some other girl with way nicer fucking tits and longer legs than yours (no, you did not stalk that girl’s socials, thank you very much. You just happened to stumble onto it and accidentally…tapped the tagged user. That’s all). Then, you miss out on enjoying the one night you look forward to every year because you can’t pull yourself out of this stupid, heavy funk. And now, finally, your phone is dead. Completely dead. No Uber, no ride home, no immediate access to the ice cream in your freezer to have a good, necessary cry.
And Kaminari has already left, so he can’t charge it with his quirk. Great. Fantastic, even.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” Bakugou’s voice cuts through your spiral as he glares at you. “Were you here to be social or be on your damn phone all night? How’s that thing already dead, huh?”
“I wasn’t on my phone,” you shoot back, a little more petulant than intended. “I just…forgot to charge it before I got here.”
He stares at you with what can only be pure, hard judgment. “You people are so poorly prepared for everything, it never fails to piss me off.”
Well. If your week couldn’t get any worse, you now have to have Bakugou Katsuki, of all people, call you an Uber and get you home, which means you have to tell him your address. Which means you will, inevitably, lie awake all night wondering if he’s going to look up your apartment and judge it. Not that you think your place is bad, or that Bakugou is even the type to care about that kind of thing—but your brain is not exactly known for being reasonable once it gets going.
At the same time that you say, “I’ll pay you back if you call me an Uber,” he exhales sharply and snaps, “Well, fucking follow me, then.”
You pause.
“What?” you blink.
He’s already started walking off, and your question only seems to irritate him further. “Exactly what the fuck I said. Follow me.”
You do—only because you have to, if you want to ask him again to get you the damn Uber. “Bakugou, I’ll pay you before the Uber even gets here, okay? You don’t have to worry about your money—”
You hear the sharp beep of a car unlocking, and then a sleek, obnoxiously fancy Porsche lights up from the inside. Bakugou yanks the passenger door open and jerks his chin toward it, already glaring.
“Get in. And don’t talk like I can’t afford a fucking Uber—I’m not so desperate for money that I need you coughing it up that fast, you damn loser.”
“You…what?” You just blink at him, stupidly.
Bakugou looks like he’s just about one minor inconvenience away from exploding. He tips his head back with a long, aggravated groan. “God damn it, Stretchy—I’ve got shit to do in the morning, okay? Get. In. Did you hear me that time? For fuck’s sake, your hearing can’t be that bad.”
“…Why?” you ask, somehow even more stupidly.
You can’t help it—this doesn’t feel like a Bakugou thing to do. And it definitely doesn’t feel like a Bakugou thing to be doing for you of all people.
“Can you just fucking get in the car so I can drive you home and call it a night?” he grits out.
His eye is twitching now, just slightly, and you decide you would actually like to make it home tonight, so you decide not to push your luck. You walk over and get into the car without another word. It’s best not to piss him off to the point where he changes his mind on helping you altogether. That would be rough.
The door slams shut behind you almost immediately after you’re in, and Bakugou is in the driver’s seat just as fast. “Put your seatbelt on,” he mutters, reaching for his own.
He says this as you’re in the process of reaching for it, and you sometimes forget just how unnecessarily annoying Bakugou can be. And bossy. Very, very bossy.
“I am,” you mutter back, rolling your eyes.
”Here,” he only grunts in response, handing you a charger, and you wordlessly take it, plugging in your phone.
”Thanks,” you say quietly. “Good thing you were still there, huh?” You give him a sheepish look.
His only form of reply comes as a flat look. You wither under it.
”What were you still doing there while everyone was gone anyway?” You mumble.
”Taking a phone call,” he mutters. And then, because he’s apparently still as petty as he used to be back in the day, he glances at yours and adds, “Because I keep mine charged.”
You all but pout at his pointed statement, huffing as you start to defend yourself. “Okay, well, I never make this mistake usually. I just—”
You cut yourself off when your phone lights up from charging and turning on, catching your attention at the same time it does Bakugou’s. Well—that was pretty fast, at least. You almost wonder if the five percent he’s managed to get you to will be enough to last you on an Uber ride home. That would be better than a long thirty minutes sitting next to the agitated lump of blonde hair next to you, right?
You can’t entertain the idea for even a second longer than you had it, though. Because Bakugou is already muttering under his breath, “Finally,” before looking at you and saying, “now send me your address so I can type it in.”
”You know, if you were this pressed for time I could’ve just typed the address into your GPS myself,” you say dryly.
”Great idea,” he says just as dryly, “next time, maybe I’ll try that when you talk less. Now gimme the address, idiot.”
Well. You give up on your idea of the Uber and you do. And you watch as he slots his phone into the holder on the dash, your message lighting up the screen—Stretchy. That’s your contact name.
Of course it is. (But then again, it’s a miracle Bakugou even saved your contact at all—you’d always assumed he had the class group chat muted.) You fight the urge to roll your eyes again and just slump back into your seat instead, resigning yourself to your fate for the night as he taps on your message and pulls up your address in his GPS.
The engine hums to life, low and smooth, and the car pulls out onto the road. You sink a little deeper into your seat, letting your head fall back for a second before, against your better judgment, your eyes drift over.
Bakugou drives like he does everything else: so absurdly impressively, it’s actually ridiculous. It’s just driving, and yet he makes it look like it’s something only he can do so well—one hand on the wheel while the other rests on the gear shift, relaxed. His posture is easy, shoulders set, gaze sharp on the road ahead. And it’s just one of those attractive things men do for no reason.
It’s…annoying. How natural he looks. How good he looks.
The streetlights flicker over him in passing streaks, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brows, the way his eyes narrow just a bit when he switches lanes. Bakugou looks so annoyingly good, and you’re helpless to notice it.
Because that’s just the thing—you’ve always noticed it.
You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought he was attractive back in high school. You definitely did. It was hard not to. He was bulky and muscular and tall with a good face—he even wore baggy pants and a tight-fitted shirt for his hero costume. He did all the right things (without meaning to, of course) to be attractive to the average girl.
But his attitude? Well…that’s another matter.
That had killed the attraction before it could ever be anything more than a passing thought. A surface-level thing. Something you’d notice and immediately shove aside because Bakugou Katsuki was not someone you entertained a crush on unless you were actively trying to make your own life harder. And you definitely didn’t need that, so you never put much thought into it.
And yet, now, years later, watching him drive like this, you’re painfully aware that it’s…still there. That lingering attraction that you undeniably have for him. Persistently so.
You tear your gaze away before you can get caught staring. What the hell is wrong with you? It’s just Bakugou. You’ve known him for over a decade, and you’ve never been affected by him like this, and you won’t start now. Your broken heart and devastating loneliness are getting to you. That’s all.
The silence stretches—not uncomfortable, exactly, and you’re sure Bakugou would prefer it this way, if anything. But still, you feel like it’s too stiff for you to handle, so you do what you’re best at. Awkwardly making small talk to fill in the awkward silence, even if it’ll annoy him.
(If anything, you hope it will.)
You clear your throat. “So.”
He doesn’t look at you. “So?”
“…Busy lately?” you try, immediately regretting it. God, that was lame.
He huffs quietly through his nose. “Yeah. Work doesn’t exactly stop for heroes.”
“Right,” you nod, even though he isn’t looking. “Same.”
Another beat of silence. You glance at him again, just for a second, and immediately regret it when you notice the way his hand shifts slightly on the wheel, forearm flexing.
Holy fuck.
“Your new agency’s…uh. Doing well?” you ask, grasping at anything that sounds remotely normal. Remotely interesting. Bakugou would love talking about himself—right?
“Tch. Obviously,” he mutters. “We’re not half-assing shit over there.”
“Yeah, I figured,” you say quickly. “I’ve heard good things.”
He shoots you a brief sideways glance, like he hardly believes it. “From who?”
“People,” you shrug, already cringing. “Around.”
“Hn,” he grunts. He looks back at the road. “Well, they’re right. I’m gonna be the best agency soon, too—you’d do well to remember that.”
You press your lips together, trying not to smile. God, he’s insufferable. You hum, letting your head rest back. “Kaminari said you’ve been working yourself to death without some sidekicks.”
“Dunno why you’re listening to that idiot,” Bakugou scoffs. He looks a little sulky at the mention of having no sidekicks—like it’s a sore topic. (You’re not surprised in the slightest when Kaminari tells you that no sidekick stays for long after getting a taste of Bakugou’s abrasiveness.) “Dunce-face talks too much.”
“He said you don’t take breaks.”
“I don’t need breaks.”
You snort softly. “Yeah, okay.”
That earns you another glance, longer this time, but the sulkiness is gone, and there’s something almost amused sitting underneath it. Barely there, but it’s there. “Worry about yourself,” he says, turning back to the road. “You’re the one who looks like shit tonight.”
You blink, then scoff. “Wow. Thanks.”
“You know what I mean,” he mutters.
Yeah. You do. You’re sure you looked miserable and stiff as a board all night. No way the girls didn’t notice, but they know you well enough to know you’ll come to them on your own time—and you will. When the time is right, you’re sure you’ll vent away about men and their shittiness and their lack of communication and commitment when you’re feeling up to it.
For now, though, you’ll just sit here and be driven home by Bakugou Katsuki, who seems to know something is up, yet does not comment on it as he does a surprisingly nice thing for you. And for some unknown reason, that makes something in your chest feel just a little less heavy.
The rest of the car ride goes rather smoothly, and you pull up to your apartment in what feels like a surprisingly fast amount of time. Time…doesn’t seem to drag on with Bakugou, even when it’s silent. Of course, he’d actually entertained your small talk when you tried here and there, but you find that there’s almost…comfort in Bakugou’s silence.
He parks in front of the building. And then, he surprises you as he says bluntly, “You've been actin’ weird all night. What’s with you?”
You stiffen, jaw tightening. “Nothing, I don’t know what you’re—”
“That’s bullshit. I’m not fucking stupid,” he cuts in, flat.
“Well, why’s it your business?” you snap, sharper than you mean to.
Bakugou shrugs, like it really doesn’t matter either way. “It’s not. But I drove thirty minutes in the opposite direction for your dumbass, so I’m curious why.”
You huff, looking away toward your apartment building, arms crossing tighter over yourself. “It’s nothing. Just…a shitty week.”
“Tch.” He leans back slightly, still watching you. “Shitty how?”
“Just stuff,” you mutter. “It’s not a big deal.”
He clicks his tongue, clearly not buying it. “Liar.”
You shoot him a look. “Excuse me?”
If there’s one thing that Bakugou is that people tend not to give him credit for, it’s that he’s perceptive. Observant. They make the mistake of thinking that he always rushes right in, charges head-on without an ounce of a plan or a single thought in his brain other than brute forcing his way out of everything. But that’s farther from the truth than anyone would assume. Bakugou is so smart, it just adds to the list of reasons why he’s infuriating.
He’s smart, and he notices things, and he always has a pretty fucking good idea of what he’s talking about.
So when he says, “You’ve been off all night. Quiet—and not your usual type of quiet,” you look at him funny. You never assumed he’d have a good idea of what he’s talking about when it pertains to you.
“Wow. Since when do you know me so well?”
“I know all of you freaks—have to if I’m gonna beat you all and be number one,” he shoots back immediately. Then, after a moment, “You still seein’ that guy Dunce-face was talking about?”
You still. Just for a second. How did…how did he know that’s what was wrong? (And why is Kaminari airing your business out like that? From now on, you’re going to stick to the girls, and that’s it—Kaminari has lost his gossip privileges.) And of course, Bakugou catches the way you stiffen almost immediately, so he catches on that he was right. “Hah. Knew it,” he mutters. “Sparky says the guy’s lame as shit.”
“It’s not—” you start, then exhale sharply. “It’s nothing.”
“That means you’re not seein’ him anymore, I take it,” he says. “So was he a jerk?”
You groan, dropping your head back against the seat. “Can you not?”
“No,” he says, without hesitation. “You’re sitting here acting like shit over some guy?”
“I’m not acting like shit,” you snap, even though you know you are. “And he’s not just some guy, either.”
“You are acting like shit,” he says flatly. “What, you love him or something?”
“No,” you sputter, “we didn’t even know each other like that for it to be love.”
“So then what’s the big deal?”
You look away again, jaw tight. “I don’t know! It’s like…it’s just…” You trail off and sigh. “It’s stupid.”
“Yeah,” Bakugou shrugs. “Probably.”
Your head snaps back toward him in disbelief. (At least now you know there is at least one thing he’s not good at—he can’t comfort people for shit.) “Wow. Thanks, asshole.”
“But you’re clearly stuck on it,” he continues, unfazed. “So it’s not stupid to you. Are you gonna be fine, or are you gonna go up there and spiral all night?”
“Still don’t see how it’s your business,” you grumble.
It’s only silent for a moment before Bakugou grabs his keys and turns the ignition off on his (very fancy) car. His door opens and closes, and before you can even get an idea of what’s happening, he pulls your door open and gestures for you to get out.
“Let’s go,” he says.
“W-what?” you stutter.
“I said, let’s go,” he rolls his eyes, “We’re goin’ up to your place, and you’re gonna give me a bottle of water and somethin’ to snack on. Least you can do for making me drive all this way.”
It’s his way of keeping you company for a bit longer. This much, you know.
Bakugou is a complicated guy. He’s mean and rude and crass and loads of other unpleasant things that people could use to describe him in order to convey that he’s…not easy to get along with. Not even a little.
But he’s a good person at heart. It’s undeniable. People are always safe around Bakugou, even if it costs him his life (though really, it hardly ever does because he’s just that good), and even if it takes every ounce of his blood, sweat, and tears. He does it because it’s in his nature to do so—ingrained in him since the day his quirk was manifested. He’s the best at winning against bad things, and it helps people—imperfectly, sure, and not always in a very heartfelt manner, but as sincerely as it comes.
If he decides to come up and spend time with you for a bit to keep your mind off of your broken heart, it’s not because he pities you or feels this self-righteous sense of justice. He never does what he doesn’t want to do. So he wants to do this—and it’s because in his own, weirdly unexpected way, he cares.
Perhaps it’s not entirely unexpected, though, you suppose—after all, Class 1-A is trauma-bonded for life. All of you.
—
When you let him into your apartment, he takes a quick glance around. Lingers over the small trinkets and items you keep as decor, and then marches his way over to the kitchen as he mumbles, “What sorta snacks you got?”
You pull out one of the bags of red, hot, spicy chips from the convenience store that you keep stashed away—they can’t be good for you, but you figure you only live once—and hand them to him. He perks up minimally.
Bakugou likes spicy things. It’s one of the first things you ever learned about him, actually about him as a person and not just him pertaining to the nature of the hero course, and for some reason, it’s a detail you seem to remember.
He grabs the bag and slinks off to your couch while you grab your long-awaited ice cream and slump onto the opposite end of it right after, which isn’t too far, considering your couch is not that large. His feet are thrown over your coffee table, and you don’t care enough to bother with scolding him about how ill-mannered it is.
“So,” he grunts, popping a chip into his mouth. “Why the pity party? He dump you or somethin’?”
“We weren’t together,” you mutter, digging your spoon roughly into your frozen treat. You’re long past the point of wondering if it’s a wise idea to tell Bakugou all your woes—he’s already here, so you figure, why the hell not? “I don’t think it qualifies as a dump.”
“Ah,” he huffs, chewing as he seems to get whatever clarity he was searching for. “So he ran off before things got official, and now you’re sulkin’.”
“I’m not sulking,” you click your teeth—all of which is said through a rather sulky tone, so he only snorts and raises an eyebrow at you. You just respond by glumly taking a spoonful of your ice cream as you add, “And it’s not even like I fell for him that hard, okay? It’s just…the principle of things—he shouldn’t have strung me along like that, and he could’ve just told me instead of disappointing me when things seemed to be going great. And, he definitely never implied that he was seeing other people, so it’s particularly low of him to do all that just so he could see another girl who is clearly so opposite of me, so I’m not even sure I was his type, rather than an easy situationship. Except I didn’t give him what he wanted easily, so I bet that’s why he lost interest so suddenly when he realized he wasn’t going to get what he—”
“Holy fuck,” Bakugou groans, “you sound like the damn nerd with all that mumbling. Okay, so some guy wanted to get in your pants, you didn’t let him, and he got bored. Big deal—just means you picked a fucking loser. So don’t do that next time.”
