Second Time’s A Charmer
Second Time’s A Charmer
Chapter 1
the london season is upon us! all eligible bachelors and bachelorettes are in attendance at the first event of the season: The Worthington’s inaugural ball!
word count : 3,290
pairing : seo changbin x fem! reader
genre : slow burn, forbidden love
- master list -
Worthington.
A name that was unanimously agreed upon to carry much weight. If one were a Worthington, one had not only wealth, but dashing good looks and intelligence unmatched. Generations of Worthingtons had set the standard for excellence in every realm they touched—business, politics, and the arts. Their opulent estates, sprawling across the countryside, stood as monuments to their enduring success. The family crest, a symbol of honor and distinction, was a mark of both privilege and responsibility.
From a young age, children born into the Worthington family were groomed to uphold this illustrious tradition. Tutors were engaged, private lessons were given, and expectations were set sky-high. The Worthingtons were not merely a family; they were a legacy in the making, with every action and decision carefully considered to preserve the reputation they had meticulously built.
As the anticipation surrounding the birth of Lord and Lady Worthington’s first son grew, the society buzzed with speculation. Would this new addition live up to the family’s storied reputation? Would he embody the charisma, intellect, and grace that defined the Worthington lineage? The whispers became a symphony of curiosity and hope.
When the young lad was born, the initial uncertainty was palpable. Yet, as he grew, it became increasingly clear that he was not merely a Worthington by name. By age three, he carried himself with an innate elegance, and his early accomplishments—mastering complex concepts and displaying a remarkable charm—affirmed that the family’s reputation was in capable hands.
The next two children born into the Worthington family were equally remarkable, with the youngest surpassing even her older brothers in charm and grace. If that could be chalked up to the fact that the Worthington’s youngest child was female, then so be it.
And as was expected, none of the Worthington children lacked for intelligence. Whether it was due to the unparalleled education they received or a hereditary gift from their parents, their intellectual prowess was undeniable. Each child exhibited a remarkable acuity well beyond their years; the second child, in particular, had been so advanced that he had skipped an entire grade, further underscoring the family's exceptional intellectual legacy.
One thing was for sure: the legacy of the Worthington family name was surely in the right hands.
However, despite the children’s seemingly endless blessings, it seemed quite impossible for any one of them to obtain a spouse. Y/N Worthington, the youngest and only daughter, was, in fact, in her second season, having failed to secure herself a husband the previous year. The grand balls and high-society gatherings, usually a showcase of youthful romance and potential unions, had yielded little progress for her.
Y/N had been raised with the highest expectations of securing a marriage that would further elevate the Worthington name. She was well-versed in the art of conversation, skilled in the latest dance steps, and possessed a beauty that was frequently admired. Yet, the season had brought an onslaught of disappointments. The eligible bachelors she encountered seemed either indifferent or unsuitable, their attentions fleeting and superficial.
It was only the first event of the season, and already this year’s prospects seemed as bleak as ever. Though the evening often proved less than enjoyable, with suitors jostling for every dance, they held a certain nostalgic charm for Y/N. Her family had always hosted this inaugural event, and while she hadn’t truly grasped the experience until the previous year—when she had made her debut into society—she fondly remembered the raucous laughter and melodic strains of music that would drift through the ballroom doors during her childhood.
Y/N stared out at the crowd, a sea of opulent fabrics and glittering jewels, each member of high society engaged in the intricate dance of courtship and intrigue. The chatter and laughter that filled the room felt distant to her, a stark contrast to the growing despondency she felt within. Each glance and smile from potential suitors seemed to pass her by, as if she were an observer rather than an active participant.
Part of her wished that she could go back to those simpler times, when one wasn’t being constantly bothered by one’s parents to “Pin down a man!”. Back then, she could enjoy the festivities from a distance, savoring the celebrations without the weight of expectation.
She wouldn’t dare cause a fuss about it though. It had always been told to her that when she came of age, it was important she marry as quickly as possible. Why it didn’t matter as much that her brothers marry quickly, she would never know. It seemed as though men could simply take their time with these sorts of things.
There was only one man she was certain was bursting at the seams to find his future wife: The Honorable Felix Hanilee.
The second son of a Earl, he didn’t have much to look forward to in terms of estate. Nevertheless, Y/N had witnessed that Felix had quite an abundance of love and kindness in his heart, something she all but respected and hoped for her future husband.
In all honesty, had he been born the first son of the Earl, Felix would have been an exceptional marriage prospect in her eyes. His striking features and effortless charm far outshone most of the eligible bachelors Y/N had met. Equally adept in conversation and possessing a natural elegance, he embodied the qualities of a distinguished gentleman. Yet, despite these attributes, he still fell short of her parents' lofty expectations. His status as a second son and his comparatively modest prospects rendered him insufficient in their eyes, regardless of his undeniable appeal and grace.
It was a harsh reality that Y/N grappled with often. In a society where lineage and wealth were paramount, the value of personal attributes seemed to be diminished. Felix’s charm and sophistication were overshadowed by the rigid standards of social standing. Y/N found this discrepancy both frustrating and disheartening, especially when she considered how rare it was to encounter someone of his caliber.
As she pondered these thoughts, she glanced around the bustling ballroom, feeling the weight of her own constraints pressing upon her. The glittering crowd seemed to mock her own romantic frustrations, with the contrast between genuine affection and societal obligations growing ever clearer. Just as she began to lose herself in her reflections, a familiar figure caught her eye.
Almost as if she’d summoned him right out of her thoughts, the young man appeared by her side, his freckles on full display in the late afternoon light.
“Lady Worthington, how wonderful to finally greet you tonight!” His voice boomed loud, much louder than was appropriate for how close he was but Y/N simply laughed it off.
“Felix, there’s no need for formalities. I’ve all but given you permission to use my given name.” Felix smiled softly, his face crinkling in all the right places. “Why you insist on you using my title, I’ll never understand.”
He simply waved her off, instead bowing then moving to stand beside her. “My mother would have my head if she heard me call a lady by her given name.” He looked over at Y/N, the smile forming on his face almost mischievous. “Even if that lady was only in diapers when I was first acquaintanced with her.”
While it was true that the Worthingtons were esteemed pillars of high society and placed a great deal value on their children’s futures, this had never deterred Y/N's mother from maintaining a close friendship with the Hanilee family. Despite the Worthingtons' prominent status, Lady Worthington had long since been acquainted with Lady Hanilee, before either had been married. Their connection had endured through years of social gatherings, mutual support, and shared interests, transcending mere social convenience.
Though however close her and Felix’s families were, she couldn’t stand to hear him utter such embarrassing remarks in public. In the privacy of her mother’s drawing room perhaps, but not in the company of the ton. Y/N frantically placed her hands over Felix’s mouth, although the shaking in her shoulders did not hide her laughter well. “Hush! This is no place to be talking of such things!” She huffed slightly, trying to push down the giggles that threatened to bubble out of her throat. “If someone should overhear you!”
Y/N’s hands were little deterrent to Felix. “You’ll die of embarrassment?! Don’t want the entire ton knowing you were once a child who needed to wear diapers?” Her attempt to hush him was only met with Felix’s loud and obnoxious laughter. A few heads turned in their direction, and a murmur began to ripple through the crowd.
Despite the commotion, Y/N couldn’t help but find a moment of amusement in Felix’s irrepressible humor. She glanced around, noting the curious glances from nearby guests. Her smile remained pleasant but felt increasingly strained as she caught sight of the bewildered faces in the crowd.
With a sigh, Y/N leaned closer, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “I’m sure that’s information they’re all well aware of, but not necessarily information they need to be reminded of.” Her gaze narrowed as she looked back at Felix, the amusement in her eyes giving way to a more serious expression. “You’d be smart to shut that gaping mouth of yours.”
Felix’s eyes widened in mock horror, though he couldn’t suppress the mischievous grin that lingered. “Threatening me? This early in the season?” He laughed again, this time much more subdued; her attempt to maintain decorum was a stark reminder of the delicate balance she had to keep in such social circles. “That must be a new record you’ve just set.”
Y/N could not help but roll her eyes. He finally settled, turning his gaze towards the crowd. “Anyone standing out to you yet?” He looked in the direction of Y/N’s mother, who was happily chatting away with some of the older women of the ton. “Or anyone your mother has determined you speak to?”
Y/N shook her head. “No, not yet.” She sighed a little. “Although that’s almost certain to change. She was quite distraught over last season’s outcome, more so than myself…” Her voice trailed off and she snuck a glance at her mother. Thankfully, she was preoccupied enough that she wasn’t aware that Y/N was standing off to the side of the floor, and not on it being swept off her feet by some gentleman.
She turned back to Felix, momentarily shoving her worries to the back of her mind. “Nevermind me. What about you Felix? Any ladies of the ton you wish to court this season?”
He only allowed himself a curt nod. “A few, yes. Most my mother would be quite happy about. Although…” He didn’t turn away from her, but his eyes did not meet hers. “It seems that most ladies would rather the attentions of my older brother.”
Y/N looked out across the crowd, scanning for the eldest Hanilee son. She quickly found him, as he was surrounded by many bodies, all desperately trying to make conversation with him. He looked overwhelmed, a bead of sweat forming on his brow and his couiffed brown hair was a slight mess from the continued ruffling of his own hand running through it.
Lord Jisung Hanilee had been out two years earlier than Felix, and yet, Felix was the only son of the Hanilee family who seemed to want to settle down and sire an heir, even though he was only three and twenty years of age.
Y/N turned her attention back to Felix. His demeanor had changed, to one more somber. She gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder, doing her best to reassure him. “Surely there are some young ladies who wish to answer your affections.”
The sigh from his lips was so audible, it was quite possible the entirety of the ballroom had heard it. “For a short while, they entertain them. But eventually…” His shoulders shrugged then slumped. “They start to inquire about Jisung and lose all interest in me.”
Y/N was at a loss for words. There was a sense of comparison she could make: there were some women she’d made conversation with who eventually asked about her older brothers. And truly, she couldn’t begin to count how many men had approached her due to the Worthington title alone. But there was never a single man who’d approached her, feigning interest, only to inquire about another woman.
She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain it would cause a person. Rejection was one thing, disingenuous interest coupled with it was another.
“I’m sure that when the time is right…” Y/N thought carefully about her next words, being ever so picky about how to reassure him. “Your future spouse will find you so incredibly important, so interesting, that she’ll stop at nothing to discover every word you have to say.”
Felix brightened at her words, and Y/N patted herself on the back mentally. Words could easily lift one’s spirits, if the person speaking wove them in just the right way. And of course, it all but helped that the words she’d spoken to reassure her friend were of the utmost truth. When the time came that Felix finally did secure a wife, it was quite clear that she would be one of the luckiest women among the ton. “Yes…yes, I suppose you’re right.”
He straightened finally, and Y/N let her hand fall away from his shoulder. His brown eyes seemed a little misty, but she decided not to draw attention to the fact. “I find it most intriguing…” Felix mused, changing the topic of conversation effortlessly. “…That as the only daughter of the Worthington family, your dance card is surprisingly empty.” He motioned towards her wrist with a gloved finger, which she quickly moved behind her back.
She cleared her throat, keeping her gaze averted from his. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
A sly smirk slowly formed on his face, the most mischievous expression the ton would ever be graced with. “If you’re going to go about avoiding dances, might I suggest you stand in a less conspicuous spot?”
She scoffed, waving him off. “I’m the daughter of the host. Anywhere I stand is conspicuous.” She lifted herself onto the tips of her toes, craning her neck to see if either of her brothers were in earshot. Decidedly they weren’t, so she continued, “Besides, even if I weren’t, I’d doubt my brothers would let me have a moment to myself. They seem almost as determined as my mother to secure me a husband this season.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “It sounds like you’ve been cornered by family expectations.” He said, his tone sympathetic yet playful. The smirk seemed to widen on his face. “Pity…And a poor shame you don’t know a single soul who’d be willing to distract them for you .”
Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He’d truly give up a part of his night so she may enjoy some soltitude away from the watchful eyes of her mother? He’d have to be mad to do such a thing. “You jest…” She gawked, her jaw open in the most unladylike of fashions.
“Do I~?” He murmured, his voice trailing off with an enigmatic lilt as he cast a final, lingering glance at her. With a deliberate grace, he strode across the room, his movements fluid and purposeful. He deftly sidestepped any attempts at conversation from those who ventured to engage him, almost as if he were gliding on air. Her gaze followed him with a mixture of curiosity and excitement as he captivated one of her brothers in a light, engaging chat, and then seamlessly shifted to charm the other.
In the blink of eye, she was left standing alone on the edge of the floor, able to make any sort of decision she wished. The sudden overwhelming freedom of the thought glued her in place. It was one thing to hope for solitude and freedom, but to gain it so quickly…Why the sudden change left her utterly woozy.
The cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses seemed to drift away as she surveyed the room. The grandeur of the ballroom, with its opulent chandeliers and gilded moldings, felt stifling in the moment. Her heart pounded in her chest as she fought the overwhelming sensation of being trapped. Perhaps some fresh air, and some soltitude would do her some good. After all, Felix’s sacrifice needed to be worthwhile, didn’t it?
As quietly as a mouse, she maneuvered her way towards the entrance to the terrace. There were still some people milling about, but not nearly as many as there had been in the ballroom.
She slowly made her way to the staircase at the far end of the terrace, which was even less crowded than the terrace itself, watching as the last golden rays of the afternoon disappeared beyond the horizon. It was moments like this that she missed most while attending events. Simple, earthly moments. It was most likely that not a single soul had bother to look towards the direction of her family’s gardens. And it was almost certainly impossible that had anyone looked out at the gardens, they’d stop and appreciate the setting sun.
As Y/N’s heels touched the grass, she couldn’t help but wonder what it might feel like to remove her shoes and promenade through the gardens in just her stockings. A silly thought, of course. She’d get quite a lashing from her mother if she’d found out that Y/N had frolicked about in front of the ton with no shoes on.
Then again, where she was standing wasn’t in clear view of the house, nestled in a shadowy corner of the terrace where the dim lighting provided a comforting shield. Her gown, cascading in layers of rich fabric, flowed gracefully around her, its length enough to conceal her bare feet from view.
She bent down and carefully slipped off each shoe, one by one, before placing them discreetly in a nearby bush. She didn't want any unexpected visitors coming down the stairs to find a pair of abandoned shoes with no owner in sight. The subtle placement ensured that her brief moment of escape would remain undisturbed and unnoticed.
The absence of shoes, while a small rebellion against the formalities of the evening, was something she relished in this moment of solitude. Perhaps, she mused, this brief escape from the constraints of social expectation was exactly what she needed. The sensation of the cool grass beneath her feet, though imperceptible to anyone else, felt liberating. It allowed her to take a deep breath and embrace the stillness of the evening, far removed from the clamor and artifice of the ballroom.
As she walked, she marveled at how the air carried the faint scent of jasmine, mingling with the distant, muffled music from inside. Each footfall on the grass was a small, defiant assertion of her own comfort and freedom, a fleeting reprieve from the expectations and pressures that had been crowding her mind.
She paused to take in the view of the garden, the setting sun casting lovely golden rays across the landscape. The tranquility was a balm to her senses, a momentary escape from the relentless pace of the evening. With a deep breath, she felt her tension ease, the burdens of formality momentarily lifted.
She’d only walk around a bit, then she’d head right back and no one would be any the wiser. This brief foray into the gardens was a small indulgence, a chance to reclaim a fragment of personal space amidst the chaos of the celebration.
Nothing could ruin the bliss she felt in this small glimpse of freedom.
“Going for a stroll, my lady?”
Well, almost nothing.
