#and i am casually sitting on a front step bc i just got out of work and i am... tired...

[orcelito]

My beautiful bike is Sick so I am at the shop to get her break pads replaced. Bc Lol

[mortalityplays]

i am sick like you as an incredibly casual fan who has since stepped back since october but was still following active blogs for it and i was always meaner than all of them so i like to watch it all go down and make fun of them but holy fuck its not even the half of it. there's a post somewhere that's one of those updates for "season 3 being possible" where one of the pieces of evidence is an actor from the show posted a picture of a woman who had 3 pigeons in front of her. and the person who posted this was like 37. 😭 they're all so insane and the second you say anything otherwise it's ruining hope and being condescending like oh my god it's a tv show girls...

to be honest like basic decency aside this entire thing is so ridiculous at its core i've never seen fandom brainrot at this level i know that's probably not TRUE and all fandom brainrot can end up like this but sooo many of them are so unself-aware it gives me a migraine. since when has throwing a tantrum a show got cancelled entitle you to getting another season 😭 they keep repeating that they deserve it and that they're so sad for the actors i even saw someone be like "making fun of the cancellation is ultimately cruel bc it means the crew who aren't millionaires and just everyday people are now out of a job, you're all being classist"... half of the ppl who post about it don't even ACTUALLY post about it anymore it's just been "renewal efforts" for two weeks now like holy fuck can you not take a hint... they seriously think asking netflix in the suggestion forms to do a season 3 is actually going to work if they just Believe Enough in the power of being 35

ok last ask I'm publishing for now bc it's an actual exit narrative lmao.

this touches on something I keep thinking about: the bizarre misunderstanding the fandom seems to have about how TV works. they talk about the actors and crew as if this one show was supposed to be their magnum opus and now they're all just sitting at home lamenting the loss of their livelihoods, and not signing new contracts, taking new auditions, moving on to other opportunities. they have this idea that they're going to persuade another network to pick the show back up, as if an entire TV production crew, sets, costumes, props etc. are a modular unit that goes on a shelf in a shoebox when it's not in use. it's very weird and kind of fascinating.

[chelseachilly]

king of my heart - pt 1

i’m perfectly fine, i live on my own  i made up my mind, i’m better off being alone

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: Of all the men in London, Ben Chilwell would’ve been extremely low on the list of who you would expect to meet at a random party your friend dragged you to. You know who he is, obviously - your younger brother is a massive Chelsea fan, as was your dad before he passed away unexpectedly a couple years ago - but you hardly run in the same circles as professional footballers. Until now. warnings: mentions of death of a parent, takes place in a fantasy world in which chelsea will plausibly beat arsenal this season word count: 2.5k

author’s note: hi! i’m very new to the tumblr football world but needed a distraction from chelsea’s current situation, so here we are! i’ve noticed there aren’t enough fics for ben and this is my first time writing for him, pls let me know what you think and feel free to hmu about all things chelsea :) title from king of my heart by taylor obv

*faceclaims for y/n and your best friend are camila morrone and suki waterhouse bc i am obsessed with daisy jones and the six lmao

Of all the men in London, Ben Chilwell would’ve been extremely low on the list of who you would expect to meet at a random party your friend dragged you to.

You know who he is, obviously - your younger brother is a massive Chelsea fan, as was your dad before he passed away unexpectedly a couple years ago - but you hardly run in the same circles as professional footballers.

Until now.

A few months ago, your flatmate and best friend Charlotte got an amazing new job in PR. Since then, she’s been invited to a million fancy events and met a lot of famous (and semi-famous) people. Just last week, she went to the opening of a new club and apparently met some incredible, funny, super attractive guy who invited her to a party at his house tonight.

Although you’ve been really trying to push yourself to go out more lately and enjoy being young in the city, your idea of a perfect Friday night is often just staying in and reading or watching Netflix, so you still take some convincing.

“Charlotte, do you even know anything about this Mason guy?” You ask as Charlotte begins to put her makeup on in the bathroom of your shared flat, a tiny but cute two-bed in North London. “Like, his last name, his job, anything?”

“Nope,” Charlotte shrugs. “But I know he’s fit, and probably posh because the address he gave me is in South Kensington.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were a gold digger now?”

“I’m not, but posh means open bar,” Charlotte grins. “Now hurry up and get ready.”

You reluctantly drag yourself up off the floor and go to your closet to put on your favourite little black dress - a safe bet for any party, regardless of how casual or fancy it might be.

After doing your hair and makeup and taking a couple shots to ease any social anxiety brewing in your stomach, Charlotte calls an Uber and you’re on your way. You quickly post a photo of the two of you before you leave.

yourusername

liked by charlottewright, yourmum, & 102 others

yourusername by the way, we’re going out tonight ✨

tagged: charlottewright

view all comments

charlottewright hell yeahhhh

yourmum Beautiful girls! xx

yourusername thanks mum x

When you reach the address this Mason guy gave Charlotte, there’s music blaring from the house. Several very expensive-looking sports cars are parked outside, and there are a few people sitting on the front steps, drinking and laughing.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Charlotte says as your car pulls up. She can obviously tell that you’re worried about socializing with all these strangers, especially ones way above your tax bracket. “We’ll get some drinks and have fun. Hey, maybe Mason has some cute friends he can introduce you to?”

You roll your eyes. Dating is far from a priority for you at the moment, having just begun the career in publishing that you’ve wanted since you were a little girl. Work is your focus, but you know Charlotte is right. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

Before you can even fully get out of the car, still straightening out your dress and making sure you have your phone and purse, you hear Charlotte yell “Mason!” and run over to the group of people on the steps.

As you follow her and finally get a good look at the guy Charlotte won’t shut up about, you nearly trip over your own feet.

You recognize him instantly - Mason Mount, Chelsea midfielder. You may not follow the club the way you used to before your dad died two years ago, but you remember watching Mount score a hat trick during one of the last games you went to.

Charlotte doesn’t follow football at all, so you figure she also has no idea that standing next to Mason are his England national teammates Declan Rice and Jude Bellingham.

You, however, can’t help but be a little starstruck. Football was a big part of your life growing up, and it’s a bit surreal to see all these athletic superstars right in front of you.

Thankfully, they’re all occupied with Charlotte and don’t seem to notice you until you regain your bearings and walk over to Charlotte’s side.

“Y/N, this is Mason and Declan,” Charlotte grins. “And what was your name again, sorry?”

“Jude,” Bellingham answers, smiling at you and shaking your hand. “What’s your name, love?”

“Y/N,” you answer, trying not to blush at the attention as Mason and Declan greet you.

“Well, come on in, ladies,” Mason smiles, gesturing to the front door. “Bar’s in the back, and there’s loads of food in the kitchen.”

As Mason leads the way into the house, which is just as massive and stunning as its exterior, you hang back a bit and grip Charlotte’s arm tightly.

“What is it?” Charlotte asks, furrowing her eyebrow.

“Charlotte, they’re not just posh, they’re footballers,” you explain, gesturing to the literal Champions League trophy casually sitting on a shelf. “Like, some of the best in the country.”

“Footballers?” Charlotte’s eyes widen for a moment. “Oh my god, so you know who they are?”

“Yeah, babes,” you chuckle. “Mason plays for Chelsea. I’ve watched him play for Chelsea.”

Charlotte’s face falls a bit, and she lowers her voice. “Oh, shit, do you want to leave? I know Chelsea was your thing with your dad-“

“No, no,” you wave her off with a small smile. “It’s alright, let’s have fun. He is super fit, and he probably finds it endearing that you clearly have no idea who he is.”

“Now that I think about it, he did mention having training in the morning last weekend. I think I asked what he was training for.” Charlotte laughs. “Shit, that’s a bit embarrassing.”

“Nah, he seems into you,” you comment, noting the way Mason’s eyes are glued to Charlotte as the two of you continue to speak privately. “Now go talk to him, I’m gonna go get a drink.”

Charlotte nods and returns to Mason’s side. God, it feels strange to see your best friend chatting up a guy you watched play in the World Cup on TV a few months ago.

You make your way to the back garden, weaving your way through lots of guys - some of whom you recognize as other footballers - and lots of very pretty girls. As promised, there is a full-service bar outside, and you order a vodka coke for yourself.

Thanking the bartender, you decide to stay out here for a few minutes. You’ll return to the party eventually, but you want to give Charlotte some alone time with Mason and despite your assurances that everything is fine, it’s a lot to digest being in the home of an actual Chelsea player.

Most of the partygoers are inside, with only a few people out back having a smoke or going to the bar. You find yourself a quiet spot in the back of the garden and sit on a patio chair, crossing your legs and leaning back as you enjoy your drink.

You pull out your phone and can’t resist pulling up and old photo of you and your dad at a Chelsea match when you were six years old, both of you smiling in blue. Although it’s difficult to look at, it makes you smile, too - you remember how Chelsea beat Liverpool 3-0 that day and how happy your dad was on the drive home. You’ll always treasure those memories.

“Hey, mind if I sit?”

A male voice prompts you to glance up from your phone. It really shouldn’t surprise you to see yet another familiar face at this point, but the man in front of you nearly takes your breath away.

You recognize him right away - the shiny dark hair, the piercing eyes - he’s unmistakable. He’s even more handsome in person than on TV, if that’s possible. Ben fucking Chilwell.

“Yeah, go for it,” you say, gesturing to the other chair and trying very hard not to stare at him too much.

Ben, who is holding a beer and wearing a hoodie and jeans with a pair of Air Force Ones, looks fascinatingly normal to you for someone who you know for a fact scored a Premier League goal just this afternoon - your sixteen year-old brother Max mentioned it when you spoke earlier, still as big of a Chelsea fan as your dad was. Luckily, losing your dad didn’t poison the game for him the way it did you.

“I’m Y/N,” you blurt out, feeling the need to explain yourself and your presence here for some reason. “I came with my flatmate Charlotte, she met Mason at some club last week.”

“I’m Ben,” he says with a small smile. “Mase and I…uh, work together.”

“Yeah, I know,” you chuckle. When he raises an eyebrow, you continue - there’s really no point in sitting here pretending you don’t know who he is. “My brother’s a massive Chelsea fan.”

“Ah,” Ben smiles, taking a swig of his beer. “Charlotte didn’t seem to have any idea who we were last weekend.” He seems to realize he may have come off a bit arrogant there, as he quickly shakes his head. “Not that she should. I was just-“

“All good,” you interject. “And for the record, I love her to death, but Charlotte thought Man City was a gay bar a couple weeks ago. She’s not much of a football fan.”

Ben laughs so hard he nearly spits out some of his beer, and you can’t help but laugh along with him - his smile is completely contagious. It also seems to be the first genuine one you’ve seen since he sat down.

“Fair enough,” he laughs, setting down his beer and turning his chair to face you properly. “So, Y/N, what brings you to this secluded corner of the garden? Not enjoying yourself?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Chilwell,” you smirk, taking a sip of your cocktail.

Frankly, you’re impressed with how cool you’re being given the situation. It’s not even the fact that he’s famous. Sure, you were starstruck at first, but now you just can’t stop looking at him. At those hands clutching the cold beer bottle, that fluffy hair that you’re dying to reach out and touch, those damn eyes…

“Well, I’m a bit knackered, to be honest,” he admits. “But I wanted to come out and celebrate the win. Honestly, I’m waiting til it’s late enough that I can leave without the lads calling me an old man at training on Monday.”

You laugh and nod sympathetically.

“I get what you mean. I kinda got dragged out tonight as well,” you say. “I wasn’t really in the mood to talk to a bunch of strangers after a long work day, but Charlotte wanted me here and she’s my best friend, so-“

“I’m happy to leave you alone if you’d prefer it,” Ben says quickly. “Well, not happy, but I can. If that’s what you want.”

You shake your head, maybe a bit too quickly.

“No, please,” you smile. “I was in budget meetings all day, but you scored a goal against Arsenal. I think that earns you a spot to sit.”

Ben raises an eyebrow and grins. “Sounds like you’re a fan as well, no?”

“I’m…not not a fan.” He looks confused, so you decide to elaborate a bit. “My dad was a massive supporter. We were season tickets holders at Stamford Bridge until he died a couple years ago. My brother, he’s sixteen, still follows the team, and he keeps me updated, but I haven’t really…well, it hasn’t been quite the same for me since then.”

Though you still miss your dad dearly, time has healed the pain enough for you to be able to talk about him like this. Although, you did have to stare at your shoes the whole time to get through it, and when you look up, Ben’s eyes are wide and full of concern.

You immediately worry that you just majorly overshared with this complete stranger.

“Sorry, you didn’t need to know all that,” you murmur, fiddling with the material of your dress. “I don’t even know you-“

“No, please don’t apologize,” Ben says in a much softer tone than he was using before. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” you say with a sad smile. He holds your gaze, and you can’t help but feel comforted by his warm expression. Then, all of a sudden, a laugh escapes your lips, surprising Ben. “Sorry, I just…I was thinking about what my dad would say if he knew I was talking to the man he once described as ‘the best left-back in the country’ at a party.”

“Wow, that’s high praise,” Ben smiles. “Your dad sounds pretty great.”

“He was, but I love that your reason for thinking that is him praising you as a footballer,” you laugh softly. “To be fair, he was a big fan of Mount and Havertz as well.”

“Oh, well, never mind then,” Ben jokes, making you laugh even harder.

Probably harder than you’ve laughed in years.

The conversation continues as you each finish your drinks, and after Ben gets you a couple more rounds. You talk about everything - your job in publishing, his life growing up, both of your favourite films and music.

You don’t even realize how late it is until you see a much drunker Charlotte come outside with Mason keeping her upright. Despite her protests that she’s fine, you and Mason both agree you’d better get her home and to bed. After giving her some water, Mason calls an Uber for both of you, and in all the commotion, you barely get the chance to say goodbye to Ben.

It’s not until you get home and take care of Charlotte that you realize you didn’t even get his number. You could get Charlotte to ask Mason for it tomorrow, you suppose, but you don’t want to come across as desperate.

You aren’t even looking for a relationship. You just happened to meet a cute, funny, smart guy at a party who probably has girls lining up around the block just to sleep with him. It’s not like this is going to turn into anything.

Right?

-

You wake the next morning in Charlotte’s bed - you passed out next to her after making sure she had water and a bin next to her in case she got sick - to a loud buzzing sound.

“Too early,” Charlotte grumbles, feeling the beginnings of a bad hangover. “Turn it off.”

You reach over to the bedside table to silence your phone, but you quickly glance at the Instagram notification before you turn it off.

benchilwell

Hey, I found your insta through Charlotte’s, sorry if that’s stalkery lol

benchilwell

I had a lot of fun last night. Any chance you want to hang out again sometime?

“Oh my god,” you mumble groggily. “Ben Chilwell just slid into my DMs.”

Charlotte, still half-asleep, rubs her eyes and turns to face you. “Who the fuck is Ben Chilwell?”

next chapter 💙

[harrysgoldenline]

When In Italy - Part 2

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: um not sure, I think there are bad words so sorry? also again not proofread bc I am lazy. 

Note: PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINKING ABOUT ME DOING PERSONALIZED IMAGINES/BLURBS! PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT THEM!

Part 1

There will be a part 3!!! All comments/feedback is encouraged :)

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

You didn’t dare to turn your back, hands shaking as you felt his presence behind you, his footsteps approaching closer as you desperately tried to make it into the guest room as quickly as possible. 

“I’m sorry.” you barely get out, trying to keep your voice strong, “I-I’ll pack and clean up the glass and I’ll get out of your way.”

“Can you look at me so we can talk about this?”

“No” You say with an exhale, shaking your head as your knuckles turned white with your tight grip you had on a pair of sweats you were throwing into your bed, “no, I can’t.”

You just hear him sigh, knowing him well enough to picture how he ran his hair through his hair and pinched the bridge of his nose, something he always did when he was frustrated. You wondered if she knew that too, wondered how he could just be with someone so quickly after everything you’ve been through together. 

“You’re staying. This is your home as much as it’s mine.” He said, getting closer to you and pulling the suitcase back, “we can just… I don’t know, we’ll figure something out, you stay and we can maybe just stay in the main-”

“Are you serious?” You snap, interrupting him with angry eyes, gripping a shirt between your hands tighter as your hands shake, “you want me to stay in this house that we bought together, while you are down the hall sharing a bed with another woman? How could you even… are you insane?”

“You’re right.” He sighed, running his hands along his face, “You’re right, I’m sorry… I just, I don’t know.”

Your eyes were glued to the bed, trying to not look at him as you felt your bottom lip start to shake, seeing him in his peripheral vision and you wished nothing more than to just disappear, or wake up from this nightmare.

“Please…” he whispered, “y/n… I-I, can we please talk?”

“About what, Harry?” 

“I don't know… us? I haven’t seen you since…”

“Us?” You scoffed, bottom lip beginning to wobble again before you bit down hard on it, “haven’t seen me since we broke up. We were together for years and now you’re already with someone else? I just… I think I’m gonna go find a hotel.”

Harry quickly chases after you, coming up behind you and reaching up, arm brushing against your shoulder as he reaches in front of you and closes the door, leaving you trapped between it and his body, eyes falling to the floor, refusing to turn around and face him. 

“Please, just let me go, Harry.” 

He stood silently behind you, hand still against the door and when you looked up you instantly noticed he was still wearing the ring you got for him on your two year anniversary. You could remember the way he looked at you, a wide smile as he instantly slid it on his finger and you could feel it as he held your cheek, pressing a hard kiss on your lips. 

You wondered how much she knew about you, if the ring was from you, if she knew the house belonged to both of you. You didn’t want to hate her, you didn’t even know her but you couldn’t help but feel angry at her, angry at her for having him. 

Harry's hand fell from the door, his fingers brushing yours as he pulled the handle of the suitcase from your hands as you still stood frozen and he put it on the bed, unzipping and pulling a few things out before you could hear the soft creak of the bed falling under his weight and you two sat in silence for a few moments as you still stood frozen at the door, wishing you could just disappear. 

“I’ll get out of your way, y/n, but please don’t feel like you have to leave.” He softly spoke, “…know how much ya love it here, so please don’t feel like you have to leave because of me. The drivers on the way back and I’m already getting a room at a hotel. You stay, okay?”

You slowly nodded, looking down at your hands, picking at you nails before slowly turning around, meeting his eyes instantly as he was already looking at you and offered you a soft smile.You let out a shaky sigh, making your way to the balcony and quickly walking past him, figuring he would just walk straight out of the room now that you weren’t standing in the way. 

Yet, he sat still. Sitting on the bed as you stood against the railing on the balcony, closing your eyes and feeling your muscles relax as the cool, soft breeze hits your skin, the smell of the ocean making you sigh, wondering if you’ll wake up on the beach where you were sat a few hours prior, but you were met with the bittersweetness of the beautiful view in front of you, with the burning presence of your ex-boyfriend still behind you. 

You shivered in the presence of another, stronger breeze, your hair still slightly wet from the bath not helping keep your body any warmer. Pushing through, you stood your ground, still not hearing the sound of footsteps or the door opening you didn’t dare to risk looking over your shoulder to even see if he had left, you knew he was there.

What you didn’t know though, was he was approaching, stealthily walking up behind you and placing a warm, knit blanket over your shoulders causing you to jump, the sudden contact of the seafoam material coming around your shoulders and large hands giving them a squeeze before leaving your skin. 

“The car is here.” He spoke softly, coming up and standing next to you against the railing as he knew you weren’t going to turn and look at him, “I would love to see you tomorrow if that’s somethin’ you’re comfortable with, I’d love to catch up.” 

“I don’t know, Harry.” You retorted, voice soft as you hugged the blanket closer to your body, hoping he will sense your thanks without having to say it, “Maybe, I’m just not sure if it’s a good idea for me to actually catch up with you for the first time with her, I’m sorry I just don’t know if I’m read-“ 

“It would just be us two, I just want to talk.” He spoke, seeing him turn his head and look at you in your peripheral vision, “We haven’t spoken in so long, used to talk everyday. I’d like to know how you’re doing, what you’ve been up to if that’s okay.”

“Okay.” 

“Breakfast tomorrow? I can have someone come pick you up at 10? Know you don’t like waking up early.” 

You let out a soft laugh and you slowly looked over at him, your smile growing slightly when you saw him let out a soft laugh too and you felt like you were transported back in time, a better time. Your eyes met, staring into each other's eyes probably a few moments too long before you turned the other way, looking back towards the view and nodded.

“Okay.”

Harry nodded, leaning against the railing before pushing himself back and shoving his hands deep in his pockets. He stepped closer to you for a moment and you saw him stutter step back just as quick and his hand came up to scratch the back of his neck. 

“Okay, um, well I’m gonna head out.” He spoke, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And just like that, he was gone all over again and you could hear the muffled sound of him explaining what was happening and you were thankful you couldn’t hear whatever kind of response she gave him. Shivering again, you walked back into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, looking at your phone on the nightstand and wondering if you should call (y/bff/n) and ask her if you should go to breakfast, ask her if you should stay in Italy or just go home. 

But you decided against it and just stared up at the ceiling, wondering how in the hell you got in this situation. Wondered how long he knew the woman that he was with, wondered what the status of their relationship was.

You tossed and turned in bed for what felt like hours and you couldn’t help but to pull that seafoam blanket closer to you as you cuddle it into your chest, hating yourself for wishing it smelt like him and you even thought about walking into the master bathroom, seeing if Harry still had that extra bottle of cologne stored in the cabinet but you didn’t let yourself give in.

Instead, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and went to go get yourself a glass of water, hoping it would clear your head long enough for you to fall asleep. Your feet padding softly against the floor was the only sound, thankful that they weren’t staying there but you couldn’t help the nausea that hit you when you thought about them staying at a romantic resort. 

You downed the glass as soon as you filled it up, standing by the fridge as you downed its contents before filling it up again, breathing slightly heavy as you focused on the water filling it back up and when you turned around you were met with a familiar photo, fingers running softly over the photo of Harry and his mom on the private beach, a bright smile covering their faces.

You then looked over at the hallway, seeing all that Harry had cleaned up the glass and frame you had knocked over.

 *** 

You hardly slept that night, tossing and turning all night, waking up every few hours and honestly a lot of just laying there, thinking over every single possibility. 

Now, you were trying on about your eighth outfit, trying different combinations and looks, not sure what to end up wearing. You’d hate to show up looking too nice for breakfast, but you also didn’t want to look too casual, or of course looking like a complete mess. 

What the hell are you supposed to wear to meet an ex boyfriend? 

You finally found the perfect outfit, something that made you feel cute but was still casual, making you also feel comfortable that it wasn’t going to look like you were trying too hard. That was the last thing you wanted. 

The knock on the door caused you to jump, glancing over at the clock and seeing that the driver was right on time and you quickly rushed over to the mirror, looking over your appearance quickly before grabbing your purse and rushing to the door with shaking hands. 

Swinging the door open your breath catches in your throat, body freezing and your eyes flash wildly to take in your surroundings, seeing Harry stand before you instead of the driver like you had expected. 

“Hey,” He said, giving you a quick smile, “I, uh, actually decided to pick up the car this morning so I thought I could come pick you up… if that's okay?” 

“Yeah” You squeak out and hesitantly nod, “yeah- um of course, that’s fine! Let me just, um, lock up.” 

He nodded and stepped back, giving you enough room to step outside and turn around to lock the door. You hopped down the steps, shoving the keys into your bed and headed to the car, eyes widening slightly as you saw Harry open up the passenger door for you, giving a soft thank you before sliding into the car, looking up at him through the window as he shut it and jogged over to the other side of the car and slide in next to you.

“You wanna go to Ristorante Principessa?” He asked with a wide smile, bringing up the breakfast place you two would go to almost everyday.

“I would love to.”

[flamingo-writes]

It's Better When The Sun Goes Down — Nanami x Reader

This is a piece for the Anilysium Server NSFW Collab! Make sure to check the masterlist to see other writer's works! This month's prompt was: "I can't hold back anymore"

I'd like to dedicate this fanfic to one of my dearest and closest friends. I'm not a Nanami simp myself, but they are. And I have fun writing for Nanami, and also I love writing angsty things and flawed characters. Reg, I hope you enjoy this as much as you enjoy my more casual writing.

(it's pink bcs youre Chancho)

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: Mentions of breakup and heartbreak, alcohol and drug consuption, public sex, ghosting, lots and lots of angst. This does not have a happy ending. This is also non proof read bcs I kinda left it to the last minute I'm sorry, I'll go back and edit it when I am not in a rush dcj nd

Summary: Nanami’s return to the Sorcerer life wasn’t so bad. It could be better if Gojo wasn’t determined to get him back with his ex. As Nanami tries to get on good terms with them, things get out of control, only to end up where it all began.

I made this playlist while writing, in case you wanna listen to it while reading. Preferably listen to it without the shuffle, but you can hear it on shuffle, no biggie.

Nanami had forgotten how painfully unbearable Gojo could be. His return as a Sorcerer had been nothing out of the ordinary for a Sorcerer's standards. Missions here and there, or watching over some of Gojo's students. But God, he had surely stepped out of the line this time.

He couldn't even begin to explain how much he hated his current situation. Fighting by your side for the first time in years felt like rubbing hot oil on an open wound. The uncomfortable ignoring the elephant in the room between you two, as you two tracked and fought what felt like a million Curses.

When the adrenaline was at its peak, it felt almost nostalgic; though he'd then remembered everything else and immediately made his own reality bitter and awkward. Overshadowed by the advantage of years of experience ahead of him made him resent you even more. He knew it was childish and pointless to keep remembering everything that happened between you two, but that bittersweet memory would most likely keep him at bay.