He says it like it’s so simple. It’s never that simple. Men are so naive.
“Thanks for the stellar advice,” you say sarcastically, shooting him a flat look.
He only smirks, shrugging as he hums, “Yeah, don’t mention it. Don’t get used to it though—I’m not a fuckin’ therapist who solves your shit for you.”
“I’ll try not to depend on you too much,” you roll your eyes. You take another spoonful of your ice cream and sigh tiredly as you slump back against your cushions, and he sighs heavily and throws his head back exasperatedly.
“Look, I know I’m not always the most…fuck, I don’t know the word—”
“Kind? Compassionate? Empathetic? Understanding—”
He shoots you a withering glare, and you huff as you trail off. “Anyway,” he fixes you with a pointed look, “even though I don’t get all bent up outta shape over nonsense like this, I’d get it if you were head over heels for this bastard. But it sounds like you didn’t even like the loser that much, so I’m failing to understand why it matters that bad.”
“Because,” you sigh in exasperation, “I just…I don’t know…I wanted someone to choose me and like what they see, okay? No one ever cares to even bother getting to know me, and I’m starting to wonder if there’s a reason why.”
“You just haven’t set your sights on the right guy yet,” he shrugs, “big fuckin’ deal. You’ll stop being dumb and choose a good one eventually—I’m willing to believe you’re capable of at least that much.”
“They really ought to give you your therapy license,” you say dryly, your face as unimpressed as your tone. “I bet people would pay good money to hear this.”
“I’ll consider it if my agency is a bust,” he snorts, shooting you a sly smirk as he leans back into the couch, one arm slung over the backrest. “Seriously though,” he adds after a second, side-eyeing you, “you’re makin’ this deeper than it is. Some shallow guy bein’ shallow is a stupid reason to get all in your head about shit or whatever.”
You press your lips together, staring down into your melting ice cream. “Well, that’s easy for you to say,” you mutter.
“Hah?” he grunts.
It is easy for someone like Bakugou. Someone who’s always good at everything and knows it. Has enough confidence for two people and then some. You’re certain that if Bakugou actually let women come near him long enough to entertain the idea of a romantic relationship with him, they’d be at his feet the way they are for Todoroki. Women have a thing for men they feel like they can change, can make soften up just for them. He’d be a magnet for the fix-it type of girls if he were actually interested someday, and it only frustrates you further when he talks like your problems are so simple.
“This is how it’s always been for me—even back in high school, it was the same thing.”
Bakugou’s brows knit slightly. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”
You stare intently into your pint of ice cream, stabbing the spoon in and out. “Like…with guys. It’s always been like this.”
“That’s bullshit.”
You blink at him. “What?”
“I was there, in case you forgot,” he says, as if that alone settles the matter. “Don’t rewrite shit. You got asked out once by that extra.”
You frown. “That’s not—okay, first of all, that was just so he could try and show off his support gadgets to the agency I did my work study with. It doesn’t count. And second, that’s not my point.”
“Then what is?” he shoots back.
You hesitate, then sigh, dragging your spoon through your ice cream again. “Like…I don’t know!” You gesture with your hand vaguely, “I’m never memorable…or the sort of person that stands out enough for people to be interested, you know? Even Mineta made a list once when we were in school—did you know that? Ranking all the girls. And I was last. Like, dead last for whose tits he’d want to see in order. And I know it’s stupid—it’s Mineta. But some part of me wondered why I was last, and…I just figured maybe when I got older, got more confident, and figured myself out, then it’d be different. But it’s not. It’s just the same thing again—and now I’m starting to wonder if there’s a reason why I was last on that list.”
Silence settles heavily between you. Bakugou stares at you incredulously, like you’ve just said something that’s genuinely incomprehensible. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me, right?” He scoffs.
You don’t meet his eyes as you bring your legs up to your chest and hug your arms tightly around your knees. “What?” You frown, sulky and self-conscious.
“You’re tellin’ me you’re still hung up a decade later over that small fry not wantin’ ta take a peek at your tits? Why the fuck would you even want him to see them?”
“I don’t want him to see them,” you defend, huffing. “But like…fuck, c’mon! If the perveiest, creepiest guy you know doesn’t get excited at the thought of seeing you naked, who in their right mind will?”
He looks at you in pure distaste. “I knew you were an idiot, but I thought you weren’t this much of a fucking idiot, Stretchy. Sitting here wanting people to see you naked. Fuckin’ absurd.”
“Don’t be purposely dense,” you snap. You don’t know why it matters so much that Bakugou understands where you’re coming from, but it does. It’s important that he understands. “I’m not…I just…all my life, I’ve never been the one people want. There’s always someone better. Hotter, or smarter, or funnier. Nobody wants me—not even for the wrong reasons. How can I expect anyone to want me for the right ones?”
Bakugou is silent. For a moment, you think he finally understands. Think he’ll finally have an odd moment where he’s compassionate and gentle and you see eye to eye and have a heart-to-heart about your lifelong insecurities and your raging sense of inferiority when it comes to anything outside of your job. (Because at least you can give yourself that much—you’re good at your job.)
But then he says, “You’re so dumb, it physically hurts to watch you sometimes.”
And you bury your face into your knees and just sigh. Why did you have any hope for anything else? Why did you expect Bakugou Katsuki of all people to have empathy for your lack of confidence? The walking epitome of confidence is sitting on your couch, and you had the gall to think he’d even try to understand you.
But then he takes you by surprise.
“You see the shit people say on the internet about you, don’t you? You got fans. They think you’re hot.”
You blink as you lift your head back up. “Well, sure, but—”
Bakugou cuts you off. He looks at you like you’re dumb as he speaks, and you almost wonder if you are with the way he holds so much conviction in that gaze of his. Like he believes wholeheartedly you’re a stupid fucking idiot with stupid fucking thoughts.
“But fucking what? That means you’re clearly not the ugliest girl on the planet. You’re sociable enough that you got plenty of friends, too, and you have talents. You’re half decent enough at hero stuff. You’re tellin’ me you think no one wants you? You have to be pretty air-headed to think no one’s gonna desire you or whatever.”
All things aside regarding the…well, delivery of his statement, it’s a pretty nice statement. Something about the idea that Bakugou believes someone could definitely want you makes your chest feel rather light. It’s kind and comforting in an odd way, despite the rough and borderline mean way of saying it. That’s Bakugou for you, though, you suppose. Always doing good in the least seemingly good way possible.
“You’re being weirdly thoughtful,” you fix him with a look as you stir your ice cream around. You fight back a small smile.
He huffs, throwing another chip in his mouth before he mumbles, “I’m always thoughtful, you loser. I’m fuckin’ awesome, you’re just blind as shit.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you smile.
“Just eat your ice cream before it turns into soup,” he grumbles.
You take his advice for once, scooping up another bite just to give your hands something to do. The cold bites at your tongue as you think on his words. You have to be pretty air-headed to think no one’s gonna desire you or whatever. Are you? Are you air-headed to think that? No one has given you a reason to think they do want you—but he seems to say it like he knows it’s true. Like he knows someone wants you exactly in the way you want to be wanted. It eats away at you in your head. Does he know who? Is it someone from your old class? A friend of his? Kirishima, or Sero, or hell…even Todoroki? (You rule out Kaminari rather quickly—you almost pity the guy for how long he’s pined after Jirou.)
You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s already looking at you. You freeze for half a second, catching him eyeing you down, and he doesn’t even bother pretending otherwise. Just watches you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure something out, trying to search for something that he can only find in you.
“What?” you mutter, a little defensive.
“Tch.” He looks away first, shoving another chip into his mouth. “Nothin’.”
You don’t buy that for a second. “You’re staring.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You literally were.”
“Eat your damn ice cream,” he snaps back, but there’s no real heat in it.
“Why’re you being all weird all of a sudden?” you mutter.
He scoffs. “You’re the one who’s weird. Don’t start projecting.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
You roll your eyes as you go back and forth with him, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips again, uninvited and almost second nature somehow. It lingers longer than you expect. Who knew it could be so easy to smile in Bakugou’s company? You wonder if the you from high school would be shocked to see this now—hell, you think the you of last week would be shocked to see this, too.
You look back at him, and he’s still staring—softer this time, less like he’s searching for whatever it is he was searching for a moment ago, and more like he’s staring just to stare.
“What?” you ask again, furrowing your brows.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you—looks at you hard and good and…and so full of certainty and conviction like earlier. Certainty for what, you wonder. You have no idea, but it almost feels like something is shifting in your relationship with Bakugou—or perhaps, something that was always there that you never knew of is revealing itself. It makes your stomach twist.
What relationship do you even have with him? Outside of being semi-friendly? You shared a class with him for three years and fought through a dark, heavy disaster side by side. It’s unfair to say you don’t know him that well—he was your friend. That much, you think, is fair to say. Perhaps not your closest friend, nor a lifelong one. But a friend all the same.
So what is it? Why does it feel like there’s something that’s making itself noticeable now, all these years later? What is it exactly? Your head spins as you try to figure it all out, all while he just keeps on fucking staring.
“Nothing,” he mutters finally, but it sounds distracted. It sounds like his mind is elsewhere, and his body is here.
“You’re still staring,” you whisper.
His jaw tightens slightly. “Stop sayin’ that,” he mutters.
“Then stop staring.”
“I was making eye contact, you fucking idiot.”
“I think you were staring.”
“No, the fuck I wasn’t.”
“You’re looking right at me as you say that.”
“'Cause it’s called fucking eye contact—are you dumb or something?”
You stare at him. He stares right back. And then, because you’re you, you break it first—huffing out a quiet laugh and shaking your head. “I see. Are you just now realizing I’m super gorgeous or something?”
“Tch. Weren’t you just going on about how no one seems wowed by you?”
You glare at him. “Low blow. And I said that’s how it seems to be for some reason—I never said I agreed with it. Personally, I think I’m rather delightful, and people should notice it more.”
“Yeah, real charmer,” he mutters.
You bump your knee lightly against his without thinking. “Shut up.”
It’s small. A casual touch, if anything. You didn’t think much of it—in fact, it almost came to you naturally. But sitting on your couch and spilling your heart out and sharing snacks with Bakugou feels so oddly familiar, though, that perhaps your judgment is a little clouded.
He stills at the small touch. Your smile fades a little when you realize it—when you realize he didn’t just brush it off like it’s casual. His gaze drops again, slower this time, to where your knee is pressed against his. And then back up. Did you cross a boundary? Did he find that weird? Is he uncomfortable? Was that a more intimate gesture than you thought it was?
You’re sitting there spiralling in your head as you just watch him, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
He doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward slightly—just enough that the space between you closes so that only a few bare inches remain. Your breath hitches.
“Bakugou—”
“You’ve always been pretty dumb,” he mutters, voice low.
You blink. “What?”
“Exactly what I said,” he closes his eyes and sighs, like he’s tired and conflicted and…and something else. Something else you just can’t decipher, no matter how much you try. “I don’t get how you don’t fucking see it.”
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer. But he does open his eyes—deep and sharp vermillion eyes that are looking at you, and he seems to have made a decision that he’s almost a little hesitant with. Like he’s reluctant to fully go through with it, but still. He’s determined. That much you can tell—you know what a determined Bakugou looks like, and this is it. This is it if you know it, and you know that you know it.
And then he leans in.
He leans right in, pressing his lips to your and kisses you softly. It’s so soft—softer than any touch you’ve ever felt. So careful and considerate, as if you’re a fragile petal that’s on the verge of falling off the stamen, and he’s taking every ounce of willpower to keep you tethered to where you are. Keep you from falling away. Keep you there and whole and pieced together so that even the most delicate of touches doesn’t ruin you.
You almost wonder if he thinks he would—ruin you, that is. You wonder if all that careful consideration is because Bakugou believes you’re a fragile petal that could blow away, and he’s nothing but a harsh, cold wind that would blow you off your balance and carry on like it’s just his nature to do so.
And then he pulls back just as fast as it happened to look at you, brows furrowed slightly like he’s bracing for you to shove him off or yell at him.
Your brain is still catching up. He just kissed you. Bakugou Katsuki just kissed you. You stare at him, wide-eyed, and for once, he actually looks uncertain. Nervous, even—almost disappointed. And it does something weird to your chest.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have done th—”
“You just kissed—”
You both speak at the same time. You pause, he does too, and then his jaw tightens. “Yeah. I…that was stupid. Sorry—I…fuck, I don’t know what I was think—”
You don’t know why you do it, but you lean forward and kiss him again. It just happens before you can process it—some invisible, untraceable, yet undeniable force that makes you just do it.
And instantly, without even questioning it, his hand comes up, quick and certain, as it grips lightly at your jaw to steady you so he can kiss you properly.
It’s slower this time. More deliberate. Less like he’s being careful and more like he’s trying to savor it now that he knows that he can. His lips press into yours as if they fit like puzzle pieces, and his tongue slides past your parted mouth to press against your own. Your breath catches, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt without you meaning to.
It’s weird, but it’s not—kissing Bakugou. He’s the last person you ever expected to kiss tonight, maybe even ever, but fuck does it feel like it’s the rightest thing you’ll ever do.
“How the fuck do you think no one wants you?” he grumbles between kisses, like he’s personally insulted by the idea. It’s starting to occur to you that perhaps he is just a little insulted by the idea. “You’re so…so fuckin’ dense.”
“No one has ever made it clear,” you snap, bringing your hands around his neck and tugging on his hair as he kisses you deeper.
He hisses, but it only eggs him on to kiss you harder, more fervently. “You want it clear? Then here the fuck you go.”
He kisses along your jaw. Down your neck. Across your collarbone. When your shirt slips off, you don’t even have the clarity to stop and think about what it is you’re doing—it just feels that natural and right to let him do it. He takes in the sight of your tits in your bra, grabbing a handful of them with large, warm hands as he scoffs.
“These the tits that small fry didn’t wanna see? I’m fuckin’ glad—I’d be pissed as hell if he got to see these.”
He pulls off your bra. Rips it right off your back and makes you gasp as you feel the claps fly clean off somewhere in the distance.
“Hey—”
“Oh, shut up,” he huffs, “it’s a fuckin’ bra. I’ll buy you some more if you’re that pressed over replacing one.”
Before you can even scold him for tearing your undergarments and being so nonchalant about it, his mouth latches onto a nipple, sucking and rolling his tongue over the nub as it hardens under his touch. You gasp, arching into his touch, whining when one of his hands moves to cup your other breast and use his fingers on the neglected nipple.
“Oh my—fuck,” you breathe, your heart rate getting faster as your breaths come out more labored.
Bakugou grins against your tit, still sucking and licking—and when you feel the faintest pressure of teeth around your nipple while his fingers pinch around the other, you let out a sound that you’d be mortified about if your mind wasn’t so stuck in the clouds, hazy and unclear.
He kisses down the valley of your breasts when he finally pulls away—right down your belly and right above the waistband that’s sitting against your skin before he looks up at you for permission. “This okay?” he grunts.
You nod quickly as you breathe heavily.
He gives you an unimpressed look as he raises a brow. “Use your words,” he says firmly, “I know you can—can’t you?”
“Yes,” you whine, “yes, this is okay. J-just…get on with it.”
That satisfies him enough, it seems, because he’s pulling all the cloth that separates your core from him down, revealing your dripping cunt as he lets you kick off the cloth that pools at your ankles.
“Look at you,” he coos, grinning smugly at the sight of your arousal smeared along your folds and your skin. He leans closer to get a better look, and you whine in shame. “Fuck,” he grunts, parting your legs with strong hands along your inner thighs as you try to close them from embarrassment. “Quit that,” he hisses. For whatever reason, you obey. “Fuck, you are so wet.”
