#*insert Miles choking on his morning coffee*

[crossroadart-seabear]

His underwear’s getting to small. Too much cake.

This TikTok

My links (take a talisman with you)

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 19

Not a Sound

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 3885

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: You reveal your secret.

Author's Note: Thank you soo much for all of the support and encouragement, especially with the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one! 😭💜🙏🏼 (BIG DRAMA & EMOTIONS WARNING)

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Flashbacks from Reader's Past | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | (These symbols will bracket sections to denote the POV shift)

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Vaginal Fingering, PIV Sex, Hair-Pulling, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

“Can I have a drink?”

Four powerful pirates blinked at you. 

It was strange to be on this side of the coffee table. Buggy sat in your spot on the couch between the other leaders of the Guild, while Shanks had pulled up a chair beside Crocodile.

Your green, velvet chair felt like an examination table. Like you were under a microscope, about to get chopped into tiny pieces to be studied. 

Buggy had clung to you all morning, barely going a moment without touching you during breakfast. You were grateful he hadn’t tried to feed you any fruit. That thought sent your eyes flicking toward the red haired pirate, more bile climbing up your throat. Buggy’s floating hand rested on yours while they all stared, but you couldn’t get yourself to hold onto it. 

“What would you like to–”

“I’ll get it,” you jumped up, cutting Mihawk off, and leaving Buggy’s hand to float alone when you pushed it away to stand. The little bar felt like miles away, and you grabbed the first thing you could see. Crocodile’s stinky scotch in its pretty crystal bottle. You poured a heaping glass, vaguely hearing a reaction from the couch before you chugged the burning liquor.

“What the fuck, baby?”

“Y/N, stop!”

“Don’t— rabbit!”

The three of them surrounded you, snagging the bottle and empty glass from your hands too late while you coughed from that toxic, liquid fire. Crocodile got to you first, kneeling out from the sand at your feet to grab your flushed face, wiping away the stinging tears that you knew wouldn’t be the last. 

“Sweetheart, why–”

“Sweetheart,” you choked out, the sound a mix between a laugh and a sob. “Gods, I’m sorry, I– fuck.” 

The looks on their faces made you want to scream. You rubbed your eyes with the meat of your palms, trying to be less fucking pathetic. 

“Drink, love,” Mihawk soothed, holding a glass of water to your lips. 

“We’re right here, star,” Buggy whispered as he pressed a light kiss to your shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

“It’s okay,” Crocodile promised, leaning his forehead against yours. “You’re our Numbers Girl, no matter what. Alright?”

Your body slumped, nodding as you let them guide you back under that microscope. Shanks was staring at you, but nothing meant anything anymore, so you didn’t bother to study his face. 

They let you sit there. Time was empty. It could have been minutes or years before you finally mustered up the energy to ruin everything.

“I’m fucking stupid,” you announced with a sharp laugh, feeling insane. 

Maybe I am. Maybe he did put me away. 

“Don’t talk like tha–”

“What do you mean, sweet girl?”

“You.” 

Growling at your scarred lover, confessions, and a suicidal accusation flowed through your body, spilling out through your eyes and lips. 

“You were going to kill us if I wasn’t useful. I could have been free, but I… I called those people for you.”

Crocodile’s face was as cold and unmoving as stone, a cliff you could leap off of. 

If only you could have stopped. No one said a word, but the energy was already rolling through you, destroying everything, your throat still raw from that fucking scotch. 

“I was an idiot. I was fucking kidding myself thinking I could wait, thinking I could have a few more days.” Your manic laughter turned to pain, a sob hitting your last words. 

Glancing up at the couch, you saw your three men clenching their jaws. Crocodile’s arm was wrapped around Buggy, that large hand digging into Mihawk’s shoulder, while Mihawk had grabbed Buggy’s floating hand, gripping it in his own lap before it could fly to you. 

“There’s no way I could hide it. Someone at the party will say it…”

“Say what,” Buggy rasped after a long moment. 

Your eyes poured over your men one more time before it was over. 

“My name.”

Everyone paused, and you remembered Shanks was there. His face was a mask, unreadable, and you were grateful for another reason to ignore it. 

“Are you saying that your name is a lie,” Crocodile asked in a dangerous purr. 

“No. None of you ever asked what my last name was,” you pointed out, then laughed as you looked between them. “I guess pirates don’t really care about last names.”

The laughter died in your throat, tears streaming now in your moment of defeat. 

“What’s your name,” Mihawk asked, his voice more gentle than you’d ever heard. 

It’s over. 

“Y/N Sylvad.”

…

…

…

“Like the wood company?”

You clamped your hands over your mouth, the shock of laughter that burst through you at Buggy’s confused face, his cute question, almost had you believing it would be alright. 

But the other men in the room shifted. Crocodile pulled his arm away from the other two to rest his elbows on his knees, leaning toward you while he answered his clown.

“Not a company. A fucking empire. Sylvad’s Lumber and Shipping. Is that what you’re telling us right now?”

“Yes,” you breathed, already watching their eyes change. Already watching them forget who you were. 

“Keep going,” he ordered, his words cold, ice building up around you. 

“It’s not mine,” you begged them to believe you. “Dad died and…”

You couldn’t. You didn’t know where to start, or if it even mattered now. 

“Arbo Sylvad was your dad,” Shanks murmured, sitting up a little straighter while he studied you. 

“You’re Sylvad’s heiress.”

“No, I'm not,” you snapped at Mihawk, not caring when his golden eyes flared at you. “Uncle Cedrick got everything. Dad always said it would go to… I was fifteen when he…”

Crocodile’s silver eyes were like molten metal, and you choked on your grief as you watched him stand. He walked to that giant desk of his, and when he returned to drop your thick notebook in your lap, you flinched, bracing for pain. 

“Unreliable,” he growled, tapping the notebook with his hook as he brought his eyes down to yours, his frightening face so close. 

“Everything I said was true,” you pleaded, mind blanking out with fear while Mihawk came to touch Crocodile’s shoulder. He didn’t budge, and though your mouth went dry, you forced yourself to explain. “Those people are unreliable! They'd talk to people that could cause problems for the Guild. People with connections to the Marines.”

“Like your Uncle?”

“What do you mean, boss,” Buggy tried to redirect, his hand on the hook that was digging into the back of the chair, his body leaning against the larger man’s shoulder. “They just sell trees and stuff, right?”

“Every single Marine ship on the fucking water right now was built with Sylvad wood,” Crocodile fumed, Mihawk’s hand stroking along his arm as you shrank beneath those silver eyes. “Hells, almost every ship that sails out of Water 7 is built with that lumber.”

“I don’t get it,” Shanks complained from his chair, though you couldn’t see him past the angry man in front of you. “If you’re the heiress of Sylvad’s, why were you working? You were an accountant or something, right?”

“Investment banker,” Buggy bragged, and you almost smiled that he remembered. “My girl’s a fancy financial advisor.”

“Let’s give our girl some breathing room, Crocodile. We don’t know everything yet.”

You only heard Mihawk’s whispered words because Crocodile was a hair's breadth away. He brought his thumb to rub along one of your cheeks, and the back of his hook to smooth along the other. 

“Tell daddy everything, alright, sweetheart?”

Your eyes fluttered shut until he pressed into your cheeks, slow tears falling from your eyes when you nodded for him. 

“Yes, daddy.”

The warm kiss he pressed to your temple made you want to disappear. Nothing. Nothing ever again. 

You were barely there as the words fell from your lips. Eyes unfocused, hanging loosely around the little table by Mihawk’s seat. You smiled to yourself when you realized it looked strange without a glass of wine on it. 

“Dad died on a business trip. Freak storm. Left everything to Uncle Cedrick. Kat and I got our trust funds for school. Mom got nothing.”

“I think we’ll need more than that, little rabbit,” Mihawk cautioned as he glanced over at Crocodile's stern face. 

“Can I have a drink fir–”

“No,” said the three men on the couch. 

Holding your head in your hands for a bit, you tried to figure out how to say the least amount of painful words to get them to leave you alone. 

“Uncle took us in. He was such a caring person, taking in his brother’s poor daughters, his lonely wife,” you spat, venom dripping from your lips. “I didn’t want to belong to him. My trust fund paid for the best education out there, but all my friends stopped… When they knew I had nothing to give them, they treated me like shit. I kept doing what I'm good at, and I got the fuck out. Went to go live that stupid, boring life.” 

Growling with the frustration of spilling this pathetic, entitled trash, you stood to pace behind your chair, waving your notebook around as if you could make it burst into flames with your will alone. 

“I am fucking amazing at my job, but most of these people just looove the thought of the poor little heiress helping them get richer. Most of them can’t wait to put me in their little collection. Add me to their fucking shelf. Just gotta ask Uncle how much his little niece– FUCK!”

The notebook went flying, skidding across the floor while you shoved the heavy chair over, yelling, raging, kicking that stupid green chair until your shoes fell off, your toes fucking hurt, until your clown stopped you.

“Baby, please,” he soothed, his upper body floating to keep your struggling form from reaching anything on the ground to hit. “It’s okay, star, I’m right here. Fuck those assholes, right? Who needs ‘em!”

Part of you felt guilty for not laughing at his sweet attempt, but the rest of you needed to fight or flee. 

Flee from these powerful men that were already using you to make money. 

“Put me down!”

Buggy’s whispered, “star,” hurt like hell. You held yourself still when he set you down gently, back in your spot as you faced the couch again, although your chair was kicked off to the side. 

“Wanna know how high to set the ransom,” you challenged, your clenched fists shaking at your sides. You couldn’t think clearly enough to read their darkened eyes, even Buggy’s as he took his place between them. “Just so you know, Uncle doesn’t like me that much. He’d probably be happier if you killed me. Or you could buy me, that’d make him extra hap–”

Sand. 

Sand flooded the space around you. It lifted you off the ground, and your breath caught as the coffee table got thrown to the side. You met those silver eyes just before you were in his arms, your legs stretched across the laps of the other men on the couch. 

“What…” you wondered, mind in a daze.

“You thought I’d sell my sweet girl,” Crocodile hummed, kissing the top off your head.

“You told me you would,” you reminded, your body and mind feeling distant, separate from whatever this strange world had become. “How much am I worth? Just keep being valuable, useful? You were already gonna sell me or kill me before you knew what a goldmine I was.”

The icy anger that laced your words made every hand on you go still. Crocodile froze as he started to rock you, and your body couldn’t choose between guilt at hurting them, or anger and fear at what they would do. 

“I think I’m drunk,” you whispered, wanting them to let you go, and wishing that they never would.

“No shit,” Buggy laughed, “I’m surprised you’re alive after that.”

His hands started massaging your legs on his lap, rubbing up and down nervously while you closed your eyes.

“Can I go lie down?”

“I’ll take you, star.”

Crocodile and Mihawk’s hands dragged along your skin as Buggy lifted you into the air, but neither stopped him from taking you. Neither stopped him from floating you away.

Neither called you pretty names as you left the room. 

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

“I’ve got you,” Buggy promised. 

Getting her onto that giant bed felt like a race. Something was right behind him. Something would stop him.

Something would take her away again. 

Finally there, he wrapped his arms around her, leaning against the headboard while her scotch scented breath warmed his chest. 

“Your breath stinks, baby.”

Maybe it was a laugh, but that choked sound made his chest tight, like a huge hand was crushing his ribcage. 

I can’t do anything. Fucking useless. Can’t help her.

“Buggy…”

“Shh, I’m right here, star,” he promised. The sound of his name on those quivering lips sent fire, rage, and guilt straight through him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He could never leave her. He could never leave her with them after this. Even if they…

Buggy kissed her temple, trying to be soothing while he waited for them to crash through the door.

Waited for them to take her from him.

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

Not a sound.

Not a sound filled the air as the men in the lounge sat with the news that their little lover was the heiress of Sylvad’s.

Not a sound from the two men on the couch as her accusations weighed on them, as though she hadn’t left their laps with those angry, frightened tears in her eyes. 

