juniper

You had to leave. You had to run. Your little brother’s tiny fingers clung desperately to you, his sobs vibrating through your chest as your mother—your mother—threw things in fury, her heartbreak spilling over. Every instinct told you to stay, to comfort them, but you knew better. You had to leave or you’d lose your mind. Or worse, you’d drag them down into your nightmare.

You ran. The pounding of your feet against the dirt was deafening, a frantic rhythm of escape, but your body couldn’t outrun the reality clawing at your soul. You ran until your legs gave out and you collapsed, crumbling to your knees, gasping for air. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It had to be alright. It had to be. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t.

You wiped away your tears, your breath ragged and uneven, thoughts spinning wildly. Out of the eight victors from your district, only you and one of your mentors were women. And you weren’t about to let your mentor go through the Games again. There was no chance. You knew the nightmares she’d endured, the scars that marked her body. Like you, she had survived, but she wasn’t as capable as she once was when she won during the 47th Games. At least you still had a fighting chance.

Your mind turned to your family next. You just needed them to promise you one thing. They couldn’t watch. They couldn’t watch you die. It was the only mercy you could give them. You couldn’t let them see that.

Your death would rip them apart, you knew it. Your mother would be left without her daughter. Your brother would grow up without his older sister to protect him. Your father, already a shadow of the man he once was, would be broken, lost in the absence of his “princess.” And Haymitch—Haymitch.

The thought of him hit you like a physical blow, your heart constricting in your chest. He’s a victor too. A chilling realization gripped you like ice in your veins. He could be reaped. He could be sent to fight.

Tears spilled freely, hot and relentless, as you gasped, your breath stuttering. The weight of it crushed you. He could be reaped. And that terrifying thought shattered you more than the fear of your own reaping ever could.

You let out a scream—gut-wrenching, heart-shattering—your body shaking as it tore through you. It was a sound so full of anguish, so desperate, it seemed to rip apart the very fabric of the world around you. Haymitch. He could be reaped. And with that, all your nightmares, every awful memory, every twisted fear, came to life.

-----

“Get me that damn tablet,” Haymitch barked, shoving his way through the train car in search of the device. His mind was a tangled mess, his body still buzzing from the alcohol he’d consumed in an attempt to dull the gnawing pain. 

The last few days had been a blur, but he could still feel the sharp sting of the announcement ringing in his ears. The tributes... the victors... and his own twisted fate. He should’ve been focusing on how he’d somehow managed to cheat death. Instead, his mind was consumed with one thing—and one person—from District 5. You.

When the announcement came about the victors being reaped, he hadn’t reacted with surprise. No, he’d gone into a frenzy. He’d torn apart his house, broken everything in sight, and drunk himself into oblivion. His fingers had clutched his most prized possession with a desperation he couldn't explain—a beautiful gold chain, wrapped tightly around his finger, holding the most precious ring. 

The night before, Katniss had begged him—no, pleaded—for him to volunteer for Peeta during the reaping. He had agreed. Not because he wanted to, hell no. But because he had to be there if you were reaped. And now, as Peeta decided to take matters into his own hands, Haymitch found himself thrust into the role of mentor. It infuriated him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want you in the arena again.

The other districts should’ve already been reaped by now, and his mind was frantic, itching to know if you had been chosen. Unfortunately, he’d been trapped in the mentor role, unable to watch the reaping unfold. Now, though, he was pushing everyone aside, his hands shaking as he aggressively swiped across the tablet screen, searching for answers.

“What's his deal?” Katniss scoffed, watching Haymitch swipe frantically at the tablet.

Effie, doing her best to keep the secret Haymitch had entrusted her with, attempted to downplay his urgency. “Oh, he’s just trying to see which victors got reaped. Don’t worry about it yet.”

“I can’t find it. Turn on the damn video on the TV,” he snapped, his patience gone. Effie scrambled, finally finding the footage and flicking it on.

As the video began, Haymitch subconsciously started playing with the gold band around his neck, his fingers caressing it absently as his heart hammered in his chest. The room fell silent as the broadcast began—District 5’s reaping.

"Welcome, welcome," the escort’s overly cheery voice rang out, her ridiculous outfit blinding in its absurdity. "As we celebrate the 75th anniversary and the 3rd Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games, as always, ladies first…”

Haymitch’s leg started bouncing in nervous anticipation, his pulse quickening. District 5 had eight victors, but only two were women—and you were one of them.

He couldn’t help it. His eyes locked onto the screen, unable to tear himself away. You stood there, dressed in black, your face a perfect mask of stoicism. Your eyes were red, your pain carefully hidden beneath a practiced, blank expression—the one you’d perfected from years of surviving. He’d taught you that. How to hide everything. How to show nothing. How to survive.

He watched you hold hands with your mentor, the two of you standing in quiet solidarity. A tiny part of him hoped that it would be you—the one they called forward, so your mentor could volunteer for you. He knew she would. You just had to let her.

The escort’s voice cut through his thoughts, though he barely heard it now. She gave both you and your mentor a small, sad smile before unfolding the slip of paper. “The female tribute of District 5…” she began, and the words hung in the air like a death sentence, “Abigail Winston.”

Effie’s sigh of relief was audible, probably thinking that you were home free, that everything was going to be okay. But Haymitch knew better. He knew you. And that’s why his entire body tensed in an instant. The anger surged through his veins like wildfire, hot and uncontrollable.

And then he saw your movement. The way you stepped forward. No.

Before your mentor could even make a move, your voice steady but fierce rang out, “I volunteer as tribute.”

Time seemed to slow. Haymitch’s heart stopped, the world around him blurring as he felt everything he’d been holding together shatter. His breath came in ragged, panicked gasps as the glass in his hand fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. The tablet in his hands followed, crashing to the ground in a violent thud.

Katniss and Peeta exchanged confused glances, unsure of who you were or why Haymitch had reacted like that. Effie’s tears fell silently, a mix of sorrow and disbelief. But before anyone could speak, Haymitch turned away, his mind consumed by rage and heartbreak. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

He stormed down the train, away from them all, his hands clawing at the air as if trying to rip the world apart. Every part of him, every inch of his being, was focused on one thought: You. You had volunteered. You had sealed your fate. And now, all of his nightmares were coming true.

-----

Haymitch wished he were drunk. He wished the alcohol could drown out the aching pain of having you step into that arena again. It wasn’t fair.

You barely had two years together. Two years of being an official couple, and yet it felt like it wasn’t enough. He’d first met you at the end of your Victor’s Tour, when you decided to escape the attention and hide at the bar. You outdrank him that night, which, frankly, was impressive.

At first, he never expected to care for you. You were just another survivor, bound to the same cruel fate as him. But then, over time, as you grew up and proved yourself in ways he never imagined, he couldn’t help but fall in love.

You were 15 years younger, and he had always kept his distance, hiding his feelings behind a wall of friendship. But as the years passed, and you all met yearly for the Games as mentors, one thing led to another. A night full of too much alcohol, too many unspoken feelings—and before he knew it, you had shared a night neither of you would ever forget.

The next morning, you confessed what had been lingering beneath the surface for so long. It took him months to work up the courage to ask you out, battling his own demons of self-doubt and guilt.

And then, for two beautiful years, you two had kept it secret. Notes passed in shadows, stolen kisses, quiet smiles, and letters filled with raw emotion. Two years of sneaking around, being completely, utterly in love.

And now, it was all coming to an end.

Effie found him passed out in the train’s aisle, and without hesitation, she put him to bed, understanding that he needed space.

The next morning, Haymitch tried to seek you out. He wanted to see you, to make sure you were okay, but his duties as a mentor took priority. Effie begged him to focus, to speak to Katniss and Peeta first, and then find you. He was torn between his heart and his responsibilities. And in the end, Effie dragged him to the kids.

He spent that day drinking and half-heartedly trying to teach them about the importance of allies.

“Finnick Odair, right?” Katniss asked, as they went through the list of reaped victors.

He nodded, pointing to the screen. “Yes, he won at fourteen—youngest victor ever. Extremely humble.”

“You're kidding, right?” Katniss scoffed.

“Yes, I’m kidding.” He flipped his hair dramatically. “He’s a... peacock. A total preener, but he’s the Capitol darling. They love him here. Charming, smart, and very skilled at combat—especially in water.”

Peeta leaned forward, glancing at the screen. “What about weaknesses?”

“One person, Mags.” A frail, wrinkled woman appeared on the screen. “She volunteered for Annie. Mags was his mentor, basically raised him. If Finnick’s trying to protect her, it exposes him.”

Katniss stared at the screen, watching the woman bravely volunteer for the young girl in tears. “A guy like that has to know she’s not going to make it. I bet when it really comes down to it, he won’t protect her.”

Sadness flickered in Haymitch’s eyes. “Well, Katniss, I just hope when she goes... she goes quickly. She’s a wonderful lady.”

He pressed a button on the tablet, knowing exactly who would appear next, but his body tensed involuntarily as the screen flickered to life.

"District Five: Mason Cover and Y/N L/N." Haymitch stared at the screen, his eyes locked on you, unable to look away.

"She's the girl we saw on the train," Katniss said, sensing the weight of Haymitch’s reaction. "What's her story?"

Haymitch glanced at Katniss before downing his drink. “She won the 66th Games at 16. The last hour of the Games, there were five tributes left. She killed each one of them single-handedly—arrows, spear, you name it. Extremely skillful, resourceful. And beloved by many of our victors.”

He pointed to Mason Cover, “Mason won the 55th Games at 18. Lethal in hand-to-hand combat. The last 30 minutes of those Games were a triple threat match. Those two are close friends. You want them as allies. And if you trust me... trust them. They're who you should be allies with.” He repeated, his gaze locked on Katniss. “Trust me.”

“Who is she to you?” Katniss asked bluntly, her voice cutting through the tension. “We all saw the reaping. We saw the way you reacted. Now you want to team up with her... why?”

Haymitch squinted at her, his fingers subconsciously playing with the chain around his neck. “She's just a friend. I've known her for years. I know both of them. Good people. Trustworthy people.”

“I don’t believe you,” Katniss retorted.

“Katniss,” Peeta interjected, sensing the simmering tension. "Let it go."

But before anyone could speak, Effie burst through the door, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she hurried toward Haymitch. "Haymitch, thank God you're here!" she said, voice strained with urgency. She then saw Katniss and Peeta standing in the room, and immediately faltered. "Oh... uh... Haymitch, you're needed outside of this room." She gestured quickly toward the door, trying to keep the situation under wraps, hoping the kids wouldn't notice.

Haymitch caught the hint, and without a word, he practically flew out of the room. Before the door even clicked shut behind him, he was pulled into an embrace. Your arms.

And for a moment, everything around him seemed to stop.

"Haymitch..." you whispered, your voice trembling as tears flooded your face. After days of terror, the weight of the world finally seemed to melt away in his arms. He was here. You needed him more than anything.

"Y/N..." He squeezed you tightly, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. His heart hammered in his chest, sobering instantly from the haze of alcohol. The warmth of your skin, the sweet scent of you, and the soft wetness of your tears soaking through his shirt — this was real. You were here, with him... for now.

He pulled back slightly, needing to see your face, his hands gently cupping your tear-streaked cheeks. He smiled at you, the corners of his mouth trembling with something he couldn't quite control. "Hi, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice breaking.

It hurt him to see you like this—eyes red and swollen, your hands shaking, a look of grim acceptance in your gaze. The kind of acceptance that made his heart shatter. What had you accepted? What were you preparing for? That thought alone gnawed at him.

"It's going to be okay. I’ve got you, pretty girl." His voice cracked with desperation, the words pouring out in a rush. "I’ll get you sponsors, and you'll be okay. Then when this is over, we can go back to my district, or yours, and live the rest of our lives together. I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever." He whispered it, desperate for you to believe him, for you to feel safe, for the horrible weight of your future to somehow lift.

But then, you shook your head, sobbing. "You can't... Katniss and Peeta are your responsibility. You need to help them. You need to save them." The words broke out in a cry, your eyes locking with his in raw, painful clarity. He shook his head, his heart sinking.

"No," he muttered firmly, "I’m not leaving you alone for this." His hands gripped your shoulders, holding you as if he could keep you safe, as if he could protect you from the arena, from everything.

"I’ll be alright," you tried to smile, wiping away the fresh tears that fell. "You don’t need to worry about me." You forced the smile, trying to push him, to focus on the kids, on them. You knew the truth, knew the game was rigged. Katniss needed to be victorious; you were just collateral damage, nothing more.

Your hand reached up to caress his face, your thumb tracing the rough outline of his jaw. "The kids need you, my love. You have to choose them over me. You have to choose Katniss over me. She... she is important."

"You're important." His voice cracked as he tried to hold on to some semblance of control, but it shattered as soon as he looked at you. "You're everything to me. You're my world. My wife... You don’t know what you’re asking me to do..." His voice broke, the words too raw, too heavy. "I can’t leave you in that arena. I won’t. I will save you."

You stared at him, tears running freely down both of your faces. He looked at you in disbelief, his eyes wide with an agony he couldn't hide. You had accepted your death, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not like this. He had already lost so much. He wouldn’t lose you too. Not like this. Not again.

"You don’t understand," he whispered, his voice raw, breaking with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. He shook his head, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "I can’t let them take you from me." His mind was already spinning, heart racing with frantic thoughts—how could he get more sponsors? Who could he talk to in the Capitol? There had to be a way. Anything to keep you alive. "Why the hell did you volunteer? Why—Jesus Christ, why you?" The words cracked through his chest, his heart shattering with the pain of it. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was losing you, and he couldn’t stop it.

You reached up to cup his face, your thumb gently brushing over the rough, scarred lines of his cheek, your touch a silent plea. You saw the desperation in his eyes—the panic, the fear that he couldn’t hide. Your voice trembled as you whispered, "Haymitch... I promise you, I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine." The words tasted like ash on your tongue, but you said them anyway, because you needed him to believe it. You couldn’t bear the thought of him falling apart, not when you knew what was coming. You had to be strong for him, even if it broke you to lie like that.

And then, with everything breaking inside him, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that spoke of everything: grief, love, fear, and an unbearable desperation. It was rough and frantic, a mixture of tears and longing. The kiss was an apology, a plea, and a final, desperate act of love.

What neither of you knew was that Katniss, Peeta, and Effie were watching from the crack in the door, their eyes wide with shock. 

Haymitch has a wife.

And she was about to die.

Fred Weasley was absolutely insistent that you and he were just friends.

Best friends, even.

“Like family.” He’d say with a laugh, ruffling your hair and tugging you into his side like you were an annoying little sister. Honestly, it made you roll your eyes so hard you were surprised you didn’t find a second brain back there.

Because everyone else knew Fred already had a younger sister—two years below you, in fact—but he never treated her the way he treated you.

In fact, he was practically blind to her antics. He waved off her detentions with a grin and said Hogwarts was meant for mischief.

And when she spent the better part of an hour snogging Dean Thomas in the corner of the Gryffindor common room? Not a word. Not a look. Just Fred, lounging like nothing was happening.

Even Ginny didn’t think a single year made such a difference—but Fred? Fred seemed to think it was a chasm. Enough of one to put you firmly in some sacred category: completely off-limits. Practically blood.

Your older brother? Please. He was clearly anything but.

You reached the base of the stairs and scanned the common room for your roommates, who were waiting to leave for the party in the Ravenclaw tower. You smoothed down your skirt and gave yourself one last look in the mirror.

You looked hot.

Not just hot—head-turning, legs-for-days, traffic-stopping hot.

Fred, who had been lazily chatting with your roommates (and turning down their offers to come along—claiming he was far too tired and absolutely couldn’t be hungover before tomorrow’s Quidditch practice unless he wanted to face Oliver Wood’s wrath), absolutely short-circuited.

He stared at you.

One second. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Then sputtered, “What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?!”

You turned in place, giving a little twirl, “Cute, right? What do we think?”

He narrowed his eyes, “I think you forgot the bottom half.”

Your friends broke into laughter. George just rolled his eyes, especially since Ron had walked out of the common room not fifteen minutes ago on his way to the same party—and Fred had told him that if he didn’t come back completely smashed, he was a pussy.

You crossed your arms, incredulous, “It’s a skirt, Fred.”

“It’s a postage stamp.”

“It’s called fashion.” You shot back.

“It’s called a crisis! You bend over and you're going to court!”

Your jaw dropped, “This is couture!”

Fred threw his hands up in exasperation, “Well, couture clearly means no pants in French!”

You rolled your eyes.

Fred stepped in front of you, arms crossed like he was about to fight someone, looking like he was about to have a stroke, "Go put on some pants, or you're not going."

You blinked at him, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He gestured vaguely at your legs like they offended him, "You can’t just go out dressed like that."

Your brows shot up, "Why do you even care so much?"

He didn’t hesitate, "Because you’re like a little sister to me!"

That earned a very loud groan from your friends. One of them actually facepalmed. George gave an exaggerated sigh and muttered under his breath, “Here we go again.”

"I'm not changing." You said, matching his energy with your arms crossed.

"Fine," Fred said, jaw tightening, "Then I’m coming with you."

You blinked again, "For what?"

He paused, "To supervise."

"Fred," George drawled from his seat, not even looking up, "You’re not a prefect. And this isn’t a Ministry investigation. It’s a party. You're being a real Percy."

Your friends exchanged looks and stifled more laughter. One of them leaned over and whispered, "If this is what having a brother’s like, I’m out."

"This is what it's like having a boyfriend but she gets none of the upsides." One whispered back.

Fred glared at them though they were hardly deterred, giggling louder now, “I’m being responsible.”

You just shook your head, turning toward the portrait hole, "Whatever. Keep up if you’re coming, mum."

Despite what Fred Weasley told everyone—including himself—you knew exactly how he felt about you.

He said it all the time, like repeating it would somehow make it true.

“You’re like a little sister to me.”

He’d ruffle your hair, wrap an arm around your shoulder, call you squirt. Like he wasn’t two seconds away from spontaneously combusting every time some poor boy looked in your direction for longer than a heartbeat.

And maybe he thought it was brotherly affection.

Maybe he genuinely believed that he was just being protective. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how his voice always changed around you—softer, warmer, less teasing. Maybe he didn’t realize that he never reacted this way when Ginny got into trouble, or when Hermione dragged Ron across a dueling mat.

But you noticed.

So did everyone else.

And every time Fred got all riled up on your behalf, trying to cover his nerves with shouting or sarcasm, it made you feel like the center of the universe. Like a sunflower turned toward its sun.

And because you were a menace—and because you were in love—you liked to test just how far you could push that brotherly façade.

Every Dumbledore’s Army meeting became your personal playground. Every duel, a performance. Every trip, stumble, or wince? Another chance to watch Fred's expression twist from calm to frantic in real time.

Today was no different.

You were paired with Zacharias Smith—a pompous, loud-mouthed git who was all talk and absolutely no skill. The second your names were called together, you spotted Fred across the room stiffen like he’d just been personally insulted.

But you simply smiled.

Smith was already getting cocky before the duel even started, twirling his wand with the confidence of someone who'd only heard about talent. Then he shouted an Expelliarmus—a bit too forcefully—and you seized your moment.

You gasped, staggered backward, and threw yourself to the floor with a dramatic thud, wand flying from your hand as you landed.

It wasn’t a bad fall. It barely even hurt. But that wasn’t the point.

Across the room, Fred froze mid-spell.

“Oi!” He shouted, already shoving past George and dodging Neville as he sprinted toward you.

His face was a picture of panic.

Your internal grin was feral.

He skidded to his knees beside you, eyes darting across your body like he expected to find a missing limb, “Are you alright?! What the bloody hell was that, Smith?!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. He was always too easy. Like flicking a switch.

“I’m fine, Freddie.” You said, your voice soft and sweet, fluttering your lashes for good measure.

He didn’t even acknowledge it—too busy inspecting your arm, pulling up your sleeve to check for bruises like he was some kind of medic.

"That spell was way too aggressive," He growled, “He could’ve dislocated your shoulder, or—or cracked your wrist!”

You made a soft, wounded noise in your throat. (Maybe laid it on a bit thick, but who was judging? Certainly not Fred.)

“I’ll be okay,” You murmured, letting your bottom lip tremble just slightly, “My hero.”

Fred scowled. A full-on, brows-knitted, jaw-tightened scowl, “Don’t get soppy on me, squirt. You’re like a little sister. I gotta keep you safe.”

Little sister.

Right.

You tried not to roll your eyes.

Not like he said a word when Hermione accidentally launched Ron into a bookshelf twenty minutes ago and Fred had laughed so hard he almost cried. Not like he’d won a sickle betting against his own brother.

No, it was different when it was you.

When it was you, he sprinted. He shouted. He scowled like the world was ending.

You inhaled slowly and offered him your sweetest, most angelic smile, “Of course, Freddie.”

He didn’t look convinced. His eyes lingered a little too long on your face before he stood and offered you his hand.

You took it—warm, calloused, grounding—and let him pull you to your feet.

As he turned away to go yell at Smith again (Zacharias had wisely retreated to the far side of the room), you brushed off your robes and watched Fred’s retreating back with a sense of calm satisfaction.

You’d get him eventually. You were patient. And Fred Weasley had no idea what he was in for.

It was one of those rare warm afternoons in October—the kind that made you forget how quickly the season was changing. The sun hung low over the Black Lake, and a gentle breeze rolled off the water, ruffling your notes and carrying the faint scent of moss and sun-warmed grass.

You’d spread your books beneath a tree, determined to study for your upcoming exams. But, predictably, you’d spent more time watching the sky ripple across the lake than reading a single line. Still, it was peaceful. Quiet. A perfect moment.

Until it wasn’t.

A body dropped into the grass beside you with a dramatic sigh.

“Ugh,” Fred Weasley groaned, flopping onto his back like the world had wronged him, “I knew I’d find you out here being obnoxiously productive.”

You glanced over your shoulder, amused, “And here I thought I’d actually get some work done without distractions.”

“I know,” He said, shielding his eyes with one hand, “My devastating good looks are very distracting.”

You snorted, “Wow. Didn’t think anyone could love themselves more than Malfoy.”

Fred gasped, “That’s low. Even for you.”

You grinned, turning back to your parchment. For a while, the quiet settled between you again—comfortable and companionable. Sunlight filtered through the branches above, casting warm, dappled shadows over your notes. A few first-years skipped stones near the lake, their laughter drifting on the breeze. It felt like Hogwarts had slowed down—like the Tournament hadn’t upended everything, like you hadn’t spent the entire morning stressed about things you couldn’t control.

Fred sat up beside you, resting his arms on his knees. “Weird, innit?” He said, nodding toward the water, “No Quidditch this year.”

You nodded, “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d miss it, but… I kind of do.”

“No bludgers to the face every Saturday,” He sighed, “What a tragedy.”