“Bakugou,” you whine again, horrified, “what is wrong with you?”
He gives you a deeply bothered look. “Katsuki,” he snaps.
“What?” You furrow your brows. Why is he introducing himself to you as if you’ve never met him before—does this man forget that he and you not only shared a class for three fucking years straight, but you fought a war side by side? Of course, you know his first name is Katsuki—
“For fuck’s sake, Stretchy,” he says in pure exasperation, “you’re so dense, you make rocks seem weightless. Say Katsuki, not Bakugou—s’weird to hear that during sex. That’s my fuckin’ mother’s name, too, y’know.”
“Thank you for that mental image,” you fix him with a glare, “and I’m not denser than a rock—”
He licks a stripe along your pussy to shut you up, and fuck does it work. Bakugou—or…well, Katsuki, you correct in your head—is so good at everything he does, it’s almost infuriating. But you aren’t a liar, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for him being so good at eating you out. It’s like his life depends on it, the way he laps away at your folds, pressing his tongue into your cunt and pulling back away to roll over your clit. It’s so…so fucking good.
It feels good. Feels right. Somehow, it feels like this is natural and like he’s supposed to be there between your thighs. You’d expected yourself to be a bit more self-conscious about him seeing you like this, doing things to you like this, for a bit longer. But you’re not.
Instead, you’re throwing your head back into the couch as you moan, “Katsuki—mmhhh.”
“Yeah?” he grins, so smug and handsome at the same time. Just unfair. “You like that, huh?”
“B-be quiet,” you huff, whimpering when a finger sinks past your folds and stretches you open, “you always talked too much.”
“And you always talked too little,” he counters, “tell me how good you feel and say my name like that again while you do it,” comes his blunt demand.
And he earns what he asks for, of course, because a second finger follows that first, and it makes you whine out his name in response like it’s an inevitable chain of events. He’s pumping his digits into your wet cunt and pressing into your sweet spot like it’s that simple. His mouth closes around your clit, and he sucks, his tongue working some sort of unearthly magic along the bundle of nerves as you practically sob in pleasure.
Good, good, good—everything that Katsuki does is so good. He’s so good at everything, it blows your mind. Literally. You can hardly think as he fucks his fingers into you and builds that familiar pressure up in your lower belly. They’re longer and thicker than your own—and all those years of explosives at his fingertips have really roughened up the skin. They’re calloused and scarred. And they feel amazing when they glide along your walls. The friction is so different when it’s his fingers and not yours—they hit angles and stretch places you never hoped to do so yourself.
Like he can read your mind, he asks, “Feels nice?” with a low voice.
You can barely think, let alone form a proper response. Everything feels too sharp, too overwhelming—your breath catching, your body reacting before your brain can keep up. You roll your hips into his fingers as they thrust into you, grinding down onto his mouth so his tongue can lap away at your clit.
“Yeah—” you manage, voice uneven, “so…so good, Katsuki—”
“I know, baby,” he murmurs. Baby—he just called you baby. And it’s…sweet. He says it oddly sweet and oddly gentle as he kisses your clit and smiles into your thigh when the kisses trail along the insides of them. His fingers are still pressing into that soft, sensitive spot in the back of your walls, still applying pressure exactly where you see white every time, and all the while, he seems to be so unexpectedly happy to be doing it.
You stare down at him, watching him between your legs, and when vermillion eyes intensely stare right back, piercing and calculating and yet so…so soft, you can’t look anymore. Just close your eyes and let it happen as your body starts to creep towards that familiar sensation of euphoria.
“Katsuki,” you whine, voice cracking.
“Jus’ let it happen, sweetheart,” he hums, “gonna cum for me?”
“Yeah,” you whine some more, “yeah—fuck. M’gonna cum.”
“Then do it, baby.”
You do. Katsuki is there to work you through it. Your walls spasm as you fall—no, plummet—off the edge, and he doesn’t hold back for an instant. His fingers are fucking into your tightness, the squelching sound of them gliding against your wet folds invading your very good hearing. His tongue is rolling back and forth against your swollen clit—so unforgiving and ruthless in his pace.
You can feel your back arch off the cushions of your couch, your hips working on their own accord as they move and grind down into his touch. Katsuki devours it all—laps away at your juices and groans at the taste of you. Groans right into your pussy and leaves you shuddering at the vibrations his gruff voice leaves against where you’re most sensitive.
“So fuckin’ tight,” he mutters, “driving me crazy here, y’know—sucking my fingers right in, I don’t even have to do much myself.”
When you’re done chasing your high, chest heaving as you catch your breath and slump back against your couch, his mouth doesn’t stop. He just stays there, pressing his lips where he can along your thighs, kissing and sucking into your skin, leaving blossoming marks in his wake while you try to gather some coherence in your mind.
“Fuck,” you say breathlessly. “I…just…yeah. Fuck.”
He snorts. “You’re too easily impressed,” he mutters.
“Yeah, well,” you glare, not meeting his gaze, “it’s not like I’ve ever done…this—” you vaguely gesture at him between your legs, “—to have a proper assessment of your skills.”
He looks at you. Bewildered. “Wait—you’ve never been fucked?”
“I’m not a virgin!” you sputter quickly, “not…not that there’s no reason why I can’t be a virgin—but I’m not, okay? I’ve been fucked.”
“So what is it then?” he raises a brow.
“I’ve never had someone do…this,” you gesture again.
“Eat you out?”
“Why do you have to go and say it like that?” you whine, covering your face with your hands—you’re sure said face is bright red and flushed.
He’s always been so vulgar. Even when you were kids. At least then, he was just vulgar with his language and not the connotations, but right now, he’s being vulgar about everything. And it’s seriously fucking with you right now—in more ways than one, evidently.
Katsuki only snorts, looking at you in mild amusement. “If you can’t say it, you got no business doing it. And you gotta have better standards, too—the fuck do you mean you never been eaten out before?”
“Men are not so giving,” you glare at him, “they’re in it for themselves. You’d know that if you weren’t a man.”
“Well, I am a man,” he shoots back, “and as a man, I know I’m pretty fucking giving. Cause I got standards and shit for my performance, and you should fuck people who have standards. And while you’re at it, you should get some god damn standards yourself, too.”
“I think you should take off your clothes instead of sitting there and lecturing me,” you huff.
To your mild surprise, he stands up and pulls you into his arms, lifting you up easily—seriously, what is he built from?—before mumbling, “Where the fuck is your room?”
You mumble out, “Hall to your left—s’the door on the right at the end.”
In what feels like record time, he’s there, tossing you onto the mattress softly enough that you don’t feel the recoil of impact harshly, but hard enough that you do a little bounce. He chuckles as you glare, easily lifting the black t-shirt he’s wearing over his head. It reveals his bare torso and…shit.
It’s not as though you’ve never seen Katsuki shirtless. Of course, you have. You’ve trained with him and battled alongside him, and more than once has he been shirtless, or even had his shirt burned clean off. It’s nothing new to you that he’s muscular and well-built and so fucking broad—but fuck. He’s really bulked up since you last saw him shirtless. The biceps you can see from his short-sleeved shirt were already proof of that, but seeing him now without it, seeing his pecs and the clear indents of every ab while the broadness of his body is on full display, is just something else, entirely.
And you’re staring. Because how could you not? Of course, you’re staring. You’re only human, no matter how superhuman this society is—you can’t help it that you’re simply in awe as you look at him.
And he seems to notice it instantly, because he gives you a teasing grin as he murmurs, “Likin’ what you’re looking at, huh? Makes sense.”
“Would you be quiet?” you huff. You sit up as he unbuckles his belt, watching as he strips himself of his pants and boxers in one go, easily revealing his erection as if there are no second thoughts.
It must be nice being so easily sure of yourself, you think. Everything about Katsuki’s life seems like it must be so nice. Good quirk. Good intuition. Good looks and an equally good body. Good everything—he must never overthink things. He must never overthink if the person in front of him likes what he has to offer and if it’s good enough to like for longer than one short instance. Of course, it’s good—it’s him.
It must be nice being Bakugou Katsuki, born to be so confident and so great at everything.
At least that’s what you think until he mutters, “Quit starin’, you freak,” with a huff. His ears are pink at the tips, and he doesn’t meet your eyes, and…it’s weirdly adorable that he’s shy.
You smile, endeared as you reach over, grabbing his hand, pulling him down to hover over you in bed, his arms caging you while his nose bumps against yours. You can see his eyes better from here. Closer than you’ve ever seen them. His lashes are darker than the rest of his hair—almost a light brown that flutter so beautifully when he blinks.
You hum, kissing his mouth with a soft peck, there one second and gone the next. He frowns, almost pouts, at how quickly it’s over.
“Don’t get all shy on me now, Blasty,” you murmur.
“I’m never shy, Stretchy,” he shoots back.
Your hand moves between your bodies, hesitantly reaching for his hard, swollen length. There’s a blonde patch of hair between his thighs that is neatly trimmed, and he’s got a small birthmark at his hip bone. As for his cock—it’s…well, it’s big. Thicker than it is long, but no less impressive. You figured it would be. Of course, just like everything else he’s got, he’s blessed to be impressive.
You wrap a hand around his cock, stroking slowly as he shudders and lets out a soft, breathy groan. Your hand barely wraps around the girth of it, fingers just shy of meeting, and you look down to watch your fist slide up and down the length of him. He’s slick with pre cum that dribbles from his tip, twitching a little when you squeeze at the base experimentally as you stroke him.
“S’that even gonna fit?” you gape at the sheer size of him, and that’s all it takes for that minimal shred of shyness to leave him. He has the nerve to look at you smugly—so wholly amused.
“Course it is,” he snorts, smirking slyly. “Got you all nice and prepped, didn’t I? B’sides—isn’t bein’ stretched out and all kinda your thing?”
You give him a dirty look. Your quirk doesn’t work that way, and he knows it, but you suppose it’s naive to expect anything less from Bakugou. Of course, he’d throw in a cheeky, asshole-kind of poke at your meta abilities when he sees fit.
“Be quiet,” you warn.
“If that’s what you want,” he hums, “then you should fuckin’ do something about it.”
You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in, kissing him hard and rough, earning a deep, satisfied rumble from his chest as you do. His cock nudges against your inner thigh, grinding against you for a short moment before he stills, jaw gritting tightly as he forces himself to be patient and mutters, “You got a condom?”
“On the pill,” you peck the corner of his lips, “so just fuck me—fuck me, Katsuki.”
That’s all he needs to hear. His tip is nudging against your entrance, sliding along your folds, and gathering the slick that’s practically dripping so he can coat himself in your mess. It’s filthy, and it makes you shudder as you feel the hot, heavy weight of him simply brush against you.
“Fuck,” he groans, “gotta feel you—m’gonna go insane.”
He’s pushing past your folds, sinking inch after agonizing inch so slowly, so carefully, you almost want to hiss that you won’t break. But something stops you—the way he stares between your bodies, that dazed look in his eyes with wide pupils as he watches himself sink into you is enough to force you into submission and be patient.
For him—just for him, you’ll be patient.
“Baby,” he drawls, his voice a low, rough purr, “baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight—god.”
“Fuck, Katsuki,” you whimper. He stretches you out good—fills you up and then some as he presses into all the right spots. “S’so deep—need more, please.”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he presses a soft kiss between your brows before his hips are moving.
It’s slow at first, like he’s testing the waters, and when your head throws back into your pillow as you whine in pleasure, it’s like every worry in his head about hurting you flies out the window. His hips snap faster into you, his thrusts go a little deeper, his movement a little more frenzied. By the time he sets a fluid pace, it’s quick and rough and so fucking good.
“Wanted this for so long,” he grits his teeth, letting out a long moan as you clench around him. “Shit, wanted this for so fuckin’ long you wouldn’t believe—wanted you for so fuckin’ long.”
“More,” you whine, “p-please—give it to me, Kats.”
Oh. Oh, he likes the sound of that—there’s a deep, almost animalistic groan in the back of his throat that erupts before he goes impossibly faster, bullying his cock into your walls and slamming into that soft, sensitive spot he did so easily with his fingers, too. Something in his brain is almost rewired, you think, when he hears the nickname fall from your lips.
Something that makes him bury his face into your neck and nip and bite at the skin hungrily.
“Say that again,” he demands. “Say it.”
“Kats,” you sob, “mmhh—s’good, baby. Feels so good.”
“Yeah? Bet no one’s ever fucked you like this, huh? Like you mean something?”
“No,” you shake your head, “no one.”
“Only me, huh?”
“Only you,” you whimper, nodding along as your hips roll as much as they can into his own, trying to match his movements so he can press even deeper into you.
Katsuki does fuck you like you mean something. No one’s ever really done that. You’ve always had sex just for the sake of sex. It’s never been anything more outside of that—sure, you’ve had your eye on a guy, or two that you wished maybe would look at you as something more than a good fuck. But they don’t make a lasting impression to keep you wanting more. Keep you craving more. Keep you hoping that maybe, just maybe, there could be more.
Somehow, Katsuki makes that possible. He grabs your hips softly, rubs his thumb back and forth like he’s worshipping the skin when he angles you down on his cock for deeper access to your cunt. He kisses your jaw and cheeks with soft, wet pecks instead of just shoving his tongue down your throat. He bites his lips and looks at you with soft, dazed eyes and not the usual dark, lust-filled ones you’re used to.
You never really minded being used. Never minded being more than an easy fuck if it meant you could get something out of it, too. But he makes you feel wanted—and you like being wanted. You like being something worth coming and staying for.
“Fuck, m’close, sweetheart,” he rasps, sweat collecting on his forehead as his pace gets sloppier. The thick head of his cock slams roughly against your walls, and a thumb finds your clit to bring you closer to your peak with harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
You can feel it—can feel the slow build of pressure in your belly, that familiarly delicious ache between your thighs as the friction of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy accumulates in every nerve. You’re close too, and Katsuki can tell—it’s so fucking easy for him to read your body. Like he was made to understand it.
“Close too, huh?” he pants, “you almost there?”
“Yes,” you wail, “yes—fuck, yes! Wanna cum.”
“Then do it,” he hums, “cum with me, baby.”
He rolls his hips into you once—then twice, and you feel it snap. That coil in your belly that was tight and waiting to burst. It makes your mind go blank and your lips part, and a cry of his name rings in your own ears loudly. You can feel the way you contract around him, spasming and squeezing and pulling him in as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave.
It makes his cock twitch before he tenses and stills—his own orgasm hits him just as hard. Hot, white ropes of his release fill you up, the messy, sloppy pace of his thrusts fucking his load into you as he works you both through your highs.
It’s good—not just because it’s pleasurable, but because you feel important. You feel like only you could give him this, and only you could be the one he wants it from. He leans down and kisses you, slow and messy, drinking in your moans as he pours his own into your mouth. He says your name so pretty when he’s like this—so breathless and soft, you feel like your ears are ringing just listening to the sound of him.
“You’re so good, baby,” he mumbles, “so good for me.”
“K-kats,” you whimper—it’s all you can even say.
“I know,” he moans, “I know, sweetheart.”
And then it’s over. You finish, and so does he, and then it’s just the two of you tangled like that while you both pant and catch your breath. Sweaty skin on sweaty skin, lingering touch on lingering touch. Your fingers weave through his blonde locks, tracing along his scalp and fiddling with the small baby hairs at the nape of his neck. His fingers are wrapped around your hips, digging softly into the plush skin and making home in the warmth of it.
“People want you, dumbass,” he mutters, leaning and kissing your cheek. “You’re just an idiot who doesn’t know how to look.”
“Be in my line of sight next time, and maybe I will,” you mumble.
He laughs as he slumps down next to you, pulling your body into his as he wraps you up with his body and the sheets on your bed—it’s the softest sound you’ve ever heard from him, and fuck, do you want to hear it more.
You wonder, as sleep creeps up on you, if this will all be an odd, weird, crazy dream when you wake up.
—
When you wake up, it is not an odd, weird, crazy dream.
