#Love how this implies that Sun and I have the same birthday for some reason

[icedmetaltea]

Happy Buildday

Get kissed idiot

Taking a majority of my art off tumblr for now. Fuck AI HELLO I have now survived 24 years on this planet and that means more self-indulgent art for me~ Don't ask me why he has long sleeves, it was just the current vibe

(this is queued cause I feel horrible and may not be online on the 29th so here ya gooo)

[an-aura-about-you]

wait. why are you sexy gengar

Oh, so this is some kinda story! And I guess now y'all are gonna hear it.

The truth is I've been holding out on most of you because back on my birthday @zerozeroren gifted me with an incredible piece of art that is going to require a bit of explanation.

So here we go.

Being a lover of So Bad It's Good Media and a watcher of Booktube videos, it was inevitable that I would hear about the supposedly spicy, supposedly deadly fantasy trainwreck that is Lightlark by Alex Aster. For anyone who might not have seen the liveblogging I did of that, I thoroughly enjoyed the book for a bunch of reasons Aster never intended and had to pause listening to the audiobook several times because I had to stop and laugh at the ridiculously poorly thought out shit going on. For anyone who's the sort to indulge in So Bad It's Good media, it gets my recommendation. (The sequel Nightbane does not; that was both utterly stupid AND horrifying in its unintentional implications. But I digress.)

Anyway, this piece of art came about from talking to Ren about some of the characters, particularly our main character Isla Crown and her love interest Oro.

There's been a lot of confusion on how to say Isla's given name. Before I listened to the audiobook, I would have assumed it would have had a pronunciation similar to island with a silent s. But no, according to the audiobook narration, her name is pronounced Ice-la. Upon hearing this, Ren declared that a "Pokemon-ass sounding name." And that's when I realized that Isla is implied to be humanoid but it's never actually specified. The people of Lightlark are divided into six different types of beings, and Isla is a Wildling. But the only actual descriptions we get of her are that she's got brown hair and she looks like her mother. So in defiance of the obvious setup to picture her looking like an ice-type Pokemon, I chose to picture her looking like my favorite purple ghosty boy Gengar.

But that's only the part of the picture I've been using for my icon. I haven't shown most of you the other part of the picture that has Oro. Oro is a Sunling. (I swear these names are killing me.) The big conflict of Lightlark is that all of these fantasy races have been cursed and they're trying to complete a ritual according to a prophecy in order to undo them. Sunlings in particular are cursed by being harmed by the sun, the very thing that would normally give them power. Oro is also something called an Origin, meaning he has powers from the other fantasy races, though the primary one we see him use besides his own power is the Skyling ability to fly. Between being harmed by sunlight, the implied nocturnal existence that comes with that, and his ability to fly, Ren and I decided he was basically a vampire. And I was like, "We need to pick a dorky vampire to represent him. I know! He should look like Alucard! Not sexy new Castlevania animation Alucard but like what Alucard looks like in Captain N: The Game Master!" (For the record, they are technically the same character. Alucard in Captain N is the same Alucard from the Castlevania series. But the character designs in Captain N: The Game Master are...questionable.)

And that led to this:

Take it in. It is a thing of cracktastic beauty. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday present. What else can I say but Ren has done it again.

[envy-of-the-apple]

All for One who falls for an older darling that he takes for his own and then gives a long life quirk or puts in statis until can be woken up? I think he'd be really cheeky about being "younger" even tho the biggest issue is his villainy

lowkey tho 'puppy love gone wrong' is my favorite trope??? Maybe you babysat him when you were both younger and he was being really wierd but you indulged him anyway because he was a cute kid and now when he's all grown up he's a monster. Absolutely amazing.

bro at first i thought you were talking about all might. i keep forgetting that all for one is like mha's main villain lfjkljdsklfjdskljsklf

im praying they didn't give him a backstory, i haven't caught up to the manga yet whoopssss

(Yandere, implied kidnapping, possessiveness)

You were nice to him when he was a kid.

Nice may not have been the best term. Friendly? Amicable? You greeted him whenever he passed by, which was more to say for any of the other people that lounged around that shitty neighborhood. You weren't really sure if you could count it as bullying, but you felt bad for him. Pitied him.

It's been a long time since you've seen that neighborhood. Years? Decades?

Were they even alive anymore?

"Yet again, I see you've barely eaten."

You don't scowl. It's useless to convey your anger, wasted on someone so nonchalant. Instead you resort to stretching, ignoring him.

You can hear him smile.

"Do I have to spoon feed you?" He speaks again, "I don't mind."

"You don't but I do," You speak, your voice sharp, "I just like taking my time."

He hums, sitting down next to you, you can feel his gaze on you as you keep your eyes focused on the window. Currently you watch the birds play in the birdbath you set up last week. It was tiring, you worked all day on that. Looking back, you should have been sunburned. The sun was always so high in the sky. It felt like summer. Yet, you didn't feel anything but a pleasant warmth.

It shouldn't surprise you, it wasn't like anything in this world was real.

The only thing here that existed was you.

He made sure of it.

"Finally got a break from terrorizing people?" You asked, "Bored? Is that why you came to bother me?"

He laughs. It used to terrify you. Now you just sigh.

"I always have time for you," He says pleasantly.

"Were you frustrated? Is that why you're acting up?"

You glance away from the birdbath. You still don't look at him, deciding that the interior of the house was much more interesting. Your dream home, you had remembered telling him in some magazine all those years ago. Back when he was still shorter than you, back when he was cuter, smaller. Nothing but a small inconvenience.

You can barely remember that magazine now. You bet it wasn't even being produced anymore.

"I'm not frustrated." You sigh.

"So, are you here for a reason?"

"I wanted to see you," He coos, allowing an arm to rest on your shoulder, "Aren't you happy to see me? It's been so long."

Barely a week. You honestly wished he'd stay away longer.

"Also, I wanted to ask you what you wanted for your birthday."

Your birthday...? Was it that time of the year again? You couldn't tell. It was always summer here. The sun always shined.

How old even were you?

You weren't able to hide your shock that well. He was laughing, leaning closer.

"Did you forget?"

You don't answer. You can feel his fingers trail over your neck. You look at your own fingers. You're sure nearly a century has passed by now, maybe even more, yet you still remained the same. As young as you were the day he trapped your here.

You couldn't say the same for him.

"Do you have anything planned?" You ask.

"Not really," He hums into your hair, "I'll leave that up to you."

It's not the first time he's asked you this. You've never had an answer, always too angry, too frustrated.

Today, your mind is clear enough to speak.

"I'd like to go outside?"

"That's it?" He muses, "We could go for a walk, right now? It's always so pretty-"

"You know what I mean."

He gently urges you into his neck. You follow, allowing yourself rest your head against his chest.

"It's dangerous, my love," It's funny, even when you're the older one, he always finds a way to chastise you.

"You'll be there, won't you?" You respond, "What, an entourage of quirks and you can't protect me from slipping on a banana peel?"

It's phrased as a joke. You don't laugh. He doesn't either.

You think you've finally mastered the art of patience, but the silence last for what feels like years. You almost can't take it.

"A day," He finally says, "Just one day."

You don't respond, not at first. You're pushing away the hope, because it's useless. It's useless to hope.

"When?" You ask.

"Soon."

[romirola]

💕💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕💕

-Lexi Sun ☀️

LEXI! Hello! What a wonderful ask! Thank you so so much for the opportunity! As you know, I am never one to shy away from talking about my work. The hardest part is choosing one fic, because, as egotistical as this is going to make me sound, all my stories are my babies and thus, I love them all. In honor of your wonderful ask, I am going to go with my least-read Redactedverse fic: In Name and Spirit. This fic is a T-rated exploration of David's first birthday after his Gabe's death, his crushing grief, and Marie's ability to help him in a very special way: a (consensually placed, legally purchased) trance.

Some more rambling under the cut!

(I'm tagging @ejunkiet in this, too, because she tagged me in WIPW today and I'm going to count this as that. Thanks, friend!)

I love this fic for many reasons. For one thing, despite all the heaviness and angst of this fic, I also hope that it achieves giving a little bit of hope post-grief, of finding the light in the midst of such a dark time of David's life.

For another thing, I love how this fic allowed me to unpack a lot of the implied elements of Marie's relationship with the younger pack members. You want some Mama-Marie content? Well, let me tell you, this fic delivers. I aimed to strike a balance between that over-the-top, blunt, no-nonsense persona of Marie with the caring, maternal healer we all know her to be. One of my favorite little tidbits of Marie lore is assigning her a purse that is always stocked with everything anyone could ever need, much like Mary Poppins's carpet bag.

David deserves to grieve. He deserves to grieve openly, authentically, without a single thought spent on his alpha status or reputation. And honestly, given the way his past interactions are described in the audios, a trance-induced grieving session is the only way I could see it happening.

The idea of being able to purchase legal, contractual, regulated trances through regulated means is a headcanon that I developed in a previous fic that featured quite a spicier use of the trance. (If you read that, are interested, and are over 18 years old, let me know and I'll send you the link.) BUT, that particular use aside, it would seem to me that buying/selling trances would be quite valuable for the empowered community. It could have great impact for mental health, personal self-improvement, and more. Not only that, but it allows vampires to demystify (and even to profit on!) a natural ability that probably contributed to their marginalization.

There are some delightful little moments of flashbacks of Marie taking care of David as a pup, too. Those are always a lot of fun.

Thank you for indulging me in reading this, Lexi!!!! <3

[fairyoftbz]

jealousy | l. hyunjae

🌊 pairing: bf! hyunjae x fem! reader 🌊 wc: 1.9k 🌊 synopsis: at the beach, your mood suddenly swings, and your boyfriend is too oblivious to understand why you're feeling that way. 🌊 genre: angsty fluff, comfort, very cliché, fluffy end 🌊 tw: insecurities, self body-shaming, a petty fight at the beginning 🌊 a/n: yeah I went to the pool the other day and it was pretty much this, except that I didn't have a hyunjae by my side lol... and Spotify played this olivia rodrigo's song a moment after.. but happy birthday to Hyunjae in advance!!! 🥰 🌊 requested: no!

╰��☆☆☆╮

“What kind of fuckery is that?” you ask yourself when you take a look around you at the beach while Hyunjae was settling your stuff down in the sand, trying not to get too much sand on the cooler. He removed his t-shirt to be more comfortable, girls built like models ogled at your boyfriend’s back and abs, giggling together and biting their lips as they saw his muscles move around.

The beach was filled with slim, fit people, either working out or getting that tan for Instagram. The girls were so pretty and looked like models that could sign with Marc Jacobs, which had the ability to make you even more insecure than you already were. A feeling of uneasiness settled inside your body, especially your heart, who felt heavy with insecurity when you took another great look at the people hanging out around you.

“Here darling, take a seat,” he said as he placed down a wide tablecloth on the sand with your towel on it, thanking him with a brief smile before guiding him to plant the parasol to let you rest in the shade together.

His shoulders and biceps glistened with sweat as he stopped digging to hammer the parasol pole in the sand, rubbing the grains off his fingers to finally sit down next to you. His smile subsided when he noticed you staring into space, gaze on the water, a weary look painted on your face.

“Y/N, is there something wrong? Don’t you want to go in the water?” he quizzed you, not really understanding your mood swing. You were so excited when he offered to go to the beach, and now, you looked sad, almost disappointed to be there.

“You can go ahead, I’ll join you later,” you said as you rested on your back, covering your face with your straw hat.

Hyunjae observed you laying down, frowning as you didn’t even remove your beach dress. Something felt odd, weird. You loved being there and having fun in the water. What was going on?

He looked around to see what could have upset you this much, but he couldn’t find anything. People, friends and couples were laughing and enjoying the sun, just like he had expected you to do with him.

You open your eyes and clench your jaw when Hyunjae lifted your hat off your face, a veil of concern forming in his eyes. Shifting his weight on one hand, the other caressed your upper thigh, the warmness of his palm contrasting with your shivering skin.

“Did I do something that made you mad?” he dared to ask another question, trying to get a glimpse of your thoughts to try to understand what was actually going on. “No you didn’t. I just don’t want to go in the water now, the wind is making me cold,” you lied and Hyunjae sighed, understanding that you wouldn’t share what was on your mind for now.

He kissed your cheek anyway, mouth lingering on your skin a bit longer than usual and stood up, removing his cap and sunglasses while looking at the people around you with a frown. You watch him calmly walk to the water, silently watching the waves crash against his feet, calves and knees the further he walked in the ocean, his glistening back muscles moving as he raised his arms to dive underwater.

You sighed and rolled on your stomach, your back facing the shore as you folded your arms, using the back of your palm as a cheek rest, closing your eyes in the process. A single tear rolled down your cheek, captured by the edge of your sunglasses, followed by many more, letting the insecurities invade your mind. You didn’t even want to look at all the slim, IG models look alike smirking and eyeing your boyfriend up and down as he walked by. You already felt so uneasy to be here, you didn’t want to add fuel to the fire by looking at what you’ve always dreamt to look like being attracted to your partner.

But Hyunjae didn’t even notice those girls. His frown deepened even more when he only saw the back of your body, something quite usual coming from you. You absolutely adored the beach and the ocean, remembering one of your first dates where you told him that the beach - especially at sunset - was your solace, and now you were facing away from this source of comfort. Plus, there were occasions where you came here without really wanting to go in the water, just to enjoy the warmth and the sight of the ocean, happily waving at your boyfriend that was having fun in the water while you stayed in your seat.

He didn’t even notice them looking at him, because his eyes and mind were focused on you and you only, trying to find what had caused you to become this weary and down all of a sudden. He didn’t feel the same when you weren’t looking at him, when you shut yourself out and let your brain overthink on its own, refusing his help. A pinch of discomfort tightened his heart, regretting that he wasn’t as good at reading people as much as he wished to.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, what’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours,” he mumbled under his breath as he got out of the water, still not noticing that the source of your uneasiness were the ones staring at him, a few metres away from him as he walked back to you.

Droplets of salty water landed on your cheek and forearm as Hyunjae bent down to kiss your temple, forcing a tired smile on your face to try and not let anything show on your face.

“Is the water good?” you mindlessly asked as Hyunjae rested on his stomach, just like you, pushing his front pieces of hair back before putting his cap on.

“It’s a bit fresh at first, but once you’re in it, it’s good. You’d love it,” his voice trailed at the end of his sentence, eyes trying to probe your soul and bribe you to join him in the water.

“That’s great,” you nodded and sniffled, handing a bottle of water from the cooler to your boyfriend. He uncapped it but stopped, shifting on his side, resting his weight on his elbow.

“Babe, please, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting strangely since we got here, what’s going on?” he asked, voice ringing with frustration. You briefly looked at him before looking at the ocean, letting out a big sigh.

“Can’t you see anything, Jaehyun? Can’t you see that everyone around me, including you, looks like they just walked out of a Dior photoshoot by how slim and fit and pretty they look? That you have all the girls around us that ogle at you like you’re single? Yes I’m mad, yes I’m insecure, but I have my reasons, don’t you think?” you spat out your insecurities with teary eyes to your boyfriend’s face, who looked at you like he just saw a ghost.

That, was the last thing he had imagined. He never thought that you would get so insecure about this because you looked like the most beautiful girl in his eyes. He was about to speak up, but he placed himself in your shoes for a quick second, insecurities, as well as anger, started boiling in his veins as he imagined men looking at you like a fresh piece of meat.

You started scratching the skin around your thumb, a habit that you picked up when you were stressed and nervous and tears gathered in your eyes as you tried to ignore some girls still looking at and trying to flirt with your man. You wrapped your arms around your knees and pressed your chin on top of it, only to have Hyunjae positioning behind you to have you between his legs, wrapping his arms around your middle to press you against him.

He grabbed your hand to stop you from scratching it and he pressed his mouth against your shoulder, remaining silent as he tried to search for his words.

“No. I didn’t see any of those people, because I don’t care about how they look. I don’t care if the girls look like skinny models or if you find their faces pretty. Do you find the men here handsome ?”

“No,” you said in a wobbly voice, eyes glued to the ocean.

“Why?”

“Because I love you and I only have eyes for you,” you said in a shaky voice and Hyunjae remained in silence for a few seconds, knowing that you were smart enough to get what he was implying.

“So I don’t look at girls because?”