“That sure is something,” Shanks whistled softly. He stood to pick up Y/N’s chair, sitting across from them. “What are you gonna do with—“

“Find somewhere else to be,” Crocodile fumed, his body vibrating with the need to hurt something.

Shanks nodded, giving a crooked smile, before leaving them alone. Mihawk stared after his old friend, images of comfort he couldn’t provide burning behind his eyes.

He’s going to take them both. 

Serves us right.

Crocodile’s angry huff pulled Mihawk out of those thoughts, watching the man stomp toward the bar. The coffee table his sand had moved laid in his path, until it splintered and scattered from the touch of his vicious foot in that lovely shoe. 

The swordsman floated after him, still in a daze while the larger man imitated their girl, chugging a glass of scotch. 

Mihawk stared, but didn’t speak, didn’t touch.

Crocodile set the glass down before he shattered another one. 

“She lied—“

“Can you blame her,” Mihawk laughed coldly while the other man paced. Silver eyes shot like daggers, but Mihawk couldn’t seem to care about anything at the moment. “She told the truth, just not all—“

“She didn’t trust me.”

He sat again, staring at the floor after those stupid words had left him.

“I don’t…” Mihawk started, pushing himself to move, pushing himself to try. He sat down, and touched a hand to Crocodile’s shoulder, leaving it there after his scarred lover flinched. “We haven’t given her much reason to, have we?”

Not a sound after that. 

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“Y/N! You can’t just leave,” Kat reasoned, pulling the clothes out of your hands before you could stuff them into your suitcase. “What about mom? What about the company?”

“Mom made her choices,” you growled, pulling the clothes back from your sister’s shaky hands. “And I don’t care about the fucking company. It’s not mine.”

“Not if—“ 

“It’s not mine. I’m sick of this fucking life. I’m getting out.”

“... What about me?”

That stopped you. But only for a moment. 

“I’m sure he’d let you come if—“

“Are you fucking kidding me right now,” she shouted, pushing you toward your messy suitcases. “He’s a pirate! If he doesn’t hurt you before, what do you think he’ll do when he finds out who you are?”

“I don’t care,” you fumed as you stared your little sister down. “I'm bored of this stupid life.”

Kat’s mouth hung open, the hurt and pain in her eyes making you want to take it all back, to beg for forgiveness.

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t waste this chance to be free. 

“You really have a death wish, you know that? That clown is going to get you killed,” Kat breathed, her voice growing colder as she turned to leave. She didn’t look back when she said her goodbye, just waved her hand over her shoulder. “I’ll look out for the ransom note.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Sleep?

Sleep.

Burning sleep, and stormy seas.

Dad’s voice calling for you. 

You could never find him before the ship went under, before all that Sylvad wood splintered beneath the raging waves.

~~~🤡🔴🤡🔴~~~

“Buzz off, idiot,” Buggy ordered in a harsh whisper, Shanks’ smiling face peeking through the cracked door. Buggy had left his body on the bed to hold Y/N as she whimpered, nightmares ruining her scotch and stress induced nap. 

His head floated by the door, frowning at his old friend. 

“It’ll just be a second, Bugs, I swear.”

Shanks’ smile stretched even wider when Buggy agreed, floating his head out into the corridor.

“This better be good, asshat.”

Shanks felt it. This was it. He could have them both. 

He needed them both. 

“Let’s take her with us, Bugs.” 

Buggy’s look of shock was exaggerated by those red lips of his, and Shanks had to hold himself back from kissing them.

“But she… but it’s dangerous…”

Buggy wasn’t sure he’d actually heard those words, or if he’d fallen asleep, dreaming beside his star. Too many emotions rushed through him, but all he could think about was her. 

“Would you rather leave her here with them,” Shanks rasped, his eyes doing that heavy thing they do, although there wasn’t much of Buggy’s body to drag them down. “We can protect her. You and me, Bugs.”

The clown had to fight his body to stay still as he held her in the other room. The need to move, to fidget, to pace, made him dizzy. 

“What if she doesn’t wanna go,” Buggy wondered. Images of Y/N smiling, laughing, screaming, flew through his mind, each one making him doubt that he could ever make her as happy as she’d seemed once things had started to settle here. 

“I already asked her. I know she’ll say yes. She wants you to be happy, Bugs. Just like I do,” Shanks confessed, brushing a bit of blue hair out of Buggy’s face. He rubbed his thumb across those red, parted lips. 

So close to everything. 

“When did—“

“Buggy?”

Shanks watched his clown fly away from him, hopeful that it’d be the last time. 

Buggy flew away from his old friend, every confusing thought going blank besides the need to comfort that soft, scared voice. 

“Right here, got you, baby.”

~~~🤡🔴🤡🔴~~~

“Buggy,” you whimpered as new tears fell. 

“Shh, you’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

Painted lips covered your face, kissing your tears away until you shivered, his soothing hum blocking out everything else. 

His touch kept it all at bay. 

Every split second of memory was grief, so you curled against him, running your hand along his side. Your body writhed, whining for him as he stroked your hair and back, then pulled away.

“Hey, star, it’s o—“

“Please, touch me, Buggy,” you begged as you reached for him. “I need you so much, I need you…” 

Pathetic grief poured back in at the memory of what you’d witnessed last night, but you couldn’t fight your need for him. 

“Please, touch me.”

“Just tell me if it’s alright, okay, star," he breathed after pausing to study your face, tracing his fingers along your cheeks.

“Please,” you gasped, his lips on your neck were saving your life. Saving you from your mind. 

A touch against Mihawk’s tender bite mark brought the world back, but then Buggy was tearing you both out of your clothes, kissing down your arms, your chest, your stomach. Kissing every inch of your skin until you were crying with need instead of pain. 

Begging, begging for more. 

“Don’t worry, I’m here. I’ll take care of you, star.”

“Bug—“

Breathy, desperate moans left your throat as his fingers plunged deep inside you, and he swallowed the rest of your sounds in a wild kiss. His tongue was eating, tasting, and you almost laughed into his mouth at the memory of scotch, until his free hand found your clit. 

The fingers inside you were perfect, knowing exactly what you needed. Finding that spot, giving you steady touches that built in pressure and speed until you were clenching around his fingers, body shaking with pleasure and gratitude. 

“So beautiful,” Buggy praised, his voice full of a quiet awe as he smiled down at you. “You okay, baby?”

“Fuck me, Buggy,” you pleaded as your weak arms failed to pull him closer. “I need you inside me. Need to feel you.”

His eyes were wide, concerned, but he smiled when he kissed you. 

Smiled when he gave you everything you needed. 

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

How?

How can she be real?

How can she want me this much?

Want me after everything…

Buggy pushed those thoughts aside as he smoothed his ungloved hands down her body. 

Hands that he felt safe letting her touch. Just like his bare face that he could let her see. 

He let out his own soft, needy noise as he watched her writhe and squirm, begging for him to touch her.

“Fuck,” he hissed, just the touch of her perfect, dripping pussy against his sensitive tip was too much. Too much as he lined himself up.

“Look at me, Buggy,” Y/N cried out, her watery eyes swallowing him whole, just as he sank his cock deeper and deeper. He couldn’t hold in his moans at the pure fucking bliss that she held inside her, that she let him feel. 

“Look at me, please.”

Buggy kept his eyes on hers, her request setting off alarm bells in his mind that he had to shut down, throw out. 

She wants to look at me like this. She wants to see my face. There’s only one per—

“Buggy! I’m close, please,” she panicked, reaching up into his hair, pulling gently as her breathing went ragged. “Need to feel you, want you so bad.”

“I want you too, star, I’m right— oh gods, baby. Fuck, you feel soo good…”

Y/N screamed his name.

His name. 

Over and over while he shoved his cock as far as he could go, claiming that sweet, warm pleasure she let him take. 

Y/N pulled him in, her body made to take his come, made to milk him, to drain him, to let him fuck it back into her while she babbled, while her eyes crossed, while that cute little tongue hung out of her perfect lips.

All for him. 

Still sunk deep inside her, Buggy soothed and calmed her frantic noises, kissing her temple.

“I love you so much. My shining star.”

What a feeling to say those words. What a feeling to mean them. To have someone to say them to. 

“I love you, Buggy. I love you so much.”

What a feeling.

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

a/n: I've been so nervous to add anything new to this world. I hope you don't mind some back story. And some Buggy time 😭😭😭

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy | @laws-wife-things | @jadeddangel | @gingernut1314 | @urlocaltwink | @blue-rae18 | @bontensbabygirl | @bbnbhm | @0-sparkling-lace-0 | @ihearthazuki | @mikisspeak

Part 20

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[andypantsx3]

if i could keep cool | 5

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 20,322 words / 6 chapters

summary: A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question—is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.

tags: romance, reader-insert, accidental sugar daddy shouto, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

You spent the rest of the weekend freaking out about how handsy you had been with Shouto.

Not only had you stuffed him into the hat and the sunglasses, not only had you curled tightly into his politely offered warmth, but then you’d literally held his hand the entire way to your apartment. You’d been too drunk to be self-conscious about what you’d been doing at the time, but once sober, you were embarrassed to realize you’d been clinging to him like some kind of beer-and-yakitori-filled limpet.

You kept replaying the whole walk home in your head, reviewing the absent way you’d played with his fingers, how you’d mused on how warm and large his hands were. Then he’d very obviously tried to offload you as quickly as he could at your door, insisting that you go inside when you continued to hang around him, and he’d literally pushed you inside at the end of it.

God, you could just die.

Shouto, for his part, seemed pretty unbothered by the whole thing. He texted you a couple times over the weekend, as if things were completely normal, but you still dreaded the moment that Tuesday rolled around.

How were you supposed to look him in the face after making such an obvious fool of yourself? How was he being so chill about things? Maybe he was just used to everyone in a thousand mile radius making an immediate mess of themselves for him. But still, it was embarrassing that you were one of them.

Tuesday evening did roll around, however, and soon enough you found yourself tentatively cracking open the door to his apartment. You sent up a silent prayer for him to not be home, but your hopes were immediately dashed when you caught sight of his lean form stretched out on his couch, a book in hand. His head raised when he heard the door, and a small smile curled his mouth when he caught sight of you.

Your heart thumped very deliberately in your chest as if to call attention to the fact that you were even more of a lovestruck idiot than you’d been willing to admit.

You tried to ignore your entire body and the way it felt like every fiber was waking up and bending towards him like flowers in the sun, stepping carefully through the door and closing it behind you. As you did, an appealing but unusual scent met your nose, and you glanced around in confusion. What looked suspiciously like cookware and spices littered his heretofore completely untouched countertops, and you felt an eyebrow raise. Was he...cooking?

“Something’s wrong,” you blurted immediately.

Those heterochromatic eyes snapped to your face and he leaned forward in concern. “What?”

“You’re cooking,” you said. “You’ve never cooked one single time the entire time I’ve worked here. Your countertops told me so.”

He let out a soft laugh, relaxing back into his couch. “There’s a first time for everything.”

You eyed him suspiciously. Was he okay? Had he been attacked or something? Was there such a thing as a villain with a quirk that made people cook things?

“What’s the occasion?” you asked carefully, watching him for any sign of a quirk’s influence.

He gestured you over to his living room and you went to him slowly. “I thought we’d hang out again.” He still pronounced the phrase like it sat uneasily in his mouth.

You stared at him. He wanted to hang out? “Shouto...but...my shift.”

He directed you to a chair across the coffee table from him. “I have to leave on a mission for a week tomorrow morning. I...wanted to spend time with you before I left.”

A weird mixture of concern and warmth washed over you. Okay, that was super cute, but that didn’t explain the complete absurdity of him suddenly reneging on what you strongly suspected was an unbroken streak of over two decades not cooking a single thing. Was the mission he was going on super dangerous? Did he think he wouldn’t come back from it? Was he crossing experiences off his bucket list before he went?

Your concern must have read on your face because he leaned forward, one cool hand taking yours. You almost jumped out of your skin with surprise.

“It’s not any more dangerous than my everyday work,” he said in that deep tone.

You frowned. That honestly wasn’t saying much, all things considered. His job literally involved fighting super villains.