Well, it’s definitely odd and weird and crazy. But it’s not a dream, that’s for sure. A sleeping, clearly bare Katsuki is in your bed, right beside you, and you’re in his arms. He’s holding you close and tight, and there would be no chance of escape if you wanted to leave his embrace (which you don’t really think that you do).
One minute turns into two. Two turns into three. And eventually, after a few agonizing minutes of trying to slowly inch away just enough to get a closer look at his sleeping face, Katsuki says without opening his eyes, “Quit squirming.”
You still. And then, you huff, squirming around just to annoy him.
“Oi!” he glares, opening two sharp, yet sleep-hazed red eyes. “I just said stop.”
“Well, I don’t answer to you,” you scowl. “How long have you been awake?”
“Since you decided to stare at me like a creep.”
“I was not staring,” you say, giving him a scandalized look.
He only grins, giving you a sly look as he yawns and mumbles, “Yeah. Whatever you say, dumbass.” Then he pulls you closer, bringing your cheek to lie on his chest while his chin props itself over the crown of your head. “You okay? From last night, I mean?”
“Yeah,” you say softly. “M’fine.”
“Not hurt? Wasn’t too rough?”
“Nope,” you answer easily.
You realize this position might have less to do with the fact that he wants to hold you rather sweetly, and more to do with the fact that he might not really want you to look at his face when he asks his next question.
“You uh…you regret it? Or some shit?”
You pause, taking in the odd, rare moment of…vulnerability in his voice. Like he’s scared to hear your answer but needs to know desperately. You find yourself answering rather honestly when you say, “No. I don’t. Last night was really nice—I liked it.”
“Yeah?” he breathes.
“Yeah,” you mumble.
“Great. Go out with me, then.”
You do a double-take as you pull away and look at him in equal parts disbelief and equal parts irritation. He has the nerve to look rather expectant. “What?”
“What do you mean, what?” he huffs. “Go out with me—exactly what I said.”
“You can’t just throw that out there randomly!”
“Randomly?” It’s his turn to be shocked and irritated. “The fuck do you mean? I was balls deep in you last night, and this is random?”
“Yeah b-but…” You sputter, smacking his chest. “First of all, don't say it like that! And second, I had no idea until last night that you even thought I was attractive, let alone likable. Now you want to date me out of the blue?”
“I don’t ask shit for no reason out of the blue,” he grumbles, “of course I think you’re attractive and likable if I’m asking you out. You think I’d waste my time with just anyone?”
“Usually,” you give him a flat look, “when you ask someone out, some sort of confession comes first. You know? Like, hey—I think you’re pretty cool. Or you’re really beautiful. Or even, hey, I think we get along nicely, don’t you? Do you wanna go out sometime?”
Katsuki closes his eyes and sighs exasperatedly. “Hey, loser,” he smiles tightly. It’s rather petty, honestly. “I think you’re cool and beautiful—thought it since we were fuckin’ brats in school. We get along nicely for the most part, too, when you’re not a pain in the ass. Let’s go out.”
“That was a demand, not a question.”
“You are so fuckin’ difficult for no reason,” he groans, digging the palm of his hand into his eyes tiredly. “Holy fuck—you’d say no, or somethin’? That why you need it to be a question?”
“Well, no, I wouldn’t…but it’s the principle of things—”
“Fuck your principles,” he mutters, pulling you close and planting his lips onto yours. You melt rather instantly, kissing him right back without hesitation. He grins against your mouth and pulls away, leaving you breathless. “The only damn principle you need to know is that you and I are good for each other. And that means we should go out.”
Class 1-A is trauma-bonded for life—it’s this invisible, untraceable, yet undeniable thing. You think it’s a good thing that you are, because it leads you straight to Bakugou Katsuki.
—
One new message from: ♡ PLUS ULTRA GIRLIES ♡
Mina: sooo can we talk about last night? SOMEONE was def giving us the cold shoulder
Toru: ^^
Kyoka: ^^
Momo: Come on, guys. I’m certain there’s a reasonable explanation. We should be ready to listen whenever she’s ready
Ochaco: absolutely!
Tsu: but we do want to hear the reason asap
Mina: yeah it better be good bc that was just mean
Toru: ^^
Kyoka: ^^
You: i promise i’ll tell u everything soon ok? but guys.
You: holy fuck. guys…
You: i slept with bakugou last night
Mina: WHAT?
Toru: WHAT?
Tsu: WHAT?
Kyoka: WHAT?
Momo: WHAT?
Ochako: WHAT?
Mina: I KNEW HE HAD THE HOTS FOR YOU I KNEW IT
Mina: THIS NEEDS TO BE A GROUP CALL RIGHT NOW
You: I CAN’T TALK RIGHT NOW HE’S LITERALLY IN FRONT OF ME MAKING BREAKFAST IN MY KITCHEN
Ochako: aw wait that is sooo sweet of him. he’s a great cook too
Toru: proof or it didn’t happen :P
You: [ one attachment ]
Kyoka: HOLY SHIT THAT’S DEFINITELY HIS BACK
Momo: Well…As long as you’re happy!
Mina: LMAOOOOO STOP YAOMOMO
Ochaco: bakugou can be nice when he wants to be!! don’t be so hard on him
Tsu: when has he ever wanted to though…?
Toru: never lol let’s be real
You: he has a soft side OKAY? ochako is right u guys are being way too hard on him
Mina: oh god it begins
Toru: she’s already making excuses for him
Kyoka: the sex was that good huh??
Momo: Make sure you pee so you don’t get a uti ok?
yeah i wrote this in one day. this asshole has taken over my life yet again 6 years later i feel like history always repeats itself
sokka x reader (gn!reader [fem. leaning]) [getting together, mild crack, fluff, jealousy, confessions, first kiss]
summary: you and sokka are both very affectionate people, and there isn't anything wrong with that. a conversation with aang shifts your perspective, and for some reason, you think avoiding sokka will do wonders for your relationship. spoiler alert: it doesn't.
warnings: probably some fem!terms, jealousy, mild arguments, reader avoiding sokka, tame sexual joke(s), maybe ooc (i haven't written for avatar in a LONG while), reader is fucking stupid, oblivious reader, misunderstandings, maybe spelling errors, no use of y/n, second person
word count: 7.6k (yo..flip that around....)
note: i've always been a sokka girl.. HE'S SO BAD i haven't watched the movie i'm waiting for actual release but oughhh ignore any canon inconsistencies because of that i wrote this in likeee one day i love him i am working on my other fics i swear ALSO i will take requests for avatar...... just make sure to check over the rules okay enjoy baiii
Yours and Sokka’s relationship was platonic.
Very platonic. As platonic as it could possibly get. So platonic, in fact, that you had never even thought of dating him or anything silly like that.
(Well. Maybe that last part was kind of a lie. But it had only been once or twice, back when you were stupid teens trying to figure out how to save the world.)
You, personally, thought that it was obvious.
Apparently, it wasn’t.
“I’m pooped.” Sokka sighs loudly, leaning heavily on your back as he peers over to glance down at Toph, who stood before you, crossing her arms.
“What distinguished vocabulary you possess.” You reply, smiling lightly as you reach up and pat blindly at his arm.
“Thanks. I try.”
“Oh, I can tell.”
“Can you?”
“Of course.”
He hums happily. “I appreciate it.”
Toph clears her throat loudly. You turn your attention back to her quickly, an apologetic tone in your voice.
“Sorry, Toph. What were we talking about?”
“Nothing important.” Her eyes narrow slightly as she stares right at you, although not quite at your eyes. “Sokka.”
“Toph. Wonderful to see you, as always.”
“Can’t say the same.” She replies, deadpan. For a moment, Sokka jostles against your back, an offended noise leaving his lips before you lightly jab an elbow into his side. He gets it after a moment.
“Ah!” He perks up, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you quickly. “Ha! I get it! Good one, Toph! Real knee-slapper!”
Toph lets the faintest smirk appear on her face.
“I’m sure we all got it.” She says, leaning back on her heels. “What do you want?”
“Can’t I say hi to my friends?” Sokka tilts his head, his cheek brushing against your ear. “Is that a crime, Toph? Am I going to get arrested?”
“It’s a crime when it’s the two of you.”
“Huh?” You raise an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Everything.”
You turn back to exchange a look with Sokka, who shrugs back at you, just as, if not more, confused.
“Okay.” Both of you say in unison as you look back at her.
“Ugh. Don’t do that. That’s weird.”
“Well, I wasn’t lying when I said I was just stopping by to say hi.” Sokka stretches, taking a step back from you. You miss the warmth that came with him. “Got things to do, people to see, yada yada.”
“I’m sure you do.” Toph responds, raising an eyebrow. “But with all of your impending duties, you just had to come say hello?”
“How could I not? I heard very familiar voices and I couldn’t resist.” Sokka’s hand finds its way to your cheek, pinching it lightly and tugging before letting it go. He knows better than to try that with Toph. He learned the hard way.
“Oh, we know what you can’t resist.” Toph cackles. You don’t get it. You turn to Sokka, a questioning look on your face, but once again, he looks just as clueless.
“Uh…sure.” He smiles, patting your cheek where he’d just pulled.
You laugh softly, swatting away his hand. “Aww, well, we appreciate it.”
“I don’t.” Toph interrupts.
“You definitely do. I can feel it in your bones.” Sokka declares confidently.
“My bones?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve developed bone bending. I can detect what you truly feel. Of course, I’ve always had this ability. Say goodbye to being used as a lie detector, Toph. I’m the new big deal, and heart rate won’t matter this time. This is all in the bones. You can’t fake bones.”
“Bone bending, huh? Enlighten me.” You grin, shifting your weight onto one leg as you turn to focus your attention on him.
“I’d love to.” Sokka beams back. “Now, this all started way back when—”
“Well, I’m sure you’d love to, but weren’t you just plagued with ‘things to do and people to see’?” Toph cuts in.
Sokka looks thoughtful suddenly, like it had slipped his mind completely. “You’re totally right. Bone bending just gets me so distracted. I’m very passionate about it, you see. It’s kind of my whole thing.”
You snort, shaking your head. Sokka looks utterly delighted as he takes a few more steps backward.
“Alright, see you guys later. Don’t miss me too much.”
“We’ll try not to.” You reply happily. He puts a hand to his lips and loudly blows a kiss to the two of you, spinning on his heel and happily whistling something off-tune.
“I can’t stand you two.” Toph complains as Sokka leaves. You know that her volume is always loud enough for everyone around to hear. Sokka turns his head back, just barely, to stick out his tongue.
“Jealous!” He calls, and then he’s gone. You laugh and wave at his back as he goes.
“What?” You ask as you look back towards Toph, whose expression can be described as nothing but disgusted. “What?”
She scrunches her nose, fanning under it like she’s trying to get rid of a painful odor. “I would say ‘you know what’, but you don’t, which is what makes this worse.”
You blink. Okay. Vague. Thank you, Toph.
“I hate lovebirds.” She continues, walking forward. As she passes you, she hits your arm. In turn, you wrap your other arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to her head.
“Get well soon?” You try as she playfully shoves you off.
“I should be saying that.”
As she goes, she mumbles something about idiot boys and idiot girls that she surpassed in intellectual ability. You didn’t dare to doubt her.
Recently, she’s been doing things like that. Unclear words that could rival proverbs of ancient past and riddles that would make anyone’s head spin. Sickened looks and scoffs and odd comments. And it was only when you and Sokka would interact.
Weird.
You didn’t think there was anything to warrant the behavior, but Toph was a little difficult to understand sometimes, so you didn’t really think much of it.
And then Zuko would flash weird looks when Sokka would wrap an arm around your shoulder and Katara would stare when you leaned against him.
Which was also weird.
Everyone had their own lives, now that you’d all grown up. You weren’t a bunch of (pre-)teens worrying about the fate of the world anymore. You had more normal but tiresome responsibilities, which meant not seeing each other as often.
But the times you were all together, all you would get were funny looks.
And you weren’t stupid. You knew that it was for a reason, but you truly couldn’t understand why.
So, of course, you decided to consult your beloved friend who would never keep you from the truth.
The Avatar himself.
“Aang! Hey, Aang!” You call, waving wildly at the retreating flash of yellow and orange you know and love.
Aang stops in his tracks, turning around with a thousand-watt smile already lighting up his face.
“Gee, you’re excited!” He notes, grabbing your forearms as you slow to a stop in front of him. “What could I have done to deserve that?”
Sometimes, you catch a glimpse of the little boy you’d met all those years ago. It’s the same with Toph. It melts your heart and makes you sad, knowing how quickly time slipped by, how tall and strong and wonderful the kids you knew got.
“I need advice. Help. A talk. Whatever.” You shake your head.
“What’s going on?” Aang’s eyebrows furrow slightly as he glances down at you. “Nothing bad’s happened, right?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that.” You correct, rubbing at your cheek lightly.
The two of you sit down on a nearby bench, your foot tapping against the ground quickly. You slam a hand down on your knee to make it stop. Aang raises an eyebrow.
“Okay. Uh…why is everyone acting funny?”
Aang thinks about it for a moment. “They are? Who’s everyone?”
“Toph. Zuko. Toph. Katara. Toph. Have I mentioned Toph?”
“No, I don’t think you have.”
After a beat, the two of you erupt into giggles. It feels oddly childish for how old you are now, but it feels good to relax.
“Seriously, though.” You clear your throat. “They just keep saying weird things and casting judgmental looks. Have I secretly been declared the enemy of all?”
“Not that I know of?” Aang shrugs, leaning back against the back of the bench. “Do they just…always do it?”
“Always? No, no. It’s…it’s only when Sokka’s around.”
Aang freezes. His eyes widen slightly and his lips pull back into a faint grimace, but you’re too busy letting your words take over to notice.
“And I don’t even get it at all! What could possibly be the reason for all the funny behavior, huh? It’s not like Sokka and I have been acting differently. If anything, I think we’ve been acting the exact same this whole time. As normal as we possibly could be. I haven’t said or done anything out of the ordinary, not that I know of, so whatever warrants this has to be—”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Aang raises his hands, cutting you off. “I think I see the frustration.”
“Do you?” You ask, exasperated. You slump back against the bench.
“Definitely.”
The look on his face looks strained, like he’s trying to hold back an awfully pained expression. It only makes your worries worse.
“What?” You ask desperately. “Don’t beat around the bush like Toph does. I’ll cry.”
“You won’t cry.” Aang says simply. “Uh…where to start…”
That’s a terrible beginning to an explanation. That means there’s a lot to go over and you were in some deep trouble.
You wait not-so-patiently for him to continue.
“Sokka…and…you…” He begins slowly, clasping his hands, “are very…close.”
“...yes.” You nod back just as slowly. “Aren’t we all?”
“Well…yeah. But there are different levels of being close.”
“Sure.” You agree. “Like you and Katara.”
“Right! Like me and Katara.”
“Right. So the problem is…?”
Aang bites the inside of his cheek. “The problem is…that you and Sokka are very close.”
“You said that already!” You complain. “What’s so wrong with that!”
“There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just that we…are…wondering…about…the extent…of your relationship!”
The pauses he includes almost make you want to strangle the words out of him. Instead, you take a deep breath and try to collect your thoughts. The extent of your relationship? There’s only one thing you can come up with to explain that.
“We’re not fucking.”
“I didn’t say you were!” Aang cries, a faint hue of red dusting his cheeks like he wasn’t the one to insinuate that.
“Then what were you saying?”
“I was saying that maybe you and Sokka are a little closer than everyone else is!”
“I…guess?” Your eyebrows knit together. “Not really, though, right?”
“Ehh…” Aang trails off, glancing away.
“What?” You pry, leaning forward. “Say it. I won’t say anything.”
“Ehh…” He repeats, turning his head completely around.
“Aang!” You grab his face and snap it back around. “Stop avoiding the topic!”
“I’m just trying to think about how to word this!”
“Just say it straight up! I won’t say anything!”
He mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘you will’ but you ignore it for his actual input instead.
“Let’s see…okay. You’re very…comfortable around Sokka, right?”
“I’m comfortable around everyone.” You respond.