“Because you love me,” you said, voice wavering as tears rolled down your cheeks, Hyunjae holding you close to his chest, trailing salty kisses from your neck up to your cheek.

“Of course I love you, and with all my heart. I wouldn’t be with you if that weren’t the case.”

He grabbed your chin and you shifted to the side, sitting perpendicularly to him. His hands cupped your cheeks to make you look at him and he offered you a gentle smile, his thumbs wiping the paths the tears left on your skin when they rolled down your cheeks.

“I only see you, Y/N. You’re much more than looks, and you can’t say that you are horrible next to them. You are just yourself, someone more honest, prettier and funnier than all those girls around us. They don’t interest me at all, I only care about you. It’s not my problem if they think I’m handsome. As long as you’re in love with me, I'm at my happiest,” he caressed your cheek with tenderness, holding a huge amount of love for you in his eyes. You nodded, trying to make his words imprint in your brain and ignore everything and everyone that was surrounding you, but it was far from being easy.

You delicately touched his cheek and he kissed your inner palm while holding eye contact, assuring you that he only had eyes for you.

“Do you want to go in the water? Yes?” his eyes sparkled with joy as you nodded with a smile, your boyfriend springing to his feet and removed his cap, getting all excited when he watched you remove your beach dress.

“Stop staring at me like that Jae, we’re in public,” you giggled as you threw your dress at him, who hummed your perfume on the fabric before dropping it on your towel.

“I won’t. I want to let everyone know that I only have eyes for you,” he said as he grabbed your hand and started running towards the water, entering it with a big splash and laughter.

You dove underwater to get used to the salty water, reappearing at the surface a few seconds later, Hyunjae smiling at you. He wrapped your legs around his waist and held you close, pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss.

“Chill, chill,” you laughed as you pulled away breathless, Hyunjae’s hands caressing your body.

“No, no, I wanna show them that they don’t have a single chance against you. And that you’re taken,” he grunted the last part of his sentence, making you giggle and hugging him close.

“Thank you, Jae,” you mumbled and your boyfriend stares at you with a reassuring smile, pressing his lips to your temple.

“I love you Y/N,” you held eye contact again and Hyunjae was happy to see your smile, kissing your lips the following second.

Gosh, you were so in love with each other.

[bukojuiice]

˗ˏˋ@bukojuiice’s BNHA masterlistˎˊ˗

REQUESTS: [CLOSED]

© bukojuiice - all rights reserved. please do not repost, distribute, copy, or plagiarize my work. please ask for permission if you wish to use my work for asmr or for voice overs. thank you!

➸ Headcanons

♡ ྀ  “midoriya, bakugo and todoroki cramming school works with their S/O”

♡ ྀ  “baby it’s cold outside.” (katsuki bakugo christmas hcs)

♡ ྀ  “going to Universal Studios Japan with them”  

♡ ྀ  “how you spend a virtual valentines date in quarantine w/ them” 

♡ ྀ   what happens when the bakusquad babysits Katsuki’s daughter? 

♡ ྀ     i like you a latte. (Coffee Shop AU! Headcanons)

♡ ྀ what they would be like as disney princes

♡ ྀ their wedding day with you

♡ ྀ the lovey-dovey things they do with you while you're both stuck at home during quarantine

♡ ྀ  the kinds of movies he’d watch with you.

♡ ྀ when he does the lip bite

♡ ྀ  when they read self-insert fanfiction of themselves

♡ ྀ cat ears or maid outfit?

♡ ྀ     how dekusquad + bakusquad comfort you after getting your heartbroken

♡ ྀ   mha boys accompanying you to buy lingerie

➸ Izuku Midoriya

Fics ↝

♡ ྀ  I will hold on to everything we got. A quitter, regretter and forgiver is everything I’m not.

(↳  unprompted and unexpected goodbyes are the worst. how are you going to be able to tell izuku the fact that you were moving away from the city that the two of you have lived in, grew up in, and soon became the place where the two of you fell in love with each other? how could you let this precious cinnamon roll go?)

♡ ྀ  she’s not afraid of scary movies, she likes the way we kiss in the dark.

( ↳  it is your weekly movie night with Izuku and co, but whilst waiting for your other friends, you and your boyfriend had the most wonderful idea of watching a gory horror movie.)

♡ ྀ as the world caves in

( ↳ no one else could ever carry the burden that Izuku holds in his hands. But when a girl from his past helps bring him to a realization, he begins to contemplate on whether or not sacrificing everything that you love to become a hero is worth it all.)

➸ Katsuki Bakugo

Cuddle Buddy! (Social Media AU)

Katsuki’s Convenience (Social Media AU)

Fics ↝

♡ ྀ  thank god for plot twists like you.

( ↳  Katsuki barges in your dorm room after class to see you crying in your bed with your phone in your hand… but why exactly?)

♡ ྀ  the s in studying stands for sexy times (implied smut!)

( ↳  katsuki is helping you study for your finals. but to no avail, none of the articles you were reviewing were processing inside your mind at all. until, katsuki had thought of a great idea to help you study. a spicy one at that.)

♡ ྀ  you fell from the sky into my lap (smut)

(  ↳  You and Katsuki become one as the two of you get in the mood with the music on his Spotify playlist.)

♡ ྀ  my world is changed and it’s cradled by the comfort that is you.

(  ↳  After receiving a quarterly report on the status of your hero internships and as a 3rd year student of UA Academy, your day is ruined as soon as you began to read it’s contents. Your explosive boyfriend does not want to see you like this. But how can he possibly cheer you up?)

♡ ྀ   like the soul of honey 

( ↳ Christmas finally approaches and your daughter, Hikari, can’t wait to spend it with the best parents ever.)

♡ ྀ  you got questions, i got answers tonight, babe. (smut!)

(  ↳ you and the bakusquad drag bakugo to a short vacation after such an intense week of hero work, much to his annoyance. however, his stress and pent up energy was more than you expected, so you knew exactly how to release all his frustrations.)

♡ ྀ  fix you. (studio ghibli au! princess mononoke au!)

(  ↳  Katsuki Bakugo is the righteous yet arrogant village prince of the east. The entire village relies on him for protection and for guidance, further inflating his ego. however, after a cursed boar attacks him and the curse is passed on to him as a poisonous mark on his arm, slowly consuming him until he becomes a demon himself. he is exiled without hesitance from his village and is to go on a journey to look for a cure, a journey he might never come back from. With the help of two of his most trusted allies, he embarks on a journey to look for the gods of the forest in where he meets a girl (just as striking as him) who brings him back down to earth, saves him and make him experience a true life worth living.)

♡ ྀ  25 lives (time traveler au!)

(  ↳  After losing the love of his life in a brutal villain incident, Katsuki Bakugo had lost a part of him. Nothing and no one could ever bring her back. He became the shell of a person he once was; fiery, bright, and the driven #2 Pro-hero in the country. He continues to live life with guilt, all hope still lost until he is gifted a time device that can transport him to parallel universes, dimensions and alternate worlds, where he begins his quest to find his lost love. Crossing a hundred of realities and living twenty-five lifetimes just to bring her back into his arms. )

♡ ྀ to the most explosive boy i’ve ever loved before

(  ↳  six letters. one for every boy you’ve ever loved. The letters for your eyes only, filled with all the words you could never say. until, one day, they start appearing out of nowhere into your life again, and your love life goes from imaginary to out of control.)

♡ ྀ  lovesick girl

(  ↳  your planned birthday surprise for katsuki takes a turn for the worst when you’re suddenly struck by a cold, prompting your dynamite boyfriend to take care of you and shower you with love and affection on his special day.)

♡ ྀ nicotine and faded dreams  (smut!)

(  ↳  Fame. Success. Glory. Bakugo’s had and seen it all, being a part of one of the biggest bands in the world. All he’s ever wanted was (Y/N), who comes back into his life just in time for the last leg of the band’s European tour. Bakugo thought that after making it big he wouldn’t have to face the muse for their most successful song any time soon. But a trip to Venice organized by scheming band mates has him stuck in a car with that very same muse. or Rock bands, a love Bakugo’s been trying to run away from and a cleverly schemed road trip: what could go wrong?)

♡ ྀ the morning afterglow

(  ↳ basking in the hues of wonderment that is the morning sun with your explosive boyfriend by your side was truly a dream. lingering in the bed much longer was an absolute must. these are one of those days.)

➸ Todoroki Shoto

Fics ↝

♡ ྀ  when you kiss me, heaven sighs.

( ↳  you and Shoto arrive in the city of love.  the day seems perfect until things go awry.)

♡ ྀ   a love like the movies

(  ↳    Shoto spends his only day of rest and relaxation by watching iconic tv shows and sitcoms with you.)

♡ ྀ   my youth is yours.

( ↳  shoto todoroki entered college with one thing in mind; be able to graduate and follow in his family’s footsteps. however, college had different plans for him. and meeting the one he would spend the rest of his life with was one of them.)

♡ ྀ merry go round of life (studio ghibli au, howl’s moving castle au)

( ↳ shoto todoroki is a magical prince who yearns for freedom. with the entire country against him, and the freedom he ever so wanted barely in his grasp- he seeks solace in a girl who works in a hat shop. she was his comfort in days full of disaster and war. and ever since then, he has finally found a reason to live.)

♡ ྀ something in the rain 

( ↳  you and shoto were once childhood best friends and sweethearts who had lost touch and communication. 12 years has passed since then, and on a fated summer day in june, there was something in the rain that brought two lost souls back to each other’s arms.)

  ♡ ྀ  are you feline what i’m feline? (smut!)

( ↳ blessed with a quirk that can temporarily transform any human being into any living thing they want through the means of potions and concoctions, you brew up a cat girl potion to surprise shoto for your second year anniversary. however, some accidents and mishaps happen, and you’re welcomed home by a handsome cat boy instead.

♡ ྀ  if i could tell her

( ↳  in where shoto todoroki is hit by a sudden realization that the love of his life was right in front of him all along and all it takes is for her to cross the crossroads for him to finally realize.)

♡ ྀ written in the stars

( ↳ shoto takes you out on a special date. a date that entailed love in all it’s bare simplicity. love in all it’s highs and lows, and love that is worth being written in the stars.)

➸ Eijiro Kirishima

Fics ↝

♡ ྀ  I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover.

(  ↳ It is your 1st year anniversary with Kirishima. With no idea how celebrate it, Kirishima asks for the aid of Bakusquad and they have very interesting ideas and plans to say the least. Will he succeed and plan a perfect surprise for you?)

[kashimos-hajime]

the girl in purple (1/8) | r.b.

summary: In his mind, you’re wearing the white blouse and long purple skirt again, long riding boots covering dark pants, innocent smile on your face as you wait for him in the noon sunlight. Or, four years ago, Bertholdt asked for a favour and you said yes.

WARNINGS: swearing, ass jokes, flashbacks and flashforwards, mostly fluff and banter, pining and angst at the end, bertholdt is our soft best friend <3 pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 5.0k

a/n: pt 1 of 8 of a birthday present for the legend, the icon, the bad bitch herself, ISABEL!!@!@!@ @luciilferss​ ALSO, song not mine! it’s the sea shanty called wellerman.

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

You sigh, wiping the back of your hand before grabbing the next hay bale that needed to be lifted to the loft. Your back aching, you grit your teeth as you lug it towards the ladder. It’s the last one and after a sweaty afternoon, you just want to get into bed. Hopefully Annie did end up getting you supper—you had to work through it just so Shadis didn’t get your ass up tomorrow to finish the job.

“Here, let me help.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, glancing to see your savior and a warmth shoots through your body when you realize it’s Bertholdt. “You know if Shadis catches you helping me, it’s going to be hell to pay, right?” The boy smiles, shrugging, and you can’t help your own grin as he gestures for you to climb up. Skirting up the ladder, you turn around to take the hay bale and pushing it towards the corner before jumping down and dusting off your hands. Stable clean-up is never fun, but with autumn right around the corner, they all want to get a head start before the chill sets in.

“I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“I knew there had to be a reason you were in here,” you tease. “Shoot.”

“Well, we have visiting privileges next weekend,” Bertholdt continues as you walk around the stables, picking up tools as you make your way towards where the broom is leaning against the wall. The tall boy ambles after you and you shoot him an amused look, curiosity pricking at your fingers. 

Half-way through their training in the corps, and Bertholdt still manages to keep you guessing. You don’t know what it is about him, but your friend’s always been the quiet one. It’s part of why you like being around him, but you just wish his friend liked you. Annie seems more than fine with you.

Reiner, on the other hand, can barely even look at you. It’s a real downer.

“I was just wondering…”

“You should ask Annie,” you cut off before he can finish, picking up the broom to begin sweeping the stray hay into a neat pile. Bertholdt’s spine goes ramrod straight and his cheeks redden so intensely you can’t help but laugh. “I’m pretty sure she would say yes. You guys are friends, right?”

“Yes, but we’re—we’re not—why would I ask Annie, specifically?” he stammers. The horses neigh as you walk past, their necks stretching out for treats but you ignore them, heading for the entrance. “She could go with a bunch of other people.”

“Yeah, but she always goes with me.” Glancing at Bertholdt, your eyes narrow when he smacks his forehead, covering his flustered expression miserably. Poking him in the gut with the handle of your broom, you continue, “And she only likes a few people here. You’re one of them, Bertl.” 

“Well, if you think so. I mean, you’re her dorm mate, not me, so… argh!” he groans as you walk past him, sweeping. “You’re not helping!”

“Helping with what?” you ask innocently, not paying him a second look. You hear him let out a sigh as you brush hay to the back of the stables. “You’re the one who wanted a favour.”

“Yeah, and I still need to tell you.”

“Literally no one’s stopping you, Bertholdt.” Another resigned sigh. “Okay. Okay. Ask me. I promise I won’t tease you for the next ten minutes.” Turning around, you rest your broom against the post between two stalls. A horse nudges at your face and you scratch the stallion’s chin as Bertholdt walks closer. His eyes inspect your own expression, searching for trickery, but you only grin.

Then, he drops his crossed arms and says, “Someone wants to ask you out next weekend for our visit to Trost.”

“Er, okay? Why didn’t they just ask me themselves?” Crossing your own arms, you lean against the post, the lantern hanging above your head and casting everything in a warm glow. It softens Bertholdt’s smile as he shrugs mischievously. “Who was it?”

“Reiner.”

“Reiner?” His name is punched out of you, sharp with shock, and your broom slides off the post, clattering to the floor between the two cadets as you stare at Bertholdt. 

“Mhm?”

“Reiner Braun.”

“Yep.”

“We know the same one, don’t we?”

“Blond, makes ass jokes, this tall?” he shoots back, raising a hand that comes just near his ear. You nod. “Yeah.”

“But he hates me.”

“What? No, he doesn’t. Why would you think that?” Bertholdt’s eyebrows knit together and you stare at him incredulously, not sure if he’s joking or not. Shaking your head, you let out a scoff and bend down to pick up your broom to continue your sweeping. Mind a swirl, you try to reconcile the Reiner, who has never said more to you than ‘pass the grease’ during ODM maintenance and ‘you have dirt on your chin’ after forest exercises, with the Reiner who had to ask Bertholdt to ask you out for him.

Sounds fake, but you digress.

“Okay,” you drawl, unable to help the disbelief from creeping into your voice. “This was a good attempt at a joke, but you need to try harder next time.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Why would I ever believe you?”

“Because I would never li—make something up like that,” he says, correcting himself, and you send him a strange look. “Just… when we get to Trost, you know that bakery that sells the stuffed cream buns. The one you mentioned before?”

“Yeah. Annie likes them,” you inform him pointedly, and Bertholdt’s mouth drops open to argue but he seems to think better of it this time.

“Yes, that one.” Fighting a furious blush on his cheeks, he continues, “If you’re there at noon, you’ll see I’m not lying.”

“And if I’m not there?”

“Reiner will be very sad for the rest of his life,” Bertholdt declares and you can’t help your serious expression from sliding off. “Will you please just consider it?”

Staring at your friend, you study his expression. It’s completely genuine, open, eyes wide and you feel a part of you melting at how adorable he is. For such a tall guy, he’s so goddamn gentle it blows your mind he’s a fighter. You can’t see him hurting even so much as a fly.