More Posts from Lmorg149 and Others
![[ Last Updated: 10/25/2024 ]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4f4b7790c2f8a606192e36129351a9d3/6ad6916c66997f52-91/s500x750/2c9a47262edce29cf89c5a2a22aafaea168138e0.png)
[ last updated: 10/25/2024 ]
![[ Last Updated: 10/25/2024 ]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6cb97eba67de0f8cb65a3d059705dc71/6ad6916c66997f52-6e/s500x750/c68a0d6c4cbaefd56e1ca610db9bf58101107e3d.png)
‧ ˚. PROFESSOR GETO SERIES ↳ Professor Suguru Geto is a renown ethics professor, and you're a straight A student whose GPA he's trying to ruin. You're more intent on making him see your brilliance -- but you get more than you bargained for, when the two of you learn about what you owe to each other.
‧ ˚. PROFESSOR GOJO SERIES↳ Professor Satoru Gojo had never failed at anything -- until his latest research project. That's why he had found himself at a weeklong conference, where he discovers the perfect distraction -- you. And he can't help but be drawn to you - even after he finds out that you're the one person he's trying to avoid most
![[ Last Updated: 10/25/2024 ]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/8d5e01fc1b46491f9a6f75774f4b4e35/6ad6916c66997f52-8b/s500x750/d42930815f15b32ba344f4b4306a718398a38ec4.png)
‧ ˚. SATORU GOJO
seeing you tonight, its a bad idea right? | smut, fluff ↳ seeing your ex is always a bad idea, except when its satoru gojo.
bigger than the whole sky | angst, fluff, manga spoilers ↳ before his fight, you and satoru have an honest conversation about the future.
dessert before dinner | smut, fluff ↳ satoru can't wait to have you until you get back from the sister school event, so he plies you with sweet words until you agree to have dessert before dinner.
all's fair (in love and mergers) | long fic, smut, fluff, bffs to enemies to lovers ↳ you're not sure what's worse -- being an arranged marriage or being an arranged marriage with the person who used to be your best friend.
three's a crowd (ft. suguru geto) | long fic, au, smut, fluff ↳ professors satoru gojo and suguru geto rarely wanted the same thing at the same time -- that was until you.
bloodsucker | smut, dark ↳ you had avoided your ex for so long, only to run into him at a halloween party, and he's the same as ever but has his teeth always been that sharp?
got you | smut, dark ↳ satoru finally found you -- and he's not going to let you go this time.
is it over now | angst, fluff, smut ↳ suguru thinks the only way you'll leave him is if he lies to you about cheating on him - and it is. but turns out, you're not so easy to leave - for him and his best friend (ft. satoru gojo). "if you want, i can come inside?" | fluff, crack, domestic ↳ nobara spots gojo with a sorcerer she's never seen before and of course hijinks ensue (aka hearing gojo's english va (kaiji tang) say the above line in apothecary diaries and i lost my mind).
i wanna show you off | sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, slight angst ↳ when you accompany your friends to a bar rich men and women frequent, you catch the eye of a certain white-haired rich man, who is more than willing to spoil you
tastes sweeter on your lips | fluff ↳ on a rare day off, you decide to take care of the strongest sorcerer - with something very sweet.
the doctor is in | smut, fluff, au ↳ when you go to your annual check-up, you didn't think you'd be crushing on your doctor - or that he's conduct such an in-depth examination.
twenty-nine | fluff, angst, crack ↳ it's gojo's birthday, and he can't help but reflect on what birthdays have meant to him over the years, especially the year you decide you don't really want to do anything for his birthday (but it turns out you do).
sit in my lap | fluff, crack, domesticity ↳ you and satoru take your daughter to see santa at the mall, and satoru proves that he's just as much of a match for his daughter, as he is for you.
just a little longer | fluff, angst ↳ after geto defects, you find yourself on a roof of a building wondering where things went wrong - and you're not the only one.
sweet nothing | fluff, angst ↳ satoru always comes running home to your sweet nothings -- except this time.
lower your guard | fluff, smut, au, longfic ↳ after the gojo family receives threats to their lives, you're hired to protect the heir to the company, satoru gojo - you just didn't realize how charming the rich heir would be - and just how hard it would be to resist his advances. don't want any other shade of blue but you | fluff, smut, fake dating, longfic ↳ you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor. love means to say goodbye | multi-lives au, fluff, smut, angst, jjk manga spoilers ↳ "would we love each other in every life?" it's the question you asked satoru the night before his battle, and he replied that, of course you would. but did that promise create a curse -- or were you both always cursed to begin with when it came to love? yakuza fiance (ft. suguru geto) | smut, yakuza au, fluff, threesome ↳ you had no patience for the yakuza lifestyle your grandfather had -- you wanted to live a normal life, but when it leaks that your grandfather is in talks to have you engaged to one of two yakuza heirs -- you realize you're in deeper than you thought -- especially when they both fall in love with you.
a house is not a home | canon au, fluff, suggestive ↳ you come home after a long day of work unable to find the person you call home anywhere — until you reach the bedroom (househusband gojo).
just wanna fuck with you, just to make up with you! | smut, modern au, fluff ↳ satoru gojo is the man everyone wants, except you - he pushed you away after you had your daughter, you divorced him. so what happens when he comes to pick up your daughter for his weekend, and he finds you ready for a date?
rumor has it that my best friend loves you (and i do too!) | smut, actor au, fluff ↳ rumors swirl about a love triangle between you and your two heart throb co-stars on the set of jujutsu kaisen. except in this case, you and your two co-stars are happily dating. but what happens when you get casted in a movie where they want you to have a PR relationship with your co-star? especially when your bfs find out who it is
break my soul in two (but you're right here) | angst, manga spoilers ↳ satoru showed no concern for himself -- so you had to, even if no one else would.
beat the heat | smut, fluff ↳ it’s a heatwave in tokyo and who better to spend it with than satoru, who has an interesting idea of how to pass the time — fucking the heat away.
feral for you | fluff, smut, angst ↳ satoru gojo rarely loses his cool. except when it comes to you. so when you get taken, he takes matters into his own hands to find out who did it and make them pay.
yours to keep | childhood friends au, fluff, eventual smut, angst ↳ satoru gojo fell in love with you from the moment he met you at eight years old. and when he sees you again, he knows — he has to make you his.
the honored one | smut, manga spoilers, canon-divergent au ↳ it's your duty as the wife of the clan head to help your husband get dressed -- even for battle. but that didn't mean he couldn't spend some time undressing you.
‧ ˚. SUGURU GETO
meant to be | smut, dark ↳ when Suguru defects, he asks you to come with him -- but he's not going to take no for an answer.
three's a crowd (ft. satoru gojo) | long fic, au, smut, fluff ↳ professors satoru gojo and suguru geto rarely wanted the same thing at the same time -- that was until you.
is it over now (ft. satoru gojo) | angst, fluff, smut ↳ suguru thinks the only way you'll leave him is if he lies to you about cheating on him - and it is. but turns out, you're not so easy to leave -- for him and his best friend
might hurt | fluff, crack ↳ suguru's popularity is truly a curse, especially when he gets hit on right in front of you. luckily, you both know how to handle those situations.
i just want to fuck all night | smut, fluff, sex pollen ↳ after swallowing a curse, geto finds his body in an uncontrollable state of arousal, and who better help him cure it than you?
would it be enough if i could never give you peace? | fluff, angst, smut ↳ suguru's birthday spent with you is like a dream -- the perfect day spent in bliss, but what happens when the dream has to come to an end?
yakuza fiance (ft. satoru gojo) | smut, yakuza au, fluff, threesome ↳ you had no patience for the yakuza lifestyle your grandfather had -- you wanted to live a normal life, but when it leaks that your grandfather is in talks to have you engaged to one of two yakuza heirs -- you realize you're in deeper than you thought -- especially when they both fall in love with you.
‧ ˚. KENTO NANAMI
no regrets | hurt/comfort, fluff, angst ↳ when nanami is injured from his fight with mahito, you're sent to pick him up. and both of your careful avoidance of your feelings for each other comes crumbling down.
armed and dangerous | smut ↳ nanami's arms were always so nice around your throat, but you never tried having his arm between your legs before, until.
good girls get backshots | smut ↳ nanami has always been a gentleman, but he finally decides to play rough and mark you up -- at your request.
five times nanami wanted to propose but didn't | angst, fluff, smut ↳ nanami wanted to propose to you so many times - but it was never the right time, and then, there was no time left.
best part of my day | fluff, domesticity ↳ on a bad day, you give nanami just what he needs, and remind him why you are truly the best part of his day.
all the time in the world | fluff, hurt/comfort ↳ after shibuya, nanami lets you tend to his burns and have an honest discussion about what happened there and what it means for your future. but i'm a fire (and i'll keep your brittle heart warm) | fluff, hurt/comfort, smut, au ↳ throughout your years of jujutsu tech, you take care of kento, whether its a wound from a curse or a simple cut his finger -- and when he returns he finds you still ready to take care of him -- even after shibuya.
‧ ˚. YUTA OKKOTSU
↳ coming soon :)
‧ ˚. CHOSO KAMO
it's a need | hurt/comfort, smut, fluff ↳ after you take an attack meant for him, choso can't seem to understand why -- so you show him just how important he is to you.
hey emo boy! | fluff, smut, au ↳ saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic?
best friend's brother is the one for me! | fluff, au, smut, bedsharing ↳ you've been asked whether you and yuji are together a million times - but the truth is his brother is more your type -- so what happens when you end up sharing a bed one night?
just one more bite! | fluff, modern au, smut, vampire au ↳ choso kamo is your coworker who seems to hate your guts - even though you're both always stuck working together, but the only reason he does is because he wants nothing more than to eat you up -- blood and all.
‧ ˚. RYOMEN SUKUNA
paint the town red | smut, dark, au ↳ you've always been a goody two shoes -- or so your friends say -- so what happens when you decide to do the first bad thing you've ever attempted and try summoning a demon -- and it actually works?
the girl next door | smut, age gap, modern au ↳ you had grown up next door to the itadoris, but you never had met their uncle. and for good reason, he had spent the majority of his life in and out of jail. but now he was finally out, and he only had one goal in mind -- getting you in his bed.
‧ ˚. YUJI ITADORI
don't want you like a best friend! | best friends to lovers, fluff, fwb, smut, au ↳ yuji itadori has been your best friend since you were kids, and when he offers you to teach you how to fuck, you don't expect him to be able to find his way into your heart too.
![[ Last Updated: 10/25/2024 ]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/c389fd1f5d3ba7e007a6d94ef71d74fb/6ad6916c66997f52-16/s500x750/5ddc35a64dcc9757c10b888277859863468690e1.png)
jealousy, jealousy | smut
which of the men whimper | smut
spooning the dilfs | fluff
jjk men and if they're good at singing | crack
all tied up | smut
![[ Last Updated: 10/25/2024 ]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1c5756ba79e8eeda5afcd09ec3726abb/6ad6916c66997f52-55/s500x750/317d9dd98152144422e128507df256494addf540.png)
househusband suguru
househusband nanami househusband gojo (1) (2) (3)
mindreader nanami
geto swallowing a aphrodisiac curse
gojo - maybe in another life
guitarist! suguru x opera singer! reader (1) (2) (3)
frat boy! suguru x nerd! reader (1) (2) (3)
curse! suguru (1) (2) (3) bringing suguru back to life
Stray Kids Masterlist
Welcome to my Stray Kids Masterlist. Down below you will find everything I’ve written for Stray Kids. Requests for Stray Kids are open!
Main Masterlist
Keep reading
Perfect For You Masterlist
He wanted perfect but he didn't realize that she was already his kind of perfect.
Synopsis : She didn't mean to eavesdrop, but now she's glad she did. Now she knows everything she does that's pushing him away and what she can do to pull him closer. He loves the sudden change in his relationship, feeling like he's falling in love all over again. But as time goes on, she seems less like the woman he fell in love with and more like a robot built for his every need. And all he wants is for her to yell at him again.
Pairing : Han Jisung x Reader
Genre : written, established relationship au, idol au, ANGST, fluff, happy ending
Series Warnings : This story is going to be filled with angst with fluff mixed into it, so if you don't like angsty stories (and tooth rotting fluff) then this really isn't going to be a story for you. Other things to look out for will be : swearing, self hate, not feeling good enough, food mention, mentions of cheating. Each part will have their own list of warnings as well. Please enjoy 🫶
If you enjoy my work, please buy me a coffee 💕
Taglist : CLOSED
Complete
Teaser (0.4k)
Prologue (2.4k)
Part 1 (3.4k)
Part 2 (3.2k)
Part 3 (2.3k)
Epilogue (2.1k)
Can't wait to go though every single one of these blogs 🤓🤓
Stayblr Fanfiction Survey RESULTS
Last week or so, I posted a survey on Stayblr for readers and writers of SKZ fanfiction to take. I’ve been on Stayblr for more than a year now, a little less than a year to write for SKZ, and I’ve always had some questions on my mind while being on this platform.
So I put those questions to the test, along with some other questions I was interested to finally get some answers to, and here are the results! A total of 205 STAYs took my survey, thank you so much!
But first things first, it’s promo time baby. Go check out all of these fantastic writers on Stayblr! And for your convenience, I’ve sorted out which blogs are 100% SFW and which blogs have some NSFW content in them.
Sorry it’s so long, but I’d like to promote these people first before getting into the actual data!
100% SFW Blogs (Fluff and Angst)
@strykiss
@cotccotc
@dayaswonderfulworld
@blueprint-han
@wingkkun
@lewsr
@crscendoforsung
@cherryhanji
@inmyfelix
@marriael
@pwarkhans
@chogiwow
@461lightfire
@tracing-letters
@armysantiny
@spdrmrk
@scriptura-delirus
@skzfairies
@leggomylino
@binnieswritings
@changbinniee
@n8dlesoupguk
@luvhyjr
@seungmoe
@banqtlattae
@peachyhan
@freckledberries
@crystal-snowing
@neo-shitty
@fairiejunie
@thepixelelf
@softbbyg0rl
@svnghrt
@squishygyehyeon
@lveletters
@jimmychansimp
@heyheybrownieboy (only on ao3)
NSFW Blogs (Includes smut or at least suggestive content, but I’m pretty sure 90% of these people here have a ton of SFW content too!)
@skzctnightnight
@delicatewerewolfsoul
@hanjizung
@ravenlixwitch (only suggestive content)
@dom–minnie
@mochinnie
@hanniiesuckle17 (only suggestive content)
@dreamyhan
@stayzenniesstuff
@goodcool
@sumideluxe
@hyunjeonnies
@missskzbiased
@binracha
@the-wonandonly
@hyunjinsdoll
@sturaykidseu
@jeonglixie
@tabsteen
@16jan
@clandestine-lixie
@fictionxo
If I missed any of you, or misplaced you, please let me know.
Before we get started on the results, here are some things I’d like to point out:
No arguing under this post, however, I’d like to see everybody’s reactions through reblogs and comments!
Respect everybody’s opinions.
Please private message me if you’d like to spread this data on another platform!
Now, let’s get started!
(There might be some errors, I started at like 8:30 pm and it’s now 11 pm, the BACK PAIN MY GOSH)
Keep reading
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ masterlist !!
⁀➷ all work is nswf. mdni !! (* dark content)
⁀➷ MULTI-CHAR HEADCANONS
jjk men love to eat you out
⁀➷ SMAU
come over?
⁀➷ they’re blowin’ up your phone past midnight—sure you won’t fall back into that situationship trap again? right??
⁀➷ HEADCANONS
TOJI ♡ FUSHIGURO
older bf!toji headcanons 02
older bf!toji headcanons 01
KENTO ♡ NANAMI
older bf!kento headcanons
SHIU ♡ KONG
older bf!shiu headcanons
⁀➷ STORIES
SATORU ♡ GOJO
virgin!satoru (college au)
⁀➷ satoru’s a nervous wreck, barely holding it together as his long-time crush—you—steps into his room. one touch, one smile, and he’s done for, desperate and clumsy, trying to fuck you right.