You laughed, “You liked getting hit.”

“I like winning,” He corrected with a smirk, “There’s a difference.”

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head.

Fred leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him, “Well, who needs Quidditch when there’s the Triwizard Tournament, eh?”

You wrinkled your nose, “I still can’t believe they’re actually holding that thing again. A student died last time. I mean—who would be stupid enough to enter?”

Fred rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand and giving you a lazy, mischievous grin, “Funny you should ask. George and I are entering.”

You blinked, “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.”

Your mouth fell open, “Fred, you’re not even of age.”

“Technicality,” He responded, waving a hand, “We’ve got plans.”

“You’re mad,” You said, gaping at him, “Do you even know what the tasks are?”

“’Course not,” He said brightly, “That’s the fun of it. Life’s full of surprises.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Life’s also full of death, Fred.”

He grinned, “I think that’s a fair trade for a thousand galleons.”

You stared, “You want to risk dying for money?”

He gave you a look, “I want to open a joke shop.”

That shut you up.

He didn’t say it like a joke. There was a rare steadiness to his voice, something quiet and real beneath the usual chaos. He plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers, not quite meeting your eyes.

“George and I—we’ve been working on stuff for ages. Skiving Snackboxes, Canary Creams, that cough syrup that changes your voice pitch—we’ve got an entire catalogue in our dorm. No more sneaking around under Umbridge’s nose. We want real walls. A shop. Our names on the window.”

He paused, then added, “We’ve been looking at places in Diagon Alley. But they’re way out of reach. Even if we worked our arses off for the next ten years, we’d never make enough. The Tournament’s our best shot.”

You blinked, “Oh Godric. You’re actually serious.”

He finally glanced over at you, “Deadly.”

Your heart did a weird little lurch. Not just because Fred Weasley could be serious—which was a revelation all on its own—but because now you could see it. The dream behind the jokes. How much it meant to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” You asked quietly.

He shrugged, suddenly shy, “Dunno. Guess I didn’t want anyone laughing at it. It’s not exactly the career Mum had in mind.”

You nudged his shoulder gently, “Well, for the record? I think it’s brilliant.”

He looked at you then—really looked. The wind ruffled his hair, and the sharpness in his grin softened into something slower, more genuine.

“You do?”

You nodded, “Absolutely. I mean, if anyone can build an empire out of nosebleeds and puking pastilles, it’s you two.”

Fred beamed, and for a second, the world felt lighter.

“Thanks.” He said, quiet but full of meaning.

You smiled back and nudged his foot with yours, “You’ll still be an idiot, though.”

“Obviously,” He said, flopping onto his back with a groan—his head landing squarely in your lap, “Just a rich one.”

You looked down at him, sunlight catching in his eyelashes, his grin lopsided and smug. And you laughed—soft and full, like the sun had settled in your chest.

It was nothing and everything.

Just a moment. Just a feeling.

But it was these moments that truly made you believe.

You were never a just 'little sister' to Fred.

The Yule Ball was a glittering, dazzling spectacle—lights flickering off icicles, laughter rising above the string quartet, and students twirling like they belonged in fairytales. You, however, sat near the edge of the ballroom, nursing your second Butterbeer and watching the swirl of color and sound with a wistful smile.

You hadn’t come with a date. Not for lack of trying—well, trying in your own mischievous, joking way.

A few weeks ago, you’d cheekily asked Fred if he wanted to go with you. Just for laughs. You knew he was going with Angelina—everyone did—but you asked anyway, leaning across the common room table with a dramatic flutter of your lashes.

“Freddie, darling,” You’d purred in a mock-sultry voice, “would you do me the honor of escorting me to the Yule Ball?”

Fred had laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair, “Merlin, no. You’re like my little sister.” He said, ruffling your hair like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Ugh. Little sister. Would he ever give it a rest?

It still clanged around in your brain like a badly played triangle.

You’d rolled your eyes at the time and played it off with a sarcastic bow, “Guess I’ll be a single lady then.”

You could’ve gone with someone else—you’d been asked by a few boys from all three schools—but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept any of them. You’d considered it briefly, wondering if maybe it would make Fred jealous. Part of you hesitated because you didn’t want to give him another reason to believe you weren’t available—romantically or otherwise.

But, really… you didn’t want to go with anyone who wasn’t Fred.

So you came alone. In a dress you adored. Ready to have a good time with your friends instead of pretending to care about someone you’d barely remember in a year.

The small detail you’d failed to factor in?

Your friends hadn’t come alone.

So here you were—alone in a dress you actually loved, watching the dance floor glow with candlelight and spinning silhouettes.

You weren’t bitter. Not really.

…Okay. Maybe a little.

You were fine. You were great. You were single, glowing, unbothered—and just a little disappointed.

Fred had been dancing most of the evening with Angelina, stopping now and then to mess with George or shove cake in Lee’s face. But the moment he spotted you sitting alone, something shifted in him. His laughter faltered mid-sentence. The smile dimmed just slightly.

He watched you from the edge of the crowd. Your eyes followed the dancers, your foot tapping along with the beat. But you weren’t smiling like you usually did. You looked like you were waiting—for something. Or someone.

Fred excused himself from the group without a word and made his way toward you, face unreadable.

You looked up as he stopped in front of you.

“Fred?”

“You look like a lemon.”

You blinked. “Charming.”

He held out a hand, “Dance with me.”

You raised a brow, “And abandon my hard-earned reputation as the designated wallflower? You sure you want to ruin that for me?”

He smirked, but there was something softer beneath it, “Just so you’re not sitting here looking miserable. I mean, you looked like you wanted to dance. And you’re not a lemon. You’re… a pomegranate.”

You stared at him, “Wow. How could a girl possibly resist?”

You placed your hand in his, warmth zipping up your arm at the contact.

“Thanks, Fred. I didn’t want to sit here all night.”

“I’m rescuing you from a night of tragic wallflowering,” He said, placing one hand on your waist and taking the other in his, “A truly chivalrous act.”

“Right,” You said dryly, “Should I curtsy or just kiss your feet?”

He narrowed his eyes, “I could still leave you here, you know.”

“You won’t.” You said smugly.

You were on your third dance with Fred—completely unaware of time, music, or the fact that your feet were starting to ache—when someone tapped your shoulder.

You turned to see a Ravenclaw boy you vaguely recognized. “Hey—sorry to interrupt,” He said, smiling, “Would you like to dance the next one?”

You opened your mouth, startled, but Fred beat you to it.

“She’s booked for the night, mate." He said smoothly.

The boy blinked, “Oh. I just thought—”

Fred clapped a hand on his shoulder, laughing, “Appreciate you trying to put me out of my misery, really. But I couldn’t do that to you.”

The boy hesitated, then walked away.

You turned back to Fred, eyebrows raised, “Didn’t you just say you were dancing with me because I looked like a lonely?”

Fred shrugged, “I couldn’t, in good conscience, let him suffer through your dancing. Besides, you’d be bored with anyone else.”

You snorted, “I’m calling your bluff, Weasley. You just don’t want to admit you’re having fun.”

He gave you a wicked grin. “Maybe I am… but don’t let it go to your head.”

The night wore on, and you were breathless from laughter. Despite his usual disinterest in McGonagall’s dance lessons—apart from embarrassing his brother for dancing with her—Fred, to his credit, was a surprisingly good dancer. He had already spun you around twice, always managing to keep you steady even though, in these heels, it felt like one misstep away from disaster. But his latest antic nearly gave you a cardiac arrest.

“Ready?” He asked, eyes gleaming.

“Fred—what are you—?”

Then he dipped you.

Dramatically.

One strong arm behind your back, the other holding your hand as your head tilted back with a surprised squeak. You gripped his arms tightly, heart hammering.

“I could drop you,” He said casually, “Let everyone see you take a tumble in that pretty dress.”

“Fred Weasley, don’t you dare—”

He chuckled, voice low and steady, “I’d never let you go.”

Your breath caught.

He was close—too close. His voice was warm against your cheek, his grin lazy, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Like what he’d just said meant something.

You stared at him for a heartbeat too long.

Then, with a cheeky flourish, he pulled you upright again, smiling like it had all been a joke.

You didn’t say a word. Because if you did—if you pointed out how soft and sweet that had been—he’d ruin it. He’d backpedal. Say something like “Because you’re like my sister,” and you weren’t about to let that ruin the moment.

So you said nothing. You let him hold you a little too close. Let his fingers linger at your waist. Let yourself feel the weight of it—of him.

And then, slowly, the teasing faded. The jokes quieted. You were just dancing. Holding each other. His hand warm against your back. His eyes drifted to your lips just once and you had to stop everything in you from leaning into him.

At some point, your fingers brushed his collar, adjusting it just to touch him.

The both of you just lost in your own world.

Until the crowd began to thin. Until the music slowed. Until reality crept back in.

Fred glanced toward the edge of the ballroom.

“Oh, Merlin,” He breathed, “Angelina.”

You blinked, “Oh my God. You had a date.”

He winced, “I didn’t mean to leave her—”

“You left her the whole night, Fred,” You worried, still slightly dazed that the guy you had been crushing on forgot his own date for your company, “For your pomegranate.”

He looked sheepish, running a hand nervously through his hair. “That makes it sound worse.” He muttered.

“It is worse.” You said quietly, the concern in your voice barely masked by the soft glow of the ballroom lights.

Fred swallowed hard. “I’ll go talk to her,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flickering with a mix of guilt and dread, “She’s gonna kill me.”

He found Angelina standing near the exit, her arms crossed, the faintest crease between her brows. She didn’t look angry—not really. Just… tired. Like she’d been waiting too long to say what she needed to say, and it had worn her down.

“Took you long enough.” She said coolly, voice steady but carrying a weight beneath it.

“Angelina, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” She interrupted, stepping closer, her gaze sharp and unyielding, “Just be honest with me.”

Fred blinked, confusion clouding his expression, “Honest?”

She nodded, her voice softer but no less firm, “The moment you saw her, you forgot I even existed.”

His cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and something deeper, more complicated, “It’s not like that. She’s—”

“Don’t,” Angelina said sharply, cutting him off, “Don’t say ‘little sister.’ You’ve been using that excuse for ages. It’s not cute anymore. She’s not your sister. You didn’t spend the whole night laughing with her, dancing with her, looking at her like she hung the bloody moon because she was your sister.”

Fred opened his mouth, as if to protest, but no words came. The truth hung heavy in the air, unspoken but impossible to deny.

Angelina gave him a sad, almost wistful smile, “You know what? I hope she finally says something. Because you’re too stupid to realize you’re already halfway in love.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her silhouette swallowed by the crowd.

Fred stood frozen, watching the heavy doors swing shut behind her. The sounds of the ball—the music, the laughter—seemed distant, like they were happening to someone else.

Across the room, you were laughing with George, your eyes bright, your dress catching the light with every twirl. Your joy was undeniable, effortless.

Fred’s heart thundered painfully in his chest.

Oh.

Fred stumbled into the Gryffindor common room later that night, hair a complete mess, and his tie still hanging loosely from his collar like a badge of defeat. His usually cocky grin was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight. Not after Angelina. Not after you.

He hadn’t even managed to reach the part of his brain that could make sense of why the latter felt like it mattered more. The weight of it pressed on his chest in a way he wasn’t used to.

He made a beeline for the couch and flopped down face-first, letting out a long, weary sigh. Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived.

“Enchanté, loverboy.” Came a familiar voice.

Fred groaned without opening his eyes, “Go away, George.”

But George was already there, sprawled comfortably with a smug grin and a pillow in hand.

“Why should I?” George asked, grinning wide, “I’m genuinely enjoying your emotional meltdown. It’s been ages since I had this much blackmail material on you.”

Fred peeked one eye open, glaring, “You’re delusional.”

“Oh, am I?” George leaned in, his grin widening wickedly, “So, just to make sure I’ve got this right—you asked Angelina to the Yule Ball, spent exactly zero time with her, and then danced the entire night with someone you keep insisting is ‘just your little sister’?”

Fred scowled, sitting up slightly, “She didn’t have anyone to dance with—”

George gasped dramatically, clutching his chest, “Oh no! Poor darling (Y/N), tragically unwanted and left to fend off all those desperate wankers alone. Thank goodness you stepped up to do your familial duty and ward off all those other blokes with your death stare!”

“I didn’t—”

“And then there was the moment when you full-on blocked that Ravenclaw who asked her to dance—”

“He was creepy.” Fred interrupted, defensive.

“Was he?” George raised a skeptical brow, “Or did you just not like some other bloke getting close to what you think belongs to you?”

Fred sputtered, cheeks flushing, “She’s not mine!”

George leaned back, hands behind his head, looking like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup, “That’s not what your face said last night when she laughed at someone else’s joke.”

Fred blinked in surprise, “She did?”

George threw back his head and howled with laughter, “You absolute muppet. You’re in love with her.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are in love with her.”

Fred narrowed his eyes, “She’s like a sister.”

George chuckled, eyes sparkling with disbelief, “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

The days after the Yule Ball stretched on with a strange sort of silence between you and Fred. It wasn’t the loud, obvious kind of silence that comes from a fight or an argument—it was quieter, more complicated. Like a door left slightly ajar, inviting but uncertain whether to open or close.

Fred wasn’t usually the type to get tongue-tied or awkward. He was a master of quick jokes, cheeky grins, and effortless charm. But in those weeks, whenever you were near, something tangled inside him—like a knot he didn’t quite know how to undo. His usual bravado wavered just enough that it made you catch him staring a little longer than usual or pause mid-joke, like he was rehearsing lines in his head that never quite made it out.

The common room felt different now when you sat near each other. The easy camaraderie you’d always shared was still there, but it was layered with something unspoken—something neither of you dared to say aloud. Conversations that used to flow effortlessly now stumbled into sudden silences.

He found himself watching you more, stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking—the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved, the subtle way you bit your lip when you were deep in thought, the way your laughter made the whole room feel warmer. Every little detail seemed to grow in significance, like clues to a puzzle he didn’t realize he was trying to solve.

He kept telling himself it was safer to keep things as they were. Safer to laugh it off, to shove feelings aside and pretend they weren’t there.

Still, the more he tried to ignore it, the harder it became. Every shared glance, every accidental touch, every laugh felt like a spark. And sparks—no matter how small—have a way of turning into flames.

So the days rolled on, filled with stolen moments and unspoken truths, until the night of the twins' birthday.

You’d gone all out.

Of course you had. They were your closest friends—your brothers in chaos, your constants—and no amount of recent awkwardness between you and Fred was going to change that. You weren’t about to let a few strange, tense weeks ruin what had always been effortless. You had promised yourself you'd make their birthday unforgettable.

So you did.

The common room was full of warmth and flickering firelight, the remnants of cake crumbs and torn wrapping paper scattered across the floor like confetti. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the twins were basking in the glow of attention and affection from everyone who adored them.

George let out a low whistle as he unwrapped your third gift—a meticulously crafted set of self-replenishing joke parchment. His eyes lit up like a kid in Honeydukes.

“Blimey, (Y/N),” He said, grinning, “Trying to buy our affection?”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder, “Obviously. Isn’t it working?”

They were thrilled—joking, laughing, trading banter with anyone who approached. It should’ve felt perfect.

And yet… that other gift still burned a hole in your pocket.

The real one.

Your eyes found Fred across the room—red hair tousled, cheeks pink from laughing too hard, head thrown back as Lee told some ridiculous story. He was glowing in the way only Fred could glow, like he was lit from the inside.

And still, you felt that tug in your chest. The ache of what hadn’t been said.

When the noise began to settle and the party mellowed into pockets of low chatter, you crossed the room and gently tugged at his sleeve.

“Fred,” You said, just loud enough for him to hear, “Come with me?”

He blinked down at you, caught off guard. “Yeah. Alright.”

You led him toward the farthest corner of the Gryffindor common room, past the roaring fire and beyond the clusters of chatting students, until you reached the quiet nook beneath the grand stained-glass windows. The flickering moonlight spilled in, mingling with the soft glow of a single enchanted lamp, casting gentle shadows that danced along the stone walls. Here, removed from the laughter and bustle, it felt like the rest of the world had paused just for the two of you.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small, worn box. It wasn’t wrapped. It wasn’t fancy. It didn’t sparkle or shimmer. But your heart was in it—completely.

Fred frowned a little, brow furrowing, “You didn’t have to—”

“Shut up and open it, Weasley.” You interrupted, pushing it gently into his hands.

He raised an eyebrow at you, amused but curious. Slowly, he lifted the lid.

Inside was a snow globe. The little snowflakes drifted gently over a miniature brick-and-mortar storefront, with a bright red ‘W’ hanging proudly above the door. As Fred looked closer, a tiny charmed figurine—obviously meant to be him—stepped onto the shop’s doorstep. The figure carefully put on his hat, then lifted it to reveal a small rabbit sitting playfully on his head. When he placed the hat back down and lifted it again, the rabbit was gone.

His fingers hovered over it, stunned. Not because it was extravagant—it wasn’t—but because it was him. It was the dream. His dream. Captured and preserved with such quiet devotion, it took the air straight out of his lungs.

“I made it,” You said softly, barely above a whisper, “I wanted you to know that no matter what… I’ll always be on your side.”

Fred stared at it.

Then at you.

His expression shifted like a storm—surprise first, then something softer. Something heavier.

You hesitated, “I know things have been weird these past couple weeks, but I just—”

Before you could finish, he stepped forward and kissed you.

There was no warning.

No hesitation.

Just Fred—urgent and messy and real. It wasn’t graceful, wasn’t the kind of kiss you saw in fairytales. It was all clumsy affection and months of unsaid things. You made a startled sound, but your hands moved before you could think—one curling into the front of his shirt to keep him close, the other gripping the side of his face.

You kissed him back with everything you had.

When he finally pulled away, breathless, his face was burning. His hands lingered on your waist, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

“Don’t say a word,” He muttered hoarsely, eyes squeezed shut, “Not. A. Word.”

You opened your mouth.

He jabbed a finger at you without even looking, “I mean it.”

You closed it again, biting back a wicked little smirk.

Fred groaned under his breath, dragging both hands through his hair as he turned back toward the others like a man marching to his execution.

The moment he stepped back into view, the common room erupted.

A chorus of laughter, wolf whistles, and mock applause rang out like someone had set off fireworks.

“FREDDIE!” Lee shouted, pointing, “You’ve got lipstick all over your mouth!”

George nearly fell off the couch, howling, “Finally, you absolute muppet!”

Fred turned back to shoot you a look—something between a death glare and a desperate plea for mercy.

You just leaned against the wall, arms crossed and smile syrup-sweet. “You told me not to say anything.” You called innocently.

His jaw dropped. George clapped him hard on the back.

“You’re doomed, Freddie. Doomed!”

Fred groaned again, eyes still locked on you, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle you or kiss you all over again.

You just winked.

And Fred, cheeks flaming and heart pounding, couldn’t even pretend anymore.

He was absolutely, irrevocably, spectacularly in love with you.

And he always had been.

Fred didn’t talk to you for two whole days after the kiss.

Which was absolutely hilarious, considering he couldn’t stop staring at you.

Every time you caught his eye in the common room, he’d jerk his head away so fast you half expected him to get whiplash. His cheeks would flare bright red like he’d just walked through a blast-ended skrewt.

At breakfast, he knocked over his goblet of pumpkin juice—not once, but twice—sending sticky liquid splashing over the table. When he tripped on the stairwell on his way to Charms class, narrowly catching himself on the banister, you barely suppressed a laugh.

George caught on immediately, his grin spreading wider than the Great Hall on feast day.

“You’re a bloody mess,” George said gleefully, clapping Fred hard on the shoulder as if congratulating a champion, “And all because of one little kiss.”

Fred muttered furiously, burying his face in his hands, cheeks still flaming. “It wasn’t a kiss,” He insisted, voice muffled, “It was—it was—”

“What? CPR?” George teased with a wicked smirk, “Pretty sure you didn’t need to snog her to save her life, mate.”

Fred groaned loudly and pushed his hands away, blinking rapidly as if trying to erase the image from his brain.

This went on for days.

He’d catch your eye, panic, and look away like you’d cast a Confundus Charm on him. His ears would burn brighter than the Gryffindor common room fire, and he’d mutter under his breath whenever you passed by.

It was, frankly, kind of adorable.

George was having the time of his life.

On day one, he started pacing the common room, sighing dramatically like a Shakespearean actor. “Ah, young love,” he muttered, voice thick with mock sentimentality. “So fragile, so awkward, so completely bloody hilarious.”

Whenever Fred glanced your way—no matter how fleetingly—George would launch a strategic attack with Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, pelting him like a mischievous spellcaster.

Fred just huffed and tried to act nonchalant, but even someone as blind as him could see he was utterly, hopelessly smitten.

Meanwhile, you watched the whole spectacle with a quiet smile—knowing this was just Fred's pathetic way of trying to come to terms that you were actually the love of his life.

Fred wasn’t there for the DA meeting today. While he said he was just not feeling well, a part of you wondered whether he was trying to avoid you on purpose.

Without his ever-watchful, overprotective presence hovering nearby, you found yourself sharper—faster, smarter, more daring than you’d realized.

You sparred with Harry, and it quickly became clear: you were a natural. Your feet barely seemed to touch the ground as you ducked, weaved, and cast spells with precision and flair. Your counter-curses came swift and clever, each movement more confident than the last.

When you finally disarmed Harry with a clean, flawless flick, sending his wand soaring across the room, even Hermione couldn’t help but clap.

Harry grinned, breathless as he retrieved his wandm “Merlin, (Y/N), where have you been hiding that?”

Your heart raced, a triumphant spark lighting up inside you. You shrugged with a sly smile.

“Maybe I just don’t like showing off.” You said playfully.

Harry’s eyes narrowed playfully, suspicion flashing in them.

Then it hit him. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his wand and pointed it at you.

“Wait a minute,” He said, voice teasing, “You pretend to be useless around Fred, don’t you? So he’ll fuss over you?”

You batted your eyelashes and gave him your most innocent, wide-eyed look.

“Moi?”

Harry burst out laughing, shaking his head, “You are pure evil. Brilliantly evil.”

You just winked, utterly unapologetic.

You didn’t plan to storm into Fred’s dorm like a thundercloud, but after days of the cold shoulder, the sidelong glances, and the maddening silence, you’d finally reached your limit. Tonight, you were done waiting.

The door swung open before Fred could even answer, and he was caught somewhere between surprise and guilt. His usual easygoing grin was gone, replaced by a flush creeping up his neck and a nervous flicker in his eyes. The room around him was cluttered with scattered prototypes and half-finished joke shop inventions, mirroring the chaos you sensed in his mind.

