Presenting the defenders of the Banner's helm! Disney Branded Television has announced that these exclusive "Dragon Striker" cards will be given at the Anime Expo L.A panel on July 2 at 1:30pm (room 403AB). 🐉✨⚽️🔥
"Dragon Striker" NOW available on Disney XD, Disney+ and Hulu
They put the Dragon in Dragon Striker 🐉🔥⚽
Little fanart to celebrate the release on Disney+!
Did model check & layout posing on a few episodes along a super amazing team at Cybergroup Studios.
I think Bones is the only show where i ship all of the canon straight ships and i think its because all the men are pathetically in love with their wives. they all become incredibly useless without their respective women and i really appreciate that in a man.
my earnest belief is that you gotta take pictures of yourself that look really bad and unattractive and that never end up seeing the light of day. because someday you’re gonna go through your photos and see them and say god i’m so glad i get to see what i looked like after running around in that rainstorm
the light shot diamonds from his eyes, hungry for life. .
synopsis. when katsuki sees you again, his resolve is strong. and there's only one thing he wants to ask you. #dynamight #whippedsuki #kacchanbakugou #ilytid
content warning. mha anime & manga spoilers, fem reader, blood, death and revival, childhood friends to lovers this is very self indulgent SUE ME. flashbacks? like a memory that never happened while on the brink of death, fluff and angst but happy ending, crying, katsuki is a whipped sensitive boy, mentions of morphine but like the good morphine like for medicinal use guys, lmk if i missed one
A/N. ive been feeling rlly good writing lately, so we're gonna keep this rollin a bit ! i love my katsuki so much, my sweet sweet boy, he has my whole heart, my lovely..(yes i cannot stop thinking about this weeks ep, did this chapter so much justice in all the greatest ways, my goat i weep), pls take care of this for me i kinda love it so much. (╥﹏╥)
“you know, he’s been saying it since he was a boy.”
you stiffen, looking up at the older woman—never in your life had you imagined you’d be here; in a hospital waiting room sitting with katsuki’s parents.
well, only his mother now, his father has excused himself briefly after you’d been allowed to see your boyfriend. despite the doctor's initial refusal, his parents had insisted you were part of the family as well and had every right to see their son.
except katsuki had made quite the…bold statement. in front of his parents no less—he grabbed your wrist the moment he regained enough consciousness to realise you were in the room. ignoring everything else and spitting out the words so quick you’d think someone was holding him at gunpoint.
“marry me.” he said hoarsely.
silence . . . more silence. . .
“katsu—huh?!”
“just—please—lem’me—let me marry you,” katsuki’s voice cracks, unaccustomed to speaking so quickly after waking up from intense surgery. you’d seen the state he was in; bruised, broken, bloody—and from what you’d heard from best jeanist—pronounced dead at one point.
you’d also seen his feats, how he clung to life, to the symbol of his victory and dragged himself back from death through sheer force of will—the power he’d honed since he’d come to show you his quirk the morning after he got it.
back then, you recall thinking his explosions resembled fireworks. pretty, sparkling fireworks you’d watch in awe during new years. you never could’ve imagine how right you would've been so many years later. during the battle, he’d shone brighter than he ever had and been faster than your eyes could follow yet, you never lost sight of him. he wouldn’t let you, not with the way his light had blinded you to anything else, pretty, bright, sparkling fireworks—that was everything katsuki represented to you.
he’d told you to keep your eyes on him, to keep watching him as he grew stronger so as to never lose. and you were seeing it now; so, so clearly.
and here he was, your bright, sparkling light, keeping his eyes on yours despite the doctors pushing him back, insisting he lay back and rest before he tore his stitches open.
“let me marry you—fuck—please...” he said, voice slowly getting drowsier with only a weak mumble of your name when the doctors gave him a dose of anaesthetics.