“I just...thought it would be nice,” he said, and you thought you read a note of self-consciousness in his tone. You frowned.

What the hell did he have to be self-conscious about? He wasn’t the one who’d made a complete and utter fool of himself Friday night. You were honestly surprised he’d let you into his apartment at all, after what had happened.

But maybe...this was his way of telling you it didn’t matter? He was clearly making an effort to be nice--maybe he wanted to try again? If he really did, if that’s what this was really all about, then you could do that. And this time, you would keep your hands to yourself.

“What are you making?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Shouto leaned in conspiratorially. “Vegetables.”

You let out a shocked laugh. “No way.”

A small smirk pulled at his mouth. “I don’t know how you usually make yours, but a friend had some suggestions.”

You looked at him curiously and he pulled out his phone, clicking into a chat and sliding it across the coffee table to you.

You glanced down at the messages, one eyebrow lifting when you saw a series of really good-looking recipes featuring roasted fall vegetables, then choked on a laugh when you caught sight of the other messages interspersed between the recipe links.

Do you seriously not fucking know how to cook a vegetable, icy hot?

[Honey Roasted Carrots with Yogur…] > http://bit.ly/9iJZ5jt

Fucking useless.

[Grilled Zucchini and Feta Toasts w...] > http://bit.ly/8oKZ5jf

Here, dipshit: [Charred Vegetable Medley with Burrata…] > http://bit.ly/5oDF4fi

If you food poison her, I don’t give a shit.

Don’t text me again.

“These look really good, but, um,” you chuckled, “your secret lover seems a little displeased.”

Shouto’s mouth curled. “He’s the jealous type.”

You laughed. “And when he’s clearly the superior chef, with recipes like that. I talk a big vegetable game, but I can’t give you what he can.”

Shouto huffed a laugh. “Anger issues and insults?”

You grinned back at him, then jumped when a timer went off in the kitchen.

“Stay here,” Shouto commanded. A cool hand pressed you down into a chair, and then he was gone.

Your eyes followed him as he made his way to the kitchen, tracing over the lines of his broad shoulders. He’d chosen another soft sweater today and he looked so fucking good, so absurdly domestic as he pulled vegetables out of the oven and looked them over. It was clear he had no idea what he was doing, and that somehow made everything ten times cuter, the sight of him way too much for your poor heart to take.

He was too easy to picture as a boyfriend trying to do something sweet for his girlfriend, and your teeth ached with the thought of it. You wondered if this was how he was going to treat his lover, when he eventually got one for real. That girl was going to be so damn lucky, she had no idea.

Shouto wandered back over with plates loaded with vegetables, two wine glasses, and a bottle of something dark and red.

You eyed the bottle carefully. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get handsy this time, and it was hard enough to keep your cool around him when you were sober. You didn’t know if you trusted yourself with a glass or two of wine in you.

“Uh, this looks really good,” you said, examining your plate for a distraction. It looked like Shouto had made every single one of the recipes Bakugou had sent him, and they honestly didn’t look too bad.

Shouto adopted a carefully blank look, like he was trying not to look too pleased. “We’ll see if that impression lasts. This is the first time any of my kitchenware has seen action.”

You laughed. “I trust you. Besides, I’m not hard to impress. In freshman year I once ate nothing but instant ramen for six weeks straight.”

He smirked and moved to pour the wine. You opened your mouth to stop him, lest you drink too much and get a little too hands on again, but you froze when you caught sight of the flowers at the center of his coffee table. The bouquet from Friday stared back at you.

Heat flared in your cheeks when you realized he’d kept it. The flowers definitely were not nice enough to fit in with the rest of his modern apartment, and the edges of the petals were looking a little more obviously wilted now, but he’d kept them. He’d found a vase and put them in water and set them out on his coffee table, and that was so embarrassing and so, so cute.

Shouto caught you looking. “I really did mean that I liked them,” he said evenly.

“I’ll get you something nicer,” you suddenly blurted, eyes still locked on the bouquet. “When you come back from your mission. If you come back safe.”

He looked at you curiously, eyes fixing on you unblinkingly. “You sound concerned.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yeah. I--” have the world’s fattest crush on you “--care about you.”

Shouto’s eyes darkened and he considered you for a long moment. “I care about you, too,” he admitted quietly.

You put a hand to your face to make sure it wasn’t actually on fire, and you leaned forward to help yourself to the wine so you didn’t have to look at him. Fuck it. You would just have to watch your hands extra carefully.

“So, uh, where’s the mission?” you asked hurriedly, suddenly desperate to move the conversation along. You needed to put a ton of words in between Shouto and what you’d just admitted, give him as little opportunity as possible to think in any more depth about what you’d said. It was cute that he’d returned the sentiment, but he did not mean it in the same way you did.

Shouto gave a vague answer, looking apologetic that he couldn’t share more, and your gut twisted at the idea that he’d be somewhere far away for over a week while you had no idea where he was. He looked uncomfortable with the idea as well, and you immediately steered the conversation back to more positive waters, starting up a stream of compliments over the vegetables that had turned out actually pretty good, especially for his first time cooking anything.

You had to stifle a laugh at how hard Shouto tried not to look smug.

As they always did, the hours slipped away easily with hardly any sign of their passing, and before you realized, it was well past when your shift was supposed to have ended. You and Shouto had talked yourselves almost all the way to midnight.

“I’ll help clean up before I go,” you announced, standing up and bringing plates into Shouto’s kitchen. He followed you closely, warm at your back.

“Let me,” he said quietly and you looked up at him, smiling.

“I literally came here to clean and then didn’t do shit,” you informed him. “Besides, you can’t clean up. You have to supervise to ensure the safety of your countertops, remember?”

He smirked. “How could I forget?”

You grinned and turned back to the sink, powering through all the dishes and stowing the leftovers away in tupperware. Shouto watched you hawkishly as you wiped down the counters, and you laughed.

“You can’t protect them from me while you’re gone,” you intoned, turning to him. “You might as well say your farewells now.”

His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to you. You took a step back in surprise, your hip bumping the counter.

“I seem to recall bribery works quite well,” he said, his voice dipping lower. Your skin prickled at the sound. “What would you have me offer this time?”

You stared up at him, fighting down a shiver. He must not have realized how close he’d stepped, but he was near enough that you could feel the heat of him and smell that cologne again, that clean scent that made your head spin. After a couple of glasses of wine, you were helpless to fight the way your eyes were drawn to his mouth. Every nerve ending in your body snapped to attention.

You leaned forward, feeling dazed. Then you froze when you realized what you were doing. Jesus Christ, you needed to be arrested.

“Uh, consider the vegetables payment enough,” you said quickly, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

Shouto watched you for a long moment with a strange little smile playing about his mouth, then stepped back, letting you go. You breathed a quiet sigh of relief while simultaneously mourning the loss of his proximity.

He turned and grabbed up the extra food to press into your hands, then called an agency car for you as he always did, and walked you down to the lobby of his building.

“Please stay safe,” you said to him as you lingered in the doorway, hating the way your voice sounded a little desperate.

He smiled, and before you knew what was happening, his arms went around you, pulling you into his chest. He was so warm and broad and hard with lean muscle, and he smelled so, so good. You couldn’t suppress your full body shiver.

“I’ll stay safe,” he said into your hair. “If you keep my countertops safe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh into his sweater. “It’s a deal.”

He kept you pressed to him for a few moments more, and you tried to be subtle about the lungfuls of air you were taking, the way you were memorizing the feel of him to replay over and over in your brain for the literal rest of your life. Eventually, one of the security officers coughed, and you jumped back, shame-faced.

“I’ll see you in a week,” Shouto promised.

You smiled. “See you in a week.”

Then you turned and walked to the car. You could feel a pair of eyes hot on your back, following you until the car pulled away and turned out into the night.

The rest of the week passed fairly uneventfully. You ate, slept, wrote a paper, and clocked in to your usual Thursday shift at Shouto’s apartment, trying not to feel too disappointed at how empty it felt without him there. He hadn’t told you much, but you had gathered that his assignment had taken him outside of the country, and this meant that you hadn’t received any texts from him in days.

You tried to keep yourself distracted all through the weekend, getting a leg up on all the finals work that was starting to pile up, putting in a ton of hours at the fancy coffee shop with your laptop and several americanos that were (to your fond exasperation) still completely paid for.

It was only when Monday rolled around that something went completely and utterly wrong, and not in any way that you would have ever expected.

When you walked into lecture that morning, you immediately felt like you were being watched. A quick check in your periphery confirmed that a couple groups of students were casting subtle glances in your direction, and excited whispers began to pick up around you. You quickly ran a hand over your face to see if you’d accidentally gotten toothpaste on yourself, and glanced down at your clothes to make sure no coffee had spilled.

Nothing came to your attention, so you settled into your seat, wondering.

Lecture passed slowly, and as the minutes ticked by, you felt more and more pairs of eyes fix themselves on you. When class ended, you watched in bemusement as everyone turned to watch you leave, and you launched yourself out of the room as fast as you could, heartbeat picking up.

What the hell was wrong with people?

Almost as soon as you’d managed to duck out of the building, your phone rang with an unknown number. You stared at it blankly, considering hanging up, but a feeling of foreboding pressed down on you with a sudden urgency. What if something had happened to Shouto?

“Y/N,” a woman on the other end of the line said briskly, as soon as you picked up. “This is Shouto’s manager.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, but before you could gasp out a question, she was talking to you urgently. “I need you to head home as quickly as possible, and don’t talk to anyone on your way.”

“What?” you asked wildly. “Is everything okay? Is Shouto hurt?”

“Shouto’s fine,” she said, then paused. “You haven’t seen the news, then.”

“No?” you frowned. A pair of passing girls stopped short when they caught sight of you, and your sense of confusion magnified twofold.

“You’ve been outed as Shouto’s secret lover,” his manager sighed.

Your heart stopped. What?

“Excuse me?” you asked.

“Someone got a couple shots of you on your date the other week, and a few more in the lobby of his building,” she explained. “That, and you match the description of the woman the villain took from his apartment when he’d claimed to take Shouto’s lover hostage. News outlets will be tracking you down any minute.”

You glanced up, only to find the entire walkway of students frozen, watching you. Your eyes widened and you quickly turned on your heel, picking up into a brisk jog towards your apartment.

“It wasn’t a date though!” you hissed into the phone, anxiety washing over you. “It’s not--they can’t think that Shouto would--with me--!”

Shouto’s manager made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Whether you are or aren’t, it certainly looks like you are,” she paused for a long time, then added somewhat hesitantly, “And as soon as you get home, I need you to delete your twitter account.”

Your limbs iced over. Oh fucking hell--she’d found your twitter account? You launched yourself into a faster run, tearing down the city blocks towards your apartment.

“Oh my god, how did you--? When did--? I am so dead if anyone finds that,” you puffed as you ran, “Has anyone else found it yet or just you?”

“Not yet. It will take the media a few hours to track down all of your information but, having reviewed the contents myself, I think it’s safe to say you’ll want it removed.”

You cringed. You didn’t know how she’d found it, but you hated to think of Shouto finding out exactly what was on there. You hoped she kept things to herself.

“I’ll delete it,” you promised as you rounded the corner into your neighborhood, ignoring the stitch that was making itself known in your side. You needed to hit the gym more. “But what do I do about the secret lover thing? They can’t think that Shouto would actually date me.”

“You do nothing,” she commanded, a pit formed in your gut. “We’ll ignore it, and eventually they will lose interest.”

Your stomach churned. It had already been months since the kidnapping and they clearly hadn’t lost interest yet. You hated to think of Shouto trapped in an even more vicious cycle of gossip all because you couldn’t keep your damn hands to yourself. God, what the hell had you gotten him into?

“That’s not fair to him,” you said, slowing to a walk when you saw a crowd of people lingering around your apartment. You picked up several cameras, and your insides twisted nervously when you realized what was going on. They’d already found your apartment.