You were still strong, witty, fearless, reckless and quick to act and defend yourself. The way you moved looked more swiftly and coordinated than you did back in your student days. Almost as if you were a professional dancer. He hated every bit of it. He couldn’t stop looking at you, thinking about you, and the possibilities of what you two would have become.

After the mission was over, no words were exchanged between you two. Aside from the: "Are you alright?" He told you as you simply gave him a thumbs up as you caught your breath drenched in sweat. An entire ride in an uncomfortable silence, until he reached the school and you got out of the car.

"Thanks. You did a great job. Keep it up" You said. Cold, and straight to the point. Closing his car door before he could reply. And soon, you were gone.

As Nanami tried to get his mind off the mission, Gojo made it difficult. He called him to ask for the details of the mission. He seemed amused and intrigued, as clearly you hadn't told him shit. And honestly, he could understand why. Gojo was meddling on things that weren’t his business, and things that had died a long time ago.

"Why are you interrogating me, Gojo?" He asked as he pressed hisnfingers on the bridge of his nose. "Ask your underling…"

"Because that jerk left for the bar as soon as they arrived" He explained. "And I know better than to annoy a drunk [Name], It took me a while but...I finally learned my lesson" He chuckled. “I knew they could hit hard, but damn, I had a big ass bruise…” Nanami could almost hear his stupid grin.

"You make it sound like it's a recurrent event" Nanami pointed out, slightly surprised as he didn't know you were a drinker.

"Oh, Nanami-kun, you really know nothing huh?" Gojo said, smiling widely as he had managed to manipulate Nanami into asking.

"Know what?" Nanami hissed as he now swore he could hear Nanami creepily grinning at his phone.

"No, nothing!” Gojo said as if it were nothing; trying and succeeding at peeking at Nanami’s curiosity “I'm not gonna talk over depressing things on the phone. Gotta go, bye! Kith kith, Kento-kun" Gojo sang and hung up, as he smirked, proud of his little mischief. He sighed deeply as he stretched in his bed. "Soon, those two will be back together" he smirked to himself.

Nanami hissed a curse under his breath as he locked his phone and threw it on his bed and went to the kitchen. If he had understood well, Gojo had just hinted at a possible drinking problem. He tried shaking his mind off of it. You couldn't, could you? You weren’t a drinker...You weren’t the last time he saw you. You were able to party and have fun without having to intoxicate yourself.

You were wild, cheerful, unpredictable. Everything he was not. And that’s what had made him fall in love with you back in your school days. You were so laid back, he could feel it permeating into him when you two hung out. The few times he’d broken rules was because you’d been the bad influence, however, you somehow managed to get away with it, and leave him with some distant memory in which he felt actually glad to be alive. He usually felt like he was walking on a cloud stuck in time, being present and enjoying the little things that made his everyday memories.

He’d really screwed up after breaking up with you...if he could call that a breakup... His life took a dramatic turn. And then, he turned his back to this world, and got immersed in the gray life the average man in Japan had. Away from what he's familiar with, away from his friends, away from you.

And now, apparently, you had a drinking habit. He wondered if he had caused it, or if he was one of the reasons behind it. The guilt started creeping in. The same guilt and regret he felt after ghosting on you. Not being able to bring himself to properly end things with you.

The guilt he’d managed to swipe under the rug for so many years creeped back out, and followed him around as the afternoon went by. After having a shower, changing into more comfortable clothes and in a lame attempt to cook dinner, he decided to test his luck. He put on a dark button down shirt and decided to go to the bar closest to the School. He felt the naive hope to find you there. However, if you had an actual problem, then his chances to see you there were higher.

Such was his surprise to find you there, trying to get rid of some insistent guy who kept talking to you despite your very obvious lack of interest. Before you could spot him, he watched you aggressively turn to the guy and talk to him in a rather rude tone. Sounding almost like a moody sailor as the guy’s face soon was washed with horror and disgust and walked away. As you turned your face back to your drink, your eyes scanned the bar, finally spotting him.

“Oh god” You whined as you pulled the glass to your lips. “It’s too early to be this drunk…” You hissed.

“Mind if I sit here?” He asked, pointing at the chair in front of you.

“Tell Gojo to go fuck himself…” You snapped at him as you stood up and stumbled your way to the bar asking for a refill. Nanami looked at you, feeling slightly sorry for your tipsy state, as he’d never seen you like that. And he knew being mad and drunk was never a good combination. As you turned around with your glass and made your way back to your table, you gave him a slightly repulsed smile. “You’re still here…”

“Gojo didn’t send me here, if that’s what you’re thinking” He replied.

“He might as well have manipulated you into doing so, has that crossed your mind?” You said with a sassy tone as you sat back down. “Why are you still standin’?”

Nanami took that as an invitation as he ignored your last comment, trying to refuse the idea that Gojo had manipulated him.

“Rough day, huh?” He said as you nodded and stared at your drink.

“Look, Kento. I’m glad that you’re back. I really am. You’re strong, and you’re smart…” You began. “But I’m gonna cut the chase, I’m kinda annoyed too. Ever since you got back, Gojo has been sticking his snobby nose into my business” You explained. “Many of the missions he sends you in, I’m supposed to be there as well, but manage to get busy by then and not go”

“So you’re actively avoiding me?”

“Yes” You replied bluntly. “Mostly because Gojo is trying very hard to bring us back together. But no, I learned my lesson the first time” You said taking a sip to your scotch, feeling it smoothly sliding down your throat, no longer feeling the burn from the alcohol.

“I haven’t apologized for that…” Nanami began.

“Don’t” You interrupted him. “It’s better this way”

“Are you sure? Because you still seem to have an issue with it…” Nanami said, managing to read you like an open book like he always did. He still had that ability.

You glared at him, angrily as you opened your mouth to snap back at him, but your mind was foggy and a big portion of your brain was focused on the little details surrounding him. His black shirt, the first buttons undone. His thick wrists, one of them hiding underneath a fancy looking watch, his blond hair pushed back, his sharp features...And god, his smell. The smell of his cologne luring you in like a fly to honey. Since any words made it to your mouth, your next step was to take another sip.

“You’re drinking too fast” He pointed out.

“None of your business” You said standing up and taking your wallet out and leaving a few bills on the tale. “I’m out” You said coldly and walked out of the bar.

Nanami sighed, frustrated that he hadn’t managed to get anything out of interaction. Aside from the pretty clear fact that you disliked him. However, he didn’t think of the possibility of you resenting him so much because you still had feelings for him.

As you walked out of the bar, the chilly wind hit the back of your neck, making you shiver. You cursed, knowing it was going to make you feel drunker faster. You made your way to the school with long steps, trying to make it to your dorm before your last drink made it to your head. Despite the cold wind, the hot tears in your eyes in a way kept your face warm. As you tried to keep yourself from crying, you heard steps behind you.

“Wait” You heard Nanami’s voice calling behind you as you stopped on command, against your own will. You swallowed the lump on your throat and managed to keep the tears still in your eyes, as you refused to look at

him. “At least let me walk you home. You can’t walk on your own like this…”

“Oh, so now you care?” You said turning around and looking at him, giving him a smug smile. “You’ve changed” You scoffed bitterly.

“Please” He said, knowing better than trying to argue with you.

Your stare on him softened, as something within you urged you to say yes. To have more time with Nanami and maybe cling to the bittersweet memories you were constantly reliving since his return.

“Fine” You said, very much to his surprise. He smiled and walked closer to you with the gentle smile that had been haunting your dreams as of lately.

“C’mon. My car is not far from here…”

You stopped coldly as he mentioned a car. Taking a second look at him, you wondered how much he’d changed. He’d become an adult through and through, hadn’t he? While you were still a mess...Or so you thought. To Nanami’s eyes, you were a far better sorcerer and warrior than him. And he envied you for it.

“Are you actually going to take me to the school?” You asked, suddenly growing suspicious of him, as you’d had plenty of experiences with strangers on the street and knew better than going into someone’s car in a drunken state.

Not that you didn’t trust Nanami. You didn’t trust yourself drunk.

“I was actually thinking of taking you somewhere for dinner and then to the school” He said.

“Not hungry”

“No, but you’re drunk. It’ll sober you up, and tomorrow morning you’ll thank me when you wake up without a hangover” He said as he walked towards his car.

“I don’t have any more money on me” You lied, looking for an excuse to avoid spending any more than necessary with him.

“I didn’t ask you if you have money” He said boldly as he managed to make you smirk for the first time since his return.

“Smooth, Nanami. You’ve grown” You said as you followed him.

The walk to his car felt like your chest burnt far more than the alcohol ever did. It felt bitter, it hurt and was nauseating. Was it really it, or was it the alcohol finally catching up with you? Like flashes of instant memories being erased from your memory, the drive to a restaurant felt like a poorly edited foreign film. The car felt like some intense themed park ride as you felt dizzy with the alcohol whispering everything you missed about him. It was gross and it was sickening.

The Ramen sign on the outside on itself managed to sober you up a little by taking your mind off Nanami. As you followed him, clumsily standing on your feet, you sat on one of the tables and tried to make sense of the dancing letters in the menu. More flashes of memories were taken off your head, as you wondered what was happening and how drunk were you for you to start blacking out.

“Not good…” you muttered under your breath.

“Did you say something?” Nanami asked.

“No. Nothing”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m not”

“You’ll feel better in a bit. Don’t worry…” He said softly as he sipped from a soda you didn’t know he had. When had he ordered it? You looked in front of you to the nice surprise that you had one too despite not knowing how or when. “I ordered some ramen for you. Something spicy...It’ll sober you up faster”

You chuckled as you looked at him.

“And how do you know that?” You asked with a cheeky tone as he smiled softly.

“Went drinking a lot with friends from work” He said. “I learned a few things here and there”

More brief black outs kept lazily painting a rather miserable painting in your memory. As you ate your ramen, you found yourself relaxing more and more. Was it the hot spicy broth? In the beginning, the balck outs weren’t getting any less frequent, however, as the night went by, you found yourself sobering up like he said. Soon, the black outs were gone, however you were still somehow locked in a haze. Although it made sense. The amount of booze as well as the short time, it was going to take a lot more than just one hot bowl of spicy ramen to get you back to a sober state.

The conversation kept flowing comfortably as both of you ate. It was reminiscent of the old days, nostalgic and somehow morbid. As the both of you tried to grasp at the old days when your worries were limited to school work. Catching up like old friends who hadn't seen each other, as if you didn’t have hard feelings for each other.

After having finished your food, Nanami paid for both of your meals and went back out into the cold night. The sky black, stars hidden by the streetlights as you made it to his car and finally noticed the silver color in it.

As he drove back to the school, you noticed he took a small detour, instantly setting alarms in your head.

“Where are we going?” You asked, your voice considerably serious as he noticed the change in tone from the pleasant talk they were having in the restaurant.

“There’s somewhere I’d like to go…” He said as he briefly looked at you and gave you a tender smile.

That smile made your heart uncomfortably skip a beat as you hated the effect he still had on you. You didn’t dare to ask any further as you slowly recognized the route he was taking. As he slowly took one of the roads towards the edge of the city close to the coast line. He stopped in a rather deserted place, as he got off the road and stopped the car.

Despite the lack of light, aside from the few streetlights, you knew exactly where you were. A whole in your chest opened dramatically as you felt your eyes tear up and happy memories attached to the location flooded your mind.

“Kento…” You said chuckling bitterly.

“When I said I wanted to apologize, I meant it…” He said as you clenched your jaw and looked out your window, avoiding his stare.

“And I told you I didn’t want to talk about it…”

“You’re still upset about it, I get it. And I don’t blame you” He began as he felt his heart beating hard in his chest. “Look at me, please”

You wanted to say something to him. But you knew you would break down crying as soon as you opened your mouth. You took a deep breath and without saying anything you looked at him. His dark brown eyes gazing into yours, as he was looking at you with a rather pained stare.

“You remember this place, don’t you?” He asked.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you clicked your seatbelt, getting it off.

“I’m done” You said dryly as you opened the door and got out of the car.

“No, [Name]. Please, wait” He said as he mirrored your movements and excited the car walking around it.

“Of fuckign course I know where I am, Kento” You barked as you walked away approaching the door. “I know where I lost my fucking virginity, okay?” You barked as you stopped coldly and looked at him, tears finally streaming off your face. “Look, I’ll make us a favour and summarize this conversation. Yes, you’re a fucking asshole for just taking off one day and completely disappearing. Yes, I’m still mad about it. No, I won’t take your apology. No, I don’t care about whatever shitty excuse you have for me to listen to you. You bringing me here out of all places isn’t going to change shit…” You spat all in one breath as you stopped and took a deep breath.

“I loved you, Kento. I really did. And it hurt to have you just dissipate like you were a hallucination or something...You were my first kiss, my first love, my first everything! And one day I lost all of that. You ruined sex for me!” You yelled angrily. “I could never hold, kiss or sleep with anyone, because at some point I’d see your stupid face, and then be incredibly underwhelmed because I would not enjoy sex. I can’t feel anything anymore, Kento...The only way I can actually enjoy those things is by getting drunk or high” You admitted. “I can’t walk into bookstores, nor eat sandwiches or diet coke, nor drink tea because all those things remind me of you. And yes, it’s lame that all these years later I still care about those things. And this is why I can’t forgive you” You cried, as your voice shook.

Nanami’s heart broke little by little at each one of your words. He knew he’d screwed up and had hurt you deeply. But he wasn’t aware of the actual impact. He clenched his jaw as he felt his chest tight and a lump on his throat. Now the drinking problem made sense. Gojo had painted it like you were an alcoholic, but it wasn’t exactly the case. So you’d gone to the bar to get it off with some stranger, probably pretending it was him.

The dizzying pain and weight of his mistakes blinded him for a second as he walked towards you as you kept bitterly complaining. As you tried to walk away, you made a very poor effort as he caught up with you and cupped your face in his hands, bringing you closer to him and shutting you up by pressing his lips against you.

The sudden surprise made your heart stop. Your mind turning numb and blank at once as you struggled to bring yourself to push him away. However, truth be told, you didn't want to push him away. The poor attempt to push him away was more than obvious. The strong fighter you were, barely making any physical effort. Nanami's hands wrapped around your back and pulled you close, squeezing you against him as he sighed into the kiss.

Finally kissing him back, you locked your lips against his desperately, eager to taste the lips you've been dreading in your dreams. Clinging to him like he was going to disappear again, a soft whimper escaped your mouth. Your chest pressing against him as he felt his own world getting blurry.

He broke the kiss pulling away as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“You have no idea how much I missed you” He whispered as you clung to him.

“I-I…” You stuttered, the words tasting bitter before they even made it to your mouth. “Fuck, I want you, Kento” You growled as he pulled you in, kissing you hungrily again.

His hands posessively clinging to you as he slowly guided you back to the car. One step at the time as you both melted in a hungry sour kiss. As you ran out of breath, you pulled away, gasping for air as you gripped his collar in your hands.

“I can’t hold back anymore” You said as you pulled away and grabbed his hand, walking back to his car.

Your words unleashed a shiver down his spine as his heart skipped a beat and raced like crazy, as his pants started feeling tighter on his crotch. He chuckled softly as he realized his own judgement seemed to have disappeared with that first kiss. And before you could even make it to his car, he gripped your hips and spun you around as he bumped his forehead against yours.

“I can’t either” He admitted as he guided you to the car’s hood and pulled you over it. Ass you sat on the warm hood, he got between your legs and you wasted no time wrapping them around his waist. He grunted softly feeling your crotch against his as you pulled him closer to seal your lips together.

As you soon were absorbed by the dizziness of your rising heat, his hand went to your bare thighs as he slowly caressed your skin, going up and lifting your skirt up in the process. A soft moan slid into his mouth as he gripped your ass softly and squeezed it. The way your skin got covered in goosebumps and how you jerked your hips made him moan in response.

It felt good, and intoxicating. The driving desire burning his insides. The feeling of desiring to taste you all over and have you shaking underneath him. God, he’d missed that particular rush of adrenaline. His body reacting to the deeply buried memories now loose. He felt like he was in the best high he’d experienced. Lightheadedness and presence in the moment, he hadn’t felt this alive in so long.

Your hands were slowly undoing his buttoned shirt and were quick to explore his warm skin. He pulled away from the kiss, gasping as he looked at you. Your devilish smile matching your hungry stare. You leaned forward kissing his neck, nibbling on his skin every now and then. His hand gripped your hair tightly, pulling it lightly, making you look up at him as he stared at you.

He leaned forward, kissing you once more, this time a lot more slow and a lot more tender. It was sweet and it was slow and it took you by surprise. You felt his sweet kiss begging you, still holding on to the feelings you both decided to drown unsuccessfully. It almost hurt. It was the kind of kiss that told you how much you missed and needed each other. How much you regretted the mistakes you’ve done.

As you melted against his lips, his hands slowly slid your panties off. You helped him lifting your hips a little but as you giggled against his lips.

“Eager?” You said with a playful smirk.

“You have no idea” He replied as he took off your panties and shoved them in his back pocket.

His hand made it back to your thigh, slowly going up until he palmed your hot sex. Stealing a gasp out of your mouth, he teasingly ran one of his fingers through your dripping slit, making him smile satisfied.

“I’m not the only one, huh?” He said as you looked at him with lustful eyes.

You took his glasses off and set them aside. You were about to go back to kissing his neck when he slid one finger inside of you effortlessly. A rather loud moan escaped your lips as you shut your eyes closed feeling your entire body tingle in a way you hadn’t felt in years. You smiled satisfied as you continued kissing his neck. Slowly, he got another finger inside. The delicious stretch of his second finger prompting you to bite his neck softly making him growl your name softly. His fingers explored the whole he knew so well, as he found your sweet spot almost by muscle memory. More moans came out of your throat sounding like music to his ears.

“Fuck, Kento” You hissed as you took off your top, not caring that you were outdoors and by the road. Up to this point, you were so pent up, you simply craved him like you’d never craved anything before.

Nanami wasted no time and kissed your neck, going down to your neck, gently biting your skin every now and then. Sucking delicately on your skin, leaving marks that wouldn’t last long. He pulle dhis fingers out of you, clinging to your body desperately. As you laid on the car’s hood, you devoured him with your lustful eyes, begging him to get on top of you. Wearing just your skirt by this point, Nanami groaned at the plain sight of you.

He undid his belt and his pants. Your hands playfully teasing your own body in an attempt to drive him crazier and crazier. He cursed under his breath as he couldn’t take it any longer. He pulled his painfully hard erection out of his pants. You watched hi, intrigued, stretching your hands towards him, gently gripping his dick. His breath hitched and you smiled proudly.

Nanami leaned over the car hood, slowly getting on top of you, his shaft resting on your belly as he looked at how much deep could he go inside of you. His tip almost reaching you belly button, as the idea alone made a shiver run down his spine.

"Please, Kento" you gasped, need dripping from your voice as you caressed his dick

He growled softly as he pulled away softly, aligning against your entrance and slowly going in. You gasped, pushing your head back and pressing your hips against his making him go deeper.

Hissing your name, he jerked his hips, his tip.kissing your cervix as sudden rush of pain jolted through your body, followed by pleasure. You dug your nails in his shoulders as he thrusted back and forth, hitting all the right spots. The sound of his gasps and grunts hypnotizing as you got wetter by the second. His length coated in your juices, echoing in lewd wet noises.

He was rough. He usually was. Back in student days, he was particularly rough. As quiet and collected as he seemed, he sure got his stress out if his body through wild sex.

Relentlessly pushing against you, stretching you in such a delicious way only he knew how. Strong and aggressive movements as your walls swallowed him whole every time, breathless moans escaping your lips with every push. The cool wind kissing your skin, only enhancing his warmth.

As you felt your orgasm progressively approaching, the realization of how addicted you were to him hit you. He was everything you desired. And it was wrong. Before the feeling of uneasiness started to sink in, a sudden electric rush ran through your body. Painfully and soothing, as you tightly clenched around himbsoon numbed your mind.

As you came around him, your walls sucked him in tightly, as he was right over the brink, your velvet flesh pushed him off the edge. He didn't have time to pull out. And honestly, he didn't want to pull out. The way your walls milked him felt delicious. As he rode you through your orgasm, filling you up as his head felt dizzy and the world was spinning faster than usual. His hot seed coating your insides, as you shut your eyes closed, feeling the very last of your orgasm fading away.

He pressed his forehead against yours. Loud pants echoing.

However, the world didn't quite return to its regular focus.

The rest of the night went by in a fuzzy hot mess of events. You returned to his apartment and kept feasting on each other, making up for the lost time. Both of you incredibly starved and needy, you desperately went at it over and over again. It was a rather long night. As you feared, no one made you feel as he did. All of him was addicting. His smell, his voice, his warmth, his skin...It didn’t matter how many strangers you fucked, or how drunk or high you were, he felt just right. He made you cum so easily, it seemed ridiculous everyone else couldn’t.

But you knew it was far more than that.

You were still deeply in love with him. No wonder why he had that effect on you. Just hearing his breathlessly gasp was enough to have you soaking wet and under his mercy. Between sweet kisses, fake promises and sweaty sex, he quite literally fucked you to oblivion. Until either of you could take it any longer and you two fell asleep in each other’s arms. It had been a long tiring night, as you knew many of your muscles were gonna be sore the next day. Your chest painted in red and blue bruises.

It was possibly one of the best night sleeps he’d had. In such a long time. The uncomfortable hole in his chest didn’t feel so wide now. Just like you, he didn’t know how much he actually needed you until now. His regrets, his guilt, the thoughts haunting him on how much of a jerk he’d been when he simply took off...All those feelings went away for a night. As he tasted the wonders of the universe under your skin. Feeling ecstatic and euphoric for the first time in years. However, nothing could’ve prepared Nanami for what he was about to experience when he woke up.

~

“What the hell is this?” Gojo asked as he waved around the folder you’d left a few hours earlier in the Headmaster’s office.

“Why the fuck do you care?” You said as you grabbed it, ripping it off his hands.

“You’re seriously leaving for Kyoto?” He whined.

“So my transfer was accepted? Great!” You said sarcastically as you opened the folder and saw the Headmaster’s seal at the bottom.

“What about Nanami-kun?” Gojo replied as the very last string of your patience snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Gojo! You tried to force us back together, but it’s not going to happen” You snapped. “I’m done. I’m done with him, and I’m done with you sticking your nose in my business”

“Do you really think that running away will solve anything? You’ll still be depressed as hell”

“The less I know about him, the better” You said as you turned around, hot tears blurring your sight as you headed with long steps towards your room. “I don’t trust myself around him…” You whispered. “He’s my weakness Gojo, I can’t let that happen…” You said coldly.

You’d left that morning very early, before Nanami woke up. And you left leaving no trace of you ever being there. Unintentionally doing the same he did. It was unintentional because you hadn’t done it out of spite. Your thought process had been simply. You preferred to not have that conversation and simply leave without him noticing. You had had the exact same thought process Nanami had had all those years ago.

You didn’t waste time and soon started packing your things to leave for Kyoto right away.

[arrowflier]

hi arrow! can i get a fic of ian being jealous on a date (maybe someone flirts with mickey??) and mickey just loves it bc it makes ian all passive aggressive and bossy and saying 'my husband' 283949 times ❤️

Of course you can!  Or at least I tried lol, it got a little random.💖

That Green-Eyed Monster (is my husband)

They never had really gotten in the habit of going on dates, before. Not real dates at least, in public places where you could eat with utensils or sit side-by-side and pretend to watch the entertainment while you were really just watching each other. They had tried, but something always got in the way--the military, jail sentences, arrest warrants, pandemics, family emergencies--they just had shit luck, alright?

So when things got a little less crazy on the aforementioned fronts, they started trying a little bit harder. They had a designated date night, now. Sometimes they planned together, sometimes they took turns surprising each other with heartfelt (or sometimes comical) plans.

This time, it had been Mickey's turn.

“Where are we going?” Ian asked yet again from where he was blindfolded in the passenger seat of Tami’s car.  They’d usually take the ambulance, but Mickey didn’t want to stick out too much today—not in a place where an ambulance could potentially be needed.

“I still ain’t gonna tell you,” Mickey answered, but relented enough to add, “we’re almost there though, you’ll see soon.”

Sure enough, the entrance to the parking lot came up on the right, and Mickey swung in in that ridiculous little car.

As soon as Ian felt the car stop, he was reaching for his blindfold—not one of their good ones, just an old headband they had found on Debbie’s floor—but Mickey grabbed his hand before he could slip it off.

“Hey hey hey,” Mickey chastised.  “What’s the rush there, flash?”

“What, I can’t be a little eager for our date?” Ian pouted, knowing it would get Mickey to give in.  No matter how many times he tried to pretend that he wasn’t soft, Mickey always gave in to the pout.

He was right.  Gentle hands pushed the headband off of Ian’s eyes, which were immediately filled with the sight of Mickey’s own as the other man ran fingers through Ian’s hair in an attempt to smooth it down.

“Alright, come on then,” Mickey ordered, leaving one firm kiss at the corner of Ian’s lips before pulling back and getting out of the car.  “If you’re so eager, you get to pay.”

Ian chuckled as he let himself out and met Mickey around the front of the car.  “Why would I pay?” he asked jokingly.  “It’s your week to woo me, asshole, you get to foot the bill.”

“Foot the bill with your money, sure,” Mickey retorted, and Ian rolled his eyes as he automatically fell into step beside him.

“Our money,” he reminded his husband, getting an arm around his waist.  He was always surprised when Mickey let him do that—he said it felt awkward to walk with the jolly red giant suckered onto his side—but this time Mickey actually leaned into him.