SUGURU ♡ GETO
tbd
KENTO ♡ NANAMI
tbd
TOJI ♡ FUSHIGURO
ridin’ out the attitude
⁀➷ you’ve been pushin’ toji’s buttons all damn day. now he’s got you straddlin’ his lap, smirkin’ as he makes you ride that thick cock ‘til you’re beggin’, spankin’ your ass red just to remind you who’s boss.
RYOMEN ♡ SUKUNA
fuck you (on that bike)
⁀➷ you thought you could bug sukuna while he’s working on his bike and get away with it. big mistake—he’s about to fuck you raw on that leather seat ‘til you’re crying his name.
⁀➷ DRABBLES
SATORU ♡ GOJO
pervy!satoru drabble
husband!satoru can’r resist you
hate fucking with satoru
fratboy!satoru loves to fuck you stupid
sub!satoru gets jerked off by you
satoru jerking off to your only fans vid
virgin!satoru has some (unholy) thoughts about you
SUGURU ♡ GETO
step-brother!suguru can’t cum unless inside you <3 *
step-brother!suguru loves his little sister so much *
SATO ♡ SUGU
sucking suguru while satoru fucks you <3
we should totally fuck sometime, right?
you take satosugu both for the first time
KENTO ♡ NANAMI
husband!kento loses it when you say you want a baby
husband!kento punishes you (again) *
husband!kento loses his shit around you at dinner
husband!kento punishes you after he comes home
⁀➷ X LINKS
SATO ♡ SUGU
why have only one when you can have both?
⁀➷ HASHTAGS
✧ find my works by character:
#—amy writes : satoru gojo ★
#—amy writes : suguru geto ★
#—amy writes : satosugu ★
#—amy writes : toji fushiguro ★
#—amy writes : kento nanami ★
#—amy writes : ryomen sukuna ★
#—amy writes : choso kamo ★
#—amy writes : shiu kong ★
#—amy writes : jjk men ★
#—amy writes : dark content ★
( ℳ𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⌕ )
새하얀 종이 위로 매일을 그려, 어차피 지나갈 구름도 색이 변해가는 나무들, 우릴 닮은 풍경 한 장씩 작은 비밀처럼, 둘만 열어보곤 알 수 있게.
𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝜗𝜚
HEADCANONS 💭
SKZ + WAYS THEY SHOW “I LOVE YOU” !
SMAU’S/TEXTS 📱
SKZ + GOING OUT ON CUTE DATES !
hyung line ver. | maknae line ver.
SKZ + BREAKING UP WITH THEIR GF FOR YOU !
hyung line ver. | maknae line ver.
SKZ AS NEW PARENTS !
hyung line ver. | maknae line ver.
ARGUMENT WITH BF!SKZ !
hyung line ver. | maknae line ver.
SKZ + REASSURANCE !
SKZ + WHEN THEY GET JEALOUS !
WE CAN’T BE FRIENDS ! (BANG CHAN SERIES)
SKZ AS YOUR OLDER BROTHER !
FAKE ARGUING WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND !
RATING YOUR EXES !
DRABBLES/ONE SHOTS 📑
THE PERFECT PAIR ! (HAN JISUNG)
𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝜗𝜚
HEADCANONS 💭
NOTHING YET
SMAU’S/TEXTS 📱
SOFT LAUNCHING YOUR NEW BOYFRIEND ! (JK)
part 1. | part 2.
ARGUMENT WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND ! (JK)
JEALOUS/TOXIC ARGUMENT ! (JK)
part 1. | part 2.
DAD!YOONGI TEXTS !
EX!NAMJOON TEXTS !
DAD!JUNGKOOK TEXTS !
DRABBLES/ONE SHOTS 📑
NOTHING YET
𝐩𝐥𝐳 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 !
part one. part two. part three. part four.
boxer!sukuna who’s instantly intrigued the first time you two meet. You were passing behind him when you noticed that he’s suffering from a knot in his shoulder. You didn’t hesitate to offer your help even with the evident scowl on his face.
“Can I touch you?” You asked politely with those innocent eyes. How dare he say no to that?
He nods timidly, inhaling a bit when he felt your fingers press onto his skin. You added pressure to deviate the tension on his muscles with such ease that even the current doctor can’t do.
“There, all done!” You smiled at him and walked away as if nothing happened.
He can’t get you out of his mind after that.
boxer!sukuna who learned that you were the new lead doctor of his agency. He’s so confused when you look so unfazed when examining him. The man was 6’8 and made out of muscle, yet you look at him like it’s normal for you to see his men like him all the time. He wants to change that.
boxer!sukuna who intentionally makes himself lose during training and sparring sessions just to have an excuse to see you more.
“You can’t keep doing this Sukuna.” You’re pissed, he can tell by the tone of your voice.
“Doing what?”
“Your next fight’s coming up. You can’t keep getting hurt. I thought you were the best boxer?”
“You distract me when you watch me fight, baby.”
“Don’t do that too.” He raised a brow at your statement.
“I’m your doctor ‘kuna, you can’t flirt with me.”
Then maybe you shouldn’t give me a nickname, he wants to say.
“Can’t help it doc, you’re too pretty.”
boxer!sukuna who going to give his PR team a headache, and the HR a disaster because his interest in you isn’t going away any time soon.
boxer!sukuna who watches you like a hawk when you examine other boxers. He thinks you look so cute when you’re extremely focused. Though sometimes, his jealously streak kicks in. He wants you to focus on him and only him.
boxer!sukuna who flirts with you non-stop even if you try to push him away. He believes that fate brought you to him that day you two met. The poor man is stage five in lovesickness.
boxer!sukuna who’s now suffering from an injury from his last fight that his vision started to become a little blurry. He still won but everyone rushed to attend to him backstage. You in particular, were very worried. Unfortunately, it looks like he needed to be taken to a hospital.
“Don’t pass out on me Sukuna.” Your palm felt so warm and comforting on his cheek.
“If I survive this, let me take you out on a date.” He managed to grin.
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
He’ll take that as a yes.
I can't wait for some more 😍😍
The Songbird of Asgard
Chapter 1
Welp, I've been convinced. Please interact so I know if anyone actually reads this XD. Heimdall comes in about halfway through. He'll be more present in any upcoming parts.
Heimdall x fem!named reader, name is used as little as possible
Words: 9.8k.
Warnings: swearing, Heimdall being his bitchy self. Odin manipulating people, as usual.
‐-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Blurb: To say your life changed in a matter of hours would be an understatement.
The night before, you were alone in your room, a place that wasn’t even in this realm. But just twenty-four hours later, you were in Asgard, starting fresh, and on the back of a giant beast with probably the most pompous, condescending, and insufferable god that’s ever lived.
All this because Thor just so happened to crash through your roof. The norns are mocking you, surely…
‐-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The clinking of glass jars was the only sound. Bottles moved from your table up onto a shelf, no longer needed now that your chore was complete. Another round of elixirs, for what exactly you weren’t sure, you never kept track anymore. They were always useful for the elves.
Useful. That was what they always said. That seems to be all you were nowadays.
You sighed, breaking the silence in your tiny room. This was one of the largest outposts the light elves had in Alfheim, one of the few strongholds they had when the Light temple was not within their control, as it was now. Regardless of that, this was your home – the only one you knew, at least.
The jars were abandoned after you took a few strides to arrive at your bookshelf, a finger wandering across the spines of books you've read a hundred times. Another sigh, after you found no interest in reading one of them yet again. Your eyes scanned the room, filled with nothing but a wooden chest next to your bed and a table with a few chairs by a window. How mundane it felt. You thought you'd be accustomed to it by now. Being a tool of war must have made you immune to the comfort of consistency.
You shook your head at the thought, reminding yourself not to be so pessimistic. The elves cared for you, gave you a home. A goddess left with nothing and no one, they could have left you. But they took you in, and you had to help them in return. You weren't an elf, their war was simply something you couldn't possibly understand, that was all.
That's what you had been telling yourself for at least a century now.
The thought was shoved away again as you decided to retrieve your lyre from your chest. Sweet melodies that were plucked from its strings were among the few things you never tired of.
Then there was a sound.
Sound was the wrong word. A boom, a crash, an explosion. Something like that came from the distance. Normal, considering the constant warring within the real and therefore far from drawing attention. But this time it felt different.
Almost like…thunder?
You squinted at the window, seeing a flash of blue rocket into the sky. You took a single step to investigate before it happened.
It burst through your roof, the cacophony of destruction so shocking that you flew back until your back hit the wall by your bed with a hand over your chest, desperately trying to calm your pounding heart. The early morning sun was just barely over the horizon, leaving little light to help you see just what was before you. The dust was settling, thinning enough that you could make out some monstrous object in the center, but ultimately you were stumped.
Until it moved.
You jumped again as the entity twitched and groaned, slowly sitting up.
Okay…this was a man then. He slowly and clumsily rose to his feet, standing so high that his head was poking into the massive hole he had just made. He wouldn't even fit in the room if the roof was still there.
Based on that alone – well, and the lingering sparks of lightning – you had an idea of exactly who this was.
You heard a curse from him as he rolled his shoulders, turning around to have a look at where he was. His dazed eyes landed on you. He froze.
Silence. Then…
"Hey."
How eloquent, you thought to yourself. A son of Odin literally smashes into your home and can barely offer a greeting in return. "Hello," you replied, your disbelief at, well, everything in front of you, overwhelmed by the fear of the god. You knew all the stories, knew how much mayhem and carnage the Aesir would bring when crossed. You were not keen on becoming one of those stories.
Thor glanced up at the roof, then back down at you, only about half his size. "Hope I uh…didn't scare ya too much." The slur in his speech was stronger than the smell of alcohol emanating from him, and that was an impressive feat. He snapped his fingers, leaving you wondering what he was asking from you. Until the whir of electrified metal sounded and the signature form of Mjolnir rammed through your wall and into his waiting hand.
"Eh…sorry, 'bout all that. Lost control of Mjolnir for a sec," he shrugged.
"I…understand?" Really, you didn't, not in the slightest. But what would anyone say to that?
From the newly installed skylight came the flap of bird's wings until a caw sounded. A raven with blue-tipped feathers landed on one of the chunks of roof that was just barely staying in place.
You felt your heart nearly stop. With Thor here, there was no secret who that raven represented.
And yet…it didn't even look at tou. It's eyes scanned your room but skipped right over you. Like you were invisible.
Another caw rose from its beak, aimed at Thor.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm gettin' there. Can't you see I'm busy." Thor gestured towards you with his hammer, drawing the bird's eyes to you. Only this time they stayed. Noticing you.
You had a feeling you knew why, but thought it strange regardless.
The raven stared at you, hints of green flickering across its black eyes. "Well," Thor grunted, turning towards your door. How you dreaded his departure. As terrible as his entrance was, you worried for the door that he definitely wouldn't fit through. "I got shit to do, so uh…see ya, I guess." A hand was carelessly waved at you before reaching for the door. To your surprise and palpable relief, he managed to squeeze through without doing more than disturbing the dirt that settled on the walls.
And that was it. Thor left. But the raven remained.
For a moment you considered saying somthing to it. But this raven was a messenger, and you weren't sure just how much material it had to deliver already.
"Muninn!" Thor shouted from outside. The bird looked at you just a second longer before taking off after Thor. With the roar of hundreds of bird's wings and the silence that followed, the ordeal was over.
Twelve hours. That was all it took.
You were sitting on your bed, preparing to rest for the night. A bit earlier than usual, but cleaning the destruction left behind by the god of thunder was more than enough work for one. Stone wasn't easy to move after all.
Three knocks, thunderous and heavy, nothing like the knock of any elf you knew. You were too tired to care exactly who needed you at the moment and simply went to answer it, intending to send them away as soon as possible. It could be Ymir for all you cared, now was not the time.
Or so you thought. Upon opening the door you found Thor, once again. Not alone this time. An old man stood in front of him, two ravens taking off from his shoulders and into your room.
Suddenly you wished it was Ymir at your door. At least he wouldn't have sucked the fatigue out of you as Odin did.
"Pardon the intrusion, miss. Mind if we come in?" You nodded silently, still processing the scene before you. Thor was close behind his father as he entered.
"Please, take a seat at–" You stopped mid gesture, realizing your table was no more than splinters now.
Oding chuckled, sounding friendly. "My son's handiwork, I'm sure. Part of the reason I'm here, actually." He reached in his pocket while Thor dug a bottle of mead from somewhere (you didn't want to know where) and started chugging it down. Odin held out his hand, prompting you to do the same.
Coins were dropped into your palm.
Absolutely bemused, you looked back at him.
"For the roof," Odin explained. "Thor breaks just about everything he finds, so I've made a habit of compensating his victims."
"Oh, um…thank you?" was all you said. That was it?
He pulled up a chair from against a wall, the only chair to survive Thor's fall, and sat down, requesting you to sit on your bed. Odin seemed to ignore his son completely then.
"Now, my dear, you have me curious." You cringed at the pet name he used but said nothing. "I don't pay too much attention to elves, but never did I find a goddess to be among them…where did you come from, exactly?"
His tone was light but the sting of something lying underneath his words shone through. He was clearly irked that he didn't know about you. "I've lived here my entire life, actually." You tried to sound as confident and collected as you could despite your heart feeling like it was about to spring from your chest.
"Really? From the look of you I'd say you're Aesir."
"I'm of Asgardian descent, on my mother's side."
A grey eyebrow rose. Not out of curiosity. Surprise. Like he knew something.
You didn't dare ask.
"Those though," he pointed halfheartedly at your arms, where tattoos marked your shoulders and extended to your elbows on both arms, but only your left had a thin line down your forearm that ended to your knuckles. Runes were drawn on your middle fingers, though you had no idea what any of these markings were for. "Those are Vanir."
The horror of the situation was settling in. Odin found a goddess with Vanir symbols on them hiding from him. Truly not the finest way to go out. You swallowed to moisten your dry throat. "I…I'm Vanir on my father's side. I've had them for as long as I can remember," you replied weakly.
You flinched when Odin laughed jovially. "Relax, my dear, I'm just asking questions, I don't mean to scare you." As reassuring as he sounded, you couldn't take his words to heart. Thor had no reason to be here after all, other than intimidation.
Said unnecessary god offered a reverberating belch at that moment, proving your point. His father shot him an annoyed look before returning his attention to you. "I take it you don't know your parents?"
He already knew. He seemed to know a lot about you despite admitting he didn't know you existed moments ago. Those twelve hours since Thor busted into your life, that was all he needed to find out. The concept was as terrifying as it was creepy.
"No," you said sadly, eyes falling for a second. "The light elves found me as a child and took me in."
Odin hummed, dissatisfied if you had to guess. "So you don't know of any spells they may have cast on you? Are there any spells you put on yourself?" You shook your head. The old god's voice grew just a bit darker. "Then why couldn't my ravens see you?"
A shiver ran down your spine, seeing how displeased he was at your lack of explanation thus far. You quickly elaborated, "I've always had a natural immunity to certain types of magic. I assume whatever magic your ravens have is among them. And perhaps…" you were grasping at straws, trying to answer the question you had asked yourself that morning. "Perhaps the immunity loses effect if someone your ravens can track interacts with me." Sure, that works.
More than you thought it would, seeing how Odin relaxed a bit and nodded. "That would make sense. They did notice you after Thor pointed you out, and they had trouble before you answered the door."
You had to bite your tongue to hold in the outburst the statement incited. He had been trying to spy on you up until now, experimenting. It wasn't something you appreciated in the slightest. "So what, you just stay here, make protection spells and staves and other crap for a bunch of elves?"
The quick swerve into the topic left you dumbfounded. You sputtered in shock, "W-well, yes. I owe them my life so it's only fitting that I help them."
Odin leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, the old wood creaking at the motion. "Well, if you ask me…that's a waste." Again, you were baffled at the sudden statement.
"You see, I have a little project that I’m working on. Something that will benefit all the realms once it’s completed. And based on my findings, I think you’re perfect for it…" He trailed off, staring at you expectantly. It took a moment for you to realize what he wanted.
"Eivor."