“Shouto’s a big boy, he can handle himself,” his manager explained, but you heard her only dimly, as if through water. A plan was suddenly forming in the back of your mind as you considered the crowds milling outside of your apartment. “We’ll come up with a plan later, and--”

“No,” you said, biting your lip nervously. “I think I--I think I know what I can do. I’ll just tell everyone the truth and then they’ll leave him alone.”

"Absolutely not," Shouto's manager said, sounding weirdly like your mom just before she was about to ground you. "You have no experience with the media, they will eat you alive."

You considered this. "But what harm is there in just telling the truth? It's not like you have to have experience for that."

"No," she said, like that would settle things. But you just watched the swarm of people, the feeling getting stronger. You'd gotten kidnapped, you'd suggested the izakaya, you'd held his hand. Shouto was in this situation because of you, whether you were to blame or not. You had to fix things.

“Y/N,” his manager called from the other end of the line, but you weren’t listening. You quickly ended the call, then logged into twitter, clicking into settings and immediately hitting delete on your account. You would not survive if the entire world found out just how thirsty you were for the man you were about to set the record straight on. You ran a quick hand through your hair, making sure that you didn’t look completely embarrassing, and straightened out your clothes.

Then, squaring your shoulders, you walked up to your building.

Immediately, you were swarmed with cameras, all manner of microphones ramming you in the chin and elbows.

“Y/N,” a woman shouted, her eyes bright with excitement, “How does it feel to be Shouto Todoroki’s secret lover? Why did you hide your relationship for so long?”

You’d anticipated the question, but you still couldn’t help the way you stared at her. “Um, I’m not sure if I’m qualified to answer that. We’re not, um--it’s not like that.”

Wow it was hard to talk in front of a camera. Your face heated.

She seemed to ignore you. “Why have the two of you been spotted together on multiple occasions, holding hands and hugging? You seem fairly close to me.”

You cringed. “T-that’s my fault. I drank a little too much and Shouto was helping me home. The hug was just between friends.”

“Todoroki took you home when you were drunk? Did anything happen?”

You gawped. “No, of course not! What are you--? Are you kidding me?”

“A man takes a woman home late at night, and you insist nothing happened?”

Your temper flared. You didn’t like the things she was insinuating about Shouto, and it was already embarrassing enough that nothing had actually happened. He all but thrown you inside to get away from you.

“No,” you said acidly, “It’s not like that for him. Shouto doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“And yet he was holding your hand?” the woman prompted.

Was this a fucking jury trial? Why the hell did she have so many questions? The words bubbled up out of your throat before you could stop them.

“No, I told you it’s not like that! Shouto has zero feelings for me and he was just being nice. If you want a story, you’re going to have to look elsewhere because there is no way on earth Shouto Todoroki would so much as glance in my direction, and he shouldn’t be put on trial for things that a drunk friend did. If Shouto has a secret lover, then that’s news to me too.”

The woman paused, then a grin spread across her face. “You say Todoroki has no feelings for you, but I notice you’ve not made the same claim. Could this instead be a case of unrequited love? Tell me, do you have feelings for a certain pro hero?”

It was a testament to how overwhelmed you were feeling, how much your brain was spinning, how unequipped you had come to lie, how completely and utterly stupid it was for you to have done this in the first place that the words that came out of your mouth next were not “no,” were not “are you kidding,” were not anything that gave you the safety of plausible deniability.

Instead, you opened your mouth, and in a move that would make you cringe until the literal day you died, you said: “Uh--wouldn’t you?”

[muwur]

long distance headcanons

✧ hc’s ✧ for daichi, suga, hinata & tsukki

❧ gn reader

✎ 1.5k words

a/n: hello yall this is my first post! nobody asked, but i just started this haikyuu reader insert blog, feel free to check my page n see wazzap. also requests are open pls come fhorfjepfiwf;

daichi

✧ after high school, he stayed in miyagi while you went to tokyo, about 5 hours away, for college

✧ texting or calling whenever u can!

✧ you be like “heyyy”

✧ then he clap back with a “go focus on your lecture”

✧ “im not in lectureee”

✧ “you gave me your schedule so i know you’re in the middle of class”

✧ “...”

✧ makes sure you’re awake on time for your classes and calls you if he thinks you’re oversleeping (and hes usually right, this man just KNOWS)

✧ “morning y/n, i think you need to get to class soon”

✧ “mmrghhhghhh” *checks time* “holy sHI-- i forgot to set my alarm. IMMA BE LATE. THANKS DAICHI I LOVE YOU ILL TALK TO YOU LATER BYE”

✧ definitely skips out on some nights out with his friends to video chat you. you catch up, talk about future plans, reminisce, complain about not being able to hug one another, etc. occasionally one of you falls asleep on call, particularly after a long day or week. if he sleeps, you make sure you screenshot his sleeping face and start a picture collection  

✧ you hit him up when you get drunk lMAO

✧ “daiichiii, i miss youuu, i needdd youuuu AND i needa peeee---” “hey daichi, this is y/n’s friend. y/n’s pretty out of it now but they’ll be okay! we’re heading back to our place right now” “im gonna pEE IN THIS CAR”

✧ daichi coordinates with your friends to make sure you arrive home safely, use the bathroom, and get tucked into bed. he thanks the universe you have good friends. if it weren’t for them he’d probs have a heart attacc. sends you cute, reassuring voice messages for you to wake up to the next morning with hangover tips he learned from suga

✧ always checks in with you throughout the day, every day. able to pick up on the slightest hints if you’re feeling unwell and calls you immediately to try to make you feel better

✧ makes plans to visit you! you get really excited to introduce him to your college friends (who, after meeting him, tell you not only is he a hottie but is such a kind guy, fosho a keeper. they also ask if he has any cute friends)

✧ either holding your hand or has an arm around you most of the time.

✧ you spend all day together outside and wandering the city, then spend the night back at your place (sorry roommate, but we’re gonna have to kick you out for a lil bit--)    

sugawara

✧ you finally secured a job! unfortunately, the company required you to work for a year at their main facility, which was a 4 hour drive away from miyagi

✧ if suga wasn’t needed in miyagi for his teaching job, he would’ve tried to come with you

✧ after unloading your things in your new apartment and before parting ways, suga was like

✧ “everything’s unloaded everything from the car?”

✧ “yes maam”

✧ “do you have enough snacks?”

✧ “we just went to the grocery hun”

✧ “did you bring enough underwear?”

✧ “gDI yEs I dID”

✧ “:c promise to call me often”

✧ “<3333 of course”</p>

✧ good morning texts before y’all leave for work! you send each other cute pictures when you’re getting ready for the day (suga with bedhead, brushing his teeth? suga with his tie half done?? sign me up)

✧ always texts you when something reminds him of you, usually sends a picture along with it

✧ “the store was having a special on oranges today! this one reminds me of you”

✧ “why”

✧ “it just looks so cute~”

✧ will immediately call you if you send him any sort of message that worries him

-“hello? y/n what’s wrong, why is there blood?? speak to me, you haven’t replied in 5 minutes”

✧ “ohhh my bad, i’m just cleaning up don’t worry! i didn’t explain, but the picture i sent you isn’t blood, it’s ketchup i spilled on myself lolol”

✧ poor man nearly fainted from worry

✧ would pay you a surprise visit, making sure to plan it carefully so he knew you weren’t busy with work or plans. brings you gifts of your favorite snacks and a scarf that matches one of his own for the upcoming winter

✧ plans out that weekend for y’all, mans did his research beforehand. together, you toured the city and the surrounding nature, took lots of selfies (and many candids of you), and taste tested lots of foods before returning to your apartment and collapsing into your bed with exhaustion

✧ but y’all not too tired for cuddling n a lil something else >.>

hinata

✧ sure, being a couple hours away was hard for some... but y’all in different countries right now

✧ calls you immediately when there’s any inconvenience that occurs in his life, no matter how minor, thinking you’ll know how to fix it (or at least give him the reassurance he needs)

✧ “hey y/n...”

✧ “what’s wrong? you sound worried”

✧ “i broke my bike, what do i do”

✧ “you what? are you alright?? how? where are you? it’s midnight there, honey”

✧ “i was biking back to my apartment after staying late to practice! i didn’t wanna hit this turtle, so i swerved into a pole and now my bike’s wrecked :**”

✧ “ahh, are you okay?? you’re not hurt are you :(”

✧ “no, im okay... but im tired and i have two miles to go ;(((”

✧ “;( im sorry babe but you gotta walk home. we’ll get you a new bike. ill stay on the phone with you until you get back. tell me about your day <3″</p>

✧ talks about you all the time to his friends! introduces you through video chat to them! “look how pretty and cute y/n is!”

✧ together you work out your time differences and busy schedules so you can chat whenever possible

✧ he lets you know whenever he bought something for you, but never shows it to you because he’s excited to see your reaction in person when you reunite

✧ always asks you to send him pictures of yourself, he wants to see what you look like everyday he’s missing you in real life

✧ you surprise visit HIM. he’s so happy he could cry. shows you around every place he loves, shows you off to everyone he knows, holds your hand the entire time and never wants to let go, is practically glued to you not that you mind  

✧ you spend your last night together lying in the grass, hand in hand, looking at the stars and sharing sweet kisses  

tsukishima

✧ y’all went to separate universities. while he stayed relatively close to miyagi, you went across the country to okinawa, which was about a 3 hour flight away

✧ he sees all the couples around campus n becomes lowkey bitter, texts you immediately about gross pda like hand holding that he secretly wishes he could do with you “these people in relationships are too happy, i didn’t ask to see them gawk at each other all day” “u just miss me lmao”

✧ once overheard a convo on a shuttle at school that went like :

✧ person 1: “ugh, he’s so cute”

✧ person 2: “why dont you go out with him??”

✧ person 1: “i dunno, his dorm’s down the street, i can’t really do long distance”

✧ nANI (by the way, this is a irl conversation my friend overheard, oml)

✧ tsukki nearly choked on his morning coffee

✧ bothers texts you in class bc he’s bored and in need of your attention

✧ “hey tsukki this prof’s lectures are rlly dense, i needa focus, ill text u after”

✧ “but arent i more interesting than rocks”

✧ “trust me, id even rather watch some dino documentaries with you than be here”

✧ *read*

✧ likes to chat with you most nights as he lies in bed before going to sleep, staring up at the dark ceiling and listening to your voice through his headphones. usually just talking about how your days went (as if you weren’t texting all day) or just casual talk and banter

✧ you remind him to make sure he’s taking care of himself and eating well

✧ “who are you? my mother?”

✧ “no but you’re about to be single”

✧ surprise visits you, tells you it was yamaguchi’s idea when it was really his own and yamaguchi was just teasing him about it  

✧ you show him around the city, sharing what you know about its rich history and culture. you visit most areas you both wanted to see before calling it a day

✧ your roommate conveniently spends that night over at their friend’s they just wanna give you alone time, which y’all very much needed. you make it a note to repay your roommate somehow.

✧ sweet lovin that he’s been missing, then some spooning as you sleep    

a/n: just wanna tackle these about 4 characters at a time but if u wanna see this headcanon w/ other characters feel free to hmu w/ an ask <3<b> also sorry if i text type a lot and that im inconsistent with my apostrophes, let me know if that’s something you want me to fix! 

[just--another--daydreamer]

Admiration

Thor x male reader

Fandom: Thor (movies) Genre: Fluff Requested (by @wsvie-13 ): Hello!!! I really adore your writing and I saw that your requests were open 💖 if it’s no trouble, could you please do a male reader insert with Thor where the reader works as a programmer and hacker for Tony Stark and helps out at the Avengers compound sometimes. So like MR is just this huuuuge fan of Thor’s and just completely freaks out when he sees him for the first time- oof please and thank you 💛💖 Warning: Anxiety, Awkwardness Words: 1.4k Author's Note: I’ve got the feeling that this is really weird

Requests are closed!

You can find a link to my Masterlist in my bio

The only reason you had gotten that job as a hacker at the Avengers headquarters was, that you had hacked yourself into Tony Stark’s computer and put your name onto the list with potential candidates for the job. Just a day later, some men in suits and sunglasses knocked on your door and you thought it was the FBI trying to arrest you, but instead they told you, that they worked for Tony Stark, and that the genius had been so impressed with what you did, that you got the job.