“we usually wouldn’t do this, but him getting this riled up could cause more harm to his body…” the doctor’s calm voice droned on. yet all you could feel was the burning of your ears, the way your nose clogged. the way your lips trembled and a sob escaped you before you could stop it.
that brings you back to now. mitsuki speaks up again.
“i mean, he always said a lot, blabbermouth that he is,” mitsuki chuckled, eyes downcast but smile pure, at ease. she wipes under her eye “but it was like—with you—i mean, he was always so sure you’d stick to his heels forever…” she laughed. “always asking when you’d be able to come over to play even though you’d only just left.”
your mouth falls open slightly, unable to say a word. mitsuki smiles down at you lovingly either way.
“he said it was because you were a crybaby, that if he wasn’t around you’d be completely lost. but i think he needed you around more than you ever did.”
you’d just managed to calm down, yet you feel the tears start building behind your eyes again. mitsuki remains calm while you desperately tried to get your bearings.
“i—i needed him, too. he-“ you gulp back the knot in your throat “he was like my hero..” you chuckle through your snotty nose. “nobody was cooler than him.”
mitsuki smiles, turning back to the closed door.
“he used to get praise left and right—mostly dumb stuff. but all he could ever think about was how he looked to you.” her trembling warm hand rests over yours on your lap “all he ever sees is you.”
you let out a pitiful whine, then a sob. then another, you’re clinging to the older woman’s hand. squeezing it so tight you worry you’ll hurt her. but she pulls you into her instead.
by the time masaru’s returned, he finds you curled up into his wife arms, and her rubbing your back while you cry.
after the noise, the ringing in his ears and the pain. katsuki recalls the silence.
he felt it after the acceptance. there was a sting for only a brief moment but so harsh it made his eyes snap open. and when he opened them, gone was the cracked dome which reflected the muddy sky. gone was the noise of him desperately trying to catch his breath, only for it to be futile. gone is the pain in his chest and the swelling and burning in his arms—and suddenly, he was looking up at the sun bright and high in the sky.
no clouds in sight, no rain or rubble. just the sun, so harsh and bright it made him squint. he groaned, lifting his arm to shield his eyes—as he thought, no blood or pain but something was strange—his arm was smaller now. his hands missed the callouses they’d developed over the years of honing his quirk to its maximum potential. he stared at his hand in shock.
“wha..” he whispered, voice higher in pitch than he was used to.
“what’re you doing down there ?”
katsuki startles, not because of the unknown voice, but because it’s a voice he knows all too well. the sun is covered now—by you.
you’re looking down at him, eyebrows raised curiously, head tilted to the side “katsuki ? what’s wrong, did you hit your head ?”
it’s you.
you’re younger. about the same age as he is now, and for a reason he forgets immediately he feels his heart pull.
eyes wide and solely focused on you, katsuki mumbles dumbly, “i dunno…”
“you don’t know ?”
“i don’t remember…my head kinda hurts, though..” he mutters, reaching up to scratch his head.
you smile. then you break out into giggles and katsuki wonders why it makes his chest so heavy.
“i bet you fell again like you did last time !”
he shoots up quickly, almost knocking his forehead to yours “did not !” he shouts petulantly, huffing, he sits up, wrapping his arms around his knees.
you giggle again sitting next to him with your knees raised up as well.
“izu’s waiting for us further down, so we should go now.” you explain. katsuki feels like this should annoy him, izuku was always barging in when he was trying to play alone with you and you always let him have his way. but it doesn’t make him mad this time, he just hums. then, silence.
until—
“yn..”
“yeah ?”
“do you..think i’m cool ?”
a brief pause.
you tilt your head “huh ?”
katsuki stiffens, startled by his own words. why did he just say that ? what was wrong with him today ?!
he should take it back—he wants to. you’ve been looking at him weird from the moment he woke up, this was so embarrassing. but something in him doesn’t want to. he swallows back his nerves, clutching his knees tighter.
“y-you heard me…” he grits out. he shoves his nose into the crook of his knees.
silence. a pause. katsuki feels sweat run down his back.