“That’s different.”
“No it’s not. I’m the same with everyone. Aren’t I?” You try to think back on it.
“I’d say you’re a bit more affectionate with Sokka.”
“Affectionate how?”
“Well…you know…the basics.”
“Such as…?”
Aang clears his throat. “Uh…you guys hug a lot?”
“I hug everyone. That’s not weird. You hug everyone. Is it weird to hug people, Aang?”
“No!” Aang shakes his head. “Hugging isn’t abnormal. But you kiss him, too.”
“On the cheek. There’s nothing wrong with kissing people on the cheek, or anywhere else.” You cross your arms. “I kiss everyone, too. I kiss you on the cheek. I kiss Katara on the cheek. And Zuko and Toph.”
Aang runs a hand down the side of his face. “Right. You do.”
“I do. So, what’s the problem?”
“It’s just that…you…kiss Sokka on the cheek like I kiss Katara on the cheek.” He snaps his fingers, leaning forward once he’s made the connection.
“Uh…” You close your eyes, picturing the four of you side by side. “But you and Katara are together.”
“Yes…” Aang nods supportively.
“Sokka and I aren’t together.”
“Right…”
“So how would I kiss him that way if we’re not together?”
“Exactly!” Aang claps. “You’re close to him in a way that Katara and I are close, except you aren’t together.”
It takes a moment for you to realize what he’s getting at. Once you do, your entire body seems to heat up.
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” You shake your head so hard you might rattle your brain. “So—you’re saying that everyone is acting weird because Sokka and I act like we’re a thing?”
“Basically?”
“But we’re not!”
“You could be?” Aang tries. “I mean, do you want to be with Sokka?”
Loaded question. Your mind shortcircuits, your heart skipping a beat as the idea firmly plants itself in your head. You and Sokka? You and Sokka?
It’s not like it was a completely foreign idea. You see where Aang’s coming from, but also, that’s Sokka. Sokka, who’s been the same with you since the day you met. Sokka, who’s been by your side for years and never said a word about it. Sokka, who you’ve watched get and lose partners over the span of your journey together.
He wasn’t ugly. Quite the opposite, really. You could admire that without having a silly crush on him.
But…but you did like him. Kind of a lot. That didn’t mean it had to be in that way.
Still…you did get a lot happier when he was around. And you were more comfortable with his presence and letting him place a hand on you or an arm around you. You’d let anyone do that, but you suppose that maybe you wouldn’t be as ecstatic and content with it if it had been Katara or Toph instead.
Those were feelings, though. Normal feelings. You think. You’re not quite sure, actually. So what were all the weird looks for then? Did the others find your relationship odd, or did they…
“Honestly…everyone thought you guys were dating.” Aang cuts off your train of thoughts as if reading your mind. “I mean, that’s just what it looks like.”
“For how long?”
“Huh…I don’t know. It’s looked like you’ve been dating for years.”
“Years?” You repeat increduously. It can’t have been that long that the two of you had been…ugh. This was hurting your head. You still hadn’t answered Aang’s question.
I mean, do you want to be with Sokka?
What would that entail, anyway? With what Aang’s saying, nothing would change. Except the presence of actual kisses, and maybe waking up with him, and living together and—
Okay. That got too real too fast. Your face flushes and you turn away slightly. Aang—alert, lovely, and too observant for his (your) own good, Aang—catches on instantly.
“You do!” He cries, overjoyed. “You do want to be with him!”
You shake your head quickly, but he enthusiastically points at your leg. “Look at that speed! You only do that when you’re really nervous!”
True to his word, your leg was bouncing at the speed of light. You slam both of your hands down on your knee to make it stop, your eyes wide.
“Not so loud!” You hush him, despite the fact that you were probably being just as loud.
“Sorry, sorry!” He whispers, leaning in to grin at you. “But you do like him!”
“I…maybe?” The roar of emotions in your heart implied a more honest sentiment.
“You do. So…talk to him.”
“I can’t just talk to him.”
“Sure you can! He’d get it.”
“How would you know? He thinks this is all normal.”
“No way he does. Sokka’s not that stupid.”
“Does that mean I was stupid for thinking so?”
“I didn’t say that! I just meant that he’s probably having an epiphany right now, too.”
“Is he?” You raise an eyebrow. “And you would know that how?”
“Katara wanted to talk to him earlier.” He shrugs.
Crap. Okay. So the two of you were being cornered and told exactly what’s going on between you both. Definitely comforting.
“What do I do? Aang, guide me through this, now.” You lean in closer, eyes darting around like Sokka might pop out of any corner.
“Just talk to him. It’s not like he’s a stranger anymore. You’re never afraid to speak your feelings. So…just go for it.”
“That’s not clear enough!”
“It doesn’t have to be. Do you want this turning point of your life to be pre-planned and rehearsed?”
“I…guess not.”
“Exactly! It’ll be more authentic and successful if you just lead with your heart and go for it.”
“I can’t just do it now!”
“Then don’t. Sleep on it. Let yourself grasp the lines of your emotions, then ask to see him, and go!”
“What if he hates me for it? What if he really thinks that this was all friendly?”
“He won’t. Trust me.”
“How would you know?”
“You know who knows Sokka the best?”
It doesn’t take a second to reply. “Katara.”
“Exactly. Their sibling bond is really strong. And Katara is completely convinced that he really lo—likes you.” The stutter goes unnoticed.
“Are you sure about this?” You chew on your bottom lip. “What if everything gets messed up?”
“It won’t. I promise. Even if the impossible happens, you and Sokka have been friends too long to let this damage you in any way. It won’t change things.”
“I don’t know. This is pretty big.”
“Bigger than defeating the Fire Lord?”
You crack a smile. “Maybe not.”
“Definitely not.”
A long, deep breath mostly calms down your nerves. You nod slowly, leaning back and looking around.
“Okay. I’m going to…think about this. Sleep on it.”
“Good.” Aang nods back. After a moment, he looks back at you. “I think you guys would be really good together.”
“Really?”
“Really. You’re like two halves of the same person. You’re both better and more complete together.”
“Aww, Aang. You’re so sweet.” You smile, pinching his cheek. He laughs softly and pushes your hand away.
“I’m serious. You’re one of my best friends. You deserve to be happy, and I think Sokka would help with that.”
You might actually cry now. You don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly. It takes less than a second for Aang to reciprocate, squeezing you so tightly you might lose your breath.
Neither of you say a word. You don’t need to.
After a few seconds of silence, Aang breaks it.
“Also, we’d pretty much basically be siblings if you two got marr—”
“Aang!”
—
You weren’t lying to him when you said that you’d actually think about it.
You did think about it. You slept on it that night and dreamt about it. You ate breakfast the next morning thinking about it. You worked and thought about it. You took a walk and thought about it. You talked to Zuko and thought about it.
In fact, it hadn’t left your mind once.
Because the moment the realization was planted in your brain, you weren’t able to let go at all.
You were lucky to not encounter Sokka for the majority of the day. You might have died if you did.
Now, the problem was that idea carried over into the next day. And the next day. And the next. Until it had been nearly a week since your eye-opening talk with Aang, and you had barely interacted properly with Sokka since.
It was stupid to think that no one would notice. It was kind of obvious.
Really obvious.
Toph and Sokka are sitting together and talking? Great! You’ll sit down next to Toph and let her lay her head on your lap while you let them mostly speak.
Katara and Sokka are walking together? Lovely! You’ll let Katara stand in the middle and act as a barrier while you try to grasp the overwhelming feelings he brings.
Everyone is hanging out after dinner? Fantastic! Zuko can take your weight as you lean against him and try not to fall asleep.
Aang, too smart for his own good, did not allow you to use him as a wall.
He caught you on day six, pulling you aside.
“So…what did we talk about?” Aang asked, raising an eyebrow teasingly.
“To talk to him, yeah, yeah. I’m thinking right now, okay? Can’t a person just think?”
“Not like this! You’re not even trying to act normal anymore.”
“Just give me a couple of more days. I’ll get there. Promise.”
You were now closing up on day seven, and you still had no idea what to do.
You wanted to talk to him about it. Of course you did. But the idea of actually having to face him and talk about something so personal felt so…weird. You just didn’t want to have to do it. Not now, at least.
Except you did want to talk to him. You didn’t know how, but you really did want to. You were good at talking, just going with the flow, so why did this mess you up so bad?
Ugh.
Night was falling, and you weren’t feeling any more tired than you had a couple of hours ago. You’re smart enough to know when you’re not going to get any sleep. So, obviously, you have to take a nighttime stroll instead to clear your head.
That would help. Walking always helped, even if you drowned in your own thoughts first before letting yourself be pulled out.
You all were staying in a relatively small village in a relatively large house together. Did that make it harder to avoid him? Yes. Did it make it more suspicious? Yes. Which is exactly why you should have gone out on a walk ages ago.
Well, you can’t change the past now.
It’s not too lively outside. Things are dying down, and most people are retreating to their homes after a long day of work. A couple of them greet you with tired smiles as you pass by, which you return with double the energy. Waves and calls of good night’s take up most of your initial excursion, leaving you no room to think until you get to the very edge of the village.
It’s quieter out there. The moon shines down on you, peeking through dark clouds that might bring about rain later. You’re not too sure about the forecast.
As you make your way along the perimeter, you try to gather your thoughts, you really do. They’re just as much of a jumbled mess as they were way back when you first figured out what the two of you truly were. Or, tried to figure out, at least.
What you do know is that you like Sokka. Like like, bordering onto actual love, which is a terrifying thought. How could you have been in love with him for all this time and not know? Scary. You’d like to stick to like like instead, just for now, just so that you don’t implode.
You don’t know if he likes you back. Aang swears on his life that he does. You want to believe him, but doubt always makes its presence known, no matter how much you try to push it down. You can’t force yourself to believe it, but you can try. For now, you’re just going to think about this logically.
He might like you back.
So…how to bring it up? Something tells you that ‘Hey Sokka, I talked with Aang and I realized that I’ve liked you for a while now, you should let me be your girlfriend’ won’t really work.
You could be really sappy about it and have a nice long speech prepared. Or you could go out on a whim and say something simple.
Neither sounds very appealing to you. You want something meaningful, but like Aang said, not forced. You want it to matter.
You don’t even notice the figure standing in front of you until you crash right into him, too focused on staring into nothingness. Apologies are already spilling from your lips.
“No, no, it’s okay.” The man reassures, grabbing your shoulders to stop you from tripping over yourself. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I am. Sorry again. I’m totally fine. I really don’t know why I—sorry.” You respond, trying to shove down the embarrassment that comes with nearly knocking over a stranger you definitely should have seen coming.
“No harm done, promise.” He reassures. His hands have not yet left your shoulders, and when he notices that, he quickly drops them like he’s been burned. “You must have been deep in thought, huh?”
You offer a shrug, rubbing your arm. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Love troubles?” He asks. You startle, taking a step back. He laughs and tilts his head. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I’m not that obvious. I’m not…am I?” You ask desperately, nearly hissing as you lean forward, your voice hushed in fear of someone else nearby overhearing.
The man offers you a comforting grin. “To me, maybe. I’m not too sure about anyone else.”
“So you know about love troubles.”
“Woah, woah, woah. Let’s not go accusing a guy without even asking his name!” The man raises his hands in surrender.
“Ah…you’re right. Sorry. May I have the name of the gentleman who I nearly knocked over?”
“Why, of course. I’m Lee.”
You do not believe that for a second, but Lee was a pretty popular name. You let him off the hook.
“Well, Lee. I suppose we’re both having our own love struggles.”
“Maybe we are.” He offers a one-armed shrug. “I think we’ll get past it.”
“I sure hope we do.”
It’s weird, the concept of mildly opening up to a guy you’ve never seen before and likely never will, but that’s also comforting. He’ll forget all about you at some point, and you him, so you won’t have to worry about gossip spreading. No one will care.
Before you can do something stupid like dump your entire life’s story on this guy, he speaks first.
“I think that you might have a name as well.” Lee asks, shifting his weight as he leans on his leg, a little closer.
“I might.” You joke.
“And that name is…?”
You open your mouth to reply, but when your name is said, it’s not your voice that responds.
It comes with a heavy arm around your shoulders, firmly planted behind your head, completely wrapping around your body. It comes with a warmth you’re very familiar with and a scent that can only be matched to one man you know.
“I’ve seriously been looking for you everywhere. I mean, I nearly had to start checking under everyone’s beds, and I don’t really want to know what I’d find under Zuko’s.”
Sokka.
Okay. Awkward. Lovely. You’re kind of afraid.
Lee looks a bit taken aback, his eyes widening. His gaze meets yours and he mouths ‘love?’ to you, to which you breathe out and nod.
Sokka catches this instantly.
“What was that?” He asks, squinting. “A secret code? That was weird.”
Lee coughs. “Uh…we were just talking.”
“Right.” Sokka nods, stretching out the vowel as he raises an eyebrow and looks between Lee and you under his arm. “Cool. Well, we’ll be going now, alright? Bye.”
He turns you right back around, his arm guiding your body and forcing you to follow after him. You turn your head back to look at Lee, who smiles at you. You look back front, then back at him again, to which he forms a heart with his hands and a thumbs up.
Your cheeks flush pink. Sokka’s free hand plants itself on the top of your head, swiveling it back to face your front.
“Why—are you blushing?” Sokka cuts himself off, sounding absolutely scandalized. He lifts up your face and appears to analyze it, his fingers grasping your jaw.
“No.” You deny pathetically.
“Holy bison, you are.” He shakes his head. “Hold on. What was going on back there? Who even was that? Why were you out so late? Was that your…your secret lover?”
His voice spikes in pitch, just like it would back when you were teens and his voice would crack. This was really embarrassing now.
“That was…not…my ‘secret lover’. I don’t have a ‘secret lover’.” You correct, reluctantly pulling his hand down. “I just went for a walk.”
“Uh-huh. And you just happened to stumble upon a handsome guy down there and spark conversation.”
“That is exactly—a what guy?” You nearly shriek.
“Don’t act innocent. I can see right through your ruse.” Sokka’s arm does not loosen around your shoulders as you continue to walk.
“What ruse?”
“The one where you’re trying to convince me that you weren’t sneaking out to see a guy.”
“I wasn’t doing that.”
“Then what were you doing?”
“Walking.”
“Walking. Right. That didn’t look like walking.”
“Well, it was. Until I accidentally bumped into him.”
“Bumped into him!” His grip on your shoulder tightens. “I guess you stumbled right into his arms, too!”
“That did not happen.” You frown. “Why are you making stuff up?”
“I’m coming to plausible conclusions.”
“You aren’t.”
“I am.”
“You weren’t even there!”
“Exactly! Who knows what else went on before I got there? Did you exchange poetry? Recite haikus to the stars?”
“None of that happened!”
“Of course not. So I’m just supposed to believe that you haven’t been avoiding me and seeing some villager for the past week.”
Before you can try to refute his claims, he shushes you, his finger pressing against your lips.
“And don’t even try to deny the avoiding part. I’m not stupid. You can attempt to cover up seeing him, but you can’t pretend you haven’t been running away from me.”
His finger leaves your lips, and you fall silent. He was right. You were avoiding him, just not for the reason he thinks.
“I…was not…seeing Lee in the village.”
“But you were avoiding me.”
You chew on your bottom lip slowly. “It wasn’t avoiding.”
“It most certainly was.”
“I just wouldn’t call it that.”
“I would.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Well, then what would you call it?”
“...taking some time to myself?”
Sokka frowns. “Really? Of course, that doesn’t apply to Katara, or Toph, or Aang, or Zuko. Just me.”
Right. If anything, you had doubled your levels of affection with the rest of your friends. You swallow thickly, trying to find the words.
“Maybe I needed a bit of time from you.”
Why did you say that? Why would you say that? You can’t even try to take it back.
Sokka falls unusually silent. The only sound is the fall of your syncretized footsteps against the soft earth.
“Why?”
You barely hear it. You probably wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been listening for something, anything to leave his lips.
“Nothing important.” You were making some really bad decisions.