He didn’t even notice where they were, outside a little building in the middle of nowhere.  He let go of Mickey to walk through the door ahead of him, fully intending to continue their playful banter, when he stopped still.

There were a lot of guns in this place.

Paintball guns, that was.

“Mickey,” Ian said slowly as his husband came up behind him, “did you bring me here to shoot me?”

Mickey just smirked as he swanned past toward the check-in desk.

“Maybe, hotshot,” he answered.  “You gonna complain?”

Ian shook his head with a shit-eating grin.  

“Hell no,” he declared.  “You better be ready for me.”

Mickey signed his name on a waiver with a flourish and took the gun handed to him by a worker, tossing it to Ian.

“Am I ever not?”

—

Ian was having a blast, pun intended, as he shot the shit out of everybody else on the range.  Mickey wasn’t faring too badly either; despite being on the opposite team, neither one of them had managed to shoot each other yet.

It didn’t hurt that Mickey looked damn good, either.  He was completely in his element out here, taking guys out left and right with perfect marksmanship and even more perfect form, his shoulders barely moving with the recoil as he shot.  Half the time, Ian missed his chance because he was too busy watching him to fire—the other half, he didn’t even want to if it meant taking Mickey out of the game and losing his eye-candy.

Finally, a break was called, and everyone filed off the course while it was reset for the next round.

Ian grabbed a bottle of water from a long table near the building, guzzling half of it in one go before looking around for his husband.

He found him quickly enough, recognizing his back immediately even in unfamiliar gear with his hair all mussed from the protective helmet they had to wear.

But he did not recognize the man standing next to Mickey, raking his eyes over Mickey’s stocky build.  

The stranger was saying something, Mickey tossing his head back in laughter, and then a hand was on Mickey’s arm and Ian suddenly found himself at Mickey’s back.

“Everything good here, fellas?” Ian asked casually, standing a couple feet away.

“Fine, Gallagher,” Mickey said with a smile.  “Johnny here was just tellin’ me he could give me some pointers before the next round.”

Ian raised his eyebrows, glancing from Mickey’s face to the stranger’s and back.

“Pointers?” he asked, voice going a touch high at the end.  Who the fuck did this guy think he was, offering shooting pointers to Mickey fucking Milkovich?  He had gotten there just in time, it seemed, because there was no way in hell Mickey would let that insult slide.

“Yeah,” Mickey said.  “Says I need to work on my form a little, widen my stance, you know.  Thought I’d give it a shot.”

Wait.  What?

“I was just telling him,” the stranger—Johnny, though how they were on a first name basis already Ian had no idea—chimed in, “that I have a lot of experience with real firearms.”

“And I was sayin’ how much I admire a military man,” Mickey interjected with a smirk, “so I might as well let him show me some moves.”

“Mickey,” Ian hissed lowly, “what are you doing?”

Mickey didn’t answer.

“You ever shot a real gun, Mick?” Johnny asked abruptly, catching on that he was missing something but determined not to lose Mickey’s attention.  

“It’s like nothing else, dude, I swear.  The feel of that smooth metal in your hands,” he continued as he moved closer, lifting a hand to Mickey’s arm again. “The way it moves with you, goes off when you,” he leaned in even closer, and added in a low voice, “pull the trigger.”

Alarm bells were ringing in Ian’s head at this point.

“Nah,” Mickey was answering, “my guy won’t let me play with the real stuff.”

“Sounds like you need a new guy, then,” Johnny murmured, and Ian had had enough.

“He’s taken,” he cut in gruffly, moving to stand by Mickey’s side.  He couldn’t hold Mickey with the gear in the way, but he got a hand on his back, at least, curling fingers into the top of his waistband.

Johnny looked at him askance, and shrugged.  

“I don’t see a ring,” he pointed out, and Ian grit his teeth.  They had taken them off before starting, for safety, and he never regretting following the rules more a day in his life.

“Besides, who are you to speak for him?” Johnny asked.

“Oh, this is Ian,” Mickey introduced quickly.  He was smiling, the asshole, like some guy wasn’t trying to steal him from right under Ian’s own nose.  “He’s my—”

“His husband,” Ian stated firmly, and watched Johnny’s eyes go wide.  “His ex-army, ex-con husband.”

“Hey man, I’m sorry,” Johnny apologized, hands up.  “I didn’t know.”

Ian nodded, ready to let it go despite his urge to send the man packing, when Johnny insisted on talking again.

“You can’t blame me though, right?” he said with a little, nervous laugh.  “I mean, he looks so damn—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, too busy keeling over with his hands on his groin after Ian shot a paintball right at his balls at point-blank range.

—

Two minutes later, Ian and Mickey were racing to the car as employees chased behind them, yelling.  Apparently it was frowned upon to shoot someone on your own team, outside the course itself, during a break.  It didn’t help that Mickey had done the same right after, just for fun.

“Hurry up, you jealous fuck,” Mickey shouted at Ian as he fumbled with the door handle.  “We gotta get outa here before they realize I gave them fake names!”

Ian fell into the car, giddy with adrenaline and laughter.

“The fuck did you do that for?” he giggled as Mickey threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the lot.

“Cause I knew you would do something stupid!” Mickey said, shoving at Ian’s shoulder with one hand when Ian just laughed harder.

Ian gather himself as they drove, and felt his heart-rate start to normalize after a few minutes on the road.  He held Mickey’s hand over the gearshift, finger rubbing over the spot where his ring should be—where it would be again as soon as they had a minute to breathe.  Then, just as he was almost calm—

“Shit, Ian,” Mickey gasped.  “We didn’t return the fucking guns.”

That set them off again, and they had to pull over halfway home until they could stop laughing and hide the paintball guns under the back seat.

Franny and Fred would love them come Christmas.

[finnyboywolfhard]

Kiss It, Make It Better

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader 

summary: Y/N craves smoking with someone new, so who better than Steve Harrington. 

A/N: this is based solely on the ‘it’s only marijuana’ line in season three bc i am in love with stoner!Steve 

warnings: drugs <3, cursing, fluff 

word count: 2.4k 

Y/N and Dustin had the routine since Y/N got her license, that once a month they would have a sibling drive, in which they would drive around with the sole intent of getting caught up with one another. Given all the shit they had been through over the past few years, it naturally became their own special form of therapy. The Events of Starcourt on the Fourth of July and the days prior were once again weighing heavily on the two during their first drive since.

“What was it like being drugged?” Dustin asked, his curiosity weaving its way into his voice.

“Weird. It kinda felt like everything was the best thing ever, but it also came at the worst time. It was also weird that it was with Steve Harrington and Robin.”

“Is it like weed?”

“Is it like what?” Y/N knew the answer, it was no, but she had no idea why her little brother was deciding to ask her that in that exact moment.

“When you guys were drugged, I kept asking Steve if he did drugs, and he said that he only did marijuana. I wanted to know if they were comparable. So, is it like weed?”

“First off Dusty, you don’t ‘do’ marijuana, you smoke it. And secondly, I’m not answering that question, you can save that query for Steve.” Steve. Y/N had a lot of thoughts about him, it was interesting to hear about him from the rumors in high school in comparison to how she saw him act regularly. And ever since she started smoking to calm herself down, she has craved smoking with someone other than Robin, maybe Steve was worth a shot.

“Speaking of Steve, he said he might be over a lot over the next few nights while his parents are away, just so you know.”

“Oh? Is he coming tonight?”

“No, not tonight. He isn’t off work till 9 and mom doesn’t want him coming an hour before my dumbass bedtime— I still don’t get why she just NOW gave me a bedtime while you don’t even have a curfew.” Her brother started rambling, but all she could pay attention to was that he was going to be home alone tonight. Would it be that crazy of her to show up after all the trauma they had been through over the past 3 years?

“It’s because I’m legally an adult, so she’s treating me as such, and you’re just going into high school, she wants you to be safe. But okay, guess we’ll just have to see him soon.” The two drove around for a while longer before returning home. As the hours in between past, Y/N glanced towards her bookshelf, in which held a hidden stash of weed. She could always tell her mom she was just going to Robin’s, she would never try to prevent Y/N from seeing Robin.

She walked toward the bookshelf with soft footing, and with a gentle touch she plucked the hard covered book from the shelf. Inside lay two pre rolled joints she bought from her dealer and some bud Murray had snuck her after Hopper’s memorial. She snapped the book closed and tossed the book gently onto her bed. She put on a zip up hoodie and packed a fake sleepover bag. The books spine crackled gently as the cover was opened just enough for her to grab the pre-rolls out and into her pocket.

With backpack slung over her shoulders and her hands tucked securely in her pockets, Y/N strolled casually into the living room where her mother sat, as the minutes ticked quicker and quicker past 9:30–he was definitely home by now.

“Hey mom! Inhope you don’t mind but I’m gonna head over to Robin’s.”

“Oh! Did she call? I didn’t even hear the phone!”

“Oh no! She didn’t!” Y/N let in a gulp, she didn’t think this through. “She asked me a few days ago to come over tonight if I wanted to, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go until a little bit ago.”

“Ah, sounds like you, Do you wanna call her before you head over?” Claudia stood from her seat and began moving and motioning towards the phone.

“No!’ Y/N shrieked at her mother, who turned confusedly towards her. “Her mom goes to bed early and I told her that if I was gonna come it would be between 9 and 10, she assumes I’m coming, but I do really gotta get going.” Y/N glanced nervously at the clock, it was getting later and later and there comes a time where it’s a little uncomfortable to show up. Claudia glanced to the clock as well.

“Okay Y/N/N, you better get going.”

“Bye mom—“

“—Drive safe, be careful, I love you.”

“I love you too mom.” Y/N said as she practically ran to her car. She turned her car on and began the drive towards his house, not even thinking twice about where she was going until the car came to a park in his driveway.

“Shit!” Y/N yelled at herself. She yelled at herself for being weird and for showing up unannounced. She calmed herself down by saying, “who wouldn’t want someone showing up with free weed? Don’t overthink it.” She pulled in a complete, deep breath and walked hesitantly to the door. Three knocks sounded off the door, her breath fluttering ever so slightly as she let her hand fall to her side. Footsteps could be heard from the opposite side of the door, stepping closer and closer by the second. The doorknob turned and Y/N’s attention snapped up to meet the gaze of the boy at large.

“Hey Y/N, what’re you doing here?” Steve asked delightfully surprised. Her hand reached inside her pocket to pull one of the two joints. She lifted it from her pockets to where he could see it.

“Got a light?” She asked with a smirk.

After finding a lighter, the two made their way to his backyard. They sat parallel to one another in their chaise chairs. Y/N flicked the lighter a few times before sparking up the first joint of the night. She pulled a large huff in and held it as she passed the joint to Steve. He took in a long drag, holding the joint in front of him to inspect it after he hit it. A few seconds after Y/N had released her hit, Steve started coughing a bunch.

“Jesus Y/N, where the hell did you get this?” Steve said through the gasps for air.

“Good shit, huh?” Y/N joked as she inhaled another hit. The two fell into a rhythm of passing it back and forth as conversation allowed itself to flood the air.

“So what made you come here Y/N?” Steve pondered towards the girl.

“Dusty started asking me about when we were drugged, and apparently you told him you smoked weed. And, as much as I love Robin, I need someone new to smoke with, and you’re not AWFUL to hang out with.” Y/N explained, with sarcasm dripping from the last sentence.

“Wow, I feel so touched. Truly, I feel like the luckiest man alive. THE Y/N Henderson chose ME to smoke with. Best day of my life.” Steve rambled on, matching the sarcastic tone Y/N started with. The two laughed for a bit together, before Y/N spoke through the giggles.

“I am sorry for just showing up, I just didn’t know how to ask.”

“What? Am I that scary?”

“You’re THE King Steve, you’re the coolest, hottest guy at Hawkins. I was so intimidated by your male wiles. I am begging at your feet Steve Harrington.” Y/N mocked other girls she had witnessed in Hawkins. “No you’re not scary, I just couldn’t bring myself to say ‘Hey Steve, want to do some drugs with me?’ on our family phone, it didn’t feel right.” Steve let out a chuckle and a ‘fair enough’. It fell silent for a moment as the joint had its final hits taken from it.

“Why haven’t we hung out before? I mean away from all the traumatizing shit.” Steve asked slowly as he let himself sink down into the chair.

“Different friend groups before it all and then after and during it all, I didn’t and don’t want to impede on you and Dustin’s time. Plus neither of us have asked each other anyway.”

“That’s not true, I invited you to the movies that one day you stopped into scoops alone.”

“Yeah after I had already told you I was babysitting that night, you didn’t even ask to reschedule.”

“Yes I absolutely—didn’t. I didn’t.” Steve said, confidence dissipating. Y/N couldn’t help but focus to each small feature of his face one by one. Sure, she had looked at him but she never looked at him. He really was beautiful.

Jokes and stories were told between the two, laughter and exaggerated stories filled the bubble they put themselves in. In those moments, there was no one else in the world but Steve and Y/N.

“And that’s how Mike Wheeler broke his finger in our backyard.” Y/N let out through a fit of giggles. Steve clutched his stomach as he let himself fall back into the chair from the gut busting laughter Y/N had sent him into. As he got more comfortable, he glanced down at his watch. His eyes bulged at the time.

“Holy shit.” He said flustered, eyes never leaving the watch face.

“What? What time is it?”

“It’s almost 2 A.M.”

“Oh damn…” Y/N said, a dangerously fun smile finding its way to her face. Her hand reached towards the second joint in her pocket. “So this would be of no interest to you?” Steve’s squinted eyes opened just a peep. He let out a long whine.

“I think I’m too high to even move…but that looks so good.” Y/N looked between him and the joint. She noticed space for her to sit on the edge of his chair, and placed herself there. She placed the joint between her lips and gave it a light, waiting for the rolling paper burn down to the weed. From between her lips, she pulled the joint between her fingers and held it gently up to his. He took in a pull, never once releasing eye contact. With each consecutive hit, the distance between them drew closer and closer, eventually leaving their faces merely inches apart. Her fingers were so far back on the joint, they grazed his lips as he took in one of the final hits. Her fingers tingled from his touch. She glanced towards his eyes, his meeting hers already. The air around them went still and quiet. Their eyes were locked on each other, contact never wavering as their bodies moved towards one another like a magnet. His eyes stayed put on hers as his voice fell in the air.

“Give me one more.” Her hand lifted lightly and placed itself at his lips once more. The joint glowed a bright red as he inhaled the smoke. Y/N was so enraptured by his beauty, she didn’t notice the joint burning down to a nub. She watched as a cloud of smoke was blown from his lips and into the sky, before the heat had finally reached her touch.

“Son of a bitch!” She exclaimed as she dropped the roach to the ground. She lifted her fingers to her mouth, attempting to ease the burning feeling. The burn wasn’t bad, just a little redness but it didn’t hurt any less.

“Hey, let me see it.” Steve’s tone was much gentler now as he lifted her hand into his own. He raised her gently by her wrist to examine the burnt fingers. He delicately placed the burnt fingers to his lips and gave them a tiny little kiss.

“Kiss it, make it better.” He whispered, just barely audible to her ears. That’s what was so shocking about Steve, his heart was so filled with love and care. He did his best to make everyone feel protected, even if his popular guy persona overshadowed it at times.

“How are you so perfect?” Her voice came out quietly. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her once more and without much thought, he closed the distance. The kiss was gentle and loving, but clearly stoked by passion. His lips upturned into a smile. She leaned back and traced her fingers across her lips. Just to make sure she didn’t imagine it, she pulled the boy towards her by the collar and planted one more kiss on him—and she noted that he kissed back with the same fervor.

“I have a crush on you Steve Harrington.” She said, hiding her blushing face from the boy. He turned her face towards him as he confessed,

“I’ve had a crush on you for like 3 months.”

“You have?”

“Yeah.” He said, his thumb gently grazing her cheek.

“Why?”

“Dustin talks about you enough, and I—uh I remembered all the times you’ve kicked ass over the past few years and it just kinda…happened. Who wouldn’t want someone as smart, badass, and beautiful as you?” He rambled our haphazardly, a blush forming across his cheeks as well.

“Steve…”

“Oh god, that was embarrassing, am I blushing? I feel like I’m blushing. fuck me.” Steve started rambling.

“Hey! It’s not embarrassing, it’s cute.” Y/N explained, but it didn’t seem to help. An idea flashed in her mind. “Oh no! You are so embarrassing, I am embarrassed. Ew, guess I

I’ll just have to close my eyes! I hope that embarrassing Steve Harrington doesn’t kiss me!” The sarcastic tone from earlier returning once more. A chuckle bubbled past Steve’s lips. He once more laid one on her, this time—a little bit more passionate than the past.

Y/N nuzzled herself into Steve’s side on the small beach chair they were on. The air sat comfortably still in that moment, the two reeling from the overwhelming emotions they had just felt. Quiet giggles pierce the air as Y/N studies her fingers.

“It worked.” She said matter of factly.

“What worked?”

“After you kissed it, I haven’t thought about it since. You made it better.” Y/N spoke melodically. Steve planted a kiss to the top of her head and pulled her closer in to him.

“Kiss it, make it better.” He repeated once more.

[dashielldeveron]

and i’ve gotta crow | takami keigo

hawks x pro-hero! reader. quirk unspecified.

summary: “You’re suffering from amnesia,” says Hawks to you, in your hospital bed.

No, you are not.

“We’re engaged to be married.”

No, you are not.

After an accident that was that bastard Hawks’s fault, you decide to play along with your diagnosis of amnesia, among other things, because how far can you make your former bully bend over backwards for you?

fluff/trickery??? completely avoidable angst, bc reader is a little shit. hawks is a scumbag bully at first. reader is honestly kind of violent. dealing with acne in a scene.

When the first things you saw after groggily blinking your eyes open were multiple IVs in the back of your hand, you flipped over and snuggled farther into your hospital bed to deal with it later, but against your will you were forced to lie flat on your back to stare into the hospital fluorescents.

When the nurse fiddling with your IVs came into focus, he said, “You need to lie on your back. You have deep gashes on your lower abdomen, and tossing about too much could open the stitches.”

That sounded like bullshit, but you were too out of it to care. “Yeah, okay,” you said through a croak, “Oh, fuck.” You wrestled a hand to your throat, massaging it. “Am I waking up from a coma? Don’t let anyone see me until I’ve done my eyebrows.”

The nurse laughed through his nose. “No, don’t worry. You’ve barely been—” He cut himself off and frowned. “The news should probably be broken to you when you have emotional support. I’ll be back soon.”

He left.

Emotional support? Wouldn’t that fucking gash on your stomach be—ooh, ouch, don’t move.

Where’s your phone? Where’s your goddamn phone; where’s any of your personal belongings? If they got crushed, you’re killing Hawks on sight.

Hawks, oh, my God. Where is he? He’s dead. If he still has the audacity to bully you professionally—fuck.

He’d cornered you on patrol earlier—whenever that was—and cut into you in that casually, negging-type way that wasn’t enough to report but enough to make you stay up late and freak out about being good enough. It hurt your chest whenever you thought about it.

But this was the first time he’d gotten seriously physical.

He’d alit on the top of the warehouse next to you, landing what would have been haphazardly for anyone else (the arch of his feet against the edge, his toes barely touching roof) and had crouched next to you, his scarlet wings completely blowing your cover as they stretched and shuddered.

“What’s a little girl like you doing in this part of town?” Hawks had propped his chin on both his fists. “Thought shoplifters were more your calibre.”

“Hawks, this is actually really important to me, so please, please leave,” you’d said, keeping your eyes on the group you could barely make out through the skylight. They’d already been partially concealed by crates, so they were hard to see.

“Someone else give you a tip for their location?” He’d tapped your opposite shoulder with the end of his wing, but you hadn’t even flinched.

“Bruh, you know I’ve been on this for weeks,” you’d said, shifting away from him, “I even shared intel at your last briefing.”

“Is that what you were talking about?” Hawks had scratched his chin. “I zoned out. Usually the little cases female heroes present aren’t in my circle, and I like to unwind when brain power isn’t needed.”

You’d planned to rip his wings out feather by feather while you’d gritted your teeth. “You can’t talk to me like that, Hawks.”

He’d laughed, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “C’mon, babygirl, have a slice of chill, won’t you? I thought you were one of the cool girls. Relax. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Leave me alone, Hawks. You’re not gonna bully me into joining your agency. You’re not gonna bully me into quitting being a hero,” you’d said, inwardly screaming, “I’d tell you to go talk to someone who’d fall for your shit, but then, she’d have to suffer, too. So, fuck off into a sewer, jackass.”

“Oof,” Hawks had said, placing a hand over his heart and shaking his head, “You don’t have to be such a bitch, sweetheart. I’m only looking for my better half. Didn’t think it could be you, but I’d thought I’d give you a chance to prove me wrong. Don’t take yourself too seriously; just be along for the ride like the rest of us.”

“Huh,” you had said, and you’d stood and strode to the edge of the warehouse to your harness and rope, and you rappelled down the side of it as stealthily as you came up.

“I’ve been watching you all these years, sweetness, and I know you by now; I know how you really feel,” Hawks had said a bit too loudly while he flew downwards at your speed (braggart). “Strip away all of your busy work, your so-called hero trappings, and we’d mesh together just fine. We may be rough around the edges, but we clean up really nicely, don’t we?”

You’d unclipped your carabiner and stepped out of your harness, stashing it in your pack. “Fuck off.”

You’d moved towards the back entrance, but Hawks had slammed a hand against the concrete wall in front of you. You’d ducked under it and carried on, and he’d grabbed the back of your shirt.

“C’mon, if we didn’t know each other, and our eyes met from across the room at some hero gala, you’d be all over me, wouldn’t you?”

You had swiped his hand away. “I’d be putting a lid on my drink.”

His arms behind his back, Hawks had followed you through the door and behind the exposed pipes and closer to your targets. “Saw you coming onto Todoroki at the last one. You looked fine in his colours, but you would’ve looked better in mine.”

Don’t grace him with an answer; don’t grace him with an ans— “I wasn’t coming onto Shoto,” you’d said, pulling yourself up a couple of pipes for a better view—and you’d hit him when he flapped his wings to hover the few feet you’d ascended, because the noise might alert them.

“Yeah, you just simp for him, right? Then you didn’t step outside your comfortable ice queen act?” Hawks had gripped onto a pipe just underneath your ass. “You’re too much of a natural tease for that.”

How can you report him when he’s the head of his own agency? You guess the commission might listen, but what can they do besides slap his wrist? There’s really no one who can stop him, is there?

You hadn’t replied but instead crawled onto the iron catwalk. If you could position yourself about three-quarters of the way across, you’d be able to effectively activate your quirk and get this over with—wait, why would you think like that? You’d been waiting for this for ages.

A hand spreading across the small of your back had reminded you.

You’d flipped over with fire in your eyes and kicked him away as quietly as you could, but all he’d done was sit back on his knees to grin down at you, army-crawling your way through a dirty warehouse.

Would he take credit for your work again?

You’d shaken yourself. Eat my entire ass, Hawks. And with that, you’d continued inching towards your targets. When you’d gotten into position to watch them, Hawks had merely watched you.

You had scowled. “I’m gonna tear you a—”

“You had a hard childhood, didn’t you?”

A chill had unfurled up your spine, simple as that. Hawks now not only had the annoying air of an arrogant pick-up artist but also gave you an intense sense of danger. You’d moved away from him, regrettably away from your target, but Hawks had followed you, getting closer until his body heat had seeped into yours, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his dumb face.

“I could take suuuuch good care of you, little girl,” he’d said under his breath, “if only you’d let me. No one else is crazy enough to call me out or want more than the bare minimum.” His wings had folded in on his back, making themselves as small as possible to get closer to you. “If you give in, tell me yes, say please, you wouldn’t have to let any worries cross your pretty little mind. All you have to do is let me in.”

“Yikes,” you had said, sucking in through your teeth, “God, you’re a creep.”

Hawks had slammed you down onto the catwalk, iron reverberating through the warehouse as it struck your head, and your targets had looked up by the time the catwalk hinges had loosened and had come crashing down in the midst of their meeting.

You’re really not supposed to shoot guns inside. Don’t they know that’ll ruin their ears? No matter, really. You had fought them anyway, amidst crates splintering open from whatever they were shooting at you—fuck, that was a big hole. What’s oozing out of that? Gross, don’t step in it.

One with a normal revolver—his arm had given a woody crack when you’d bent it backwards—God, that was nice. Good sounds. If you could sample them into a rap track, you would.

You’d been planning a collab with a popular rapper while you’d hurled yourself at another villain, sawdust flying—just to keep your mind busy, really, but fucking—fucking Hawks had bested whoever he’d half-assed to the ground and had shouted your way.

“C’mere, you little shit—”

He’d scooped you up while you’d been taking care of it by yourself, and he had pinned you down behind a stack of crates that reached the remains of the catwalk, straddling you but keeping most of his weight off, his wings outstretched yet still hidden from the cloud of sawdust rising with deep gurgling on the far side.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he’d said over the chaos, spit flying, “You can’t handle this; you’re gonna get fucking killed. I can’t babysit you all the time.”

“Get fucked; I’m the number fourteen hero,” you’d said, deadly still, but twitching in fury, “I can handle anyth—”

“Aww, fourteen. And one day babygirl might reach the single digits.” Hawks had sneered in your face. “If she manages to fuck her way through them.”

Your jaw had dropped, and you pretended to cough on sawdust and kicked him off in the confusion. Hawks had grabbed a hold of your calf, grappling for your thigh, while you’d scrambled to climb over crates to the gurgling mess on the other side; you could handle it, and you would.