“yeah, of course i do !”
his eyes shoot wide open. he turns to look at your smiling face.
“you’ve always been super cool, katsuki. even without your quirk an’ stuff,” you explain. you meekly start to draw shapes into your knees “c-cuz…even though you’re so much faster than me, you always let me keep up with you. and you always pick me first when we gotta choose teams for dodgeball. and you punched takahashi that one time he called me weird.”
katsuki scoffs at the memory “that guy’s stupid.”
“mhm,” you giggle “...you always get super excited when you and izuku talk about all might. and it makes me laugh sometimes. and when i’m with you, it feels like i can be cool like you..s’kinda like….” you stop short.
surprised by your pause katsuki leans closer to you, eyebrow raised up “kinda like what ?”
you huff into your knees. the heels of your shoes dig into the grass. “s’kinda like you’re my super hero..” you finish quietly.
oh.
ah, he gets it now. this isn’t real at all. none of this is.
you’re not real, and he’s not ten anymore. the nonexistent memory is pulled from deep inside of him—he’s lying somewhere in the sky. bleeding out, he’s dying. this isn’t real.
he remembers now—“take care of the others for me.” he’d asked best jeanist. but something in him aches, it aches so hard he has to dig his knees into his chest with all his might to try and crush it.
he’s dying. and he hadn’t been able to see you again.
he’d told you nothing would happen to him, that he’d make it back to you. and now you were going to hear from somebody else he hadn’t made it. he’d made up his mind in the moment, but the thought of you—of your eyes swimming with tears he doesn’t think someone like you should be shedding for a guy like him.
you deserve better than crying over him. he’d decided to put his life on the line for you and for everyone. but now—
he’ll never see you. ever again.
“katsuki ? what’s wrong ?”
tears had started clouded his vision, and by the time you finished your question, voice trembling in worry all spent on him, tears were running down his cheeks showing no sign of stomping.
he quickly shoves the heel of his palm to his face, sniffling loudly “it’s—i’m fine !” he hiccuped. “it’s n-nothin’..”
you’re fretting over him like you always do. he usually always pushed you away, but now that your voice slowly fades from his ears he’d do anything to hear you scold him about being reckless one last time.
“y-y’know, i—” katsuki chuckled humourlessly, looking down at his knees—he doesn’t know if the tears in his eyes are the cause of his clouded vision or if this was actually all over now.
“—i—i always thought you were the prettiest girl i’d ever seen,” katsuki stuttered through tears. he feels like laughing despite it all, but it's bitter—why was he only able to say this to you now ? why is he only able to tell you all he wants to say when it’s way too late ? he’s not cool at all. he’s nothing but a coward.
“a-and—and, y’know what ? if i could, i’d marry you. swear i would,” he lamented, uselessly wiping his eyes raw “i swear, i swear i would’ve…”
“what are you saying ? i don’t get it..” you mumble stupefied at his admission, voice wobbly.
katsuki chuckled, yeah, he probably isn’t making much sense right now, crying and rambling like this… but he can’t help it.
when he closes his eyes, all he sees is you. and then he remembers—that when he’d closed his eyes for the last time, his last thought was that there was one thing, just one thing he’d do anything to tell you.
but then, katsuki recalled the acceptance, and the silence. and a sudden red, hot flash of pain that jolted him awake. eyes bloodshot, breath ragged. his body burned with each breath he took yet he stood, and he stood tall. he didn’t care who was watching, his idol stood in front of him, he shared a look with izuku and knew now wasn’t the time to lament about things left unsaid—
he clawed his way through and he fought. he didn’t care who was watching, because on the off chance that you were somewhere, praying for him to make it back safely, watching him from afar, he couldn’t risk looking uncool in front of you.
“i meant it, you know.”
it feels like the tenth time he’s saying it, but katsuki doesn’t plan on stopping. he won’t regret it either, even when you giggle. you shake your head in disbelief, your hand resumes its motions, cutting pieces of an apple into little bunny ears.