“It was important enough to give me up.”
“I didn’t give you up.”
“It sure feels like you did.”
You don’t have a response for that. Sokka sighs.
“Listen.” He starts, his fingers flexing against your shoulder. “I don’t care if you’re seeing…‘Lee’...in the village. That doesn’t matter to me. What—I’m talking right now, wait, you can defend yourself later—what matters to me is that you stopped finding me to find him.”
“That’s not what this is. You keep bringing Lee up, but he’s not the reason—”
“Then what?” Sokka interrupts, albeit not harshly. It’s soft when it shouldn’t be, which is why it stops your words despite the lack of violence in them. It just sounds…defeated.
What do you say now? That you have feelings for him and instead of dealing with them like an adult, you’re acting like a teenager with a crush that will never be reciprocated? That you’re practicing what it’ll feel like if he rejects you?
It’s stupid. You know he won’t do something drastic like lash out or insult you if you say something. You know he’s not like that. You know that you’re both better than that. But your mind just keeps jumping to all of these horrible ideas, and you have no idea what to believe and what not to.
You think that you should start with your heart.
“I talked to Aang a while ago.”
Sokka doesn’t say anything. He nods slowly, like its encouragement to keep going. You do.
“A week ago.” You continue. You know that he knows that’s when this whole thing started. “I wanted to know why Toph was acting so strange that day.”
“Yeah. That was weird.” He replies simply, his mind clearly elsewhere. You don’t know if that’s good or not.
“And…we talked.” You conclude, nodding along like you’d just revealed the secrets of the world.
Sokka waits for you to keep going. When you don’t he looks down at you, his eyebrows furrowed.
“That’s it?” He scoffs. “That doesn’t explain anything! What did you talk about.”
“That’s private information.”
“So why would you tell me that?”
“I don’t know! That’s kind of what led to this whole thing, okay?”
Sokka takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, let’s start over.”
“Starting over. Got it.”
“You’re avoiding me.”
“If that’s the word we have to use.”
“It is. Something happened, and you’re avoiding me. Aang and you spoke about something, and you’re avoiding me.”
“...yeah.”
“Okay. So what was that ‘something’?”
There was no use trying to beat around it now. You need to man up and spit it out. That’s right. You’re a grown adult. You can face your feelings.
“We…are close, aren’t we?”
Sokka stiffens for a moment, but he nods. “Yeah. I’d say we’re pretty close.”
“More so than normal?”
“Uh…let’s define normal?”
“I don’t know. Like the way I am with…Toph?”
“Toph can’t be used as an example for normal.”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, Sokka. Whatever. What I’m trying to say is…is that…Aang let me know that we’re…like him and Katara.”
“We are nothing like those losers.” Sokka puffs up his chest.
“Sokka.”
“Sorry. Continue.”
At least you know that he’s not really pissed at you. He wouldn’t joke around if he was. That’s a good sign.
“It means that everyone thinks we’re a thing.”
He stops in his tracks for the first time since your conversation began.
“A thing? Like a couple kind of thing?” He repeats, the disbelief coating his voice clearly.
“Yeah. Like a couple.”
“Huh.” His nose scrunches up. “So…you found that out…and you decided that you couldn’t be seen around me anymore lest Lee find out?”
“No!” You cry, swatting at him. “Stop bringing him up! I don’t even know him!”
“What am I supposed to think?” Sokka bites back.
“You’re supposed to believe me!”
“I’m trying!”
“It sure doesn’t seem like it!”
His arm finally drops from your shoulders as he covers his face and groans. “Okay. Fine! You don’t know who Lee is. I believe you. But you avoided me for some reason.”
“I told you the reason.”
“People think we’re a couple. You’re…embarrased, and you decide to stay away from me so that they don’t think that anymore.”
“That’s not it.”
“Well, that’s what I’m hearing right now.”
It’s your turn to cover your face and groan. “It’s not that part of it.”
“Then which part?”
“I’ll tell you if you stop asking questions.” You uncover your face just in time to catch him zipping his lips.
Is this it? Do you just say it straight up, now?
“I just…needed some time to think about the…extend of our relationship.” You breathe out. “That’s all.”
“So…you wanted to reflect on what we truly were.”
“Yeah.”
“And you came up with…?”
“I…don’t know.” You confess. “I don’t know.”
Sokka exhales slowly. Is that a bad sign? Maybe.
“We’re…friends.” He says.
“We are.” You repeat hollowly.
“Right. So…that’s cleared up, then.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple.” You say before you can even think about it.
Sokka’s breath hitches. He stays silent for a moment. “Yeah. I didn’t think so, either.”
So you were both on the same page there. You agreed that there was more to it than friendship. That’s…good. Hopefully.
“Was it only because you needed to think about what we were?” Sokka asks.
“What?”
“You avoiding me. Was it just because of that?”
“I…yeah?”
“So it wasn’t that you…you hated the idea of being with me and had to distance yourself to stop the assumptions?”
“What? No! No, that wasn’t it at all. I just needed to think about it.”
Your outburst takes him by surprise. Once the words register, his raised eyebrows lower into an expression that looks more relieved than anything.
“Okay. Good to know.” He wets his lips. “And…and you’re being honest about that guy—”
“How many times do I have to say it?” You groan. “I don’t know him! I bumped into him and we spoke for a little bit. He has his own love troubles to navigate.”
You try to ignore the fact that you called what’s going on between you ‘love troubles’ so blatantly. You know he caught onto it. You know he knows that you know. Neither of you say anything about it.
It was kind of annoying, the way he just kept going back to Lee like he was—
Holy shit.
“Oh.” You say simply, turning to face him completely. “You’re…jealous. You’re jealous.”
“Wha—what?” Sokka splutters, taking a step back, his hands raised as he shakes his head vigorously. “Me? Jealous? Of that guy? No way!”
“You are!” You protest, taking a step forward to make up for the distance that he’s putting between you two. “That’s why you’re so pissy!”
“I’m not pissy!”
“You so are! I get it! I get it now! You’re so upset because I was with him!”
“I’m upset that you’re pretending to not know me anymore!”
“It’s doubled because of him!”
“So what?” Sokka turns it around suddenly, taking a step forward with a sudden surge of confidence. “Huh? So what if I was upset? I have a right to be! You start avoiding me, and then I go out for a walk to clear my head, and I find you all buddy-buddy with some random guy all alone at night, and what am I supposed to think of that, huh?”
You gape at him, but it’s obvious that he’s not done.
“The only thing I can think is that you’ve found a new guy to replace me or something, either as a friend or—or something more, and I haven’t even been able to have an actual conversation with just you in a week and here you are just all over this guy like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen and—ugh!”
A hand flies up to dig his fingers into his scalp. “Whatever. Whatever. Forget it. It’s stupid.”
His incoherent mumbles and pacing that leads him away from you snap you out of your stupor. “Wait. Wait! Sokka, hold on!”
Sokka stops, slowly turning around to face you.
“It’s…it’s not stupid. It’s not. I’m sorry. I’m the stupid one. I don’t know why I avoided you like that for so long. I should have just been straight up with you and done things like an adult. I’m sorry for making you feel like I was casting you aside or seeing someone else or anything along those lines. Really.”
The two of you are standing face to face, yours angled slightly upwards to meet his eyes. Sokka’s fists clench and unclench. Silence suffocates you until he closes his eyes and breathes out.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize or anything. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions and accusing you without just asking first.”
“I guess I still have some growing up to do.” You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly.
“I think we all do.” Sokka replies. “But that’s the fun of it.”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes.”
When you fall silent, it’s much less awkward this time. Still, you know that it’s not the end of your conversation.
“So…you were jealous.” You bring up again.
“Are you going to let that go anytime soon?”
“I’ll think about it.” You smile, but that’s not the reason you brought it up. “Why?”
“Why? Maybe because you were talking to a guy I didn’t know. Alone.”
“You called him handsome.”
“He kind of is. Alright, how was I supposed to feel seeing you talking to a handsome guy I don’t know all alone?”
“The others wouldn’t have reacted the same way.”
Sokka huffs. “No. They wouldn’t.”
“It’s different, then.”
“Yeah, it’s different with you. It’s always different with you.”
You stare at him with wide eyes. Sokka meets them for a moment, then grows flustered and turns away.
“I…I do like you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” He mumbles.
“Like me? Or…like like.”
A quick hesitance. “The second one.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah, huh.”
So…Aang was right. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up, but once it does, it becomes a complete mess. Your body performs about a hundred actions at once, including overheating, fidgeting fingers, rapid blinks, and nervous twitches.
“Are you going to say anything, or are you going to leave me hanging?” Sokka asks, his own nervousness concealed under a confident demeanor that you’ve long since been able to see through.
You nod, your lips parting. Here it is. This is your chance to say something, to tell him how you feel, how you want more and how you—
“I love you.”
…
You did not mean to say that. It was true, it always had been, and your heart had known that, which is why it took over instead of your brain. But you were supposed to start off slow and sweet, not jump straight into it.
Before you can even apologize for the way it made both of you freeze, Sokka’s lips parting in shock and yours quivering as if unable to take the recoil of the confession, he moves.
In an instant, his hands fly up to cup both sides of your face, his thumbs resting on your cheeks as he pulls you up to meet him halfway.
His lips are slightly chapped, contributing to a vague rough feeling that’s drowned out by the overall gentleness that comes with the kiss. It’s a simple press of lips to lips, his perfectly slotting in against yours. His hands stay firmly planted on your face, and your hands come up to rest on his chest in turn. You tilt your head slightly, but the moment you make a move, he snaps back.
His eyes are blown wide, a regretful expression on his face that scares you into believing that he’d realized that he didn’t actually like you or something. He backs up, his hands slowly falling from your face. “Crap. Sorry. Was that too soon? That was too soon. Sorry, I should have asked, I—”
You grab him by the collar of his shirt and tug him back down again. His hands shoot up, and then quickly find a place on your waist. In turn, you loop your arms around his neck. It’s not any more rushed than the last one. He’s savoring you with a gentleness you didn’t think you’d ever experience. He doesn’t push hard, just enough to make a imprint that you can’t easily get rid of.
This time, you pull back, making sure to keep your arms around him. His eyes flutter open and he looks at you. Differently. It’s fond, and while he’s looked at you like that before, there’s something so loving in the way his gaze softens that it practically turns you to mush.
“We could have done that a week ago.” He whispers to you.
“Guess we’ll have to make up for missed time.” You respond, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.
“I like the sound of that.” Sokka smiles, dipping down to steal another kiss.
BONUS
“So…were you lying when you said you didn’t care I was out with Lee?” You ask as you walk back to the house, Sokka’s arm wrapped tightly around your side.
“Oh, yeah. I was lying straight through my teeth. I was going to cry and everything.” He grins back, swooping down and pressing a quick kiss to your head as you cross the threshold.
As you turn, you hear something shatter. You jump slightly, your head swiveling to find the source as Sokka pulls you back and his shoulders tense.
“You…you did it!” Aang cries, a shattered glass at his feet. He sounds suspiciously on the verge of tears. “I can’t believe it!”
“You didn’t believe in me?” You tease, relaxing as you rest your head on Sokka’s shoulder.
“Not at all.” Aang jokes back. “But hey, I’m happy for you. Even if nothing’s really changed”
He was right. The only thing different about you guys was that you could kiss him on the lips. Still, it’s not like you’d want it any other way.
“I’m happy, too.” You reply with a soft smile. Sokka beams, grabbing your chin and kissing you again.
You don’t think he’d get bored of that anytime soon.
I tried to keep this as gn as possible🫡 Also kind of lazy mb
So, we all know human biology is bound to be different to that of a demon’s. The brothers +Diavolo, Barbatos and Mephisto had to actually research about you.
But obviously, Solomon is human himself. I think he takes immense pride in the fact he knows more than the demons. Sure, they could make you feel good, but Solomon knows he can make you feel better. He knows how to reach that spot inside of you.
The first time you and Solomon ‘messed around’ was extremely overwhelming. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like the demons are bad or uncaring, but you didn’t have the heart to tell any of them that there are certain parts of your body that ache to be stimulated (clit, g-spot, prostate, etc). But Solomon was all over you, curling his fingers and rubbing all the right spots. He just knew where and how to touch you.
It wasn’t surprising that your body jerked and twitched as he stimulated you so thoroughly. “Hahh.. Those demons don’t pay attention like I do, hm?” He cooed in your ear as his fingers bullied your sweet spot, his free hand pressing down onto your abdomen to intensify the feeling. “C’mon, don’t close those thighs on me… I need to be able to make you feel good.” He chuckled.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: all it takes is one slip up to get yourself in danger, but your boyfriend would never let you fall… too hard
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship
𝐂𝐖: stalking by a customer, break in and attempted kidnapping (but laurance saves you ofc)
𝐀/𝐍: needed this comfort i was feeling angsty
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
you thought nothing of it when your coworker had to leave early for a family emergency, shooing them off to take care of their personal business and leaving you to close up the night shift alone.
you’re not sure how that issue didn’t cross your mind until you were alone in the building, with not another soul in the vicinity to protect you or be your witness.
it was a stupid blunder on your part, really. there had been a very persistent customer recently who has taken a strange liking to you. anytime you looked he’d already be watching you, distrustful eyes constantly trained on your figure. you clocked his intentions immediately, and made sure to always have at least one other person with you when you closed up for the night.
especially when he got increasingly more forward. he tried to act like you were friends, greeting you with a smile that lacked warmth and always trying to pick up conversations with you. at first you played along. his questions seemed innocent enough, and you always had an excuse of having to get back to work when it started to get horribly awkward.
that was before his curiosity got much more specific and very obviously intentional, despite how he tried to play it off.
“we should go have fun together sometime.”
“do you have a boyfriend?”
“do you live alone?”
“is that your car on the side of the building?”
when you’d avoid the question and ask him why, he’d nervously laugh it off like you were the strange one, saying he just liked to be friendly with everyone. it’s not like you were anything special.
your panic is amplified when you see him approaching the glass front doors that clearly had the closed sign facing forward. despite watching him reach for the handle like a deer in headlights, you still jolted and nearly dropped the mop from your hands when the sound of the locks against the metal threshold clanged and echoed in the empty building.
you’re still frozen when you watch him cup his hands, glancing into the now dimly lit interior. his dark eyes land on you, pinning you in place and leaving you lightheaded in panic. he smiles that same, terribly cold smile, one of his hands pointing towards the door handles.
“we’re closed.” you announce loudly, enough for him to hear through the thin glass separating you. you curse at the uncertain shakiness to your statement.
he pauses before gesturing at the door again, smile pleading as if he just needed a small favor. you shake your head no, and feel the blood drain from your face as his expression slowly drops. those eyes bore into you with a blank expression, void of any good will he might be capable of.
he bangs on the door twice, making you jump in place at the sudden rattling sound it makes against the locks. you set down the mop, backing away while keeping your eyes fearfully trained on him. shaky hands grasp onto your phone, quickly dialing up laurance as the stare down continues.
“hey, my love. you headed home?”
“can you come pick me up? please,” you beg in a shaky voice, watching as the man trailed back into the darkness where you couldn’t see from the front windows.
“what?” his voice quickly changes to a startled clarity, and you faintly hear the noise of quick shuffling and the jangling of keys through the line. “what’s wrong?”
“that guy is outside, he wants to get in and i’m here alone-“
“you’re there alone?!” he cuts you off.
“yes, my coworker had an emergency. i’m really scared.”
you’re backing up into the employee’s breakroom, whipping your head between the front entrance and the side entrance where everyone clocks in and out for the day.
“i’m already on my way, just stay where you are. i’ll be there in five minutes, okay?” he tries to softly reassure you, despite the tense grit in his tone.
“but the drive is ten-“
“i’ll be there in five.”
“okay…”
“have you called the police?”
“no.”