You’d slapped his hands away, wrestled out of his grasp again and again, and you’d launched yourself into the dust—

Yeah.

While the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, you picked at a hangnail. You hadn’t braced yourself for the explosion, so, you guessed you deserved whatever was wrong with you now. Big-ass gashes on your stomach. Probably broken ribs. Something felt off in your left leg, besides—oh, ho, what had the doctors thought when they’d seen Hawks’s scratches?

What an idiot.

When the door creaked open, the nurse returned with a mug of water for you, but—what? Who’s that bitch following him?

You blinked, twice. With his hands in his pockets and his nasty little wings tucked in behind him, Hawks meandered to your bedside, his gaze on your throat as you swallowed down water.

God, you’re too tired to deal with him. Let’s get this over with.

The nurse glanced over his clipboard. “I’ve already told your partner this, but I thought you would want him here.”

Maybe if you ignore Hawks, he’ll leave.

“You were very brave today,” said the nurse, “Your work as a hero is greatly appreciated. You’re on temporary leave to heal, though. Like I said, you’ve got three, major gashes on your stomach, and your leg’s broken—the fibula split, if you want to know. You’ll be on crutches for a while. You have four broken ribs, and—” The nurse bit his lip and softened his voice. “You hit your head pretty hard. Nothing’s broken, but you should have amnesia, with the trauma you’ve endured.”

Should have? They don’t know? You sure as hell don’t fucking have amnesia. It barely happens in real life, and it definitely hasn’t happened to you. You remembered every fucking infuriating thing Hawks did to ruin your mission, and if he doesn’t square up—

“I’m so sorry, baby,” said Hawks, grabbing your hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb, and then he took his glove off to hold you skin-to-skin. “You remember who I am?”

You just stared at him.

“Your fiancé’s been a real presence in the waiting room,” said the nurse, “He hardly stopped pacing the entire time you were in surgery. He wouldn’t even talk to fans.”

Oh, my God.

Holy fucking shit.

“Oops, sorry,” said the nurse, covering his mouth, “I know you were keeping it a secret. Don’t blame him, please; he only told me to be able to see you immediately.”

Shutting your eyes, you took a deep, deep breath. You have been handed a golden opportunity on a fucking Hawks-shaped platter, holy fuck, and by God are you going to take advantage of it. Imagine how much you can fucking humiliate him, how far you can take it. How much you can make him pay for how he treated you, and now, if he says he’s your fiancé, then he’s gonna fucking worship you. You’re going to mould him into your little bitch, and he’s going to thank you for it. And you’ll get endless dirt on him just by seeing his place.

Don’t fuck this up.

Exhaling, you opened your eyes, blinking a bit. You curled your lips into your mouth, biting the lower one. “I remember you’re Hawks,” you said in a nervous voice, “and I remember, uh.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” Hawks squeezed your hand, his tone kind. “It’ll come back in time.”

You clutched Hawks’s hand while the nurse rattled off instructions and gave you your crutches, and Hawks squeezed your hand back, softly smiling at you.

When the nurse left, you turned to Hawks and said, “I’m so, so sorry, but I—I feel like there’s something big missing that I can’t remember.” You scratched your forehead with your free hand, dragging the IVs with you.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hawks tilted his head, still gazing decidedly down at you.

“Oh, God,” you said, “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. Um.” Take it back. Take it way back. That way he’ll dig himself into a deeper hole. The more lies he has to create, the funnier it’ll be. “Let’s see, I, hm.” You already weren’t speaking like yourself, but you looked upward as you faked combing through memories. “I don’t know how things work chronologically, but the most recent memory I have of you is—it’s after a press conference, and I’ve never been in the building before,” you said slowly, “And I can’t find the bathroom, but some press keeps following me, and I—I faceplant in between your shoulder blades, right between your wings. You—” You lowered your voice, shrinking a little in the hospital bed, “You got rid of them so easily, with just a gesture, and you put your arm around me. You were—” You shook your head, staring at both of your hands. “—so warm.”

Was that too thick? That was too thick, wasn’t it?

His free hand shot to his mouth, and he bit his knuckle. “But sweetheart, that’s,” said Hawks, his eyes watering, “That’s only around the third time we met.”

You know.

“Shit,” you said, widening your eyes, “How long ago was that?”

“Three years.” Hawks squeezed your hand and kept the pressure longer than was necessary. “Three fucking years. You don’t remember anything past that?”

You pretended to be scared to look at him. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, you don’t have to be,” said Hawks, and he leant towards you to lift your chin, rubbing his thumb against it, “It’s not your fault.”

You had to hand it to him: Hawks was a good actor.

But so were you.

***

Hawks disappeared for a while after that, but he manifested the day you were loosed from the hospital, more than giddy to carry all of your shit all the way to your flat. He was probably getting some sick pleasure from watching you hobble on your crutches.

“I can help you, if you lean on me,” said Hawks, giving you an easy grin, “I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you have to.”

“This is something I should do myself,” you said in what was hopefully a tough-it-out voice, “I’d like to be able to walk without depending on anyone.”

“I honestly think you ought to be in a wheelchair.” His wings bristled. “But what do I know? I could fly us to your place, if you like.”

“I don’t like. I’ve gotta concentrate on limping. Stop talking, Hawks.”

You got to your flat, and Hawks had guessed which key opened the door on the first try. Drat! He was already doing a good job of acting like he’d been here before, like he’s not surprised that the number fourteen hero lives in a pretty shitty apartment (you started living here as a student and got too damn comfortable for your own good—plus, you didn’t want your cat to endure the trauma of moving).

Hawks plopped your keys in the bowl by the door with a clatter, and he shut the front door behind you, flipping one of the locks.

He set your stuff neatly on the kitchen table—your purse, your tactical pack, your ropes—and lay your dry-cleaned hero suit over the back of a kitchen chair, and his hands were on you the next moment to guide you to your tacky, sunflower couch. Removing one crutch, he put your arm over his shoulder instead, one hand planted on your lower back above your bandages, and he eased you down onto the cushions.

Hawks then stepped over your legs to sit on your opposite side, and he brought your legs to rest in his lap, his hand gripping your non-casted leg. “Gotta keep it elevated, chickadee.”

You let yourself giggle. Time to get this shitshow started. “Thank you so much for helping me, Hawks; I know I’ve been a real hassle these past few days, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of stress. You’re already under so much. I don’t understand how the commission would let you date anyone, let alone propose.”

“Oh, I know,” said Hawks, spreading himself out on the couch. He shifted himself to face you in addition to accommodate his wings—he was now positioned so that they’d drape over the arm of the couch instead of being squished against the back cushions. That bitch, he probably wasn’t used to couches that weren’t custom made to his special body requirements. Spoiled fuck.

“The commission was really pissed when they found out. Do you remember how, sweetness? Right, I’ll tell you,” said Hawks, running an ungloved hand through his hair before shaking it loose. “You remember up to the press conference with the faceplant. Short version is that you hated me for a good year before something clicked. You started acting awkward whenever I was around, avoiding me, and stuff. Sometimes getting red. I thought it was cute.”

You ducked your head. Flustered. He probably likes easily flustered women.

Wait. That’s not who you are. And he’d like you for who you are, if you’re engaged.

But at the same time, if you’re (gag) in love with him, wouldn’t you be flustered by some of the things he says?

Easy, baby. Take it as it comes. Pick your battles. Go with your gut.

And gut says make Hawks eat shit.

“You think I’m cute?”

“I know you’re cute.”

You’re going to stuff his own feathers down his throat.

“We got together at that dinner Endeavor’s agency sponsored. Do you remember that at all? That place with the purple lights. You’d gotten nervous from the crowd and had gone to take some of your anxiety meds. I caught you in the hall back from the bathroom and talked you down before going back out there.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’d like to say I’m the one who kissed you, but you took initiative before I had the guts.”

Funny. Hilarious, in fact. That was the night Hawks had solidified himself as the Biggest Dick in the World, because yeah, he’d caught you in the purple-lit hallway, but he’d caught you on the way to take your meds, not on the way back. You were talking yourself down from a panic attack and couldn’t argue him away, so he’d followed you into the bathroom, running his mouth and acting like it was an accident when the tip of his wing had knocked your two capsules down the sink.

He’d told you that if you’re a big girl, you’d be able to handle the rest of the night. Or you could leave at any time with him, and he’d make excuses that everyone would have to accept.

Honestly, you’d love to let his fake memory be true, because then, you’d be able to wear purple again without feeling queasy.

Cocking your head, you smiled. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

Hawks let out a light laugh, craning his neck to rest his head on the back of the sofa. “That’s what you said that night, too. About how it felt out of character.”

“Was I good?”

Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow at you: probably the first genuine emotion he’s shown you the whole time he’s been here. “Hm?”

“When I kissed you. Was it good,” you asked flatly.

“Oh,” Hawks said, his wings puffing out just barely, “Oh, sweetheart, you were amazing. Groundbreaking. Show-stopping.” His tongue flicked over his lower lip, and he shifted underneath your legs, leaning slightly towards you but holding eye contact before carrying on.

You shook your head. “I don’t have the energy to give you the makeout session you deserve,” you said, envisioning drowning him in the bathtub, “I’m exhausted. Forgive me.”

“Always,” said Hawks, “Want me to keep going?”

“You can hardly eat me out when we haven’t kissed yet.”

“I meant,” said Hawks, pausing to visibly swallow (was it real?), “about our relationship, but if you wanna eat—”

“Nah, keep going. So, I started the relationship? I must be crazy. Neither of us have fucking time to sleep, let alone be in a relationship.”

Hawks never shut up about how he was taking time out of his endlessly packed days to spend time with you, how time was precious to him, and if he’s spending time with you, why, then, you’d better pay up, bitch (always accompanied with his hands on his belt, subtly pointing his thumbs towards his cock).

Hawks shrugged with his wings instead of his shoulders. Interesting. Has he ever done that before? “The commission said that, but after I insisted we’d make time, they relented. Eventually,” said Hawks, jerking his head to the side, “Our quirks don’t exactly fit well, so we haven’t worked with each other professionally too often, and, of course, we’ve had to hide our relationship so that we can’t be a public weak spot to each other. Plus, we’re more marketable as eligible, young heroes.”

“Fuck the market,” you said, slumping into the pillows.

“There’s my girl,” said Hawks, grinning with his tongue caught between his teeth, “There’s her spark. I know, baby. I feel the same way, but being made into libidinous body pillows pays the bills, y’know?”

Nodding, you brought one of the couch pillows around for you to hug, and you smushed your chin into it. “Hawks,” you said, so quietly you almost couldn’t be heard over the A/C kicking on, “How long have we been engaged?”

“Four months,” he said, his grin unconsciously fading until he was essentially baring his teeth, “Since the twentieth.”

Taking a moment, you said, “I can’t remember anything at all.”

“That’s okay. It’ll come back.”

“No, I can’t—” You slid your hands through your hair, pulling at it, and you heaved a sigh. “Goddammit, Hawks. I wish I could—fuck. I’m missing something huge. I know I am.” Make him nervous. Make him lie awake at night. “I’m sorry, Hawks. It’s probably something really important, and I—”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh, it’s all right,” said Hawks, and he stood to lean over you, his hands rising to cup your face, and holy shit, his hands cover so much of your skin; is that legal? He’s got hands. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ve had a big day. Turn your brain off. I’ll take care of you.”

Red flag! Big, red flag! Creep! He’s a creep!

Your gaze fell to his jacket pockets. Does he carry date rape drugs on his person?

“Hawks, I don’t wanna inconvenience you any more than I have.”

“I’m your fiancé,” said Hawks, actually looking you straight in the eyes and not breaking, “I want to take care of you.”

“Sure, in the way the mob takes care of people.”

Hawks’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes narrowed.

Cover it up. “I’m not sorry. I don’t trust your cooking. You’ll poison my spaghetti!” You made a dumb gesture, pinching your fingers together. “Have you seen The Godfather? There’s actually a pretty legit spaghetti recipe in it; it’s not too bad, but it’s kind of watery—”

Hawks brought your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles and let his lips linger. “Watch it with me?”

You shook your head. “I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll join you.”

“No,” you said, “My bed’s not made with your wings in mind.” Fuck off to your own little sex next, Hawks. Get out of here. “If they got hurt, it’d be my fault. Go sleep in your own bed, all right?” Go home. Get mugged on the way.

Hawks sighed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “If you insist. But you’ve gotta reach out to me for anything you have trouble with, yeah? Memories, opening jars, orgasms, you know.”

“I’m leaving,” you said, reaching for your crutches, “Ten minutes ago.”

***

“You didn’t tell me how you proposed.”

Hawks froze mid-bite of his ramen, but after a quick beat, he slurped the rest of the noodle up. “I was hoping you’d recall that on your own, baby. Get your own feelings about it, instead of me telling you how to feel.”

If you weren’t faking amnesia, you’d fucking break his nose for that. Bastard.

“I imagine once you tell me, the feelings will rush in,” you said, clicking your chopsticks twice for emphasis, “I want to remember everything, and if I don’t, well, I want to fall in love with you again.”

Hawks’s gaze glazed over for an infinitesimal moment. Score.

“It’ll sound goofy once I describe it.” With his wings cramped against the back of the booth, Hawks scratched the back of his neck—a classic move for pretending to be embarrassed. “I’m not exactly known for being romantic.”

Yeah, he’s known for fooling around with anyone who’s glittery, like a goddamn crow. If you’re paying attention.

“Aw, but Hawks, you’ve been nothing but so effortlessly romantic to me since I’ve been convalescing,” you said, rolling up the paper wrapper of your straw and soaking it in the ring your cup left on the table.

“Right, well. I flew us out to the countryside, to this overlook halfway up a mountain. You liked going rappelling there a lot. To practise for missions.” Hawks had some of your habits down, at least. Bet he gets the location wrong, though. “We watched the sunrise. We shared a thermos of tea. I asked you once the sun had risen, but you didn’t say yes right away,” said Hawks, “You jumped off the overlook without your gear, and I caught you. You were furious about it—you didn’t want me to see you overwhelmed. But you said yes.”

Ugh. That sounded about right. That sounded pretty realistic. Hawks was a fucking stalker.

“Fuck,” you said, burying your face in your hands, “That’s cute.” You stretched the skin of your cheeks before releasing, and you returned to your ramen. “Question: did we put the ring into storage, or something? I don’t have the little indent on my ring finger from wearing a ring too long, and I haven’t found anything at home.” Make him sweat. Make him stumble. Where’s the ring, Hawks?

With a flash of his eyebrows, Hawks maneuvered his straw to his mouth using only his lips, looking quite stupid, in your opinion. “Figured you’d ask that at some point. I’m so overjoyed to see you every time that I forget to bring it up. The ring’s been sent off to a high-level, government-backed, support company. I’ve pulled in a favour from the higher-ups. I wanted to turn your ring into something a little more personal and incorporate one of my feathers into it,” said Hawks, taking a moment to slurp his drink noisily, “Depending on how well it goes, I’d be able to help you if we’re separated and know where you are. At the very least—” Hawks ducked his head to give the illusion of staring up at you with wide eyes, his blond eyelashes light against his skin. “—I’d be able to feel your heartbeat. It would bring me great comfort.”

Great, so he’d have a GPS on you at all times, knowing whether or not you went somewhere he didn’t want you to. He’d be able to tell if you went somewhere your non-amnesia self would know about. Great. Phenomenal.

“Hawks, that’s very sweet,” you said, fiddling with the remnants of your straw wrapper, now fizzled out of its snake shape, “Wouldn’t the process hurt you, though? Since you can feel it.”

“Nothing more than a twinge, sweetheart,” said Hawks, holding up his hands, “And I’d bear any amount of pain for your sake.”

You fantasised about beating his head in with the back end of a rifle.

***

When you were told Hawks was waiting for you outside of the recording booth, you told the messenger that Hawks could wait until you were finished with five more takes. You could picture Hawks’s little pout at the news, his feathers bristling despite the closed space, and resigning himself to sit in one of those clangy, metal chairs out front, having to hunch forward so that he didn’t crush his wings.

The idol group adored the ingenuity of bone-crunching as percussion in a song, and along with that and some other combat foley, you were singing the bridge with the rapper of the group (the dance captain would sing your part for live shows). It’d be a good promo for the girl group and for you, and the song, “Spine,” was going to be released as a single as soon as it was polished.

Hawks perked up the moment you stepped through the secondary door to the booth, his eyes brightening and wings spreading to take up more space. “I didn’t think I’d catch you,” said Hawks, standing to take your hands (the cold leather gloves sucked the heat out of your hands), “I’ve got to fly, soon, but I wanted to tell you personally.”

“You’re not pregnant,” you said, fighting the urge to break his goggles/visor/hat thing.

His lopsided grin widened. “Not yet, baby. There’s gonna be a heroes’ gala held at the end of the month, and I wanted to let you know that I’m doing everything in my power to make it a positive experience for you. Here, I’ve got this woman’s phone number,” he said, fishing a slip of paper out of his jacket, “She’ll help accommodate the venue for your leg.”

Stupid fucking bastard man. He probably wanted to pick out your clothes himself, infantilise you and dress you up like a goddamn doll. Deny you your personhood. “I’ll be out of the cast by then.” You slid the paper into your back pocket.

“I know,” Hawks said in a way that was a fucking lie, “I just don’t want there to be any accidents. I can’t have my babygirl any more hurt than she is.” Hawks placed his cold, gloved hand against your cheek, and you, shutting your eyes, made yourself lean into it. “But contact her. She’ll make it the safest place it can be for you, even when I have to leave your side.”

God, galas were great. Big events for villains to ruin. You licked your lips thinking about using a new move you’ve learnt to take a villain down (involving clamping your legs around the villain’s neck to choke him as he crumpled to the floor—your combat coach had banned you from the move after you made her pass out). “Are we announcing our engagement, then? If we’re going together?”

“I’d love to,” said Hawks, “but only if you want to. The ring could be ready by then, if I ask them to rush it—”

“Let’s do it.” If you plunged the ring into icy water, would he start to shiver? Ooh, your ring’s going to act as a fucking bay leaf in your soups for a while.

“Oh,” said Hawks, sighing lightly with his eyes fluttering shut. He pressed his forehead to yours and rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “You have no idea how much that means to me, sweetheart. You are so dear to me, and I want everyone to know it. The best damn thing in my life. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, placing your hand on his face to push him away, “Don’t you have work to do, screw boy?”

***

“Did we have a date?” you asked from the edge of the bathtub.

Hawks dipped the razor in the water, washing off the hair and shaving cream. “We’ve gone on so many, darling; you’ll have to specify.”

“No, I meant for the wedding.” Let’s once again play: Can Hawks Cover His Own Ass?

Hawks dragged the razor down your freshly exfoliated, freshly-un-casted, freshly not-broken leg, starting at your knee. “Nope!”

“No explanation?”

“You wanna get married tomorrow? A six-month engagement is rather short, don’t you think?” His nose twitched. He’d said the scent of your shaving cream irritated his nose. Good.

“I don’t. Why didn’t we have a date for the wedding?” You eyed the actual and literal pile of your dead skin on the towel. Maybe you should make Hawks snort it.

“We were too busy working; you’d said you didn’t mind having a long engagement, so long as I was yours. Then, uh, you know. The accident,” Hawks said with a shrug—with his shoulders this time, because if he moved his wings while he was crouched in your bathtub, he’d soak them, and they were a bitch to dry, apparently. Suffer, you rat bastard.

“The commission isn’t involved in that decision?”

“I thought that was implied,” said Hawks, gripping your ankle to turn your calf to the side, “They don’t want it to be a huge spectacle, so even I don’t know how much of a wedding wedding they’d let us have.”

He’s too damn good at this. If he weren’t a pro-hero, he’d fit right along in a theatre troupe.

You’re going to wring his neck.

You caught him staring at the crotch of your underwear (bone-dry, you might add) while he shaved your thighs, and he spent more time rubbing lotion into your inner thighs than anywhere else. He tossed your dead skin before you could make him eat it, and he scooped you up against your protestations about your weight and capability, humming while he carried you to your bed.

The fucker tucked you in and rounded up your cat to place in your arms (your cat disagreed with him and promptly leapt off the bed).

“Let me stay with you,” said Hawks, kissing each of your fingertips. It’s an order.

Yet you shook your head.

***

“The doctors said you shouldn’t drink,” Hawks said under his breath, taking the champagne flute gently from your grasp.

“But I want to,” you said, sticking out your lower lip, “I’m wearing goddamn heels and a fucking dress. I’ve got on makeup, for Christ’s sake. I’ve done my time; let me drink.”

“Baby, you’ve got to stay safe,” he said, and he set the glass next to some 40s-level hero’s place at the long, white tablecloth. “There’s already press paying more attention to us than usual. You wanna make a fool of yourself?”

“Yes,” you said, lifting another champagne flute from a passing gala waiter, “Who gives a shit about the press.”

Hawks laughed too loudly to be natural before lowering his voice. “Baby, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“Promise?”

***

When “Spine” was released on a cool, spring morning to an excitable audience, you were lurking in alleyways by the docks, searching for a fight. When the music video dropped, you were smashing some guy’s face into a concrete wall. While more and more citizens recognised you and your talent, your work for the community, your connections, your popularity—with your rank steadily rising—you were rappelling down a port sewer to pummel a slime villain into dust.

You wiped his blood off on your pants, hands devoid of anything that could taint. You’d left the ring at home.

***

“You tricked me,” you said, scowling as Hawks pushed you forward, “This isn’t the rock climbing park.”

Once you deliberately smashed your face into the glass door and crossed your arms, Hawks held the door open for you. “Would you have dressed up so nicely for rock climbing?”

“A meta-game challenge,” you said, “to rock-climb in a long skirt.”

You glowered about the restaurant while you and Hawks stood in the lobby, his hand low on your back, suspiciously respectfully. You made no effort to hide your distaste: it was the place with the purple lights.

Over there at the absurdly long bar, Endeavor had drunk flat whisky without so much of a growl at anyone, despite it being his event. Hexagonal tables with lilac tablecloths dotted the floor—you’d hidden in one of the few booths, up against the exposed brick wall—but your hiding place had been ruined once a violet disco ball had emerged from the ceiling. Shiny, wooden floor that had reflected your post-panic attack face right back at you and let every shoe strike it with a clatter. No silence allowed.

The whole restaurant had lavender LED lights running around the walls, swathing the place in a distorted sort of purple haze, and any candles lit on the centre tables had indigo flames—you’d focused on how those might have been made in the process of coming down from your panic attack.

God. You’re going to throw up.

The hostess escorted you and Hawks to a farther back room, this one with booths separated by small, brick walls that didn’t reach the ceiling yet concealed the booths’ occupants from each other—unless you were passing directly in front of one.

Hawks made you sit in the booth first, trapping you in as he settled. He had to be on the edge, anyway, he told you, because of his wings. You’re going to rip them off and boil them in the soup.

The two of you ordered. You don’t remember what. You can only channel so much of your nerves into jostling your leg. This is not cool. This place is not cool. You need to get out.

“Hey, let me through,” you said, nudging Hawks, “Bathroom.”

Once there, you lightly slapped your cheeks a couple of times, trying to ground yourself through physical sensation. No use. Can’t they fucking use normal lights in this place?

You didn’t have your panic meds, because you’ve never needed them rock climbing. You can do it. You’re fine. You’re fine. Your tongue is too big for your mouth.

You took your time meandering back to the booth, coming to a halt at the end of the narrow hallway and ducking behind the corner.

Endeavor stood by your booth, his arms crossed over a flaming chest. You caught your breath at the sight of his orange fire, a comforting contrast to all the damn purple, but still—Endeavor. Talking to your (gag) fiancé.

Without the courage to interact with Endeavor, you listened at the corner for his departure.

“Nah, she can handle her bladder just fine. It’s her nerves,” Hawks was saying, hidden by the bricks, “She likes hiding. She doesn’t necessarily like being in the spotlight.”

“Yet she hasn’t completely withdrawn as Eraserhead has. You’ve picked a strange one to marry.”

From the angle Endeavor glared at him, Hawks must be slumping in his seat. “But that’s what so great about her. And it’s hard to process, y’know, like, she’s finally mine. You follow?”

“Regrettably,” said Endeavor, “Regardless, I offer my congratulations that your courtship finally worked out in your favour. You should have told me sooner.”

Courtship. That’s a funny way to pronounce bullying.

“Eh, I’ve gotta have some secrets, don’t I? Can’t betray my otherwise cool exterior.” Hawks laughed. “I can’t believe I’ve been allowed such happiness. The woman I’ve loved for years is gonna be waking up to me every day soon, y’know?”

Hawks has got to know you can hear him, otherwise he wouldn’t be saying those things. Endeavor must be in on Hawks’s ruse, since Endeavor is Hawks’s closest—actually, Endeavor isn’t the type to revel in romantic shit. Endeavor straight-up isn’t the type to revel. To the best of your knowledge, Endeavor doesn’t genuinely like Hawks as so much as tolerates him; when did they get so close? It must have taken a long time—

Time.

You could feel your IQ dropping as you actually considered: had you been in a legitimate coma? Had you (fuck) genuinely had amnesia?

No, no. You don’t live in Crazytown. Your eyebrows hadn’t been overgrown when you’d woken up in the hospital. You’d only been there a day.

Of course, Hawks is a vain piece of shit and does his own eyebrows, so he might have considered that yours were a piece of pride/insecurity for you and may have done them while you were—did Hawks do his own eyebrows? That spoiled fuck probably had someone else to do them for him. If they were naturally like that, you were going to throttle his ass.