“ah, so that one time you asked to marry me wasn’t just you rambling while doped up on morphine ?” you snort, eyes staying on the task at hand.
katsuki snorts, watching your movements intently “that one still counts. i’ll say it again if the other six times haven’t been convincing enough.
with a fond sigh, you drop your knife safely onto the plate and leave it on the table near his bed. you bring the little piece you cut to his lips and katsuki opens without much struggle besides a squint of his eyes “could’ve done that m’self,” he chides with pink cheeks.
“i don’t need you to keep saying it, i think i got the message.” you smile. the longer you looked at him, the more your eyes become glassier. katsuki’s seen you cry over him enough for a whole lifetime from this week alone.
despite it all, his eyes bore into yours. “i need to keep sayin’ it. otherwise i’ll chicken out. i won’t do that to you,” he speaks, voice resolute and certain “never again.”
there they are again—the tears. but he doesn’t mind them, he runs a thumb under your eye, catching a stray tear before it falls. it’s useless, more come and fall, but he’ll spend all his life catching them for you. him, nobody else, now and forever. he smiles softly.
“marry me, yn.”
you nod against his palm, fresh hot tears running down his wrist. he looks at you, and only you, and he’ll never look away again.
Yeah, isn’t that a cool picture? It’s the one someone showed me to point out what color the moon really is compared to the Earth! They both have the same amount of sunlight on them here.
The moon’s not white! It’s concrete-gray! It only looks so shiny when compared to the void of space!
I love learning things I didn’t expect to learn. Like when I learned that it’s called the “dark side” of the moon because it’s the side we don’t see, not because sunlight never hits it.
There’s a realistically nonzero chance that this will be a conceptually novel and thought-provoking reinterpretation of the themes and symbolism of a tragic casualty of vengeance and circumstance within a complex classic but I’m scared
Okay so again I don’t know what I was expecting and I’m not surprised so this feels a little unfair but it seems I’m actually a little mad about this actually
Ophelia as a character is shown to be restricted as women were in her environment to her relationships with men. Her father, her brother, and her romantic interest. She isn’t just The Girl in this story- she can easily be interpreted as any woman of her standing at this time.
And because of this- as women were, and still often are- her personhood was reduced to the context in which she served others: a daughter, a sister, a lover. She is nothing else because all she is allowed to be, all she CAN be, is what she can offer, what she can PROVIDE, the esteem in which she is held by those men.
So we see a person whose personhood is, in effect, a shadow cast by the relationships in which she belongs. “Belongs” in the possessive sense, because she has no agency, no worth or value beyond those relationships, and it doesn’t matter if she is happy or not because she couldn’t live any sort of meaningful life apart from them.
In this circumstance in which Ophelia has been raised, in this society, in this position, the Existence of Ophelia is a shadow cast in the light of three candles. Her father, her brother, her lover, who can shine their lights and cast as many shadows as they wish while she cannot.
Her brother is leaving. He is no steady pillar. If she is not sistered, she is not a sister.
And then her lover, he loses his mind. He goes hot and cold, loving and then cruel and then kind and then completely nonsensical. If she is not loved, she is not a lover.
And then her father is killed. And if she is not daughtered, she is not a daughter.
Physically, emotionally, spiritually, the context she exists within is taken away, and so she is nothing. Just the shape of a girl left adrift in a vacuum.
She is a construction of other’s perceptions, and when she is no longer perceived in a way that is stable, she loses her stability. She’s never been truly alone in herself- never seen herself outside the eyes of those who see her, patronize her, value her, and so her fate is tied to their perceptions. Her value is what they find her value to be; her personhood is what they find her personhood to be.