It’s for that reason you relent. Because Bertholdt’s never gone out of his way to scheme your downfall. He doesn’t have that in him. “Fine,” you say after a moment. “Fine, I’ll consider it.”

.

When Reiner steps back into the port city, he can’t help but think what he always thinks when he gets off a battlefield. Four years, and every thought is the same. Routine, almost. Or maybe, a habit to keep something alive.

And he almost takes comfort in it. That you would’ve loved it here. In Marley—Liberio, or otherwise. There are so many kinds of sweets, pastries, so many sights to see—the water stretches on for miles and miles, and you could’ve tried seafood. Maybe you would’ve liked it.

You never tried seafood. He promised. He promised—

Fucking hell. 

He steps out of the barracks, insides twisting into a tight knot as the sun blinds him. Lifting a hand, he squints and blinks, trying to get used to the brightness as people pass him by. Galliard’s voice trails after him like a ghost, and he scowls to himself, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He feels like he hasn’t slept a wink, and his body aches in places so deep he can’t rub it out.

“I saw you through her memories. You acted like the tough, reliable type. Not at all like yourself. And you were with that girl. Who was she to you, anyway, Reiner? Because my brother would have never cozied up with the enemy.”

Cozied up with the enemy. It’s as much as implying fraternization as anything and Reiner had barely chained back the words that would’ve torn both him and Galliard to shreds.

Don’t you fucking dare reduce her to just some promise I broke ever again. It stopped meaning something to me years ago.

Shaking his head free of Galliard’s voice, an image of you flashes through his mind to replace it and the urge to send a fist into his own face lances down his arm, but he barely restrains himself from doing so. Instead, he tightens his hand until his nails dig into his palm.

You’re always the one thing he can’t shake, nor does he think he wants to. 

Hollow, his feet drag his battered body towards the harbour. 

As he walks along the water, he hear some of the fishermen whistle and sing their shanties. It takes him a moment to recognize they’re all singing the same song, and he’s thrown back to when he came to the port the first time he was to go off to Paradis, how he committed the shanties to memory so he could take something with him to what was supposed to be an Island of Devils.

It makes his entire body ache, the uplifting tune filling his body up until he can’t possibly breathe. The way the sailors all sing together, smiling at each other—the camaraderie.

“Soon may the Wellerman come, to bring us sugar and tea and rum, one day when the toungin’ is done, we’ll take our leave and go…”

He misses that the most.

.

The sun is hanging in the centre of the sky as you glance from your plate to your surroundings. The fountain is full of life, people milling around the edges, tossing coins in and making wishes, and you hide a smile behind your hand when you watch a group of kids trying to flick their coins to the top most basin of the structure. The tiny plink-plink is barely heard, but either way, their groans of disappointment are far more amusing.

It helps pass the time at least, while you waste away your afternoon waiting for someone you’re not even sure will come. Dressed in a white blouse tucked into a long dark purple skirt that covers your pants, you cross one leg over the other as you wait.

You don’t even know why you’re here. Bertholdt had all but avoided your questions for the past week, and Annie didn’t budge, although, it’s harder for the blonde to slip. Being bunkmates helps, but not that much.

You keep people-watching, glancing up at the sky occasionally to see if any birds pass over, your bread untouched. Glancing up and down the street, you rest your chin glumly on the palm of your hand, elbow resting on the table. 

No pretty blond head in sight. 

Groaning, you lift your head when one of the waiters approaches, asking if you wanted anything more. You shake your head, a warmth spreading over your face and watching him go when a shadow falls over your table. 

“Oh, you got something to eat already.” 

Head jerking to the voice, you look up in surprise at whoever’s blocking your sunlight. Standing upright, your chair clatters against cobblestone as you clear your throat.

“You’re actually here,” you blurt out to both of their surprise and Reiner rocks back on his heels, running a hand through his short hair. His eyebrows struggle to meet his hairline and he smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry I’m late. Uh, sit down. I just… got lost.” You sink back into your chair and he takes the seat down across from yours nervously. He’s dressed in a pale green button up and darker slacks, but for once, he’s not scowling at you and you offer a slight smile. “How… how are you?”

“I’m okay. Slow morning.” He nods. You glance at your plate and nudge it towards him awkwardly. “I got it for you. It’s my favourite. I dunno what Bertl told you about me, or… why I’m even here, honestly.”

He picks up the bun tentatively, and you look down at your boots as he takes a bite, too nervous to watch his reaction.

What if he hates sweet things? What if he can’t drink cow milk? Don’t you remember? What if it makes him shit his pants—

“Oh, wow. I need to come to this place more often,” Reiner mumbles, taking another huge bite and your gaze flits to his face as he chews. His eyes are focused solely on the bun in a way that reminds you a lot like Sasha, and the corner of your mouth pulls into a pleased hint of a smile. “This is heaven…”

“You like it?” 

A noise escapes the blond and eyes jerk to meets yours as if he just remembered you were there and you tear your eyes away, clasping your hands together on the table. You close your eyes. Can the embarrassment just swallow you up already?

Reiner clears his throat, taking the cup of water left out for him after a quick point and your nod. He drains it to buy them both time, and your thumbs rub together. If you just walk away now, would it be too bad? You could probably find Annie or Jean pretty easily. Bertholdt’s probably just exploring the city with… if you had to hazard a guess, maybe Armin? They both like the architecture—stuff like that.

Honestly, you have no idea.

Porcelain rests against wood as Reiner nods. “I do. I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.”

“Er, yeah. Since I was a kid. We didn’t have much, uh, variety, so stuff like this was kinda a delicacy. I grew up at this orphanage where we worked the fields.” You shift in your seat as Reiner continues to eat, and you sigh silently to yourself. Why did you give up an afternoon looking at paint supplies with Jean for an awkward date like this?

Wait, this is a date right? That’s what Bertholdt said. Ask you out. Those were his words, right?

“Where are you from?”

“Just inside Wall Maria, so when Shiganshina was breached, we had more time to move inward,” you explain briefly. “But we mostly ate what we grew for crops. I mean, it’s not like we could buy cream buns every day, you know?” Reiner nodded silently, and you give him an uneasy smile, feeling the need to elaborate. “Ever since we joined the corps, they send me money for birthdays and stuff. I don’t know.” You clear your throat. “Anyway, I just thought you might like the bun.”

“Even though you think I hate you?”

“Wha—“ A strangled noise comes out of your mouth. “Who told you that?”

“Why would you think that, anyway?”

“Because all you do is glare at me,” you say pointedly. Crossing your arms over your chest, you shoot him a narrowed look. “And scowl. And you generally avoid being anywhere near me. I mean, do I stink to you or something, Braun, because I have news for you—“

“I don’t hate you. I actually really like you,” he tells you bluntly, cutting your rant in half, and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Reiner looks down at the empty plate, crossing his own arms and leaning forward on them. 

“Y-you like me?” you stammer and his cheeks redden.

“I mean, if Annie likes someone, I’m inclined to believe that they’re worth my time.”

Frowning, your shoulders slump. Gears turning, your expression scrunches up as you think aloud. “But, you asked Bertholdt to ask me out for you. Unless this is a dumb dare—wait.” You sit upright, twisting around to see if any of the other boys are milling around the plaza. Scanning for brown hair, or grey hair, or even blond hair, your cheeks begin to burn at the idea that someone’s watching you embarrass yourself but a hand on your elbow brings your gaze reeling back to Reiner.

A smile curls his lips impishly, but his eyes are resolute, calmer. Even still, he looks like he’s trying to fight a small panic rising up inside him, just like you are as he tells you to relax.

“This isn’t a dare,” he says. “I’m not that cruel.”

“I’ve seen you do worse to Titan dummies.”

“Exactly. I just wanted to get to know you better. Bertholdt offered to help me out since you guys are already friends, and I thought what the hell.”

You turn that explanation over in your head tentatively and a part of you recognizes it makes sense. Despite your hesitation, you know you only said yes because it was Bertholdt who asked you.

Otherwise, how inclined were you to say yes if it had been Reiner stalking up to you and asking you to hang out in Trost? How likely would it have been that you would be sitting here instead of walking along the stalls with Sasha and Connie?

“I’m kinda ashamed I don’t know you that well,” Reiner continues, fighting off tones you can’t decipher laced in his voice. Your brow furrows. “But I want to fix that, if you’d let me.” 

Dazedly, you repeat, “Fix… that?”

He nods and you simply stare at him, trying to get your mouth to work. It’s like he stole all the words from your mouth and time seems to slow as your lips part.

Absently, you realize his hand is still touching your elbow, fingers firm but not tight, and you swallow, studying his expression. Golden light plays on his face, sharpening the shadows of his nose and cheeks and lips, and yet everything about him seems to soften. Normally, you see him as hard rigid lines, like the shape of armour, and there is always an imposing aura around him that has become more muted now that he’s sitting beside you.

And you believe it. That he doesn’t hate you.

Maybe he really, really doesn’t, and you’d be an idiot if you don’t take up the offer.

So you stand up abruptly, and pull your arm out of his grip before slipping your hand into his.

“Fine,” you annouce, pulling him up. His eyes widen and you lead him away from the café with a small grin to yourself. A new plan begins to formulate in your mind as they step into the welcoming sun. Reiner’s long strides catch up to yours and he falls into step beside you. His stare burns into your cheek and you only tighten your grip on his hand as you lift your chin haughtily at him. “What do you say to a game of twenty questions?”

His eyebrows shoot up, but then a smug smile pulls at his mouth and he squeezes your hand back. “Sounds perfect, creampie. I promise, I’ll be perfectly honest.”

“Creampie?” you repeat dumbly, eyebrows shooting up and a horrible burning licking at your heart. Reiner gives you a vulgar smile and you let go of his hand, shaking your head and smacking his arm before looking down at the ground. Half of you wishes the ground would open up and swallow you whole—the other half thinks you’ll die of embarrassment before that. “How do you even know what that is?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You straighten up, spine straight as an arrow. Flustered, you stutter, “That’s none of your business.”

He tilts his head back and laughs. “Guess that was your first question, then, huh? Bold start. Surprised me, too, creampie, so that gets you bonus points.”

“What? Wait—no! That doesn’t count!”

.

Walking past the hospital every day, it feels almost ritual to look past the gates and into the courtyard. Sometimes there are patients milling around, doing their daily physical activity, or nurses and other workers walking through to get a break from all the depressing shit that must be going on in there, and Reiner always, always, wonders if he should be in there with the rest of them.

It’s why he turns his head on reflex now, peering through iron-wrought gates. No one’s inside except for a pair walking through the path and he stops for a moment, watching. 

One of them is most definitely a woman, a hat covering her head and a long coat the shade of plums. A white Eldian armband is stark against the shade of her clothes. Meanwhile the other looks like he’s been dragged through hell. With one leg, he hobbles along with his crutch, black hair streaming past his shoulders, and he’s ragged, white shirt kind of messy from where Reiner stands. The Eldian armband is wrapped tight along his bicep. But he stands straight-back, shoulders set, the gait of a soldier. Pride keeps him up, not strength.

He’s too far away to hear them speak, and they stick to the shadows of the hospital, but after a short moment, the woman wraps an arm around the one not desperately holding onto the crutch, leaning in closer towards the man as if he has the most riveting thing to say.

For a moment, it is not a woman in a purple jacket and a veteran with one leg but two cadets walking the streets of Trost, sunlight shining down on them warmly. The blond boy leans to listen to the girl beside him, smiling until he thought his cheeks would fall off.

“This is your last question, Reiner. Make it count.”

“Hm… alright, if you could do anything in the world, anything at all, what would you do? No Titans, no soldiers. Let’s say there was no war at all and you had unlimited resources, yadda, yadda, yadda…”

“Oh? Hm… I’d want to live where there’s a lot of water. Like a lake or something. I’d get to try all these foods I’ve never thought of before, and I’d, uh… I don’t know what I’d do for money. I guess I’d figure it out somehow.”

“Chopping down wood sounds fun.”

“Yeah, right! I’d rather chop my fingers off. Hm… Maybe I could raise some kids, like I was raised. Give them a home.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I dunno. I like being responsible for things. It makes me feel like I’m needed, I guess. I don’t want a kid to grow up lonely like I did.”

“That… that sounds nice.”

“You could visit, you know. As long as you chop the firewood.”

Reiner blinks, and the two are gone. Not a hint of them are in sight, and a soft breath slips out between his lips. He must’ve been seeing things.

Shaking his head to himself, he turns away.

.

The past year and a half has been turbulent since you became friends with Reiner, but for some reason, you don’t think you would change the thing. 

Not even when Connie would come at ghastly hours in the morning because “CAN YOU PLEASE TELL REINER TO STOP SNORING? We would but we’re too afraid of being crushed by the weight of his entire body. Thank you! You’re the best, seriously.”

Or when they’re studying and Reiner makes one too many jokes about how he could fuck a Titan, despite Bertholdt’s resigned sighs and you throwing a book at him, and it only gets you, “Keep acting like that and I’ll take a bite out of your juicy ass next, creampie,” and a heat that kisses at your face.

Not even after reclaiming Trost and losing yourself in his arms.

You feel something inside you shatter as the smell of ash tickles at your nose. Walking past the combat medics base they set up for the parameter of the recovery effort, you don’t even look up at any of your friends still left as you walk past. Your entire body burns from the aftermath of Trost, and you wonder if you’ll be able to even get up in the morning as you limp over to a secluded alleyway and lean against the stone.

You don’t know if you’ve ever fought for that long or hard in your life, and you can’t feel your legs anymore as you sink to the floor.

Too many bodies. There are too many bodies.

“Hey.”

Looking up, you pull your mask down when Reiner stands before you. Tearing the fabric off your neck, you draw your knees up and rest your arms on top of them, the mask hanging off your fingers limply. A strange relieving wave washes over you to know he’s still here, even surrounded by so much death.

“Hi,” you murmur. “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” he agrees simply, leaning in beside you and sliding down. Their knees knock into one another as he tugs his own mask down. Sweat glistens along his skin and his sleeves are rolled up as he clears his throat. “I’m glad you made it out.”

You smile faintly at him but it flickers out before it can find a place on your face. Looking at your hands, you imagine the rough skin of calluses forming on your palms still and you wish you could rip your gloves off but every part of you is too exhausted to move now. Softly, you tell him, “I’m glad you made it out, too. There are a few of us I haven’t really caught sight of. I know Eren’s squad is dead. I—“ you stop yourself. No way Reiner is interested in the fact that you had taken their deaths in stride because you had to in the moment and now you don’t think you can feel at all— “but… Marco. I haven’t seen him in days. Jean hasn’t seen him either.”

“M-Marco?” Reiner whispers and your eyes lift to look at him. “You haven’t found him yet?” Gaze widening at the colour draining from Reiner’s face, your stomach flips and a dread fills your entire being as you sit upright, your legs sliding down, your arms falling to the ground to prop yourself up. Lungs tightening, your lips part as if to form his name but no sound comes out.

You know what his silence means. His silence is death spelt out in glaring red letters—the same shade as blood. 

But Marco?

Why Marco? A caustic voice screams inside you and your nails dig into the cobblestone as Reiner turns his face away, jaw clenching. Trying to breathe, the air stalls in your throat and your gut clenches as your gaze drifts to the street full of combat medics and doctors, other soldiers who still walk. What—what do you mean Marco isn’t one of them? You want to grab Reiner by the jacket, shake him until he makes sense, but instead you search for freckles behind every mask, stumbling to your feet. Marco never did anything wrong. He was supposed to join the MPs. He was our… our leader. He never did anything wrong.

He never did anything wrong. Never. Never. Not Marco. It can’t be. The thought tumbles through your head as you push yourself to your feet but your knees nearly give in on the first step and you stumble to the other side of the alleyway with a harsh noise. Shoulder crashing into the stone, your eyes squeeze tight and hot tears pour down your face as you clench your teeth, trying to chain back the sob that’s working through your body. Head hanging, your mouth pries open as an ugly moan comes out of you, so deep inside you that you want to crumble.

Days seem to pile onto your shoulders until you think your bones will break and your fingers curl into tight fists as you try to stop the tears from falling, but they keep coming, tracing your nose, pushing everywhere and everything is so hot. Shit, you can’t even breathe—

Hands take your shoulders and you let out a ferocious scream, thrashing yourself out of your grip but fingers only slide to your biceps, pulling you away from the wall as your boots slip against the cobblestone and then hands are on your wrists, pushing away your blind fists.