“okay, hang up with me now and call them.”
you stutter out another shaky okay, before hesitantly hanging up on him and dialing the emergency line. it doesn’t take you long to explain everything to the bored-sounding operator, who tells you dispatch will be there in less than ten minutes.
your eyes dart from both doorways, to the clock, back to the doorway, and the time again. it’s been four minutes since you called laurance. your routine is interrupted by the startling noise of glass shattering by the front. you cover your mouth as panic fills your lungs, face and limbs going cold.
“miss? hello? what was that?”
“he broke in,” you whisper, stumbling and backing towards the other exit.
“do you have a place to hide? hello? miss?”
you don’t hear the operator as you lower the phone from your face, straining to hear any movement from the other side of the door and only receiving eerie quietness in return. slowly, you reach behind you, unlocking the bolt to the back entrance to make a run for your car. before you can turn to open the door, it flies open from behind you, harshly clipping your back and sending you stumbling forward.
a startled scream leaves your lips as you turn, throwing your phone as hard as you can into the man’s head. he cusses in pain, giving you enough time to dive over the break table and sprint through the doorway, ducking your head through the now-broken front door.
glass crunching under a second pair of footsteps behind you barely gives you any alert before a hand harshly tugs your shirt back. another hand grips onto your arm before headlights pull dangerously fast into the parking lot.
tires skid to a sudden stop, screeching and burning rubber into the concrete.
“HEY!”
the hands leave you, shoving you down into the concrete below you. footsteps rush past you, and you turn to see laurance running after your attacker. he snatches him by the shoulders, yanking him down and slamming him into the concrete below.
“you piece of-“ he starts, but he’s too overwhelmed by anger to even utter another word.
you can hear the crack from where you sat, as laurance’s fist crushed down into the man’s face. he doesn’t stop there though, lifting him up by the short hair on his scalp and punching him back down into the ground again. you watch in shock until you see blood visibly splatter on the concrete next to him.
“laurance!” you cry out, voice shaky as you stare at him wide-eyed.
he immediately stops at the call of his name, looking up at you with shaky breaths. he finally focuses on the state you’re in, kicking the practically unconscious man into the pavement one last time before rushing over to you.
he kneels next to you, his breath uneven and angry as he exhales through his nose in an attempt to calm down for you. hands raised to hold your head, thumbs wiping tears you didn’t know had begun to fall. he pulls you close, tucking you safely into his arms that still shook with adrenaline.
“it’s okay, baby. i got you, you’re safe.”
his eyes dart down to your bruised and scraped hands from where you fell, one of his hands maneuvering your leg to reveal a large gash through your pants. you realize you must have sliced yourself on the broken glass on your run out, too overwhelmed by fear to even notice it ripping into your skin.
another angered sigh leaves laurance’s mouth and his head whips back to the man moaning in pain against the sidewalk, as if he was debating finishing the job.
red and blue lights interrupt whatever inner battle he was having with himself, as two cruisers whip in next to his car. you lift your head, pointing towards the pathetic heap of a man behind you as the officers rush out.
laurance’s leather jacket is then tightly wrapped around your shoulders, before his arms hook behind your back and under your legs. he lifts you up delicately but with a certain firm strength, like you’d crack like porcelain if he even slightly faltered.
the scent of his familiar cologne wafted up through the warmth of his jacket, and you practically melted at the immediate comfort it brought you. you feel dizzy as the adrenaline leaves your veins, resting your head against his shoulder and closing your eyes, letting the bright red and blue lights paint shapes across your eyelids.
“let’s get you patched up and then we’ll get you home safe, okay my love? i’ll never let something like this happen again.”
ᯤ ♡ .. I LIKE ME BETTER WHEN I’M WITH YOU ── PART 2 💌
pairing(s): pdh!laurance x reader
tags: to all the boys ive loved before inspired, fake dating, swearing, pdh, not proof read oops, part 1 here ~3.8k
a/n: loooong & awaited part 2 that has been rotting in my drafts for 2 months btw </3 never thought id see the day, thank u all for ur patience i pray this doesn’t disappoint PLS
After morning practice was over, you and Laurance both agreed to meet up during break later that day. The two of you sat by the bleachers outside, not as many people were outside, surprisingly.
“So,” You begin, “I think It’s safe to say that we need a contract for whatever this is.”
Laurance is leaning forward, his elbows resting against his knees as his head turns towards you, “A contract?”
You hum in response, pulling out a notebook and pen from your bag, “Mhm, we need rules.”
“Is that really necessary?” He lets out a soft chuckle, you huff at him. “It’s so we know where we stand on certain issues.”
“Alright, like what?”
You tap your pen against your chin, “Like for example, I don’t want you kissing me in front of everyone anymore.”
Laurance blinks in surprise, “I’m sorry, what?”
“What?” You repeat.
“How are we supposed to convince everyone we’re together If you won’t even let me kiss you?”
“You’ll live.” You wave him off. He gives you a look, leaning back and crossing his arms, you click your tongue at him, “Hey, you may be a pro with this kind of stuff—but I’ve never dated anyone before.”
Laurance groans, throwing his head back, “Why does that matter?”
“Well, It matters because, I don’t want all my firsts to be fake.” You shrug at him, “If I’m gonna be making out with someone, I’m gonna do it for real.” He snorts at your comment.
“Didn’t you kiss me first?” He reminds you. You sugh, “Fair enough.” You click the top of your ballpoint pen, opening a free page on your notebook as you start writing down.
“Alright fine, so you can kiss me, since you want to so bad.” You say sarcastically, however Laurance doesn’t argue against it before you move to your next point.
“Second—and most importantly, we cannot tell anyone that this is a fake relationship. No snitching. It’ll be too humiliating for the both of us. No secrets..” You continue to list everything down. “Anything else?”
Laurance hums to himself, “I could.. write you notes everyday?” He turns to you again, “If you’d want.”
“What, like small love notes?”
“You could call it that.”
You look up from your notebook, feeling your cheeks slightly heat up and your heart flutter, “You’d do that?”
“Of course.”
You purse your lips together, biting back a smile almost, while you write another rule down.
“Michi always wanted me to write her some—never did. But if I send some to you, she’ll go nuts.” Your smile drops, your hopes immediately vanishing at the sound of her name, keep your head in the game, you remind yourself.
“How romantic.” You say, rolling your eyes at him.
“Also, you have to come with me to my games and parties.” He points out, you huff. “Alright, then you have to pick me and my sister up and drive us to school.”
“Fine by me.”
“Everyday—til’ this deal is off the hook.”
He sighs, “Then you have to go to prom with me.”
Your freeze, glancing up from the notebook and looking at him. “Are you asking me out to prom already, Zvahl?” You snicker, “Isn’t it like, what—three months away?”
He squints at you, “Your point?”
“You seriously think this would go on for that long?”
“Who says it can’t?” He shrugged.
You sit up straight, tilting your head at him. You were surprised he’d want to continue doing whatever this is, when you were certain it wouldn’t even last three weeks—and you still stood by that, which was the only reason why you said:
“Okay. Deal.”
You write two lines underneath the so-called ‘contract’, scribbling down your signature on top of one before passing both pen and notebook to him, where he glances at you before writing down his signature in the other, sealing the deal.
Over the next few days, people began to pick up how inseparable you two were, noticing how you both had stuck to each other’s side almost all the time. You both had taken it slow at the start, but rumours spread like wildfire, hushed whispers and curious ears to the point where it had eventually reached Michi, and let’s just say she isn’t too happy with the news. You were most definitely not used to the newfound attention and constant eyes on you as you walked past them down the halls. You try to reassure yourself, It’s fine—it’s all for pretend, it’ll pass in a matter of weeks.. right?
That afternoon was slower than usual, you’re already eager for the rest of the day to finally end. You held a handful of books in your arms, walking down the hall to put them away in your locker. You’re halfway down the stairs to the ground floor, the sound of footsteps from behind caught your attention before a shoulder deliberately bumps into yours rather harshly.
The figure passes by in front of you, stopping to turn to you. You don’t even have to guess who it was based off the tuft of lilac hair with yellow highlights and a set of dark purple ears and a tail, great.
“Oh,” Her tone was surprisingly low at first despite her usual high-pitched voice.
“Michi.” You greet her as politely as you could through gritted teeth as your eyes met her olive green orbs, she looks at you with no expression on her face.
A smile suddenly appears on her lips, evidently fake. “Don’t get too comfortable, Y/N. We both know he’ll come crawling right back.” She says suddenly, it’s almost eerie.
You let out a sigh, unimpressed. “To.. you?”
She nods, stepping closer that you could smell her candied perfume, “Yes. To me.” Her smile feels like a threat.
You hum, “You sure? I highly doubt that.” You challenge her, unsure where the sudden surge of confidence came from.
Her eyes carry a glint, scanning you up and down.
“Oh, I’m sure.” Her ears flick for a second, her smile not faltering once before she turns her heel without another word, leaving you stranded.
Weird, you think. You’ll never understand why Laurance would even want to win her back. It was almost too easy to make her jealous that you’d hope the deal would end as quickly as you caught—before you caught any feelings. Yeah.
You shake your head, continuing the walk to your locker to save your arching arms from the unreasonably heavy textbooks.
Once you finally reached your destination, you try to pry open your locker door with one hand, suddenly a folded piece of paper had slipped out which had immediately caught your attention, a routine that’s been happening everyday, yet you can’t lie when you say you look forward to what Laurence had written down this time. It falls to the ground, landing by your feet, your hand reaching down to pick it up.
You were quick to unfold the piece of paper, as best as you could with your one hand, eyes scanning the surprisingly neat and familiar writing.
To my totally real girlfriend, you looked cute during practice this morning. Don’t deny it. — L ♡
You couldn’t even help the small smile that appeared on your lips, which quickly disappeared when someone suddenly snatches the note from your hands. It catches you off completely guard, you blink in confusion, finally noticing that someone was right behind you, then the familiar scent of cigarettes and musk hits your nose. Just your luck.
“Gene.” You say, mentally preparing yourself before whirling around to face the troublemaker himself.
“Y/n.” He smirks at you, ‘course he does. The note sits in between his fingers. He moves to stand beside your locker, leaning against the one next to yours while looking down at you. You place your books inside your locker, wanting to get this over and done with already, “Give it back.”
“What, this?” He waves it around before reading it himself before you could stop him, “Aw, letter from your boyfriend?” He tuts, shaking his head.
A sigh escapes your lips, “Something like that.” You don’t seem too interested to be talking to him, that’s because you weren’t.
“You two make a good show.” He folds the note, you look at him in confusion. “Show?”
Gene gives you a look, shoulders dropping, “C’mon, Y/n. You two aren’t really subtle.” He says, “You may have fooled everyone, but you really didn’t think I’d buy the act, did you?” He chuckles, almost as if to mock you and you say nothing.
He hands you the note back, shockingly, “You really have a thing for love letters, I’ve noticed.”
You freeze, “What do you mean?”
His smirk widens, “Does Katelyn know about the letter you wrote to Jeffory too?”
Your stomach drops, head snapping to glance around the hallway, which was empty, thank Irene. Last thing you’d want is for anyone to see you and Gene together and hear you both, especially with you and Laurence already being the hot topic of the month, it would only fuel it even more.
You shake your head at him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You mumble, avoiding his eyes.
“Didn’t think you were the type to be messy, doll.” He laughs, “First Laurance, Jeffory, even me? I’m flattered, really.” He snickers whilst you glare at him, but you don’t deny it.
He doesn’t stop there, “Let me guess, Garroth probably got one too, I wouldn’t be surprised—“
“Shut up, Gene. And no, he didn’t.” You snap, he only continues to feed into your annoyance, “What’s wrong, pretty? No need to be embarrassed.” He mocks you, crossing his arms himself as he steps closer.
“Can you just drop it?”
He hums in thought, “Hm, no. I’m having way too much fun with this.”
“How’d you even find out?” You ask, he stares at you, “Jeffory’s notebook, your handwriting isn’t hard to miss.” He sighs, you can’t even tell if it was a compliment or an insult that he recognises your handwriting, “Now, what would your best friend say?” His eyes light up, “Imagine what the whole school would say? Little Laurance’s girlfriend writing love letters to me and Jeffory. Headlines, for sure.” He adds, dramatically.
You pause, lips going dry. “You wouldn’t.”
“Would I?”
“Gene, please.” You plead, and he loves the look on your face.
“Relax, sweets. I’m just messing with you, I won’t tell anyone.” He tells you, you almost relax, “For now—Maybe until I’m bored.” Your shoulders drop.
“Swear you won’t.” You try again, but it’s hopeless at this point.
He leans down, “No promises. You’re too easy to annoy.” He ruffles your hair, messing it up before moving off the locker to finally walk off. You groan, fixing your hair and turning to his back, “Jerk.” you mumble to yourself as you watch him disappear into the empty hallway. The thought of him telling everyone about the letters sending shivers down your spine, you just pray he’s only doing it to rile you up—and he was doing a damn good job at it.
You turn to your locker once again, Irene above, could this day end already? Why does this keep happening?
You grab your bag from your locker before shutting it closed, “You tell me.” A voice causes you to jolt, your heart jumping out of your chest, finding Laurance beside you this time. Did you say that out loud?
“Laurance! You scared me.” You placed a hand over your chest, letting out a breath after you almost felt your heartbeat nearly stop. You notice that the hallway was making its way into becoming more crowded with students who have been dying to leave, you hadn’t even noticed the bell had rung to finish for the day. He stood by you, one hand in his pocket and the other to hold his bag that swung lazily on his shoulder, his smirk plastered on his face as he looked at you, “Did you like my note?”
“How long have you been standing there?” You ask him as you slid your arms through your backpack, hoping he hadn’t seen too much. He shrugs, “Long enough to see you and Gene, what’s his deal?”
“It was nothing.” You interject, “Just Gene being Gene.”
“It didn’t look like nothing—you looked uncomfortable, I would’ve stepped in if I hadn’t been so late.”
You sigh in defeat, “It was about his stupid letter, and that jerk knows that we’re faking it,”
“Shit.”
“He just didn’t buy it, and it wasn’t just that.” You continued, he noticed you seemed uneasy. “He knows about Jeffory’s too, he saw it while they were in class together.”
His smirk was now gone, standing upright, “Shit.” He repeats, tone rather alert.
“What if he tells Katelyn, Laurance? Even worse, the whole school will find out and everyone will think that I’m some girl who loves to bounce from one guy to another, and that I’m going after my best friend’s boyfriend out of all people!” You start rambling. “I’m not like that! I’ve never even had a boyfriend before!”
“Hey, hey.” He tries to calm you down by placing his hands on your shoulders, his touch steadies you, “Quiet down now unless you want the whole of Phoenix drop to hear you, deep breaths, babe.” He drops so casually.
You scrunch your nose at him, “Eugh, don’t call me that.”
His stupid smirk appears again, “Alright, babe.”
“Laurance.”
He snorts, “What? There’s no rule in the contract that’s stopping me from calling you names.” You let out a groan.
“But seriously, I’m sure Gene’s just doing that to tease.” He tries to reassure you, “but it’s Gene.” You reply, and he sighs, “—but it’s Gene.” He repeats, patting your shoulders in comfort.
“Don’t stress about it, yeah? I’m here.” He murmurs only for you to hear while looking into your eyes.
You nod, it’s quiet between you two despite the loud chatter amongst others and his eyes almost have you in a trance, “Come on, let’s get your sister.” he jerks his head to the direction of the school’s main exit, walking off as you follow along next to him.
“There you two are!” A voice appeared from behind you, causing both you and Laurence to jump in surprise as you turned your heads.
“Katelyn!” You stammer, she walks alongside you, “Look at you two, all lovey-dovey in the open.” She says, “Saw you both talking, what were you two talking about?”
You and Laurance glance at each other, you swear you could feel the sweat running down your forehead.
“Um..” You mumble.
“History!” Laurance blurts out, Katelyn blinked in surprise, “History?” She repeated.
“Yes!” You back him up, clearing your throat. “You know.. cause.. we had a test coming up..?”
“—on the War of the Magi or something like that.” Laurance continued.
“Right..” Katelyn drags, glancing between you two before shaking her head. “Anyways, you.” Your best friend’s eyes set on you.