Ophelia dies covered in flowers, singing in a river. A nonsensical caricature of what a girl should be- beautiful, whimsical, lighthearted, young, left literally and figuratively adrift. Desperately grasping to fulfill the role she was shaped into despite no longer possessing the context in which it has function. Like post-traumatic stress, all that’s left of her is the flinch-and-run response to the bang of a gun you hear on the radio a hundred miles from the battlefield. A reaction to an action that is no longer happening.
She is reduced to Madness as Madness truly is- the rational, logical, straightforward actions of a hero suddenly dropped into the wrong story, giving the right answers to the wrong questions.
I’m not an academic, so my interpretation might be way off, but I love Ophelia because broadly speaking she is an answer to the question of what makes us who we are. If a tree falls in the forest, and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound? If a tree is not perceived, is it even a tree? If your only value is to others, what are you when there are no longer others to value you? What happens when their value of you wavers? Fluctuates madly without reason? What are you then?
But yeah, Taylor, girls should stay slay. Hashtag girl power
Sorry to reblog this again but l've been thinking about it all day and managed to boil it down and figure out WHY it was making me so angry
When you read the text and then the lyrics, what the song is essentially saying is "Ophelia died because in her society, a woman without a man was as good as dead. Fortunately I have a man, so / don't *need* to be a fully actualized person in my own life. Hashtag girlboss". Which so wildly misses the point that it’s sort of amazing that the construction of the song itself betrays absolutely no rational reasonable shred of a clue that it’s anything less that 100% sincere in this interpretation.
Unfortunately, "I don't need to be a self-actualized person to survive because I will never run out of people who need me to fulfill the role I play for them in society" would have been a far more powerful statement, especially given the “showgirl” theme, and if I believed for even half a second that this super secret deeply encoded confessional communiqué was even slightly conscious or deliberate then l'd be far more willing to overlook the fart ass doodoo peepee rhyme scheme
That’s what a normal person would’ve done after an introduction, a quick tour, and a polite goodbye.
But you didn’t.
And honestly? You weren’t sure if it was because of your sister… or because of Angela Montenegro.
“Still here.”
The voice came from behind you—warm, teasing, familiar already.
You turned, trying (and failing) to look casual. “You told me not to go anywhere.”
Angela leaned against the workstation beside you, arms crossing loosely as she tilted her head. “I did, didn’t I?”
There was something in her tone—light, but intentional.
Like she meant it.
---
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” she added after a moment, softer now. “This place can be… a lot.”
“I’ve noticed,” you said, glancing toward where Temperance Brennan was still deep in analysis, completely unaware of the world around her.
Angela followed your gaze, smiling faintly. “Yeah. That’s Brennan. She’ll probably forget you exist until she suddenly asks you a very personal question.”
That thought looped in your mind as you stood awkwardly just inside the entrance of the Jeffersonian, clutching your bag a little tighter than necessary. The place was… a lot. Sleek glass, quiet authority, and the kind of atmosphere that made you feel like if you breathed wrong, someone would correct you.
“Relax,” your sister murmured beside you, not even looking up from the file in her hands. “No one’s judging you.”
You huffed softly. “Easy for you to say, Camille Saroyan. You run the place.”
Cam finally glanced at you, one eyebrow raised in that familiar don’t start expression. “I supervise a team of brilliant but socially questionable scientists. There’s a difference.”
You smiled despite yourself. That sounded about right.
“Come on,” she added, already turning. “I want you to meet everyone. And before you say anything—just be yourself.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”
---
The lab was unlike anything you’d ever seen. Organized chaos, strange machines humming, bones laid out like puzzles waiting to be solved.
And the people?
Even more interesting.
“That’s Temperance Brennan,” Cam said quietly, nodding toward a woman completely absorbed in examining remains. “Don’t take anything she says personally.”
You watched as Brennan spoke—blunt, precise, completely unfiltered—and you instantly understood what Cam meant.
“And over there—”
“I know who that is,” you cut in softly, eyes catching on the woman leaning over a computer screen, dark hair falling effortlessly over her shoulder as she laughed at something on the monitor.