“Eivor. That’s a beautiful name, very fitting for you.” The more he said the slower your surprise faded. It would seem that with all his questions answered he was much more…respectful, gentle. A part of you still recalled all the stories about him and how cruel he was, but in that moment you thought he wasn’t as bad as everyone said. Then again, he did crush your hope of finding change by admitting he wanted something from you.
Odin must have sensed your disappointment. He stood from his chair and paced as he continued. “Now, I know what that looks like. If I came all this way because I need you for something then I’m no better than the elves, letting someone with value waste away with simple tasks. But that’s not the case here.” He paused, turning back to look at you with kindness and some type of…intensity that you couldn’t describe. “I don’t want to just use you and throw you out, no. No, this is an invitation. To live among your kind in Asgard.
“Do you know what that means, my dear? Once you’re done with this tiny, tiny chore for me you’ll have a world of possibilities. You can move on to something better.”
Try as you might to remain cautious, the flicker of hope rose up within you. Something better, something other than elves coming to you when they wanted something, more than just waiting to be needed.
Again, Odin saw through your thoughtful silence. “Think about it. In Asgard, you’d be serving the realms, protecting people, promoting peace.” He wandered to your shelves of elixirs that the light elves were waiting for you to deliver. “No more useless trinkets, no more sitting around while they constantly war.” He turned his head to you while lazily lifting his arm to the shelf. A single finger extended and tapped one of the bottles, tipping it off the shelf and shattering on the floor.
Odin let you ruminate to the sound of the glass for a moment, then went back to the chair he abandoned earlier. He sat up straight, his posture displaying what a powerful god he was. Contrary to that, his next statement was soft, like he was comforting a scared child. “You said you owed the elves your life. Well, you’ve served them for more than a lifetime, haven’t you? Your debt is paid. Isn't it time you made your own choice?”
It was so much information to take in. It felt exhilarating, the thought of not only something new, but finding other beings that didn’t just pretend to care for you just to get what you could offer them.
Even so, you were still scared. Not just by the suspicion you felt, knowing this could easily not be what it seems. It was the…novelty of it all. Something you knew nothing about. Perhaps the security of the mundane wasn’t as bad as you had always thought.
And yet, the chance of finding your own purpose was too tempting to ignore.
“Forgive me for rushing you,” Odin began. “But I’m afraid I’ll need an answer now. I would give you time to think, but unless you don’t plan on moving a muscle while you do so, any raven I leave with you might lose track of you. And I can’t stay forever, I’m a busy god after all.”
The clock was ticking, and your one chance was here. You could finally be something you wanted to be. And perhaps get away from all the coercion and lies. Away from wondering how truthful the elves' declarations of gratitude were. Away from wondering if any of them loved you as you thought they did.
But many of them didn’t. And you knew it. You just didn’t want to accept it.
And you were tired of it.
Odin was right. You wouldn’t wait for your problems to go away. You would find the place you were supposed to be. A deep breath passed through your lungs, your steeled determination showing in your eyes. A determination that Odin smiled at.
“I’ll go,” You said, feeling the rush of excitement as you spoke.
In the background, Thor raised his now empty bottle of mead like he was celebrating, although you doubted he was sober enough to really be paying attention. Odin stood from his chair with a clap of his hands and a big smile adorning his face. There was something almost sinister about it, but you ignored it. Whatever was tipping you off couldn’t be worse than wasting this chance.
“Perfect! Then let’s get going!” Odin said, his ravens gliding back over to him. One, who you recognized as Muninn, morphed into tattoos on his right arm. The other, this one with red tipped feathers, stood on his shoulder, ready for orders.
You also got to your feet. “Wait! Can I have a moment to pack my things?”
A chuckle. “My dear, you don’t need anything here. I’ll provide a room, new clothes, and Asgard has an expansive public library that likely has all those books of yours.” Your eyes went to the wooden chest at the end of your bed.
You couldn’t leave those behind. Nothing had been as constant as their presence. “Could…could I bring just a few things?”
“If it’s something that can’t be replaced.”
You nodded and rushed to the chest, opening it and taking the instruments within, handling them with care. You’d had both your entire life. A simple bone flute, with carvings of patterns like the ones on your arms. It was old, scratched, and chipped in a few places, but the sound was still rich. The other was a lyre, a simple rectangular shape with no special decorations that also had its share of nicks, though the strings were new. You always replaced them when it was necessary. Both of them went into their respective thin leather bags, then you returned to Odin. He didn’t even look at them, like they meant nothing to him. Which, to be fair, they probably did.
“Ready, then?”
You nodded, watching Thor reach his father’s side while the raven, presumably Huginn if your memory served, took off, forming a cluster of ravens around the three of you. Just as the vortex closed and the last of your room faded, Thor leaned down and mumbled to you, “You made a good choice,” while fixing you with a sincere stare.
His serious tone caught you off guard. It made you wonder what would have happened if you refused Odin’s offer.
You didn’t want to think about it. It was too late now anyway.
The ravens cleared, and once they were gone you were in front of the Great Lodge. The sunset of Asgard greeted you, the sight of Gladsheim leaving you stunned at the size of the city. And the wall, of course.
"Welcome home!" Odin cheered with a smile. It fell quickly when he saw Thor, still idling next to you. "What are you still doing here? Go! Don't you have somewhere else to drink?"
Thor nodded, glancing at you, looking almost worried. He said nothing, planting a heavy hand on your shoulder as he walked past. He clearly was still too drunk to mind his strength because he nearly knocked you over with the gesture.
"Now I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but it is getting late, and I want you to have some time to settle in. I've arranged for you to have a tour of Asgard with Heimdall in the morning. He knows everything about everything in Asgard, he'll tell you all the things you want to know…and what you don't want to know, probably."
You chuckled, thinking he was joking. Since he didn't you assumed there was something there you were oblivious to.
Hopefully it wasn't something awful.
"For now," Odin continued, "I'll be off. Sif here will show you to your room." Just as the goddess's name was mentioned, a tall blonde woman came from behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin. "Sif, I trust you'll make sure she finds her way?"
"Of course, All-Father." You could help but notice the smell of mead on her breath as well. Was being drunk just a thing in Asgard?
"Good. I'll be off then, I'll greet you in the morning, Eivor." You bid the old god goodnight and he disappeared with his ravens. Sif turned her attention to you and offered a friendly smile. “Well, I hope you’re ready to see your new home.” She waved a hand and two servants scuttled over. “They’ll put your things away, that way we can take our time getting to your cabin.”
You looked at your leather bags worriedly, afraid to let your precious instruments out of your sight. Ultimately you put your trust in Sif and gave them to the servants, muttering a thank you to them as you did. Both of them appeared shocked that you did so, or that you even acknowledged them. And you could see why, Sif didn’t even look at them as she started down the path in front of the lodge. You thanked them again and followed after her. But then a streak of read flew past you, nearly mowing you over as it passed.
Sif spun around at the sound of little feet tapping on the dirt, smiling when the red you saw came to her. A little girl, no older than five winters, holding a wooden sword. “Mama, I almost got you that time!”
Sif chuckled and ruffled the fiery hair on the girl’s head. “Almost, you’ll have to keep practicing if you want to catch me though.” She then looked up to you. “I hope you don’t mind if my daughter comes with us? She’s trouble without enough supervision.”
“Of course!” You knelt down to the girl’s height and asked, “And what’s your name, little one?”
“I’m Thrúd! And I’m not little!” She protested. “I’ll be big like my daddy and brothers.”
That’s right, this would be Thor’s daughter. That would explain why she seemed tall for someone so young. If you were honest with yourself you weren’t sure how to act with children. Warzones in Alfheim were not for the young and that was where you spent most of your time. Before you came up with something to say to the irate girl, Sif interjected. “Don’t be rude. And you aren’t big yet.” Thrúd pouted for a moment, a moment that ended when her mother was moving again. She took off, running ahead of her mother while you caught up.
You felt…shy, to say the least. These people were very different from the elves. With your habit of being sarcastic and occasionally sassy you were doing your best to bite your tongue while Sif engaged in small talk.
The Light elves were constantly drilling into each other how crucial winning their war was, how it was no laughing manner. Every elf should be treated as a respected soldier, every high ranking official like a king. There was an excess of formality and decorum, forcing you to reserve any laid back energy for the few private moments you had with the even fewer elves you trusted not to take it to heart. Out of habit you defaulted to this type of exchange, offering quick and succinct answers to everything she asked, offering little to any comments she made. It wasn’t long before you noticed that she seemed to get bored as a result. She paused the conversation for a minute, grasping for anything to make the interaction more interesting. That moment somehow acted as the cue for an Einherjar to fly from behind a building and trip onto the path in front of you, a moment when Thrúd was thankfully close to her mother. The man shouted something in an old language, another one leaping out with a club in his hand, missing completely. The two squared up again, only this time the one with the club was holding it upside down, the thin end making contact with the other’s thick armor. It was then that they both stumbled before engaging again. So being drunk apparently was a thing in Asgard.
You stared incredulously while Sif rolled her eyes. Thrúd, clearly confused, looked up at you and Sif. “Why would he use the stick like that?”
“I…think he’s a little confused,” you commented, attempting to avoid any accusations.
Sif, however, was not. “They were probably part of the drinking game that was going on this afternoon,” she huffed.
“What’s that mean? Is he dumb?”
“Well–” You didn’t get a chance to offer a neutral explanation. The Einherjar threw his club at the other from about a foot away from the other. It bounced off of his opponent’s armor and straight into his exposed gut, making him double over as the armored one laughed hysterically. In that moment, you decided being courteous wasn’t possible. “Yes, he is.”
To your surprise, Sif laughed. “That’s definitely not far off.” You stood, relieved that no one was bothered by your humor. Perhaps, you thought, because not everyone was a hardened footsoldier or a jaded general like you were so familiar with, they were more tolerant of not taking things so seriously.
You should relax.
And so you did. Once the two Einherjar were shooed away by Sif you tried to actually contribute to your interactions, mentioning Thor’s entrance. A troll squeezing through a mouse hole was how you described Thor stumbling through your front door. Sif had a good laugh at that one, taking no offense to poking fun at her husband. And how you used to use your flute to lull overworked guards to sleep so you could sneak out of your room to play in the sand of the barrens when you were a child. Sif was more at ease as well, despite Thrúd constantly circling her and waving her toy sword around carelessly. She told you about the time one of her sons toppled over an entire kennel for the servants' work dogs, scaring them all enough to send them yipping and howling into the middle of Odin observing the valkyries training new Einherjar. You seemed to have shenanigans in common, although yours were born from your rebelliousness, Sif’s from a family of boisterous gods.
You two had stopped in front of a moderately sized building while you exchanged a few more remarks, laughing once more before Thrúd started to constantly tap on her mother’s hip, complaining that she was bored. Sif shook her head at the girl, still smiling fondly. “You hear the girl, this is where I’ll leave you for the night.”
You stiffened, realizing the building you’d been loitering around was yours. “This is mine? All this for me?”
Sif smirked. “And why not?”
You shook your head. “It’s so much bigger than the tiny room I had in Alfheim.”
Sif hummed, her smirk growing just a tad. “Afraid you’ll get lost in there?”
You didn’t miss a beat. “I hope I'll make it out before I wither away into dust.”
Sif let out another guffaw, all while latching onto Thrud’s shoulder before the child wandered off. Once the girl was secured (for the time being), Sif put her hands on her hips, looking much more pleased than she had all night. “You know, I like you. You’re much more fun when you let go.”
Without you realizing it your face lit up. Not once had someone said they liked you just for being you, not since you were…you couldn’t even remember how young you were. “You really think so?”
“What reason would I have to lie?”
For once, you didn’t have an answer to that question, and you felt overjoyed. It was one you asked about the elves so much that it practically became your mantra. Now you really could believe that there weren’t strings attached to everything you did.
Finally, you could leave that part of you behind.
You swallowed all that emotion down, wanting to hop back into the mood that had been set. “So you can get me out of your hair and get a handle on Thrúd?”
Sif sighed, watching as Thrúdwas tossing her sword around for a servant she’d cornered a few doors down, swearing that she could do tricks with it. “There’s no handling her. She’s learned too much from her brothers already.”
When Thrud’s toy sword was getting hurled too high above her, Sif saw fit to bid you goodnight and get her calmed down enough to get to bed relatively soon. And once you entered your cabin you found that Odin had kept his word. Simple but sturdy furniture, thick furs on the bed, a closet with cloaks and dresses ready for you, even if some of them didn’t look like they would fit. Much to your relief, your instruments were placed on a table below the window, safe and sound, and exactly how you left them. There was even a full bookshelf, but you chose not to inspect its contents for now. The fatigue from the day had settled in now that you had a moment to breathe, and you were in dire need of some sleep.
To think Thor had literally dropped into your life this morning. It already felt like so long ago.
The next morning, you awoke to a bashful knock at your door. Upon answering it, you found it to be a seamstress, timidly requesting she get some measurements to tailor some of the clothes Odin had given you. You obliged and welcomed her inside, even asked if she needed a drink. It made you sad to see her so confused at your kindness, shining a light on how she, and likely many others, were treated by higher ranking Aesir. Once the measuring was underway, she began to unwind, as if she was feeling safer than she did outside. Upon her leaving, you expressed your gratitude, which made the seamstress smile with, as far as you could tell, relief. When she opened the door she nearly bumped into Sif. And just like that, the servant was back to curling into an invisible shell, apologizing profusely and scampering off.
You liked Sif, and you were already beginning to see her as a friend, but you hoped she was not the reason the servants always seemed so on edge. You would have to find that seamstress sometime, tell her you were open to being friends. You were all for forging bonds now, thanks to Sif, and why limit yourself to the elite?
Sif barely noticed the seamstress, choosing to greet you with a warm smile. “New wardrobe already?” She asked, noticing the freshly altered Asgardian dress you wore over simple leather pants.
“Odin certainly works fast,” you chuckled, joining her outside.
Sif’s smile fell a tiny bit. “All-Father certainly does," she replied, pointing out your mistake without saying it outright. You found it odd, considering the Aesir seemed much looser than the elves, except when it came to the gods here. “Aside from that, I’ll be dropping you off at the lodge for now, I’m just making sure you find your way there.”
Disappointment washed over you at the information. Sif had promised to introduce you to her sons sometime, and based on what you heard about them, they sounded like they would be…entertaining, to say the least. “Where will you be?”
“Tending to my regular duties, mostly handling affairs we have with the dwarves for today. You, however, will be getting a tour of Asgard, courtesy of the watchman himself. I’ll be handing you off to Heimdall, our resident mind reader.”
Your eyes widened at the casual remark. “He reads minds? That’s…terrifying.”
Sif laughed, making you think you were overreacting. “Well, he reads people more than minds, but he can find more details and pick up precise thoughts with eye contact. But I doubt it will matter much since he’s just giving you a tour.” They entered the courtyard of the lodge, Odin’s ravens dropping him there just as your feet met the mud in front of it. Sif leaned down and whispered to you, "And for that…I apologize in advance."
You raised a brow at her. "What?"
"Eivor!" Called Odin from the doors of the lodge. Sif gave you a rueful smile and left as Odin approached. "How was your first night in Gladsheim?"
"It's been…nice. Thank you, I've never lived in this much comfort." You didn't have the heart to admit most of it felt unnecessary to you. You secretly hoped you'd get used to it.
"One of the many perks of serving the greater good, my dear. Now, the city has a lot going on, and I'd hate for you to feel overwhelmed. That's where your tour guide comes in."
The doors to the Great Lodge behind him opened and a man stepped out. For the first time since you arrived, despite the gods you'd seen thus far, you felt starstruck. Not because you knew who he was, you hadn't the slightest. You couldn't help but notice that he was your type of handsome, his tall but lean frame a stark contrast to the bulky men you had seen already. Sharp facial features framed by ornate golden hair, but his eyes…a glowing purple like you'd never seen. Piercing, almost intimidating, but beautiful all the same. Those eyes met yours for a heartbeat before you looked back to Odin, embarrassed that you were caught ignoring him.