You didn’t fucking have amnesia. Hawks is and always has been a stupid, clammy birdbrain. He’s always been cruel to you. He didn’t fucking like you.

He sure as hell wasn’t in fucking love with you.

Oh, my fuck, what if your memories of Hawks have been fabricated by a coma-addled mind and that—

“Hey, there,” said—said someone, some pale-ass, sleep-deprived freak who startled you out of your head, “Are you all right? You look—I mean, do you need some water? A chair?”

You blinked, yet he wouldn’t come into focus—you were taking in details about him, ones that didn’t fucking matter (chain on his wallet, three rings all on the left hand, a button-down missing the last button, a cloud of axe body spray), but he didn’t register as a human person. He couldn’t; you hadn’t grounded yourself yet. You yourself still had a frazzled, cartoon scribble buzzing inside of your chest, and until you vomited it up, a panic attack may yet still happen.

You can’t deal with anyone new right now.

A spark of recognition crossed the new guy’s face, and he, through a smirk, asked if you were your hero name.

Oh god oh fuck not now

“Sweetheart,” came Hawks’s melodious drawl (registering first his voice, then bodily warmth, then the wingtip covering your ass), “You were taking so long that I came to check on you.” He pulled you by the waist towards him, blocking the guy from seeing your face by pressing it into his chest. “Who’s this?”

Who cares. All you could focus on (sharp and overwhelming, nothing else but) was how fucking incredible Hawks smelled, and at this point, you’d use anything to bring yourself back down to earth. A small voice in the back of your head told you that freaking out to this degree in this particular situation was leaning towards pathetic, since basically nothing happened, besides being in an uncomfortable environment and being accosted by a fan at the wrong time, but you? You did not control the rate at which your brain panicked.

And really, no rhyme or reason played into why your grabby little hands itched for human contact once safe in the booth again, why Hawks’s scent lay on your tongue more heavily than your soup, why the overwhelming sensation of being so fucking spaced out of it threw its entire weight upon your shoulders—you couldn’t find yourself. You were lost.

And in this horrible, purple place, the only thing that’s familiar was Hawks.

When you scooted as closely as you could to him in the booth, keeping your glare towards your lap while you looped your arm under his to snuggle into it, Hawks cleared his throat to say, “What’s this?”

You scowled into his jacket, both hands gripping his forearm.

He set his chopsticks down. “How can I help, darling?”

Growling, you bonked your forehead against his shoulder, dragging your hands down to his.

“Hey,” said Hawks, and he guided your face towards his and stroked your cheek with his thumb, “Did that guy bother you too much before I got there?”

Turning your mouth towards the hand cupping your cheek, you kissed his palm, bit the leather, and kissed it again before burying yourself in his shoulder again.

He rested his hand on the crown of your head. “What’s the matter? Can you tell me?”

“Not sure I can put it into words,” you said, “I think I wanna go home.” You bit the fabric of his jacket and gnashed it between your teeth.

“I can handle that,” said Hawks, “Gimme a moment to get takeaway boxes, yeah? Then we’ll leave, and you’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, you were still clutching onto his arm by the time he unlocked his darkened penthouse (because you’re not gonna hold his hand. God), but you slapped his hand away from the light switches.

“Turning them on would be too much stimulation,” you said, “Please don’t.”

Hawks hummed against the top of your head, placing keys and both of your phones on the kitchen counter. “Bed or couch?”

“Window,” you said.

“Window?”

“I’m assuming you’ve got one.”

“I do,” said Hawks, guiding you through his dark apartment, probably past scarily expensive, posh shit. He led you to what was most likely his living room, with the cool, dim light of the night sky through a vast, single-frame, wall-to-floor window illuminating furniture custom built for his wings, but he eased you down onto the carpet, tugging your shirt upwards so that the window would be touching your bare skin on the small of your back.

Hawks yanked his boots off, late, instead of at the door, and he tossed them over his shoulder. He took yours off, too, and once he’d set them aside, he sat next to you against the window, a hand on your thigh.

“Better?”

“Probably,” you said, staring at the triangle of light beige carpet between your crossed legs.

“Need me to talk? You need to talk?”

“Not right now.”

Hawks was a dumbass. He’s such a fucking dumbass. But he’s a dumbass who’s here right now, and he’s interested (?) in you, interested in helping you. And good golly, you have to be touched. Hawks’s offering warmth, freely, potentially lovingly, and all you had to do was reach out to take it, even if you didn’t reciprocate whatever sentiment was motivating him yourself.

Do you really want to take what you have no feelings for?

Hawks lies a lot to Endeavor. To everyone. He might not have been lying earlier. What reason had he to lie?

Guess it didn’t matter, because you were lying.

But good God, you haven’t been kissed in a long time. Haven’t felt safe or loved. You could…you could indulge for a few hours in order to calm down. You could pretend.

The last ten months had proved that.

“Hey,” you said idly, reaching out to grab the inner fleece lining of his jacket to rub it between your fingers, “Hawks, I’m gonna—I’m gonna put my mouth on your mouth. Okay?”

Hawks’s wings ruffled and constricted themselves so that he could move closer to you, and his hand has migrated from your thigh to grip your hip—how could anyone’s hands encompass that much of you? Your fucking hands couldn’t, not in the way his does.

(Bird man big and safe.)

([No, fuck you, don’t think that.])

(BIRD MAN SAFE—)

Shoved is how you’d describe the first few seconds of the kiss, followed closely by wet and you’d think his teeth would be sharper. Your lips didn’t line up with his completely until he adjusted your chin with two of his fingers, guiding it open just barely, as well, so that his tongue could graze your teeth—it took you a moment of processing before parting them, with a final don’t think! shouted to your neocortex.

Birds have a higher body temperature than other animals, on average having a body temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit (40 degrees Celsius). The colour of their feathers, of course, affects how much light and heat they absorb, with the lighter coloured feathers—say, red—reflecting more, rejecting outside heat sources.

Yet Hawks gripped you like he’d fucking freeze if he weren’t clutching you, if he weren’t straddling your legs, one palm flat against the cool of the window by your head. The other snaked around you, his forearm lying almost vertically up your back to press down between your shoulder blades, keeping you as near to his chest (he probably didn’t realise it, but his fingers ran across the curve of your shoulder blades where his wings were on his own body.

For some reason, the thought crossed your mind that you weren’t enough for him, because you were too dissimilar.)

Don’t think!

When he massaged your tongue with his, applying pressure sporadically, you returned the action—have you ever seen a bird tongue up close? They’re fucking nasty little things, looking more like a grub than anything else. Thank God Hawks had a normal, human tongue that performed particularly delightful, normal things, like drag across the roof of your mouth and aid in sucking phenomenal hickeys onto your jawline, licking over where he’s bitten and kissed.

Stop thinking about bird anatomy. Hawks has no discernible bird traits except for his fucking wings. He’s not a fucking bird man. He’s just some dude with wings. And not all birds have functional wings; for example, the ostrich and the penguin do not have wings to be used in flight—

Oh, my fuck. Turn your brain off.

Your stomach lurched. That had been something Hawks had told you too often, back before your accident.

It’s what he wants.

Hawks fucking whimpered when you pulled the shorter hairs at the back of his neck, prying him away from your skin with great difficulty—he kept trying to touch you with his mouth and tongue in the process.

“Let me have more,” he said, panting, his breath heavy and just below your ear, “Please.” He pressed his lips to the spot in front of your ear in a weak kiss, having spent himself for the most part. “I’ve missed you so much, baby. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me for so long.”

“I don’t—” You fake-stuttered, but it turned out you needed the time to put your thoughts into words. “I don’t think I’m back yet. I’m,” you said, taking as deep a breath as you could with Hawks smushed against your chest, “Something’s missing. Something big.” That’s right. Steer it back in his direction. Make the bird man sweat. “I don’t—something doesn’t feel right.”

It took a moment, but Hawks nodded fervently, shutting his eyes. “Of course. Yeah. Yeah, I get it, sweetheart. Can’t do anything when your heart’s not in it.”

Your heart’s not the problem. “Thank you for being so understanding, Hawks,” you said, untangling yourself from underneath him, “Would you just, uh, hold me for a while?”

His wings wrapped around the both of you on his enormous bed, still fluttering with each slow breath he took. Hawks almost looked genuine while he slept, and probably for the best—at least he was getting rest; at least his guard might be down.

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing.

***

“Rank speculation is out,” you said, scrubbing the pumice stone over a patch of dry skin on Hawks’s back and scrolling through the twitter with your other hand, “Take a look.”

He opened the link you sent once he’d safely removed a dead feather that had been lodged in an odd spot in a wing. “Huh. Think I could truly take on Endeavor?”

“Well, he’s got that abusive-to-his-family thing, while you’re rocking the preparing-for-my-wedding look, and he can’t network non-aggressively to save his life.”

“Nor can you.” Hawks shot you a smirk over his shoulder.

“Zoom in on my speculated nine, baby,” you said, flicking away some dead skin with a satisfied/disgusted sneer, “And I didn’t have to sleep my way there.”

“Ah, ha, ha,” said Hawks, “Knew you could do it. Whoever’s told you that is gonna have to deal with my foot up their ass. You’re more than capable of getting there on your own.”

“Which I did. I have.” Wait. Hawks told you that. No, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s a commonly said, misogynistic comment towards women heroes. Hawks isn’t special. “But having your foot up someone’s ass wouldn’t be good for PR, unless you wanted to advertise that you’re a kinky son of a bitch who’s cheating on his fiancée.”

“I would never,” said Hawks, and, contorting his arm, he grabbed your hand with the pumice stone to kiss the back of it, “But my PR is solid, regardless.”

“If the public knew how much time you had to spend preening these fucking wings, they’d probably appreciate you more. Or call you conceited.”

Hawks hummed. “It’s a necessary evil,” he said, returning to his wingtip to search for dead feathers. “Thank you for helping.”

“No problem. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get to see how—Hawks, holy fuck. Do you feel that?” You ran a finger near the base of a wing.

“It’s your finger?”

“No, this,” you said, tapping the spot.

“No?”

“My God. It’s a dilated pore of a winer,” you said, already reaching for the tweezers, “Right at the base of your wing. It’s basically an enormous fucking blackhead. I’m popping it. Oh, my God. I’ve never seen one in real life.”

“You’re popping it?”

“You didn’t have a problem with my getting the ones where your costume sits.”

“No,” said Hawks, rolling back his shoulders, his wings spreading with them, “Gotcha. Get on with it.”

“Can I film it?”

“What? No,” said Hawks, “No one can see me preening, let alone dealing with acne.”

“There’s sure to be another hero out there with a wing quirk, right? I don’t know how you can’t feel it.”

“Yeah,” Hawks said slowly, “Since my feathers can feel—I suppose where the wings merge with my skin is pretty numb. I haven’t ever had to think about it.” He licked his lips. “Funny.”

He continued to scroll through his feed and tend to his feathers while you worked at his back. “Bad news: the tabloids got a hold of our grocery list from the last time we went to the shops. I must have dropped it at some point in the store.”

“Oh, so do they know what kind of ice cream we prefer? The horror.”

“No, but they’ve brought in some hack handwriting analyst. Talking about our annotations for each other on the list. Something about how you’re logical and I’m a romantic. The writer of the article is practically swooning.” Hawks pulled out a clot of feathers with his teeth and spat them aside. “With good reason, though. The trashy pictures they snapped of us are hot.”

“Describe them to me.”

“I can show you—”

“No,” you said, concentrating on your work, “I don’t want the image imprinted on my brain. Describe them in your own words.”

“All right,” said Hawks, crossing his legs and placing his phone on the coffee table in front of him, “To start, the flash is on.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. We’ve got that distantly surprised look going on. It looks like we’re near the eggs and cheese. You’re not looking at the camera, but I believe it’s in the moment I caught it.” Hawks flicked away a feather and let it fall to the carpet. “My hand’s on your waist. The other’s on the cart. You’ve scrunched your face up in concentration; it’s really cute.”

“Aw, we should get it framed,” you said, wiping away the gunk with a tissue and wadding it up so that no one will ever have to see or touch it ever again.

“Never,” said Hawks, “The first picture of us I wanna get framed should be on our wedding day.”

“It’s coming along quickly,” you said, setting aside the tweezers, “Bit more quickly than I’d thought it would.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” said Hawks with a light laugh, and you ducked to rest your head against his shoulder, straining your neck to reach him over his wing.

Hawks clicked his non-nasty, non-bird tongue. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Sighing, you said, “Turn your head this way.”

He did you one better, since he anticipated your plan. He twisted around, keeping his legs crossed as he pulled you into his lap. His wings initially bristled but wrapped around you when his arms did, and Hawks kissed your cheek, once, twice, until he arrived at your mouth, where he barely grazed your lips, rather letting his hot breath spread over your face—and he grinned up at you with half-lidded eyes (he’d left off his eyeliner today, but the natural marks below his waterline kept his eyes sharp, anyway).

“Kiss me, you fucking idiot,” you said, overriding whatever he was about to do by kissing him yourself, hard and open-mouthed, almost violent in its fervent. Yet Hawks held you lightly, delicately, but still close enough to freeze.

You ran your cold, cold hands over his bare abdomen, pressing your thumb down with considerable force to trace his muscles (he grunted at that, and that’s it; that’s right—make him squirm; make him sweat; make him yours). His finger only toyed with the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, as if waiting for you, which didn’t line up with what you had garnered about Hawks at all, but c’mon, man, come on; didn’t you want this all those months ago? Almost a year, now? Years, if what he said to Endeavor is true? But when he flinched away with a shaky breath once your cold fingers circled his nipple, you knew this was where you were supposed to be: right here, in Hawks’s lap, completely destroying him with hardly anything at all. Nothing but light touches and a strategic flick of your tongue. Idiot man. He must really like you if this is doing it for him.

You slowed and opened your eyes at that thought, frowning, and you pulled away. With the back of his hand, Hawks wiped saliva off of both of your mouths, yours first.

He waited for you.

“If you can’t take all of me, then what’s the point?”

He tilted his head. “I’ll take whatever part of you you’re willing to share.”

“I’m missing something.”

“I know.”

“I want to find it before we get married.” You laid your palm flat on his chest, and he grinned at the cold.

“You can find it,” he said, “I know you can.”

“I don’t know what I’m blocking out,” you said, lying—or maybe you weren’t? Fuck it. “Whatever I’m repressing is really fucking with me.”

“Take your time,” said Hawks, running his tongue over his lower lip. “I’m here for—”

“Hawks,” you said, faking the light of realisation in your eyes, accompanied with a sharp inhale, “I can’t remember your name.”

Hawks’s mouth snapped shut.

“You told me once. I know you did,” you said, moving to cup his cheek after tapping the mark underneath his eye, “but the memory—there’s a blur where you spoke. I—” You cut yourself off, biting your lip. “That, that might be it. I don’t know. Everything else about the scene is in perfect detail. I remember what fucking socks I was wearing, for Christ’s sake. But you. What you said. Maybe it’s something so personal, so intimate, that I’ve repressed it. Maybe it was too much for me to handle.” You cupped his face with both hands now, forcing him to look at you. If you hadn’t been scrutinising him for some evidence of breaking character, you wouldn’t’ve seen the minute quivering of his upper lip. Hardly there, but it was there. “It’s a part of you that I want. Even if I couldn’t handle it before, I want to try now.”

Hawks averted his gaze, even though he couldn’t move his head. And bang, you’ve got him. Hawks’s name was still strictly secret, hidden by the commission, but if he’s genuinely in this dumbass situation for the long haul, if he’s truly in it for you, then he would have told you. Even if he wanted you to continue to call him Hawks, your own fiancé would have told you his damn name.

So, this is it. The way out.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out you’ve been faking all this time. Good. Let each feather burn.

“Keigo,” he said, staring into your eyes with a newfound determination, “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Oh, shit—you clapped a hand over your heart, your eyes widening. Maybe you could play this off as memory recovery instead of absolute shock? But you hadn’t any memories to recover, probably. Holy fuck.

Where do you go from here?

You tried to say his name but ended up simply mouthing it, and after clearing your throat and coughing a bit, you managed to say it aloud. “Keigo,” you said softly, reaching for his hand, “Keigo, I fucking love you.”

You’d only been kissing him for a few moments before his wings shuddered in a muscle spasm and flung you off to the side.

***

Only a commission higher-up witnessed your wedding. She stood silently to the side the entire ceremony in the courthouse and only shook Hawks’s hand afterwards.

You and your cat essentially moved into his penthouse and adjusted. Your mostly empty apartment stayed leased under your name.

Sometimes, you’d note that you turned your brain off and instantly be hit with a lightning strike of self-loathing—but you didn’t have to consciously decide to be affectionate with Hawks. Being with him came naturally and easily. Probably for the best, since if you had to think about it, you’d screw it up.

You stayed together. Supported each other. Sneaked out to see the other on patrol. Took care, listened to each other. Defended each other. Worked it out.

And now, you stared up at the ceiling fan whirling in your darkened bedroom, Keigo lying on his stomach next to you in the bed as he slept. Your cat catloafed between his wings and nestled into them, rising and falling with each breath he took. Hawks was perfect, always saving the day, working up a routine to mesh with your fighting style and quirk, always charming and easygoing with the people he rescued, indulging you in your ferocity, and Keigo, Keigo whispered sweet and dirty things into your ear when he spotted you in public, made you laugh, worked wonders with his cock, helped you clean up before he even thought of preening himself, held you, and made you feel held. He’s got it bad.

And maybe you do, too.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out.

[hangovercurse]

Crash Into Me

You’d been MGK’s assistant for years, but you never thought you had a chance at anything more with him until one stoplight changes everything.

Request: “ok im so sorry if this is 2 specific but ive had this idea for ages abt pining!colson x an insecure/clueless!reader who has been his assistant forever. she gets into a car accident and calls him hours later to tell him that a temp will be taking her place for a few weeks (bc of injuries) and he's like ?? why?? she explains nonchalantly, then kells kinda freaks out and shows up at the hospital all worried”

Colson Baker X Reader

Warnings: Cursing, car accident (descriptive)

A/N: This was cute 😊

Word Count: 3185

“Alright Kells, I’m out for the night. I’ll email those tracks to the board when I get home and I’ll let you know if I get any updates for tomorrow’s press.” You told the blond man who was sitting on the couch as you put your laptop into your bag. You tried not to yawn as you heaved it over your shoulder, “anything else?”

You glanced at the kitchen clock that read 2 am and let out a small sigh. You were used to late nights given your job as assistant to a rockstar, but most nights you were able to leave before 8 pm. Tonight you and Colson had gotten really invested in the tracks you were editing and lost track of time.

“Y/N,” he turned to look at you with puppy dog eyes. He wanted something that you really weren’t gonna want to give him. “Could you come over early tomorrow to help me pick out what to wear for the Vanity Fair interview?”

You chuckled, “you know they have their own wardrobe department?”

He sighed, “yeah but you know me so much better than all those stylists. I trust your opinion more.”

You rolled your eyes as he tilted his head, begging you. “Fine, but I’m buying us coffee with your credit card.”

He broke out into a smile, “thank you, love you!” He called as you walked towards his front door.

“Whatever, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You told him, taking your car keys into your hands, and stepping out into the LA night. There was a soft breeze that shook the trees slightly, making you smile. It felt nice outside for the first time in a while.

Because of this, you decided to drive home with your windows rolled down, letting the wind flow through your hair. The roads were pretty barren by LA standards, so traffic was pretty much non-existent. You were sitting at a red light, your fingers tapping against your steering wheel as one of Colson’s songs played through your speakers softly.

You reached to turn up the volume as the light turned green. You pressed the gas, your car moving forward into the intersection. Suddenly you heard a loud squeal of brakes, looking over to your passenger window to the sight of two headlights barreling towards you. You tried to speed up to get out of the way, but it was too late.

The truck rammed straight into the side of your small car, pushing your vehicle over into the car next to you. You put your left arm up to shield you from any flying debris, but it was futile. The infrastructure of your car fell apart at the force, the dashboard collapsing onto your right leg. Luckily, your left leg managed to avoid the destruction.

You could barely feel the force of the whiplash due to the pain in your abdomen at the deployment of the airbag. Glass from the car next to you fell into your car through your open window, cutting into your skin.

And then all of a sudden, everything stopped. The truck that had hit you had stopped moving, allowing you to fully assess the damage. Your car was totaled for sure, and your leg was definitely crushed. You cried out in pain, breathing heavy and trying to see straight. You could hear the sound of sirens in the distance, giving you some sense of relief.

When the paramedics got to the scene, you were the last passenger to be taken out of the crash due to your car being in the center. A firefighter had to break the glass of your windshield, which was already cracked, in order to pull you out. When you told him your leg was stuck under the dashboard, he sent a team of men to lift it from your foot and another to pull you out of the wreckage.

They were all amazed you were still conscious but got very worried when you told them you couldn’t feel the pain in your leg. You rode in an ambulance to the hospital, the EMTs helping pick the glass from your skin and assessing your injuries. You made jokes with them to calm yourself down, something that you did with Colson and Rook whenever they got into accidents while you were out with them.

You thought about giving them Colson’s name when they asked about your emergency contact but decided against it. You didn’t want to worry him until absolutely necessary. You figured you’d see what the doctor had to say and if you wouldn’t be able to come back to work, then you would tell him.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what the doctor said. In fact, you wouldn’t be able to leave the hospital for at least a week due to your shattered leg, bruised abdomen, and concussion.

The leg would require at least 2 if not more surgeries to repair and you would be on close watch for development of a more serious brain injury. After that you most likely wouldn’t be able to be back on your feet for another 8 to 12 weeks, which was kind of a requirement for your job.

It was almost 5am, so you weren’t necessarily thinking straight when you called Colson from your cracked phone. He answered, his voice conveying how tired he was. “Y/N? Everything okay?”

“Hey Kells, I’m not gonna be able to come in early tomorrow, or at all. I’m gonna start looking for a temporary replacement tomorrow if I’m feeling up to it. Oh! And I couldn’t send those tracks to the board, sorry.” You told him, only half registering the words you were saying.

The confusion was evident in his voice, “what? Why do you need to find a replacement?”

You realized you had forgotten to tell him what happened. “Oh, yeah! It’s kind of funny.” You started, chuckling but then realizing that laughing made your stomach hurt even more. “And by funny, I mean not funny at all. I got into a car accident. Some dude ran into my car in an intersection and now I’m in the hospital.”  

“Which hospital?” Colson asked, suddenly much more awake.

“Hollywood Presbyterian.” You told him, “why?”

He sounded like he was rushing around, which he was. “I’m coming to see you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, “why? I’m fine, you don’t need to do that. You have a big interview tomorrow, you should sleep.”

Colson sighed, “fuck the interview, I’ll be there in a few.”

“Colson you don’t-“ You started, but he hung up before you could tell him not to come.

Why was he rushing to see you in the hospital? Sure, you were friends, but he had much more important things to worry about right now. And besides, you were more casual work friends. He wouldn’t even know you existed if you didn’t work for him. Sure, you had a huge crush on him, but he was your boss, you were just someone he asked to do things he didn’t want to do.

 20 minutes later Colson ran into the hospital room, stopping when he saw you in the bed. Your face was red from chemical burn and a few cuts of glass. Your right leg was propped up with basic bandaging around it. His heart broke at the thought of how much pain you had probably been in.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly, moving to sit in the chair on your left side.

You shrugged, “I’ve been better.”

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” He asked, eyes full of pity.

“I didn’t want to bother you unless it was serious. Figured I’d find out if I would have to miss work before telling you.” You said, squeezing your eyes shut as a headache washed over you.

Colson’s mouth gaped open, “you didn’t want to bother me? You got in a car crash and you weren’t gonna call me unless you would have to miss work?”

You shrugged again, “yeah. If my laptop wasn’t completely crushed in the accident I would’ve just found and sent a temp in tomorrow, but obviously that’s impossible.”

“Y/N you’re kidding me, right?” He asked, exasperated. You furrowed your eyebrows in response, causing a sigh to fall from his lips. “Y/N I don’t give a shit about a temp; I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh, I’m fine. A little shaken and these headaches are killer, but they gave me a lot of pain medication so, I’m fine.” You smiled at him, your thoughts racing as you tried to figure out why he cared so much about how you were feeling.

He nodded, hand reaching out and landing on top of yours gently. “So, do they have to do surgery? What all did the doctors say?” He asked, worry in his eyes.

You nodded, “yeah, at least 2 surgeries. One around 11 am and then depending on how that one goes they’ll schedule the next. And they have to watch me to make sure my concussion doesn’t get worse.”

He pulled out his phone, typing away. “What are you doing?” You asked, suddenly feeling very tired.

“I just emailed the PR liaison for Vanity Fair and told them I wouldn’t be able to make it to the interview.” He responded.

“Why did you do that?” You asked through a yawn.

He looked at you like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, “because I have to be with you right now.”

You were very confused as to why he thought he had to be here. “Colson, I’ll be fine. You should go to the interview. You don’t have to stay here.”

“I do have to be here. I want to be here.” He said, sternly.

“Why?” You asked, trying to keep your eyes open.

“Because I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ll just call you after the surgery, it’s no big deal.” You responded lazily.

He shook his head, “I want to stay here with you, Y/N. Okay? I care about you.”

You were too tired to process what he was saying at this point, so you just let out a hum. “I need to make sure you’re okay. I need to see you being okay. When you called me, I swear I was gonna have a heart attack if I didn’t see you.” He continued.

You were barely awake at this point, letting out a simple, “I’m okay” before slipping into unconsciousness.