He shuffled uncomfortably, running a hand through his untamed hair, his gaze flicking anywhere but at you. The words he tried to form tangled and tumbled inside his head, leaving him stumbling over silence. His posture was tense, shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller, less exposed.

He was still rambling—stumbling over half-hearted excuses about how you were “like a sister,” how George was “just taking the mickey,” and how “it didn’t mean anything.”

That was when you snapped.

You grabbed him by the tie, yanked him forward, and kissed him like it was the only way to shut him up.

For a single, suspended, electrified second, Fred froze. Then he kissed you back, like he was catching up on something he hadn’t even let himself want until this very moment. His hands gripped your waist with a fierce uncertainty—unsure if he was pulling you closer or holding on for dear life.

He tasted like mint and adrenaline and something sweeter, something dangerous—because somewhere in that kiss, Fred realized he wanted to do it again.

Again and again and again.

But then you pulled away, chest heaving, lips swollen, and before he could stop himself, Fred chased after you, his mouth searching for yours on pure instinct.

You held him off with a hand pressed to his chest.

“This isn’t how you treat your little sister.” You whispered, voice soft but sharp—words that still landed like a hex.

Fred blinked at you, stunned, lips parted, like he’d just been hit by a bludger he never saw coming.

Had he really been calling you his little sister all this time?

Ew. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Yeah,” He finally said, “That’s… that’s not what this is.”

You tilted your head, that infuriating little smirk tugging at your lips—the one that always got him into trouble, even when he didn’t know why.

“Took you long enough to realize.” You murmured, voice all velvet and mischief.

Fred stared, mouth opening to argue—but he had nothing. Not a single retort. Because, bloody hell, you were right. He had taken too long. Too long pretending, too long denying, too long calling you his “little sister” when all he wanted was to kiss you again until he forgot every reason not to.

And now? Now he was properly wrecked.

Fred swallowed hard, eyes flicking back to your lips before settling on your smug little smile.

“Yeah?” He said, voice low, a little dazed, “What else am I late to, then? Might as well catch up properly.”

He stared at you, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Then—just as he stepped forward again, a little more sure this time—

“Oi!”

The door slammed open.

George stood in the doorway, wide-eyed, munching on a half-eaten apple, “Didn’t realize we were hosting Snogwarts: The Reunion. Should I come back later, or are you two gonna keep traumatizing me?”

Fred groaned loudly, “Merlin’s bollocks, George, ever heard of knocking?”

George shrugged around a crunchy bite, “Ever heard of boundaries? That’s my bed you’ve shoved her onto!”

“Godric's bloody—George, do you mind?”

George took another loud bite, “Yes. But not enough to leave.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around Fred’s shoulders, and he groaned again, forehead dropping to your shoulder like he was silently begging for mercy.

Later that night, Fred found you curled up in the common room, tucked beneath a soft blanket with a book resting in your hands. The fire flickered gently, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Without a word, he collapsed beside you with all the dramatic flair he was known for, letting out a long, theatrical sigh as if the weight of the entire Quidditch league was pressing down on his chest.

“I’m a disaster.” He declared, voice heavy with self-reproach.

You didn’t look up from your book, “Mhm.”

Fred ran a hand through his tousled hair, voice dropping to a low confession, “I panicked. That first time. The moment caught me off guard. I was trying to show you how grateful I was—and well, I thought kissing you was the best way to do that.”

You closed your book with a soft snap and finally met his eyes, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, “It was a good idea. Until you ran off with lipstick on your face and hid behind George for two days.”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face in mock despair, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely." You said, amusement sparkling in your gaze.

Fred muttered, “I probably deserved that.”

“You do.”

He exhaled, steadying himself, “Look… I’m sorry. You’re not my little sister. You never were. I’ve been stupid and blind and oblivious, and I’m lucky you didn’t move on from a fool like me. I like you—more than is remotely reasonable.”

You smiled, a victorious glint in your eyes, “Say it again.”

Fred rolled his eyes, but the sharpness was gone, replaced by something softer, more real, “I like you.”

You tilted your head, voice gentle but playful, “Properly.”

He shifted closer, his heart pounding in his throat, “I like you, alright? I’ve liked you for ages. I just didn’t know how to say it… or what to do with it.”

Your smile softened into something warm, inviting, “Then show me.”

He did.

This time, the kiss was slower, deliberate. No panic, no rushing away. Just the warmth of his hands finding your waist, your fingers threading through his hair, and the quiet, electric certainty that everything was finally falling into place.

Bonus:

It was a brand-new day. Literally. But somehow, it felt metaphorically new too—like the kind of fresh start you didn’t even know you needed until it happened.

Fred Weasley strode into the Great Hall that morning, and when his eyes landed on you already seated at the Gryffindor table, casually sipping pumpkin juice like you hadn’t just rewritten the entire script of his life the night before, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He blinked, stunned.

You caught his eye, flashed a mischievous smirk, and patted the seat beside you.

He sat down slowly, unsure if this was real or some elaborate prank hatched by the combined mischief of Peeves and George.

“Morning.” You said, effortlessly snagging a piece of toast from his plate the second it appeared.

“Morning.” He echoed, eyes fixed on you, clearly unsure what to do with his hands—or how to behave now that the world had shifted on its axis.

“You sleep alright?” He asked cautiously.

You gave him a teasing look, “Better than you, probably. You kept tossing and turning. Too busy lying awake, replaying every moment from yesterday.”

His jaw practically hit the floor, “How did you know?”

“I didn’t. But now I do.” You quipped.

Fred groaned, “You’re the worst.”

“You’re the one who took three years to kiss me. I’m allowed to enjoy this.”

Before he could reply, George plopped down across from you both, grinning like a Kneazle with a bowl of gold coins in hand.

“Well, well, well,” George announced, sliding a crumpled parchment onto the table with theatrical flair, “What do we have here? Oh yes—that’s right! Three galleons, eight sickles, and a bag of Fizzing Whizbees. Collected over three bloody years.”

Fred blinked, “What is that?”

George’s grin widened, “The betting pool. Started it when I first noticed our dear brother here looking at you like a lovesick Kneazle but being completely useless about it. Most gave up after sixth year, but not me. I believed.”

You stared at him, incredulous, “You bet on us?”

“Of course I did. I’m not an idiot. Also, Lee Jordan owes me five chocolate frogs and the next round at Hogsmeade.”

Fred groaned, burying his face in his hands, “This is a nightmare.”

You patted his shoulder, barely holding back laughter, “Don’t worry, love. At least you’re finally winning something.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, utterly defeated, “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

You leaned in, planting a light kiss on his cheek, “Not a chance.”

Just like that, Fred Weasley—world-class prankster, confident flirt, and now completely and irrevocably yours—blushed bright red over eggs and toast. Meanwhile, George was already shouting across the table, “Oi, Angelina! Pay up! I told you it’d happen before graduation!”

“Well, well, Weasley,” Came Angelina Johnson’s voice from the far end of the table, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she set down her toast, “Not only did you break my heart, but now you’re making me lose a bloody bet?”

Fred groaned again, looking up just in time to see Angelina approaching with that infuriating grin firmly in place.

“I didn’t think it was possible to make this more awkward,” She said, sliding onto the bench beside George, “but you’ve really outdone yourself. I bet you thought you were clever, calling her your ‘little sister’ while sneaking off with her every chance you got.”

Fred’s cheeks flamed. “It wasn’t like that.” He muttered, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

You nudged him playfully, “I know Fred’s an idiot, Angelina, but you should’ve had some faith in me. There was no way I was going to graduate without pointing out that he’s clearly in love with me. Honestly, he should’ve figured it out last Valentine’s Day when he nearly had a conniption because Roger Davies asked me to be his valentine.”

Fred groaned again, but this time the sound was lighter, less burdened. He was too wrapped up in the warmth of having you by his side, teasing him—this time as his girlfriend—to care about anything else.

Bonus Bonus Scene:

It started innocently enough. (Okay, no. It really didn’t. Not even a little bit.)

You were at the Burrow for a family dinner—Molly, ever the doting mother hen, had insisted you come along. “You’re practically one of us, dear!” she’d said, completely unaware that you and Fred were teetering on the edge of indecency every time you looked at each other.

Fred had spent the entire afternoon teasing you with little touches—brief brushes of his hand at the dinner table, secretive smirks, and whispered comments that made you choke on your pumpkin juice while Molly gave you an oblivious, comforting pat on the back.

By the time dessert was cleared, you were practically vibrating with pent-up energy and barely able to keep your hands to yourself.

Fred caught your eye across the kitchen, his gaze locked with yours—and that was all it took.

You hadn’t even made it two steps into the hallway when he caught your wrist, pulled you into a shadowy alcove, and kissed you like he’d been starving for it all night.

You giggled into his mouth, clutching the front of his shirt, “Fred—someone will see—”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, his lips already trailing down your neck.

You melted against the wall, laughing breathlessly, tugging him closer.

Fred kissed you like a man who’d been waiting forever, hands roaming, mouth hot and urgent.

You were completely lost in the moment, lost in him—so much so that neither of you noticed the heavy footsteps approaching.

Until—

“FREDERICK GIDEON WEASLEY!”

You both jumped, nearly a foot in the air.

Fred stumbled back, his ears flaming bright red, wiping his mouth. (He was quite traumatized from the incident after your first kiss you see)

Molly stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, face the exact shade of a ripe tomato.

For a long, frozen three seconds, no one moved. No one breathed.

Your heart pounded so loudly it was all you could hear.

Fred looked like he was calculating a quick Apparition out of there.

Molly pointed a trembling finger at both of you, “WHAT—WHAT ON EARTH—YOU—AND—HE—YOU—KISSING!”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, but no words came.

Fred, somehow, found his voice first, “Uh... surprise?” he offered weakly.

“How long has this been going on?!”

Your cheeks burned as heat rushed up your neck, “Um... a while?”

Molly gasped as if you’d just confessed a crime, “A WHILE?!”

You winced. Fred winced.

Behind Molly, George peeked into the room, grinning so wide it looked painful.

Ron snorted from somewhere nearby.

Ginny was cackling so hard she had to lean against the wall.

Fred ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly defeated, as if willing the earth to swallow him whole.

“Mum,” He said, voice low but serious, “I’m in love with her.”

The room fell utterly silent.

Even George stopped laughing.

You blinked at Fred, stunned. He’d never said it like that before—not out loud, not so plainly.

Molly stared at him, then at you, then back at him again.

And then—much to everyone’s horror—she burst into tears.

“Oh, Fred!” She sobbed, “My little boy’s in love!”

You leaned in, grinning against the swell of your own heart, “Didn’t think you’d be the first one to say it,” You whispered, voice warm with mischief, “I was sure I’d have to drag it out of you in another three years.”

He chuckled, not pulling away, gazing at you in such a way that told you that had his mother not been in the room, you would've found yourself pressed against the wall once more, “Had to beat you at something, didn’t I?”

Bonus Bonus BONUS scene: (because I CAN)

The Three Broomsticks buzzed with weekend chatter—students crammed into booths, scarves trailing off shoulders, butterbeer steaming in their mugs. You were nestled between Hermione and Ginny, a little flushed from the warmth and the laughter, your empty glass pushed to the side.

“I still can’t believe he’s not here,” You murmured, stirring absentmindedly at a napkin, “Feels weird, doing all this without him.”

“Aw, you miss your boyfriend.” Ginny cooed dramatically, nudging you with her elbow.

You rolled your eyes, “Of course I do. But it’s more than that. He was everywhere last year. Loud, obnoxious, stealing sips from my drink, sticking notes to my back... It’s just quiet now.”

“He did write you, though,” Hermione offered, smiling, “Nearly every day, if I recall correctly. Your poor owl is exhausted sending your cute little love notes back and forth.”

You pressed your hand to your chest, mocking deep emotion, “Yes. A romantic sentence followed by ten paragraphs of commentary on the exact ratio of sugar to fizz in Fizzing Whizbees. I could swoon.”

“Well, it is Fred,” Ginny said, giggling.

“He said he might try to visit this weekend,” You admitted, eyes flicking toward the window as a group of third-years raced past outside, “But I haven’t heard anything.”

“Maybe he’s surprising you.” Hermione offered with a coy smile, lifting her mug.

“He’s not subtle enough for surprises,” You replied with a grin. “He’d probably drop from the ceiling shouting, ‘DID YOU MISS ME?’.”

At that exact moment, a familiar voice rang out from behind you.

“Well the ceiling was taken so I guess I'm doing this the old-fashioned way.”

You blinked, heart stuttering, and whipped around.

Standing just a few steps away, snow dusting his hair, cheeks pink from the cold, scarf looped loosely around his neck, and the most insufferable grin on his face.

You barely had time to register him before you were out of the booth and throwing your arms around his neck. He caught you easily, spinning you once before setting you down, laughing.

“You prat,” You breathed, hands on either side of his face, “You didn’t tell me—!”

“Would’ve ruined the surprise.” He said, eyes warm and crinkled at the corners.

Ginny raised her butterbeer like a toast. “You owe me five Sickles,” She told Hermione, “I said she’d cry.”

“I’m not crying!” You called back, affronted, though your eyes were definitely misty.

Fred beamed, “Give it ten minutes. I’m very moving.”

“Ugh, can't imagine why anyone would miss that.” Ginny muttered, grimacing into her drink.

And as Fred pressed a quick kiss to your lips and tucked you in closer beside him, it felt like everything had snapped back into place. The noise, the laughter, the warmth—Fred was back, and for a little while at least, the world was exactly as it should be.

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@haniscrying

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

@superlegend216

Harry Potter Taglist:

@downbad4reid

@revesephemeres

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖katsuki.bakugo 💥

Katsuki doesn't ask permission. He takes.

But here's the thing people don't understand about Bakugo Katsuki—when he takes, he gives everything in return. His kisses are intense, overwhelming, all-consuming. They're explosive in the same way his quirk is explosive: powerful, impossible to ignore, and devastatingly effective.

He kisses like he fights—with absolute confidence and total commitment. There's no hesitation, no uncertainty. When Katsuki decides he's going to kiss you, it's with the same decisive force he brings to battle. His hand comes up to grab the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair with just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine, and he pulls you to him like you're the only thing in the world worth having.

His lips crash against yours with bruising intensity. There's nothing soft or gentle about the initial contact—it's demanding, claiming, possessive. He kisses you like he's making a statement, like he's declaring ownership, like he's daring anyone or anything to try and take you away from him. His mouth moves against yours with expert precision, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't wonder where he learned to kiss like this, with such devastating skill.

When his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip, it's not a request—it's a command. Open for me. And when you do, the growl of satisfaction that rumbles from his chest is purely predatory. His tongue invades your mouth with aggressive confidence, stroking against yours in a rhythm that's almost combative at first, like he's challenging you to keep up, to match his intensity.

And the thing is, you do. Because Katsuki doesn't want someone who'll submit meekly to his dominance—he wants someone who'll fight back, who'll bite his bottom lip hard enough to make him groan, who'll tangle their tongue with his in a battle for control that neither of you really wants to win because the struggle is too damn good.

His free hand grips your waist, fingers digging into your hip with enough force to leave marks you'll find later, little reminders of this moment. He pulls you flush against him, and you can feel every hard plane of his body, every breath, every rapid beat of his heart that betrays how affected he is even as he maintains that aggressive control.

But here's the secret: underneath all that explosive intensity, there's surprising tenderness. It shows in moments—the way his thumb strokes the side of your neck even as his grip remains possessive, the way he swallows your gasps like they're precious, the way his kisses slow and deepen when you melt into him, becoming less frantic and more thorough, more devastating.

When Katsuki really gets into it, when the kiss goes from heated to absolutely scorching, his control starts to slip in the best ways. His breathing gets ragged, his movements less calculated and more instinctual. He'll break away from your lips to drag his mouth down your jaw, to bite and suck at your neck with enough force to definitely leave marks, to growl your name against your skin in a voice gone rough with want.

Then he's back to your lips, kissing you deeper, harder, like he's trying to consume you entirely. His tongue strokes against yours with long, deliberate movements that make your toes curl, occasionally retreating to suck on your bottom lip, to bite it gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. It's overwhelming and intense and absolutely perfect.

When you finally break apart—because breathing is unfortunately still necessary—he doesn't let you go far. His forehead presses against yours, eyes still closed, breath coming in harsh pants that match your own. His hand in your hair loosens to something almost gentle, and when he opens his eyes, there's something vulnerable there that he'd never admit to. Something that says you undo me, you wreck me, you're mine and I'm yours and I don't know what to do with this feeling except kiss you until neither of us can think straight.

"Mine," he'll growl, and kiss you again, slower this time but no less intense. Because Katsuki Bakugo doesn't do anything halfway, and that includes falling in love with you.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖shoto.todoroki 🧊🔥 Shoto kisses like he's discovering fire for the first time—with wonder, caution, and slowly building heat.

He's not practiced at this. Not like the others might be. Physical affection doesn't come naturally to someone who spent their childhood deprived of gentle touches, who learned that hands were for hurting, not for holding. So when Shoto kisses you, there's always an element of careful exploration, like he's still learning that this is allowed, that softness is permitted, that he's allowed to want something just for himself.

The first touch of his lips is feather-light, almost questioning. Are you sure? Is this okay? Can I have this? His heterochromatic eyes search yours for a long moment before he closes the distance completely, and even then, his movements are controlled, precise. He's terrified of doing it wrong, of being too much or not enough, of somehow ruining this perfect thing between you.

But you kiss him back, encourage him, and something in Shoto begins to thaw.

His hands come up to cup your face with infinite gentleness, and this is when you feel it—the temperature difference. His left palm is deliciously cool against your flushed cheek, while his right radiates warmth that seeps into your skin. The contrast is intoxicating, uniquely Shoto, a reminder of the power contained in his careful touch. He's so conscious of his quirk, so careful to keep the temperature comfortable, to make sure he doesn't accidentally freeze or burn you. It's heartbreakingly sweet, this vigilance.

When the kiss deepens, it's gradual. Shoto doesn't rush. He savors. His lips part slightly, and his tongue traces the seam of your mouth with delicate precision, a soft request rather than a demand. When you open for him, he makes a small sound—surprise and pleasure mixed—and carefully, slowly, touches his tongue to yours.

The kiss transforms. That carefully controlled exterior begins to crack, revealing the passion he keeps locked away beneath layers of composure. His tongue slides against yours with increasing confidence, each stroke more assured than the last. He's a quick study, attentive to every small reaction, learning what makes you sigh, what makes you press closer, what makes your fingers tighten in his hair.

And his hair—god, his hair is incredibly soft, the red and white strands slipping through your fingers like silk as you pull him closer. He shivers when you touch him there, a full-body tremor that you feel everywhere you're pressed together, and the ice-and-fire of his palms fluctuates slightly, his control wavering.

Shoto kisses with his whole body. He's taller than you, and he uses it, slowly walking you backward until your back meets a wall and he can cage you in with his arms. Not trapping—never trapping—but surrounding, sheltering, claiming this space as yours and his alone. His body presses against yours, and you can feel the lean muscle, the strength he usually keeps so carefully restrained, the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

When he really loses himself in the kiss, the temperature control slips. His left side gets colder, frost forming on the wall beside your head, while his right side grows warmer, almost feverish. It's like being caught between winter and summer, ice and fire, and it's absolutely intoxicating. You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his tongue delving deeper, stroking against yours with languid, thorough movements that make your knees weak.

He breaks from your lips to trail kisses along your jaw, down the column of your neck, and his breath is cool from his left side, warm from his right, sending conflicting shivers racing across your skin. When he finds a sensitive spot, he lingers there, learning it, his lips and tongue working until you're gasping his name, and then he returns to your mouth to kiss you deeper, slower, like he has all the time in the world and intends to use every second.

There's something almost desperate in the way Shoto kisses once he truly lets go. Like he's making up for lost time, for a childhood devoid of affection, for all the years he thought he'd never deserve something this good, this pure, this perfect. His fingers thread through your hair, and he tilts your head to exactly the angle he wants, kissing you with increasing fervor.

When you finally part, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing carefully regulated despite the way his hands tremble slightly where they cup your face. When he opens his eyes, there's vulnerability there, raw and honest. "I love you," he says quietly, and then he's kissing you again, softer this time, sweeter, like a promise and a prayer all at once.

Shoto Todoroki kisses like he's found home in another person, like you're the warmth he's been seeking his whole life, like you're the one thing his father could never take from him. And you kiss him back like you'll spend forever showing him he deserves this—deserves softness, deserves love, deserves everything.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖denki.kaminari ⚡️

Denki kisses like he's trying to fit an entire lifetime of affection into a single moment—enthusiastic, playful, and crackling with energy.

There's always a grin involved. Always. Even when he's trying to be smooth, trying to be cool and collected as he leans in, you can see the smile tugging at his lips, the pure joy he can't quite contain. Because Denki doesn't know how to hide his feelings, doesn't know how to be anything other than completely, openly, enthusiastically in love with you.

"C'mere," he'll say, and his voice has that slightly rough quality that makes your stomach flip, that hint of barely contained static that suggests his quirk is responding to his excitement. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing across your cheekbone, and there's a tiny spark—barely noticeable, just enough to make you gasp, to make your skin tingle pleasantly.

"Oops," he grins, not sorry at all. "Guess you make me a little electric."

And then he's kissing you, and it's like being struck by lightning in the best possible way.

Denki's kisses are playful, teasing. He'll catch your bottom lip between his teeth and tug gently, grinning against your mouth when you chase after him. He'll kiss the corner of your lips, your cheek, your nose, everywhere except where you actually want him, until you grab him by his shirt and pull him back to you properly. And when you do, his laugh vibrates against your lips, delighted and fond and so completely Denki that you can't help but smile too.

But underneath the playfulness, there's genuine skill. Denki might act like a goofball, but he knows what he's doing. When he finally stops teasing and really kisses you, it's devastating. His lips are soft and eager, moving against yours with enthusiastic precision. He kisses like he's having the time of his life, like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him, and his unabashed joy is infectious.

When his tongue slides against yours, there's the faintest tingle of electricity—never enough to hurt, always perfectly controlled—that makes every nerve ending light up with sensation. It's addictive, that slight buzz, the way it makes everything more intense, more vivid. His tongue strokes against yours with playful enthusiasm, exploring, tasting, occasionally doing this thing where he traces the roof of your mouth that makes your knees go weak.

Denki can't keep his hands still when he kisses you. They're everywhere—cupping your face, tangling in your hair, sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, then back up to frame your face again like he can't decide where he wants to touch you most. Every touch carries that faint electric tingle, raising goosebumps in their wake, making you shiver and press closer.

He makes the best sounds when he kisses. Little hums of pleasure, satisfied sighs, breathy laughs when you do something he particularly likes. And he talks—god, he talks even while kissing you. Breaks away just enough to murmur "you're so hot," or "I'm the luckiest guy alive," or "one more, just one more" before diving back in for another kiss, then another, then another, because one more is never enough.