Three years of being employee of the year later, you still walked to the Avengers compound with a huge smile on your face. Work was fun, you had befriended Tony Stark, there was always something new to happen, but the best thing was working for the Avengers from time to time. You weren’t really an agent for SHIELD, but because SHIELD didn’t have any good programmers and hackers around, you stepped in sometimes.

Sitting on your chair in a safe house, opening doors from your desk to help the Avengers through a building occupied by the enemy and downloading secret files from miles away made you feel important and needed. You knew, that for this job, the Avengers had to trust you, and you trusted them to save your ass when you needed them to.

The only Avenger you had never met before was the god of thunder, Thor. It was sad, because he had been your favourite Avenger ever since you found out that the god was actually real and out there.

Seeing footage of him fighting battles, smiling his bright smile at the camera and literally anything else about him caused you to start crushing on him hard. He was perfect boyfriend material. But he was so untouchable. While you brought pizza to your workplace, Thor grabbed his hammer and killed some alien-zombies. While you fell asleep after watching Netflix for too long, Thor travelled from planet to planet in mere seconds.

It was frustrating, but you tried to treat Thor like any other of your celebrity crushes: It’ll go away.

But it didn’t.

So when Tony came into your office one morning, saying, “Thor will be visiting from Asgard tomorrow” to you, you couldn’t be happier.

You couldn’t wait to come to work the next day.

Taking the train home, you couldn’t help smiling at every single stranger. You couldn’t help being extra friendly to the owner of the small coffee shop where you always got a hot drink on your way home. But most importantly you couldn’t help thinking about Thor the whole time.

You made up about a million scenarios about how your meeting could go. Did Thor really look that handsome in real life? Probably. Would he talk to you? Probably not, though. And that was what made you a little sad. You would be so close to a literal god (who was also the person you had had a crush on for the longest time), but he wouldn’t even notice you. Tony would never introduce you to Thor saying, “he has been employee of the year every year since he has started working here”, and Thor would never get onto one knee, proposing to you right there and then. No wonder you were single when that was your number one fantasy.

Anxiety chased you through the rest of the day, making you a little numb with racing thoughts about the god of thunder and not being able to meet him, even when he was so near.

Coming to work the next day wasn’t too fun either. You fell into your chair and started your computer, dark circles under your eyes from drowning your feelings for the most handsome Avenger in ice cream and Netflix.

Your computer started and you were greeted by the default desktop every employee in the tower had. You opened your emails and started working.

Concentrating on what you had to do was hard. Your thoughts kept going back to Thor’s visit, so you forced yourself to concentrate.

By the time your break had started, you had only finished a forth of what you were supposed to do that day. Walking down the hallway that led to the huge cafeteria, you closed your eyes, telling yourself you had to focus as soon as you got back to work. Too fixated on clearing your mind, you didn’t look where you were going, and accidentally bumped into someone, but before you could fall back and to the ground (because damn, that person was as strong and tall as a wall), two large hands grabbed your shoulders to keep you on your feet.

Slowly looking up at the person, you first noticed the neat button-up shirt covering the man’s upper body and couldn’t help but stare at that one button that looked like it was having trouble to keep the shirt closed over the incredibly broad chest.

“I- I am so sorry,” you managed to say while your eyes trailed over the man’s arms and up to his face. It took you a few seconds to recognize the person in front of you, probably because he wasn’t dressed in his usual attire. Gulping, you took a few steps back as you stared at him in awe.

“You should look where you are going, we don’t want that you actually fall the next time.” You were sure that you were staring at him weirdly, but the man didn’t seem to mind – he probably got stares like that the whole time.

“Thor?” You choked out, suddenly losing the ability to speak. “Yes.” His lips curled into a smile as he looked you up and down.

“Holy shit.” You shook your head. “It’s an honour to meet you. I’m a big fan, really admire you.” You tried something like bowing in front of him, but the awkward look on Thor’s face made you stop.

“I’m a big fan,” you said instead. “I can tell.” He smiled brightly. His eyes wandered to your nametag. “Y/N,” he muttered to himself, before looking at you again. “Tony wanted to introduce us to each other.” He shrugged and chuckled. “But I guess you were too fast at meeting me.”

You looked at the god with big eyes. “He wanted to introduce us?” “Yeah. He said that you are an important part of the team.”

Your thoughts started racing again. Not because of anxiety, but because Thor was standing in front of you. And he knew you. Because Tony had told him about you. That was officially the best day of your life.

“Wow,” you laughed.

“Where were you heading? I’m not good with the directions in the tower,” Thor changed the subject quickly.

“I was about to get some food,” you retorted.

“What about we go get food and talk a bit over lunch?” It took you a moment to process what Thor just said, and you were at loss of words again, so you simply nodded. Thor gave you his biggest smile that let his eyes shine so brightly your heart melted. He started walking into what he suspected to be the right direction and you followed him.

After you got your food, you sat down with Thor on the other side of the table. A few agents and people from different parts of the tower stared at you, but you did your best at ignoring them.

“If I understood Tony right, you work with computers. He mentioned that you are one of his best,” Thor said casually, but you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“Yeah.” You scratched the back of your head as you looked down at your meal. “I’m pretty good.” That earned you a grin from Thor.

“It’s a shame that we’ve never gotten to work with each other yet.” You only choked on your food and nodded frantically. “I’d love to see your workplace later,” Thor continued, ignoring your coughing. “Maybe you can teach me about some stuff, like emails, so I can send you those when I’m back in Asgard.” You struggled for air and when you could finally breath again, you smiled. “Yeah, I can totally do that.” “Or you could teach me how to use a cell phone, so we can talk some time,” he suggested and winked at you, almost sending you back to coughing with his flirtatiousness. “Of course, Thor.” That satisfied the god. “You know what I noticed?” You questioned. “I think that the admiration is mutual.”

Tag lists (open):

General tag list: @idjitsam

General male reader tag list: @spnfanboy777   @skidaddle-skid @lemoncholychronicles @hxmmebot @mcuvenom @rxvenclxw-hunter @gracereplies-notinuse @maximum-fander @pilgrim-to-rome @panicatthewhoz @steelescliff  @inhumanshadows

[sincerely-us-imagines]

i seriously cant think of a title someone pls help me out (jared kleinman x reader)

so like,,, months ago i got a request for Jared having a crush on the reader and finding out she self harms. I kind of? went a little in a different direction with this so i hope its still okay!! also it’s like a quarter til 3 in the morning and i have to be up at like 6 so i’m not proofing this rn. let me know if i made any mistakes!

warnings: the whole thing kind of centers around self harm so?? there’s that, angst, arguing (is that worth tagging?), and some no-no words

“Jeez, he used to be really hot.” you commented with raised eyebrows. “What year was this?” You reached for the DVD case and Jared scoffed.

“Ew oh my god, (y/n). You can’t be serious.”

“‘99.” you murmured to yourself. “Hm.”

“He’s not even, like-” Jared gestured dumbly at the TV screen.

“Aww, are you jealous, Jare Bear?” you cooed, pinching your friend’s cheeks.

He swatted your hands away.

“I’m not jealous,” he insisted, face pink, “Brendan Fraser just isn’t- and never was- attractive.”

“Whatever. I don’t care how straight you claim to be; there is no denying he was fine back then.” You stretched out on the couch, laying your legs across Jared’s lap.

He rolled his eyes at you and turned his attention back to the movie, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against your shins.

It was something he always did when you were together; tapping or rubbing or drumming or otherwise fidgeting with you. Sometimes he’d grab your fingers and play with them, or your hair, or even drawstrings on your hoodies or sweatpants. His hands were always moving. You didn’t mind, though. It helped him stay focused. Plus, if his hands were moving, the rest of him wasn’t.

About halfway through the movie his hands stilled. It was near midnight and you figured he had probably fallen asleep. You’d started to poke him with your foot before he began snoring through the good parts. When you looked at him, though, he was wide awake. His jaw was set and brows furrowed, with his eyes fixed on your upper thigh where your shorts had ridden up.

Fuck.

You tried to pull your leg away but he caught you by the ankle, holding you in place.

“What are those?” the usual bouncing, jovial quality was gone from his voice.

“Please don’t-”

“What the hell are those, (y/n)?”

“What the hell does it look like, Jared?!” You shouted, yanking your leg away and adjusting your shorts back over the marks. You pulled your knees up to your chest and looked off to the side, eyes stinging.

“(Y/n)...” Jared’s voice was softer this time. You didn’t look at him. He sighed and turned to kneel in front of you on the sofa.

“C’mon,” he grabbed both your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles, “look at me. Please.”

Hesitantly, you turned to face him.

The second you saw his expression you broke down.

Why was he looking at you like that? Why did he look so personally hurt by this? Was he… crying?

“I’m sorry.” you mumbled into your knees.

“No, no.” Jared took his glasses off and wiped his eyes. “I just… I had no idea you…”

He gestured vaguely at your leg.

“You weren’t supposed to.” you sniffled.

“Why not?” He countered.

“What do you mean ‘why not’? Because it isn’t your problem.”

“Sure it is. You’re my problem, so this is too.” he scooted beside you and draped one arm over your shoulder. A small smile stretched across your lips as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

“So, um,” Jared cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. Do you?”

“I, uh… If it makes you uncomfortable we don’t have to, I just, I have a question about it?”

“Shoot.” you tried to keep your voice even.

“How long have you been, um, doing it?”

That wasn’t quite what you were expecting.

“I don’t know. A few years? Since before we met.”

“So I didn’t… miss anything?”

You shook your head.

“Same as I’ve always been.”

He was silent for a few moments before speaking again.

“Why?” his voice was small.

“Why?” you laughed, running a hand through your hair. “What, do you want a list or something? ‘Cause that could take a while.” Jared didn’t say anything to that. You deflated a little.

“I dunno,” you tried again. “It just helps, I guess. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just kinda like, everything gets so overwhelming at it seems like too much, and then when I… do that,” for some reason you felt uncomfortable saying what ‘that’ was. “It’s like a floodgate being opened. Everything pent up inside comes rushing out and it’s just this huge relief. It’s… nice.” You were embarrassed to admit that it wasn’t something you hated doing. “It’s like I can literally watch my problems go down the drain.”

“We’ll find something else.” Jared said confidently. “Something that’ll work even better. Something... safe.”

“Jared,” you sighed, “That’s really sweet but I-I don’t think I want to stop.”

“I don’t care.”

It was a simple statement.

“What?”

“I don’t care if you want to stop or not. I’m not going to let you keep doing this to yourself.”

That made you angry. You knew it shouldn’t. You knew you should be touched that he was so set on trying to help, but you just… weren’t.

“No offence, Jared, but you can’t control what I do. It’s my fucking body and if I want to-”

“I’ll tell your mom.” He pulled away to look at you.

“I swear to god if you do I’ll never forgive you.” you threatened.

“I’d rather you hate me and be safe than love me and be a danger to yourself.”

Another thing that you should’ve thought was sweet, but in reality just grated on your nerves.

“Jesus Christ, Jared, it’s none of your business what I do.” you shoved him back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It is my business. Anything that’s hurting you is my business.”

“Fuck off.” you roll your eyes.

“What’s your fucking damage? Why are you so pissed off that I care about you?”

“Because you’re being really god damn obnoxious about this, inserting yourself into something that doesn’t concern you.”

“It does concern me, (y/n), because I don’t want you hurt. I want to protect you.”

“Oh, how fucking noble of you.” you laugh humorlessly, standing up.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.” you snatch your bag and keys off the table by the door.

“(Y/n), I--”

“Tell my mom if you want to, Jared. Go ahead! Fuck up my life even more than it already is!”

“Wait, seriously, just--”

You stormed outside towards your car, slamming the door behind you. Jared followed you, halfway through his yard when you tore off through the empty streets of his neighborhood, leaving him standing in the wet grass calling after you,

______

You passed the turn down your street, going about ten miles over the speed limit and grinding your teeth. If Jared did decide to call and tattle to your mom, you didn’t want to be home when it happened.