There was something… warm about her. Bright.
“Angela Montenegro,” you said, almost to yourself.
Cam smirked slightly. “Yep. Our resident artist. And probably the most normal person here.”
“Probably?”
“You’ll see.”
---
Angela noticed you before you could look away.
It wasn’t subtle either—her gaze flicked up, locked onto yours, and lingered just long enough to make your stomach flip. Then she smiled.
Not polite. Not distant.
Real.
And suddenly you were very aware of yourself. Your clothes. Your posture. The way you were standing like you didn’t belong.
“Well,” Angela said, pushing away from her station and walking over like she had all the time in the world, “you must be the mysterious sister I’ve heard nothing about.”
Cam rolled her eyes. “That’s because I value privacy.”
“Boring,” Angela shot back easily before turning her full attention to you.
Up close, she was… wow.
“I’m Angela,” she said, offering her hand—but instead of just shaking yours, her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary.
You noticed.
“I—yeah. I know,” you said, immediately cringing internally at how that sounded. “I mean—not like in a weird way. Just—Cam talks. Sometimes.”
Angela’s lips curved, clearly amused. “Good things, I hope.”
You hesitated just long enough for it to be honest. “Mostly intimidating things.”
She laughed softly, and it felt like you’d done something right.
“I like her already,” Angela said over her shoulder.
“Don’t encourage her,” Cam muttered.
---
You told yourself to relax.
You were just visiting. Just here because Cam insisted you stop by after moving back into the city. That was it.
Except… you kept noticing Angela.
The way she moved through the lab like she belonged everywhere. The way she gently explained things to interns that would’ve sounded like another language coming from anyone else. The way she smiled—God, that smile.
At one point, she leaned over your shoulder to show you something on her screen, her voice soft and warm as she explained how she reconstructed faces.
“You see this?” she said, pointing lightly. “Every detail matters. It’s like… giving them their story back.”
You nodded, trying very hard to focus on literally anything other than how close she was.
“That’s… really amazing.”
“Yeah?” she asked, glancing at you instead of the screen.
And there it was again—that look.
Like she was actually seeing you.
“Yeah,” you repeated, quieter this time.
---
“Angela,” Brennan’s voice cut in suddenly, clinical and precise, “I require your assistance.”
Angela sighed dramatically. “Duty calls.”
Before she stepped away, she paused—just briefly—and looked back at you.
“Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
It wasn’t a command.
It wasn’t even really a question.
But something about the way she said it made your heart skip.
“I won’t,” you said.
---
From across the lab, Angela stole one more glance at you.
And for the first time in a while, something felt… different.
in the years that you've known navia, you've come to know her as an extremely capable detective. not one stone goes unturned in her search for clues or answers— which she always gets.
this particular skill set makes her an extremely terrifying gossip.
so normally you'd be thrilled to meet her for your weekly tea, during which she shares the surprising secrets and hidden motives she's unearthed around fontaine.
until it's your turn under her magnifying glass.
"so how long have you been secretly bedding duke wriothesley?"
"archons, navia." you whisper harshly, glancing around the cafe to make sure no one heard. "you can't just say things like that!"
"what? it's just an innocent question!" she defends, though that spark in her eyes is anything but.
"do you have to ask when half of fontaine is within earshot?"
"better clear the air while they're all listening then," she teases, tapping her ear. "because i heard it from clorinde, who heard it from the traveler, who heard it from sigewinne, who said she heard the two of you—"
just when you're starting to feel like you need a lawyer present, the barista calls next, granting you a much needed path of escape.
"hi," you start, ignoring navia's protests. "i'll have—"
"vanilla latte," a familiar voice finishes next to you. you can practically hear the smirk on wriothesley's lips.
"yes," you confirm. "and an—"
"almond croissant," he finishes proudly, lik he's aced some sort of test. "the order's on me."