When things get more heated, when the playfulness gives way to something more intense, Denki's quirk responds. You can feel it in the air around you, that charged feeling before a thunderstorm, making your hair stand on end in the best way. His kisses become more insistent, deeper, his tongue stroking against yours with increasing urgency. The electrical current running through him intensifies just slightly, enough that every touch makes you gasp, makes your skin hypersensitive, makes everything feel incredible.

"You're killing me," he'll groan against your lips, and you can hear the static in his voice, can feel it when he kisses down your neck, when his teeth graze your pulse point and that tiny spark makes you jerk against him. "So perfect. You're so perfect."

But even when he's desperate, even when his breathing has gone ragged and his hands are shaking with the effort of controlling his quirk, there's still that underlying joy. Denki loves kissing you. Loves the way you taste, the sounds you make, the way you fit perfectly against him. He kisses you like it's his favorite activity in the world, like he could spend hours just kissing you and never get bored.

When you finally break apart, he's grinning like an idiot, hair slightly more disheveled than usual, eyes bright with happiness and crackling with literal electricity. "Again?" he asks hopefully, already leaning back in, and you laugh and pull him close because how could you ever say no to that smile?

Denki Kaminari kisses like summer storms and sunshine, like lightning and laughter, like coming home to someone who makes every day an adventure. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ejiro.kirishima 🦈

Kirishima kisses like he does everything else—with wholehearted enthusiasm and unshakeable conviction.

There's nothing uncertain about the way Eijiro kisses. When he decides he's going to kiss you, he commits to it completely, the same way he commits to everything in his life. No half-measures, no holding back. Just pure, honest affection that he pours into every touch, every press of lips, every shared breath.

His hands are rough—calloused from training, from hardening his skin over and over, from pushing himself to be unbreakable. But they're so gentle when they touch you, sliding around your waist to pull you close, cradling your face like you're something precious. The contrast between the roughness of his palms and the tenderness of his touch makes your heart skip.

"Hey," he'll murmur, and his voice is warm like sunlight, affectionate and soft in a way he reserves just for you. His smile is bright enough to rival the sun, sharp teeth on full display, eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine joy. "You look beautiful."

And then he's kissing you, and it's like being wrapped in warmth and safety and home.

Kirishima's kisses are firm and sure, his lips pressing against yours with confident pressure. There's no tentativeness, no questioning—just honest affection and desire. He kisses you like he means it, like every press of his lips is a promise, a declaration, a vow. I'm here. I'm yours. I've got you.

When he deepens the kiss, his tongue slides against yours with slow, thorough strokes that make your toes curl. He's not rushing, not trying to devour you whole—he's savoring you, taking his time, making sure you feel every ounce of his affection. His tongue explores your mouth with deliberate attention, learning what makes you sigh, what makes you press closer, what makes your fingers tighten in his hair.

And his hair—it's surprisingly soft despite the gel, the bright red strands slipping between your fingers as you pull him closer. He makes this low, pleased sound when you touch him there, almost a purr, and his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel every hard plane of muscle, the solid strength of him, the way his heart pounds against your chest.

Kirishima is strong, and he uses that strength to hold you like you're weightless. He'll lift you without warning, hands gripping your thighs as he hoists you up, grinning against your lips at your surprised gasp. Now you're at eye level, and he takes full advantage, kissing you deeper, harder, one hand supporting your weight easily while the other cups the back of your head.

"Better," he murmurs against your lips, and you can feel his smile. "Want to be closer to you."

His kisses become more intense, more passionate. His tongue strokes against yours with increasing fervor, and you can feel the barely restrained power in him, the strength he's always so careful to control around you. When you bite his bottom lip, he groans—a deep, rumbling sound that you feel vibrate through your entire body—and his grip tightens just slightly, just enough to make you feel secure and desired and completely his.

There's something incredibly manly about the way Kirishima kisses, but not in the toxic way. He's confident without being domineering, strong without being forceful, passionate without being overwhelming. He makes you feel protected and cherished, like you're the most important person in his world, like he'd move mountains for you if you asked.

When he breaks from your lips to kiss along your jaw, down your neck, his teeth graze your skin gently—a reminder of their sharpness, but never biting down, never hurting. Just teasing, playing, worshipping every inch of skin he can reach. "You're amazing," he'll mumble against your throat, pressing kisses between words. "So amazing. How did I get so lucky?"

And the thing is, he means it. Every word. There's no insincerity in Kirishima, no pretense. When he tells you you're amazing while kissing down your neck, when he says he loves you against your lips, when he holds you like you're precious—he means all of it with every fiber of his being.

When he returns to your lips, the kiss is slower, deeper, more intimate. His tongue slides against yours in long, sensual strokes that make your head spin, make you forget everything except the taste of him, the feel of him, the overwhelming presence of Eijiro Kirishima holding you like you're his entire world.

Eventually, he sets you down gently, carefully, making sure you're steady before loosening his hold. But he doesn't let go completely—never completely. His forehead rests against yours, his breathing only slightly elevated despite the intensity of the kiss, and he's smiling. Always smiling.

"I love you," he says, simple and honest and true. And then he kisses you again, soft and sweet, like a promise he intends to keep for the rest of his life.

Eijiro Kirishima kisses like he's found his reason for being unbreakable—because someone this precious needs protecting, needs loving, needs someone who'll be their rock no matter what. And he'll be that for you, today and always.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖hitoshi.shinso 🐈‍⬛

Shinso kisses like he's stealing moments from a world that hasn't always been kind to him—slowly, thoroughly, and with quiet intensity.

There's always a pause before Hitoshi kisses you. A moment where his purple eyes search yours, heavy-lidded and intense, looking for any sign of hesitation. He's so used to people being wary of him, of his quirk, of the implications of his power. So he waits, gives you every chance to pull away, to change your mind. Even now, even after you've kissed a hundred times, he waits.

When you lean in first, or squeeze his hand in permission, something shifts in his expression. The tension in his shoulders eases, and a small, genuine smile tugs at his lips—not the cocky smirk he uses to deflect, but something softer, more vulnerable. Something reserved only for you.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone with deliberate slowness. His touch is gentle but firm, assured in the way of someone who knows exactly what he wants and isn't afraid to take it, as long as you're willing to give. Then he leans in, and his lips brush against yours with devastating softness.

Hitoshi doesn't rush. He can't. He's learned that good things are fleeting, that moments of genuine connection are rare and precious, so when he has you like this, he savors it. His lips move against yours with languid precision, kissing you deeply but slowly, like he has all the time in the world and intends to use every second.

When his tongue slides against your bottom lip, it's a request, not a demand. Patient. Waiting. And when you part for him, the soft sound he makes—satisfaction mixed with something almost like relief—makes your heart clench. His tongue slides against yours in slow, measured strokes, exploring thoroughly, learning the taste and texture of your mouth like he's committing it to memory.

There's something hypnotic about the way Shinso kisses. The slow, deliberate pace, the focused intensity, the way his eyes drift closed as he loses himself in the sensation. His free hand finds your waist, fingers pressing against your hip with just enough pressure to be felt, grounding you both in this moment.

He kisses like he's trying to communicate something he can't quite put into words. Like every slow stroke of his tongue, every gentle press of his lips, is saying I see you, I want you, I'm grateful for you in ways his voice—that voice people fear, that voice he's learned to weaponize—never could.

When things deepen, when the kiss becomes more heated, Hitoshi's control is exquisite. His breathing gets heavier, his grip tightens slightly, but his movements remain measured, deliberate. He angles your head exactly where he wants it, deepening the kiss with calculated precision. His tongue strokes against yours with increasing pressure, the pace quickening but never frantic, never desperate—just intense, focused, consuming.

His other hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through the strands to cradle the back of your head, and he uses the leverage to kiss you deeper still. The control, the quiet dominance in the way he guides the kiss, is intoxicating. He's not forceful, but he's absolutely in command, and the confidence in his touch makes your knees weak.

Shinso makes these quiet sounds when he kisses—soft hums of pleasure, barely audible exhales, the occasional quiet groan when you do something he particularly likes. They're intimate sounds, private, meant only for you. When you run your fingers through his perpetually messy hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, he sighs into your mouth and pulls you impossibly closer.

He'll break away from your lips to kiss along your jaw, to find that sensitive spot below your ear, and his breath is warm against your skin as he murmurs, "You have no idea what you do to me." His voice is low, rough with want, but still controlled. Always controlled. "Drive me crazy."

Then he's back to your lips, kissing you with renewed intensity. His tongue delves deeper, strokes longer, and you can feel the leashed power in him, the desire he keeps so carefully restrained. When you press closer, when you make those breathy sounds he loves, his control slips just slightly—his kiss becomes more insistent, more demanding, his hands gripping you tighter.

But even then, even when he's clearly affected, clearly desperate for more, there's that underlying gentleness. The way his thumb strokes your cheek even as he kisses you breathless, the way he holds you like you're something precious even as his tongue tangles with yours with increasing urgency.

When you finally part, he doesn't immediately let go. His forehead rests against yours, eyes still closed, breathing carefully controlled despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest. When he opens his eyes, they're dark with want but soft with affection.

"Come here," he murmurs, and kisses you again, slower this time, sweeter. A series of gentle kisses that gradually soften until he's just pressing his lips to yours, to your cheeks, your forehead, like he can't quite bear to stop touching you yet.

Hitoshi Shinso kisses like he's found something worth fighting for, something worth being gentle with, something worth keeping. And in a world that's tried to make him hard and cynical, that's everything.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖tamaki.amajiki 🐙

Tamaki kisses like he's terrified and exhilarated in equal measure—nervously, sweetly, and with overwhelming tenderness.

Getting Tamaki to the point of kissing is an journey in itself. He overthinks everything, convinced he'll somehow mess it up, that he's not good enough, that you deserve someone more confident, more skilled, more everything. His face burns red at just the thought of kissing you, and he can barely maintain eye contact, much less make the first move.

So you usually have to initiate, closing the distance while he stands frozen, eyes wide, cheeks flushed dark red, trembling slightly with nervous energy. "I-is this okay?" you ask, giving him every chance to back out, and he nods so quickly you're worried he might hurt his neck, unable to form words.

The first touch of his lips is feather-light, almost hesitant, like he's afraid you might disappear if he presses too firmly. His eyes flutter closed, dark lashes resting against his flushed cheeks, and his hands hover uncertainly at his sides, not quite sure where to put them. You have to take them, guide them to your waist, and even then he holds you like you're made of glass.

"You're doing great," you murmur against his lips, and you feel him shiver, feel some of the tension ease from his shoulders.

When Tamaki starts to relax into the kiss, something beautiful happens. All that nervous energy transforms into focused attention. He might not be confident, but he's observant, paying careful attention to every small reaction. When you sigh softly, he does that again—whatever made you sigh. When you press closer, he holds you a little tighter. He's learning you, studying you with the same intense focus he brings to mastering his quirk.

His lips are incredibly soft, moving against yours with increasing confidence. Each kiss is gentle, sweet, reverent. He kisses like you're a miracle he can't quite believe he's allowed to touch, like he's grateful for every second you're willing to spend with him like this.

When his tongue first brushes against your lips, it's tentative, questioning, and when you part for him, the small sound he makes—surprise and pleasure and overwhelming emotion—is heartbreakingly sweet. His tongue slides against yours carefully, exploratory, and you can practically feel him cataloging every detail, every sensation.

But here's the secret about Tamaki: underneath all that anxiety, all that self-doubt, there's passion. Deep, intense passion that he usually keeps locked away because he's terrified of being too much, of overwhelming you. But when he gets lost in kissing you, when his nerves quiet enough for him to just feel, that passion emerges.

His kisses become deeper, more sure. His tongue strokes against yours with increasing confidence, the movements less hesitant, more purposeful. His hands, which started so uncertain at your waist, begin to move—sliding up your back, into your hair, pulling you closer with a need that seems to surprise even him.

When you run your fingers through his indigo hair, gently scratching your nails against his scalp, Tamaki makes the most beautiful sound—a shaky exhale that's almost a whimper, and he presses impossibly closer, kissing you deeper. His pointed elf-like ears are incredibly sensitive, and if you trail your fingers along them, he actually trembles, breaking the kiss to hide his burning face against your neck.

"S-sorry," he stammers, even though he has nothing to apologize for. "I just... you make me feel..."

"Don't apologize," you whisper, and guide his face back to yours. "Show me. Show me how I make you feel."

And he does. Tamaki might not be good with words, but he can communicate through touch, through kiss. He pours everything into it—all his affection, all his desire, all those feelings he's too nervous to voice. His kisses become almost desperate, like he's trying to show you how much you mean to him, how much he needs you, how grateful he is that you chose him despite his anxiety, despite his insecurities.

His tongue delves deeper, stroking against yours with long, thorough movements that make your head spin. When you grip his shoulders, he makes these quiet, breathy sounds against your mouth that send shivers down your spine. His usual nervousness hasn't completely disappeared—his hands still tremble slightly where they cup your face, his breathing is uneven—but there's determination there now too. Determination to show you, to make you feel good, to be worthy of your affection.

Tamaki kisses like he's trying to memorize you, like he's terrified this might be the last time (even though you've assured him it won't be), like he needs to make the most of every second. And when things get really intense, when you're both breathing hard and clinging to each other, he'll suddenly pull back, eyes wide and dark with want, cheeks flushed, lips swollen.

"I love you," he'll whisper, voice shaking but sincere. "I love you so much I don't know what to do with it."

And then he's kissing you again, pouring all that overwhelming love into every press of his lips, every stroke of his tongue, every tender touch. When you finally part, he rests his forehead against yours, still trembling slightly, still blushing, but smiling—really, truly smiling—because with you, he feels brave. With you, he feels like maybe, just maybe, he's enough.

Tamaki Amajiki kisses like you're the one thing in his life he's absolutely certain about, even when he's uncertain about everything else. And that kind of devotion is absolutely devastating in the best possible way.

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

“hurts?” you parrot disbelievingly, too deep under the spell to feel the burn in your thighs. “‘zuku, know what hurts?”

“no, i know,” he sobs, balls squeezing painfully as the familiar pressure returns to his cock. it’s familiar, but it’s not the same; there’s no cum involved, he’s been drained too dry to give you anything. “l-last time, please. i need a minute to, ngh, relax.”

it hurts. izuku’s cock is practically purple with overstimulation, but he’s too entranced to pull you off himself. when you’d arrived home, tugging at his belt and babbling about what had happened, izuku took a moment to consider if he had any notes on something like this.

villains with these types of quirks have always been rare, and it’s just his luck that one popped up before valentine’s day.

the couch groans from the combination of movement and weight on it, yawning with wear. izuku has never underestimated your strength or sex drive, but this . . you’re bouncy, and he’s wondering if the villain’s quirk enhanced your stamina too.

in a startling display of affection, you grab at his jaw and kiss away his tears, cooing sweet, sensual nothings into his ear. your voice is smooth when you tell him how good he’s doing, how sexy he looks when he’s whining so sweetly. just when he’s thinking it can’t get any better, you hit him where he’s weakest with a sultry murmur of want you to put a baby in me, izuku.

flustered, he can’t help but let out a squeal when you nip at his neck, kissing over previous bites and smatterings of freckles.

“do what you want with me,” he surrenders, verdant green eyes meeting your own. “hah, if that’s what you want, jus’ use me. fuck me, baby.”

BAKUGO KATSUKI.

⟡ you have the misfortune of tracking a villain with japan’s number one hero, the all too explosive dynamight. everything completely unravels during the confrontation, when katsuki’s rushing forward to deliver the final blow. the dastardly villain releases a thick, noxious smoke that fills the air with a sickening sweetness — despite all the coughing and hacking, he manages to subdue the villain until the police arrive, but you never make it back to the agency to regroup.

ridiculous, is all you can think as you’re being folded in half in the back of a company car that’s sneakily wedged in an alleyway. katsuki’s not-so-gentle teeth nip at the tender skin of your thighs, and he doesn’t think twice about the marks that are sure to show up by tomorrow.

“d-deeper, katsuki,” you writhe against the seats, too handsy for his liking. “please, it’s not deep eno—”

“shut it,” he grunts, scowling down at you. his usual expression doesn’t quite have the same effect it usually does, since it’s been mellowed out by the villain’s aphrodisiac like quirk. “don’t you dare tell me how to fuck, got it?”

a bratty huff escapes you, and you make a show of rolling your eyes at him, seemingly unimpressed. “i wouldn’t have to if you’d just do it right. oh, but who am i to judge the number one?”

a vein bulges from his forehead as he listens, crimson eyes seething silently while you continue to lay it on thick. “i guess dynamight can fuck however he wants, even if it’s subpar—”

in an instant, katsuki’s hand is on your throat and applying just enough pressure to force out a gasp from you. that teasing and talking back worked—now he’s really about to come undone, show you just how strong the number one pro can really be.

“can’t take that back now, can you? if you think you can insult me and order me around, oh,” katsuki grinds his teeth, pressing your knees into your chest without taking a moment to appreciate the pretty moan that leaves you. “fuck, you’ve got another thing coming. shut your mouth.”

“make me.”

he can’t seem to recall a time where he’s ever been this turned on—that aphrodisiac quirk’s got nothing on the way you talk to him, challenge him in a way that nobody has before.

katsuki draws his hips back, slow and deliberate in each movement. you were right, he wasn’t giving you his all; but now, he will, and he won’t stop until you eat your words. deeper? harder? faster? if that’s what you’re asking for, he’ll give it to you.

you watch breathlessly, mesmerized by the frustrated scrunch of his face, all because he can’t stop replaying your words in his head. a harsh slap to your clit snaps you out of your daze the moment it lands, stinging terribly.

“let’s work up to that, alright? you’re going to—”

“what if i don’t, katsuki?” you tip your chin up at him, looking down your nose at him. “then what?”

another slap, this time with a little more strength behind it. he disregards everything you just said, getting ready to give you an explosive orgasm you’ll have to work hard for.

“that’s what. now, let’s try that again—you’ll be good and count each slap, unless you want me to spank this slutty pussy raw,” satisfied by the responding clench of your cunt, he arches a brow and smirks. “your choice, brat.”

TODOROKI SHOTO.

⟡ with a new, unstable virus spreading rapidly through japan, scientists are racing to develop a cure. it seems to act like the standard flu, but it affects quirk users differently—shoto ends up with an unusual kind of fever.

“ah, ‘m cumming, sho,” cum squirts from your pussy like a waterfall, and everything’s so overwhelming that you unintentionally push his cock out. “good, ‘s so fucking good.”

sweat coats his face, clinging to the rough scar on shoto’s left side. panting, he sucks in a breath, grasping around for his swollen cock.

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks once his tip slides through your sticky folds and makes your back jolt off the bed, “it’s just—shit, it’s not enough.”

“a-again? i, hah, don’t know if that’s a good—”

shoto shakes his head, shivering as a thin layer of frost appears on his right cheek; it sparkles brilliantly before melting into droplets of water that drip from his jaw. “i’m still burning up,” it’s completely out of bounds, but the low rasp of his sickly voice scratches an itch in your brain. “see, lovey? can’t even use my quirk to fix it.”

a sigh escapes you, and you spread your trembly thighs one more time. “i might be too tired to drive you to the hospital after this,” you warn.

“i know, but baby,” gratefully, shoto pushes forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside you. his warm hand settles on your lower belly to add some pressure, gearing you up for another explosive orgasm. “i don’t wanna be like this when we go to the hospital.”

he flushes darkly with embarrassment, and the mental image of a tortured shoto rutting into a hospital bed as waves of the fever’s severe effects overwhelm him is enough to make you soften.

once he starts to thrust, developing a rhythm that would put your own fingers to shame, his mouth drops open and he’s babbling incoherently. “ . . always so fucking hot around you, baby. i-it’s not my fault you’re so—haa, shit—so perfect, making me burn up whenever you’re not looking.”

and because being this deep inside you is as close as he can get to heaven, shoto sees no reason to hold back on the honest praise. he’s always been a little shy to express himself during sex, mouth drying up whenever he tries to say something rather dirty, but not now. since his brain is being fried by the heat at the moment, he won’t feel any embarrassment.

“sho, right there,” a breath is punched out of your lungs, and your nails scratch at his shoulders each time his tip kisses your sweet spot. “oh god, ‘m gonna make a mess again!”

his cock twitches and he moans your name, only egging you on. “can’t wait to taste it, darling.”

you fall off the edge, his words serving as the final push. euphoria curls through you, cresting like a wave until the sensitivity becomes too much, bringing you back to earth. abs clenching, shoto pulls out to cover your stomach in white.

in an instant, shoto’s temperature drops. quietly, he shivers against you, huffing into your neck.

“i want to stay like this before we leave.”

“you’ve got ice forming rapidly on your back, sho.”

“it’ll melt if i’m cuddling with you . . could you also rub my back? maybe i just need to sleep it off.”

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU.

⟡ eijirou listened to you specifically tell him NOT to eat the wrapped cookies you had in the fridge and when you left, he did exactly that.

“babe, baby, you feel so good,” cum races down his fingers in creamy rivulets, puddling at the base of his cock. caught up in his fantasy, eijirou flicks his wrist faster, hoping with all his heart to imitate the hot squeeze of your cunt. “s-so pretty when you take me, always so fuckin’ beautiful.”

his voice cracks just as the door opens, and your purse falls to the floor. your boyfriend is spread out on the bed, flushed feverishly and gasping out your name like he’s delirious—it would be the perfect scene to come home to if you didn’t spot two torn cookie wrappers near him.

“eijirou,” you speak his name lowly, catching his eyes and raising a brow. he’s not sure if he should feel awkward or turned on because of your scolding tone, so he just swallows dryly and looks toward you with hooded eyes. “already forgot the speech i gave you? why’d you eat the cookies?”

shame creeps up his neck and makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. grasping for a response, eijirou decides to question you right back. “why’d you have sex cookies in the fridge?”

“they were a surprise for valentine’s!”

oh.

now he really feels dumb for spoiling your plans. perhaps if he hadn’t been so hungry, so greedy, he wouldn’t be embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

but the feeling doesn’t last long—your tough face drops into something more sultry: doe eyes and an upturned quirk of your lips that’s sure to finish him.

the mattress sinks under your weight, and you scoot beside him with a self satisfied smile. it’s small and quiet, but a voice in the back of his head tells him maybe you wanted this to happen; you certainly don’t look too upset about it.

“no way, baby,” a hiss escapes him when you slap his cum-stained hand away from his cock, instead choosing to replace them with your own. “am i dreaming? mrs. red riot, are you—”

his narration throws you off, and you choke just kissing his tip. you know eijirou’s surprised and eternally grateful, but damn. “mr. red riot, you’d be quiet if you wanted me to.”