The man approached, stopping by Odin as he finished his last statement. You suddenly knew who this was.
"This is Heimdall." The fair god gave a slight bow to you, the smirk he wore showing just how confident – or cocky – he was. He looked directly at you when his head rose. Within a moment the smile melted, and he looked…confused.
"He will be taking good care of you while you get acclimated. Right, Heimdall?" Odin gave him a stern glare, almost like a warning.
"Of course, All-Father. When have I ever disappointed you?" His voice, though smooth and soothing to you, carried something that made you think he may be more on the cocky side than confident. His glowing eyes raced back to you after addressing Odin. His jaw clenched.
"Good. I'll leave you to it then. Have fun!" Odin gave you no chance to reply, he simply fluttered away in a whirlwind of feathers, as he seemed to so often. You're left alone with Heimdall. It was silent for a few seconds, like you two were sizing each other up. It gave you a chance to notice he was almost a full head taller than you…which you admittedly liked.
Heimdall was the first to speak. "So, you're the stray from Alfheim I've heard about, hm?"
You felt your brow twitch at being referred to as "stray." You chose not to react. This was a stranger, after all. He might not have meant anything by it. "...I guess you could say that."
His expression grew even more sour, painting a sneer on his lips. He looked…angry? He harrumphed, then brushed past you rudely. "Very well then, stray, let's get on with it."
He definitely meant something with that nickname. Unease stirred in your stomach, feeling that this wasn't about to go as well as you would have liked. A deep breath was what you needed, so you took it while you turned and followed him to the edge of the courtyard. He whistled, then waited for a barrage of thumps to reach them. A giant armored beast launched into view and raced down the path to you. You thought it would trample Heimdall with how fast it charged toward him, jumping back once it finally stopped just in front of him.
Heimdall laughed, patting the beast's neck while giving you a condescending smile. "Relax, stray, Gulltoppr won't hurt you…" he effortlessly climbed onto its back, settling comfortably on the golden saddle before adding, "...unless I command it." You thought you knew what a shit-eating grin looked like, but you saw that you never did until now. Heimdall jerked his head to the space behind him, signaling you to mount. The beast towered over you, and getting on its back would be a chore without help.
…which Heimdall clearly had no intention of offering. You waited a moment at Gulltoppr’s side to see if he would offer any sort of assistance, but all you got was an impatient frown.
You held back a sigh and leaped as high as you could, just barely grasping the saddle enough to pull yourself up. You were panting a bit once you finally sat with both legs on one side, all while Heimdall mocked you with fake pity.
This couldn't possibly get worse.
Of course, you were wrong.
He had something to say about everything. The first thing he pointed out to you was the very obvious Great Hall, as if you were too stupid to notice it was there. You let that one go, thinking he was just being thorough. But then you passed by a commercial area, where Asgard’s resident craftsmen carried out their business. “This is where the finest goods in the realms are made, by the hands of pureblood Asgardians, for pureblood Asgardians. So you shouldn’t soil it with your presence.” Your jaw dropped at that. By now you figured out he was naturally rude, but flat out prejudiced and spiteful had to be added to the list of his worst qualities.
No, you wouldn’t sink to his level, at least not so fast. You prided yourself on your patience, and you wouldn’t let this prick force you to abandon it. “I see…” You began, desperately trying to find something cordial to say. It was harder than finding a specific grain of sand at the bottom of the ocean. “I don’t want to be a nuisance, so I’ll stay away as best I can.” A complete lie, you had no intention of bending to his perceived rules. Heimdall looked at you over his shoulder, saying nothing. After a moment his jaw clenched tighter than before.
You came across the training grounds next. Armored men were clamoring about, nearly beating each other to death, it seemed to you. “Isn’t this a bit rough for training?” You asked after his introduction to the area.
A scoff was his reply. “Are you too daft to see? They’re Einherjar, they’re already dead. Why hold back anything?”
“Because dying again probably isn’t pleasant?”
Heimdall gave you a theatrical sigh. “Oh of course, what a loss it would be if they did something twice. Do you think it makes any sort of difference? Or should I start explaining every little thing to you?”
Gods, he was irritating. Did he have to be so dramatic about it? “I just mean–”
“What you mean doesn’t matter. It’s a stupid question.”
You balled your hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. Oh, how you wanted to tell him how stupid he was for completely missing the point. But no, you were better than him. You were better than him, you swore. “I suppose it is,” you said curtly, having no desire to say any more.
Again, Heimdall glanced at you over his shoulder, brows knitting together in addition to his clenched teeth.
Then Gultoppr strolled past a much shabbier part of town, lacking the grandeur of the buildings near the Great Lodge. “These are the servant quarters. Do I need to explain this to you, or are you finally beginning to understand anything at all?”
An impatient sigh passed through you, this one you made sure he could hear. Though you doubted it made any difference to him. “No.” That was it, a single word was all you could manage to say politely at this point.
“No useless questions this time? Good, perhaps you will get the hang of things before the next century.”
You didn’t entertain him with a response, and he didn’t seem to be looking for one either. From there you both were silent, watching the cabins go by as Gultoppr meandered across things you’d already seen. As much as you hated hearing what Heimdall had to say, it was starting to feel awkward. And maybe this period was a good time to patch things over and hopefully –hopefully– get him to stop being such an ass. Clearly asking about Asgard was a mistake, as he had an unfortunate talent of finding a flaw in just about everything you said about it. His ego certainly seemed big enough for your chosen approach to work.
“While we’re passing through these familiar parts, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Heimdall?” You asked, forcing the irritation out of your voice to make your tone pleasant. Heimdall looked back at you for a second, this time with suspicion. Was he really so against talking about himself with how much of an elitist he was?
“What, pray tell, would make you ask?”
“Well, if we’re both serving the All-Father it’s likely we’ll come across each other again. There’s no harm in making our interactions more personal.”
Another glance at you, this one longer. “All you need to know is I am the scion of the Aesir, watchman of the gods, and herald of Ragnarok. It is my job to keep this realm safe from any harm whatsoever…whether it comes from the giants or a foolish stray from Alfheim.”
Of course he had to tack on an insult somewhere in there. You had to admit, however, that you did hear the pride in his voice when describing his role. It didn’t feel like it was born from the prestige of his position, but the joy of having it. It was almost enough to make you think there might be some parts of him that are bearable. Almost.
“It appears you love the realm very much.” You felt some of the anger recede as you made a genuine statement.
“Of course, it is the peak of perfection…At least it was, before you got here.”
The anger was back.
“Oh really?” You mocked, not thinking about what you said before you said it. “I’m sure just about everyone else in the realm would say the same about you.” As much as you wanted to be nice, the snark you threw right back at him felt so good.
Heimdall yanked on Gulltoppr’s reins, making the beast yelp in protest. He turned around as much as he could on the saddle and snarled, “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to already?” You recoiled, not expecting such a violent reaction. It hadn’t occurred to you until now that you had no idea exactly how much of a fighter Heimdall was, but based on this sudden threat he must have been enough of one to hurt you if he wanted to. And yet, it was not enough to scare you into caring. You shot back, “I think it’s you who's forgotten. What was it All-Father said? That I would be ‘taken care of?’ I don’t feel taken care of.” Your reply was as much of a threat as his, reminding him that you could drop him right out of Odin’s good graces if you wanted to, and considering how much more respectful he was to the older you guessed that would mean a lot to him.
All he did was glare harder. It was then that you noticed something. He didn’t seem to be angry. Well, he was, but not just angry. He looked…frustrated?
For a moment you felt like you had unknowingly been the problem and felt a tinge of guilt. Before you could ask him if you were in the wrong he turned away and instructed Gulltopr to move again. “If you think the All-Father would take your word over mine, then I assure you, I will revel in the look on your face when you realize you are nothing compared to me. A mongrel next to a dragon”
You didn’t care if you had done something wrong anymore. He deserved whatever it was that made him tense.
Finally, Gulltopr made it to something new, a large building not too far from the cabin Odin gave you. “Here is Asgard’s public library. All the finest pieces of literature have been collected and are available to read at your leisure. Can you even read, stray? I seriously doubt it.”
Don’t react, don’t react… you repeated to yourself. Just keep in mind that the library is there and you can read some new books for the first time since you were a child, that was all that mattered.
“Aww, did I hurt your feelings, stray? Don’t worry, I’m sure you have something that can be considered a redeeming quality.”
That’s it. Sif had said you were better when you let go. So you did.
Without warning, you reached across him and pulled on Gultoppr’s reins, the gradungr coming to a halt. Heimdall caught your arm as you pulled it back, looking like you had severely offended him. Before he opened his big mouth you slapped his arm away and leaped off Gulltoppr’s back. “What are you doing?” Heimdall demanded, drawing attention from other residents. Every single one cowered at his voice.
You turned around and gave a mocking curtsy to him. “I’m so sorry, but frankly, I’m sick of you.”
“We’re not done here,” he growled, turning Gulltoppr to face you. It did nothing to change your mind.
“Yes, we are. If that’s a problem, then you can figure out how to explain it to Odin.” You spun on your heel and started marching away.
“All-Father,” He emphasized, correcting you, “ordered you to get acquainted with the city. This defies a direct order!”
“That’s your problem!” You shouted back.
Your patience was gone and you were not going to waste your time humoring the jerk any longer. Not even the hammering of Gulltopr’s heavy footfalls racing towards you were frightening. You waited for the perfect moment to stop walking, until Gulltopr was just a few bounds away. You raised your hand, summoning a barrier of golden magic swirling above the ground, positioned just in front of Heimdall’s upper body. Gulltopr kept running full speed, and Heimdall was hurled directly into the barrier – the equivalent of sprinting face first into a stone wall. He let out a pained yell and was thrown off of Gulltoppr, who skidded to a halt as soon as he realized his master was no longer mounted.
You didn’t register the sound of the astonished gasps from passersby that witnessed the event. Heimdall fell directly onto his back, having the wind knocked out of him, but the pain did nothing to stop him from standing up immediately. This time you were the one to look over your shoulder at him, finding exactly what you expected: the most hateful, menacing glare he’d shown all day. You didn’t pay any mind to it at the time, but you did notice something else in his purple eyes that was new.
Fear. So subtle that you weren't sure if even he knew it was there.
“I said,” you hissed, “that’s your problem.” With a flick of your fingers the barrier you created disappeared in a flash of golden sparks and you flounced off without another word. Any onlookers quickly scurried out of sight.
You were appalled that you thought he was handsome earlier. Live and learn, as they say.
Heimdall’s fists shook with rage, his teeth ground together like he was trying to break them, his breaths quickened with fury. He opened his mouth to call after you, a hand reaching across his torso to unsheathe his sword but he never got the chance to. A raven's call from the top of a nearby roof stopped him in his tracks.
He knew exactly what that meant. Heimdall snarled to himself and nodded at the bird, commanding Gulltoppr to return to his enclosure alone, which the beast obeyed without question. As the black feathers surrounded him and the scenery faded, so did his anger, slowly replaced by the sickly sting of dread. It only doubled when the vortex dropped him off in front of the doors to Odin’s study, not inside the study. Odin had no patience with people who weren’t calm and rational. It was his way of silently commanding Heimdall to collect himself before entering. He felt like he had been stabbed in the gut knowing Odin was so displeased with him.
No. No, he would prove to the All-Father that he needed no such treatment. He was calm, level-headed, and ready to accept the criticism he knew was coming. Heimdall straightened his back and squared his shoulders, head held high, and pushed the door open with confidence. Odin was standing behind his desk, Huginn and Muninn were on their wooden perch while the god studied maps of Muspelheim and books that were scattered across the tabletop. He didn’t lift his head to address Heimdall.
Whatever confidence Heimdall had when he entered was steadily deteriorating the longer he was ignored, not daring to rush Odin. It was a few minutes before his superior finally grumbled, “You’re done early. All of Gladsheim so soon?”
The utter shame Heimdall was inundated with left him speechless. He never failed Odin. He made sure of that. Never did he disappoint the Aesir king with shortcomings of any kind. That was his job, his responsibility. One he held with pride. Knowing that he should feel none of that pride at that moment was eating him alive. Heimdall resisted clearing his throat, refusing to show how much he loathed the talk he was about to get. “The str–She was not interested.” That was it. That was all he could manage.
Odin finally looked up, and the sheer dissatisfaction and impatience nearly made Heimdall shake with guilt. “And why would that be?” Heimdall had no answer. Odin simply sighed in frustration, pacing around his desk as he spoke. Even Huginn and Muninn looked at Heimdall like they were deeply unimpressed. “One job, Heimdall. I gave you one thing to do, and you couldn’t do it!”
Heimdall visibly winced. Odin was exactly right, and in more ways than one. “I mean,” Odin continued, more exasperated. “It was so simple. Let her look around, and take enough time to figure out if she’s hiding anything, see if she’s not telling me something, anything. And look at this! Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes was all it took for you to fuck it up!” Normally these words would make Heimdall grin with pleasure, relishing in the complete incompetence and worthlessness of the receiver. But that was because he wasn’t the receiver. He was never the receiver. He was always better than them. Until now. Thanks to you.
“All-Father–”
“Don’t interrupt me!” Odin barked at him, Heimdall’s mouth instantly closing at the command. He had already committed the sin of failing Odin, he wouldn’t dare make it any worse. He wouldn’t stoop so low to make excuses. “You’ve made this so much harder, and for what? Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut? Because you can’t stop being…yourself for a mere hour? You couldn’t just focus on reading because you couldn’t help but be you?”
Heimdall schooled his expression into one of an emotionless soldier as best he could, but that…that hurt. And he hated that he could feel the hurt showing. Not because the lecture hurt his feelings, no. His feelings were irrelevant. What hurt was hearing Odin himself say that Heimdall as a whole was the problem.
His entire life had been proving his worth, proving that he was more than a simple henchman, a lackey, an assistant. No, NO. He was worthy of his role as a valued confidant and loyal chancellor. He accepted orders willingly and carried them out to a T because he was capable of doing so without fail. But if Odin said that he himself was the flaw…then he had been wrong in believing he earned the All-Father’s certitude in his reliability. And worst of all, he knew that Odin’s harsh reprimand was justified completely. He had ruined his goal because he wasn’t willing to let the newcomer think she was one of them, that she belonged here in any way, even though that was what Odin wanted her to feel. He undermined Odin’s plans. He let himself be the obstacle in the way. He had to fix that.
Unfortunately, what he needed to say wouldn’t make that easy. “That is the problem.” His muttering was barely audible, just enough for Odin to hear it. He returned to his desk, resting his hands on it while he waited for Heimdall to clarify. “I…I can’t read her. When I look into her mind it’s like staring into a void…I see nothing.” He despised that his voice wavered and shook as he spoke, that he was showing how affected he was by Odin's disappointment. Heimdall waited for him to continue on his rant, to chastise him for his defeat as he deserved. That way, once Odin expressed the full extent of his resentment, he would understand exactly how to never beckon it again.
He would be perfect for the All-Father again. He would make sure of it.
To his dismay, Odin loosened up just a bit, turning his attention to his two treasured ravens and stroking their feathers. “I figured as much. She’s immune to my ravens as well. Your foresight having no effect is to be expected.” Odin paused, his hands dropping back down to his sides. “And?”
Heimdall blinked as he processed what Odin said. “What?”
“And? Yes, I knew she would be immune, but I still expected you to break through. My ravens can see her under the right conditions, which means she’s not invulnerable. All you have to do is find a way past her defenses. That’s why I assigned the tour to you, so you’d have enough time to experiment.
“Really, Heimdall, when I tell you to do something, I plan on it happening. But if you give up at the first problem you come across, then what good are you?” Odin posited, throwing his hands up.
The pit Heimdall felt his soul falling into swallowed him whole at last. He couldn’t lose his value to the All-Father. He CAN’T. “I haven’t given up!” Heimdall screeched, reeling his emotion back in to sound less frantic. “I will find a way, I swear to you. I was simply unaware that reading her would take more than others. I will find everything you need to learn from her.”