You took one hand off the steering wheel to dig through your bag in the passenger's seat and grab your phone. You fumbled trying to unlock it for a few seconds, eyes darting from screen to road and back again, until you pulled up your contact list. You found the number you were looking for and hit “call”, taking a few deep breaths.

“Hello?”

“Hey, can I-- I’m sorry for calling so late I just…”

“Is everything okay? I thought you were hanging out with Jared tonight?”

“I was, but then… c-can I just stay over at your place tonight? I don’t want to go home.”

“Sure, yeah. I’ll unlock the door, just let yourself in.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry again I--”

“Hey. It’s okay. Quit apologizing.”

“Okay. S-... I’ll be there soon.”

“Right. See you in a bit.”

You powered off your phone after that. You didn’t want to deal with Jared or your mom, if he really did follow through with his threat.

_________

You pulled up at Murphy house and physically restrained yourself from slamming the car door. You didn’t want his neighbor’s dog to start barking and wake everyone up.

“Hey.” you said quietly, slipping into Connor’s bedroom. “Thanks for letting me come over.”

“‘S fine.” he was sitting in the floor, drinking black coffee from a “World’s Best Mom” mug. He pointed on his desk to a mug covered in pictures of kittens. “Three sugars and half cream.”

You smiled, picking up the mug and sitting down beside him.

The two of you sat in silence for several minutes, sipping your coffee, until Connor finally broke the silence.

“So what happened?”

You sighed, setting your drink down on the floor beside you.

“Jared found out.”

“Found out what?”

“That I… y’know.” you gestured to your thigh.

“Oh. Shit.”

“Yeah.” you nodded.

“What did he say?”

You gave him a recap of the conversation, grabbing your (now cold) coffee to swallow down the lump in your throat as you did so.

“I mean, I know he’s my friend, but that was like, a total overreaction. I don’t get why he was being so… dramatic.” you shook your head, taking a sip from the mug.

“Uh, because he’s totally in love with you?” Connor said, as if it was obvious.

You sputtered, nearly choking on your mouthful of coffee.

“What?!” you coughed, whipping your head around to look at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know.” he looked almost… amused.

“No, I don’t know. Because it isn’t true. He isn’t… he doesn’t…” you shook your head. “What even makes you think that?” you tried to ignore the burning sensation in your cheeks.

“Literally everyone knows. It’s so obvious. Like, painfully so.”

“I…” you didn’t know what to say. “Are you high right now?”

Connor narrowed his eyes at your accusation.

“No.”

“So you’re just delusional, then?”

“Seriously? I don’t know if you’re blind or just stupid.”

“Can we not do this right now?” you groaned,  dropping your head into your hands. “I’m kind of freaking out about whether or not he told my mom.”

Connor nodded and dropped the subject, offering a distraction instead.

_________

It was a little past 2 a.m. and you were curled up in the crook of Connor’s arm, four episodes into an X-Files binge when the coffee wore off.

You were off to his left, snoring softly, when he closed the laptop and grabbed his phone off the charger on his bedside table. He was going to turn off his alarm, figuring you’d want to sleep late after the night you’d had.

“Shit,” he whispered to himself, looking at the screen. There were twenty-seven missed calls and thirty-five progressively panicked texts from Jared, asking if he’d heard from you.

Connor slipped out from under the blankets and tip-toed out to the hallway to call him back.

“Hello?” Jared picked up on the first ring.

“She’s with me,” Connor told him, peeking back through the doorway at your sleeping figure. “fell asleep a little while ago.”

“Oh thank god.” Jared let out a shaky breath. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Just freaked out.”

“I didn’t mean to upset her. I wasn’t thinking and I didn’t know what else to say and I fucked up and I’m just...”

“Worried because you’re completely love with her?”

The other end of the line was completely silent for a solid minute.

“Is it really that obvious?” he sounded almost defeated.

“To everyone but her, apparently.”

“Wait, what’s that supposed mean?”

“That she didn’t believe me when I told her.”

“You did what?!” Jared shrieked, causing Connor to pull the phone away from his ear, wincing. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you do that?”

“Because I was fixing your fuck up, so maybe you should thank me for it instead of shattering my eardrum.” Connor growled. “Maybe if you’d told her earlier I wouldn’t have had to.”

Jared was quiet for a moment.

“What did she say?”

“Like I said, she didn’t believe me. Which means you still have the chance to tell her yourself. Which you should probably do like, soon, because she’s currently asleep in my bed wearing my clothes and, until about five minutes ago, drooling on my chest.”

“What the fuck, Connor?” he could practically hear how red Jared’s face was.

“I’m just saying.” Connor smirked. “For real though, you need to talk to her.”

“I… I will.” Jared said, sounding apprehensive. “And thanks, by the way. For taking care of her, I mean. And for the advice. It… it means a lot.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t do it for you. She’s my friend and I care about her, so just… don’t flatter yourself.”

Jared usually would’ve had some kind of cocky comeback, but not tonight.

“Right, right. But still, um, thanks. I’ll call her tomorrow, I guess?”

“Good, yeah.”

An awkward silence filled the line.

“Well I guess, uh, I guess I’m gonna go to bed then.”

“Great. Me too. Just gonna go snuggle up with (y/n) and hold her in my big, strong arms.”

“You’ve got arms like Gumby, Murphy.” Jared quipped.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too, Kleinman.”

Jared let out a breathy laugh.

“Goodnight, Connor.”

And with that, the call ended and Connor snuck back into his room and slid under the covers beside you. You stirred in your sleep, mumbling something about bees. Connor made sure his phone was off and leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes and dozing off to sleep.

[television-overload]

Back to You Chapter 2

New chapter for “Back to You” is up already. Enjoy!

(Read on ffn here [hopefully that link works])

Chapter 2:

His eyes opened briefly. The pounding and ringing in his ears was impossible to ignore, and he tried to shake his head to clear away some of the interference. The slight movement caused a shooting pain to course through his body, and Tony noticed blood pooling around himself.

The last thing he saw before losing consciousness again were the roaring flames all around him, and a tiny little shoe, only inches away from his face.

-.-.-

“McGee! Try to track his cell again,” Gibbs commanded gruffly. It had been a long day, and the team was trying to deal with a new case in addition to one of their members suddenly being M.I.A.

“Tony’s or the suspect’s?” he asked, to which Gibbs quickly shouted the former, causing McGee to cringe. He hadn’t been head-slapped yet but if Tony didn’t show up soon, he felt like he might have one coming soon. McGee tapped his keyboard for a moment before sending the feed to the plasma. “Nothing, boss. His phone is still turned off.”

“Should we go check his apartment?” Bishop interrupted.

Gibbs downed his last bit of coffee, throwing the empty cup in the trash with more force than necessary. “No, we got a killer on the loose, Bishop. That takes priority.”

This was shaping up to be a late night, especially with the team being a man down. The hours passed and agents came and went, following various leads, most of which came back fruitless.

At around 2330, Bishop was coming back from what she called “third dinner” when McGee saw something on his computer that caused him to drop what he had been doing.

“Boss, you might want to see this,” he said warily, pressing a few buttons on his keyboard until the video was up on the TV.

A house up in flames. A reporter standing in the early morning air. Israeli emergency vehicles swarming the area.

“Former Mossad Director’s House Hit with Bomb” the caption read, and soon Gibbs was on his feet, standing only a few feet from the TV screen and staring intently.

McGee cast a worried glance at Tony’s empty desk. “Just a coincidence, Boss?” he questioned, already knowing what the answer would be.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Gibbs shouted, smacking the nearest filing cabinet and causing the other agents to jump. “Ah, DiNozzo. What have you done, now?”

-.-.-

After checking Tony’s bank statements and confirming that he had flown to Tel Aviv earlier that morning, McGee and Bishop were sent home to quickly pack their bags for an impromptu trip overseas. Gibbs, for his part, hurried up the stairs to Director Vance’s office to request a backup team to take over their current case. Vance, of course, had not been happy to say the least, but agreed with Gibbs’ demands. He, too, had seen the news and knew that something was wrong.

Before long, the team was sitting on a jet, miles above the ocean, ready to clean up whatever mess they found when they arrived in Israel. Gibbs tried to seem irritated with Tony’s recklessness, but found himself more and more worried about what might have happened as they neared their destination. Maybe Tony knew something they didn’t.

-.-.-

A jumble of voices screamed in his head as he awoke once again, this time in a sterile, white-walled environment that could only be a hospital. His surroundings blurred as the staff rushed him down a hallway and through a set of double doors. None of the words they said made any sense, and he was reminded that he was in Israel, not America.

He only caught a few words and phrases, with his limited knowledge of the Hebrew language.

“…isha…” Woman.

“…tinoqet…” Baby.

“…p'tzatzah…” Bomb.

What?

Before he knew it, the pain was melting away as doctors hovered over him, inserting a needle into his arm. And then, again, darkness.

-.-.-

The soft, steady beeping of a machine drew him from his sleep. Numerous tubes and probes ran from his body to various pieces of hospital equipment. He squinted his eyes against the bright light, attempting to take in his surroundings, and felt a sharp pain in his head.

With shaking hands he managed to call for a nurse, hoping for some medication and, maybe even more so, hoping for an explanation.

The moments leading up to his injury were fuzzy. He remembered clearly the plane ride, and the drive to Be’er Sheva, but after that there were only bits and pieces.

Even those bits and pieces made no sense. Why was he remembering a pacifier lying on the ground? None of it made any sense.

At last a nurse swept into the room, followed by 3 stern-looking Israelis, not a hint of emotion on their faces. “How can I help you, Mr. DiNozzo?” the nurse asked with a thick accent.

“Hurts…” Tony managed to choke out, the sound muffled by the oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. The nurse nodded and got to work, giving him another dose of pain killers. “What…happened?...” he asked, wincing at the pain in his chest.

One of the Israelis stepped forward, and Tony immediately recognized her as Orli Elbaz, director of Mossad. “I think that is something we may be able to help with, Agent DiNozzo,” Orli spoke, nodding at the nurse to signal her to leave. “You were injured in an explosion at the David farmhouse,” she began matter-of-factly. “You almost lost your life.”

Tony breathed out a heavy breath, glancing at the bandages on his body and feeling the pain consistent with shrapnel injuries. “Zi…va…” he whispered in a strangled voice.

Orli pursed her lips and sat in silence for a moment. Tony could see the gears in her head turning. “Every effort is being made to find her, Tony,” she answered carefully, using his first name in an oddly familiar way. “She was not in the house when the blast occurred, that much we know.”

A sigh of relief spilled from Tony’s lips, and with it another jolt of pain.

The nurse entered the room again, followed by more workers and a cart full of equipment. “I am sorry, Director, but Mr. DiNozzo needs rest. We will remove the rest of the shrapnel momentarily. A full recovery can be expected.” She then turned to Tony, who was feeling more exhausted than he ever had in his life. “You are very lucky to be alive, sir.”

With that, Orli and her officers turned and left, leaving Tony, who felt himself slipping into yet another much-needed sleep.

[thoughtsthatstray]

The Night Before Thanksgiving Part 7

2019

I woke up this morning with a lyric in my head. I couldn’t place it to start with. One of those things that pisses you off because it is on the tip of your tongue but it won’t come to you.  I fixed some coffee, turned the computer on and called on my old friend, Goo-gle, she’s still French and typed it in trying to knock that nugget loose from the back of my mind. 

Not placing a lyric from one of my favorite songs. I need to be slapped. 

The last few years, I’ve read through the previous entries, this year I simply copied and pasted, then put the images back in, so that everything is complete. I don’t want to read it. If there isn’t a storm hovering, that could easily cause one. It might storm anyway. I’m not even sure why I’m even typing this. Maybe a ritual. Forcing myself to spit something out. Nothing of any worth that is for sure. 

Yeah those days are gone forever. That is for sure. At least, well hopefully, I’ll get to search for a Ron Green article (it appears this will be his final one, which simply sucks). Just another thing that will be gone forever.