 Suddenly you were back in your car, “Bloody Valentine” playing from your speakers. The sky was dark green, almost like a painting. In front of you, the red light turned green. Like clockwork, you pressed the gas, moving into the intersection. Suddenly, the lights disappeared, and you heard the familiar chilling sound of breaks squealing. You looked over and saw those headlights coming towards you, getting closer and closer, brighter, and brighter.

You screamed at the sight, the familiar paralyzing fear coursing through your body again. “Y/N!” Your name played through the radio. That’s not in the song, you thought. “Y/N!” Colson’s voice rang out again before the truck made contact with your car.

You woke up in a cold sweat to Colson standing over you, hands shaking your shoulders lightly. “Y/N.” He said, relieved when your eyes began to open.

Your entire body was shaking like a poodle and your arms subconsciously reached for Colson, hanging onto his shirt for dear life. “It was just a dream.” He whispered as your eyes darted around the room. “You’re okay.” He reassured you.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered, hands leaving the fabric and moving to cover up your face. “I’m sorry.”

Colson sat on the bed next to you, legs hanging off the side as he stroked your face gently. “It’s okay, baby.” He turned to the nurse who opened the door, a worried expression on her face. He shook his head at her, “sorry, she just had a nightmare. She’s okay.” The nurse nodded but stayed in the room anyways, checking your vitals.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled again, the words seeming to be the only thing you could say.

Colson shook his head, “stop saying that, it’s okay.” You pouted at him, trying to scoot over so he would lay down next to you, but it was way too painful. “What are you doin?” He asked, a smile on his face.

You sighed, “wanted you to sit next to me but I can’t move because of this stupid leg.” You motioned to the leg in question.

Colson chuckled, “I can sit next to you in the chair.”

“That didn’t work last time.” You whined.

He looked at you with an expression that was both amused and confused. You were definitely still high on pain medication. “What didn’t work.”

“It didn’t stop the nightmare.” You frowned, hand reaching for his. He chuckled, standing up fully and looking at the nurse.

She flashed him an amused smile, “If you want, we can try to move her. I don’t know how much we can do without hurting her ribs, though.”

Colson nodded with a gracious smile, “hear that? We can’t move you because of your ribs.”

You glared at him, “I may be very high right now, but I’m not that high.” You said, making him giggle. “She said you could try.”

Colson let out an exasperated sigh, one arm going under your back and the other under your left leg. “Is this what it’s like taking care of me all the time?” He asked and you nodded your head firmly.

“Yep. Except I am much smaller than you, so you have less work to do with me.” You smiled as he lifted you off the bed, which quickly turned into a grimace. “Ow!” You yelped and Colson quickly set you down, slightly closer to the right side of the bed.

“Fuck, sorry princess. Are you okay?” He asked, voice soft.

You nodded, sucking in your bottom lip to block the whimpers of pain that threatened to escape your mouth. “You probably don’t remember, but one time you were so crossed that you called me to pick you up from a party. But you couldn’t make it out of the car, so I had to carry you into your house. And then you demanded to sleep in your own room, so you made me drag you up the stairs instead of passing out on the couch like normal.”

Colson let out a breathy chuckle, glad you weren’t hurt too much. He carefully sat onto the cot next to you, pulling up his right leg to sit on the bed. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into him slightly. You shifted so that you were comfortable, left hand finding his own left hand and holding it. He brought his left leg up onto the bed so he was fully laying with you.

Your head rest on his chest, a soft smile on your face as his thumb rubbed circles on your hand. The nurse left, satisfied that you wouldn’t hurt yourself further. Colson pressed a small kiss to the top of your head, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

“What time is it?” You asked him, to which he responded by pulling out his phone and showing you the lock screen. 8:47am. You nodded, a frown on your face, “did you get any sleep?” You asked him softly.

“I’m fine, I was asleep for a few hours before you called me.”

You sighed, feeling guilty. “You should go home and get some sleep.”

You felt him shake his head from behind you, “I’m staying right here.”

Despite wanting to force him to go home, you couldn’t help the happiness you felt at his stubbornness to stay with you. “You know you don’t need to be here. I won’t be offended if you leave.”

He chuckled, “stop trying to get me to leave. I’m here. On my own accord, okay? I’m gonna take care of you.”

You paused, thinking about the word floating around your head. “Why?” you whispered.

Colson’s face scrunched in confusion, “what do you mean “why”? Because you’re my friend and I care about you.”

“I mean, yeah. But I’m not like a “drop everything” kind of friend, I’m just your assistant.” You muttered.

Colson made an “are-you-serious?” face and let out a snort. “Seriously? You are so much more than you give yourself credit for. You mean the world to me, of course I’d drop everything for you.”

You couldn’t think of a response, his words making your heart race. “oh.” Was the best you could come up with.

“Y/N, seriously, you think way too low of yourself. You’re amazing.” He said, nose burying into your hair.

You shrugged, “you only say that because I take care of you when you’re drunk and help you do all the things you don’t want to do.”

Colson’s expression softened, a frown forming on his face. “I’m saying that because I think the world of you. You’re the kindest, funniest, coolest person I know. I meant it, when you told me you were in the hospital, my heart almost stopped. I felt sick to my stomach just thinking about you being hurt.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I wish you could see how much you mean to me.” He mumbled.

You were quiet for a little while, processing what he had said. “You’re only saying that because I’m in the hospital.” You muttered, a frown on your face. You were trying to keep your hopes low, knowing once you were out of here, he would regret saying any of this.

“Y/N, are you being serious right now? I’m saying this because I’ve been fucking in love with you for the past year and a half.” He said and you could feel your breath catch in your throat. “I can’t believe you don’t see it.”

You bit your lip, turning to look up to him. “I just- I didn’t want- you wouldn’t.” You stumbled over your words, taking a deep breath, and starting again. “I didn’t want to read too much into it or get my hopes up. I figured you’d never be into someone like me so I just told myself you were being nice. I thought you only treated me well because I worked for you.” You mumbled.

He frowned, holding you tighter to him, “I am so, so into you. You are the only woman in my life who has ever stuck by me through my worst shit. Like even when I was a total jackass you stayed with me. How could I not fall in love with you?”

You bit your lip, tears threatening to spill at his sweet sentiment. You’d never had anyone say something that kind about you. You’d always assumed people only kept you around because you did stuff for them, but here was the man you were in love with telling you that he cared about you for you.

“I love you too.” You whispered, leaning your head further into his chest.

[mooniefics]

bye bc i have not been able to get the thought of like,, you working as the candidate manager for the warrior program (aka glorified babysitter / school counselor) and reiner slowly falling for u over the years

—  you’d first met him around a month after he returned from paradis, after he was finally debriefed and given countless ideological assessments, and he was just exhausted by the time he was finally allowed to see his family again but he still woke up early the next day to go with gabi to training. he saw how happily gabi greeted you, how warmly you smiled back, and he thought that if anyone was taking care of his little cousin over the years he was gone, he was grateful that it was someone who came off as nicely as you did.

—  your first conversation initiated after gabi dragged him over by the arm and introduced the two of you herself, but you didn’t get to speak long before you all had to go your separate ways. the way you tucked a piece of gabi’s hair behind her ear and gingerly wrapped your arm around her as you led her off to her classes for the day makes his heart flutter.

—  you two made small talk when you ran into each other, sometimes talking about the kids, sometimes talking about yourselves, nothing terribly personal, but he always found himself feeling much lighter after he got to see you.

—  reiner accompanied you once when you chaperoned the kids’ recreational time in town and sat on the bench beside you while you both watched them all play around at the park you usually took them too. your voice was soft and affectionate as you told him that you sometimes forgot that they were just children, letting it slip that you couldn’t help but feel disheartened that they had been made to grow up so fast. you were worried that he, the one revered as the most loyal warrior, would report you for disrespecting the methods of marley, but he only sighed, smiling sadly as he replied, “me too.”

—  one day when the kids were training, you and the warriors were standing to the side watching them, discussing casually amongst yourselves as you watched them run laps with all their gear. on the last go around, udo fell flat on his face, and before reiner can even turn to see your reaction, you were already running over to make sure he was okay. the exercise instructor forced you to wait for udo to make it to the end on his own, but as soon as he reached finish line, you rushed him away into the main school building. when you didn’t return for a few minutes, reiner ventured in to see where you’d gone, he found you both in an empty classroom—you kneeling in front of udo, handkerchief in hand, gently wiping the tears and dirt from his cheeks and telling him that he had done a good job, that everybody makes a mistake once in a while, that he was just as capable as the other candidates. he stood beside the door, listening to you comfort udo, feeling his own eyes watering as he did. he wished he had someone like you when he was young.

—  the first time the two of you had a proper, in-depth conversation was the evening that the mid-east allied forces had declared war against marley, the only two left at the privacy of his quarters, sharing the last bottle of wine leftover between yourselves. the facade of perfect patriotism that you had both been careful to maintain had dissipated, whether because of the alcohol or because of the gravity of such impending doom weighing at your hearts. he’d learned that you’d been apart of the warrior program yourself, an unselected trainee in the class just a year below his own. you told him that was how you’d managed to secure yourself this position, but he said that it was much more than that, that you were a natural at a position that require such patience and compassion. the way your lips had turned up into the smallest of smiles made his cheeks flushed. 

“i heard the war is going to be mostly naval. i doubt we’ll have to worry about any of us being shipped out to fight any time soon.”

you took a long sip from your glass, finishing off what remained, taking in a deep, pensive breath. “god forbid they send any of those kids away to the battlefield. god forbid they send you away.”

“me?” he said after a moment of silence, an odd sort of tightness cinching around his heart and lungs, squeezing tighter with every fine detail he noticed in your sorrowful expression—warm eyes filled with sympathy, mouth drawn down into a delicate frown, brow slightly knitted.

“you’ve seen enough. you’ve gone through enough, more than anyone should have to go through by themselves.”

reiner felt a lump beginning to form in his throat, an almost tangible ache echoing through his chest. that was the first time someone had ever told him that before.

—  despite the worsening tension of war, reiner saw that you were just as cheerful as ever with the kids, bringing them sweets and desserts you made yourself when you got the chance, taking them out on their weekly outings and making sure they were doing alright just as normal. but he could see the way your face would shift when one of them piped up with something regarding the current battle being waged, spouting out the same propaganda he’d been force-fed for his entire life. you would only smile, patting them on the shoulder or rubbing their back, responding with a simple assertion that you were sure marley’s troops were doing great out there before changing the subject

“they’re so young. sometimes i forget they’re only children.”

your words from the park bench flitted across his mind, the words that you silently spoke when your eyes widened at gabi’s proclamation that marley’s glory would forever prevail, or when your lips pursed briefly at the four of them squabbling over who would inherit which titan.

“they’re too small to be holding such big weapons. those rifles they give them are taller than they are. it’s.. it’s...”

perverse? distressing? horrible? it was all of those things, and so much more. but you saw it. you didn’t egg them on like porco or zeke, you congratulated them without drenching it in more and more lies. you didn’t see them as soldiers-in-training, you didn’t see them as warriors, you saw them as they were. as children. you cared for them like he did.

—  when the time came, you were shipped off to fort slava alongside the warrior unit, your training and your extensive experience working with the candidates for the past five years serving as the justification for your necessity. though reiner had wished to be around you more often, he didn't at all enjoy it in this context. seeing you in a full soldier’s uniform, skin dusted with dirt and gunpowder, a helmet that only seemed to have more and more dents and scratches in the metal with each day that passed—it felt so incredibly wrong. you didn’t belong in the trenches of war, and yet he still saw you running about every morning, previously soft hands becoming roughened and scarred, growing thinner and thinner from the stress and minuscule rations that were barely enough to get everyone through the day. and yet you were lively, still tending to the kids and attempting to give them a space away from the warfare outside when you could all retire to the unit’s dugout at night.

—  one night, reiner had woken from his sleep and was too restless to return to it, unable to ignore the distant sounds of gunfire and shouts from outside, staring up at the ceiling from his bunk and allowing himself to drift away into his thoughts. he remembered all the nights he’d spent like this in his own home as a child, barely able to force himself to sleep for a few hours despite knowing that he had another long day of training ahead of him. but he turned over on his mattress at the sound of soft murmuring, the sound of sheets shifting and the quiet protest of the flimsy bed frames squeaking. in the dimness of the lantern that sat at the foot of gabi’s bunk, he saw you seated at her bedside, looking down at her as you spoke.

“are you okay? do you want me to wake up reiner?”

he couldn’t make out gabi’s mumbled response, but he saw the small silhouette of her head shaking from side to side on her pillow.

“i know he’s been looking tired lately, but i promise that he won’t be upset if we wake him up for a moment.”

another unintelligible reply from the young girl just barely occupied the air. a part of him wanted to step out of his bunk and see what she needed, but another, more persuasive thought kept him still, laying silently, watching on to see how you would tend to her. he knew that gabi admired you deeply, the fact that you’d managed to win her over was something that impressed him, but at the same time didn’t surprise him at all. he couldn’t imagine how anyone could dislike someone as gentle and thoughtful as you.

“you’re a big girl, gabi, so am i. but that doesn’t mean we don’t all need a little bit of help sometimes. it’s scary out here, and i’m so proud of you for holding your own out there. it’s okay to be scared.”

you were quiet for a moment, allowing for gabi to speak, a hand reaching out to gently stroke the side of her head and run through her hair. a quiet, genuine laugh slipping from you when she concluded.

“i promise i won’t tell anyone. i’ll get back to my bunk as soon as you get back to sleep. deal?”

he caught the end of an affirmative nod from his cousin, and the two of you fell silent. you stood for a moment to tuck the covers around her, sitting back down and returning to your soothing motions, looking almost like a dream in the glow of the soft illumination at your side.

he realized in that moment what that feeling in his chest was, the one that made his throat tighten just the slightest bit, that made him feel light as air for those few fleeting moments before the spell of you in his gaze was broken by some menial interruption. but the interruption didn’t come this time, nothing to remind him to bury his feelings and not ruminate on them long enough to figure out exactly what they were. he had been running from this revelation for far too long, and he knew exactly why—because it would be unfair to burden you with these feelings that he knew he shouldn’t have.

he loved how you made him feel. he loved seeing how cheerful you were even when it was too early in the morning for him to even be properly awake himself. he loved seeing how you smiled when the children hung onto you on your days out. he loved that you could see the appalling indoctrination of marley’s military might on it’s citizens for what it was. he loved how you saw him for more than his failure four years ago. he loved how tender you looked stroking his younger cousin’s hair, assuring her that you wouldn’t leave her until she was fast asleep. he loved you, honestly and wholeheartedly.

it was a selfish desire, a longing that he would have to keep to himself for your sake. but, in moments like these, where the vision of having something more seemed so close to his outstretched grasp, the thought of sharing his final years together rather than in a respectful coexistence, he found it so difficult to resist temptation. 

if only he had more time.

24 / 7 reiner brainrot. i have an unfathomable amount of love for this man ( ; ω ; )

[wandaswigglywoes]

bcs i needed to write more of pietro here's something thats too small to post on ao3 in my opinion... // Pairing: Yelena & Pietro, Yelena & Pietro & Kate, Natasha/Wanda, Kate/Yelena Words: 1,470 Summary: Bar fights, jail time and a heart to heart.

Yelena slams her shot glass down with a quiet growl of annoyance, her eyes following Kate's every move as she dances with some guy who had kindly -- in Pietro's opinion -- invited her to do so. "Something the matter?" He asks, leaning casually against the bar next to her.

"Shut up." She snarls, signaling for another shot.

Pietro grins signaling for his own shot. "My, my, so hostile. What's got your batons bursting with electricity?" He knows of course that it's Kate. It's always Kate Bishop. Wanda might have been the empathetic twin, but Pietro had eyes.

Yelena finally manages to tear her gaze from the crowded dance floor to look up at him. "I just do not like the way he has his hands on her."

"Ah," Pietro nods. "Sure. Just looking out for her safety, yes?" Yelena nods, glancing back out into the crowd. "Right, but have you considered -- and what is the American phrase? I'm just spitballin' here? Yes, anyway -- have you considered you might be... I don't know, jealous?"

Yelena snaps her head back so fast, that Pietro would be surprised if she didn't have whiplash. Her eyes shoot daggers at him and it takes everything in him not to chicken out and break eye contact. "Jealous?!" The bartender sets two shots in front of them and she takes one without breaking eye contact. "Of what? Of-- of him?" She juts her thumb out toward the dance floor, a look of disgust on her face, as if she'd smelled something rotten. "You're stupid."

Pietro has to hide a grin behind his own shot, downing it quickly and setting the glass back on the bar. "Mm, no. Not of him," His eyes drift out to the dance floor and he easily spots Kate and her dance partner. "But, perhaps at the way he currently has his hands on her ass--" His brain seems to catch up with his mouth as he fully takes in the sight of the stranger grabbing onto Kate's ass a little too roughly and Kate shoving him back. Oh shit... He thinks, a surge of protectiveness coursing through him.

"I'll kill him--"

And that, Pietro will later recall, is when all hell broke loose.

//

Pietro sits behind bars with an ice pack to the side of his face, Yelena sits beside him, arms crossed and a scowl on her face. "I told you it was time to go," He mutters, shoving her.

She shoves him back. "And I told you, he had to learn manners."

Pietro rolls his eyes. "Why don't you just tell Kate you like her and get it done and over with? I never took you for a coward." It's a low blow, but he's grumpy because it smells like puke and piss in here, and he's not ready to face the wrath of Wanda and Natasha.

Yelena stands abruptly, glaring down at him. "I am not a coward! You take that back, Pietro Maximoff!" She shoves him again, harder this time.

Pietro throws the ice pack down and towers over her, stepping into her personal space. "I'm only speaking the truth!" He snarls back, adrenalin still coursing through him from the bar fight. It wasn't that he hadn't originally been down to help start the fight, it was that he hadn't been able to get Yelena out before the cops grabbed them. But Yelena had been busy playing with her food... In a way Pietro kind of felt sorry for the guy... But only a little. Truthfully, he deserved a lot of what he got.

Yelena's jaw clenches and unclenches as she glares up at Pietro. There's anger behind her eyes, but Pietro can see the hurt beneath.

"Are you two done?" Natasha's voice has them jumping apart. They both turn to see their respective siblings looking annoyed and not far behind them is Kate, her expression unreadable.

"What the hell happened?" Wanda asks, sounding as if she's still trying to wake up. She's wearing a pair of black leggings she no doubt threw on quickly and a too big sweatshirt, hair pulled back into a messy bun. Natasha looks a little more put together, but not by much.

Pietro and Yelena glance at each other before looking at Kate. "Someone was being inappropriate toward Kate Bishop," Yelena says, and though she says it like it's obvious, even to Pietro's ears that explanation is flimsy.

"And so that was cause for a bar fight?" Natasha asks darkly.

Pietro glances at Kate. "You couldn't just bail us out?" He whispers harshly.

Kate frowns. "You seem to forget that I don't have any money," She whispers back just as grouchily. That was true, her mother going to jail meant she essentially had little to no money. He sighs and nods, a hand coming up to rub gingerly at his bruised face. Yelena has a split lip and Kate seems to have sustained a cut to her eyebrow and a slice to her cheek that looks to have been tended to already.

Wanda's glare cuts him to the core. "We still would have found out, anyway." She glances at Natasha who meets her gaze. "Maybe we should leave them here overnight."

"No!" Pietro and Yelena cry out in unison.

"God, please don't do that-- it smells horrible," Pietro says, looking around them.

"Worse than when we broke Alexei out of jail," Yelena adds.

Their siblings smirk at each other, and just as Pietro thinks they're doomed to a night in lock up, Kate steps forward. "Maybe-- maybe we-- you--I mean you guys should bail them out. I mean, the humiliation of getting caught should be enough, right?" She offers them both a sheepish smile, widening her eyes slightly.

They both sigh resignedly.

//

Pietro isn't expecting to find anyone in the kitchen at 4 am, yet there's Yelena sitting at the kitchen table with something steaming in front of her. She looks sad, that stupid, little pout she denies having prominent on her face. Guilt creeps up his spine and he mentally rolls his eyes at himself.

"Hey," He greets quietly as he takes a seat next to her. She offers him a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Listen, I just wanted to apologize for what I said earlier..." She rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and drops his gaze to the table.

Yelena sighs. "You were right, though."

Pietro's gaze snaps to hers. "What? No, I was just tired and annoyed. You're not--"

"I am a coward. I do like Kate Bishop, and I was jealous."

Pietro squirms in his seat, at a loss for words. He knew this to be true, Yelena --for all her training in the Red Room-- was not subtle. Or maybe they just spent enough time together, that he could tell-- either way, he was not expecting to ever hear her admit it. "You are not a coward. I shouldn't have said that."

"I am, because I can hardly admit to myself that I like her, let alone to Kate." She's never sounded more sad, and Pietro hates it.

Reaching out, Pietro tentatively places a hand on Yelena's arm. "Yelena," He waits for her to meet his gaze. "You are not a coward, you are simply human. As much as those bastards wanted to beat emotions out of you, they couldn't. It is human to feel things and it is normal. And whether you decide to tell Kate or not, that is your prerogative, and not telling her doesn't make you a coward. You might have your reasons, and that's okay. But you aren't a coward, and I'm sorry I said that."

Yelena stares at him with watery eyes, before she dips her head in a soft nod.

Pietro squeezes her arm gently. "And Yelena, if it's because you don't think she feels the same-- you're blind," He grins.

"It's not." She says with a small chuckle. "I am trained in body language, I can see that she is at least attracted to me," Her lips pull down into a frown. "It is that I do not believe I deserve--"

Pietro's grip on her arm tightens. "Stop, that's crap. If anyone deserves some normalcy-- someone to care about them, it's you. It's Natasha, it's my sister-- it's Kate. So if that is your reason, it is a stupid one." Yelena opens her mouth to object, but Pietro cuts her off again. "No, I won't hear any of that. So you sit and think about that. I'm getting my snack and going back to bed. You should get some sleep, too." He stands and moves toward the fridge to grab some left over pizza.

Later in the day, he'll see Yelena and Kate sitting close together and laughing about something, and then Yelena will catch his eyes and smile. 

[smokers-corner]

Reaction: To you casually going up to them and asking them to dance (Chishiya + Niragi)

Warning: Slight play on cuss words <3

Words: 831

Scene: The beach had a prom-like theme for a night. You went but you didn’t get to dance because no one asked you and or you didn’t ask anyone. So you were just sitting and chatting with some of your friends while watching everyone else dance and have fun. Soon enough, it gets late (about 1:30 am). People are either passed out on the couches/ground, heading up to their rooms or going somewhere else to party. There’s soft music (slow dance type) playing in the background. You look around to see who is here other than the people passed out. You see Niragi/Chishiya. You decide that you’d want to have at least one dance before you turn in for the night. 

(Note: I will try my hardest to make them both in character, because as you know I love making Niragi out of character but it's only for the pure reason that I can’t write angst or an angsty personality well i guess? But haha enjoy nonetheless <3  I also made Chishiya’s short :pensive: Sowwy)

(Note #2: This little reaction is based off the song “End of Prom Night” its an old song but its really good this prompt takes place towards the end a little)

| Chishiya |

- This man would blink like like 80 times when you asked him

- He’d be thinking someone put you up to this

- Cue the 3 minutes of awkward stare

- As you start to walk away you feel his hand on your wrist/hand

- “Only for a little,,” He says

- He’d be the type to put your arms around his neck then put his arms around your waist and start swaying and you can’t tell me different

[ Chishiya looked at you walking to him, following your movements with his eyes. Once you got in front of him though, anxiety started to fill your guts. Building up the smallest amount of courage you could muster up, you looked up at him and asked him to dance. He blinks for a few seconds still processing the request. Looking around cautiously (disregarding the passed out people)  thinking someone put you up to this just to let down his guard. Once he saw no other people were in the room- he made eye contact with you. Inhaling a deep breath, you think all hope is lost after what felt like 20 minutes, but in reality it was just 3, you turn to walk away. Before you could even get a few feet away, you feel something stop you. Looking down, you see his hand around your hand/wrist then you turn your head to look at him. “Only for a little bit I guess…” he says calmly. He takes you to the middle of the room, making your arms wrap around his neck then putting his arms around your waist pulling you a little bit closer. He starts swaying with you to the music. ]

| Niragi |

(Oh boy, are we ready for my failed in character i think we are lmao)

- This dude would just see you coming near him and would have the biggest smirk on his face no cap He’d also have his mf rifle on his shoulder

- Every time you’d get closer your danger zone level would go up

- You have this thought in your head that he’s going to turn you down or some other shieyt like that bc yk 

- You’d mentally prepare yourself lmfAOO

- You knew you were in front of him bc your levels were at 100

- You’d ask him if he wanted to dance but in a sped up tone bc ahahahahaha 

- He’d be taken aback no lie because yk he kinda dangerous

- But after thinking about it for a little he had nothing else to do so he’d say, “Sure, why not?”