“sorry,” he says earnestly, tensing up to hide the fact that he’s shaking like a leaf when you finally take him in your mouth. “i’ve just—” he inhales sharply as you slowly, torturously take him inch by inch. “i’ve been waiting s-so long for you to come home, babe.”

you swallow, throat squeezing tight around his cock, and eijirou’s clean hand flies to the back of your head, hovering precariously. “i’m crazy about you, all day every day, and the cookies made it worse. ‘m sorry for spoiling the surprise, i didn’t mean to—haa, w-what’re you doing to me? oh, you’re gonna make me—”

it doesn’t take long for obscene slurps and occasional gags to fill the room as you suck eijirou’s cock, spoiling him with each languid bob of your head. it’s too much, and the tension grows thicker in his gut, setting his insides ablaze with anticipation.

he’s hurtling toward his high, jerking his hips up and shamelessly preparing to fill up your throat this quickly—but then, you push yourself off of him. a shudder ripples through his body, and he throws you a pained, wide eyed look.

“why’d you..? baby?”

you motion for him to lay on his back, and he can see the gears in your head turning behind a wicked smile. “might as well draw it out, hm?”

“you’re gonna milk me?”

he’s so cute . .

you want to see him crying.

you hum, “only until you’re begging for me to stop.”

KAMINARI DENKI, ft. SERO HANTA

⟡ an undercover sting at a mysterious village with your work partners doesn’t go as smoothly as planned. the village, out in the far country, has been reported as the one place with the highest levels of quirk activity in japan. little did you know about the fact that this place is home to infectious pollen that makes its way into people via the air, or about its temporary effects on people . .

“what the fuck,” you moan, vision blurry between their faces and intermittent flashes of light. “there’s no way it’s from a plant, it can’t be—”

hanta’s tongue darts out to lick the salt away from his upper lip, and he points a finger toward a passage in the encyclopedia. “the symptoms are, ngh, the same.”

one of your hands works denki’s cock while the other shakily flips through an encyclopedia of germs and the like; hanta’s buried to the hilt inside of you, tan cheeks flushed with exertion.

“can’t you just read after?” denki unhelpfully suggests, blinking back a few tears while sparks of electricity fly off from his blond hair. “let’s just fix—yeah, baby, jus’ like that—fix the problem now and figure it out later.”

“shut it, denks,” hanta rolls his eyes, rocking his hips into you. despite the fact that the three of you are totally naked and in the middle of some kind of threesome, you’re researching what apparently caused this surge of uncontrollable arousal.

things began not long after you arrived in the village, where everything had looked unsuspecting and normal. surely there was a villain lurking around somewhere . . ? why else would there be so much unusual activity, enough to alert the authorities?

“look, they f-found something similar in america,” hanta’s voice wavers uncharacteristically, his own high racing through him with such intensity he doubles over.

“forget about the book,” denki’s begging while pressing dazed kisses to your tits, one hand tossing the book aside and slipping between your trembling thighs. “c’mon, babe. show us what you look like when you cum.”

perhaps this is something to be selfish about — when will an opportunity to fuck your hot coworkers come around again? hanta’s everything you’ve been daydreaming about, with a muscular physique sharp enough to have been cut from stone. denki’s just as attractive, though his features are softer, the result of his constant snacking while on the job or in the agency.

hanta nods in assent, already trailing over the edge. “want you to gush all over me, baby.”

thrashing under denki’s fingers, it momentarily occurs to you that maybe they’re a little too experienced. neither of them were concerned with a threesome when it was suggested, and there’s no mistakes in their almost synchronized movements.

just watching your eyes flutter and roll back is enough to make denki cum with a moan of your name as his cock sprays white. hanta’s pupils probably dilate a hundred times their size at the erotic sight, and his hips begin to stutter as heat races up his spine.

denki, shaking profusely, musters his voice and maintains his hurried pace. “g-good girl, go on ‘n let it out.”

since stepping foot into the village and inhaling that damn pollen, the pro hero’s been getting realistic flashes of thoughts he’s kept locked away for some time. you, on your knees, looking up at him like you’re ready to do more than just please. you, with your pretty eyes full of tears as you lose your mind beneath him.

an orgasm stronger than the lustful effects of any aphrodisiac tears through you, and your cunt bears down so hard it forces out hanta’s own high as well. with all his might, he tries to resist the surge of weakness that hits him and fails—he collapses on top of you, hugging you closely and burying his face in your neck.

loosely, your jaw hangs open and breathy gasps leave your mouth. denki’s sparking with electricity beside you and simultaneously struggling to get it under control. a single yellow spark flies off his body and mildly electrocutes hanta, snapping him back to reality. he jerks against you, sounding exhausted.

“uh. so, um, what’re we supposed to report when we get back?”

TAKAMI KEIGO.

⟡ bless his heart. for valentine’s, he decides to be a silk heart-shaped box of japan’s most expensive chocolate for you. he’d been so focused on finding your favorite flavors along with new ones that he didn’t even realize that he’d purchased sex chocolate.

“it hurts, dovey. it’s s-so painful.”

since sharing the box of chocolates with you, keigo’s been reduced to a pathetic mess who can’t seem to stop shaking when you just barely touch him. vermilion feathers puff up and out at his back, his messy wings conveying the way he’s crumbling inside.

you’re just as hot, skin crawling with a lustful itch only keigo can scratch for you. the frenetic beating of his wings whips up cold gusts of wind stronger than any ceiling fan, and not a single goosebump rises on your skin.

“right there, kei,” you moan, tears gathering in your eyes as he continuously hits your sweet spot. “oh my god, don’t stop.”

as if he’d ever plan to.

he hiccups, face flushed and hair tousled like he’s just returned from some mission out in the wild. softly, with the barest note of urgency, keigo whines out your name and a request.

“dovey, c’mon,” his voice cracks halfway through his sentence, shattered with unmistakable pleasure. “just tell me what you want, and i’ll, ah, i’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

keigo’s entire body thrums with the need, the purpose, to please you, and his own pleasure hinges on you and your praise. sure enough, you cry out to him, words saccharine and addicting.

“make me cum, kei,” and he doesn’t need any further instruction, not when he knows your body this well. smooth fingers slip between your thighs and work your clit, causing your back to arch when he applies just enough pressure to send electricity through your nerves.

you’re wrapping around keigo’s waist, drawing him in and breaking down his self control easily.

“want me to fill up this pussy, baby? i can do it again and again—” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts that amplify the clap of skin against skin almost as much as a quirk could, “while you take it like you were made to.”

quaking beneath him, you nod frantically, as if those are the words you’ve been waiting to hear. while he was so vividly illustrating the scene, his wings unconsciously began to wrap around your bodies, a sign of how much he wants it too.

you gasp, eyes squeezing shut with the last image being keigo’s face, twisted in ecstasy and scrunched with concentration. “gonna—‘m gonna cum, kei!”

“with me, dovey, please,” sweat pours down the sides of his face as the heated bliss tightens in his gut, applying an unbearable pressure to his cock. “let me feel you cum around me, ughhh.”

sloppily, keigo presses open mouthed kisses to your lips, and a delighted moan escapes him when you kiss back. your lips are soft against his, and your tongue carries the sweet taste of valentine’s chocolates, the expensive ones he’d come home with earlier.

you tell him you really shouldn't, you'd hate to have to find a new roommate because you accidentally learned his deepest darkest secret, and he just laughs

a week or so later, the idea has gnawed a hole clean through you and it's impossible to resist the urge

sitting in your room, taking off the quirk canceller, and just listening to the normal sounds of apartment living. your upstairs neighbours stomping around, birds chirping on the balcony, kirishima humming away in the kitchen as he makes dinner. focusing there, reaching out like an invisible hand to tune into his thoughts. surface level things at first, the recipe he's trying out, careful focus on the knife as he chops ingredients, and then - a niggling thought at the back of his mind about you. wondering if you'll like what he's making, what you're doing right now, if you'll ever take him up on his offer - and it only spirals from there.

what he'd really like you to hear if you did take him up on it: that he's madly in love with you, you're the first thing he thinks of in the morning and the last thing before bed (though sometimes that goes other places…), wait no this isn't about that. this is about how your smile stops his heart, your giggle starts it again. how he's memorized every single little thing he's ever learned about you in your time living together, from the way you take your coffee all the way to the extensive list of (all entirely necessary) bath products you prefer.

the depth of his feelings is overwhelming, almost enough to have you turning the device back on to block him out. something stops you though, the realization of the weight he's been carrying giving you pause. scrambling out of the bed and opening the door, you turn the corner into the kitchen a moment later to his blinding smile as he greets you, a towel in his hands as he dries them off. he seems to take in the expression on your face, his brows furrowing slightly as he sets the towel aside, reaching out to you as he asks if you're okay.

you just stare blankly for another moment before reaching out too, hands meeting as you step closer, tangling your fingers together as you meet his confused gaze. the two points of contact help, dropping you right back into his racing thoughts that consist overwhelmingly of you, you, you. the confirmation is all it takes to have you tugging him closer, free hand on one of his big broad shoulders to try to coax his massive frame down to your level. his eyebrows raise, a surprised laugh escaping him as he catches on and lets go of your hand just to grab your waist and hoist you onto the counter.

his broad frame settles between your thighs as they part to accommodate him, one big hand sliding up to cup your jaw and tilt your head back and then he's kissing you. his lips are slightly chapped and he tastes like whatever it is he's cooking, but the kiss is everything you've ever wanted from him. he's so eager that the kiss is a little sloppy, but you can't find it in you to care when you can hear his racing thoughts focused entirely on your reactions. sliding both hands to his hard chest has him leaning back, big carmine eyes meeting yours with a look of dazed wonder.

"i think you might be in love with me," you murmur quietly, fingers fisting in his shirt as his chest starts shaking under your hands. his pointed teeth accentuate his crooked grin, one shoulder raising in a half shrug.

It's been a little over a month since the flood and Edward's arrest. You never went back to Gotham. Although you thought about it, but that was before you got the call from KTMJ. They had urged you to come back, stating that they'd operate through difficult times.

You had sighed and given them a brief answer, "Um, yeah, I'll let you know by the end of the week. Thanks."

You hesitated, "Before I go, has the Forensic Accountant position been filled?"

The woman on the phone takes a moment to rustle through paperwork before giving you a short "It has."

You never went back to KTMJ. You began renting an apartment two cities over. You want to get as far away from Gotham as possible, but you'd have to settle for now because of your budget. 

The days are long. Work at a restaurant downtown doesn't do much to ease your troubles. The customers are obnoxious and the hours are long, but you're lucky enough to find a mutual toleration between your coworkers.

Of course, none of them really know you. They don't know the things you've been through, or the city you came from. Nor did they know the place you had previously worked, or the people you once knew. And honestly you doubt they'd even care, but it's lonely. So incredibly lonely without anyone to find solace in. Nobody who really sees you.

So instead you take solace in the strangers you take home for a short time. Their arms are warm with pumping blood and their hands are deliciously rough as they push up your thighs.

But they aren't gentle with you the way that he was. They don't hold you like they want to keep you safe like Edward had. You can't help but feel a pain in your chest as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to imagine it's Edward's hands pushing up your thighs to your chest and pushing into you without care.

You stop letting your one night stands stay the night after a week or so. After you realized the night terrors weren't going to stop. It was easier to kick them out than to scramble up an excuse that doesn't involve the phrase:

I think I'm in love with a serial killer.

It was easier to spare them the experience of waking up to your screams and cries and your shaking shoulders. The vivid nightmares are never the same. But you always remember them. You always remember the vivid red stain of Edward's blood on your hands as you hold his bleeding form to your chest.

Maybe it's the thought of never being able to see him again that is bringing on the idea of his death in your dreams. And truthfully you had thought about attempting to visit him in Arkham, but the flood made that nearly impossible.

But you crave to see him. You often wonder if they are truly trying to help him, or if they've simply thrown him behind bars to rot. Maybe they'd drugged him up so much he couldn't even form coherent thoughts. Were they feeding him enough? Did he see a therapist?

You have to splash cold water on your face to break the cycling questions bouncing around in your head. Were you even really in love with him? Or were you just looking for that rush that he had given you that night?

No, you can't visit him. You had just gotten The Bat off of your case. You decided it was probably in your best interest to keep your distance.

━

The Bat had visited your apartment about three weeks after the flood.

The knock on the door of your new apartment startles you. You don't know many people in the city. You've made friends with coworkers but it ended there. But the knocking is persistent.

You're shocked to see him. The elusive figure who you'd spoken to only weeks prior, just after the flood. You blink up at his looming figure, looking for something to say but he beats you to it,

"Can I talk to you?"

You find yourself simply nodding quickly and opening the door wider for him to enter. You pour him a glass of water and wait for what he had to say. It feels silly sitting in your tiny kitchen, listening intently to the man in this costume. But his voice and his attitude show a sense of dominance that's just enough to make you feel obligated to listen.

He's not the cops, you remind yourself.

"You moved quickly."

You swallow a sip of water and glance up at him. "Yeah... Well Gotham was kind of impossible to live in after the flood so."

He simply stares as you answer before another question, "You didn't attempt to go back to KTMJ?" You shake your head in response. "It's a little hard to go back after an event like that, don't you think?"

"I talked to your coworkers."

You raise an eyebrow at him, unsure of where he's going with his statement. "You were close to him. To The Riddler." He hisses out Edward's alias as if it disgusts him to even say it, and it immediately sours your mood. You scoff, "What did Zach tell you that?"

He doesn't answer your question, but continues to speak. "He's not just a coworker. You knew him better than that, didn't you?" You furrow your brows at his words.

"What are you trying to assume?"

"What did he tell you? Did you know about what he was planning? You could've saved lives!" He's raising his voice and you can't help but pinch the bridge of your nose before the frustration finally peaks.

"I knew Edward! Edward. Not The Riddler. Okay? I didn't know anything!"

You stare with a stern, straight face as you stand from the table to tower over him to give yourself any bit of confidence over him that you could. And you did what Edward might have hated, and lied right through your teeth. 

"I slept with him. One time. It was one time after a single date."

He tilts his head as he listens.

"I don't think I'm responsible for the actions of a man that I fucked one time, and I'd hope that my coworkers wouldn't think so either."

It left a bitter taste in your mouth, because Edward was more than just a man you had fucked. You cared about him. You cared what happened to him.

"I liked him. It's true. He came over for dinner one time, we had sex, and a week later I see him on the news. So, tell me, what am I meant to do about that?"

You lie so easily. It shocks you how easily the words flow from your lips. He stares before standing up and starting to speak, but you're so worked up. You could cry. You want him out of your apartment. "You're not a cop. If you want to question me more you can call one of your buddies and have them get here. Otherwise, please, get the hell out of my apartment.

He complies without a fight and you slam the door shut as soon ask his feet cross the threshold into the hallway. 

And you had thought about it nearly every single day since. You can only imagine it- your old coworkers huddled around in a circle the minute they return to KTMJ with yours and Edward's names on their tongues. You imagine they are making their own scenarios by now. Hell, Zach is probably leading the pack of slut shaming insults that are floating around that office building and into the ears of this costumed vigilante.

You can't rightfully be angry. You did know what Edward was doing. In fact you had known it nearly a week before the flood even happened, and you chose to do nothing. You've accepted the fact that you aren't a good person, but it would make it easier to move on if Edward wasn't constantly taking up space in your mind. 

Innocent people died and you still want him. You're a monster.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach. 

━

It's weeks later when you see the headline. Staring down at your phone on the subway ride home, your body turns to ice.

'Multiple Patients Escape Arkham State Hospital'

Your eyes are wide and your hands shakes as you scroll through the article, skimming until you see his name and face. It's an old mugshot, one you've seen before.

Your mind is racing, and you practically sprint home from your subway stop. You can only think of his words before he had turned himself in, the last time you had seen him.

"I promise if I ever get out, I'll find you."

But he wouldn't be there that night. Or the next night. Or even the next month. And by that point you had given up any hope that he would show. Perhaps he had regretted what happened between the two of you. Perhaps there was another person. Another reason.

You fill your days the best you can with unimportant tasks. You start going out more, recklessly. Drinking by yourself. You know you shouldn't. It could lead to trouble. Trouble that you couldn't get yourself out of like you had previously. But you can't help yourself. You almost don't remember him or the flood when you drink. It's peaceful.

You start to wonder, did you even want him here? Would his presence fill a void that you had within you for so long now? Or would it just make you feel worse? Would it fuck up your life more than it already had?

You try to stop asking yourself the questions as you toss back a shot. The bar is loud. Not as loud as the Iceberg Lounge had been back in Gotham, but loud enough to now allow anymore vicious thoughts to enter your mind. It's bliss, if only for a short while.

But you won't let yourself get too far. You've never been here. You don't know the people here. You need to be decently sober minded. You hoped that this city wouldn't reflect the cruelty that plagued Gotham. You'd never think of entering a bar on your own in Gotham.

You gather your coat from the back of the chair you've sat and thrown it on as you walk from the bar. You can feel a pair of eyes watching you as you do. Because you know that feeling. It makes you shiver and think of all the times he had watched you through your window. Secretly you entertain the idea that it might be him again.

But it's not, and you spot the dark haired man right away. He's older, wrinkled, dressed decently. You can tell the way he attempts to appear unassuming as he slithers around the corner you had just passed.

You clench your fist in your pocket. You had walked to the bar. You have no keys. You have no form of self defense, besides your own hands and feet. And you can hear his footsteps so clearly as you attempt to escape from him into the alley. And then he speaks, calling out to you.

"Hey!"

You attempt to ignore him, understanding that this might be the wrong move. People get murdered everyday for saying 'no.' His steps become quicker as he is starting to close the distance between you. 

"Sweetheart!"

You continue to ignore, picking up your pace. But he's so close, too close to ignore as you feel your body jolt to a stop as his hand catches your arm. You let out a small yelp as he pulls your body around to face him.

"Where are you headed? It's a little early to call it quits, huh?"

You stay quiet and avoid his eye contact, never looking at his face. It only pisses him off as he harshly grabs your chin to force your eyes in his direction. "Look at me, yeah? How about you come back with me? Have some fun, sweetheart." You look into his eyes, attempting to calm the situation. And suddenly you're a small child again. Authority is looking you right in the eye and you can't help but start to break down. Your voice is shaking like the rest of you.

"Please...I- I don't think- I can give you money, just-"

Pathetic, you think. You were a fool to think this city would be different.

The monster's hands are all over your body. "It's okay, sweetheart, what you have is worth so much more than money." You've gone numb, your body preparing to accept the pain that is about to hit you as he presses your back against the brick wall. 

But instead of pain, it's a seething warmth splashing up onto your face and down your neck. His weight is falling on top of you as you slide yourself down the wall until you hit the ground.

Hot. Red. Hot. Red.

It's all you can think before you meet the familiar figure above you. Green vinyl. A blood stained knife in one hand. The figure kicks the man's lifeless and twitching corpse off of your body. You finally draw in a breath.

"I couldn't stay away."

You're on the wet asphalt of the dark alley, covered from your face to your chest in the monster's blood. You're unable to say anything. You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. Your ears are ringing. You can only stare up at the familiar shade of green with wide eyes.

"Come on. Let's get you home."

It's unclear if he's talking to you or himself. He holds out a hand to help you off the ground. He is desperately wiping at your face to smear most of the drying blood from your cheeks, and takes his overcoat off to wrap it around your bloodied torso. His hands linger a little longer on your shoulders and suddenly the reality of your situation hits. The shock and adrenaline are wearing off and you're suddenly shaking and hot tears are falling down your cheeks.

"Edward..."

He pushes a small piece of your hair from your eyes. For the first time you aren't crying in fear at the sight of him, but rather relief. 

He follows you home and into your apartment. As soon as he crosses the threshold, you find your fingers ripping the mask from his face. He looks just like you remember him- soft, fair, cherubic. His hair is longer. His frame is slightly thinner than you remember. You run your thumb over a scar that's formed on his cheekbone, furrowing your brows as you take in his features.

His lips feel the same as you remember- chapped, plush, warm. His bloodied and gloved hand on the small of your back is the only thing keeping you grounded in the moment. Blood has transferred in flakes from your lips to his and you're suddenly itching to wash it from you. You want nothing of that monster on your skin, or Edward's. 

He's obedient and quiet. He lets you pull him into your bathroom and strip him down as if it was the most normal and mundane task you'd ever done. He clings to you in the shower, like he never wants you more than an inch from him. You're okay with it, you think as you press a cheek to his bare chest. 

You realize you've not said a word to him since you spoke his name in the alley.

"I never thought I'd see you again."

It's an honest confession. Not that you didn't think he was strong enough to survive after an escape, just that you'd accepted he had no desire to see you any further.

"Yeah...Me neither."

His hands rub gently at your face, washing away the flakes of caked blood.You close your eyes and lean into it.

The water around the two of you is finally beginning to run clear instead of red. You pull your cheek from his chest and glance over his entire figure. "I've never seen you like this."

He had seen you like this. You know he has. Maybe that's why it felt so satisfying to finally have him this vulnerable. He cocks his head and you finish, "Bare, ya know. That last night it was dark and quick and I didn't see you like this."

His face flattens like he's nervous. "I like it." He stares down at you like he can't believe you'd said it. Like he can't believe you'd like him without the facade of The Riddler, just Edward. He only stares for a moment longer before his lips are back on yours.

The intimacy of his hands in your hair, washing the tiny bits of coagulated blood from the strands is surreal. It's some fucked up version of all of the romance books you had read as a teenager.

You let yourself lean into it anyway.

━

You don't even bother dressing yourself after the shower. You urge him to do the same. You want that closeness. The comfort of his skin on yours in a way that is intimate without the added sexual intention.

Your body clings to his in your bed. He's laid down with you, brushing your hair and tangling his limbs with yours under the blankets. His presence soothes you quicker than anything. You almost forget the actions that had transpired, the way you were almost taken from in the most vile way. The way he had killed for you.

Rain patters outside your window. It's so peaceful. It almost feels domestic. Once again you're thinking about what could've been. Maybe if you had met Edward on the playground instead of the office things would've been different. Maybe he would've had a crush on you. Maybe you would've denied it until you were older. Maybe you would've snuck out into the night together and kissed in cars. Maybe he wouldn't have felt like he had to do the things he's done. 

You miss him. Even with his warm body pressed up against yours you miss him. You miss his glances from across the room. You miss looking over his shoulder at his crossword puzzles. You miss his presence within your life. For the past year it's been missing, and there was no clean cut. His page had been messily ripped from your book.

The thoughts of casually dating like normal do plagues your mind. You imagine coming home to the same apartment every night after work. The feeling of his hand on the small of your back while you cook dinner. His scent permanently seeped into your sheets.