“Let me go! He’s dead, isn’t he?” you scream as he lets go of you for just a second to wrap his arms around you and you let out a shuddering breath as he crushes you in his embrace. “Reiner! Tell me! Marco’s dead!”

“Yes! Yes, he is!”

His words spear through your skull, sending electricity down your spine and your entire body goes limp as he collapses to his knees, you with him. Your arms at your side, your eyes blink open and you feel fresh tears fall down your face as he cups the back of your head, holding you to him and as something wet seeps into your shoulder, it’s as if you are set on fire.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

 On their own accord, your arms come up under his and fingers hook onto his shoulders. Chest to chest, you swear your heart beats in a mournful beat with his, and his entire body collapses against yours. Eyes closing, you press yourself closer, hoping that the heat of his body will chase away the cold that’s rapidly spreading through your body.

Reiner’s arm around your waist tightens. You swallow hard against his shoulder.

“Please forgive me,” he whispers against your neck, wet cheek pressing against your jaw, and your chest stutters as you try to remember how to breathe.

“Reiner…”

You barely breathe his name. It only makes him curl tighter against you.

.

Liberio is colder at night than he remembers. He has to pull the blankets up to his chin, and still, he shivers.

Rolling onto his side, he can nearly imagine you staring back beside him, smiling, hand reaching to touch his face, and his eyes flutter shut when your fingers seem to pass through his cheek.

In his mind, you’re wearing the white blouse and long purple skirt again, long riding boots covering dark pants, innocent smile on your face as you wait for him in the noon sunlight. 

By then, he had known there weren’t any devils on Paradis, but he’d never seen an angel until he saw you cast in gold.

[cheesy09]

Cheesy~ Hi! i suddenly had this urge to brainrot abt Kiro's past and one thing that remains a mystery for me is his master, Key. I still have so many questions and know almost nothing abt him. If you don't mind, would you please tell me some facts & abt his relationship with Kiro? OH and this may sound stupid but is the master dead...?? SORRY IF THIS WAS TOO LONG Thank you for all your Kiro analysis!

Hi nony~ Hope you're having a good morning/evening wherever you are! ~ヾ(・ω・)

First of all, you're not alone - i always have the urge to brainrot about Kiro’s past and I too have a lot of questions about Key 😆 He’s probably one of the most mysterious NPC’s I’ve ever come across. And yeah, the fact of whether he’s dead or alive is also a mystery (Though it has been heavily implied that he’s dead). But here’s what we know about him:

He first appeared with Black Swan in the 1908 White House explosion - the moment when Evol, as well as the Queen Gene first appeared in this world. He was one of the twelve “Deities” of the organization.

In the Organization, Key was known as Helios, and he has the exact same appearance as the Helios we know and love today (which means he looks exactly like Kiro???)

Key and MC’s Dad knew each other and worked together. In Season 1, they were the ones who exposed the children kidnappings and illegal experimentation that happened at Twin Leaves Orphanage. In Season 2 though, although they know each other, their connection is very vague.

Key adopted Kiro and raised him because he saw in him a light that he didn’t see in any of the other children - A strong desire for the light. Quote: “When I first saw him, he was only five years old, thin and small, and looking like he wouldn’t live past a day. But there was a light in his eyes and so I took him away. I didn’t see wrong, that the child at that time who yearned for the light would gradually become a sun who could illuminate others.”

Key and Kiro had a father-son/teacher-student relationship. Key had a HUGE impact on Kiro’s life and taught him a lot about life and human nature. 

He was the one who gave Kiro his name, as well as his birthday. It was also hinted that he was the one who gave Kiro his first musical instrument.

He introduced Kiro to shadow technology and taught him how to hack in the digital world.

They both live by the motto “We stand in darkness as we defend the light.”

Kiro was the only one who knew of Key’s true personality - kind, cheerful, mischievous, fun-loving and wise. While on the surface he was cold, aloof, ruthless and indifferent.

For all of Kiro’s birthdays, Key would send a code/puzzle for Kiro to solve. It was like a birthday tradition for them.

Key disappeared when Kiro turned 15 for unknown reasons. The last time Kiro saw him was when Key dropped him off at the airport, when Kiro left for school in the States.

It’s rarely ever shown, but the times it is shown, it’s pretty obvious that Kiro misses Key A LOT.

Key left Kiro a mysterious code to decipher, and when he did, Kiro was lead to an abandoned building in Loveland City where he obtained “the key to opening a very important door” - A key that many people coveted, so Kiro couldn’t really trust anyone.

Key also gave Kiro a very important mission to fulfil - one that Kiro has been carrying out since the start of the story, and is also why he took over Black Swan as leader. (My guess is that it’s the New World Plan that was put on hold at the end of Season 1, but I’m not entirely sure).

So this is as much as I know. Also, thank you for reading my analysis, nony 🥺 And for the amazing ask. It truly means a lot!

[stolen-pen-name23]

Director’s Cut: The Lotus Eater

Hey y’all! As some of you may know, I’ve just finished posting my latest multi-chapter fic: The Lotus Eater. I put a lot of effort into this fic and I kind of want to ramble about some of what went into it. 

If you have not read it please go read it before you read anything under the cut. There be spoilers. This is your last warning! 

Some quick facts and stats:

The outline of this fic was 4k words long. The final fic turned into 43k.

The outline also originally had 20 chapters. There was a lot of unnecessary fluff and extra simulations I was going to throw in there, but I feared it would become too repetitive. Instead, I decided on fewer chapters that would be longer in length. 

I wrote chapter 8 first, then chapter 1, then chapter 4, then everything else was in chronological order. (Though my first and last line were written before anything else).

I got my idea for this fic while I was whale watching on a boat in San Francisco Bay. I was on a work trip. I should have been thinking about the commercial I was directing. I was thinking about this instead. 

I started writing the fic on August 5, 2021 and finished it on December 31, 2021. I began posting the first week of January. 

While I was writing this fic, I also completed all 31 days of whumptober, participated in two fic exchanges, and spent hours working on a collab, moonlight sonata, which delayed the release of this fic significantly. The original plan was to release this fic on my birthday. I missed the date by only 19 days. 

BIG SPOILERS START NOW: I was originally going to mark the fic as “creator chose not to use warnings” so that I wouldn’t spoil the ending, but I feared people would be mad at me if after all of that, Obi-Wan died, and they did not see it coming. So y’all are welcome.

Story BTS:

I mention this in my final author’s note, but Obi-Wan’s fate is sealed in chapter four. This is a flashback chapter. It is also the last time Obi-Wan ever sees the sun (for real). The only other times he sees it are in simulations. When he does manage to break outside the facility it is night, it is cold, and it is rainy. Turns out, there is someplace worse than the dry deserts of Tatooine. 

The first and last lines are direct mirrors of each other. I did this on purpose to make the story feel smaller and more contained. I also just love parallels.

This is the first multi-chapter I have ever written from one character’s POV. It never changes from Obi-Wan’s point of view. I did this on purpose and for three reasons: 1) I did not want to reveal what was going on. I wanted you to find everything out as Obi-Wan was finding it out. 2) I wanted to challenge myself to see if I could actually stick with one character and still reveal what was actually going on from his POV. 3) I could not have done anything from Anakin’s POV without revealing that he wasn’t real.

Ahsoka was not originally in this fic. She was not in the outline. She found her way in on her own, stubborn girl. 

There were several themes I wanted to convey in this fic, and those are: Resilience in the face of hopelessness, PTSD and how it can be carried with you into everything, never settling for the path of least resistance, and hope even when it looks like there is none. I make it very clear that Luke and Leia are the symbols of hope and I imply that they are kept safe until they do what they need to do to end the Empire. I also wanted to pose the questions “Are you really a person if everything you know about yourself is actually just an echo of someone else’s life? If you are almost exactly the same as the original, would the people who loved the original love you?” 

I did not know how to convey this in the fic, but in my head, the Naboo simulation had an unnatural shine, like a filter in a movie trying to show that something is really more of a dream sequence than reality. I have no way of showing it, but that is what I pictured. Everything else, everything that was real, had a dark blue filter over it in my head. I believe I received a comment from someone who said they felt like the simulations had a filter on them and it made my day.

Only the Kaminoan facility is portrayed as sterile and white. Nowhere else in this fic is nearly as clean as the facility — until it starts falling apart. It only falls apart when Obi-Wan learns more. Just like the simulations, which also start out much cleaner and happier. More over, in order to wake from the simulations, he must first die. Vis-à-vis, he would never be free from the facility until he died. 

Everyone should know that I’m absolute trash at writing ensembles. The scenes with more than three characters often took days, if not weeks, to get through. At one point I completely lost track of Padmé and had to rewrite a TON of stuff. It was bad. 

This fic had 10 different titles before I settled on The Lotus Eater. I don’t remember most of them, but the other two most likely candidates for titles were Alive In My Head and The Strongest Wills. The Lotus Eater was a last minute decision, but when I came up with it, I was married to it instantly. The name references the story from the Odyssey about “the lotus eaters” - a group of people on an island who eat the lotus plants. The lotus plants have a hallucinogenic effect on them that causes pleasure and happiness, but none of it is real. The simulations in Naboo are Obi-Wan’s lotus. 

I begin chapter 4 with “Obi-Wan’s reality is located on a desolate planet.” This was to convey that everything in this chapter was real. 

The main influences behind this fic were: Westworld, WandaVision, The Good Place and one particular scene in The Handmaid’s Tale that devastated me so much, I did everything in my power to convey that feeling into this fic. 

I was inspired to write this fic by several authors, but mostly by my friend @pandora15 who so brilliantly wrote Keeper of the Force. An excellent read and fandom royalty for a good reason. If you are one of the three people here who has not read it, please do so. When I read KotF, it made me want to challenge myself to 1) write something long-form, intricate and planned 2) get better at writing descriptions and imagery. Those are two things I admire deeply about Pandora’s writing, and she inspired me to the point of creation. Not to mention, she was one of my biggest cheerleaders while I was writing this fic and during its posting. 

In every draft of this fic, Obi-Wan dies. He was always going to die. You can’t make me change my mind on this. 

[cozy-the-overlord]

Just One Last Word

Summary: As children, she swore she'd become the greatest author in all of Asgard. Loki had his doubts.

Word Count: 4,360

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: Look who's back! I got this idea from a made-up fic title sent to me by an anon a while back and I just loved the concept so much I had to write it. What can I say? I’m a glutton for childhood romance and angst

Thanks for reading! :)

Warnings: Implied/referenced domestic violence/child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

The first time Loki heard about Sága’s extraordinary book was the day Lady Gudrun decided that the spring weather was just too lovely to ignore and took her literature students to give them their lessons in the gardens rather than the stuffy palace classrooms. He couldn’t quite recall what year they were—childhood seemed so long ago that all of his primary classes had melted into one amorphous blur—but they had to have been young because Sága hadn’t yet chopped off both her braids in the middle of arithmetic, claiming that they were too heavy to think properly whilst wearing them. No, her braids still hung at her shoulders, and as Lady Gudrun read aloud to them on the lawn, Sága was busy weaving dandelion flowers into their intricate patterns.

“This is going in my book!” she whispered to Loki with a grin. “In my book, all the girls wear dandelions in their hair.”

Loki frowned. “What book?”

“The one I’m writing,” she said, fiddling with another flower stem. “It’s going to be the best book in all of Asgard.”

He had been going to say that there was no way in all the realms she was capable of writing the best book in all of Asgard, but then Lady Gudrun asked them if there was something they wanted to share with the rest of their classmates, since they seemed to be having such an intriguing conversation by themselves, and Loki had shaken his head, blushing. Sága wasn’t bothered. She kept playing with her dandelions and humming softly to herself, some horrifically out of tune melody Loki was almost positive she was just making up as she went along.

Sága Svanhilddottir was a strange girl. One day she had just plopped her bulging crocheted bookbag onto the desk next to his, and she never really went away. There were plenty of whispers about her—her mother was an Asgardian noble who had run away to Alfheim to marry a man in the Elvish court, only to return nine years later with a child in her arms and no husband to be found. At dinner, Loki would overhear the noblewomen’s hushed speculations on what could possessed her to leave in the first place, and what prompted her return. How had the Elf bewitched her so? A love potion? A spell? Had she gotten with child and fled to preserve her dignity? But then why return? Was he unfaithful? Was she unfaithful?

Sága had her own story. She told Loki very seriously before class one day that her mother had come back to Asgard because her father had been turned into a dragon by a wicked witch and now every time he sneezed he spat out enormous balls of fire into the air, and that her mother was afraid that the next time he caught a cold he’d burn the whole apartment down. She pulled down her dress sleeve to show Loki her burn scar, angry red flesh that stretched from her wrist all the way across her shoulders—a scar, she explained, she had gotten when she had tried to give her dragon father a handkerchief.

Loki didn’t believe her.

“Witches don’t turn people into dragons,” he bristled. “My mother’s a witch, and she would never turn anyone into a dragon.”

“That’s because your mother’s a nice witch,” Sága explained impatiently. “This was a mean old witch, with pointy teeth and spiky hair, who hated everybody.” Ruffling her shorn locks (this was after the ill-fated math lesson), she bared her teeth in demonstration. “She was mad at my father because he forgot to bring her mousetail pudding for her birthday like he promised.”

“He—what?”

But Sága only waved him off dismissively. “You’ll have to read my book,” she said. “I explain it all there.”

Oh, that damn book. It seemed like it was the only thing she ever talked about, this stupid, imaginary book. Because it had to be imaginary. Loki had never even seen the girl hold a pen, let alone write a sentence. No, she was too busy prattling on about her wonderous book, this book that would one day become the pinnacle of Asgardian literature.

“Someday, they’ll be making students read my book instead of this nonsense,” she’d whisper to Loki as their teacher read to them in the front of the classroom. “It’ll be much more interesting.”

Or when he ran into her in the library, and she’d drag him to the shelf where they kept all the classics.

“This is where they’ll keep my book!” she’d grin, having the audacity to pat the dusty wood where the great authors of millennia long past rested.

And then there was that one time during one of the feasts, when he turned around to find her staring at him intently from across the ballroom, a studious expression on her face. He shot what he hoped was an intimidating glare at her, but she only skipped across the room to join him.

“What are you doing?” he asked sourly.

“Looking at you,” she said, grinning as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I need to remember how you look like, so I can put you in my book.”

Loki scowled. “I don’t want to be in your book.”

“Well, I want you in it,” Sága retorted. “And, since I’m the author, that’s all that matters.” She grabbed his hand and began pulling him towards the dessert table. “Come on, Prince Loki. Let’s get some cake!”

Thor said that he must be harboring a crush on her, to seemingly hate her so and yet be constantly spending time with her. Loki nearly threw a fit when he accused him of such at the dinner table. He didn’t like Sága. She was strange and irritating and talked far too much and he wanted her to go away. He spent time with her because she followed him around, not because he wanted to! She was annoying. And weird. And …

And yet.

One day she wasn’t in class. Loki thought he’d be relieved—finally, a lesson where he could listen to the teacher without having to filter out her constant chatter. But … it didn’t feel right. It was too quiet—he hated the empty stretches of silence that hung over the classroom every time Lady Gudrun stopped talking. For some reason, it seemed even more difficult to focus without the familiar presence of his deskmate hunched over the table and picking splinters out of the wood with her fingernail.

The library was more of the same. Loki perused the shelves, gaze lingering on the spot Sága had claimed for her own. She was the only person he really talked to, he realized. Without her, the day felt hollow.

She was gone for the rest of the week. Her mother was gone too, and rumors began to fly that she had decided to take her daughter back to Alfheim to rejoin her mysterious husband. Loki couldn’t help but remember her story about her father the dragon.

Just when he was starting to fear she had left for good, one morning a ratty old crotched bag smacked the desk next to his before class started.

He scowled to mask his sigh of relief. “Where have you been?”

But Sága wouldn’t say. She only grinned at him from under her crown of dandelions. “I was working on my book. Why?” she asked. “Did you miss me, Prince Loki?”

Loki flushed bright red.