- May personal opinion is that he’d be the type to like put your hands on his shoulders and make you lean into his chest  aAAaAa

[ Niragi would be just there for either his own entertainment or he was told to watch over the dance. When the 1:30 mark hit, you looked to see the decrease in people. Looking around, you see Niragi with his usual rifle on his shoulder like always. You took a deep, deep inhale deciding that you’d go ask him for a dance.  Niragi would see you making your way towards him and his face would form into that big awss smirk he wears. You’d feel your heart beating faster and faster with every step you took, the anxiety would be practically flowing out of you. Hoping that Niragi would be in a good mood, you were mentally prepared to be shut down or something else more dramatic happening. Still looking down at the ground, you knew you were in front of him when you saw his shoes. (Danga zone level: 100) Slowly lifting your gaze from the ground, to his shoes, lanky legs (beytch could be siren head), as well as lanky torso, then up to his eyes. Getting somehow more nervous than you already were you didn’t look too long into his eyes. He messed around with you a little bit trying to make you look into them. After a few seconds of messing with you, he decided to back off. “You need something?” He asked. You somehow managed to ask if he wanted to dance but it was really fast so he had to take a whole hot minute to process what you just asked while making this face. Once he was done processing he’d be confused because everyone is scared of him and shii. But alas, seeing as everyone was either in their rooms, or passed out or doing whatever- he said “Sure, why not.” He’d put his hand on your shoulder with a little force and lead you to the middle of the room. Putting his rifle down on a vacant chair, he walks back over to you. He’d take your hands and put them on his  shoulders and pull you closer, making you lean onto him. He then would put his hands on your waist and would start swaying back and forth like Chishiya, but the difference would be that he would move around the room swaying. ]

[honeymoonjin]

pairing: jimin x yoongi || genre: smut - nsfw 18+ word count: 6.7k warnings: dom!jimin, sub!yoongi, exhibitionism, BDSM, sub!jk feature very briefly, masochism, pain play, impact play, spanking, orgasm control/denial, untouched orgasm, frotting (i hope that’s right, i had to google it), crying during sex but in a fun liberating way u feel me, praise, mean-mugging, pet names

summary: jimin is used to keeping his professional bdsm life and his domestic married life separate, but when his husband yoongi comes in after a hard day at work, he wants to blur those lines. 

A/N: i wrote this for the lovely and talented @joonsbean​ so thank her for inspiring me to actually write something, also this is unedited bc i just sat down for 6 hours to write this and i am not willing to stare at it a moment longer

---

After a particularly resonant flick of the whip, Jimin eyes the way Jungkook's calves tense, left foot tapping the floor in an uneven stutter. He's starting to really feel it now.

He absentmindedly reaches his hand out to smooth the reddened flesh of Jungkook's ass, gently cooing at him quiet enough that his rapt audience won't hear. While the eager submissive was the biggest masochist of the regulars, and he was likely miles away from safewording, as a friend Jimin knew the long-haired boy had three hours of lectures the next day. He'd probably relish the sore ass and take it like a champ, but Jimin was soft on him, so he knew it was time to wrap it up.

Tilting his chin towards the dark, almost purplish streak just above Jungkook's thigh, he raises his voice to address the onlookers. "As you can see, when there's only one fall, like with a whip or a switch, the impact feels a lot sharper and concentrated. The thinner it is, that effect is only amplified. For that reason, I really recommend against switches and whips as a first-timer or if you're testing it out." Jimin can't help but beam at the way every person in the crowd listens to his spiel with clear enthusiasm. He got off on this kind of spotlight in a different way to the usual exhibitionism. Sharing his passion never failed to cheer him up. "Even though floggers can look more intense, as we saw when we were starting out, the impact is more distributed, more of a thud than a sting. Now," he breaks off, giving Jungkook's tender ass a final playful swat, making the boy jump, knuckles white as they clench the back of the chair he's bent over, "let's give our little prince a big round of applause for being so helpful for us today."

Jungkook positively keens at the cheers and wolf whistles that erupt from the crowd of at least thirty, his back arching and face buried between his meaty upper arms to hide the blush. Jimin gently massages the heated skin one last time, whispering instructions to head off to the side where his usual dom, Namjoon, was no doubt waiting.

The two had been playing for almost a year now, but Namjoon was still hesitant to venture into the heavier sadism that Jungkook sometimes needed, and the three of them had found a happy medium where Jungkook helped Jimin out with demonstrations, and Jimin indulged Jungkook's occasional desire for more intense pain play. As a thank you, Namjoon even helped Jimin out with his taxes just the month before, and Jimin quite often allowed them to reserve their favourite play rooms out of courtesy. A mutually beneficial arrangement, and it certainly came in handy to have Namjoon deal with aftercare while Jimin still had his demonstration to wind up.

Swinging the chair that Jungkook was previously bent over, Jimin takes a seat facing the audience and quirks a brow. "Alrighty, before we wrap up and I set you back into the wild, any questions?"

This line always had very different responses. Once, on a basic self-bondage informational session, there were so many single kinksters interested that there ended up being almost an hour of questioning, followed by an impromptu tutorial of safe handcuff use. More commonly, Jimin fielded a few confirming questions about what he'd shown, or something related but not overly relevant to the main topic at hand. More often than not, though, he'd find a string of people awkwardly hovering around him after the crowd had dissipated, too nervous to ask their question in front of the others.

This time, however, a single hand is thrust into the air, coming from the rough back third of the gathering.

"Yes?" Jimin calls out, squinting past the few stage lights and into the darkened crowd. He can't quite make out the face, but as soon as the rumbly voice begins to speak, he doesn't need the visual to recognise it.

"I was just wondering," his husband calls out, "could I speak to you in private?"

Jimin is so startled to hear Yoongi that for a moment he freezes on stage, totally silent. Never once had his husband of four years step a single foot into the dungeon Jimin worked at. Not intolerant of the kink world, Yoongi was simply paranoid about being recognised - a renowned human rights lawyer showing up to a BDSM dungeon dressed in leathers was a tabloid field day waiting to happen - and was happy for Jimin to continue working there whenever he wished.

Now, though, that unspoken rule that had kept these two worlds of Jimin's separate had shattered with a single question, and he felt cold shock drip down his spine.

"Uh," he begins eloquently, blinking himself out of it and plastering a collected smile on again, "of course! I'll be right with you once the show ends."

Jimin closes the session in a daze, answering a few questions about physical aftercare and the best materials and brands for impact play equipment on autopilot. It feels like an eternity passing in a single second, and before he's even processed it, the audience have moved on, and his husband is placing a gentle kiss of greeting on his temple, the same way he would when he'd get home from work in the evenings.

Mere minutes after he'd been in his usual dominant persona, Jimin feels himself melting like candy floss in Yoongi's arms, wrapping around him in their usual casual intimacy. "How are you here?" Jimin asks softly, snaking his arms under Yoongi's slate grey suit jacket, feeling the warmth radiate from his body, even through the expensive cotton shirt. "You're still dressed for work, baby."

Yoongi tenses slightly, gazing around the room. A few people are still milling around in small groups, chatting, but this close to the stage, him and Jimin are out of earshot. Still, he speaks lowly, dipping into the Daegu drawl that only makes an appearance when he's too stressed to think clearly. "I took a sick day. Or, I suppose, sick afternoon," he corrects, brows pinched together. "Had to get out. Can we- Is there a place we can have some privacy, please?"

Wide-eyed, Jimin jumps up out of Yoongi's embrace. "Oh, definitely, sorry!" He tamps down his rising concern by hooking his arm around Yoongi's, locking their fingers tightly as he leads his husband out of the auditorium and down a hall.

Being a matinee opening, the dungeon isn't too packed. Jimin prefers working the day shifts, likes that everything feels a little more personal and open. Nights, especially themed ones, get so busy that the gear and rooms have to be booked sometimes weeks in advance. Jimin does his fair share of DMing (they need all the help they can get) but doesn't like to run any scenes himself in the relative chaos.

But at 2pm on a Tuesday, it's easy enough to slip into one of the private rooms, switching the sign to occupied. There's no lock on the door for safety purposes, but nobody will dare enter while it's taken.

Yoongi steps in, eying the room with surprise. It's a relatively open space, with the walls lined with bookcases on one end, and a large wooden desk with some filing cabinets on the other. The desk itself has a comfortable-looking desk chair, and the opposite side has a single leather armchair like something from a therapist's office.

Although there is a wide window, it's covered with blinds, and Jimin knows from experience that it opens directly onto a brick wall for privacy. Instead, the room is lit from above with ceiling lights that are adjustable by a dimmer. Jimin leaves it bright.

Yoongi slowly makes his way to the black leather armchair, sitting down on it and leaning forward to inspect the desk. Absurdly large, it is mostly uncovered except for a diary with some unreadable scrawls on it, an ancient laptop that doesn't turn on, and a ruler. "Is this your office?" Yoongi asks incredulously.

Jimin cackles before he can help himself, moving forward to perch on the edge of the desk in front of Yoongi. "Does it look like I'd get anything done here? It's a play room, baby."

"Play room?" his husband replies dully, but Jimin doesn't miss the way his eyes are zoned in on Jimin's body, the intimidating leather jacket fixed with a tightly buckled belt around his waist, the skintight black jeans that barely contained his thighs, and perfectly glossed black dress shoes, his calling card amongst the typical stomping boots or knife-thin stilettos that most other doms wore. He always got dressed at the dungeon, leaving the house in unassuming sweatpants and a hoodie, so he gets no little satisfaction in relishing his husband's first reaction to the getup.

"That's right," he confirms with a smirk, crossing his legs. "We have five of them at the moment, though the sixth one is almost ready for use. This one is for your typical CEO or professor roleplays, we have a medical one, an interrogation one," Jimin rattles them off on his fingers, watching the way Yoongi's eyes bug out at each addition, "just a basic bedroom one for the vanilla stuff, one that actually looks like a dungeon, and the new one is gonna be an outdoor one."

"Outdoor?" Yoongi asks with a unsteady voice, before shaking his head to clear the thoughts. "Anyway, here is fine, I just- I had to get away from work, Minnie, and I... I was thinking..."

Jimin frowns in sympathy, leaning forward to stroke the back of Yoongi's hand. "I can leave early, I don't have anything else booked today, I was mostly planning on sticking to the social lounge-"

"I don't wanna go home," Yoongi slips in hurriedly, flipping his hand on the arm of the chair to link their fingers together tightly, though his eyes don't leave Jimin's for a second. "I know that you like to keep this job and our own love life separate, and I'm not going to force you, but- I came here because I want to submit to you."

Jimin's eyes widen, his breath catching in his chest. A switch at heart, Jimin had always found it a nice balance to indulge his dominant side here at work, and return home for Yoongi to take care of him, and it had always worked well. Even before they were serious, right in the early days of fucking like rabbits and pretending they weren't entirely smitten, Yoongi had always easily taken that more dominant role, though most of their sex to this day was far less kinky than the kind of demonstrations Jimin ran here. What Yoongi was asking wasn't just to be pampered and taken care of, but to be taken control of. And Jimin couldn't deny the ball of heat that was quickly building inside of him at that thought.

"Baby," he sighs, forcing himself to keep professionalism in mind, "I can't- We can't do anything here without you filling out some paperwork. The list of kinks and limits at the least. Not just as an employee, but as your husband, I gotta keep you safe."

"I know," Yoongi insists, and he frees his hand from Jimin's grip just long enough to plunge a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a tightly folded piece of paper, handing it to Jimin.

Oddly enough, the folds are worn, not crisp, and as Jimin unfolds it, the text - printed in 12 point Times New Roman, because of course Yoongi would type it up with perfect formatting - has lost the freshly-printed gloss.

"I've been working up the courage to come here for months, Jimin-ah," Yoongi explains in a shy but determined voice. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to feel pressured at all either way, but please know that this is something that I've researched, and that I'm serious about." His solemn expression turns slightly cheeky, almost impish. "You literally make a living domming people, Minnie. I've been fantasising about it long before I even realised I wanted it."

A thrill of arousal runs through Jimin, straight between his legs, and he tightens his thighs, taking a settling breath. "Oh, baby," he coos, eyes dropping to read Yoongi's well-documented and organised list of kinks and limits, scanning over some surprising - and not-so-surprising - tidbits, "I'm gonna take such good care of you."

The air rushes out of Yoongi's lungs as he unconsciously scoots forward in the chair, leaning in. "Do we- Do we just start now, or do you need to go get some-" he breaks off, blushing violently, "some equipment?"

Jimin breaks into a broad smile, eyes crinkling as he steps forward, steps close, ringed fingers slipping into Yoongi's hair on either side, tipping his husband's face up as his chin rests on Jimin's lower abdomen. "Oh, my big boy wants to play with some toys, huh?" Jimin can feel when Yoongi swallows hard, his eyes not glossy with subspace, instead keen and sharp with pointed desire. "Don't worry, baby, this room isn't as empty as you think."

When he steps away, dropping all contact, Yoongi slumps like a puppet with cut strings, catching himself before he slips off the chair, instead lying back against it, chest heaving beneath the starch white of his dress shirt.

Jimin makes his way first to the bookshelves, looking back over his shoulder to catch Yoongi's reaction as he finds a notch in the framing and pulls, revealing that they aren't real shelves at all, simply disguised cabinets that swing open to reveal the hidden delights inside. The three closest to the desk are filled with clothes of all sizes, office-wear spanning pencil skirts to neckties to blazers, a few frumpy pieces that remind Jimin of dorky professors, even some school uniforms, cut far shorter than regulation.

With a grin, Jimin pulls at a pleated plaid skirt, smirking at Yoongi. "In the mood for dress-up, baby? Show off those pretty legs of yours."

Yoongi, still with some wits about him, narrows his eyes with a mock scowl, his disapproval clear.

Jimin sighs out wistfully, but lets it go. "Another time, maybe." Ignoring Yoongi's light scoff, he nudges the doors shut with his foot one at a time and moves to the last one, where the facade of stacked books hides a series of hooks nailed into the back wall.

Jimin doesn't need to even face Yoongi to know he's squirming in his chair - the squeaking leather gives it away. Strung up are floggers, whips, switches, and neatly coiled bundles of rope, catalogued by length. His husband had expressed interest in both impact play and bondage, several different types of both, and so it's no surprise that the sight of those fantasies had Yoongi breathing heavily. He leaves that cupboard open.

"There are so many things we could play with in here, baby," Jimin assures, patting the folded piece of paper that he'd slipped into his own pocket, "and your list was pretty extensive, so before we get started, any particular preference?"

Yoongi swallows again, hair slightly rucked up from Jimin's hands. Jimin can't wait to see it totally mussed up, see his husband in ruins, see him love it. With wary eyes on Jimin as he moves behind the desk towards the filing cabinets, Yoongi nods. "The- what you were doing with that guy on stage. I- I want that."

Jimin blinks, turning his back to his husband to mask his surprise, fingers hooking the edge of the top drawer of one of the cabinets, each one labelled alphabetically. "Is that so? We did a lot on that stage, baby, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

Yoongi is silent for a moment, his breathing the only sound as Jimin carefully slides the drawer open, revealing neatly sectioned rows of anal plugs. He grins. A for Anal, B for Bondage, C for Chastity. The designers really took their job seriously, and he could appreciate the humour in it.

He lets Yoongi take his time, knowing that saying something is often the hardest part. Instead, he notes the location of the drawer marked P, and turns back to his husband.

Looking incredibly small, tucked up on the intentionally oversized armchair, Yoongi clears his throat, making shy eye contact. "The paddles," he says in a high tone, like he's unsure he's even using the correct word, "I want you to- to hit me with them like you did him."

"You want me to spank that pretty little ass of yours?" Jimin confirms, loving the way his husband goes bright pink.

"Y-yeah," he replies breathily, dropping his gaze. "Will you?"

Despite the raging fire inside him, Jimin's heart leaps fondly, so in love with his husband and all his endearing mannerisms. "Of course, baby. But let's start slow, hm? Gotta make your first time special, don't we?"

Yoongi laughs, then, full of air and barely audible, his lips lilting in a small smile that still shows his teeth.

Jimin tilts his head to the side. "What?"

With a tiny head shake, Yoongi contains his grin. "I just really wanna kiss you right now."

Jimin is moving before he's even finished speaking, his hip barely missing the corner of the desk in his haste to join his husband, knees straddling his lap without hesitation, holding those soft cheeks in both hands as he presses his lips firmly against Yoongi's, eyes fluttering shut.

Their parting kiss before Yoongi left for work this morning feels too long ago, and for a moment their new arrangement is forgotten as they fall into their usual motions, years of marriage making every inch of Yoongi's lips feel familiar, the bump of their noses and brush of eyelashes like home even in such a different environment.

With no rush, Jimin lets himself indulge in it, burying one hand in Yoongi's hair, carding through the choppy black locks that are no longer gelled back. His other hand slides down Yoongi's jaw, neck, and chest, tugging at the knot of his tie to loosen it. He makes no effort to be gentle, and his husband just groans into Jimin's mouth at the rough treatment.

It's all too easy to shift into his dom space, a practiced scale of gradually increasing intensity. It begins with the tie, but soon enough Jimin punctuates their ongoing kiss with hard sucks and quick nips of teeth, Yoongi tipping his chin up to drown in it more. Testing the waters, Jimin rocks his hips once against Yoongi's taut crotch and yanks once on a fistful of hair, baring the pale expanse of Yoongi's neck.

The debauched lawyer bucks beneath him, hands flying to grip tightly at Jimin's waist. His long, beautiful fingers and wide palm have always made Jimin feel weak at the knees, and feeling them grasp at him not in command but in desperation feels addictive.

"You like that?" he breathes, voice low enough to almost growl, and Yoongi shivers as he nods his affirmation. "Good," Jimin praises, and dives down, teeth grazing down the sensitive skin of Yoongi's throat, skimming until he feels the throb of his pulse point. Yoongi can't risk marks at work, certainly not in court, but it's a Friday, and Jimin is feeling more possessive than usual. He nips lightly but laps at the skin thoroughly, knowing the best he can get away with is a reddened bite mark which would fade over the weekend. The hickies were best saved for other areas, he knew.

Yoongi is panting like a horse now, air punched through his nostrils as he bites down hard on his own swollen lip. Jimin knows the effect he has on his subs, and grins against the glistening wet skin of Yoongi's neck at the hardness that has grown between his legs. "Wuh-want more, Minnie," he gasps out, "need more."

Jimin hums, making sure Yoongi can feel the vibrations in the hollow of his throat, sliding up to press kisses to that hyper-sensitive place just behind Yoongi's ear that always made him tremble.

It doesn't disappoint, Yoongi letting out a shaky breath as his arms wrap around Jimin's waist, trying to bring him closer.

Jimin doesn't let him, though, pulling back to sit on his haunches, running a thumb down Yoongi's reddened lower lip to watch the way it springs back into place. Yoongi sits still, eyes cloudy as he lets his dom for the night play with him. The thought pleases Jimin; that Yoongi truly was wanting this, truly was willing to give up control to him.

He spares a glance down between his own thighs, where the cool grey of Yoongi's slacks makes no attempt at hiding his bulging erection. Pouting in sympathy, Jimin reaches out with a single finger to trace the outline, watching the muscles in his husband's thighs tense as he fights to stay still. "So hard already, baby," Jimin drawls, "do you think that pretty little cock of yours can wait its turn while I spank you, hm? Can it be patient for me?"

Yoongi flushes, whining Jimin's name under his breath. "Yes," he admits, huffing out a reluctant sigh.

"Yes what?"

Yoongi grimaces at Jimin, but the dom just raises an expectant brow. "Yes, my- my pretty little cock can be patient for you," Yoongi murmurs in the quietest voice he can manage, cheeks red hot.

"That's my boy," Jimin beams, rewarding his husband by popping the button and pulling down the zip on the fly of Yoongi's slacks, releasing some of the pressure. Yoongi groans, deep in his throat, but his relief is quickly thwarted once Jimin stands up off him.

Making his way back to the filing cabinets, Jimin quickly slides open the one labeled P. Splayed out neatly lie five different paddles. Three are plastic, one a basic rounded shape, another that same shape only with several small holes drilled through for a sharper impact, and a final one a rectangular shape. The next one is hard wood, heavy, Jimin recalls, and the one tucked at the back is a softly upholstered pleather one for beginners. Then there's the ruler, of course, though that's a little cheesy for the current mood.

He assesses the five inside at his leisure, knowing every moment of anticipation will feel like an eternity to his husband, and finally makes a choice. He slides the cabinet drawer closed.

Yoongi makes a wounded, cut-off noise in his throat, but Jimin sends him a firm gaze.

"I'll give you what you want, baby," Jimin assures, wetting his lips, "but first I want to feel you myself. Pants and underwear off, jacket off, I want you bent over my desk."

Yoongi sucks in a sudden breath, but stands up on wobbly legs and slips off his blazer. It's probably too expensive to be dumping it on the chair behind him, but Yoongi clearly isn't worried about that as he kicks off his shoes and pants too, only hesitating once his fingers are hooked on the elastic waistband of his underwear.

"Off," Jimin demands harshly, "I won't ask again."

This time Yoongi obeys without delay, and Jimin takes great pleasure in watching the way his husband's cock leaps up once it's freed, pretty and pink and wetter than he'd ever seen it before. Though Yoongi always tended to top, his cock was smaller - more slender, at least - than Jimin's, but he loved it, loved that a hasty three fingers was enough prep on those times that they just couldn't wait to devour each other.

Now, though, with mussed hair and wrinkled shirt, naked from the waist down bar a pair of black ankle socks, Jimin's husband looked positively adorable in the most erotic way, and Jimin wanted nothing more than to make him wait, make him work to cum.

When Yoongi folds himself over the desk, side-on to Jimin to make use of the length of the surface, his hands awkwardly hover on either side of him, keeping himself slightly upright still. The back of his shirt is just long enough to cover the tops of his cheeks, and the sight of his rounded ass and dripping cock peeking through is enough to make Jimin actively restrain himself, taking a moment to breathe and appreciate this opportunity.

He steps forward, planting a hand between Yoongi's shoulder blades and presses, slow enough that Yoongi has time to move his face to the side to avoid banging his chin, but firm enough that there's no resisting. Yoongi goes willingly, however, his back arching as the table is just lower than his hips. Like this, no fabric obstructs Jimin's view, and he hums, pleased. "Good boy."

Yoongi trembles, his legs tight together and knees shaking just slightly. He's nervous at the vulnerable position, but no less aroused for it.

With the tip of his shoe, Jimin guides Yoongi's legs apart, until his socked feet are wider than his hips, until he needs to lean his weight onto the desktop to keep stable.

"That's it," Jimin praises, "my perfect little slut. So obedient."

Yoongi's right knee buckles at the exact moment that he hears the pet name, and Jimin grins. The piece of paper in his pocket had a long list of suggestions for names he was okay being called, and the dom couldn't resist picking out his favourite. The perfect mix of praise and degradation, it flowed so well on his tongue; the smooth, melodic sounds punctuated by the sharp hit of the t. Slut. Jimin muffles a groan, pressing on his own straining erection.

Unable to help himself, he reaches out, both hands grabbing at the plush ass cheeks in front of him, spreading them to watch the way Yoongi clenches at the sudden exposure. This must be what he looks like when they play together, Jimin thinks. He wonders if Yoongi is enjoying the change in pace just as much as he is.

"I'm going to start you off with just my hands, baby," he introduces, running a palm under the hem of his shirt and up Yoongi's spine to watch the way he shivers. "I'm sure you're well aware of the traffic light system, hm? Tell me what the colours mean."

Yoongi shifts, fingers curling uselessly against the tabletop as his eyes remain squeezed shut. "Red means stop, yellow means slow down, green means go," he recites, the exact phrasing off the dungeon's website, and Jimin bends down to press a single soft kiss on the top of Yoongi's ass as a reward, making him twitch violently. "Fuck, Jimin-ah," he sighs, arching his back even more.

Jimin grins. "Good. I'm adding another colour, just for you," he explains. "Gold. Can you guess what gold means?"

Yoongi swallows, shifts his weight, and shakes his head.

Jimin digs his fingers into the flesh of Yoongi's ass, watching them pillow in roughly. "Gold means more. Gold means harder. Okay?"

Yoongi nods quickly, hair even more tangled with every movement.

"Good boy," Jimin croons, and without further comment his left hand rises and comes down in a single strike.

Yoongi seizes up for a second at the shock of it, but there's no power behind the hit, and his brain realises a moment later that no pain follows the loud noise. He huffs in need and pushes his hips back, silently asking for more. "Gold, g-gold," he mutters offbeat, already panting.

Jimin hums in pleasure, and swats his right cheek this time, feeling a sting bloom across his palm. Still not nearly the hardest he can go, it's clearly not enough for Yoongi, as he remains stoic, waiting for more.

The next time, Jimin lets his hand really catch the air on the way down, but he doesn't stop at one hit, raining down three in quick succession on the same spot. Yoongi breathes through the first impact, freezes in surprise at the second one, and an unbidden moan falls out of his mouth at the third.

"Mm, that's better, isn't it?" Jimin muses rhetorically, soothing the slightly pinked patch of skin with his warmed hand. "Just need a bit more pain to let go."

"Please," Yoongi breathes, "jus' keep going."

"Bossy," Jimin teases, "I'm meant to be giving you orders, baby. If you don't quit it, I might not give you what you want at all."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, ple-please hit me again," Yoongi begs mindlessly, and Jimin can't help but indulge him, his husband sounding so pretty when he whines.

When he returns to spanking again, it's in earnest. Instead of pausing to check in each time, he relies on his husband's telling cues to moderate it, as well as the sweet pleas of gold, gold every time Jimin spent too long between swats.

Much like the rest of him, Yoongi's ass blooms candied pink, and with every strike, Jimin can't help but venture further, wanting to colour him in all over. The spanks that fall on Yoongi's upper thighs make him restless, squirming and moaning wordlessly. The ones that land on the fatty portion of his ass have him sighing happily, crooked smile slicked in drool against the wood of the desk.

The two of them slip into an unspoken rhythm for a while, alternating these hits on either side, of varying number and intensity, until Yoongi has almost fallen into a trance of sorts, mouth hanging open slackly as a whine or moan or whimper is falling out of his mouth with every single thwack.