“Me?” You ask, pointing to yourself.
“Yes, you.” She repeats, nodding. “Jeffory’s looking for you, said it was something important.”
You freeze, and you notice Laurence tense up too.
“Oh!” You say, letting out an awkward laugh. “He wanted me to tell you that he’ll be out front near the stairs so you two can walk home together.” She continued.
You can feel your throat tightening up, many thoughts scrambling in your head. “Uh—“
Laurence cuts you off. “Actually, Katelyn. She’ll be busy. We have plans, don’t we, Y/n?” He spits out while nudging you, “I’ve been driving her home a lot lately to save the hassle, I’m sure Jeffory can wait.”
Katelyn blinks, once, then twice. “Plans?”
“Yeah, uh—a study date! For that test we told you about.” You silently curse yourself as you heard your voice crack while Laurance nods. “Tell Jeffory.. maybe next time?”
Katelyn glances between you two once again for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line while she observes you both as if she’s trying to piece something together. She then shakes her head and shrugs, “Yeah, no, can’t blame you. You love-birds are always together now, I’ll tell him.” She nods.
“Great, thanks.” You put up a smile for her, and she soon waves you two off as you all step out of the school, once she was out of sight, you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding in.
“A study date?” Laurance asked, “What else was I supposed to say?” You ask him, he shrugs.
“I mean.. If you’re free right now, we can go to that diner from last time.” He faces you, eyes glistening with hope.
“Corner Cafe?” You ask, he nods. You could so go for a strawberry milkshake again.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. My treat.” He says, who would say no to free food? A smile appears on your face as you nod, “Hm, deal. But first, let’s find my sister and drop her off back home.”
“Thanks, Joan. You’re the best.” You clap your hands together as the familiar waitress smiled at you and slid the glass of your all-time-favourite drink, your lips immediately finding the red-and-white straw as you hummed in delight, the taste engulfed your tongue. Laurence sat across from you, he chuckled at your reaction, “What?” You raise your brow at him, a pause, then he shakes his head as he popped a fry into his mouth, “Nothing.” He shrugged, looking at you.
“Oh!” You exclaimed all of a sudden, “I forgot to tell you this weird thing that happened today with Michi.” You say, fingers stirring around the straw in your milkshake, this caused him to lean forward, elbows against the table, “Yeah?”
You nod, “Yeah. Turns out this whole thing we’re doing might end quite early.”
He squints at you, he almost seems disappointed, “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t tell me she was quick to become jealous, it’s almost too easy.” You reply, grabbing a fry from his plate, dipping it in ketchup before placing it in your mouth.
Laurance gives you a look, clearly confused, “Uh, Elaborate?”
“She bumped into me earlier—literally right before you saw me at my locker—and she was all.. He’ll come crawling right back to me, don’t get too comfortable.” You mimic her high-pitched voice, he laughs at your imitation, “No, really?” He asks, “Dead serious.” You say, taking another sip of your drink.
“That’s..” He’s searching for the word, “Off?”
“Off?” You repeat and he shrugs, “You’re telling me that doesn’t sound very Michi-like to you?”
“Well, yeah—I mean. I don’t think she seems the type to threaten other girls.” You roll your eyes at his response, “That’s because you’ve never seen her threaten other girls, she’s overprotective, especially over you. Do you even know your own ex, Zvahl?”
“I do! It’s just.. weird hearing it I guess.” He mumbled, his phone buzzes, vibrating against the table, once. Then it happens again—and then a third time, causing both of you to snap your heads down on the screen. You notice his lockscreen hasn’t changed, a photobooth picture of him and the meif’wa, speak of the devil, you’re not really surprised.
“You still have that as your background?” You mention, “Yeah, might need to change that one.” He scratches the back of his neck, “Let me guess, the notifications are from her too?” He nods in response.
“Mhm. I don’t know, she just annoys me sometimes.” He admits, “Like today, she ignores me at school, but then we leave and suddenly I have a thousand messages from her.”
You squint at him this time, “Oookay, have you been replying back?”
“Nah. I think I’ll probably just call her when I get back home or something.” He says with a sigh, his words causing you to blink at him in confusion.
“So, wait, you guys still talk on the phone then?” You ask, leaning back and crossing your arms together, “I mean, not as much as we used to. But yeah, I guess you could say that. Just sometimes here and there.” He replies, looking down as if he was caught.
Silence settles between you both, you stare at him saying nothing, completely lost as he eventually looks back up at you.
“What?” He breaks the silence, you sit back up, snapping out of your head and humming in response, “Hm?”
“Wh—you do this thing,” He gestures at your face, “You have this whole judgy face scenario going on.”
“Well, for one, I think it’s really weird that you’re still talking to your ex over the phone.” You slowly shake your head at him, “It’s not healthy.” You point out.
“Oh, I’m sorry, and you’re the expert?” He smirks at you, “You’ve never even had a boyfriend or a girlfriend before—“
You cut him off, “Well you have had only one girlfriend, and you’re completely and unhealthily obsessed with her. So that doesn’t necessarily make you The Bachelor.”
He laughs, “Okay, one: I am not obsessed with her.”
“Please.” You snort. “Then prove it, don’t call her tonight.” He sighs in defeat, “You know, for someone who’s quiet, you sure have a lot of opinions.”
“Really? Well, I guess that’s just because no one’s been honest with you before.” He laces his hands together, “Okay, fine. Then be honest with me. Why haven’t you dated anyone before?”
You stare at him before shrugging at him, “I don’t know, I guess no one’s ever liked me like that.”
“Lies.” He points at you with a whisper, waving his finger at your face, “Lies, I know those are lies, because I know for a fact there was that one guy that asked you out last year.”
“You’re keeping tabs on me now? And it was Dante, you know how he is. He asks out every girl he sets his eyes on!”
“Come on, L/n.” He whines, “Talk to me. No secrets, remember? Contract.” He reminds you.
You let out a sigh, pursing your lips together before tucking a loose strand away from your face. “Alright, so, love, dating and all that romantic stuff?” He hums as he listens in, “I love to read about it, it’s sometimes kind of fun to write about, and to think about it in my head.” You pause, looking down, “But when it’s real..”
Laurance looks at you, tilting his head, “What? It’s scary?” You look back up to meet his eyes, slowly nodding, “I guess you could say that.”
“How? Why is that scary?” He asks.
“Because the more people that you let into your life—the more that can just walk right out.”
Laurance only nods in response, absorbing your words. “Well,” he says slowly, “I think it’s funny that you say you’re scared of commitment and relationships.” He starts, “But you don’t seem afraid to be with me.” He points out.
You shrug, “Well there’s no reason to be.” You reply, he smiles, “Yeah? Why’s that?”
Hiii, can you write an laurnace x reader about garroth little sister/ Zanes twin who he is dating and the reader is the smart one of the family and because all the ro’Meaves children have there roles she feel like she has to stick to hers or the world with crash/ disappoint her father and she gets a bad grade so Laur comforts her. Please and thank youuuuu
𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐌: 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: pdh laurance x fem!reader
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: sometimes the greatest cause of anxiety is something you've built up in your head. luckily, your older brother's best friend happens to care enough to remind you that grades aren't everything.
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, comfort, garte is not so great at parenting
𝐂𝐖: anxiety and general self-doubt
𝐀/𝐍: as someone who also craves academic validation, this is so real to request. writing this was therapeutic tbh. also hiii sillyteenagegirl ily i hope you're doing good and that you like this :3
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
you have to be perfect.
you have to.
this is something you’ve told yourself since you received your first report card as a young child. in one of those rare occurrences where you were graced with your father’s presence, and after your older brother had gotten enough praises and approving smiles–finally, finally, he turned to you. you remember the look on his face when your tiny hands lifted up your hard work for him to see, and that same proud glint he had in his eyes when he gazed at garroth was directed at you.
somehow, that clicked something in your brain when you were barely half the height you were now. you had to be the smart one. not just the smart one. because your brothers were smart. very rarely did one of them end a semester with a c.
no, you had to be the smartest.
gifted and talented. honor society. a solid 4.0 gpa.
sometimes, you didn’t even have to try to make good grades. you were just smart. it became who you were. who you are. it’s what you’re worth. every time you missed a point on even something small it would chip away at the perfectly polished podium you’d set yourself on. every time you got a good grade the podium grew, leaving you teetering on the top with no escape.
so why?
how is this possible?
you blink, swallowing thickly as you close your eyes. no, it must’ve read ninety-seven… not seventy. it’s too early in the morning and your vision must have blurred.
when you open your eyes, you can feel the blood drain from your face when the numbers seven and zero glare up at you in that damning red ink.
seventy. seventy?!
that was practically a failing grade!
this isn’t right. this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.
garroth is the one who is good at sports. vylad is artistic. zane is smart. but you’re supposed to be the smartest.
you flex your hand next to the paper, swallowing the lump in your throat. the all-nighters you pulled, the dates you skipped, the tears you shed, and this is all you got from it? all of that was for this? the podium under your feet shifts, and you suddenly feel like you’re about to fall.
you think you hear some collective complaints around the room. maybe you even catch a few curious looks in your direction to see what the “smart kid” got. all of it merely was like fuzz beyond your desk as you froze in place. not even the gentle rustling of your hair from the familiar boy behind you could get you to move.
when the bell rings ten minutes later, you can’t move your legs any faster as you shoot up from your desk, beelining straight out the door and right for the back exit. a few strange looks were thrown your way, but it was all so unimportant at the moment.
cold, biting air hits your face as you step out the doors, and it's then that you realize you’ve begun to cry. your tears feel uncomfortably cold against the wind, prickling against your cheeks. you only make it halfway down the steps towards the bleachers before you sit down, burying your face into your knees.
if zane were here right now you’re not sure if he’d scoff at how sensitive you were being or relate. but he’s not in that class, and he’s not here right now. even if he was, he hadn’t been the most optimistic these past few years. you doubt he could do anything to keep the podium from tipping over.
…your stomach hurts. why do you feel like you’re falling?
the school doors squeak as someone runs outside, joining your lonesome pity party in the lovely december air. they seem in a big rush as the footsteps quickly approach the top of the steps, before halting to a stop. a few seconds and a quiet sigh are all you need to know who it is, so despite your embarrassment, you don’t flinch when someone sits directly next to you.
laurance’s leg presses against the side of yours, his familiar cologne giving a small sense of comfort.
“hey, pretty girl.” his voice softly coos, a hand coming up to wrap around your shoulder. “you are aware that it’s freezing outside, right?”
silence suspends over the two of you for a few seconds. your heart drops when he suddenly removes his arm, but before any outlandish thoughts can enter your brain the thick material of his blazer weighs down on your back, giving you extra shelter from the next gust of cold wind.
your head shoots up as you finally look over at him, frowning when you see his torso only shielded by his uniform shirt.
“no, laurance. you’re gonna get a cold.”
“you will, too,” he states with a sense of finality in his tone. “so obviously i can’t let that happen.”
any thoughts to argue fizzle out when laurance’s eyes drift over your face, his eyebrows knitting tightly together when he sees just how distraught you are. his hand comes up to your cheek, sweeping away the tears from your face as if they’d personally attacked him.
“why is my sweet girlfriend crying out in the cold, hm?” he hums in concern, his eyes drifting down to the crumpled page still lodged between your fingers.
his shoulders drop a hair and he sighs, gently reaching to pull away your fingers from the test and get a look at it himself. plump lips gape open, a proud huff visible in the crisp air.
“…wow. you actually passed-“
“-i did awful.”
laurance blinks at your interruption, before completely crumpling up the paper and tossing it down the bottom of the steps. “who cares?”
you gawk. “i do! my family-“
“your family’s opinion shouldn’t matter enough that you break down at a singular grade. you’re a smart girl.” he leans forward on his elbows, catching your line of sight as he leans closer. “so why do you care so much about this one thing?”
“because that’s who i’m supposed to be.” you blurt. “i’m supposed to make perfect grades and be smart. that’s what i have to do.”
“the only thing you’re supposed to be is yourself,” he scoffs, hands wrapping around your clenched ones. “you do know it’s literally impossible to be perfect right?”
“you are.”
“my grades are much lower than yours, and i’m a much less wealthy boy who was just barely lucky enough to have a good experience out of the foster care system. that doesn’t seem too perfect to me.”
“wh- why would you say…? that’s not-“
“you love me anyways, don’t you? you’d say how amazing i am despite those things? that all of that has nothing to do with what kind of person i am or if i’m likable or not?”
“of course!”
he raises his eyebrows, tilts his head, and fixes a direct look at you. you get his point, but the sting of failure still pricks at your eyes and squeezes your lungs.
“it’s just… i studied so hard, and i still did horrible.”
“oh my. if a seventy is bad for you, you’d pass out from my freshman year report cards.” he scoffs jokingly, before his expression grows to something a little more serious, his voice softening. “you did study hard. i know you did because i was there when you were ripping your hair out by your desk instead of paying attention to me.”
he taps your leg, a quiet call for you to look at him fully. he’s staring up at you through his lashes, a small crease of concern still formed between his eyebrows.
“i know it’s disappointing, love. but compared to the rest of the class, you technically aced that. literally everyone else in there flunked. i mean, i made a forty. i’m not as smart as you but i make a’s… most of the time.” you give him a half smile, and his eyes twinkle as he scoots closer. “but you know what? i’m not worried because i can make it up with our other twenty-billion freaking assignments in that class and still make an a. the teach said he’d probably curve or drop the grade anyways.”
he always knew what to say. but what else are you if not the path you’ve paved for yourself?
“i don’t want to be a disappointment. i don’t want dad to think less of me. or mom, or-”
he fully gawks at your words, before furiously shaking his head like you’d just told him the sky was green.
“woah, woah, woah. what are you saying right now? being smart doesn’t make you lovable or not. who told you that??” he demands, squeezing your hands just a small amount tighter.
“no one… i just… it’s the only way he pays attention to me.” you whisper.
there’s no need for elaboration. laurance shuts his eyes as a wave of annoyance flashes across his features, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek.
“no offense to you, my love, but if garte stops loving you because you made a seventy on one test then he can go to hell-”
“laurance!”
he erupts into giggles, dodging the scolding slap you directed at his arm.
“okay, okay!” he grabs ahold of your hands. you frown at the realization that he’s shivering. “my point is that if your dad really only values you on how well you do in school or if you’re the captain of the baseball team or not, then he’s not someone you should be seeking validation from. that’s the truth. it doesn’t matter if he’s blood-related or not.”
your eyes fall, and he starts to gently rub his thumb across the back of your knuckles.
“you know, i have a pretty great dad who really loves you a lot, actually. not even considering your grades,” he murmurs, the next words leaving his mouth in a quick rush. “...and he can be your father-in-law in the future so you won’t have to worry about any of this pressuring crap garte has put on you and your siblings.”
your eyebrows rise, the blood that had left your face back in the classroom rushing back to your cheeks all at once. “laurance…”
his lips quirk into a smug grin. “just saying.”
“i love you.”
his eyes light up as his grin turns into a full-blown smile. his lithe fingers reach up to pinch your cheek, forcing your head to bobble in place before he leaves a soft kiss against your forehead.
“i love you more. and i would really love it if my girlfriend wasn’t crying out in the cold and making her poor cute face all numb.” he sighs forlornly.
“but you’re colder. because of m-”
“don’t even.” his eyes narrow before his expression shifts again as he bites his lips and bats his eyelashes. suddenly he puffs out his chest, leaning into you dramatically. “i’m perfectly warm with my beautiful girlfriend right next to me. your presence could melt the harshest of snowstorms! oh, my light! my love!”
“stop!” you giggle, cutting off his romantic monologuing.
he smiles, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his side.
“i don’t think i can, but i’ll spare you for now,” he presses his cold nose against your cheek, voice ever so soft. “do you want to have dinner and watch a movie at my house?”
you nod, a smile forming on your previously wobbling lips.
“okay, love. it’s a good thing that was our last class, huh? i think my girl needs some well-deserved rest.”
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