It was strange to think about now, with everything that had happened. At the time, Loki thought he would have fallen on his sword before he ever referred to Sága as a friend. And yet, she was not only a friend, but the closest one he had. She continued finding ways to spend time with him even after they graduated Lady Gudrun’s class—she’d track him down and ask him for help with her arithmetic, or to wish him luck on an upcoming test, or to tell him about a book she thought he’d like. Thor and his companions drove Loki up the wall with their merciless teasing, but their words couldn’t quell the odd sort of fluttering in his stomach every time she came running up to him clutching some new story against her chest.

“Is it your book?” he’d ask jokingly, even as he took the novel from her hands.

“No,” she laughed. “I’m still working on that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you now?”

Sága patted his shoulder, still grinning. “Don’t worry,” she said. “When I’m done, you’ll be the first to read it.”

She was pretty. Loki wasn’t quite certain when that happened. Sága didn’t really change all that much, even as everyone else grew and morphed into something resembling maturity. She continued cutting her own hair, keeping it messy and uneven and even shorter than his. She’d weave dandelion stalks into the shorn clumps and walk around in gauzy yellow dresses with cuffed sleeves that went past her fingers, looking like one of her fairy-story creatures come to life. It was generally accepted that she looked ridiculous, and Loki didn’t disagree. He just felt that she made ridiculous look good.

He noticed it when she came down to the sparring pit to watch him practice with his daggers. There she was, perched on the railing, beaming like the sun as she waved at him. She was pretty. Very pretty.

Loki turned around without waving back. There was a heat rising in his cheeks that he wasn’t quite sure how to address. He missed the target completely on his next throw.

He wasn’t the only person who noticed. The other boys his age were beginning to be quite drawn to Sága Svanhilddottir as well, although Loki suspected it was less due to actual interest and more because of her proclivity for disregarding traditional decorum. She loved to dance. It seemed every ball she was spinning across the floor in the arms of some new beau, giggling so loudly that her voice echoed down the hall. Loki hated the way they’d hold her, gripping her tightly to their bodies as if she belonged to them, but Sága didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it. She’d laugh and whoop and make a show of it as they twirled through the song.

It might have made her popular with the young men, but older members of the court weren’t as amused. After all, such displays weren’t exactly becoming of an unmarried woman. But Sága didn’t mind that they whispered things like “promiscuous” and “loose” as she walked by. Unlike her fellow ladies, Sága wasn’t particularly interested in catching a husband. In fact, she once told Loki in no uncertain terms that she had no intentions of ever giving her hand in marriage.

“Marriage is horrible,” she said. Loki could barely hear her over the ruckus—it was Thor’s Nameday Feast, and such a raucous celebration was hardly ideal for intimate conversation. He thought Sága might have been enjoying the festivities a bit too much as well—she was swaying on her feet as she leaned in to speak. “You’re tied down forever to some person, and you don’t even know what they’re going to be like! Sure, they might seem nice, but who knows!” She hiccupped, and Loki found himself reaching out to steady her without realizing he was doing it, accidentally grabbing the shoulder he knew to be scarred under her sleeve.

Sága brushed him off. There was a bitterness in her eyes that made his chest ache. “I don’t want to get married,” she said. “I just want to have fun.”

He walked her back to her rooms that night. He had started doing that recently—partially because with the way she was staggering he didn’t trust her to be able to make it herself, and partially because the voracious looks some of her dance partners had been giving her were making the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up.

Sága grinned at him when they made it back to her door. The dandelions in her hair were beginning to wilt. One was nearly falling off her head, held there only by a tangled strand.

“Are you going to kiss me, Prince Loki?” she asked.

Loki started. All at once, the fluttering was back. “What?”

“You’re my prince, aren’t you?” She was swaying quite a bit, but she didn’t look away. Her breath stank of wine. “Aren’t you supposed to kiss the lady goodnight?” She leaned forward as if meaning to demonstrate, but ended up falling right into his chest, giggling all the way. Loki caught her, hoping she couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.

My prince.

“I—I don’t think it would be very princely of me to kiss you right now,” he whispered.

“Maybe not,” she yawned against his armor. “But I’d like it anyways.”

Loki inhaled. I’d like it too. But she was drunk, practically incoherent—she didn’t mean any of the words coming out of her mouth right now, and he knew it.

And so, he helped her back up and through the doorway. “Not tonight.”

Sága perked up. “Tomorrow?”

She looked so childishly excited that Loki couldn’t hold back his chuckle. “Sure. Tomorrow.” Maybe he had had too much wine as well, because the thought of such a silly promise exhilarated him far more than it should have. “You come find me and I’ll kiss you.”

They never spoke about that night again. Sága didn’t seem to remember it—when he ran into her the next day she was nursing a headache and a new idea for her book and wanted to ask him a question about the mechanics of water seidr. Loki didn’t mention it either. The whole thing felt much sillier doused in daylight. What, did he think she was just going to knock on his door and cash in a kiss like a raffle ticket? No, it was better that the whole thing just fade into obscurity. Loki told himself he was relieved that Sága didn’t remember his promise.

It didn’t stop his thoughts from racing every time he saw her.

What would it be like to kiss her, he wondered? Would she let him pull her close? Would she wrap her arms around his neck and run her fingers through his hair? How would it feel to press his lips to hers, to close his eyes and just drink her in as if she were the only thing that existed?

He wished he could find out.

Loki remembered the last time he saw her. Her father had passed away, and she and her mother were returning to Alfheim for his funeral and to clear up several issues regarding his estate. They weren’t sure how long they’d be gone, but Sága predicted that the legal affairs would take years to resolve.

“Is it bad that I don’t want to go?” she asked in a whisper the night before she was set to leave. Loki looked at her, huddled against the balcony railing besides him. Inside, the feast raged on, but in the moonlight the world seemed almost tranquil.

“I don’t think it’s bad,” he said slowly. “Funerals aren’t exactly joyful occasions. I doubt anyone ever wants to go to them.”

She was silent for a moment, staring across the gardens spread beneath them. “I was happy when they told me he was dead,” she said finally, voice hoarse. “That’s bad, isn’t it? You’re not supposed to be happy because your father’s dead.”

Loki wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t know much about Sága’s father—she almost never spoke of him, and Loki never asked—but he never could quite forget the stories she would tell when they were children, about witches and dragons and violent, fiery breath.

He inhaled. “I don’t think that’s bad either.” A part of him wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand, but he wasn’t sure if that was right. “If he was a good father, you’d feel differently. But he wasn’t, and you don’t. That’s all there is to it.”

Sága only nodded.

The next morning was less somber. When Sága came to say goodbye, she seemed her normal, airy self, bouncing and bubbling over every small detail.

“Hopefully, by the time I’m back, I’ll have my book done!” she beamed. “And I’ll bring it back for you to read!”

“Well, in that case, I’ll be counting the seconds,” he drawled. Sága laughed, and he found himself gazing into her eyes. They were lovely, those eyes—warm, like liquid amber, brown and sparkling with mirth. He had never really stopped to think about it before, but she had to have the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.

Perhaps he was staring too intently, because Sága had stopped laughing. Loki felt his cheeks flush. He was about to apologize when she threw her arms around his shoulders.

He was so thrown off by the embrace that he couldn’t really comprehend what had happened until after she had let go. It was a quick hug, spur of the moment and over as soon as it began. It meant nothing.

Still there was something in the air as Sága pulled away, something he didn’t think either of them had the capability to describe. She patted his shoulder, nodding as if in agreement with something neither of them had said.

“Goodbye, Prince Loki,” she said thickly.

He nodded too. “Goodbye, Sága.”

It was the last time he saw her.

Loki stared at the book on the table. He had told his mother that he didn’t want any more books—he was beginning to feel less like a person and more like a pity case with each shipment she sent in.

Enough with it! Just let me rot in peace.

And she had agreed. The flood of books had ceased.

Except for this one.

He hadn’t heard them come in to drop it off, which was concerning. Loki had always been a light sleeper, and that had increased a hundredfold by the time he had returned to Asgard. He wondered if they were drugging him.

The book itself was crisp and clean—freshly bound. He always used to like those books as a child, so new that the spine let out a satisfying crack as he opened them for the first time. Now, he was almost afraid to touch it.

The mossy green cover was unassuming. No artwork, no patterns, just the title and author in simple gold lettering.

Dandelion

Sága Svanhilddottir

Loki didn’t know how long he stared at it. The dungeons made it hard to keep track of time in general, but in that moment it felt as if everything around him ceased to exist. He couldn’t tear his eyes from it.

Damn. She actually did it.

Sága … when was the last time he thought of Sága? She seemed to exist in a different lifetime, a character in a story that had long since been shelved. He remembered her, though—a scrawny little girl on the grass, weaving yellow flowers through her braids.

In my book, all the girls wear dandelions in their hair.

He picked it up. It wasn’t particularly heavy, nor particularly thick—certainly nothing like the texts of old she had once proclaimed herself equal to. It appeared quite average, really. Maybe he wouldn’t read it. The whole thing was birthed out of a childish fancy, and he no longer held any appreciation for fairy-stories.

But who was he kidding?

The story was about a girl named Dandelion (Loki groaned aloud upon reading it, although such puerility was to be expected from an author who went about her days with weeds dangling from her hair) who lived with her mother and her beast of  a father off in some nonexistent realm, far away from Asgard. While her father had not the form of a dragon, he certainly had the temperament. He spent the days raging about their household, ranting and raving at every little inconvenience until he’d worked himself up into a violent frenzy.

Her mother didn’t know what to do. She was alone in a strange land, having forfeited her freedom to irrevocably tie herself to this monster of a man. She had nowhere to go, no family to turn to. And so she grit her teeth and took the beatings and the curses and prayed for a miracle.

Of course, little Dandelion was too young to understand this. She didn’t know why her mother cried herself to sleep at night, nor could she comprehend the foulness of the words that her father spat into the air. She had never known anything else. And so, every night she sat upon her father’s knee as he brushed out and braided her long, silky hair and read aloud to her from his rotted old storybook. Dandelion loved those stories, of monstrous dragons and evil witches who feasted on rats and tarantulas, fair maidens locked away in towers and dashing princes fighting their way through bramble-choked woods to awaken them with a kiss.

She’d dream about those stories as she lay in bed, writing her own in her head to drown out the crashes and cries ricocheting off the walls on the floor below her. In her mind’s eye, Dandelion could see herself as the maiden, nose pressed against the window as she waited for her prince to scale her tower and carry her to safety.

He never came.

But she was not long for this way of life. One night, during dinner, her father in a fit of anger overturned the candle on the tablecloth. The fabric went up in flames. They spread fast across the table and caught on Dandelion’s cuff, setting her sleeve ablaze. She survived—her father was quick to come to his senses and douse the flames—but her arm was badly burned. It was at that moment that her mother had had enough. She took her daughter and ran for it.

After a long struggle to secure the funds they needed, they were able to book passage back to her mother’s home realm. There, they found sanctuary.

She found something else there too. There, sitting in the very back row of the classroom with his head hidden behind a book, was a real, living, breathing prince. Dandelion was entranced—she had always thought princes to be some mythical creature that existed only within the pages of storybook. And yet, here was one right in front of her, like the most normal thing in the world. He didn’t seem very princely. He just seemed like a boy, a quiet boy who preferred reading to conversation. Dandelion would have never known him to be anything else if her mother hadn’t pointed him out to her.

But she was curious, and so when given the opportunity to choose her spot, she sat down next to him. He was a strange prince. He’d argue with her about the stories she told, but that only meant he was listening to her. He’d say he didn’t want to see her when she bumped into him outside of class, but he’d still follow her down the hall when she turned to leave. He didn’t strike her as the dragon-slaying tower-scaling type, but that was okay. Dandelion liked him just the way he was.

The story went on. Dandelion grew up to the whooshing of letters slipped under the door—her dragon father, asking her mother to come back, to come home, promising that he was different and everything would be all right. There were times when her mother seemed almost swayed by his sweet words—she’d sigh and say that it would be nice to see their family safe and back together again and stare off into the distance as if remembering something other than the screaming or the fighting or the burning, as if she had forgotten the way Dandelion would wake screaming in the night convinced she could smell her flesh burning. It sent cold shivers down Dandelion’s spine. She began tossing the letters into the fire before her mother had the chance to read them.

She’d turn to her prince for comfort. He didn’t know about the letters, but somehow, he made her feel better all the same. He was light and safe and everything she needed—she always seemed to be laughing when she was with him. And when he laughed—something about that laugh made Dandelion’s chest feel awash with a lovely sort of warmth.

She was in love with him.

But Dandelion didn’t say anything about that. She knew he only saw her as a friend—a silly, trivial friend who he could tease and laugh with without having to concern himself with the solemnity of his station. If he knew how she felt … she could lose him entirely. Dandelion couldn’t face such a prospect.

Instead, she danced with everyone but her prince, drowned herself in wine and spent her nights in the arms of any faceless man who wanted her, all in some vain attempt to sway her feelings in another direction. It only made things worse.

But life went on. Another letter came in from the realm of her birth, written in a different hand than usual. Her father had passed in his sleep, it explained. At long last, the dragon had been defeated. Dandelion was to return home immediately. And so, she bid her prince a friendly farewell.

The fallout of her father’s death was horrifically complicated. She was his legal heir, but she had also spent a majority of her life estranged from him and she found his representatives unwilling to hand over control of his estate to her. It was years before she could come back. And when she did—

Loki couldn’t bring himself to finish it. He knew very well what “Dandelion” found when she returned to Asgard—or more aptly, what she didn’t find.

You’re my prince, aren’t you?

He wished he had kissed her.

[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 6/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife’s friend and his friend’s wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Chapter 6: When he wakes up beside you, Zemo remembers the day everything changed.

Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo’s wife’s name is Heike because of comics. Implied alcoholism by Zemo as a means to deal with his guilt. I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact).

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won’t say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

Grief softens, but it never truly leaves.

So when Helmut wakes beside you, he isn’t surprised to find grief there as well. Pain has been a constant companion over the years but today’s grief is nothing but a dull throb in his chest.

He had a dream about his wife again. It wasn’t a sad dream, it didn’t hurt to look upon her face, but his heart ached for her regardless.

In his dream, she was happy, happy to sit and chat in a home that wasn’t quite in Sokovia or Spain, but rather a mix of them both. You were there, too, laughing and smiling alongside her.

She was taking the time to explain something to him, something you already seemed to understand. You both laughed when he failed to get the joke.

With a sigh, Helmut sits up in his bed and turns toward the window.

It’s dawn. The rising sun baths the room in an orangy-pink glow and you sleep soundly beside him. He traces little circles unto your shoulder as he thinks about breakfast, what might he make for you. The answer is obvious, really.

He then turns his thoughts toward his mission, whether or not Sam’s associate would locate Madani soon.

He also thinks about what you may do if he kissed you awake.

He thinks about many things as you sleep beside him.

And as he listens to the steady rhythm of your breath, he thinks that he’s truly happy.

***

You never asked what happened to Vasily Zaev and Helmut didn’t offer.

News of his death never reached any headlines in Spain or any other International News Broadcast for that matter.

There were the occasional rumors of a scandal, many of which were exacerbated by social media, but nothing outside the ordinary.

His demise was attributed to liver failure and he’d given his entire inheritance to a young woman about a quarter of his age. Tragic indeed.

In the weeks that followed that night at the Opera, you took an interest in his work. There would be no more missions like the one with Vasily (none would ever be that easy and he didn’t like to see you so scared,) but there were plenty of opportunities to conduct research.

And on some nights, you’d talk about more than just mission, nights when you shared your hopes and dreams for the future, your past sorrows, and secret anxieties.

He’d sit with you while you worked on your art, bought you flowers when you completed a commissioned project, and asked plenty of questions about some of your more unorthodox means.

Sometimes you’d take breaks together and watch television or read.

It was strange, just like the day you first hugged him, Helmut felt as though the two of you had breached something.

He now knew where you were born, how you became involved in the arts, how you felt the night you met Dominik at Heike’s dinner party, (“I always thought she set us up on purpose, but she always denied that she did.”)

It was those stories, those small, stolen moments that made him see you differently.

So by the time autumn settled and painted the leaves orange, red and brown, you were no longer just a friend his wife had—you weren’t even the wife of a friend that he had.

You were a friend to him as well.

*

“Have you seen this?” You asked one day, sitting right beside him on the couch. You were so close, Helmut could feel the heat of your body pressed up against him.