Odin calmed considerably, though his reaction was not enough for Heimdall to judge how convincing his declaration was, with his harsh gaze piercing through him. Heimdall hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. “See to it that you do,” Odin said, finally sitting down in his chair. “But I doubt you’ll do it quickly, thanks to this dereliction. So, to make sure you’ll be able to keep her around enough – without causing much more trouble – I’m putting you on babysitting duty.”
“For who?” If he had to atone by taking care of Sif’s little muskrat of a daughter he would surely lose his mind.
“She’s going to be finding some things for me throughout the realms. You’re going to go with her and keep her safe.”
Babysitting Thrúd didn’t sound that bad to Heimdall all of a sudden. “All-Father, with all due respect, I’m concerned that my absence will put Asgard at jeopardy.”
“The realm will survive if you’re gone every once in a while. Don’t try to get out of this because you don’t like her. Consider this punishment as well. I was going to send Thor with her to do the heavy lifting, but hopefully this will remind you how important it is to meet my expectations.”
Heimdall put a hand on his chest and bowed. “Of course, All-Father. I will not disappoint you again. You have my word.”
Odin nodded. “Dismissed.”
It had been a long, long time since Odin had excused his watchmen so coldly. He made no protest and promptly exited the study. As Heimdall stomped through the lodge and back outside, he felt his fists clenching, his back constricting, his arms locked up and ready to destroy the next thing his hands touched. Something anyone who passed him noticed and backed away from before they were in the line of fire.
And you came in and destroyed it. All because you thought you were special.
How dare you.
He had a perfect record. Always succeeding, always surpassing Odin’s expectations with flying colors. Never too slow, never too fast, always on time. There was not a single time in his life that he recalled falling short, showing that even the most miniscule parts of him were efficacious. Everything about him was laudable. He was worth keeping.
No, oh no no no. He wouldn’t allow that. And he would prove to Odin that he was not so useless that he should take one of Thor's lowly tasks, that he could easily do more than be a glorified bodyguard. He would find a way into your head before your little quest began. You had to be around Gladsheim somewhere, and he would find you and start prodding at your mind right away.
Well, after he found the Einherjar and sent some of them back to Valhalla to blow off some steam. He didn’t want to unleash it on you. Not yet, at least.
If this gets interactions I'll post on Ao3 and keep going. Thanks for stopping by! :)
Undone
Notes: I can't even wrap my head around it—1,000 people following this account? It's honestly surreal. Thank you so, so much, for sticking around and supporting me and my writing, especially when I went away for a bit. I’ve got something a little different for you guys as a thank-you gift. @furioussheepluminary's Ghost Protocol has been taking over my brain the past few days (I highly recommend it, by the way), so... here’s something inspired by it. I hope you enjoy it <3
Content Warnings: This story contains explicit sexual content and language, including graphic sex scenes, intense power dynamics, and dominant-submissive interactions. Themes of manipulation, possessiveness, vulnerability, emotional intensity, physical and psychological control, and possible trauma are explored. The reader is described as AFAB, and Chan is... a bit mean on this, be cautious.
[7.7k words]
──────────────────────────────────────────── The door slams shut behind him with a force that rattles the room, the heavy lock sliding into place with an unmistakable finality. There’s no sound, no words, only the oppressive stillness that fills the space between you. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating, and it crushes the air in your lungs as he steps into the room, his every movement deliberate and sharp. The tension is palpable, humming between you two like a live wire, stretching thinner by the second, and you know, you know exactly why he’s like this. The mission was too close, the danger too real, and the bullet—the bullet—it had come too damn close to taking you from him. You barely escaped with your life, and he’s been holding onto that fear, that cold terror, ever since and you can feel it in the way he looks at you now, eyes dark with something you can’t quite name.
His breath is uneven, and it stings with the weight of everything unsaid, but you don’t need him to say it. You feel it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his muscles coil beneath the fabric of his clothes, he’s holding himself back, just barely, and the control he’s exerting is becoming a dangerous thing.
Sit down. His voice is low, rough, stripped of the softness you once relied on. It’s a command, not a request, and something inside you flares—anger, defiance—mixed with something darker, something deeper that you won’t admit to yourself. You hesitate, just a beat too long, as your body betrays you, and it’s enough to make him take that final step forward, closing the space between you with a dangerous grace. His gaze locks onto yours, unwavering and cold, and the air seems to crackle with something raw. The authority in his eyes is so sharp that it cuts through any resistance you might have left. I said—sit.
It’s a warning, a low growl that threatens to break you if you test him. His hand moves toward you, and the sheer weight of his presence makes your heart stutter in your chest, his fingers brush against your arm, the touch rough and hard, and it sends a shiver down your spine—not from cold, but from something else entirely. Without a word, you sink into the worn chair behind you, your muscles stiff as you do. You’re not used to this, him like this, but there’s a certain clarity in the way he moves, a certainty that presses down on you like a vice. You can’t fight it, not when he’s like this. And the look in his eyes, cold and unforgiving, tells you that he’s done pretending.
His hands are on you before you can even react. He’s too fast, too precise as he grabs your jacket, tugging it off your shoulders with a savage kind of efficiency, the roughness of the movement sending a jolt through your body. The fabric falls to the ground, leaving your chest bare beneath your tactical vest. And that’s when you feel it, the rawness of the situation, the weight of it all crashing down around you.
You should’ve followed the plan, he mutters, the words laced with a fury that feels like it’s been building since the moment that bullet nearly tore you apart. His hands move to your vest, working quickly to loosen the straps, his fingers brushing against your skin with an intensity that borders on brutal. Every touch is sharp, calculated, like he’s stripping away not just your gear, but every last trace of control you thought you had and you open your mouth to argue—to remind him that you’ve always had this handled—but the words die on your tongue before they can escape. He’s already yanked the vest off, tossing it aside like it’s nothing, his gaze never leaving yours.
You think you’re untouchable? His voice is harder now, cutting through the thick tension in the room like a blade. He kneels in front of you, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, a constant, burning reminder of just how little space you have to breathe, his hands trail down your leg, stopping at the holster strapped to your thigh. The motion is fluid, almost too smooth, but it carries with it a force that makes your chest tighten.
You think you can take risks like that and walk away?, his fingers close around the clip of your holster, unbuckling it with a practiced ease that feels too personal, too intimate for a moment like this. He slides the holster off your leg, his gaze never leaving yours, and you feel the full weight of his eyes on you, weighing you, measuring you, studying you like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to solve. You could’ve gotten yourself killed, he adds, his voice barely more than a whisper. It’s quiet, so quiet that it makes your skin crawl.
I handled it, you snap, but even you can hear the way your voice trembles. It’s not as confident as you want it to be. It’s not as strong as you need it to be. He doesn’t respond with words, he responds with force, his hand shoots up, snapping to your jaw with a speed that leaves you no time to brace for it. The pressure isn’t painful, not quite, but it’s enough to make you freeze, enough to remind you just how fragile the illusion of control really is. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes, and the moment you do, the anger, the frustration, the fear, they all hit you like a wave.
You don’t ‘handle’ anything without me, is voice is low, a dangerous hum that vibrates through your bones. Not out there. Not here.
You want to break free, to tear away from him, but the words die in your throat, as his hand on your jaw tightens ever so slightly, and the softness of his thumb against your lower lip feels like a brand against your skin. Don’t test me, you warn, but you know, he knows, that it’s hollow. It’s a weak attempt at regaining control that you’re already losing. His lips curl into something dark, something feral—an almost-smile that makes your heart race with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
You’re not in a position to make threats. The words are clipped, final, and before you can respond, before you can even take a breath, he’s moving again, towering over you, every inch of his body blocking your escape. The space between you is suffocating, there’s nowhere to hide from the intensity of his gaze, from the command in his posture. He’s taking control of the room, of you, in a way that feels irrevocable, and deep down, you know you don’t want him to stop. Up, he orders.
You rise before your mind even catches up, your body obeys his command instinctively, every muscle in your body responding to the strength in his voice. And before you can gather your thoughts, he’s on you, his hands wrapping around the back of your neck with a firm, unyielding grip. his other hand drags down your side, fingers brushing over the still-tender skin of your ribs, where the bullet had grazed you. The pain is sharp—excruciating—but you don’t let out a sound, you don’t give him that satisfaction. But he knows, he knows what’s happening beneath the surface, what’s breaking inside you.
You’re shaking, he murmurs, his voice a cruel mockery of concern, his fingers tighten around your neck, forcing you to look up at him. What’s the matter, agent? Not so tough now? You want to say something, anything, but you can’t, the words die in your throat. You glare up at him, every ounce of defiance you have left burning in your veins, ut it’s not enough, not when he’s like this.
You think I don’t see what you’re doing? His voice is cold, cutting through the last of your defenses. Running yourself into the ground. Pushing past your limits like you’re invincible. Like you’re trying to prove something. His fingers tighten again, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes you. But you don’t get to break. Not on my watch.
I don’t need you, you force out, but it sounds weak, hollow. You don’t believe it. His laugh is dark, rough, humorless. Liar.
And then, with a brutal speed, he’s backing you into the nearest wall, pressing you hard against the rough wood as his body crowds yours. There’s no room to fight, no space to escape, the force of him feels like a weight on your chest, a constant reminder of how small you’ve become in this moment. You can pretend you’re in control all you want, he whispers, his mouth brushing against your ear, his breath hot and commanding. But when it comes down to it? You’re mine.
The words hit you like a punch. And for a moment, you can’t breathe, can’t think. He kisses you, hard, harsh—like he’s taking back every shred of control you tried to steal from him. His hands are everywhere, rough and unforgiving, and you know, deep down, that you’ll never be the same after this. You don’t fight it, not anymore, you let him claim you, let him strip away the last of your resistance, until you’re nothing but his. And when he finally pulls back, when he releases you just enough to breathe, the look in his eyes is suffocating, possessive.
You don’t get to run from me, he says, his voice low, lethal. Not out there. Not in here. Not ever. And you know—you know—that he means it.
His eyes lock onto yours, dark and dangerous, and the space between you feels like a chasm, a yawning pit you know you’ll never escape. You can feel the intensity of his gaze, heavy, suffocating, like it’s stripping away every last shred of your defenses, the air around you is thick with something primal, something visceral, and you can’t help but feel like prey, even as your heart pounds with that familiar, twisted rhythm, the pulse of something between rage and need.
You still think you’re in control? His voice is a cold, guttural growl, each word laced with a kind of fury that both terrifies and excites you. His grip on your neck tightens, just enough to remind you who holds the power, his other hand traces down your body, his fingers grazing the tender skin where your bullet wound is still raw, still burning, and the pain shoots through you like fire. You don’t flinch, you don’t show weakness, but it doesn’t matter. His gaze is already on the trembling of your chest, the subtle hitch in your breath.
His mouth comes down on yours, claiming it in a kiss that is brutal, punishing. There’s no gentleness in the way his lips move against yours, no sweetness or tenderness, only hunger. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, demanding, commanding, and you can taste the bitterness of his need, the depth of his fury at what almost happened to you. He doesn’t pull back, doesn’t give you a chance to breathe, and you can feel your body responding against your will. You hate it, you hate how easily he bends you to his will, how your body betrays you, how you can't help but drown in the fire he ignites with every touch. But you hate yourself more for wanting it, for craving it, for needing him like this.
His hand slides down your side, fingers digging into the flesh of your hip as he pushes you harder against the wall. His body is a solid weight pressing you into the rough wood, and for a split second, you think you might suffocate under the intensity of it all, his breath comes in sharp bursts, hot against your ear, as he whispers darkly, You think you’re still strong? You think you’re still tough? You’re nothing but a broken thing, a shattered piece, and I’m the only one who can fix you. You’ll never be anything without me.
The words slam into you like a physical blow. You want to scream, to fight back, to prove him wrong, but the reality is, he’s right. Deep down, you know that, he has you cornered, body and soul, and every move he makes chips away at the fragile walls you’ve built around yourself. The worst part? You don’t want to stop him. Don’t fight me, he growls, and his teeth graze your ear, sending a shiver of pure need down your spine. You know you want this. You want me to break you. You want me to show you how fucking powerless you are.
His hands move like wildfire, pushing your clothes off with brutal efficiency, exposing you to him in ways that make your skin burn. His lips trail down your neck, biting and sucking in places that make you gasp, your body trembling beneath him, every touch, every kiss, is a demand for submission, his submission, his way of reminding you that he owns you, that you’re his to break and remake however he sees fit.
He pulls away just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with possessive hunger. You’ll learn to rely on me. You’ll learn to stop pushing me away. His fingers press into the tender flesh of your ribs, the wound still fresh beneath his touch. I can protect you. I can keep you safe. But you have to stop being reckless. Stop acting like you don’t need me. Because you do. You need me more than you’ll ever admit. And I’ll be here, every time you forget that, to remind you.
Your heart races, a violent drumbeat that echoes in your chest as you lock eyes with him and there’s a kind of love there, you can see it, but it’s raw and brutal, twisted and suffocating. It’s the kind of love that’s not meant to heal, but to own, to possess, to claim every piece of you until there’s nothing left but him. And maybe that’s what terrifies you the most—that you want to give it to him. You want him to own you, to shape you into whatever twisted thing he thinks you should be. You hate yourself for it, but you can’t stop it, you can’t escape him, not now, not ever.
He pulls you close, his body pressing into yours as his hand locks around your throat, holding you there as his lips crash against yours again, harder this time, bruising, punishing. The kiss is like a storm, relentless and unforgiving, until you’re gasping for air, every inch of you drowning in him. You’re mine, he says, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. And I’ll keep you that way. No matter how much you try to fight it, no matter how much you push me away, you belong to me. You always have.
You don’t respond, there’s nothing to say. He knows the truth. You know the truth, as he presses you harder into the wall, his lips curling into a twisted smile as he lowers his head to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. You think you can run from me? he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. You think you can leave me behind? You’ll never escape me. Not in this lifetime, not in any other. You’re mine, now and forever.
And as his hands move with a brutal confidence, tearing away the last of your resistance, you know, deep down, that he’s right. You’ll never escape him, you’ll never be free of this. But the thought doesn’t terrify you the way it should, instead, it makes you want him more, it makes you crave the control he’s taking—because in the end, you know he’s the only one who can tame the storm inside you.
His hand trails lower, slow but unyielding, like he wants you to feel every brush of his fingertips, every inch of his control sinking into your skin. The roughness of his touch is deliberate, designed to remind you that nothing you do, no defiance you cling to, will shake his hold on you, no tenderness in the way he pulls your body closer, fitting you against him like you belong there.
You think I’m going to let you walk away from me? His voice is a low rasp, vibrating against the curve of your jaw as his mouth drags across your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. After tonight? After you almost fucking died? His teeth sink into the side of your neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a mark, a reminder of exactly who you belong to. His hand moves higher, sliding under the thin barrier of your shirt, rough fingers grazing over your ribs. The scrape of his touch stings against the bruise forming there, but he doesn’t ease up. If anything, he lingers—pressing just hard enough to remind you of the damage, your damage, the damage he couldn’t stop.
You think this is nothing? he growls, pushing the fabric higher, exposing more of you to the cool air. You think you can brush this off and pretend it didn’t happen? His voice is venomous, pure, unfiltered rage, but underneath it, there’s something else, something raw, something desperate. Not with me. Not anymore.
The words are a promise and a threat all at once, and they make your breath catch in your throat. You open your mouth to speak—to push back, to tell him that you don’t need his protection—but before you can get a word out, his hand is already at your chest, his palm presses between your breasts, right over your pounding heart, and the weight of his touch is enough to steal whatever fight you were about to throw his way.
I felt it, he says, quieter now, but no less intense. The moment you went down. The second that bullet touched you. His fingers curl into your skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel how much he’s holding back. I thought— He stops himself, jaw clenching tight. Doesn’t matter.