You mourn a life you've never even lived.

But he looks perfect next to you in this moment. His eyes are soft, and that same striking green color you remember. He looks so tired, but still he just looks at you like he never wants to close his eyes. His hand brushes your cheek.

"I wanted to stay away, but I couldn't."

You furrow your brows. You can't help but feel a slight sting at the idea that he may not have wanted to see you again. "Why?"

"It's not just me. There's other people involved now and I didn't want you getting wrapped up in it." He strokes a gentle thumb over your bottom lip. "I don't trust them to know about you yet. So I stayed away."

You frown as he continues speaking, "You'd moved away from it all. I thought for sure you'd move on. But that fucker'shands on you changed my mind."

He lowers his voice to a whisper,

"I'll never let anyone touch you like that."

His words make you feel something between a flame and a flutter in your stomach. He had rescued you, like some hero in the night. No longer just a dark figure in a window, but the man you loved there to rescue you.

You can feel tears welling in your eyes.

"I want to leave with you. I wanna go so far away that nobody ever sees us again."

He smiles a sad smile in response, but you need him to know you mean what you said.

"I'm serious. I don't want you to go again."

"I'm not sure I have a choice."

And that's the moment you snap back to reality. He's not a hero. He had hurt many people. The flood undoubtedly hurt innocent people. And the GCPD would never stop looking for him. Your face drops. 

"Right."

You kiss his forehead before turning onto your other side. You can't look at him anymore. And you don't want him to see your tears. So instead you relax into him as he wraps an arm around you.

━

The next morning he's gone from the bed. You feel panic fall over you for a second before you see the note on your tiny nightstand. 

I'll be back. -E.

You sigh. Yeah, when?

His bloodied belongings are gone and he's cleaned the mess of the bathroom. It's almost as if he'd never been there at all. And you think you could convince yourself of that if it weren't for his scrawled handwriting on the paper beside your bed.

You attempt to enjoy a day off, but quickly find yourself wishing that you had been called in to take a shift. It's quiet. Normally you'd find it pleasant, but you find it hard to bear after the events of the night before.

You rip up the piece of paper he'd had left and flush the remaining evidence down the toilet. As soon as your bare feet hit the cold tile you hear a knock at the door. Through the peephole, you're met with a familiar figure. The Bat.

You pause for a moment to gather your thoughts. Shit. It's time to be serious, you think as you open the door slowly. He says your name in that familiar deep voice. One that shrills out almost like a harsh whisper.

You stand, feigning confidence. You glance around, halfway expecting a police officer to be accompanying him. But he's alone.

"I thought I told you last time that if you want to talk to me you can bring your cop buddy."

He doesn't budge. You'd be lying if you said the armor didn't make him intimidating. "Where is he?"

You stand still, unmoving in the doorway. "Aren't you supposed to be the one figuring that out? I don't know where he is."

It's not a total lie. You need to make him believe you. You open the door, allowing him in as you continue to speak. "I saw the news. It's impossible to avoid. I almost expected him to show up here, but he never did."

Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie.

You shut the door behind him. "You expect me to believe that?" You push down the irritation you feel at his words. "You can look everywhere here. I don't care. As long as you leave me alone after this."

You hope Edward had been smart. You pray that he had cleaned up the way you thought he had. As if he was never here.

The Bat makes his way around the apartment. You sit at your dining table and pour yourself a glass of wine. You'd rather not hover, it'd only make you look nervous. 

And by the time he makes his way back to you, your heart is beating fast. You wait for him to speak.

"A man was murdered in an alley downtown. Stabbed to death."

You sigh. "I don't know what you expect me to say to that. People die every day." You stand to show him the door. "If you searched what you want to search I'd love it if you would-" Before you can reach for the doorknob, his hand catches your arm. It takes you back to the previous night in the alley, and you find yourself flinching back.

"If he shows up here, don't be stupid. He's a murderer. Don't put yourself in that situation."

You nod quickly before opening the door and gesturing for him to leave. He lightens up slightly, clearly noticing the way way you had flinched away from him. He steps out of the apartment.

"Be safe."

You shut the door.

━

You continue to sip the wine all day. Your nerves are shot. And there's still no sign of Edward. You run a bath and sink into it. The water is hot, hotter than you'd usually like, but the sting feels good tonight. You close your eyes, sighing out a breath until you hear the click of the lock. You startle a bit, snapping your eyes open quickly and turning to face the open bathroom doorway that faces your bedroom.

"Edward?"

Whoever it is doesn't respond but you can hear the footsteps slowly approaching. Your heart beats faster and faster and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. But as the footsteps reach the bedroom you can see him in the dark, familiar build and glasses glinting in the light that seeps in from the bathroom.

You let out a sharp exhale as he walks into the bathroom. "You scared the shit out of me."

You rest your forehead on one of your palms. He kneels down next to the tub and smoothes a hand down the side of your head. "I'm sorry. I took the spare key."

"You could've told me."

You hate how mean you sound, but you're tense. And the stress is building. You sigh again. "I'm sorry. I just- The Bat...he showed up today. Looking for you."

He furrows his brows and you can see him thinking. "He did?" He looks like he expects the worst. Like he expects that you sold him out or planned to.. "What did you tell him?"

You look into his eyes and scoff a little. "I told him you weren't here. I told him I knew you were missing, but that you never showed." You pause for a moment. "I wouldn't sell you out. You know that right? I- I wouldn't do that." The wine has you slightly buzzed and slightly overemotional. You can recognize that.

He doesn't speak, just places a hand on the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss. It's deep and passionate. Almost like he's been waiting to kiss you like this. It stuns you for a moment, but it doesn't take long before you're reaching wet hands around the fabric on his back and pulling him in deeper.

He hovers over you. His lips are attaching themselves to the wet expanse of your neck and you can't help but throw your head back to give him room. You've missed his touch. Nobody else's including your own would do. You let out a quiet moan and that's all it takes for him to pull the plug on the bath, drenching his sleeve in the process, and pulling you up and out of the tub so that he can dry your wet body.

The moment he pushes your nude body to fall onto the bed, he's already on his knees. He's ready to devour you, and it has you thinking back to the way his tongue had felt as it dove inside of you. You had craved that feeling for almost a year now. But you still find yourself pushing him back with a foot to his chest.

He gives a questioning look to you, and for a moment you're overcome with a sudden shyness that prevents you from speaking. You collect your thoughts.

"Take off your pants."

He hesitates for a moment, before complying. His hands shake as they unbuckle his belt and push his pants down his legs, discarding them to the side. You hope he's shaking with anticipation, just as you are.

You don't even speak before you scramble to your knees. With two fingers under the waistband of his boxers you look up to meet his eyes. There's a fire in them, and you can't get enough of it.

You drag the fabric of his underwear down until he is freed from the confines of fabric. You relish in the gasp that falls from his lips as he softly rubs at your hair. He's noisy as you put your mouth on him. His moans are whiney and pathetic, and you want to eat them up.

Slow and steady, you think.

You want to pick him apart slowly- piece by piece. Just as he had slowly chipped away at your reserve all those months ago.

"Has anyone ever done this for you, Edward?"

He shakes his head, face contorted into a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. His hands on the back of your head are shaking, and you can tell he's slowly losing his self control as he pushes light pressure forward. Your eyes are watering, and you're trying your best to keep up until-

He takes a step back.

"S'gonna cum if you kept doing that."

It's drawled out into a slight whine, and you've caught your breath enough to reply,

"I want that, Edward."

He stares at you as if he can't believe you're saying such things to him. And honestly you can't believe it either. You think back to his stolen glances at the office- back when things were normal. The days when you would come home, tired and stiff, with only him on your mind.

Desperate, longing, pathetic.

You think back to the days that neither one of you had the guts to say anything, watching each other get off through a barrier- until he broke the barrier. And just as quickly as he had broken it, he had disappeared.

You kiss him. So hard it almost knocks him over. When you separate, neither of you speak for a moment. You listen to the sound of each other's beating hearts and heavy breathing. You trail your fingers up his hoodie, the only thing left blocking his skin from yours, and urge him to pull it up and off. He does so without hesitation.

"You should lay down."

For some reason his words stun you. You open your mouth to speak, hands resting on his bare chest, but nothing comes out. You simply nod and let yourself lay back against the soft mattress.

It also stuns you how swiftly he makes his way to hover over your body, spreading your thighs to fit himself between them. Any ounce of confidence has left you in this moment. You trail a hand lightly down his spine as he leans down towards your lips, just barely touching.

His forehead rests on yours and you can feel his breath on your face. It makes you shake more as his hand trails down your body until his cold fingers reach your core. You let out a shaky whisper,

"I want you..."

The smile he cracks makes your heart soar. You let your hand rest on the side of his face, slightly cupping his jaw. "Please..."

It's perfect, just as you remember. The burning stretch of him is a feeling that you've been chasing for months on end. You can't help but let your head fall back onto the mattress as you cry out.

You can feel his warm hands cradling the small of your back, pulling you in closer as he begins to thrust into you. His brows are furrowed in concentration, but you can see the way his features are fighting to break into a look of bliss. And you love it like this. You love how clearly you can see him like this. All skin on skin, unlike the last time you had him.

"You're everything."

Something in your heart flutters as he speaks. You feel him in ways that you forgot were possible. You can't help the babble of words that start to fall from your mouth.

"Nobody is like you, Edward. Nobody."

You let your hands loop around the back of his neck, holding his gaze. "I've had so many strangers in this bed while you were gone." You take note of the way his brows furrow and he twitches inside of you. "But none of them do it like you."

You know you've worked him up when he's suddenly gripping your thigh with one. hand and driving into you at a pace that teeters on the line of too much and just enough. Uneven. Ferocious. Inexperienced. And yet it makes you want to come all over him in an instant.

It's been too long. You're too pent up. His hands lead your face towards his until you're locked into a kiss once again.Your nails are digging into the meat of his arms as he holds your face, and you can only hope that you aren't hurting him too badly.

His face contorts into a look of pleasure as choked off whines escape his lips. You can feel tears running from the corners of your eyes as you cry out in pleasure. You never want this moment to end. You shouldn't even be doing this.

The thought that this moment is fleeting, much like your time with him, makes you tense. Wrapping your arms around his back and pulling him as close as you can to your body, you whisper out and into his ear,

"I love you, Edward."

He lets his head hang low until your foreheads meet. "I- I love you too- Ah-" His thrusts are sloppy and familiar. You can recognize the way his legs shake. He's so close to finishing and you want to give him that release more than anything. You should be pushing him out the door.

You drag your nails down the skin of his back. "Please..." It's the only word you can force out as you look into his eyes, bottomless green pits, and he nods at you. You revel in the sounds of his broken off whines and sloppy thrusts and you hold him close as he reaches the edge.

The warmth of him as he finishes pushes you closer and closer to edge until you're a goner.

You're a monster.

━

When it's all over, you're clinging onto him as those waves of pleasure crash over you and you shake in his grasp. He's stopped his movements but leaves himself buried inside. He leans his face against your neck, heavy breaths puffing against your skin.

You stay like this for a while. It's so quiet. You can faintly hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. You stroke a hand through his hair as he finally pulls away and falls onto his back. 

His eyes are closed, and his breathing is relaxed. He reaches a hand over to rub tiny circles onto your exposed hip with his fingers.

"I'm sorry for being so mean earlier."

His fingers stop for a moment as if he's taking in your statement. "I'm just feeling really uneasy here."

"You have nothing to worry about. I'm taking care of it all."

You sigh. Despite the bliss of physical intimacy and the love you feel for him, a nerve within you is struck. You let out a shaky breath.

"Why did you flood the city?"

There's a pause of thick silence in the air. "I did what was necessary." You furrow your brows and face him as he continues,

"Gotham needed real renewal."

"There were children. There were innocent people that died Edward." You can tell your words bother him. He avoids meeting your eye and his hands have a nervous twitch. "It was a small price to pay."

You blink over at him. His eyes still won't meet yours.

"I hope you don't actually feel that way."

You let yourself roll over, unable to speak any further. He lays unmoving for a moment, deep sighs rolling out of his mouth, before you feel him stand from his side of the bed and hear him gather his clothes before he walks out.

You squeeze your eyes shut and force the urge to sleep to take over.

━

His words plague your mind for weeks to come. It's eerily silent with no word or surprise visits from The Bat, and you can feel the suspense building inside of you.

Edward's warmth on your side each passing night brings a sense of comfort and belonging, but you find that the hours he is gone doing god knows what long and dreadful.

The implications that could come with Edward being caught out on the streets makes you sick at your stomach. Your name in the news and life down the drain. But you more so find yourself worrying what would happen to Edward in that situation.

You imagine they'd throw him into solitary confinement, and slowly drain any ounce of sanity that he had left. Punishment. It threatens to make you vomit as you contemplate the possibilities.

What had you done?

And soon you begin thinking of ways to give Edward a chance, even if slim. You run your fingers through tussled hair at night when you watch him sleep. You never want that peaceful look to leave his face.

But it's helpless. You know this. You're prolonging both of your sufferings by allowing him to stay as long as he has. There's no happy endings or escaping into an orange lit sunset. He was right when he had told you how he felt. You were too late and he had chosen his fate.

You eat dinner night after night, leaving him the leftover rice and chicken from a nearby takeout place. He comes home later and later every night. And occasionally you can't help yourself. You wait up for him until he comes home and you find comfort in the burn of his skin against yours.

The touch of his rough hands on your hips is electric as he thrusts messily into you. It feels good, but only leaves you feeling slightly sick after the fact.

Especially when he closes his eyes like it hurts to look at you. You let your hands caress his cheeks as you will him to open his eyes. "Look at me, Edward." It's a soft whisper. He doesn't relent.

"I love you."

You shouldn't.

And finally he opens his eyes. He's crying. It's unmistakable. He wilts in on himself like the petals of a flower as the tears begin to fall down his cheeks. "I'm sorry for everything I've done." His body still shivers from the feeling of you around him. You notice as you gently guide him out of you and onto his back against the bed. You wipe the tears with your fingers and kiss him deeply.

"I forgive you." 

Do you?

He sobs into your chest until the sleep overcomes him that night. You stay awake, staring at the ceiling. You forgive him, you think. You wouldn't lie to him. 

But the sinking feeling remains. This thing that the two of you have built is doomed, and you begin to wonder if you've started lying to yourself.

Even after his apologies, he stays out. You stop waiting for him to return at night. Even after his apologies, he is wrapped up so tightly in the work of The Riddler. Even after his apologies, you are left with a sick feeling in your gut.

You fall deeper and deeper into your paranoia.

It's getting harder and harder to sleep at night. This city is too much like Gotham. This job is just as miserable as KTMJ. And somehow after everything, Edward has maintained his spot in your miserable life. You want, no, need to hate him. You need to push him out of the door and tell him to never come back. 

You've allowed him to stay for too long.

You want him here.

You cannot take the sight of him anymore.

You never want to look away.

You bury your face into your pillow and let out a scream that shreds your throat.

━

It's one of the few nights he has decided come home early enough to catch the dinner you'd carefully crafted for the two of you. It's almost strange sitting across from him at the dinner table. He had been coming to you like some sort of creature of the night, carefully picking the lock on your door and sliding into bed with you when you were already asleep.

"I'm really glad you're here. I was proud of this one."

You pull your mouth into the best smile you could muster up and he smiles back. "It's good." 

You let out a huff of a laugh as you push around a remaining piece of cream sauce covered broccoli on your plate. "You mean it?"

His eyes meet yours, "I don't lie." 

It's silent for a few more moments, with only the sounds of your forks hitting the ceramic plates and the faint hum of your A/C unit. You barely even realize you've been bouncing your legs with nerves since the moment you sat down. You really shouldn't push it you think. You should just enjoy this moment. He had come home early enough to eat dinner with you.

Oh. Home. There's that word again. 

Could you really even consider this place his home. 

Would he consider it his home?

You should be happy. Instead, you feel like you could burst into tears at any moment. 

"I really wish we could do this more often."

He stands from his seat and walks his plate over to the sink to rinse the mess of it. "Hm?" 

You join him by the sink, letting a hand rest on his back. 

"I just- I like having you here. Actually here, not just in bed at night." 

It's a plea. You hope he sees it as that. You want nothing more than for him to recognize how much you're suffering in your current situation. Instead, he smiles and turns to pull you into an embrace. His lips are close to your ears, pressing light kisses to your head. You can hear his steady breathing. He hesitates to reply.

"You know I would be here all the time if I could."

You pull away softly, eyes meeting his. "The Riddler demands attention." 

It comes out just as snarky and drained as you feel in the moment. The Riddler had people outside waiting on him, people you don't even know. The Riddler had business so important it keeps him out all day and nearly all night. The Riddler had amassed followers in amounts you couldn't fathom.

Edward had a lone lover waiting at home and living in delusion. 

He furrows his brows, "You're angry." You laugh, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose. 

"I've been waiting all night for you nearly every single night. You're barely here. I feel like some animal having the one thing they want dangled in front of but just out of reach."

There's a silence, like you've caught him off guard. And you've caught yourself off guard too. There's tears flowing down your cheeks and you can barely catch your breath. You've held it in too long now. You're afraid you might tear everything apart.

"God forbid I want to sit down and eat a normal meal like normal people." 

You look stupid. You probably seem like you've gone nuts. But he keeps his tone mellow.

"Things are never gonna be normal for you. Not as long as I am around."

You really shouldn't be pissed off, he's telling nothing but the harsh truth. It was you who was in denial, clinging to the idea of what could've been your life. At the same time, it was him to had shown back up after months of insisted no contact.

"Then why did you come back?!" 

You can see his hands shaking at his sides. You've hurt his feelings, but you can't bring yourself to stop the overflowing words.

"Why did you come back? Just to rub it in my face that I can never really have you? You should've just left it at rejecting me at KTMJ."

He's quiet, eerily so as he seems to absorb what you've just thrown at him. Until he speaks,

"That night I showed back up- Do you really think I'd let something like that happen to you? Do you think I could livewith myself?"

You're turned away from him now. You can't stand to look at him, a position you've found yourself in more and more lately. 

"You've done much worse."

He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. He takes a step forward, inching closer to you. He's so close that you can faintly hear his beating heart. You're looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. "I came back because I care about you,"

"I can live with the things I've done. If you can't, say the word."

There's a seething tone on the end of his sentence. You don't get a chance to reply before he walks out the door, slamming it shut.

━

You've taken to wine more than you'd like to in his daily absence. It doesn't burn going down the way that liquor does, and it's a much easier purchase to justify than a bottle of vodka. And it doesn't leave you completely out of your mind, not like the shots had the night that Edward had shown back up.

You're suffering internally. You should've turned him away that night.

Instead you let him in your home and into your mind and into your heart, and now he's burrowed himself so deep it feels like cutting out a vital organ to send him away.

He's barely been home since your argument, and you almost wish he would've just never shown back up after he left. It'd make it easier on you. Only for a fleeting moment. The times he is home, he smells like smoke and iron, and has that same dull look in his eyes. He crashes before you even have a moment to make small talk. 

You've reached your breaking point when he finds you sitting at the dining table later into the night when he returns, gloves still on, overcoat shed. He stops in his tracks. "Hey. It's late." You can see the worry in his face as he simply stares at you. The opened bottle of wine is visible on the table in front of you.

"I have to leave, Edward."

Please, don't let me go.

He stands and stares at you with his hands tucked together in front of him. He looks so small. Almost childlike, as if he's listening to a parent speak to him about their issues with his behavior.

"I have to move on from- this. You should too."

Dear God, follow me forever.

You told yourself you wouldn't cry, but you can already feel your eyes stinging. You're so defeated. So broken. So sad. He breaks the silence and the look on his face makes you want to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness, and for a moment you think you might.

"Okay. I can leave tonight."

You shake your head. "No. Don't, not yet." He furrows his brows, confused. "Please, let me be the one to leave this time." He nods slowly. He moves a step forward as if he wants to touch you but instead just continues to keep his hand pressed to his body. It's almost as if he's scared to touch you, so you take the initiative and curl your arms around him, burying your face into his chest.

You take in the way that he smells. So familiar, so comforting. You try to push down the thoughts that inevitably a day is going to come where you won't even be able to recall the way he smelled. You don't want to let go, ever. In the back of your mind there's no doubt that he's the one for you, but there's also no doubt that this affair will destroy you. It already is. You have to make this choice- for the both of you. So you do.

You eat dinner together late into the night, and it feels like a last meal before an all too soon death. Not much is said between the two of you. But as soon as you finish your dinners you're heading to bed. He doesn't come with you at first. He stays glued to his spot on the couch, and for a second you think he might opt to sleep there for the night. That is until you feel his side of the bed dip.

Warm arms wrap around you and he's pulling you into him. Your bodies are firmly pressed together and he's so so warm. His lips are pressed to your neck, placing gentle and sleepy kisses to the skin. You feel tears slip from your eyes and onto the pillow beneath your face.

"I really wish things were different."

You feel him sigh against you. You continue, "I wish this was possible." You turn to face him, although you hate to. You want to take in his features. You want to burn them into the back of your eyelids forever. You want to forget he even existed. He looks at you with a straight face. 

"You'll find someone else, and you'll forget about me."

And your heart breaks the second the words leave his mouth. You shake your head as you start to cry. It feels like he's reached into your ribcage and pulled your heart out of your chest. "The life I am living is not fair to you." And it's still beating in his bloodied hand.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to forget about you."

It wouldn’t matter how hard you tried.

His hand brushes the side of your head. "I wish you would." You furrow your brows as he continues, "You deserve someone who can be there for you."

He looks at your face as you weep. He looks as if he's trying to stop himself from feeling any emotion, possibly for your sake. You wipe your tears and speak again.

"I'm gonna try to find a new place. I can’t be here anymore. You can stay here until I leave and then-"

He looks at you for a moment before nodding. You brush a hand through his hair, pushing away strands that have fallen into his face.

"I love you, Edward."

He whispers back,

"I love you too."

You let yourself fall asleep, comfortably wrapped in his embrace. You can almost convince yourself it’s a normal night, that tomorrow will be the same routine. Edward will be gone when you wake up, and you will inevitably wait up for him in the night.

But when you wake up, you find that the warmth of his arms is gone and his side of the bed is empty and cold. You slowly raise from your bed.

"Eddie?"

Something in your gut feels wrong, and your instinct is right as you find the tiny slip of paper where he always left it. It's different this time, not a promise to be back or an indicator that you might meet again. 

I love you, always. Be safe. -E.

━

He was here and then he wasn’t. He left just as suddenly as he had appeared. 

You had pushed him away and yet you still felt the pain of how easily he had agreed. Although you suppose you shouldn't be too offended. He had respected your boundaries easier than any other person you had allowed into your life, aside from the unhinged behavior he carried around behind the mask and coat.