“See what?” He asked, though he knew what you would say.

“This article.” You slid your phone closer to him, leaned forward so close that the curve of your bosom pressed against his arm for just a moment before you leaned away. For the sake of your pride, he pretended not to notice.

The articles mattered more than creating an awkward situation.

He learned that you found articles about the Avengers to be the most interesting. Each headline would often read something like: ‘Accountability: Who Pays for the Avengers’ Mistakes?’ or ‘Sokovia Six Months Later’ and ‘‘Banning Ironman? One Minister Holds Firm.’

They were engrossing.

“They say the U.N. may get involved.” You said one day. “What do you think would happen if they did?”

“Something I’d like to see.” Was his thoughtful reply. And it was true; because even with your help, even as you grew closer together, the weight of his promise still bore down upon him.

The weight of his failure still haunted his sleep.

So for every moment he spent with you, he worked ten times harder. He worked late into the night to complete his research, learned everything he could about the Avengers and the Winter Soldier to complete his plans.

He had to work; he had no choice. Because every laugh, every smile, every lingering glance, every reprieve from his grief was a betrayal to that promise he made to his family—because happiness, even for a moment, meant that he had forgotten them.

There was no other way to justify his actions. In what other way could he be happy in a world where his family was dead?

He hoped to find the answers at the bottom of a bottle, but scotch, whiskey, brandy, and vodka, couldn’t provide a balm for his soul. Not the way your smile did.

So clearly drinking was his only option, the safest option, because he couldn’t let his thoughts linger on you.

He couldn’t compromise his mission.

But then one day, in mid-November, something changed.

Helmut read the headline for an article he knew would suit your fancy, but you didn’t come down for breakfast to discuss it with him, nor did you open when he knocked on your door.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” you told him—but you never came.

*

You left your room around noon but you barely spoke a word.

Helmut should have been happy for the opportunity to work, the chance to focus without you stealing his gaze, but he couldn’t ignore the lump that formed in the back of his throat when his thoughts drifted to you.

Over the past 7 months, you encouraged him to talk about his feeling, to open up more—but it seemed you weren’t interested in doing the same.

You left the house a word to him.

So Helmut waited for you to return:

He conducted his research and decrypted more files.

He brewed a pot of coffee.

He prepared lunch.

Had a glass of whiskey.

He checked his phone for messages but found nothing from you.

He reorganized your spice cabinets, bringing the most used containers to the front.

He checked his phone again.

Had a glass of whiskey.

And finally, when evening arrived and you still hadn’t come home to him, Helmut went into your room without permission.

He was careful not to disturb your things, (even if he wanted nothing more than to pick your stray socks off the floor,) and looked around the space.

There were books and magazines neatly stacked across every surface, their genres ranged from art and fashion to relationships and grief.

He lingered on that last title before turning his attention to a paper on your nightstand. The page was wrinkled, spotted, and ripped in many places, but he knew what it was before he even held it in his hands.

It was the letter Dominik kept in his pocket, the one he held on to so tightly, the one he had with him when he died.

He frowned, and his eyebrows knit together in concern for you.

You were grieving, and your grief had taken you backward, back to the promise of a simpler time. The letter was filled with the musings of budding love, a love that had grown and flourished before the cruelties of life intervened.

Helmut understood the unpredictable nature of grief, how it came and went without reason or regard, how days or even months could go by before it returned in full force.

So he set the letter down with a sigh and left your room as quickly as he came. You arrived home 20 minutes later.

“Hello,” He greeted you by the door.

“Oh—hi.” You paused by the door, a bag of groceries in hand. He followed you into the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked.

“No, I’m… I got it.” You placed the bag on the counter, unloading a bag of flour, eggs, and a box of powdered cocoa.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” You said, but then pause when you opened the spice cabinet. Your movements slowed before you stilled completely.

“Helmut? Did you…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s just… I…”

Helmut didn’t know it at the time, but Dominik would organize your cabinets when he returned from duty. It was his way of telling you he was home if you weren’t there to greet him.

It was that gesture that broke you.

You placed both your hands over your mouth but even that couldn’t force back your cry. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, “I’m sorry—I’m ok,” you lied, but it only seemed to make you cry harder.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Helmut spoke softly. With a hand on your shoulder, he turned you around to face him but you only shook your head. "Let me help you.”

It took a few more moments of coaxing, but once you calmed, you told him everything.

“His… his birthday is next week.” You said, and it didn’t take a genius to know who you were speaking of. “He wanted me to bake a cake.”

You set a yearly reminder to try new recipes a week in advance, a reminder you’d gotten that morning. “Sometimes I look down at my ring and I still can’t believe it. That’s I’m a...that I’m a widow.” Your voice shook around the word and you sniffled again.

Helmut walked you over to the table, helped you sit on a chair, and poured you a glass of Chardonnay.

“… I never wanted to move to Sokovia—did he tell you that?” He did, but Helmut thought it best not to interrupt you. “I wanted to be with him but I never would have considered it before I met Heike… but I loved him, Helmut, I loved him so much and he promised I’d be happy. There are days when I wake up and-” You didn’t finish that sentence, but he thought he knew what you’d say. There were days when you’d wake up and wonder why you were saved, why your loved ones died and you survived. He didn’t know if you remembered, but you told him this before, on the day he first brought you to Spain.

“… He used to wonder if he made a mistake,” Helmut started, “If he’d done you a disservice by asking you to move when his duties kept him away.” He released a bitter laugh at the memory. “He asked me once if he were selfish.”

“What did you say?”

“That he was.” Helmut shrugged, remembering the look of resignation that crossed his friend’s face, a look you then mirrored exactly.

Helmut put his hand on your shoulder.

“He was selfish, but he didn’t make a mistake… your happiness wasn’t wasted and he’d want you to be happy again.” After all, you didn’t fail Dominik. You hadn’t given him a false sense of security, a promise of safety away from the fighting—Not like he had with his own family.

At first, you looked as though he said something outrageous, something you couldn’t quite believe. But then you nodded, releasing your emotions with a shuddering sigh.

“You’re right… he would want me to, want us both to…”

He sat beside you for the rest of the night. He’d listened to you talk and then when there was nothing left to say, he sat with you in peaceful silence, your head against his shoulder.

And on his birthday, Helmut helped you bake a cake.

You stood in the kitchen together, mixing batter and flouring pans. The sweet scent of your creation spread and the home you shared was filled with joy and warm memories.

By the time you finished, you were exhausted, so he offered to take you to the best restaurant in the city.

It was the least he could do for you.

*

When you arrived, Helmut told the hostess of your reservation—Zemo, a party of two—and she checked his name off a long list that he somehow managed to get ahead of. The hostess noticed your wedding bands, and as she stepped away from the podium, she said,

‘De esta manera, el señor y la señora Zemo.’ Right this way, Mister and Misses Zemo.

Your eyes growing to the size of dinner plates as you turned to him, but he kept his gaze settled on the hostess, his jaw set closed.

It was an honest mistake, one he’s sure others made before, but to hear it said aloud was baffling. He intended to correct the young lady, but she gestured for you to follow before he thought of what to say.

If he said you were friends, others would presume you were having an affair. Normally, the opinions of others wouldn’t concern him, but he didn’t want anyone to think badly of you.

“That was weird,” you said. “I forgot people must think we’re…”

“Should I have corrected her?”

“It was an honest mistake, nothing worth embarrassing her over.”

And that was that.

You both agreed to treat it as a joke, to have fun with the idea because the alternative, explaining how you came to be together, was much worse.

And besides, Helmut thought while taking in his second cocktail, it wasn’t exactly hard to feign some level of attraction to you; you looked beautiful that night. He liked the way your formal clothing fit around your curves, and the way your heels gave shape to your legs.

He felt immediately guilty for that, however, and followed that guilt with another sip of his drink.

But that night wasn’t the only time someone mistook the two of you for a couple. Like meeting someone whose face one begins to see everywhere they go, he began to notice it more and more.

When he signed for your packages the delivery person would look at his ring and never bother to ask for familial confirmation. The old woman at the bakery would smile a secret, knowing, smile when he asked for two pastries to take home with him. The list of culprits went on and on. Everywhere he went people saw his ring and they’d assume he had a wife at home—that you were his wife at home.

*

On a gloomy day in January, you convinced him to visit an art gala with you. You made a group of friends around the area but one fell violently ill after a trip to New Jersey. You didn’t want to go alone so he agreed to put his work on hold for the evening.

You lead him to a room of abstract paintings and his attention was torn between the open bar and dizzying array of dark shapes pressed across the underside of a canvas. He couldn’t appreciate the work the same way you did, but he tried.

As he looked for what you described as ‘the emotional turmoil conveyed by the paint strokes,’ you drifted to the next piece and a gentleman approached you.

He was tall, with neatly trimmed hair and a clean-shaven face. The man seemed to recognize you from somewhere and offered his deepest condolences for Sokovia.

“Thank you,” you nodded.

“It was a genuine tragedy, a modern-day Pompeii.” His words gave you a reason to pause, which he seemed to take as permission to wax poetic about Sokovia’s demise in some futile attempt to prove his intellectual prowess.

“Yes, well, thanks for that.” You continued on politely. He didn’t seem to notice the exasperated edge. He opened his mouth to say something else, to perhaps touch you on the shoulder, and Helmut made the immediate decision to ensure that didn’t happen.

“Драга,” Dear, he called as he approached you, placing his hand on your lower back. “I’ve brought you a drink.” Helmut offered you the cocktail from the table, one he was about to drink himself before the man made you uncomfortable. You smiled, a look of relief on your face.

The man was no genuine threat, probably just a lover of art, but something in the way he looked at you, the way his gaze drifted from your face to your wedding band and the instant look of shame that overtook his (admittedly handsome) features, gave his intentions away—and Helmut didn’t like his intentions at all.

“Хвала ти љубави,” Thank you, my love, you replied with the mischievous smile you adopted whenever someone mistook you for being his wife. It was a playful flirtation, one that meant nothing.

Helmut greeted the man with a simple nod, pretending to have been oblivious to his blatant flirting, before guiding you away.

“I never would have thought to compare the destruction of Sokovia at the hands of an Artificial Intelligence to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius near Pompeii. How truly genius.” He said in a mocking tone.

“Stop that,” you nudged him, hushed laughter in your voice.

“I hope that isn’t what passes as flirting these days.”

“Flirting? He wasn’t flirting.”

Helmut struck you with a judgemental look. You tilted your head in contemplation.

“He wasn’t flirting,” you repeat. “It was just weird, that’s not really a topic most people bring up at parties.” You finally slowed your steps and you looked at a statue in the center of the room. It was clearly meant to represent a couple, but their abstract forms created a tangle of limbs that hurt his eyes to look at.

It was then he decided he hated contemporary art.

You took a sip of your drink—his drink—and turned to him. Your eyes met briefly, and you smiled, your eyes sparkling with mischievous glee.

“Let’s see what’s in the next room, душо,” Honey. You exaggerate.

“Of course, драга, lead the way.” You hooked your arm around his and you explored the rest of the gallery.

Eventually, you reached the main lobby where you set your empty glass on a table with dozens of others. An orchestra played a mix of soft melodies and something he thought to be tunes from an action movie. The music found it’s underscore in the murmurs of the guests who indulged themselves in cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.

He watched them for a moment and a dark feeling filled his belly.

This was the life he should have been living—perhaps not at a gaudy contemporary art gallery but something just as fabulous and amazing. This was the life you deserved to live.

Had it not been for Ultron, for the Avengers and others like them, he’d be enjoying this life between missions and military tours.

He might have even retired early, lived his life in bliss.

He felt angry, distraught, and disappointed all at once. So many dangerous thoughts spun around in his head and without even thinking, he looked at you. In his moment of grief and self-pity, he looked toward you to anchor him.

Your eyes landed on the couples swaying back and forth on the polished floor of the gallery. He noticed how close you stood to him, how your arm wrapped around his, the way your hand rested on his forearm.

He took a breath and he made himself smile.

“Would you like to dance, драга?”

“I’ve seen you dance, Helmut. I don’t.”

“You wound me.” He said, pulling you toward the others anyway. “You’ve yet to see me waltz.” (Or perhaps you did, at his wedding or your own, but it wasn’t the time to bring that up.)

He unraveled his arm from your and slid into position, pulling you close.

“You remember the steps, don’t you?” He asked because you had far less practice waltzing than he did. You nodded, but your eyes proved less certain than the gesture implied. “Don’t worry, I’ll lead.”

And he did.

Helmut led you through the steps of the dance, a simple box step he mastered many years ago.

“I think people are looking at us,” you whispered.

“They can take notes,” he replied. You were the only person in his gaze.

You anchored him; your kindness, your friendship, your playful banter, and your outlandish sense of design. With you he felt like less of a failure, his grief softened and he could see a clear path forward in your eyes—an alternate path if he was strong enough to take it.

But the U.N. taking actions against the Avengers seemed all but inevitable then. Helmut knew he could use their plans to his advantage, but it also meant he was running out of time.

Still, part of him wanted to surrender to your gaze, but the other part, the part that won, held firm. He tried to look away but then somehow ended up noticing the soft curve of your mouth and the fullness of your lips.

When the orchestra stopped playing, your dance slowed to a stop. But you couldn’t stop staring at each other, both cursed with the knowledge that something between you had changed.

***

Thanks for reading! Next time we'll get to see what happens when your flirtation with Helmut is no longer a game.

Feedback is very much appreciated. Please tell me what you think! This was a fun chapter to write.

Tag list:

@actuallyanita @fillechatoyante @viviace @buckyandlokicanhaveme @sapphiredreamer26 @robur-bellicum

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[angelanika]

How Bizarre Pt.3

<<<Part 2                                      

Chapter Warnings: Toxic Relationships, Sugar daddy/baby relationship, cheating, cursing, implied sexual activity, depictions of racial discrimination

Your new job is how you would describe as very...eventful.

While most of the girls catered to Mr.Hara in more thrilling ways, you took it upon yourself to look after Prince and actually do some tidying up around the place, which Mr.Hara was extremely grateful for.

And being the generous magician that he is, he then materialized said gratitude into dollar bills.

One Saturday evening after you had tucked Prince in and all of the girls had left, you placed a steaming plate in front of an exhausted Mr.Hara who instantly pulled you into his lap.

The house was eerily quiet for a place that’s usually buzzing with excitement but you kinda enjoyed the peace.

You made yourself comfortable as he holds you tight against his broad chest and rests his head on your shoulder, letting out a deep sigh. 

His sleek, black hair was untidy and a few top buttons of his shirt had been undone but overall, the man just looked SEXY.

“Rough day?” you ask softly.

“Yeah,” he groans. “Thank you for the meal princess.”

“My pleasure.”

You hop off his lap to allow him to eat and he ushers you to sit down next to him. 

As he finished, you sprung up to collect the plate but he stopped you and told you to just sit back down for a minute.

You were confused.

“So,” he finally began,”My wife is coming back tomorrow.” 

Well isn’t this fucker just full of surprises...

“WIFE?!” you exclaimed, “You told me you were divorced!”

“Divorced……..in my mind.”

This bitch.

You felt totally betrayed, stupid and almost disgusted with yourself. You wanted to slap him across his cheek, spit in his face and walk out right then and there but... you didn’t.

You knew that finding a new job that paid just as well quickly would be extremely difficult, especially when the employers here were always reluctant to hire...people like you…

You basically had to fight for your last job and even after all that struggling, they still didn’t pay you well.

Mr.Hara watched the anger wash away from your face, being replaced with that of just annoyance and uncertainty of what to do next.

Taking notice of your semi-cooldown, he figured it was ok to continue, “She was dealing with some international relations for the Hero’s Commission abroad and was gone for quite a bit, but as i said, she’ll be back tomorrow so I have to make some changes.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, plopping your exhausted body down in the luxury dining chair, holding your aching head in your hands.

 “Ok, so what does that mean for me?” You asked without even looking up.

Mr.Hara adjusted in his chair a bit and cleared his throat, “ahem well obviously I can’t have all the girls here anymore, so I let them go.”

Your face flew up, “Even Lada?”

“Yes, sorry, I know you two had gotten close.”

You only sighed and dropped your head again as he continued.