The air is thick, heavy with everything he’s not saying, everything he’s feeling, but there’s no room for tenderness here, not with the way he touches you. Not with the way his hands move—possessive, demanding, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you might slip through his fingers again. His thumb brushes over your nipple through the thin fabric, and even that touch feels like a command. Your body reacts instantly, traitorously, heat curling low in your stomach despite the lingering ache of your wound. He notices, of course, he always notices, mouth twisting into a cruel, knowing smirk against your neck.
Sensitive, he murmurs, his voice dripping with mockery. His fingers tighten, tweaking the peak between them just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through you as you bite down on your lip to hold back a sound, a whimper, a plea—but it’s useless. He can already feel the way your body responds to him, can already tell how much you want this despite the fight you’re trying to put up, and he’s not going to let you hide it, not tonight.
His hand slides down your body, fingers dragging over your stomach before he grips your hip, fingerprints digging into your skin. You think you're still in control? his voice is low, rough, each word thick with intent. You're strong, I get it. But you're also fucking delusional if you think you don’t need me. He slips his hand lower, fingers teasing the waistband of your pants. You need me. And I'm gonna make sure you feel it. You don’t answer right away—not fast enough, not before he feels the tension building in your body, and it pushes him to snap.
Answer me, he demands, his grip on your hip tightening to the point of bruising. Yes, you finally choke out, the word tasting heavy and wrong on your tongue, but it’s so easy, too easy. He’s unraveling you with every word, every touch, and you hate how much you want it.A dark, satisfied smile plays at the edge of his mouth. Good girl.
He doesn’t waste time as his fingers work with brutal efficiency, undoing the button of your pants and dragging the zipper down with a sound that seems deafening in the tense silence between you. The rough tug as he pulls the fabric over your hips is just as punishing, deliberate, like he wants you to feel the loss of control as much as he does. You’re always so fucking stubborn, he mutters, more to himself than to you. Always acting like you don’t want this—like you don’t need this. His hand slips beneath the last barrier of fabric, fingers brushing against the heat between your thighs—and the sharp inhale you can’t stop is all the confirmation he needs.
So wet, he taunts, dragging his fingers through your slick with slow, devastating precision. Is this what gets you off? Pushing me until I lose my temper? His fingers hover over your clit, teasing, just barely grazing it as he watches your body tremble with anticipation. He knows exactly what he's doing, the subtle pressure making your breath hitch. His gaze is cold, ruthless, a twisted satisfaction in his eyes as he watches you squirm beneath him. Or is it knowing that no matter how tough you act, I can still break you wide open? he whispers, his voice dark with dominance.
You want to fight back. You want to tell him he’s wrong—that he doesn’t own you the way he thinks he does, but the words die in your throat when he presses down, hard, right where you need him most. Your whole body jolts against the wall, and his grip on your neck tightens just enough to hold you still. That’s it, he murmurs, and there’s something almost cruel in his tone, like he’s savoring the way you tremble under his hands. You can act like you don’t need me all you want. But this— He pushes two fingers inside you without warning, stretching you open with a ruthless, punishing rhythm that leaves no room for resistance. This doesn’t lie.
Your hands fly to his shoulders, not to push him away, but to hold on, because you’re slipping, losing yourself in the sheer force of him, the way he tears down every last defense you’ve tried so hard to keep between you, and he knows it, lives for it. His fingers are relentless—deep and demanding, stretching you in a way that burns, that pushes against the edge of too much, but you take it because he makes you. Because he isn’t giving you another option as his grip on your hip tightens, pulling you harder against his hand, forcing your body to accept the brutal rhythm he sets. There’s no hesitation, no softness, only his raw need to claim you, to remind you exactly who you belong to.
You think I’m going to let you keep doing this? His voice is low, rough against your ear, sending a sharp pulse of heat straight through you. Running yourself into the ground, acting like you don’t need me—like I won’t fucking stop you? His fingers curl inside you, hitting that devastating spot that makes your legs tremble beneath you. I’m done letting you play that game.
A broken sound escapes your throat before you can stop it—a sharp, breathless whimper that only makes him push harder and you want to fight back, want to hold onto the last shred of control you have left, but he isn’t giving you the chance. His body cages you in, one hand still wrapped tight around your throat, just enough pressure to remind you who’s in charge, while the other works you open with ruthless precision.
You’re shaking, he mocks, his tone cold and unforgiving. What happened to all that fight, huh? You were so fucking mouthy before—where’d that go? His thumb brushes against your clit in another sharp, punishing stroke, and your knees nearly buckle beneath you. Or is this what you needed all along? Someone to put you in your place?
His words cut through the fog clouding your thoughts, sharp and brutal. You want to deny it, to tell him he’s wrong, but your body betrays you, the slick, obscene sounds of his fingers working inside you are proof enough, and he knows it, he feels it, every tremor, every twitch, every desperate clench around his fingers.
Pathetic, he breathes, though the heat in his voice tells a different story. You talk so big, but the second I get my hands on you— His teeth scrape along the curve of your jaw, biting down just enough to make you gasp. You fall apart. You try to hold onto your pride, try to keep the words locked behind your teeth, but the pressure is building too fast, his touch is too much, too rough, too perfect in the way it breaks you down. Your body arches against him, chasing the friction he’s giving you even as you bite back the moan rising in your throat, and he notices, of course he notices Look at you, he sneers, dragging his fingers out of you only to slam them back in, harder, deeper. So desperate. So easy.
You bite down on your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Even now, when your body is trembling against him, when every nerve is burning with the pleasure he’s forcing on you, you hold onto your pride. But he’s not a patient man. Not tonight. Think you can still keep that up? His voice drops lower, rougher—dangerous. Fine
Without warning, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty, aching. The sudden loss makes you gasp, makes your knees threaten to give out, but he doesn’t let you fall, his hand on your throat tightens just enough to hold you upright, keeping you exactly where he wants you. See how far that attitude gets you, he growls, dragging his wet fingers along your inner thigh in a slow, filthy tease. You want to act tough? Go ahead.
The words hit you like a punch to the gut, hot and cruel and dripping with the promise of punishment. And he means it, you know he does, he’s never been the type to bluff. If you push him, he’ll make you pay for it.
His hand leaves your neck only to grab your wrists, dragging them behind your back and pinning them there with one strong hand. The sudden loss of freedom, the sheer force of his control, makes your head spin and he knows it, he feels the way your breathing quickens, the way your body tenses beneath his hold, and he uses it against you. He pushes you against the wall harder, pressing his body into yours until there’s nothing left between you, nothing but heat and rage and the raw, brutal need simmering just beneath the surface. His lips find your ear again, and his voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper.
You’re not going anywhere, he promises, his tone filled with dark, undeniable possession. Not out there. Not in here. Not without me. His fingers find your clit again, circling it in slow, punishing strokes that make you writhe against his hold. You went off without telling me. You think you’re untouchable? You think you can do whatever the hell you want?
His grip on your wrists tightens as he works you closer to the edge, dragging you toward it whether you want it or not, and you can’t fight it, not when he touches you like this, not when he tears you apart with nothing but his hands and his voice and the sheer force of his will. Your pride clings to you like a vice, tight, stubborn, but his touch is tearing it apart piece by piece, and you know you can’t hold out forever, not when he’s like this, not when his fingers are so unforgiving, dragging you to the edge with brutal, calculated precision. He doesn’t care how much you fight him, he’ll take what he wants, what he knows is his, and right now that’s you, shaking, breathless, pinned beneath the weight of his control.
His grip on your wrists is like iron, unyielding as he keeps your hands trapped behind your back. It forces your body to arch, to open up for him as he presses his chest against yours, the heat of him searing through your clothes, a constant reminder of just how little power you have left. He’s taking it from you, every last shred, and God, you hate how much you want to let him.
You’re so stubborn, he growls, his mouth brushing over your jaw as his teeth graze your skin. So fucking difficult. He pulls his fingers from you, too soon, too suddenly, and the loss is enough to make you whimper, a soft, broken sound that only makes him crueler. His other hand, rough and unforgiving, grips your jaw, forcing your gaze up to meet his and there's something dark in his eyes—something stormy, a dangerous mix of fear and fury. You don’t get to make me watch you bleed again, he hisses, voice thick with something raw. I thought I lost you tonight. You don’t get to forget that.
His thumb slides over your lip, dragging it down, a silent command that he wants you to see him, to feel him, because everything about him is breaking apart at the seams, and he can’t hide it. I don’t care how stubborn you are. I’m done letting you act like you don’t matter. Breaking fucking news—you matter, matter more than you’ll ever understand. I’m not letting anyone else touch you. I’m not letting you slip through my fucking fingers. Do you understand me? You’re mine. You always will be. I’ll burn the fucking world down to keep you here.
The moment his body finally stills, the air between you is thick with more than just lust, it’s something unspoken, something raw, something he’s been fighting for far too long to admit to himself, but now, as his breath evens out and his chest presses against yours, it’s impossible to ignore. There’s no anger left in his touch now, no sharp edges to cut you open, just heat, just need. It bleeds into every movement, every place his skin meets yours, burning through the space between you like something primal, irreversible.
He pulls back, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and glassy, still filled with that vulnerability he’s tried so hard to bury. His fingers tremble ever so slightly as they tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch softer now, more reverent, like he’s terrified to touch you too roughly, even after everything as his gaze lingers on your face, studying every feature like he’s trying to imprint it in his mind. Like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here.
Are you okay? His voice is low, almost hoarse, the concern in it so genuine that it hits you harder than anything else he’s said tonight. He’s not angry anymore, not demanding, there’s no harshness, no dominance, it’s just him, standing here, looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in this fucked-up world. Just quiet, raw truth. I almost lost you.
Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping tight as if that alone could hold him together, could hold both of you together, because the truth is, you almost lost him too. You could’ve watched him bleed out on that cold, dirty concrete, could’ve been the one left behind, forced to live with the hollow, gaping wound he would’ve left behind in your chest. But you don’t say it, ot now, not when he needs this, needs you—more than he needs to hear words that can’t change what already happened.
I’m right here, you whisper instead, turning in his arms, pressing yourself against him as close as you can get. Your body is still aching, your legs still weak from what he just did to you, but none of it matters, none of it even registers against the way his arms tighten around you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go. I’m here, Chris. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, his eyes search yours, like he’s trying to make sure you’re telling the truth, trying to convince himself that you’re really safe now, that you’re really his.
He exhales slowly, long and deep, as if the breath he’s been holding finally finds its way out and then, before you can react, his lips find yours, gentle at first, testing, hesitant even, like he’s afraid of breaking you if he’s too rough. His kiss is slow, as though he’s savoring this moment—this connection—in a way that makes your heart beat a little faster and when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his hands drifting to your back, pulling you in closer, if that’s even possible.
I thought I lost you, he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers thread through your hair, tugging you closer until you can feel the heat of his body, the thrum of his heartbeat against yours. I can’t... I can’t lose you, not like that. Not after everything. You feel a pang in your chest at the rawness of his words, the way they scrape at your soul, like he’s afraid to need you, afraid of depending on you when the stakes are so high. He’s always been the strong one, the one who keeps it together, who holds it all in, but now, with the fear still lingering in his eyes, it’s clear, he’s not invincible, not when it comes to you.
I’m not going anywhere, you promise, your voice steady, even as your own emotions threaten to spill over. You feel the sincerity in your own words, the promise of something more than just survival. You don’t just want to be here; you need to be here, with him, always. He exhales a shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away, but there’s still a fire in his eyes, one that isn’t angry, or demanding, or filled with the same brutal hunger from earlier, but something softer now, something that says I love you, even if he can’t quite say it yet.
His hands move lower, tracing down your spine with a tenderness that makes your breath catch in your throat and when they reach the hem of your shirt, he pauses, looking at you, seeking your permission, and it’s in that look that you realize, he doesn’t just want control. He wants to care for you, in a way that makes you feel safe, not just desired. Slowly, carefully, you lift your arms, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head, his fingers brushing your skin with a reverence that feels almost sacred. When you’re bare before him, his gaze lingers for a moment, his eyes dark, his breath hitching as if the sight of you, vulnerable in his arms, hits him harder than he ever expected.
You're here, he murmurs, his hands cupping your face now, his thumbs sweeping across your cheekbones in a slow, tender rhythm. The way he says it, like he’s trying to embed the words into the very marrow of your bones, makes something stir deep inside you, something that aches, something that wants to give itself to him, over and over, until there’s nothing left but this. He lets out a breath—shaky, uneven—before his hands slide down your back, gripping your thighs and then, with terrifying ease, he lifts you, pressing your back against the wall, his body solid and unyielding between your legs. There’s nothing hesitant about it, nothing slow. It’s pure instinct, pure hunger, his mouth finding yours with the kind of desperation that feels like it’s been building for years.
He swallows every sound you make like he needs it to live, like your gasps and whimpers are the only thing keeping him from falling apart as his tongue claims yours, deep and insatiable, and there’s nothing left of hesitation now, just possession, just the raw, unrelenting need to feel you, to remind himself you’re still here, still his. His grip tightens beneath your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise, and he rocks against you, slow but deliberate, the thick press of him dragging between your legs, teasing at your swollen, oversensitive heat. He’s still fully clothed, but you can feel him hot, heavy, aching even through the layers, and it sends a fresh pulse of arousal flooding low in your stomach.
Your body trembles against the unyielding surface of the wall, your nails biting into his shoulders as the heat between you builds, thick and smothering. His hands slide lower, rough palms skating over the curve of your ass before gripping tight, holding you steady as he grinds into you with torturous precision and he pulls back just enough to rip his shirt over his head, the motion sharp and impatient, like he can’t stand another second with anything between you. His gaze locks onto yours, something dark and searching in his eyes—an unspoken question, even though he already knows the answer. He can feel it in the way you shake beneath him, the way your thighs squeeze around his waist, the way your body aches for him without a single word.
And then, he’s pressing your hands to his bare chest, forcing you to feel every sculpted line, every rigid muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. You trace the sharp planes of him, the heat of his skin searing against your palms, and just as you start to explore, his fingers wrap around your wrists, guiding your hands to his lips. He presses a kiss to the inside of each one, slow and reverent, before dragging them lower, to the waistband of his jeans as he lets you unbutton them, lets you feel the way his breath shudders when your fingers graze his stomach, but he’s too impatient to wait. He shoves them down himself, the metallic clicks of the zipper barely registering over the pounding of your heart.
His cock presses against your inner thigh, thick and throbbing, the heat of him burning into your skin, his lips brush against your ear, his voice rough and barely holding together. My baby, he murmurs, and the words are edged with something almost tender, something that makes your stomach clench with need. He’s so close now, so unbearably close, his forehead pressing to yours as his breath comes hot and ragged, syncing with yours as the air between you crackles, charged with a desperate kind of hunger, a need so intense it threatens to consume you both whole.
He lowers you to the ground just long enough to shove his jeans the rest of the way down, kicking them aside with a quiet curse, his eyes never leaving yours. You’re trembling by the time he presses himself against you again, your bodies aligning like they were made to fit together. His hand slides between your legs, fingers gliding over your drenched slit, teasing, testing, a broken sound catches in your throat as he circles your clit with a slow, agonizing precision, his touch light, almost teasing, until your legs start to shake. He groans, low and ragged, his fingers slick with proof of just how badly you need him. Fuck, he mutters, voice thick with restraint. You’re so wet for me, baby. You sure?
You nod, barely able to form words, lost in the ache, the unbearable anticipation of what’s coming next. He lifts you again, strong hands guiding your legs around his waist, holding you steady as he lines himself up, the thick head of his cock brushing against your entrance. The contact alone is enough to send a shiver ripping through you, your fingers clutching at his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality and he pauses—just for a second, just long enough for the tension to coil impossibly tight between you. His gaze meets yours, dark and unwavering, his voice barely above a whisper. I’ve got you. Just trust me.