Previous installments below

2013

thoughtsthatstray: Written 11/27/13

The night before Thanksgiving used to be one of my favorite nights of the year. Back in my hometown, it was a night when friends would gather at one of the few watering holes where said friends could share some adult beverages.

We’d usually start off at one place with dinner and beers. Note there was an s on the end of the word beer, but then we’d cross the street to a new place that had karaoke, more BEER, and more old friends. Well, truth be told a few old enemies would pop in here and there.

We’d share some memories, stretch some truths, tell some lies, and it was fun seeing old friends. Of course it was fun seeing old flames too. We’d have a ball, signing each other up for the previously mentioned karaoke and trying to find the most fucked up song or funniest song for them to sing. Oh how I wish it were modern day where every cell phone had a video, because watching an ole ball coach singing “Funky Cold Medina” or “Brickhouse” as his long hair swayed and his hairy little nubby feet attempted a bit of a drunken dance. Oh I’d pay good money to have footage of that, but of course if that were modern day, seeing a coach/teacher slightly intoxicated on youtube or some other form of social media would be grounds for his dismissal which is bullshit, since he was simply an adult having some fun with other adults. Like I said I would pay good money (if I had good money) to see that footage once again.

You’d see faces pop in of people you hadn’t seen since high school, or hadn’t seen in quite some time You’d see a bombshell walk through the door and you are like well I could always see some cuteness in that awkward teen from years ago. Of course at the end of the night you’d have the same two or three guys trying to sneak out on a bar bill. At times you’d have a group of them trying to bribe someone into trying to get on top of the bull in the corral. Yes, an actual bull in an actual corral out in front of the steakhouse. He wasn’t there long, but he was there.

An ex would walk up and whisper in your ear, “I’ve got something to show you”, and you simply respond what’s that? While she says come out here and you walk to the back side of the building and she takes your hand and slides it down her pants and you feel her freshly shaved pussy, which was definitely new. You make plans for Black Friday to spend the day fucking like you used to.

As I said, you hear some old stories, that 55 yard touchdown was up to about 63. You argue about beating a rival 43-34 when some former teammate is swearing on his Momma that it was 43-30. You simply say, look, I know what it was. That is my pin # and has been ever since. You flag down another teammate and he confirms that it was 43-34, and then he gives the other guy a hard time for forgetting it.

At this point you are 15-20 beers into the night and you know you could very well drink another dozen or so if the bar wasn’t closing. You crawl into a minivan which was basically a shuttle service. You drop the old ball coach off at his miniature mansion and tell him to cut his hair. He flips the group off with that stumpy middle finger and then he waves.

You come home, crawl into bed and think about the night. You think about the memories, you think about that freshly shaved pussy.

Oh I sure miss those days.

2014

thoughtsthatstray: Written 11/26/2014

It’s still one of the things I miss about my hometown. I don’t miss much, but I miss my friends, the old haunts, the stories that stretch the truth from time to time.  Someone bringing up a time at party and someone trying to deny it ever happened.   As I said in the original post it was a time for friends to see friends. That is/was one of the beauties about a small town. A part of it you didn’t really respect or understand completely when you were there.

I no longer have ties to my home town other than a few friends, with my parents being gone, and having moved away quite some time ago. A small part of me regrets leaving, but the majority of me is glad that I did.

Memories don’t die, but they sure can fade away.

2015

thoughtsthatstray: Written 11/25/2015

I wouldn’t call it writer’s block, I’d call it just not in the mood to reminisce. With that said, I’ll give it a shot, since this become some annual ritual. I do know I’ll be tracking down the Ron Green(former Charlotte Observer columnist) annual Thanksgiving article tomorrow.

Earlier tonight on the back deck while grilling some burgers I thought of some old friends, some old times. That  made me remember that I have really neglected my YD&B side blog, but that happens.

Thoughts drift back 18-20-22 years. Thoughts drift to better times, happier times. Maybe it was being more carefree, not fully understanding responsibilities. Then it reminded me of a quote from a book I read this year year. “This is Where I Leave You” by Jonathan Tropper, it was made into a movie which was decent, but the book was better as books often are.  I know I shared the quote, but here it is again.

“It’s just hard to see people from your past when your present is so cataclysmically fucked.”

The last time I saw most of my old friends was the summer of 2014 at the funeral of one their father’s. While I sit here typing this, half thankful that I’m not there at the moment, I know it would be like that July night. Wouldn’t miss a beat and it would be like old times. Telling stories, sharing memories, laughing till you are about to choke on a beer. So I’m torn. Part of me wishes I was there instead of typing this, but another part is glad that I’m not.  The dreadfully sad part of it is that is one a handful of times that I’ve actually enjoyed myself.  Past > Present, with the future yet to be in the equation. Really sucks.

It really sucks knowing that the next time I’ll likely see most of them will be at another funeral. But that is how the cookie crumbles at times.  

2016

thoughtsthatstray: Written 11/23/2016

This is the 4th time I’ve sat here on Thanksgiving Eve slapping these keys trying to make sense. 2013, 2014, and 2015 can be found below.

Tonight, I had the opportunity to go back to my home town and hang out with some old friends, but I had to pass. I didn’t trust my car to drive the 30-35 minutes to Statesville to ride the rest of the way with another friend. I don’t trust it to go much further than the short trips that I generally take. It has two issues on it’s to-fix-list. One was quoted out at about 1k(and hopefully will be addressed shortly) the other yet to be determined. I’ve already thrown about 400 at that particular problem and that didn’t fix it. It’s frustrating. But, to be brutally honest, I could have had a 2017 whatever with 17 miles sitting in the drive way and I can’t promise that I would have gone. Well, maybe I wouldn’t be in the same mindset if the 2017 whatever was sitting outside.

This is where I could easily insert that Jonathan Tropper quote. Maybe it should just be my mantra, but it fits. If I didn’t mention it last year, I would quote it again, but if you read this whole jumbled cluster of letters you’ll see it, or you can click here.

It would have been nice to see them. In this little snippet from last year, I also wrote about the last time I saw them. I could quote that again since that hasn’t changed either. But it would have been nice to sit around with a cold beer or four and catch up, and spend some time with them.

Maybe I’ll wake up one day soon and shake myself out of this funk. I’m picturing a 75lb puppy coming out of a river and drying himself off. Maybe that would work.

I guess when I finish this I’ll sit down and read back through the previous 3 entries and I wish I could say I feel like I’m in a better place, physically, mentally, emotionally, etc, but that would be spitting lies.  

I think at one point I made a post about being thankful for having an imagination but in the end, it might be negative thing. Hard to tell.

The night before Thanksgiving used to be a part of the Holiday festivities. Now it’s just a Wednesday.

2017

thoughtsthatstray: Written 11/22/2017

I’m sitting here typing this, mostly forcing myself to get something down, and It will be shorter than the others. I just have a haunted feeling engulfing my mind after reading through the previous 4 installments. Sitting back with last year’s installment knowing had I made that journey I would have had at least one more night with a good friend who took his life over the summer. That is hard to reconcile. I’m not thinking that the one night would have changed anything. There were a number of other friends at the get together, but selfishly it would have been a night where stories would have been shared. Memories rekindled and shared. …..A moment that is gone, that never was…. kinda reminds me of the Springsteen line:

Again,hard to reconcile and process.

Oh and those Jonathan Tropper quotes still ring true:

2018

thoughtsthatstray: Written  11/21/18

Sitting here beating on this keyboard. Trying to add something to this collection of whatever you call it. It’s hard for my mind not to drift to friends and family that have been lost and that are no longer with us.

I still have some regret about not taking that trip in 2016. Maybe it would have made a difference in the events that happened the following June 1st, but I doubt it. I’m sure we would have told some stories, some lies and stretched the truth like it was an old Stretch Armstrong toy. That is par for the course. The 138 yards rushing against a rival football team stretches to 171. The 51-8 ass beating of the 5th ranked team in the state will stay 51-8 since that is stamped deep in the brain.

I’ll wake up, fix some coffee and locate the annual article of retired Columnist of the Charlotte Observer Ron Green Sr. It’s a bit of a tradition. I’ll try to remember to come back and link it here. Not that anyone will read it.

I still pay to see some of that Karaoke action mentioned in a previous installment. It was better suited for “America’s Funniest Home Videos”, than “Star Search” at least all of that is stamped on the brain too.

The Springsteen line still hits home:

I guess it always will.  

I’ll definitely have to fall asleep to a mindless sitcom tonight. Might have to have some Kenny Powers action.

[evakfanficsrecs]

EVAK FANFICS RECS / PART 7

ONESHOTS:

riches and wonders by anathema (azirapha1e) Summary: In some universes, love blossoms in swimming pools. In others, there are kittens involved.

#hashtag by Bellakitse Summary: Even gets Instagram, it’s all about Isak.

sickeningly sweet like honey by tomlinsoln ★ Summary: coffee shop!au; Even likes to write pickup lines on Isak's cup.

MORE UNDER THE CUT

Something Like This. by LostInAdmiration Summary: A drabble about a sunny morning with pancakes and dancing in the kitchen, and soft boys saying 'I love you' to each other for the first time.

Sju Minutter by nusmag Summary: It’s a love exercise, Isak supposes, shoving two people in the small, dark room under the tribune for seven minutes at a time.

Hearts Don't Break Around Here by LostInAdmiration Summary: Even was a ball of energy and fire - he flipped Isak’s life upside down the moment he came into it, and Eskild watched as Isak’s muscles began to uncoil and his heart started to fill and fill until it was positively overflowing.

Hjerterum by littlemovie (Lejla) Summary: roommates!au; Isak cleared his throat. “Hi,” he tried again looking at who, he gathered, was the ever-elusive third roommate. Even walked to the fridge, keeping his eyes glued to his feet. He took two cans of coke from his shelve and a bag of chips from the counter before making his way down to the basement again, shutting the door behind him. Isak huffed out a breath. “Well, that’s rude,” he mumbled to himself, going back to his sandwich and picking the knife up from the counter. He grabbed a coke from his own shelve in the fridge and made his way to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Or Isak and Even are roommates and it's not going well.

Eye of the beholder by diamondjacket Summary: Isak can pinpoint the exact moment that Even notices what’s different about him, because his brows shoot up and his body goes still, and his eyes are darting around like he doesn’t know where to look first. And then, a slow, wide smile blooms on his face, and it’s blinding. “Wow,” he says, awed. “You look…” “Stupid,” Isak offers. Even shakes his head. “Beautiful.” Or: Isak discovers something about Even’s past, and he realizes he still has some growing to do. Also, lipstick is involved.

Cut Us Out In Little Stars by allyasavedtheday ★ Summary: Romeo and Juliet!au; Even Bech Næsheim. The boy making Isak’s heart beat double-time in his chest is Even Bech Næsheim. He can’t believe he didn’t realise it earlier. Even doesn’t have any social media and any pictures of him in the press are usually grainy or leave his appearance partly concealed through sunglasses or a hat but still. A sick part of his brain almost wants to laugh because of course. It’s not enough for Isak to like boys when he shouldn’t, no, he has to go and like that boy. The one boy his father would condemn him for being with without question.

daisies perched upon your forehead by tomlinsoln Summary: Even loves waking up next to Isak.

just let yourself in by TheMousePrince Summary: Even has the keys to Kollektivet and it's making him anxious. Or Isak and Even’s first proper date.

darling you look perfect by tomlinsoln ★ Summary: Even and Isak slow dance at a wedding.

Love and other stories by littlemovie (Lejla) ★ Summary: The guy in the picture had a black snapback on, which covered half his face, but what caught Isak’s attention was the sinful, plumb mouth half opened, the bottom lip dragged down by the guy’s thumb, his other fingers holding his snapback. A simple caption, Not Mags, but sure. And before he knew what he was doing, Isak had taken a screenshot of the picture and then he let out a sound, which he would never in a million years admit to. Linn looked at him from the other couch, her eyes disapproving. “You need to be quiet, Isak.” Isak’s wide eyes widened even more, and with a quick nod to appease Linn, he booked it to his room, his phone clutched in his hand. Or Isak accidentally falls in love over Snapchat and he doesn't regret it.