“But I would like for you to stay if you don’t mind.” 

Seeing that you were the only one who really worked around the house and took care of Prince, it made sense. 

With his wife around, his little “maids” are gonna have to actually do some housework and that’s where you come in.

“My wife will probably try to cut your pay but don’t worry, I’ll still top up your account and such. So what do you say princess?”

You remained quiet.

“I understand if you want to go,” Mr.Hara said quickly during your silence, sitting up and reaching for your hand, “but it would be a real help if you sta-”

“fine.” you whispered.

Relief washed over the unnecessarily attractive man and he was finally able to relax back down in his seat.

But just as he slouched back down, you swiftly jumped up.

“But if she’s a bitch then I want extra,” you argue.

Mr.Hara immediately laughed at this and dragged you into his lap once more,

 “Well I guess I’ll be paying you extra princess.”

*   *  *

The next day, just as he had promised, Mrs.Hara arrived.

She had long manicured nails and shiny jewelry to match. Her silky dark hair rested by her slim waist adorned with an expensive diamond clip. She looked a tad younger than Mr.Hara himself but her stare was just as intimidating.

The minute she stepped through the door, the whole atmosphere changed drastically and it was plain as day that their relationship hadn’t a single drop of romance.

You wondered if it arranged for connections or convenience or something like that but then again, that ain’t none of your business.

"Welcome home," Mr Hara stated plainly.

“Mm thanks" she boredly replied.

She huffed while taking off her brown fur coat, to which he makes no effort to assist and you laughed to yourself at the thought of how eager he is to remove other women’s clothing.

"Where's Rosalina? I need a massage."

"Actually…” Mr.Hara began, “Ms.Rosalina was getting a little old and had served us well for years so I let her go." 

Mrs.Hara glared at him.

He then grabbed your shoulders and presented you in front of her.

"This is Y/N L/N, our new maid" 

The terrifying woman finally acknowledged your presence.

She eyed you up and down and up and down.

The sass in you was aching to do the same to her and turn up your nose, but u suppressed to urge. 

"Hm," she finally says, "at least she looks the part."

TF SHE MEAN BY THAT?!?!

"Ok Y/N, I'm not comfortable with you touching me just yet, so fix up a plate for me quickly, I'm starving. I don't care what it is." 

"Ok," you said ready to walk off.

"Oh and one more thing....its Yes Mrs.Hara"

As you strolled passed Mr.Hara to slip into the kitchen, you quickly tapped his shoulder and whispered, "Remember. Extra."

* * *

It had been a little over 2 months since Mrs.Hara's arrival and you were balancing working at the house and the daycare pretty well.

When you finally arrived at the mansion one Friday to complete your evening work, you immediately noticed a missing luxury car from the massive driveway.

"Mrs.Hara," you spoke, "should i prepare the dinner table for you and your husband now or will he be out a bit later?"

She straightened up from her lounging position on the couch and looked up from her phone to face you.

"Oh yeah, about that. I kicked him out." 

Huh?

Your soul left your body.

Fly high y/n 🕊

"W-what do you mean you kicked him out?" You damn near shouted. Your voice laced with desperation and your eyes wide and shaky.

Mr.Hara was the only reason you kept this job, the only thing getting you through this job!

She turned to you with a raised brow, confused as to why this would bother you so much.

"I caught the old dirtbag sleeping around so I kicked him out," she explained calmly.

 "Frankly I knew he always had other girls in our bed and I was with other men," she laughed, "but I got tired of it, you know, so I kicked him out." 

You felt sick.

"P-please excuse me," you mutter.

Mrs.Hara only gave you a small nod before plugging back in her earbuds and turning to her phone.

You dashed towards your small chambers and immediately took out yours.

"Please pick up! Please pick up! Please pick up!" You chanted into the device as it rang.

The number you have dialed is unavailable. Please tr-

Fuck...

“Come on you dirty bastard! Pick up! Pick up!”

The number you have dialed is unavailabl-

FUCK!!

You probably tried to call Mr.Hara’s phone at least 74 times that evening and each time there was no answer. 

You didn't have anyone to ask for a possible new number.

The extra cash suddenly stopped being deposited into your account 

And honestly, now you were just tired.

Rumour has it that he left everything behind to go live his best life in the tropical paradise of Jamaica soaking up the sun, sand and sea and fully enjoying the Caribbean girls and culture. 

You laughed to yourself as you thought about all these bizarre events that took place throughout the year and landed you where you are now.

All you could do was laugh at this point.

You looked back at the list Mrs.Hara had left on the table for you this morning, mentally ticking off "Make Lemonade" as you placed the 2 jugs in the large refrigerator.

"Ok y/n," you said to yourself, "time for the cupcakes! Ouuu Prince is gonna love these!" 

As you zoomed through the kitchen, as busy as a bee, Bakugou was on the other side of town casually strolling through the hotel you had left just hours before.

“Did you enjoy your stay, Ground Zero?” asked the polite lobby boy as he opened the large glass door for the hero.

“Yeah Yeah Whatever,” Bakugou grumbled while pulling up his dark sunglasses.

But he was in a better mood than most days and was feeling generous. 

Before he slipped through the door, he stopped and pulled out his wallet, “And uh, here’s a tip- WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Lobby boy: 👁👄👁

“WHERE TF IS MY MONEY?!”

“Umm sir...we’re gonna need you to lower your voi-”

“STFU and take this,” Bakugou yelled while shoving a $20 bill into the boy's hand.

The boy went on to thank the Pro Hero but Bakugou was already storming out the door and throwing himself into his car.

“I’m sure I had a few other hundred bucks in here, where the fuc-……...THAT BITCH!”

It all finally came back to him.

“THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BITCH! Ohhhh when I get my hands on the slu-”

*Brrrrr Brrrrr*

Bakugou continued to curse under his breath as he aggressively shifted around in the car to grab his phone from his back pocket, “Tch. What is it shittyhair?!”

“Hey Man!” Kirishima chirped, “Just reminding you about the kid’s birthday party today.”

“HAH?! The fuck you talking about? It’s my day off!”

“Uh well no, not really. You agreed to show up for the kid’s party today at 4, remember?”

Bakugou finally took a glance at the notifications on his phone, revealing the 20+ reminders from his assistant and notes in his calendar. 

Oh yea this shit to make him lOoK bEttEr iN tHe pUbLic eYE.

“AGHHH!! Fine...I’m on my way. I just need to go home and grab my costume.”

“You’re not at home?”.

“No shittyhair, I’m at a hotel.”

“What are you doing at a hote- OHHH!” Bakugou could practically hear Kiri’s smirk through the phone, “so you finallyyy got laid, huh?”

“Shut the hell up! It hasn’t been that long shittyface!”

“Its shittyhai-”

“WHATEVERTHEFUCK”

“Haha alright man,” Kiri laughed, “Just hurry up ok? I’m pulling up now and these people are LOADED!”

Bakugou started up his car and put Kirishima on speaker as he began to drive.

“Yeah ok whatever, just send the address.”

“Alright man, will do…...wait, HOLY SHIT Bro!”

“What is it?!” Bakugou barked.

“Aye man, make sure you dress well! The maid setting up here is SMOKING HO-”

*Beep* Call Ended

“Tch. Fucking dumbass…”

A/N: wheww what a piece of drama! Sorry if this seemed rushed, I really wanted to get the backstory out there, without taking away from the main plot 😅 Thanks for all the support, sorry for the wait but sit back, things are gonna get heated🤪

Taglist:

@jazzylove @blkirishima @lovinthesiz3 @lasnaro @starrylustrousastraea @thanx-idonttry

[ifmywishescametrue]

numbers are hard

also on ao3

Steve has been acting strange all day, and for the life of him Tony can’t figure out why. It starts with sex when they first wake up, which isn’t all that weird. More tender than usual, slower and sweeter than most days, but nothing that makes him question anything right away. The only slightly abnormal part is that Steve skips his run entirely for it, but it’s happened before. 

Breakfast is the first real sign that something is up, when Steve breaks out all of the stops to produce french toast dusted with powdered sugar and topped with sliced strawberries. It’s quite the step up from his everyday toast and eggs, and his grin when Tony compliments his cooking is brighter than the morning sun coming in through the wall of windows. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Tony says, dragging a piece of french toast through a puddle of maple syrup. 

Steve leans over, and the kiss he plants on Tony’s cheek is slightly sticky. “You deserve something nice today.”

Tony chews his bite slowly, processing that. Nice today, implying that today is different than other days. He checks the date on his phone as inconspicuously as possible. 

There’s nothing significant that strikes him about May 10th. He has a couple weeks to go until his birthday, five more days until the anniversary of their first kiss. Another eight until the anniversary of their first real date. May 10th couldn’t be less special if it tried, really. 

For now Tony shrugs it off, chalks it up to just another Steve thing. Like the way he wears socks to bed, but only in December, and drinks a different flavor of tea for every day of the week. 

But then it continues throughout the morning. Steve asks him to go for a walk with him in Central Park, and he seems more affectionate than usual when they’re in public. With the Captain America mantle hanging heavy on his shoulders, Steve has typically always been more reserved around others. Their relationship has never been a secret, but Tony knows for a fact that there is exactly one paparazzi photo of them kissing in existence. There are quite a few more with hand holding, maybe the occasional shot of Steve’s arm slung around his shoulder, but never more than that. 

Today, Steve kisses him on the pedestrian bridge as they lean against the railing, then again when Tony gets ice cream on his lips from the cones they buy from a street vendor.  

“You’re in a very good mood today,” Tony observes on their walk back to the tower. 

Steve smiles, “Why shouldn’t I be? It’s a good day.”

Tony nods in agreement, though he still isn’t sure what separates today from all the rest. 

At some point it stops being strange and starts giving him anxiety. Weird turns into terror-inducing, because he has to be missing something, right? Boyfriends don’t just wake up one day and decide to be extra caring for no reason at all. 

He thinks about asking, but what if he really has missed something important? He can picture the look on Steve’s face when he realizes that Tony has forgotten something that clearly matters to him. The way his eyes will widen slightly, brows turning down and shoulders slumping. Then his face will close off again, turning perfectly neutral to hide the hurt and disappointment. He’ll say it’s not a big deal, but Tony will know he’s lying. 

So he stays quiet through the afternoon while he works in the lab on team upgrades and Steve sits on the couch and sketches. It’s easily the most normal part of the entire day, and Tony basks in the quiet comfort of just co-existing with the person he loves. 

Steve goes upstairs after a few hours, kissing Tony’s cheek and patting the bots’ metal arms as he goes. He tells Tony to be on time for dinner, and his voice is more pointed than usual, which is why Tony heads up early to be able to shower off the grease from his hands and arms. 

There’s a candle burning on the table when he walks into the dining room post-shower and a vase of flowers sitting a safe distance away from the flame. Tony freezes at the sight, but hopefully Steve doesn’t notice as he comes into the room with two plates. 

He smiles softly as he sets them down and pulls out Tony’s chair for him. Tony reaches for the glass of red wine the second he sits down. He’ll need it for the night ahead of him. 

The dish in front of him is some type of pasta in a creamy red sauce, and after the first bite he asks, “Did you make this pasta yourself?”

Steve nods, and even in the dim lighting Tony can see the way his ears have gone pink. “I had to practice a couple of times to get it right. Luckily Clint volunteered to taste test.”

Now Tony is downright desperate to know what he’s missing, but still unwilling to ask. So he hopes he can be vague enough in his conversation to get Steve to say it. 

“I don’t know how I deserve all that work, but thank you.”

Steve’s response, while sweet enough to melt Tony’s heart, doesn’t help. “You’ve done a lot for me. It’s really the least I could do for you.”

He keeps failing all throughout dinner. Every time he vaguely talks about the significance of the day, Steve answers with something that would probably make sense if Tony was on the same page as him. 

It’s in the kitchen after dinner that he finally breaks. 

“I can do these,” Tony says, gesturing to the sink full of dishes. “Seeing as you cooked and all.”

Steve wraps his arms around him from behind, breath ghosting over Tony’s neck as he ducks down to kiss him there. 

“Or,” Steve murmurs, “we could just leave them there for tomorrow.”

“What?” Tony asks. He twists around in Steve’s hold and presses his palm to Steve’s forehead. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to get sick anymore, but you’re clearly delirious.”

Steve laughs, “I’m not delirious, and I’m not sick either. I just want to make the most of our anniversary.”

Tony’s mind goes blank. That was the one thing he was sure he could eliminate from possibilities. He frowns, “It’s not our anniversary. Our anniversary is next week. May 15th.”

Steve’s face crinkles. “No, it’s today. May 10th.”

“On May 15th, you came down to my lab after that mission in New Jersey, and you yelled at me a whole bunch about being reckless - which you were wrong about, by the way - and then you kissed me and I asked you out.”

Steve looks at him like he’s grown a second head, and his arms drop from around Tony’s waist. “On May 10th, we came home from a mission, I rightfully told you that you were being reckless, I kissed you because you told me to make you shut up, and then I told you that I was in love with you. Nothing happened on May 15th.”

“No, no, I know it was May 15th because I thought it was ironic that we got together on the two year anniversary of when you called me an asshole for the first time, and I know what day that was because I marked it on your calendar as a joke, and then you called me an asshole for the second time.”

“It’s May 10th because we had our first date on May 13th. We went to that theater, because they were showing Friday the Thirteenth, and you said that I had to see it because everyone else has.”

“JARVIS, please tell Steve that he’s wrong.”

Steve scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “You’re about to be really upset when your own creation betrays you by telling you I’m right.”

JARVIS cuts off Tony’s snarky reply before it can finish forming. “According to my data, the event that you both have described occurred on May 7th of last year.”

Tony and Steve exchange a look, and it’s painfully silent until JARVIS speaks again, “I can provide the recording of this event if you would like.”

Tony waves his hand through the air to dismiss the suggestion. “No, that’s okay, J. We believe you.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and his face turns pink. “So I guess we missed our anniversary.”

Tony dissolves into laughter, and Steve stays serious for all of three seconds before he’s joining in. He hooks his arms around Steve’s neck, getting on his tiptoes as he pulls Steve down to meet him in the middle. Steve’s hands cover his hips completely, warm on his skin even through his t-shirt. 

“Happy one year and three days?” Tony offers. 

It’s one year and two days longer than he ever thought they would make it. He expected Steve to change his mind after the first day, when Tony was such a nervous wreck that Steve had to be wondering how he ever got his reputation for a playboy in the first place. And when that didn’t happen, he expected Steve to grow tired of him. To come to the same realization that every other significant other has reached throughout the years - that he isn’t worth the effort. 

But here they are 368 days later, and Steve still wants him. He would call it a miracle if he believed in that kind of thing, but the reality is that against all odds, they just work together. There’s no one else he would rather be with, and he knows that Steve feels the same. 

Steve smiles, “Happy one year and three days.”

[uzuma-take]

I don’t wanna be seem as I’m being rude and disrespecting anyone with this post. This is my opinion on some characters that where never confirmed nor denied being LGBTQ however they have had strong moments within there respective series that hints to them being LGBTQ. Let’s start with...

Joey ... I’ve been really into friends as of recently . And a lot of scenes with Joey make me think he’s either Gay or Bisexual. There’s a couple of moments that make stop and go oi that’s interesting. Let’s go through them

The biggest moment is Emma’s birthday episode when they are discussing the cake and Joey says something along the lines of “oi man I why did I like more as a penis.

Then there’s the gif below

Both him and chandler are enjoying that a bit too much for them to not like each other at least a little. Then there’s a bathroom scene I can remember it exactly but joey is very interested in seeing Chandler and Ross with no pants by looking over there stools.

Unfortunately back then TV shows weren’t a load to air any lgbtq stuff it would have been awesome to see joey in a loving relationship that didn’t seemed forced .

The next character is from friends too

Pheobe had more moments the Joey did flirting with the girls of the group she even had a massive falling out with Monica and Rachel when she picked Rachel as the person she’d date. There’s moments where she openly (unlike Joey accidentally) mentions how sexy some of the women are and mention there breast ect. However in the end she got married to Mike I think it was.