The words sink into your skin, into your bones, and you exhale a shaky breath, nodding, needing him more than you’ve ever needed anything and then, in one slow, devastating motion, he pushes inside you, and the stretch is blinding, a white-hot pleasure that borders on pain, and you cry out, your body struggling to take him, to fit around the sheer size of him. He groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps.
He holds himself still for a moment, letting you adjust, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he fights for control. Every nerve in your body is on fire, every inch of you stretched wide around him, and it’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s everything, as you whimper, shifting against him, and that’s all it takes to snap his restraint.
He pulls back, just enough to thrust in again, slow but precise, dragging against every sensitive nerve inside you. A sharp, choked sound escapes you, your head tipping back against the wall as he sets a pace, each stroke deep, claiming, designed to make you feel every inch of him, his lips finding your neck, your jaw, his teeth scraping over your pulse as he fucks into you, relentless and unyielding, until you’re nothing but heat and sensation, nothing but a desperate, pleading mess in his arms. So good, he breathes against your skin, voice wrecked. Like you were made for me.
The words unravel something inside you, send a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your legs, and he groans as he feels you clench around him, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering just for a second. But then he’s pressing you harder against the wall, his grip tightening, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper, until you’re right on the edge, dangling over the precipice with nothing to hold onto but him and you can’t hold back anymore. The pleasure builds, sharp and unbearable, and then it crashes over you all at once. Your body seizes, your vision going white as you cry out, your walls clamping down around him, dragging him over the edge with you as he groans, low and wrecked, his hips slamming into you one last time as he spills inside you, heat flooding deep, filling you completely.
For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you caught in the aftermath, tangled together, bodies shaking, hearts hammering in sync, his breath is warm against your temple, his hands sliding up your back, holding you close like he can’t bear to let go. His forehead presses to yours, his lips barely ghosting over your own, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, raw and there’s something softer beneath it, something almost fragile.
His fingers trace slow, absentminded paths over your skin, like he’s memorizing the feel of you, anchoring himself in the warmth of your body, the proof that you’re here. He exhales shakily, his lips pressing against your cheek, your jaw, your temple, not in hunger now, but in something deeper—something reverent. You feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, how he tucks you closer, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.
He shifts, still holding you, pressing you deeper into him, his hands smoothing over your skin like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you and there’s something searching in the way his fingers move now, the way they trace along your arms, your ribs, down your thighs—like he’s checking, making sure you’re whole, that there’s nothing else he missed. His touch lingers when he finds the bruise on your side, his fingers brushing over it with unbearable gentleness, barely more than a whisper of contact. His breath catches, and for a moment, he just holds his hand there, like he could take the pain away if he pressed hard enough, like he hates himself for not stopping it before it ever touched you.
Gently, he lifts you, moving to lower you onto the forgotten bed, onto something softer, his touch lingering over every inch of you, his fingertips press lightly against your skin, brushing over the faintest marks, the places where you might still ache, where his fear still lingers. A breath catches in his throat when his fingers drift between your legs—hesitant, careful—before he exhales shakily and presses his lips to your shoulder, your collarbone, his mouth moving over you like a promise, like an apology, like a prayer.
I’ll clean you up, he murmurs, almost to himself, like it’s not just about the mess, but something else, like it’s about taking care of you, keeping you safe, giving you even this. His hands linger a little longer before he finally pulls back, hesitating like he doesn’t want to leave your warmth even for a second.
And when he returns, warm cloth in hand, he kneels beside you, his touch impossibly gentle, eyes flicking up to yours, searching, still needing to know you’re with him, that you’re not slipping away until he's finished, and he still doesn’t pull away, doesn’t shift back. Instead, he stays there, his hands still resting softly on your skin, his forehead pressing gently to your belly as his breath steadies, and for a long moment, he just breathes you in, as though grounding himself in you, like he needs the connection as much as you need his presence.
For a long moment, he simply stays there, his presence enveloping you, as if he needs this, needs you, to remind him of something real, something whole. I’ll take care of you, he murmurs, his words heavy with sincerity, almost like a promise. I won’t let anything hurt you again. His lips press a soft kiss to your stomach, lingering there, before he finally pulls away just enough to look at you, and in that quiet, still moment, everything feels right.
Dog Bakugou & Kirishima X Reader
I don't really think I'm allowed to call this a headcannon anymore because of how long it had gotten. It resembles an actual story more but because most of the lines aren't exactly true sentences and everything is described in light to medium detail I'm just going to call it a very VERY long headcannon. I apologize for how long this got but the ideas just kept flowing into my head. I wasn't able to edit this as this took me hours to write already I just didn't want to do it, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes I may have made. But with that said I really do hope you enjoy my story-thing.
----------------------
• Bakugou and Kirishima were turned into dogs because of someone's quirk
• On accident though
• It happened when they ran into a lady who was being chased by a dog
• And since her quirk forces whomever she touches to turn into whatever animal she was thinking of the time caused them to turn into dog
• Bakugou is a Pomeranian and Kirishima is a Dutch Shepard
• You being the animal lover you are you volunteered to take care of them
• The quirk user said they'd be stuck like that for probably at least a week as her quirk can stay in affect for a very long time and she was terrified
• The poor lady had a phobia for dogs
• You had gotten permission from the principle to keep them in your dorm to keep them from getting in trouble
• The first couple days were awkward as boundaries were established
• Kirishima settled in fairly quickly but Bakugou obviously didn't want to be there
• DOG HAIR EVERYWHERE
• You didn't exactly know what exactly to feed them since you were sure they didn't exactly want to be fed dog food
• You ended up googling what dogs could eat
• You ended up feeding them meat and whatever vegetable was healthy for a dog
• You had to walk them every morning, before you enter to school and before you went to bed
• After you came back from school you would take them out into the Commons area or sat outside, letting them do as they pleased while you studied
• You had to keep all your notes and make your notes very detailed so when they did turn back they could look at them and understand
• You gave them a lot of affection
• As you still are a big animal person you couldn't help yourself
• Lots of doggy kisses and hugs
• Kirishima didn't mind much and would definitely be up for doggy cuddles and hugs
• He would place his head on your lap, which most times you don't mind but when he lays down on your text book it gets kinda obnoxious
• Bakugou starts biting when you try to give him doggy kisses
• Secretly he likes the attention, especially the hugs
• He'll get jealous when you give a lot of attention to Kirishima but he'd never admit it
• He'd just attack Kirishima to get him away from you
• Lemme tell you, just because he's smol doesn't mean he's not ferocious
• Their quirks are still activated but they're a lot lower of a level
• So expect to get blasted at first from an angry Pomeranian when you try to give love and to get a couple scratches as Kirishima gets use to the new body
• Of course they sleep in the bed with you
• They were still humans at one point and you didn't want to male them sleep on the hard, cold floor
• Kirishima would sleep very close to you, sometimes with his head laying on your chest
• He's a big cuddlerer and of course
• Bakugou would sleep as far away from you and Kiri as he could get
• But in the mornings you'd find him snuggled up to your side and if your laying on your back you'd find him on sleeping on your chest
• You'd smile and softly pet the two until its time to wake up
• Most of the time Bakugou wakes up from the petting, growling and nipping at you, but not moving away from your hand
• There was a time while walking them and a wild German shepard started charging at you from across the street
• How quickly they were able to take it down surprised you
• Before you could react Bakugou launched over the dog and blasted it's back, making it fall on its stomach in what you could only assume was shock
• Before it could get up Kirishima pinned it down in his unbreakable form
• Lemme say it was pretty scary look for a dog and I think the German shepard agreed
• It didn't try to fight, not like it could move Kirishima anyways
• Bakugou stood closely beside you growling and explosions coming from his front paws, damaging the ground
• Who would've thought a small pomeranian could be intimidating
• Both somehow able to shread or completely burn their leash
• You stood in shock for a couple moments before you called animal patrol
• When animal patrol came they were confused on what was happening, animals with quirks? What has thus world come to?
• They started panicking and pulled put their tranquilizer guns, yelling at you to step away from the dogs
• Your face filled with fear and you also started panicking
• You yelled at the people saying that they weren't the problem, and it was a long story
• ... Let's just say you were very late for class as you had to explain the whole story to them to get them to back down
• The fact that the two didn't back down from them either, especially Bakugou, just made things worse
• Aizawa understood though
• Well you thought he did, he could've just not have cared of the reason why, just that you were finally here
• Cause we all know he secretly cares for all of his students, even if he'd never admit it
• Todoroki and Momo were nice enough to lend you their notes for the class you missed
• Not that you asked for Momo's notes but you were grateful none the less
• When you got back to your dorm the boys were sitting by the door and when you opened the door they were immediately at your legs
• Kirishima was sniffing you as if checking to see if you were okay
• Bakugou was just sitting in front of you staring at you intensely
• When you tilted your head and gave him a huh he seemed to lose interest
• He, somehow, scoffed and walked away
• You walked in and looked for their leashes so you could take them for a walk only to remember that they destroyed them earlier that morning
• Groaning, you decided that you had to trust them not to run off
• Though you didn't feel like you could watch both of them at once as they tend to do whatever they want, especially Bakugou
• So you decided that you ask your close friend Todoroki to help watch them
• Granted you knew that Bakugou probably wouldn't enjoy it but you figured if he was to busy thinking of ways to destroy Todoroki he'd be to detracted and stay out of trouble
• So off you went
• Todoroki agreed to help you since he knows how prone you are to bad luck and will most likely end up losing on of the dogs and end up having a panic attack, even when you knew that the two know how to get back to the dorm and you'd stay close to campus for the walk
• Though you ended up enjoying the walk yourself, you had a nice conversation with Todoroki even if he didn't say much, you were use to it, you don't think that Bakugou enjoyed it that much, but Kirishima didn't seem to mind much
• You went back to the dorms and you noticed that Bakugou looked like he was bruting
• And holy crap was it cute
• You picked him up and hugged him, calling him a cutie and saying how adorable he was
• He might have, okay to totally, bit you because of that but it wasn't extremely hard and wasn't unexpected so it didn't affect you that much
• But you did out him down
• After giving him a doggy kiss of course
• You played around with Kirishima for a while
• Also giving him doggy kisses, just a lot more cause he seemed to enjoy them
• You decide it was time to eat and fed then
• You studied for a little while before taking them out for their night walk, this time bringing along Ashido since she wanted to go
• Afterwards you snuggles with the dogs, mostly Kirishima but at least Bakugou was now sleeping closer to you having warmed up to you and the situation
• It has been around 3 weeks since they turned into dogs and you still couldn't tell if they were going to turn back soon or not
• You got that answer when you woke up to a heavy weight on your chest
• You had looked to see what it was and saw a half naked human Bakugou, well mostly human as he still has ears and a tail, laying on your chest in only a pair of boxers
• He'd probably moved there as in his tiny dog form not expecting to transform back into his human-ish form
• You had to push him off so you could breath which woke him up
• And he was not happy
• His yelling woke up Kirishima, who had also turned into a half naked human with dog ears and tail, who was sleeping at your side
• Neither if them realized they turned back until they made eye contact and realized the other had turned
• Kirishima panicked at first while Bakugou kinda celebrated by yelling 'hell yeah'
• They both went back to their rooms to get cleaned and change while you went to go find Mr. Aizawa to tell him they had turned back, kinda
• They both came down to the Commons area a while later
• Both of them looked awkward which was probably because of the tail with the pants
• When the rest of the class saw them they literally started letting them, which they did do when they were dogs but it looked kinda weird now
• Kirishima didn't seem to mind much but Bakugou was PISSED
• Oh he couldn't wait til training so he could kick the crap out of them for this
• Went it came to to start leaving for school you left the dorms, both of them following behind you
• At first they didn't think anything of it but then they realized they were following you like dogs after they saw you looking at them with a raised eyebrow
• Kirishima got flustered and apologized while Bakugou just 'tch'ed and walked ahead of you, though he still stayed relatively close
• You thought you saw a vague glance of blush in his cheeks when he passed by
• They did still follow you around all day though
• You got so many weird looks
• I mean they would have gotten weird looks because of the ears and tail but because they were following you around it made it look like you had two dogs by your side and you were their master
• While that technically was the case before, it doesn't matter right now
• They even followed you to your room after school
• You gave them the weirdest look when they were still behind you went you tried to enter your room
• They scattered to their own room pretty quickly
• A couple hours latter though you hear a knock on your door that interrupts you from cleaning the dog hair that was LITERALLY EVERYWHERE and went to go answer it
• Kirishima was at the door asking you to help him with the notes from class you took for them
• You agreed and helped him study
• You were studying for about an hour before your door swung open and Bakugou walked in, no knocking or anything, just waltzes right in
• He freezes for a second when he sees you and Kirishima at the desk together
• He growls quietly before walking over to your bed and laying down
• You ask what he need and he just grunts, not even looking in your direction and pulls out his phone and starts doing whatever in it
• You sit there confused for a second before deciding to ignore him for the time being
• You continue to help Kirishima with his work
• You made really good progress with Kirishima before you decided to head to bed
• Only to notice Bakugou was still on your bed, his eyes lazily drooping, focusing in and out if whatever he was looking at
• You stand over your bedside staring at him until he finally acknowledges you
• You ask him why he's still here and tells him that he should go to his room if he's so tired
• You gives no response, only stating at you before suddenly grabbing you and pulling you onto your bed
• You give a light screech at this
• You end up on your back with Bakugou laying his head on your chest
• You ask what he was doing and he only tells you to shut up and that this was your fault
• You were going to ask what he was talking about when you noticed Kirishima staring at you from your desk
• He was giving you puppy eyes, whether they were intentional or not you didn't know
• You sigh and realize that he want to join and sleep with you like he's been doing for the last couple weeks (stop it you impure children, I didn't mean it like that)
• You swing your free arm out towards him, telling him is was okay to join on the bed
• His eyes might up and his ears perk up and his tail wags
• Which was cute AF
• You stop him right before he reaches you
• He gives you sad and confused eyes, he ears and tail dropping
• Your heartbreaks at this and you tell him that it's okay and that you just want him to turn off the lights
• He starts beaming again and quickly turns off the lights and joins you on the bed
• He snuggles to your side just like he did when he was a dog
• Sleeping like this became a regular occurrence for a little while
• But it slowly stopped becoming a thing, especially when the tail and ears finally disappeared and the clingy dog nature left their body
• You still hung out a lot though
• Your room had become a normal hangout spot for you three and they would still sometimes follow your around
• The latter mostly being Kirishima as Bakugou was would be in front of you two
• Expect your privacy and free time to be almost gone cause either of them, or both, will just show up outside your door at random time, of barge in depending on which of the two we're talking about
• You three almost always study together nowadays and they started to train with you whenever you decided to
• They gave great tips tbh
• The protectiveness over you as their caretaker when they were dogs changed into protectiveness over you as a friend
• (Or maybe something more, idk I haven't thought if I want a part two yet)
• So whenever your in any sort of trouble they'd either be close by or show up very quickly after a call or text
Bonus:
• YOU STILL FIND DOG HAIR IN RANDOM PLACES AROUND YOUR ROOM
• It's like the hair will forever haunt that room
• But you don't regret it
• Cause having to deal with dog hair was worth it to have had the two bestest dogs in the world with you
• And you'd do it again
-
moonchild-143 liked this · 9 months ago -
strawbxrrymilkbread liked this · 9 months ago -
nchhuhi liked this · 9 months ago -
amyz78 liked this · 9 months ago -
lmorg149 reblogged this · 9 months ago -
elisaaa2005 liked this · 9 months ago -
defenseofourdreams6277 liked this · 9 months ago -
gurneetsadhra23 liked this · 9 months ago -
lovelysmith liked this · 9 months ago -
chrisbangswifey liked this · 9 months ago -
moth-l1 liked this · 9 months ago -
sunny-sunny liked this · 9 months ago -
changbins-hot-wife reblogged this · 9 months ago