Picture Perfect by briennejamie Summary: Even loves taking pictures of his grumpy boyfriend.

No one could save me (but you) by diamondjacket ★ Summary: Isak, who didn’t want to kiss him on the street—even as Even’s mind was shouting yes yes please let’s show them let’s show them—but now shoots him a small, coy smile, who leans in and brushes his wicked mouth over Even’s, softly, without much fire but with so much heat, it leaves Even trembling, quaking inside. He feels his hands involuntarily clench into fists at his sides, and he almost chokes with how much he’s trying to hold back, to resist the urge to grab, to take. But oh God, he wants. Or a fic that takes place during 8:10, in the elevator/hotel room.

you got a pizza my heart by Leprechon Summary: Isak has a crush on the pizza delivery boy.

tortellini in love by orphan_account Summary: 'you found me in a mall crying over a bowl of noodles i dropped and i s2g im not usually like this im just having a really weird week’ au 

Samson by desert_coffin ★ Summary: Even braids Isak's hair. 

strong like some running waves by onhoedesrazao Summary: He looks at Even and it hits him again. 

The One With The Waggly Tail by tiptopevak Summary:  He's smiling at the dog, but, okay, maybe a little bit at Isak, too. 

A Million Miles Away by crescendohowell Summary: While they sit at the windowsill, Even thinks that Isak might be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. He makes his heart ache already and they’re barely even met. It’s scary really. Bisexual; Even turns the word over in his head while they smoke. It feels right (really it always has) and Even finds that he isn’t as scared of it as he thought he would be. (In which Even comes to terms with being bi.)

CHAPTERED:

A Transference of Feelings by rumpelsnorcack ✓ Summary: Isak hated that he was being forced to do this. He hated leaving Nissen because of his stupid parents’ stupid fights and stupid rules. Isak didn’t understand why he had to move just because they couldn’t get their shit together anymore; this felt like more punishment on top of having been left alone with his mother and all her weird moods and difficult behaviours. Aka, the au where Isak transferred schools rather than Even.

Are You Lost? by nnooorraa Summary: What kind of language is Dutch anyway? In one of the parallel universes there's an Isak who gets lost in Amsterdam. And who better than Even Bech Næsheim to show him the way?

WAKE UP! by cuteandtwisted ★ ✓ Summary: Even can't stop having dreams about this strange boy. He's never seen him before. But why does it feel like he's the only person that ever mattered? Or: Even has no idea who Isak is but he still loves him aka EvenDreams!AU

A Collection of Even & Isak's First Kiss AU Shorts by fandomlimb Summary: A bunch of short AUs about what could have been if the first ‘Evak’ kiss had gone down differently. 

hot like fire, take you higher by birthmarks ★ Summary: Isak Valtersen was a teenage boy and with that came internalized feelings and avoidance of communication. He spent more time morbidly thinking about his life than actively attempting to improve it. But that was about to change soon, considering the circumstances. He was entering his first serious relationship and everyone kept telling him that “trust and communication are the foundation of every healthy relationship!” (insert eye roll here). The issue was that most of the time what he really thought about was sex. And while he knew it was normal to think about, he was more than content with ignoring the topic than experiencing how awkward it could be to discuss it. Or: in which Isak and Even fall in love, discover their kinks, and experience life along the way.

don't you keep it all to yourself by colazitron ★ ✓ Summary: coffee shop!au; Isak starts buying daily coffees before school at Kaffebrenneriet around the corner because it tastes better than the coffee in the cafeteria and keeps his hands warm. But mostly because the barista is heart-stoppingly cute. Or: An AU in which Even didn't need to repeat his last year and instead started working at the coffeeshop Isak passes on his way to school every morning.

Kollektivet by hellagroovy Summary: roommates!au; ”I can’t go back there. I can’t go back there, you gotta understand.” ”Alright,” Eskild repeated. He bit his bottom lip slightly. He was too kind for this world, and he didn’t even want to think about what his roommates would say if he dragged a complete stranger home. So he didn’t. Think about it. Instead, he sighed slightly and squeezed his eyes shut. He was so going to regret this. But he didn’t want to leave the poor boy all alone on the street when it was dark and cold outside. ”Why don’t you come with me then? You can crash on my couch.”

Anything and Everything by primaryuniverse Summary: uni!au; This one’s different and he doesn’t feel angry at the boy or suffocated by the question that hangs in the air. Because he knows the boy doesn’t mean it like that. He just knows. It’s only unspoken curiosity and subtle wonder written across his features and god, he can’t look away again. So he offers a small smile, and the boy returns it and there goes Evens stomach again. And then the boy retreats into his room but not before he speaks one last time, “Isak.” “Hmm?” “My name’s Isak. Isak Valtersen.” But Even already knew that, didn’t he? Or: The Uni AU where Even calls Isak baby a lot and Isak melts every time. 

i hate your face, it makes my heart skip a beat by Bellakitse ★ Summary: HateToLove!au & tutoring!au; Isak is failing History and his friends have the great idea that their new friend Even should tutor him. It's perfect except Isak doesn't like Even or the way his stupid face makes his stomach flip.

Head Over Heels by LostInAdmiration ✓ Summary: An AU in which Jonas is a pretty popular skateboarder with a decent social media following because of it, and Isak is his supportive (if not slightly disgruntled) photographer friend. Jonas is the best at Nissen, up until a new guy transfers (bet you can guess who that is) and becomes the new hot topic at school. Isak is totally smitten, even if he wont admit it, and Even turns down his time skating with his friends in favour of sitting and talking to Isak instead

Tired of using Technology by skambition ✓ Summary: Isak & Even texting... about sex, love, relationships, school, family, daily stuff, and whatever else you text about.

Need you right in front of me by skambition ✓ Summary:  Additional One-Shots to the Texting-Fic "Tired of using Technology" .

i guess that's destiny doing it right by allyasavedtheday ★ ✓ Summary: The alternate universe where Even originally went to Nissen and became friends with Isak and Jonas when they started first year but moved away after his episode at the start of second year only for Isak to never hear from him again. Fastforward to the summer before Isak starts college when he’s travelling around Spain and bumps into a certain someone in Barcelona. 

You Don't Even Know Me! by cuteandtwisted ★ ✓ Summary: HateToLove!au; "Let's keep our daddy issues out of work," said Even. "Excuse me?!" Or: The one in which Isak and Even are interns who start on the wrong foot and don't like each other at all (except that they do).

(★ - personal favorites | ✓ - completed fics)

[tangledupincolor]

Worthy

For a long time, you never chose to walk. You hated how slow it was and that it made your legs feel sore. There was always something better than walking. Reading a book, meeting up with a friend, or playing your guitar. Learning a new recipe. Washing a week’s worth of dishes. The list would never stop lengthening itself.

But one day after work, when you had no plans except to make a quick dinner and watch TV on your computer, you decided to walk. Any other day you would’ve taken the bus. It was warm, probably in the middle of spring, and you had on the comfortable shoes your job required. When it was over, you didn’t feel like a better version of yourself, but it meant less time spent in the cramped bedroom of your crowded apartment. Plus, keeping yourself in motion, slow as it was, had to be healthier than half-reclining on your sofa bed.

Though you can remember the first time you chose to walk, you cannot remember when it became a habit. And you can’t be sure when the habit turned into an obsession. Or a requirement, rather. Obsession is such a dirty word. If it is an obsession, at least it’s a pretty benign one.

You walk one of two possible routes almost every day. One is a green-filled residential stretch, and the other is a busy city street, littered with actual litter and bars. These are not adventurous, find-new-things walks. In fact, the idea of walking through a neighborhood you don’t know makes you shiver, but only a little, because you are very, very tired. You’re still walking, but you’re too sleepy to react the way your body wants you to. Let’s say a massive truck drives towards you at 60 miles per hour. At this rate, you wouldn’t even flinch.  

It is Sunday evening: your last walk of the weekend. Your extend-the-weekend-walk, because as long as you keep walking, the new week won’t begin. You started up at the top of your city route after having dinner with a friend. You are sort of freaking out because you were so tired during dinner that you could hardly talk. Your friend probably thinks you are a selfish drag. These are the times, though, when you remind yourself of a very important truth, which is that you don’t need friends. If this friend decides that your inability to converse over dinner is a deal-breaker -- that it was so rude and irritating that he will never endure another minute with you -- then fine. You’ll survive. Only when you’re walking do you realize how easy it is to be alone.

You feel most like a writer when you walk. Every person and object becomes the beginning of a story. In your head, you write sentences that allow readers to confront everyday bits of magic that have been staring them in the face for years. That man on his bike? He crashes on his way to a first date, dies, and the woman never figures out why she got stood up. The girl who whines to be picked up? Well, her dad doesn’t want to pick her up because his shoulder hurts, and when he finally does, he drops her and learns the importance of trusting his gut. All of your stories are about injury and abandonment. This is something you’ll work on in therapy if you ever actually call the office and make an appointment.

You don’t feel like a writer most of the time, though. Most of the time, you feel like a pancake that people tug on and eat only to realize it’s not the flavor or consistency they wanted. You live for the moments when you’re the right kind of pancake. It’s so rare. Sitting in front of a blank screen at a coffee shop, you feel as though even your computer doesn’t like you -- doesn’t think you can do it.

Your exhaustion is mostly physical, but somehow you walk. Walking this familiar route is about one thousand times easier than talking to your friend at dinner. And the stuff passing through your head right now is nonsense. You are too tired to write ground-breaking sentences. Magic is happening all around you (old dogs with young owners, used and unused condoms alike, doors that have full names written on them in permanent marker) but you are unable to acknowledge any of it.

Instead, the nonsense in your head has settled into two separate cups. The first cup is full of memories about your old apartment -- the one with the cramped bedroom and sofa bed. You may have developed the walking habit because you hated living there. You would do anything to stay away from your roommates, who watched movies in the living room and cooked elaborate dinners together. At home, you were always in the way.

Once, they invited you to play Pictionary with some of their friends. It was fun. They let you drink their wine and kept saying things like “I never knew you could draw!” You stayed up late with them and went to bed happy, with hopes for game nights and wine nights and roommate nights in the near future.

When you woke up the next morning, it occurred to you that their invitation didn’t come until they saw you cooking your sad little dinner in the kitchen. They pitied you. Felt like they had to include you as soon as you spied their fun. After that, you withdrew further and walked even later into the night. You didn’t want to obligate them again. A year or so later, you moved into the studio you’re living in now.

The sun has almost set and the street is busy with people. Some walking hand in hand, some alone. You like the way people notice you walking alone. A woman with magenta lips walks by you wearing sunglasses, despite the growing darkness. If you weren’t feeling the way you are, you would decide that plain women often wear bright lipstick because it’s the only reliable way to make their faces exciting.     

Now, the second cup of the two separate cups isn’t even worth mentioning, because it’s full of the same things every single person worries and cares about. Enough already. You can’t find any magic there, tired or not. If anything, this stupid cup full of feelings has made finding magic impossible. Not to overdo it on the metaphor, but when you feel like the right kind of pancake, the syrup of affection covers your body, and the melted butter of physical intimacy chokes the ideas right out of you. No staggering observations. No impressive words strung together on your computer screen. Just this sense of worthiness bordering on arrogance so addicting that you can’t engage in anything else.

Perhaps, you ponder lightly as you shuffle down the sidewalk, this is why it never lasts. Because you understand in some un-articulated way that you cannot create as long you are wanted. But you push this stunning realization aside. Not now. You can worry about that later, on a day after a full night’s sleep. On a day when you didn’t spend the night before wide awake, staring at the person next to you, worrying you might burp or move or smell like you need a shower.

The thing about a walking requirement is that after a while it becomes as routine as breathing. When you find yourself in front of your studio apartment, you grab your keys and bring the tip of the front gate key to the edge of the lock. Also routine. But before inserting it, you stop. Who cares if you don’t have roommates anymore? It’s hardly dark and the street is still busy. It won’t hurt anyone if you stay out longer, so you turn around walk back up the familiar streets.