Lister and Rimmer what can I say I’ve shipped this for a while now . There is literally a Kiss scene albeit was a dream Lister had after rimmer left in season 7 but there have been other moments as recently as 9 April 2020 in the promised never land they had an extremely touching moment with Lister even stating the He was the sun the that was shining on Rimmers moon. “You can’t have Moonlight with out sunlight” that’s what a couple would say to someone the loved as it basically translates to I can live without you.

Oi he may be a science experiment but if you watch the show then you know he pretty much ignores Sarada unless she’s in danger it’s about his Sun Boruto the light that is guiding him I personally ship him and Chocho as I don’t think Boruto is into Mitsuki like that but I can see where people are going with it.

These two are my hardcore ship there is so much evidence even within Boruto / The novels. Out of every episode in shippuden there is only one ep I don’t consider canon and it doesn’t feature Kakashi or Gai. So my thoughts Kakashi is Bisexual cause of his heavy crush on the warden from his novel and Hanere .

Gai is at least Gay. I think the reason they didn’t get together at first is because after each of there traumatic experiences (Kakashi with Rin and Obito’s death . Gai with the eight inner gates) they pushed each other away Kakashi felt like he was gonna kill Gai and Gai being depressed not wanting to show Kakashi him being weak. (I feel he pushed Lee away for the same reason see the ep where he trains Metal Its heavily implied he hadn’t seen metal in a long time and Lee is very short with Gai later in the episode)

I also like to think that the movies are mostly canon unless stated otherwise (every ep unless stated) as we have had surprise confirmation from the manga and novels before . There’s a couple of moments in the third shippuden movie where they think Kakashi is implied to be gay . Near the end of the movie He actually makes a face of ‘well what did you think Naruto’ this causing Naruto to flee. Kakashi denies liking Naruto but not about liking other men . It’s also Lee who first points it out using Gai as an example stating “Gai sensei told me this was the spring time of youth” . Tenten replying with “I knew it” implying again Gai had that talk with Lee.

There’s also the whole Steam Ninja Scrolls arc where Kakashi literally gives Gai his food . The conversation at the end basically solidified the ship when Kakashi admitted that he’d make a dumbass move to save Gais leg even if it killed him . And we know for a fact he wouldn’t do that for anyone else at all. OK ENOUGH RAMBLING ABOUT MY FAVE SHIP... I need to talk about the last couples.

This is jus a shit posting ship but I think it’s cute so Toshi and Aizawa. Personally I don’t see any thing canon but it’s my personal fave ship in BHNA .

LOOK AT THEM . They are so cute yes Bakugou gets easily upset (but he does it with anyone) I DO NOT SHIP IZUBAKU OR DYNAKU (Dynamite x Deku) until recently that was a really abusive relationship. Kirishima was the only one Bakugou grabbed the hand of and Deku knew that. There’s been subtle hints but I unfortunately have the feeling if Bakugou ends up with anyone it’ll be Tsui as there’s been a lot of drawings with them together let’s hope KiriBaku wins tho.

Last one

These two are cute but it’s already been pretty much confirmed Deku and Uraraka will end up together

😭😞

[artemis-entreri]

Fall

On the twenty-first of Eleint, Jarlaxle lays underneath a maple tree, looking up into its reddening leaves without a care in the world. The mercenary has many plans for the day, most of which involve enjoying the Autumn Equinox to the fullest. How he loves fall, loves all of the seasons, in fact, for such changes are not known in the Underdark. Yet autumn is perhaps his favorite, especially when it gloriously brings vibrant colors to the World Above.

He holds up a hand over his face, squinting against the orange-dappled glow of sun through the leaves as it paints his coal-black skin a rich mahogany. In that moment, his hand does not look as if it belongs to him, or to a drow at all. Jarlaxle whimsically imagines himself in the body of a human, a considerably tanned and swarthy human. Like one he spent many years traveling and adventuring beside.

It had been a similar day in autumn, though later in the season, with the wind carrying the first of winter’s chills. All the leaves then were a brilliant red, and had started to gather underneath the trees’ boughs. This didn’t stop the mercenary from enjoying himself however. It had taken him no time at all to clear a spot for lounging underneath nature’s splendor.

Just as he had fully settled into a relaxing recline, a withered leaf flew into his vision, pieces crumbling off as it slowly drifted toward his face. Jarlaxle batted the leaf away and turned to look with annoyance at his companion, who had been responsible for the unnatural animation of a long-dead leaf.

“So, have you become a botanical necromancer?” Jarlaxle asked the human looming over him snarkily.

“We should get going,” was his dour companions only reply.

Jarlaxle shaded his brow with one hand as he looked up at the man. The legendary assassin, Artemis Entreri, was outlined by the sun with an aura of gold. His normal dark complexion made into a deeper brown, heavily tanned from the time that they had spent underneath the rays of the past summer’s oppressive sun. With the light shining into his eyes, the drow couldn’t make out his companion’s features, but he knew that Entreri wore a disapproving scowl. Heaving a great sigh, Jarlaxle grumbled, “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to join me?”

“Not a chance,” Entreri deadpanned.

Sighing again, Jarlaxle slowly rose into a sitting position. Crossing his legs, he glanced up at the assassin and instructed, “Sit.”

Entreri shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Why?”

“Since you won’t lay down, then sit. Just do it. The sooner you do, the sooner we can be off.”

Entreri looked at Jarlaxle skeptically but sat down next to the mercenary.

Jarlaxle let a few moments of quiet linger. A gentle breeze teased at their cloaks and blew a few leaves over them. Entreri stoically brushed away the ones that landed on him. Jarlaxle moved as if he were going to do the same, but instead he tapped one of his buttons that decorated his various fabulous garments. Turning so that he put his body between the human and the view of his exposed container of holding, Jarlaxle pulled out a cake. It was a rather morbid-looking affair, frosted in dark chocolate and lacking any other decoration. However, the drow knew its quality, having ensured that the baker had made it from the finest-ground flour and packed it with fresh preserves of ripe seasonal fruits.

“What are you doing?” Entreri asked suspiciously, and Jarlaxle realized that he had his back turned to the assassin for longer than was natural to brush off a few leaves. With a grand flourish, he whipped about and held out the cake to his companion. “Happy Birthday Artemis!” he exclaimed.

The human stared at him incredulously. At first Entreri looked shocked and surprised, then he shook his head and allowed his usual scowl to reappear. “It’s not my birthday. Nor do I know when the thrice-damned day is.” Jarlaxle thought that he had detected a trace of sadness in his friend’s tone, but it could have just as easily been a trick of the light that suffused their comfortable seats.

“I know, my abbil, but you mentioned that you remember it being sometime before a season of rain. In Calimshan, the rainy season falls between winter and spring, which would mean that you were born in the autumn. Since you don’t remember the exact day, today is as good as any.” Jarlaxle beamed as he finished the explanation of his reasoning.

Entreri stared awhile at him in disbelief, with an expression that implied that the drow had clearly lost his mind. Abruptly, the assassin laughed mirthlessly. “It amazes me that you were as successful at what you did, when you have room in your head for such nonsense,” he commented dryly. Jarlaxle expected as much from his ever-sullen companion, so he didn’t pay the man much mind as he set the cake down between them and produced a knife, seemingly from nowhere. Entreri’s voice startled him, not because of its suddenness but rather from the barely discernible measure of genuine emotion it contained. “I see that you had it made to look dark and boring. Just the way that I like things.” Jarlaxle looked up to see a half-smile on his friend’s face.

The drow sighs as he closes his fingers into a fist and drops his hand beside him. That memory feels as though it was something that could have happened yesterday, his current surroundings so reminiscent of that time more than a normal human’s lifetime ago. Despite his knowledge of this, he is startled and momentarily confused as a withered brown leaf suddenly drifts into his vision, edges fraying off in its unnatural fall. In one fluid motion he snatches the leaf from the air and sits bolt upright, only to find himself looking into the bearded face of a grinning dwarf.

"Did I wake ye, sleeping beauty?”

Jarlaxle composes himself and chuckles. “Nay, I was simply lost in thought.”

Athrogate studies him closely for a few breaths before responding, “Lost in yer guilt again, ye mean?”

Jarlaxle snaps a warning glare at the dwarf before lifting himself to his feet and brushing off his clothes. Rather than replying, he summons his Nightmare steed and mounts it, then looks expectantly at his companion. “We’d best get moving, unless you want to miss the food, music and drinking. I personally have no desire to not eat my fill of apple pie.”

The black-haired dwarf summoned his demonic boar steed, hopped on and kicked it into motion even as he replied, “When there's drinkin ta be done and food to be ate, then no one 'ere has to wait fer Athrogate! BWAHAHAHAHA!”

With a hearty laugh himself, the drow mercenary spurs his horse to follow, but not before sparing a moment to gaze back wistfully at his spot beneath the tree branches. The hellish whinny of his Nightmare steed then drowns out all other sounds in the area, but not before Jarlaxle whispers to the wind, “Happy Birthday, Artemis.”

--------------------------------------------------------

[[ I realized that the first piece of fanfiction that I’d ever written, I’d never posted on this blog. Not by itself anyway, I remember posting it as a response to something, but I can’t find that anymore. 

There are things here that I’d like to change for the sake of canonical accuracy to the Forgotten Realms, most notably how the concept of birthdays is handled differently in that universe (details in this post). Some of the speech patterns are also somewhat out of place for their world. 

In the end, I decided not to change things, to let this serve as a point that I look back on to gauge how much has changed. 

Miscellaneous notes:      - Eleint is the ninth month in the Calendar of Harptos.      - Artemis identifies his rough time of birth for the reader in the short story, “The Third Level”. ]]

[djarinbarnes]

Out Of My Head

Author: Dina.​

Word Count: 1553

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: implied smut, a bit of angst if you squint and some feelings

Summary: After drifting apart and breaking up, can you still hook up occasionally without feelings getting in the way? 

A/N: This is a repost of a previously posted one-shot, written for @amanda-teaches​ 2k Writer + Reader challenge. I had the pleasure of writing number 17; I can’t get you out of my head. Thank you so much for letting me participate x2 ♡

You were woken by the feeling of the warmth of the sun coming through the window of your hotel suite.

You’d just had an all too familiar dream of a past relationship that still haunts you to this day.

It’s been a little over a year, but you still can’t shake the thought away.

The thought of him.

The thought of Bucky.

You worked for Tony Stark in the creative department.

You were assigned to Stark Industries and its rising interns.

That’s where you set eyes on each other.

What started out as a playful friendship, turned into a steamy 3-year relationship and when his career moved to Avenger, he made sure you weren’t too far away, right by his side, more or less.

You were, in all forms of the word, in love.

You spent every moment together, and that’s what led to your breakup, which shook the Avengers family.

When you spend every minute of every day together, the monotonous routines tend to lead to boredom in a relationship.

That is why you mutually ended your relationship.

You both had seen other people since the split, but in your mind, no one would compare to the way Bucky made you feel.

He knew how to make you swoon every time he spoke, let alone every time he touched you.

You just couldn’t get him out of your head.

Seeing him regularly at work wasn’t any help neither.

You tried your best to keep your encounters professional, but there were times the innocent flirt would lead to impromptu bathroom breaks in a nearby conference room.

How were you to move on completely, when you couldn’t resist his arms around you or the touch of his lips on yours?

“Hey doll…” a familiar husky voice came from the bathroom doorway. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Bucky said as he slowly made his way toward the bed.

“No. I didn’t even hear you.” you said sitting up, trying to remember what had transpired the night before. “I thought you would have left by now.”

“I wanted to jump in the shower before I left…” he trailed off, “I hope that’s not a problem.”

You shook your head as he sat down beside you.

His scent drove you crazy, making you wish you could stay in that room for all of eternity.

Bucky gently traced the side of your face with the back of his flesh fingers, sending shockwaves all throughout your body.

“Bucky…” you said, closing your eyes and moving in towards his touch.

“Shhh…” he whispered placing his finger on your lips. “Last night was amazing and we need to discuss some things… but right now all I want to do is taste you again.”

He leaned in towards you, cupping your face with both his hands and capturing your lips with his.

You felt like you were literally melting into his arms as he slowly slid his tongue against your bottom lip, teasing you to open your mouth and let him in.

“Bucky, we can’t do this…” you trailed off, pushing him slightly away from you. “We can’t keep doing this to ourselves.” You stood from the bed to put as much distance between you as you could.

“This is just all fun and games, remember.” he said grabbing your hand and spinning you around to face him. “We agreed. No strings attached.”

“How can there ever be no strings attached when I…” you stopped, shaking your head, knowing all too well that you were about to admit the one thing you feared most of all.

“When you what?” he asked searching your eyes for some sort of answer even though he knew what you were going to say.

He just wanted to hear you admit what he was feeling himself, but too proud to say it.

“Nothing. Just go.” you said as you opened the door. “Please. I’m already late for a meeting with Tony. I need space, Bucky, to sort what it is we are doing here. And honestly, you should do the same.”

He gently rubbed your arm as he walked past you and through the open door. He turned slightly to face you before you shut the door.

“I agree, doll.” he said giving his trademark smirk and started down the long hall.

You had managed to avoid running into Bucky for the rest of the afternoon.

You had back to back meetings and with it being so close to the trademark Tony Stark annual birthday party, you were busy working on getting the decorations and invitations just right.

Throughout the day, however, you found yourself often thinking of Bucky, and what you’d gotten yourselves into.

You just couldn’t understand that if you agreed to split… why the occasional hook ups and sweet nothings being said between the two of you?

You had seen your friends break up and never did they keep going back to their ex.

So, you knew it wasn’t normal, let alone right.

You did know one thing for sure though.

That no matter what label the two of you placed on this, you still loved him, and you never stopped.

Because of that, you knew you had to end whatever it was between the two of you or more hurt would come.

As you rounded the corner of the conference room, you saw him talking to Steve.

He caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to acknowledge you.

He grinned and finished up his conversation.

He patted Steve on the back and started to walk towards you.

You knew now was the time, you had to be honest with him on how you felt.

“Well there you are doll,” he smirked leaning over and brushing his lips against your cheek. “I was beginning to think you ran away.” he finished with a wink.

“I’ve just been busy.” you said as you stepped back trying to find the courage to say what needed to be said. “Do you have time that we can talk?”

“Uh… Yeah…” he said looking down at his watch to make sure he did. “We can go to your office so it’s a little more private and quieter.”

You led him down the hall to your office.

Your nerves were swirling in the pit of your stomach with each step you took.

You didn’t know what to expect or how he would react. You knew he loved you, but you weren’t sure if that was the case now.

Would this talk make things awkward between you or would it be a step in moving on?

Or, would it do a complete shocker and bring the two of you back together?

“So, I needed to talk to you as well.” He said as he sat down on a nearby chair.

“Ladies first.” he winked as you sat down beside him.

“Ok, umm…” you stammered as he grabbed your hands in his causing you to look up at him.

His metal hand was cold. You looked at your slight reflection in the plate of the back of his hand.

You looked up into his blue orbs, finding the comfort you needed to continue with what you had to say.

“I know we both agreed to go our separate ways and I was ok with that. But as time went on, I realized… even though I was seeing other men… that I can’t get you out of my head. Your voice haunts my dreams and I find myself hearing you throughout the day. I can’t keep doing what we are doing and stay sane.”

“I get it doll; I do.” he said as you looked down.

He knew you were fighting back tears and that tore through him like a knife.

He gently wiped a few strands of hair from your face and placed it behind your ear, then grabbed your chin to make you look at him again.

He tried giving you a comforting smile, but he could tell it wasn’t working.

“I don’t think you do Bucky.” you said as a tear started to fall.

“I love you.”

He wrapped his arms around you and rubbed the back of your head.

He knew what he needed to say but was afraid to say it.

He was shocked to hear you admit what he was fighting to admit to himself.

He closed his eyes and pulled away slightly, looking at you.

“I still love you, y/n. I never stopped.” He said, cupping your face into his hands.

“We never should’ve split. It was for unnecessary reasons that we could’ve worked on together. That’s why I kept going back to you. You are the one I want to be with. All those other girls could never work because my heart was yours.”

That was all you needed to hear.

You let the walls crumble and let the man who still owned your heart back in.

You leaned in closer to him and kissed his lips.

He wrapped his arms around you and drew you closer, deepening the kiss.

“Let’s do this right this time, doll.” He smiled as he drew you in for another passionate kiss.

It felt as if the world stopped. You were his and he was yours.

In the end, it was only them.