Edward Nashton had always been one to accept that things weren’t laid out in his favor. He’d been arrogant in the time that you knew him, but you’d seen how easily he accepted consequences of his own actions.

And this was a consequence, no matter how much it hurt your feelings. 

In his absence, you’d kicked your feet on the process of getting the hell out of this town, and instead let your mundane routine continue. You go to work. You come home. You eat dinner. You try not to stare at the latched door, almost expecting it to open. 

You tried to do as he had wished. To move on and find someone to fill that void in your life. You had joined a dating app, praying and hoping that the perfect person would show up and take you away from it all.

And you do find a nice man. A man who is willing to take you out and get to know you. A man who is probably stable and would take good care of you. You let yourself enjoy dinner, you laugh, you joke, but as he walks you home and grabs your hand, you feel the ache growing in your chest.

He kisses you before you head into your apartment, and it throws you into a frenzy. You can only think of familiar soft lips and your vision is blurring the man's face with the image of shaggy hair and clear framed glasses. You stumble back and let out a quick "I- I can't." before frantically running into your apartment.

You let your body slide down the front door until you're sat on the ground in front of it. You tuck your head into your knees and sob. 

It’s time to accept the fact that your life may never be normal as long as you stay here. With Gotham so horribly close. With the ghosts of your past following you around this miserable town. 

You pack everything and leave within the next week. You head to the coast, hoping the warmer weather will cure the ache in your bones.

━

You find the coast to be the most stable you've ever lived. You've managed yourself another office job with better management than you could've ever imagined at KTMJ. You've made some decent friends with coworkers. 

You like to think it's the warm weather and the rays of sun that have turned your life around. The frigid cold always had a way of putting you down.

Your therapist always laughs at this sentiment. 

You've found cute little corner diners to sip coffee and take a breath in. The grumpy old women that work there are just enough to make you feel right at home.

"You're from Jersey?"

You nod as you take a sip from the mug the waitress had handed you. She hums, "My family is from Jersey."

"How'd you end up here?"

She shrugs. "Married some guy, followed him here, got a divorce, but I never wanted to leave." She meets your amused look with a slight chuckle. She's got just the right energy to make you feel comfortable and it's nice opening up to someone, even if it's only for a moment. 

"Well, I'm happy to find someone else from Jersey. You don't meet a lot here."

She shakes her head and the bell on the front door jingles, "No you don't- Sir, I'll be right with you." She walks from the bar that you're sat at and makes her way to the table in the back corner. The booth is facing away from you, but you can make out the side of the man's head as he faces the waitress to order. You're able to make out the tiny glint of the glasses on his face and the pale scar on his cheek.

You turn back towards the mug sitting in front of you.

He can remember the first time your eyes met his. It's a distinct moment in his brain. He had been warned of the newcomer that would be entering the building in the coming days, but he didn't expect it to affect him much. Different department, not his problem. 

And you were significantly more cheerful than he expected. He had expected another temp, desperate for money, but hating the job. But when you made your way to his desk and held out your hand with a bright smile on your face, he could see the motivation on your face. 

He figures this will fizzle out. It did for him. Gone were the years that brought him hope for a better life and possibly more opportunities. But this was it. A lifeless job, a lonely apartment, and an emptiness he can't escape. 

He never held disdain towards you. He silently hopes that you know that. He simply felt nothing towards you for that first little while. Although, he simply felt nothing towards anyone. But the time would come when that little spark in his chest would grow.

━━━━

So when you approach his desk to call out his disregard, it catches him off guard. He thought for sure you had seen him just as all the others had. A pushover. A nobody. Not worth getting to know. But here you were, practically begging for his attention. And yes, he was willing to give it. 

"I think you think you're smarter than everyone else here." He doesn't flinch at the hand you plant on his desk. Only sighs and tries to fight back a smile, because you're right. He does think he's smarter than the people who work there. Zach is a prick and an idiot. The boss doesn't give a shit about any of the people working here. Nobody sees the world the way that he does. 

"I do. Is that so bad?"

"It makes you an asshole."

There it was. The true feelings coming out. He had to give it to you for being honest. Most hide their disdainful nature behind a mocking tone. But you were upfront with him. It's the first time he's seen you this honest and outspoken. And he likes it. He craves to see more of it. He wants to pick apart the pieces of your life and watch you put them back together━ just for him.

"Better to be an asshole than to be an idiot." 

He stares at you as you work through a stunned expression before he hears a short chuckle that lights up his soul. "I guess you're right."

He can't help the smirk that's plastered on his face as you walk away. 

━━━━

That's the first night that he follows you home. He knew it was wrong, he knew that it was creepy, but he set a pace slower than yours and lingered behind you still, hood over his head. It is almost as if he is outside of his own body, watching himself. Going through the motions. He reminds himself that he is not those criminals on the streets. He wouldn't sweep you into the Iceberg Lounge, get you drunk, and take advantage of you. No. He'd never hurt someone like you. 

You're disgusting, Edward. 

He watched you enter your apartment. He should leave now. You're inside and safe nobody got to you. But he doesn't believe it quite yet, so he stands and observes the windows above searching until he can see you clearly through the pane of glass. He sighs a breath of release. He can see you sit your bag down and roll out the tension in your shoulders. Your heels come off and then you're yanking the curtains shut. 

He averts his eyes out of instinct once he spots the slight crack the curtain doesn't cover. 

This is wrong, Edward. 

But he can't help but let his eyes travel what he can see in the crack. Your bare legs, a flash of a bare hip. You look so soft even in such small glimpses. He can't help the heat that rushes through him. 

Why are you here, Edward?

And then you pull the curtains open again slightly. He watches as you settle into your bed, the only light is tiny lamp illuminating the features of your face perfectly for him. He can see you so clearly from this angle. The expression you hold is nothing like the cheerful nature you attempt to hold in the office. It's raw. He can tell you're processing a long day. 

He's been there. Almost every night actually. The thoughts are inescapable. He's always there, in that godforsaken cot. He will never escape the pain of the rats sinking their jagged teeth into his skin. He can still hear the cries of the freezing infants. He can see tears dripping off the bridge of your nose and onto the sheets below your head. 

He wonders if you feel that same emptiness he feels. Could you see him? Could you see into his soul and touch him in a way he's never experienced? He can feel the roses growing into his lungs and the fire that is lit in his heart. He would tear this city apart if it meant he could keep you alive and happy. 

━━━━

He can't hide the way that your company brings him a sense of joy. He's lacked a companion all these years and it's nice to be able to eat lunch with someone. To talk about something other than the paperwork that needs to be filed or accounts that need to be looked into. It makes him feel oddly normal. He can forget about the corruption that plagues the city for a moment. He can forget about the empty orange bottles in his bathroom cabinet that he refuses to get refilled.

It's comfortable. Something he hasn't experienced in his whole life. For a while he thought experiencing comfort may be something that doesn't exist. At least not for people like him. Maybe that's why he enjoys your presence so much. You don't know his past, or where he comes from. There's nothing for you to judge. You're forced to see him with zero prejudice. 

It's not like the topic hadn't come up, though. It had, and he had always done his best to steer you away from the truth. He thinks back to a conversation he had with you during one of your lunchbreaks. The conversation turned uncomfortably close to family. 

Family. 

A word he had never connected with. A concept that was never familiar to him. A negative space in his knowledge of society. You had confided in him about wanting more for yourself. You didn't see yourself in this office for your whole life, but you needed the money with nowhere else to go and nobody else to rely on. And when he had asked if your family was absent you had responded:

"No, I mean they were supportive in my school days, but...I don't think things are that great between us anymore."

He's desperate to keep the conversation focused on you. "Did something happen?"

You laugh. "Nothing major. After high school they wanted me to go to college, get a good degree, marry someone, and settle down."

You meet his eyes. "At that time that sort of life felt like a scam. But, now I kind of wonder if I would've been better off."

He tries to imagine filling that role. Bringing you flowers, meeting your parents, being the boy that they'd love their child to reproduce with. But the universe hadn't been kind enough to him to set your paths to cross sooner. It had never been kind enough to give him any of the things that might fill the void inside of him. Perhaps he had sinned while he was still in his mother's womb. Perhaps that's why she had given him up, she could see that he was tainted from the start. 

Your eyes meet his. "What about you? You got any family in town?" It's the part of the conversation he'd been simultaneously dreading and trying to avoid. "I-" He can't even finish his sentence. I have nobody. He thinks.

"Shit- I was sup posed to call this client. Um, let's finish this talk later." He quickly grabs up his trash and leaves the break room.

━━━━

You hadn't asked about it after he had hastily left the breakroom. He silently appreciated it. He's sure you wondered, but you were now too uncomfortable to ask. And honestly that didn't matter to him as long as it meant he could still be worthy of your presence. As long as you still brought him coffee every morning and greeted him with your brightest smile. Like he meant the world to you. 

The soft hand that grabs his as he starts to head home startles him at first. But he loosens up as he turns to meet your soft expression. He notices how quickly you had yanked your hand from his, as if its burned to touch. He waits for you to speak first. "I- um- Sorry, I was just gonna see if you had plans now." He feels those flames in his chest again. Just as he had the night he watched you through the window. 

"There's a diner on the corner near here. I think they have decent pie."

And for a second he lets his mind roam. He wants so badly to say yes. He could say yes, abandon any plan he has going for him and his followers right in this moment, but he's in too deep. It would be selfish to get you involved. He'd rather fall for you from a distance in an effort to keep you safe. He would take all of the falls for you, even if you never knew the truth. 

"Oh. I'm actually sort of drowning in... paperwork right now." He tries to avoid your eyes. He hates thinking you may feel hurt from his words. "I'm sorry." 

He can hear the pang of rejection in your laugh before you respond. "Oh no! It's totally fine, I probably have paperwork to finish too." He meets your eyes one more time before you take off. "I'll see you tomorrow."

━━━━

He knew you wouldn't see him the next day. Of course he hadn't mentioned that. He wonders if you will miss him while he's gone as he climbs through the skylight of Don Mitchell's home. It's quiet, but he can hear the television and the faint sound of a phone call in the distance. That's when he sees him, his target. The man who had promised so much, yet delivered nothing to the people who needed it the most.

What a disgusting man.

Mitchell is debating on the phone about the upcoming election. Of course he has plans to stay in office, another couple of years to do absolutely nothing. He doesn't want to hear it anymore. 

He's disgusting. Filthy. Kill him, Edward. 

So he does. He lets his body crash into the man until he can force the carpet tucker into the man's head multiple times. He doesn't even know how many times he's hit him at this point. It's almost like he has blacked out. Just the crunch of bones and squelch of flesh ringing in his ears. But he comes to when the man underneath him stops squirming.

He's high off adrenaline and his mind is racing, but he can only imagine what you would think about him if you had seen him in this moment. He straddles the man and imagines you were there, right in front of him. Looking down at the mess he's made. And he can imagine your smile. 

It makes his body hot, and he lets his head fall back as he closes his eyes and lets the feeling sink in. He can hear your voice in his head.

Good boy, Edward. You've done such good for this city.

He can't help but let out a sigh of relief, because yes he wanted to be good for you. He can imagine The Bat standing right there next to you, and god- it's everything. The feeling of being loved and admired is everything to him, and he craves to feel it more. But it would have to wait. 

━━━━

Confidence is flowing through him as he arrives back to KTMJ after his three day absence. He was sick. Or at least that's what he had told his boss to give himself enough time to make sure that everything was still in order and going according to plan. He can't wait to see you. He hopes you'd forgive him for his absence and he can see that you do as you smile slightly seeing him walk in. You inform him of what he had missed around the office as well as the passing of the city's mayor. He only raises an eyebrow in an attempt to feign shock at the situation. 

"No but seriously where were you? I started to wonder if that psychopath got you too."

He smiles. He could look past your judgement for a moment because you cared about him and his well being. You worried about him in the same way he had worried about you. The same feeling that had provoked him to follow you home and watch you through your window. He smiles. "Just sick. November weather and all."

But the judgement soon became hard to overlook. You were visibly shaken at the news as the days went on. He had been doing all of this for you. He dreamed of creating a place where you no longer had to struggle and yet you were fearful of his actions. He can see this as you approach his desk and hold a hand to your forehead. 

"Sorry. I needed to get out of that." You gesture to the other side of the room where a group of coworkers were watching the latest news broadcast. "The news?" He inquires quietly.

"Yeah. It's a little too much for me to stomach." He hesitates for a moment. "They were pricks. Don't you think they kind of deserved it?"

He doesn't understand. Pete Savage was dead. It was a good thing. 

He was a pest.

"I think they were still people with families." 

All he can do is frown as you walk away. He'd fucked up.

━━━━

So he swallows his pride and apologizes after work ends for the day. It was too much to bring to you so quickly. He would have to give you time to adjust. You replied with a curt "It's fine." and keep your eyes from meeting his. 

Your body language towards him is uncomfortable and it's driving him up the walls. He wants things to be the way they were before, with you naturally gravitating towards him. He misses you. He lights a cigarette and takes a puff. It's a bad habit, but it's better than some of his other coping mechanisms. He decides to break the silence.

"And I'm sorry for last week."

He releases the tension in his shoulders when you finally look at him. 

"I've had a lot going on, and it feels a little unfair to bring you into all of that."

"This feels like an excuse to let me down easy. It's okay if you just don't want to go on a date-"

He can't stand to hear you speak any longer. So he steps forward and plants his lips on yours. It's so warm. Once again he has the opportunity to feel normal. He could stay like this forever, but opts to pull back to gauge your reaction. He leaves his free hand on your face. "It's not an excuse. Things are just complicated for me right now." He's telling the truth for once. He hopes you believe him. 

He watches you process for a moment, slowly. And then you press a kiss on the corner of his lips, and he's a goner. 

"When you're ready."

━━━━

It was easy for him to pick the lock of your window, and he can't help but get a little giddy as he pulls himself through the threshold and plants his feet onto the hardwood floor of your bedroom. You're not home, but it smells like you. 

So intoxicating, he thinks. 

He lets his finger glide across the framed photos on your nightstand. Who are these people to you? Do they care about you? Do they see you the way he does? His fingers stop at the handle of the nightstand drawer. Hesitation sets in.

He had seen you bare, and yet he hesitates at opening the drawer. He wonders how many people you've slept with. How many people had seen you vulnerable the way he had. He wonders how many names you've moaned in that bed. Did you keep the drawer equipped for a one night stand? He skips the drawer. 

He slips a glove off of one hand and feels the plush fabric of your bed. It smells like your shampoo. It's a pleasant scent that he had grown all too familiar with as you leaned into him at work. 

"I think the answer might be 'desire'."

He perks up and faces you. "Hm?" You smile. "Number 9, down. 'To want.' It's desire." You lean over to lay a finger onto the page. He stutters.

"Right. Thanks." 

A part of him wishes you were here and under the sheets. He closes his eyes under the mask and lets himself imagine it. He imagines what it would be like if you had let him in, if you had kissed him, if you had told him how incredible he looked. How imposing. He imagines a scenario in which you can accept him for it. 

He can't help the hand that travels to palm his erection over his pants. That little voice in his head is encouraging. Just do it. They're out. They may not even be coming back. Or maybe they'll come back with someone else to take to bed. Mark your territory.

He pulls the latch of his belt open. It feels so wrong as he pictures your soft face focusing on paperwork at your desk. What would you think of him in this moment if you saw him? Would you be disgusted? Kick him out? Call him pathetic?

God, he'd give anything for you to just step on him. Just to call him pathetic.

His cock is already weeping when he gets it out of his pants. He keeps his strokes quick and tight. He can see you in the bed in front of him. He pictures the way your lips would feel wrapped around the tip of his aching erection. He wonders if it would feel as warm as his chest feels when he sees your smile. He'd do anything for you. 

His orgasm comes quick and has whimpers racking through him. He falls to his knees on the hardwood floor and attempts to catch his breath before finally eyeing the spurts of cum that paint the front of his shirt and fist. He sighs.

You're pathetic, Edward. 

━━━━

It becomes another one of his bad habits after that. It's wrong, he knows this. But it's even more thrilling when he can tell that you know. He can see it in your movements that you can feel him watching. It goes from frightening you to electrifying you. You used to hide under the sheets and squeeze your eyes shut. But you've quit closing the curtains before you climb into bed.

He's simply protecting you. Who's to say some creep won't try to claim you as their own. He'd never let it happen. And if you could get as much joy out of it as he could, why not?

He justifies it to himself as he watches you pull down your work tights slowly. In full view in the window, the moonlight hitting you perfectly, and god- he wants to claim you as his own. He watches as you arch your back. It's a shame he can't hear your moans through the glass from this distance. But it fuels his imagination well enough. 

He can picture taking you from behind, up against the window he's watching you through. He wants the whole world to know that you're his. Yet, he always wants to hide you away and never share with anyone. He wonders if you'd like it with his mask on, or if you'd prefer to see him vulnerable to you. His fingers are itching to touch you and it's torture to watch you come to your end without him. 

He wants so many things from you. It's selfish. Your body is beautiful, but he also wants your soul. He pictures himself settling down with you in a nice home far far away from Gotham. Maybe a kid or two, or maybe none, he doesn't really mind either way. It's everything he's ever wanted and yet he had convinced himself he would never have it. He's made himself a martyr. He can't come back from it. You had gotten to him too late. He feels tears stinging in his eyes as he comes. 

━━━━

He can sense a shift in the atmosphere at the office in the next couple of weeks. He had taken care of Gil Colson and the finale was right around the corner. He tried to be giddy about it. He was once so excited to show people the real Gotham and to wash this city away promptly after. But now he had his doubts. 

But there was no backing out for him. He would sacrifice himself just as he had planned. But he wanted to spend this last week with you. He needed it. He needed that last week of normalcy before he had to throw it all away. 

He doesn't understand why you look so frightened when he pulls you into the alleyway after work. He kisses you, because he needs to. He's tired of watching you and not getting to touch you. But you're pulling away quickly and he finds himself reaching out for you, craving more. He brushes your arm in an attempt to comfort you. "Are you okay?"

"I know, Edward."

He knows what you mean, but he feigns innocence. "What?" He watches as you take two steps back out of his reach. "You're killing people." He can only stare at you. What was he supposed to say? Should he just admit it all to you right then and there?

He thinks about what it might be like to kill you in that moment. To feel the warmth of your blood running down his arms and face. But it doesn't bring that same satisfaction that came with all of his other kills. In fact, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and makes his stomach turn. 

You meant too much. You weren't some corrupt snake parading as a saint. You were just a person trying their best to survive. He wants to leave kisses all over your soft face and apologize profusely at your feet for even allowing himself to think such a thought. In that moment he knows he will have to get you out before the flood. Otherwise, he will never be able to live with himself.

"I think you should go home and rest."

He leaves before you can react.

━━━━

He keeps good on his word. He will get you out of his hellhole before he destroys it. Before he wipes it clean. But first, you and him have unfinished business. 

He climbs through your window while you shower. And he doesn't feel bad this time. It's his last chance. The last time he will likely ever see you again. He stands and waits patiently for the water to stop and the patter of your bare feet on the cold floor.

When you finally appear, his heart is pounding in his chest. You're wearing just a nightgown, your hair soaked. You look like an angel, he thinks. He may be the devil in your eyes, but that's okay.

He sees how you freeze when you see him. Eyes wide. Shaking. "Edward."

He smiles as he steps toward you and cups one of your cheeks. You're warm and soft even through the glove on his hand. He wipes a tear from your face with this thumb.

"No more through the window. I'll be gone soon."

He removed the mask he came in. He doesn't need it to feel powerful around you. "I watched you live for a month. I watched you eat, sleep, undress, touch yourself. But you knew that right? Otherwise you wouldn't have put on such a show."

You squirm in his grasp but he holds you tight and continues. "But that's alright. I'll tell you the truth because I hate liars. I liked knowing that you were doing it all for me. I wanted nothing more than to cleanse Gotham, to give them true salvation, but you put a dent into that plan. You became a distraction that I foolishly indulged."

He feels on top of the world. He softens his grip and holds you by the small of your back before softly kissing you. He wants you to feel safe with him. The news, the media, the politicians they all saw him as a monster. The devil. But for you he would soften his gaze, loosen up his shoulders, and bubble wrap the metaphorical horns on his head to keep them from poking you. 

He leans back long enough to let you make your decision. He had bared his truth to you. He had expressed his want. If you wanted to leave you could. If you wanted him to stay he would. He would leave the ball in your court. But it only took a moment before your wide eyes closed and you surged forward to kiss him again. It's slightly violent the way your lips meet his and it's intoxicating to him. It floods a familiar heat into his belly. 

You're opening up so wide for him. For his tongue in your mouth and his fingers up your nightgown. It's easy for him to slip the fabric of your panties off your legs. He moves to his knees as he speaks.

"I wanted to do it right. Wanted to take you to that diner, buy your food, take you home, and act like I hadn't thought about fucking you into your mattress every single night."

He stares up at you for a moment and relishes in the little moan that slips past your lips at his words, before diving in. You taste so good. He wants to be on his knees worshipping you for the rest of his goddamn life. He can't help but smile when his tongue curls over that spot that makes your hips jerk forward. 

You're angelic.

"But it would be wrong to pretend to be someone I am not. I'm not a liar."

He lets two fingers prod at your entrance before sinking them in to his knuckles and curling up until you're yanking at his hair. "Eddie-" He's on his feet in an instant, swallowing up your moans in an open mouthed kiss, still working you open with his fingers. He can tell that you're right on the edge when he pulls his fingers from you, smiling at the whimpers you let out. He can't take it anymore, he needs to be inside you. So he pushes you to the bed and unbuckles his belt. 

It's quick and intense. The feeling of your walls fluttering around him is unlike any other feeling he's experienced. It's better than the pleasure he gets from watching the life drain from his prey. He can't help but whimper. 

You're gripping him so tight, if he weren't wearing the layer of green leather he's sure your nails would be biting into the skin of his back. He wants to bleed for you so badly. He meets your eyes, and he wants to pour everything he has into you. All of his love. But he spots the tears that are welling up in your eyes immediately and he falters a little. 

He wipes away your tears just as he had before.

"Does this not make you happy?"

He's startled when you cradle his face in your hands. "I am happy. But what comes after this? Am I supposed to ignore you and pretend I know nothing about you? That I feel nothing for you?" He stops moving altogether. His heart burns. He had been so caught up in finally having you this close that he had let himself forget the situation he was in.

"I have to mean nothing to you. Momentarily."

His eyes are burning. The longer he looks at you the more he wants to cry. So he kisses you instead with all the love he has to give behind it and continues his movements. 