"oh no," you argue, defiance jumping as he pulls out his wallet. "i have my own money."
he nudges your hand aside. "i'm sure you do, but i want to use mine."
you push back, resisting the urge to roll your eyes when he interlocks his pinky with yours. "well i don't want you to."
"stubborn," he tuts, dipping his head down and angling his broad, sturdy frame toward you. "do you want me to beg? i know you love it when i'm down on my knees in front of you."
your face is suddenly hot. at the memory of the last time he'd been on his knees, and with embarassment when navia makes an amused noise behind you.
"fine," you huff, hoping you don't look as flustered as you feel as you pull your hand away. you don't want to draw anymore attention than you already have, and having the fortress of meriopide's warden on his knees in front of you is something you're sure you'll never recover from. "then i'll take one of every pastry you have today, please."
the barista looks at wriothesley, who's beaming as if he's just won a round in the ring. "fine with me."
once you have the absurd amount of pastries boxed up in your arms — you can already hear the children's squeals when you return to the house of the hearth — you step away with wriothesley, who looks extremely pleased with himself.
"you didn't order anything for yourself." you state, confused.
he simply shrugs, nonchalant as he tells you, "oh, i didn't want anything. i just came to see you."
---
a few days later finds you throwing wriothesley's bedroom door open, this week's copy of the steambird in your clenched fist.
"wriothesley!"
"un instant, mademoiselle!" he calls, voice muffled through the bathroom door.
so you direct your glare down at the picture of the two of you splashed across the front page in the meantime. this wasn't how everyone was supposed to find out about this thing that wasn't really a thing yet.
"we're in the paper!" you tell him, pacing the floor of his bedroom. "there are pictures of us under the headline 'duke wriothesley: finally tamed?' navia is even listed here as a source! she gets her information from clorinde who gets it from the traveler who gets it from sigewinne--"
"headline's not wrong."
wriothesley is leaning against the doorframe, wearing nothing but a towel that's hanging dangerously low on his hips. the whole bulk of him practically fills the space and it's making your head spin.
"what, are you done already?" he asks. "can't ogle me and yell at the same time?"
your mouth snaps shut as you jerk your head to the side. not so much out of embarrassment for being caught staring, but more out of reckless panic. "can you put some clothes on please?"
he makes no move to do so, looking extremely pleased with himself. "you wanted to talk, right? so let's talk."
he takes a step toward you, and you fight the instinct to take one back, wanting to stand your ground. "stop it! you're trying to distract me! we're trying to keep this a secret, you can't just show up at the cafe and--"
"i didn't just show up," he defends. "i fully own that i followed you there. i just wanted to see you and pay for your coffee."
"why?"
"because that's what good boyfriends do."
you shake your head. "you're not my boyfriend."
"really? because i sure felt like your boyfriend when you were making out with me in my office the other night..."
you're horrified that he's said that out loud. the corner of his mouth quirks, a look you recognize as satisfied.
no matter where you are in the fortress, the duke always finds a way to intercept you, tucking the two of you into places out of sight. there aren't many, with inmates and guards covering almost every inch of the place. last night you'd had your hands all over each other before the door of his office could even swing shut.
a hand comes up to cup your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. when had he gotten so close?
"hey, i'm sorry," he murmurs, lips brushing your forehead. "until you're ready, we don't have to be seen together in public anymore. i'll work my contacts at the steambird, get this article pulled."
"thank you," you sigh, leaning into him. "wriothesley, you're not my dirty secret and i never want you to think that. i just...i like what we are right now. and if father finds out..."
"and i'm happy to wait."
in the soft candlelight of his room, the world around you falls away. here, you're not worried what everyone thinks of you. all you can focus on are his eyes are fixed on yours, the corner of his mouth curving upward, and his hand smoothing over the small of your back as he pulls you in.
his towel falls before his lips can touch yours.
you look down, not entirely hating what you see as the duke watches your reaction, smug satisfaction written all over his face.
turnnoffyourmind
annaxmalina
romaincrisis
titsay