He hears you start to speak, but cuts you off as his thrusts grow erratic and jerking. "I love you- please god- just say it back to me. Tell me you love me." And you force his eyes to meet yours by cradling his face again.

"Edward, I love you."

He falls apart, letting warm spurts of cum paint you from the inside out. He's never felt more alive as he buries his face into your neck and lets out soft whimpers and cries. He hopes you meant it. Though, he knows there's a chance you only said it to please him in the moment, he hopes and prays that you had secretly been holding back those words for weeks. He hopes you'll think of him often once he's gone. He rolls off of you and tucks himself back into his pants. 

"I'm gonna turn myself in in a couple of days."

"Okay."

"You should leave Gotham. It's not going to be safe for you here. If the cops ask, you're visiting a friend in Bludhaven."

He grabs your hand and meets your gaze.

"I promise if I ever get out, I'll find you."

━━━━

It breaks his heart to watch you sleep next to him. It reminds him of everything he missed out on. For so much of his life he had nothing. Nobody. And yet now, as you clutch onto his arm in your slumber, he feels a pang in his heart. As if you're his. It makes him want to call off everything, neutralize the bombs, move the vans, pick you up and take you far away. Far enough that nothing could ever hurt you or him ever again. 

But it's not realistic. He knows that you understand that by the way you had simply agreed with his plan to turn himself in. He selfishly hopes that you'd never be able to move on. That nobody would ever compare to him. He'd keep that thought in his head to cope with what's to come.

He slowly pushes himself off the bed and leans over your sleeping form. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his way of saying "Goodbye. For now at least."

━━━━

The crack of the rifle has his ears ringing, but he doesn't care. He's put his body on autopilot. He's already down the fire escape and in the diner before the pigs can even comprehend what's happened. This was it. The beginning of the end. 

He remembers your words.

He's arrogant. Oh so arrogant, and you can't fucking stand it. You watch him every morning as he strides in, past your desk at reception, white button up shirt, clear framed glasses, shaggy hair that falls over his forehead . He's certainly not a hit among the office, so maybe you're not wrong in your feelings. Though your other co-workers generally regard him as a pushover- not a self-absorbed asshole. He's good at what he does, sure. He's earned his spot, but he often brings a shadow into the rooms he walks into. A presence that you can only describe as infernal.

You don’t know much about his story. You generally pride yourself on getting to know the people you surround yourself with, but he has never let you get close enough to find out. Maybe that’s why you find him arrogant. He thinks he’s too good to speak to you for more than two sentences related to files he needs you to fax for him. What you do know about him is that he’s been at KTMJ for longer than you have been- maybe 5 years more. You can still remember the first time you met. You were fresh faced and eager. Seeking validation, in desperate need of some stability.

You extend your arm for a handshake. His hands are slightly clammy as he accepts your handshake. And though you had greeted him with your brightest smile (might as well go all in if you ever wanted to be anything other than a receptionist) he hadn't smiled back. He'd kept a rather straight face as he gave his brief introduction. "Edward."

Now you have a sense of stability. Sure, the quality of life in Gotham is subpar and you still haven't received that promotion, but you make enough to live comfortably in comparison to others in the city. You try to count your blessings.

━━━━

You had already been having a shitty day. Your landlord had informed you of an increase in rent rates by slipping an envelope under your door. Sure, it sucked to be asked to pay more for an apartment that could be deemed shitty by any normal person with a pair of eyes, but it was the lack of communication that got you. Not even the decency to call your residence and tell you with their own voice. Just a slip of paper under the door.

But you tried to bring a good attitude to the office. You hate being the one to damper the mood. You would rather leave that to him. Always him. Never smiling back at you as he walks through the door, never meeting your eyes to acknowledge your presence, nothing. And you were used to that. It would be okay, if it weren't for the stack of papers that laid on your desk when you got in. Neatly stacked with a green sticky note reading "Need copies. -Edward" scrawled in messy handwriting. You immediately feel the flames rise into your chest.

It's a quick stride from your desk to his cubicle, stack of papers tightly tucked into your fist. You slam them onto his desk as soon as you reach it, and he raises an eyebrow at you in response. "What the hell is this?" He glances at the papers and back at you. "The copier isn't working. I wrote what I needed." You sigh, annoyed at the fact that he doesn't understand.

"You couldn't have waited for me to get here and brought them to me yourself? I would really appreciate it if you would treat me like a human being every once in a while, ya know, actually acknowledge my existence." You realize how dramatic you must sound, but in all honesty you've been thinking it for years, it was only a matter of time before it came out. "I needed copies. I didn't think my acknowledgement meant that much to you." He holds his hands out in defense, feigning that he actually cared if he had hurt your feelings.

"I think you think you're smarter than everyone else here." You plant a hand on the table in front of him as you crouch to his level.

He sighs and you can see the corners of his mouth twitch. "I do. Is that so bad?"

"It makes you an asshole."

He finally faces you.

"Better to be an asshole than to be an idiot."

His voice doesn't carry any malice, yet the words feel like a slap in the face to you. It leaves you scrambling for a response, opening your mouth only to close it a second later. Until you decide to merely respond with a nervous chuckle. Sure, you thought his response showed his ego, but you had to admit. He got you. He faces you once more at the sound of your light chuckle, green eyes meeting yours completely. "I guess you're right."

You catch the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"If it means that much to you, I will greet you next time."

━━━━

And he does. Greet you that is. You find yourself talking to him more and more. Sitting in the break room with him at lunch, looking over his shoulder at the crossword puzzle he works on at his desk and giving your best shot at an answer, relishing in the furrow of his brows as he turns to look over his shoulder at you. He's an asshole. He's arrogant. But there's something about him that's drawing you in. Sometimes you feel like a fish caught in a net. All those moments he'd brushed you off and yet you find yourself repeating the little quirks of his soft smiles in your head. You hate the term "work husband", but it seems that Edward is slowly becoming the very definition of that.

You don't speak outside of the office, but you find yourself gravitating towards him when you're stressed. You tell him about your landlord and the reason you had gotten so defensive with him. He understood.

"It's a cesspool here. None of these people actually care about people like us, not the landlords, not our coworkers, certainly not the politicians." He had said in that moment.

As October rolls around and the leaves begin to fall, you find yourself beginning to bring two coffees to work, one for you, one for him. He always shows an appreciative nod. But the moment you start to think about asking him to actually go out with you for coffee is like being the fish pulled out of the water and accepting it's inevitable fate. You were gonna let him drive you insane.

You're sure of it as you are caught up in the nerves and find yourself softly grabbing his hand to stop him outside the front doors of the office. You quickly pull your hand from his. no doubt blushed a deep red. But he just stares, waiting for you to speak. You clear your throat. "I- um- Sorry, I was just gonna see if you had plans now." And it pains you the way he doesn't speak, just continues to stare.

"There's a diner on the corner near here. I think they have decent pie."

He loosens the tension in his shoulders and looks down. "Oh. I'm actually sort of drowning in... paperwork right now." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. God, you hoped you hadn't made him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."

You quickly shake your head and let out a breathy laugh. "Oh no! It's totally fine, I probably have paperwork to finish too." You hope it hides the pang you feel in your chest. "I'll see you tomorrow." You swiftly turn and walk away before he can respond.

━━━━

But you wouldn't see Edward tomorrow. Matter of fact you wouldn't see him for the next three days after Halloween. You try not to let it bother you.

It's the beginning of a cold November, he's probably just sick or desperately needed a vacation. Or perhaps you'd seriously fucked it all up and he couldn't even stand the sight of you. You can't stop the deep sigh that comes from you as you rest your forehead in the palm of your hand. Embarrassingly, you ask Zach if he's heard from Edward. Not that you expected him to be particularly helpful. "Are you guys, like, fucking?" You are stunned and stammering your words. "Wha- No! No. I just worry about him."

"Look, I wouldn't worry about him too much, I mean the guy's basically a fucking recluse. When do you ever see him outside of here? Maybe it's good that he's somewhere besides here."

Still, there's no chance of you actually focusing on work and you find yourself aimlessly scrolling through news headlines, before one in particular catches your eye.

'Mayoral Incumbent Donald Mitchell, Jr. Murdered in his Home on Halloween Night.'

Holy shit.

━━━━

Edward is back at work after three long days, and despite your worry of his annoyance and anger, he is oddly elated.

It's the first time he approaches your desk. Leaning against it, coffee cup in hand, and flashing an awkward smile before asking, "So did I miss anything?" It leaves you a little taken aback, but it's a relief to see him approach you willingly after your last conversation.

"Um yeah, Zach was a total prick as usual- Oh! And our mayor was murdered."

He raises an eyebrow and takes a sip from the coffee cup. You feign annoyance, "No but seriously where were you? I started to wonder if that psychopath got you too."

He smiles. "Just sick. November weather and all."

━━━━

The first time you see the green mask you are in a huddle of coworkers around a computer screen.

'Police Commissioner, Pete Savage, Murdered. Killer Leaves Shocking Confession.'

"My God. What a sick freak." Zach interjects.

You can barely stand to watch. The video is hardly graphic aside from the disturbing voice of the masked man, but the implications of what happens when the video cuts off leaves your stomach turning. You walk away. Desperate for some space, but also desperate for a distraction. Edward sits straight in his office chair across the room. You hesitate slightly before striding toward his desk and leaning your weight against it. You can feel the sweat beading at your forehead as you lightly brush hair from your eyes. "Shit."

It's merely a whisper to yourself, but he turns his head to face you. For once his face shows concern towards you. Yet he still says nothing, only looks. Observant as always.

"Sorry. I needed to get out of that." You gesture towards the group of coworkers still huddled and murmuring among each other. He glanced back, before turning back towards his work. "The news?" He inquires quietly.

"Yeah. It's a little too much for me to stomach." There's a little pause as if he is hesitant to say anything before finally replying, "They were pricks. Don't you think they kind of deserved it?"

You straighten up, looking at him with shock. "I think they were still people with families." He frowns at you before you finally walk away from his desk to make your way to the restroom. You needed to get a grip.

━━━━

Edward apologizes for his insensitivity after work. You had stayed with him outside of the building long after all of your other coworkers had left. "It's fine." You refuse to look at him as he lights a cigarette and gets in a few quick puffs. You're being mean. But if you're honest the combination of his rejection and his comment earlier in the day had set you off. "And I'm sorry for last week." Only then you look up at him.

"I've had a lot going on, and it feels a little unfair to bring you into all of that."

"This feels like an excuse to let me down easy. It's okay if you just don't want to go on a date-"

The feeling of chapped lips on your own stops you mid sentence. He tastes of coffee and cigarettes and you crave more, but he pulls back quickly. His free hand remains at your cheek, holding your face in a gentle caress. "It's not an excuse. Things are just complicated for me right now." His eyes never leave your face. It's the best look you've gotten of them. Of him. His features are gentle behind shaggy hair and acetate glasses.

Something feels wrong and eerie in the back of your mind. Like seeing him this close gave you a sickening feeling of deja vu. Things were definitely complicated. The bags under his eyes were showing his exhaustion well, he had gone from elated to unwell since his return. He seems like a broken man, but he'd never let you close enough to find out why. You can't help but feel the connection, like he deserved a shot even if he didn't want it. Even if he thought he was smarter. Even if there's a side to him that could hurt you. You push down your feelings of uneasiness.

You press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

"When you're ready."

━━━━

You're awake nearly all night the next weekend. Spending the entire time digging through news about the figure known as The Riddler, his possible next targets, possible identities, and most importantly all of the video footage he'd put out in the last few weeks. It's certainly not healthy. You generally steer clear of these sorts of things. Years of therapy had gotten you far and you would rather not ruin it by desensitizing yourself. But you can't help it. You find yourself going deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole until you find yourself tuning into his streams late at night.

He speaks with such a confidence in himself. As if he has all of the answers, and is just waiting to enlighten the world. His followers are even more terrifying. They'd do anything for him. You wonder how low a person must be in life to resort to this sort of behavior. But, you're not a psychiatrist. Who are you to speak on these people. These strangers.

"We are going to cleanse this cesspool of city."

You slam the laptop shut.

Sleeping isn't easy after this sort of activity. You should've known. You turn on a show you don't actually care about to give yourself some sense of security in background noise. And soon you find yourself drifting asleep. It's not great sleep. You can sense yourself tossing and turning, but you can deal with it. Everything is fuzzy until you find yourself on your back.

Paralyzed.

It's not uncommon for you to experience sleep paralysis, but you've experienced it less after your time in therapy. You try to keep your breathing steady, trying to convince yourself that whatever you see is merely a hallucination.

Shh. Shh. Just breathe.

But the figure that appears is familiar. That's what scares you the most. The green coat and mask is horrifying as it inches towards the bed, and you can't scream. you can't move away. You can only watch the blood drip from his gloved fingertips onto your floor as he stares. Tilting his head at you slightly, as he brings a hand up to his head. You can hear your heart pounding and you are practically internally begging yourself to wake up. The latches on his mask pop open and you're horrified to find that the face underneath is so familiar. A slight smirk on lips you have kissed before. Blood dripping from a hand that you've held before. You try to scream. Tears falling down your temples until he is suddenly gone and you shoot up in your bed.

You can't hold back the cry that escapes your throat. It wasn't real, he's gone, and you're safe in your room.

━━━━

Until suddenly the safety of your room begins to feel a lot less safe. You hear it. The creaking of the floorboards at night, the slight tapping against the glass of your bedroom window. The slight squeak of leather rubbing and rustling together. You're too scared to open your eyes those first few nights. You'd rather be blind and take your fate than die in paralyzing fear.

But you know it's him.

It was never unclear what was staring at you in the night. Maybe the nightmares of the leather gloves touching your skin hadn't been nightmares at all. You want so badly to be sickened. To run into your bathroom to empty your stomach out of panic and fear. Instead you feel a strange mixture of annoyance and arousal in your gut.

He thinks he's smarter than you.

You find yourself playing into his games.Attempting to one up him. To show him you aren't scared of him. That you can keep up. You begin to deliberately change in front of your window. Letting lacy fabric hit the cold floor and standing just a tad longer, stalling before covering yourself back up.

You hope he's watching when you peel off your work tights. You hope he's imagining himself on his knees tearing the delicate fabric from your form, only to be blocked by a thin pane of glass. You wanted the upper hand.

You hope he's watching as you sink two fingers into yourself, thinking about crisp, white button ups and clear framed glasses.

━━━━

The next few weeks are tense at work. You heard the news of what happened to Gil Colson at Don Mitchell's funeral. Edward would walk in everyday, and attempt to greet you, only this time it's you who is short. You have a little hope that he can't see straight through you. But you can see it in the way that he looks at you that you're an open book. Who's to say that he won't just watch, but actually kill you to keep you from talking. But deep down you both know your lips are shut tight.

So you work through the days, just ready to get home. You can hardly stand to look at him. It makes you feel like you're an accomplice. A sitting duck for a man who probably doesn't even care about you, withholding a tip to the police because deep down you really do like him. And you had hoped he liked you too until things got complicated. Now you think it would just be best if he abandoned you right where you were. But he doesn't. In fact, he suddenly has more courage than you'd ever seen from him. It's evident as he catches you by your arm and pulls you into the alleyway beside the office after work is over. It's dark and you'd be lying if you said you weren't scared, but he kisses you like nothing is wrong. Like he has no clue. Like nothing has changed.

You pull away from him, wide eyes staring back at him. "Are you okay?" He asks quietly as he brushes a hand up your arm. You can't help the break in your voice. "I know, Edward."

He just stands and stares. "What?" You take two steps back. "You're killing people." He continues to stare. He drops his hand from your arm. The silence scares you more than anything. But he simply sighs.

"I think you should go home and get some rest."

And before you can argue he walks away with a quickened pace.

━━━━

So you do. You return to your shitty apartment and try to compose yourself. What would he do now that you said that? Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you had accused him of something he genuinely didn't do. But it didn't feel wrong. You sigh as the hot water hits your back. You had hoped a shower would help you feel refreshed, but for the first time in a while, it feels like a chore. You can't enjoy it, so you rush through it. As you step into your bedroom you stop in your tracks. The window is slightly ajar, a cool draft flowing in tingles your bare legs. And then you see him. The figure in the darkness of your room. This time you're not dreaming.

He's in your room. You're paralyzed. The position you swore you'd never let yourself be put in. He's got the upper hand.

He just stands there. A part of you wishes he would attack you. Kill you. Anything just to break the still silence. You realize you're shaking. You agreed to play his game and now you're trailing his lead, allowing yourself to be beaten.

"Edward."

It comes out as a shaky whisper, but he visibly takes it in as he steps toward you to close the distance. You can see his eyes crinkle at the corners through the green mask. He's smiling. And he reaches a gloved hand to your face, cupping one cheek. You can feel the warmth radiating from his hand even through the glove. So, he is human. The Riddler has a beating heart and flowing blood. He is not a cold, lifeless monster. His stoic frame you had become so familiar with at work was gone. He catches a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

He is terrifying.

"No more through the window. I'll be gone soon."

Before you can entirely comprehend the statement and it's implications, your brain forms the word that leaves your mouth. "Gone?"

He simply smiles again, this time reaching his hands behind his head to abandon the mask he had come in with, and there he is. Cherubic features glowing under the street lamp light that flows in from your window. "I watched you live for a month. I watched you eat, sleep, undress, touch yourself. But you knew that right? Otherwise you wouldn't have put on such a show."

You attempt to struggle away from his grasp in disgust at his words but he holds you tight in front of him. "But that's alright. I'll tell you the truth because I hate liars. I liked knowing that you were doing it all for me. I wanted nothing more than to cleanse Gotham, to give them true salvation, but you put a dent into that plan. You became a distraction that I foolishly indulged." The soft light is hitting his features just right. He looks like an angel in devils' clothing. And his tight grip is right back to a gentle caress. His hand reaches the small of your back and you're sucking in a shrill breath.

His kiss is soft, inexperienced. Much like the other times you had kissed. But he is treating you like glass that might break. You think it might be the first time you've seen him relax enough to be seen as a particularly gentle being. He's ditched his looming, arrogant behavior you're so used to just to show you his utmost affection. It's the first time you have seen him like this since the first time you had kissed.

But some part of you is burning. He's not your prince charming. You know exactly what he is capable of, you've seen it. You're not glass. You're not a damsel. This is a man who has watched you undress for him through your window for weeks. This is a man who has killed. And it shouldn't bring heat into your core the way it does. Perhaps it's the thrill of the danger.

You kiss him so hard that your teeth clash. It stuns him as his hand lifts from your body momentarily before finding purchase at your hips. He's inexperienced, but the desperation coming from both of you is enough to cover it up.

The warmth and weight of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating. The little sparks of guilt and shame that flash in your stomach are quickly subdued by his nimble fingers caressing under your nightgown and up your thighs to hook in the waistband of your panties. You can't help the pathetic moan that escaped your mouth as he slowly drags the fabric down your legs.

"I wanted to do it right. Wanted to take you to that diner, buy your food, take you home, and act like I hadn't thought about fucking you into your mattress every single night."

It's almost strange to see him on his knees. He has built himself up to be godlike. You were sure he wouldn't mind you on your knees in front of him. Absolutely worshipping him. The warmth of his tongue swiping over you has your thoughts lurching, and yes, god, he is divine.

"But it would be wrong to pretend to be someone I am not. I'm not a liar."

You can't help but tangle your fingers into his beautifully unkept hair and pull. He is ravishing you. Sinking two fingers into you until you feel the heavenly curl right into the spot that makes you whimper. "Eddie-" He swallows your moans in a desperate openmouthed kiss. His fingers are working you open, you can feel tightness build in your stomach. Like a rubber band ready to snap. But it's ripped away from you as he pulls his fingers out of you and swiftly pushes you to the bed. The sounds of his belt buckle coming undone has your heart racing faster than it already was, your stomach fluttering.

He buries himself inside of you with no hesitation, no time to adjust. It hurts and his inexperience is noticeable, but the look of bliss on his face and his slight whimpers has you ready to cum before you've even started.

You're gripping onto the back of the green leather parka, reminding yourself of who you're with. Who you're letting fuck you right now. But those green eyes bring you back to all those times he'd flash a slight smile your way in the office. He'd try to hide it but you're the only person he showed fondness towards in that hell hole of a workplace. Thinking back to the night he had kissed you has tears welling up in your eyes again. He notices.

He slows his pace momentarily, letting his short thrusts turn into long drags. A gloved hand wipes tears away once again and you meet his concerned gaze.

"Does this not make you happy?"

Your hands move to cradle his face. A move that he's certainly not used to as his thrust halt for a moment in surprise. "I am happy. But what comes after this? Am I supposed to ignore you and pretend I know nothing about you? That I feel nothing for you?" He stops his movements completely now. The room has fallen silent apart from the heavy breathing between you two.

"I have to mean nothing to you. Momentarily."

You knew the answer before you asked the question, but it hurts just as bad anyway. You don't take your eyes off his. The Riddler's facade is cracking before your eyes, you can see his eyes becoming glossy. It's almost like he's turned into a completely different person. He kisses you. Deeply, but not rough. There's so much pent up feeling behind it, you could sob even harder. But you don't and he keeps kissing you as he resumes his movements.

You're not using any protection, but you're too blissed out to care. You crave that feeling of warmth. "Eddie- I-"

His hips start to stutter as he cuts you off and buries his face in your neck. " I love you- please God- just say it back to me. Tell me you love me." You hold his face in your hands guiding his gaze to meet yours again. "Edward, I love you."

That's all it takes for him to fall apart. His whimpers and cries are like music to your ears and the feeling of warmth as he releases everything he has into you is blissful. You both have to take a second to recover, foreheads pressed together. But eventually he rolls off of you carefully and tucks himself back into his pants. The silence is deafening. You said it to push him over the edge, but was it true that you loved him? The idea of falling in love with Edward was easy in your mind, in a perfect world the idea of settling down somewhere else and waking up next to him felt good. But this wasn't a perfect world. Edward killed people, powerful people, and the chance that he'd get away without paying for it was slim.

"I'm gonna turn myself in in a couple of days."

"Okay."

"You should leave Gotham. It's not going to be safe for you here. If the cops ask you're visiting a friend in Bludhaven."

His hand grips yours as he looks at you.

"I promise if I ever get out, I'll find you."

━━━━

You do as he asked of you. Got a hotel in Bludhaven and in the next couple of nights you watched the television endlessly, waiting to see his face. The night you finally did, you cried yourself to sleep, gripping the hotel sheets as you buried your face into your pillow.

But you held yourself together and did as Edward asked.

When the man in the bat suit showed up at your hotel door a week after the flood you give your best answers.

"I'm visiting a friend, but the flood has kept me in town."

"No, I didn't know him well, we just worked together."

"I mean he was a little strange, but I never thought he would murder someone."

“I would never have expected it to be him.”