Jimin's arm begins to tire, and just as he pauses to shake out the joints, Yoongi pants a, "wait, wait," making him pause.

It takes a moment for Yoongi to catch his breath, but Jimin waits patiently, scanning his ass and thighs for any sign of something that could be causing undue comfort, but he comes up short. With a weak, slurred voice, Yoongi lets out a sob. "I wanna use the paddle, Minnie, I wanna feel it," he pleads, "I've h-had enough of the spanking."

Jimin furrows his brows in concern, massaging out the sore tissue as Yoongi goes lax beneath him. "If you've had enough, baby, we should stop. I don't wanna push you."

Yoongi actually tears up, biting hard on his lip as he shakes his head. "Please, Minnie, just a few times, I just need it to be- to be heavy. I don't know, but I need it. Gold, please gold."

"Okay," Jimin is agreeing softly, squatting down to press reassuring kisses against the hot flesh, feeling his own palm stinging. He leaves only to slide open the drawer of paddles, selecting the wooden one. He knew from subspace himself that sometimes those base, thoughtless needs stemmed from something deeper, from an emotional need tangled up daily life. Once, in the early days of doing demonstrations at the dungeon, Jimin had gotten stage fright and done such a poor job of a fingering tutorial that the sweet sub he was working on didn't even cum. He'd come home to Yoongi bawling in humiliation, and his husband had lain him down on their bed and made him cum so many times that he couldn't even think, couldn't move a single limb. Now, Jimin had no doubt that the need to feel a heavy impact had something to do with the reason Yoongi had taken an uncharacteristic sick day.

Talking about it wouldn't help, would only break the escapism of the scene, so Jimin just runs the face of the wooden paddle over Yoongi's sore ass, letting him grow accustomed to the feel and texture. "Just two hits," Jimin declares, "one on each cheek. No more. Focus on them, baby. Eyes closed, just feel them."

He waits until Yoongi settles, spreading his legs wider with wiggling toes, and catching his breath, one hand pressed over his teary eyes.

Jimin swings the paddle backwards, not up, and lets it impact on Yoongi's left cheek first, a wet, strangled moan leaving his husband's mouth at the thuddy feel. The wooden paddle didn't hurt like spanking or a lighter paddle. It was about the weighty feel of it hitting your skin, a light hit so as not to cause bruising.

A line of tension disappears between Yoongi's clothed shoulders, the sweaty fabric clinging to his back. He's calmed down, fully, waiting patiently for the second strike. The second Jimin rains that final hit, he drops the paddle onto the carpeted floor, exhausted himself, and moves around to the side of the desk, bending awkwardly over it to press his mouth to Yoongi's, who makes a muffled sound of surprise before responding in turn.

Jimin's hand is curled around the nape of his husband's neck, keeping him close as tears mingle with spit, their kiss salty and desperate.

He feels a vibration between them before he hears anything, has to focus hard to hear Yoongi as he chants over and over like a prayer, thanking Jimin.

He slows the kiss after a sweet eternity, letting their heartbeats return to normal. Jimin's own eyes sting, love and concern a potent combination, but as the adrenaline settles back to normal, Yoongi calms down too, and seems to come back to himself.

He pulls away to let out a tired breath, laughing voicelessly. "Fuck," Yoongi curses with eyes still closed in bliss. "I get it now."

Jimin beams, a chuckle leaving his own lips as he sees the peace on his husband's face. After a moment, though, a frown appears as Yoongi furrows his brows. "What is it?"

"My dick hurts," Yoongi whines, managing to get his elbows under him to lift his chest from the table, head in his hands.

Jimin startles, standing bolt upright as he rushes down to look for any injury. "Oh shit, did I hit it?"

The laugh returns, bubbling out of Yoongi as he turns himself with great effort onto his back, chest still rising and falling dramatically. "No, Jimin-ah, don't worry," he assures, wincing when his ass-cheeks meet the unforgiving surface of the desk. "But if I don't cum soon, I think it's gonna explode."

Jimin's mouth falls open, relief and disbelief flooding his veins equally as he's faced with Yoongi's cock, so flushed with blood it's almost purple in places. "I- Okay, do you- do you want me to get you off, or do you want to keep playing?"

Yoongi looks at him like he's insane. "I mean... Preferably both, Minnie."

After the moment of scare, it takes surprisingly little time before that thrum of arousal is dialed up again, and Jimin smirks, running his hands up and down Yoongi's inner thighs to watch the way he naturally and obediently parts them for him.

"Do you know what I realised, baby?" Jimin coos, stubbornly avoiding the weeping cock in front of him. Yoongi mutters a weak response. "I realised that so far I've been doing all the work so far, haven't I? That isn't really fair, wouldn't you agree?"

Wary, Yoongi pauses and nods, the blur of tears long since replaced by the haze of arousal, of subspace beginning to creep in once more.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," Jimin drawls, flattening a hand heavy on the soft flesh just above Yoongi's cock, making the man moan and wriggle to escape the pressure. "So I think, if you want to get off, you should put a little work in yourself. Make some effort, baby."

Yoongi takes a few heaving breaths, before slowly, so carefully, lowering his hand down to wrap around the base of his cock, immediately groaning at the touch. He's leaked so much precum that it takes a single shaky stroke to coat the sensitive skin, and a relieved smile spreads over his face at the thought that he's finally going to get off.

But where's the fun in that?

"Don't you think you're being a little selfish?" Jimin spits stiffly, and flicks once at the very tip of Yoongi's dick.

His husband practically howls, curling up with a depraved cry. "Wha-at?" he sobs, hand trembling as it hovers on his thigh, fighting his desire. "What do you want, Minnie?"

"How sweet of you to ask," Jimin praises in a sugar-sweet voice, reaching down to unzip his own jeans. "Those hands are big enough to fit the both of us, aren't they?"

Blearily, Yoongi looks down as Jimin slips his aching cock out from his pants, fitting himself between Yoongi's spread legs so that their bobbing lengths bump together.

Even that contact is enough to make Yoongi hiss, but he's desperate and so he nods quickly, fingers trembling as they grab Jimin's cock, pinning them together in his grip. He pauses, panting as he stares up at Jimin for permission.

Jimin smiles placidly, bending forward to press a single chaste kiss to his husband's lips. "I don't want you cumming before I do, okay?" he asks sweetly, though the threat is thinly veiled.

Using the strength of his abdomen to lift his upper half off the desk, Yoongi stabilises himself with an elbow while his other hand jerks the two of them off together, thumb running over the sensitive heads, paying extra attention to Jimin's.

"That's it," Jimin groans, biting hard on his tongue. Truth be told, it was hard enough for him to hold back, feeling threads of an orgasm already knitting together in his stomach. But he's not willing to let go of the pretty sight of Yoongi just yet, so debauched and far gone as he shivers with every stroke, torn between making Jimin cum and preventing his own climax.

After mere minutes, Yoongi has collapsed back onto the desk, ankles curled around Jimin's back to hold him close, hand shaking violently.

"Please," he begs occasionally, but the moment his hand slows down to give himself a break, Jimin pinches his inner thigh in warning. They both knew marks there were allowed.

It's not until Yoongi is quite literally biting down on his own knuckles to hold back an orgasm that Jimin can't keep himself from cumming anymore.

Greedily, he runs his hands over Yoongi's sides, skimming the shirt up to put his chest on display, flicking at the delicate pink nipples. Jimin cums so hard he almost buckles forward onto Yoongi, spurting white all over Yoongi's hand and cock.

He holds himself up shakily, spouting praises to Yoongi as the wave of pleasure rushes through him, making his toes tingle and his fingers curl, scratches down Yoongi's chest and stomach.

"Oh, god, I'm gonna- Mi-Minnie, can I cum, oh fuh-fuck, no!"

One last liberty taken in his time as Yoongi's dom, Jimin pulls himself away, pinning Yoongi's wrists to the table and watching as his cock, dripping white, bobs desperately in the air, seeking friction.

Yoongi babbles pleas and curses, hips jerking, but it only takes Jimin leaning down, blowing a single thin stream of cool air over Yoongi's cock for Yoongi's thighs to tense. He cums, untouched, shuddering and seizing on the table as Jimin takes mercy and wraps his hand around him to stroke him through it.

"Look at you," Jimin croons in wonder, watching cum spill between his fingers, the two of them mixed together indistinguishably. "Baby, you look perfect like this. Please tell me you want to do that again."

Yoongi makes a strangled, guttural noise as he goes limp on the table, legs dangling off the edge. "Fuck, not right away, you demon," he protests grumpily, "now come kiss me again."

With a fond beam, heart so full with love and post-orgasm endorphins that he can barely handle it, Jimin tugs him up by his forearms and joins their mouths together, Yoongi's one dry hand tangling in his hair as he smiles into the kiss.

It takes only a few moments, however, for the sticky reality to sink in, and soon enough Yoongi is parting, letting his forehead rest against Jimin's. "I don't suppose there are any wet wipes in here?" he ventures.

Jimin chuckles, leaning back. "Cleaning materials in the desk drawers," he divulges.

With crazy sex hair and wide eyes, Yoongi makes quite the picture. "Fuck, I love this place. Let's try the interrogation one next time, yeah?"

[seongwhy]

ateez if a curvier girl liked them

disclaimer!! i am 100% sure these boys would like you for you and not for how many curves you have. you are beautiful no matter what !!! as a curvier girl myself, writing this made me happy hehe

seonghwa

let’s be honest. seonghwa loves curvy girls

i mean he loves all girls, but smth abt a curvy lady gets him going

so imagine his face when a curvy girl likes him !!!!!

you’d tell him “seonghwa... u kinda cute doe” and he’d be like😳😃

he’s had his eye on you for a while

he jus luvs your personality and your humour

and your curves

tbh he’s snuck a glance every now and then

you’d bend down to grab the tv remote and suddenly he’s blushing and thinking of everything he’d do to u omg

or you’d wear a crop top and sit down and your belly might show a lil bit and he melts in his seat

all he wants is to feel ur pretty body

but .. unfortunately u didn’t think that he would like you

you thought that he only had his eye out for the slimmer girls, but that was simply not true queen

so it took u a sec to confess your feelings for him

but once you did you were so surprised at his response

“hey seonghwa, i know that you probably don’t think the same but like i rlly think ur cute and funny and pretty and i rlly like u but i know i’m not rlly ur type and like that’s fine-“

“wait!!! u like me”

“i like u too !!!!!!! who tf told u that ur not my type bc i will beat them up ur gorgeous who told u that >:((((“

and u explain to him that it was just ur brain and he says Never to think that about yourself !!!! bc you are beautiful !!!!

and then ur both just uwu in love with each other and he’s in love w ur curves and ur in love with his chicken legs and it’s amazing and wonderful and you’re so happy you said something bc otherwise you wouldn’t have found the love of ur life :’)

hongjoong

hongjoong is Obsessed

obsessed w your thighs and your tummy and your booty

when u tell him u like him he’s not only like “holy shit i like you too” he’s imagining alllllll the things he can do w u and ur curves

when u first start going out and dating and such it’s great it’s amazing he makes you laugh and you feel beautiful bc he makes you feel beautiful

but when you start opening up to him about your insecurities you thought things would change

but they didn’t !!!!!!!! he started loving u harder

and every day since that first time you cried in his arms he tells you you’re beautiful

“hi honey u look gorgeous”

“baby !!!!! i love that dress on you”

“hey bb, since i can’t see you today i’m just letting u know that you’re beautiful !! and i love and miss you !!!!”

“there’s my fav tummy!!”

he will not Stop telling you how beautiful u are you’re not complaining

he thinks ur a queen and he treats you like one

he loves all of you. all the cellulite and all the curves and all dimples

and he’s not shy abt it either ;)

yunho

ok listen up sweeties

yunho doesn’t rlly pay attention to figure

i mean ofc he LOves your body and he thinks you’re beautiful

but he would not like you if not for your personality

which is absolutely amazing

and so he doesn’t rlly understand when you tell him that you don’t wanna eat that ice cream or the pizza

he thinks you’re beautiful (bc you are) so why don’t u think you’re beautiful too ??????

why won’t u eat w him ????

why wont you take ur shirt off in front of him ???

so one day he brings u mcdonald’s and a shamrock milkshake yummy!!!!

and he sits down w u and watches you try and do everything but eat

so he stops u and looks at u and tells u everything you’ve ever wanted to hear

“babe plz eat in front of me... i think your body is beautiful and i think you’re beautiful and i would not buy u food if i didn’t think so”

and u know this is true bc yunho loves his food and his own shamrock shakes

so u smile at him and lay in his arms and u eat that damn burger!!!!!!

he makes all your insecurities go away

he loves u so much u literally can’t breathe

he’s always hugging you and feeling you up and wrapping his huge arms around u

and he makes u so comfy with yourself

and you love him

and he loves u

yeosang

ok yeosang loves u

and u know it he lowkey highkey makes it obvious

everytime you walk in he either 1) gets all blushy and stops talking mid sentence

“dude!!! stop destroying my fucking hous- uh uh h-hi y/ n”

i don’t actually know what they do in fortnite but if u do and this is wrong just imagine minecraft instead

or 2) he tries to be all tuff and show off

“oh hey y/n” he says as he casually rolls up his sleeve and stretches

but what he Doesn’t know is that u like him too!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he thinks ur waaaaaay our of his league

i mean just take a look at u!!! ur thighs ur belly ur boobiez

p e r f e c t i o n

but one day he accidentally walks in on you and seonghwa talking (he thinks u like seonghwa)

and he hears u like “idk seong he’s really cute and so nice to me and such an angel... also have u seen dem arms doe !!”

and What The Heck

yeosang cannot believe it

u???? the girl of his DREAm s ??? likes HIM ???

and what do u know when he hears that he suddenly can’t keep his balance and trips right over

over what exactly ?? his dignity

and he falls right in front of u and seonghwa

seonghwa just snickers and laughs and leave the room

yeosang just stares at u for a moment before getting up and just staring at u some more

“uh yeosang?? u good”

���h a hah yeah .. i’m good”

“ok. did u hear the part where i said i think you’re cute”

“. yes i did y-es”

“ok. do u like me too”

“uh y-yeah i uh yes”

“ok. get over here dummy”

“👁👄👁”

san

ok we all know san

this weirdo

this secs ee mf that gives zero fucks

haha mmmm

^^^^ that’s what he’s like every time u walk by

idk it’s getting late i’m tired plz don’t judge

when he sees u he’s all like hehehbajsbs ajdosndbdniejn ùwú

but externally he’s like heh he h wassup

and he makes hand gestures at u like outlining ur curvy body

and winking at u

and let’s be honest he may or may not have slapped dat ass a few times

and even though it’s kinda nasty u kinda like it

u know he means well and it’s just one way he shows his love and appreciation for u

and he wouldn’t do it if you told him no !!! consent is key

and u consent bc u like the way he gets slightly flustered everytime he does it

eventually u have to give in one day bc he’s been teasing you long enough

so one day ur walking by him and he smacks ur dump truck and u spin around and grab his arm and pull him up to ur chest

and he’s like HUH

and ur like hi sannie

and he’s like “h-hi”

AND THEN U KISS HIM

AND HE LOVES IT

and he’s feeling u up and he sits you down and pulls him into his lap

and ur scared that ur too much for that

so when u start pulling away he’s like “NO I LIKE U HERE STAY U LOOK SO ORETTY SITTING ON ME”

and u giggle and stay

and then more kissing and cuddling and loving

and he makes u laugh and feel good

and u make him happy and so excited all the time

and it’s sooo good omg he luvs allllll of u so much

mingi

i may have a soft spot for this man

he’s jus so weird and funky

but he’s so cute like idk

don’t tell seonghwa

ANYWAY

those are your exact thoughts abt him too

your relationship was always like....there was tension there

ofc u always thought abt him

and he always thought abt u

u lived in his head rent free

ur curves and dimples and amazing bodyodyody

accompanied w ur amazing personality!!! what could he not love

so when u became friends he was already obsessed w u

he’s always whiny and needy for ur attention

when the boys are there he’s like “😎😈💪🦵”

BUT WHEN YOURE THERE

he does a full 180

his voice goes from deep and scruffy to all soft

the boys clown him for it

but he doesn’t care

he sends u memes all the time

he texts you every day

at first it was an occasional hey wsp and now it’s like “good morning!! how’d u sleep” “hey bb girl wanna go get boba” “u looked rlly good today”

it makes ur heart flutter

and when he started calling u baby girl in PERSON

U DIED

and tbh he didn’t mean to say it the first time it just slipped out BUT he loved the way it made u blush and look down and cross your legs a lil

so he just couldn’t stop saying it

eventually the reaction u had went down a lil bc u got used to it

and that was when he decided he needed to do more

so eventually he got up the courage on a boba date to stop u and sit u down on a bench

and when u were like yes what is it mango

it took him a sec bc u looked so PRETTY in your dress

your thighs crossed and the way your boobies sat in it

he couldn’t help but stare (respectfully)

and u were like HELLo

and he cleared his throat and was like “ur really pretty”

and u blushed and covered yourself w ur arms

and he was like No >:( ur gorgeous and took your hands in his

and kissed them and kissed your arm all the way up to ur face

and he kissed your cheeks and was like these cheeks are so cute

and kissed ur nose and was like i love your nose

and then ur lips

and he didn’t have to say anything for you to know he loved your lips just as much as he loved your everything else

wooyoung

okay if i thought hongjoong was obsessed .

wooyoung is a whole other story

as soon as u step into the room ur the only one that matters

he would stop answering the boys

he would only be looking at you

trying his best to make u laugh it works

bc he loves the way your face lights up when u smile

and how your body shakes when u laugh

and he loves talking to u

abt anything and everything

so he becomes your very best friend

and when u get comfortable to share your insecurities with him he gets so sad and mad

he gets so ANGERY

he’s like WHO SAID THAT WHY WOULD U THINK THAT U ARE AMAZING AND BEAUTIFUL AND AKSJDJAJFJAKL

and one day ur ranting to him about something SOME DUMB ASS BOY said to u in class

AND HES LIKE I WILL BEAT HIM UP NO ONE TALKS TO MY BABY LIKE THAT

and ur like 😳 “y-your baby?”

and he’s like oh fuck fuck fuck fuck

he starts to apologize and ramble

and u just giggle

he’s like ??????

and ur like “i’ll be your baby wooyoungie”

“if you’ll be mine too”

AND HE CANNOT BELIEVE

he runs up to u and picks u up and spins u around and he kisses u and he’s like MY BABY

“dats ma baby and aint nobody finna touch em”

^^ that’s what he’s like w u

and he’s so happy youre his and he’s yours

cuz now he gets all your curves to himself hehehehehehehehehe

jongho

jongho is such a softie

especially for u

he melts everytime he sees your soft skin and your pretty face

he tries really hard to be all tuff around u

but it never pans out

bc he’s so in luv w how pretty you are

in his mind u are the most perfect person ever

he lets u vent to him abt anything

he likes to talk to u abt everything

deep or not

and one day you’re like “hey jongho, i’ve never heard u talk abt a girl before”

and he goes all blushy and is like ha ha i uh i guess u haven’t

and u ask if he has a crush

and he goes even redder

and ur like “U DO OMG TELL KE ABT HER”

sooooo he does

“well she really pretty and has such a kind heart and beautiful eyes and an amazing smile and the prettiest curves i’ve been talking to her for a while and she makes me so happy”

“she’s so gorgeous but she doesn’t think so and it makes me really angry i just wanna tell her she’s beautiful”

and ur like “awww just tell her then! she’ll love hearing that from you” oblivious mf

so jongho sits up straight and looks u right in the eyes and says “ok then. you’re beautiful y/n”

you’re eyes go wide and u open ur mouth to say smth but nothing comes out

so u just hug him

and he wraps his arms around u and says “it’s true, you’re so beautiful”

and u just hug him tighter

and the night is perfect :,)

and he’s perfect

and he’s so grateful u asked him that question

[mypimpademia]

Hi how are you😁? Hope you doing alright. So I saw you reblogged that incident with Ochako sacrificing her friend for the D. That she’s not getting btw😅. Can I request instead of Asui, it was actually YOU in her place, and can you write what you would do in that situation plz? Personally, I would’ve embarrassed her in front of Deku😂. If you know what I mean👊🏾😈.

Izuku x reader (im guessing that's what you wanted?)

TW: Swearing, whooping brokechakos ass

Note: im doing good. And you aint lie bc its gon be a min till she bag deku fr. I woulda beat her ass if I were in Asuis place

ochako stans... don't come for me, its a joke

What the hell just happened?

You were currently in survival training, and got grouped up with Izuku and Uraraka. It was all going fine till the floor suddenly fell through.

You were the first to fall, while the other two sat there and watched. Izuku at least blocked some of the pillars from toppling over to the point where you'd be in serious danger, but Uraraka did absolutely nothing.

You weren't exactly friends with her, more like acquaintances. And you didn't mind being grouped up with her as she was actually helpful, and cooperative.

That is... if you weren't with Izuku.

Because in cases like now, Izuku is all she focuses on. And you usually let it slide because it didn't always get in the way, and if it did itd be extremely minor. But today was too much for you, you started off with a horid morning, and now your teammate almost got you killed because she was preoccupied with a guy?

You watch them land safely, and blinded by anger, you began climbing the rubble.

"Wait, where's Y/n?!" Izuku shouted, as you finally reached the top of the rock pile that damn near crushed you.

"URARAKA!" You barked, making her turn around swiftly.

"Y/n! You're okay!" She explained. "Yeah, no thanks to you. You watched me fall." You told her.

"B-but Deku needed me-" She tried saying. But you, being fed up, and angry that she basically left you for dead, landed a hard slap across face, sending her bright pink visor flying.

"W-woah, calm down Y/n." Izuku tried to grab your arm, but you moved out of his range, and grabbed the front of Urarakas costume.

"'Deku this, and Deku that-'" You mocked her. "I almost DIED you airhead!"

"'Deku needed me-'. Izuku seemed perfectly fine handling himself while you stood there and did NOTHING." You landed a punch to her face, making yelp in pain, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

At this point, all Izuku could do was sit a watch. Because you did have a point. Uraraka really didn't help him, besides the landing, which he could've done without her help.

"Is that all thats on your brain 24/7?! Its like you go brain dead at the thought of him! And all over a guy that hasn't even gone into the crush stage with you after you've liked him for months-" You were only at the start of telling Uraraka off, before Izuku cut you off.

As much as he knew you needed to tell her off to let the steam loose, you needed to keep going.

He grabbed your waist, pulling you away from Uraraka and into him. "Y/n, I understand that you're mad, but we should really keep going. You can let off some steam later." He told you, giving Uraraka a small glare.

Embarrassed, she looked away and bent down to grab her now cracked visor.

For the rest of training, you and Izuku stayed close, meanwhile Uraraka kept her distance, especially from you.

BONUS

Izuku told you he was going to study with Uraraka, but you decided to stop by a little before.

You casually walked in to the All Might decked out room, as he left it unlocked for you.

"Hey, Y/n." Izuku cheered looking up from his phone. "Hey, Izu, what are you doing?" You asked him, as he got up and pulled you into a hug.

"I was just waiting for you. How are you feeling, you know... after earlier?" He asked, concern painting his features.

"I'm fine, thankfully. I still wanna kick Urarakas ass though." You told him. He stiffled a chuckle.

"Please, don't get suspended." He playfully begged. "Well, how else am I supposed to "let off some steam"?" You asked, repeating his words from Earlier.

Izukus face tinted red, and he looked away from you as he took a step towards you.

"Well... I cant think of too much off the top of my head, but I can think of one thing." He mumbled. You hummed, as if asking him what he meant.

He kissed you softly, pulling you into him.

As you began kissing him back, and melted into him, you heard the door creak open.

"Hey, Izuku-" Urarakas gleeful voice rang through the room, stopping immediately as she saw you and Izuku. Her eyes glazed over, and a moment later, she excused herself.

"I- I'm sorry!" She yelled, quickly shutting the door, her quick footsteps being heard going down the hall.

"Should be..." Izuku mumbled against your cheek, before focusing his attention back onto you.

[trashinaglass-archive]

Sensitive

Y/n is worried their night was ruined

A/n: I was reading a Bucky fic that I cannot find again of course that kind of inspired this? It was about Bucky taking reader to dinner and then getting upset bc she flirted with the waiter so he revenge flirted with a waitress. Idk it was messy but somewhere along the way came this. 

Family was the top priority in Chris’s life. But as much as he wanted to be, he wasn’t around his family near as much as he wished he could be. Filming kept him busy, and even when he could be home, it was difficult to find time where everyone could come together. It made you feel bad, whenever he couldn’t see his family, or they were there with some missing pieces.

Over the fall break, you wanted to have everyone show up, surprise Chris, and have a fun family reunion- something that has been long overdue. You spent months planning and prepping, and tonight was finally the night. The afternoon was spent making calls, positive that everyone was ready and at the restaurant when you showed up.

“What kind of restaurant is this?” Chris asked as he walked into the master bathroom. You were finishing up your makeup when he walked in, still in your favorite pajamas, waiting until right before you left to change. “I mean are we talking formal, casual? You going in that?”

You look up, making eye contact with him though the mirror, and roll your eyes as a small smile rose on your face. “I’ll wear mine if you wear yours,” you tease before changing to a more serious answer. “I’d say it’s a bit in between? I don’t think a suit is expected, but if you wore one, it wouldn’t be questioned.”

Chris looked thoughtful for a second before nodding his head. “I think I got it,” he said before turning and walking into the closet. You finished your makeup and made your way to the closet as well, moving to your side knowing exactly what you wanted to wear for the evening. It was your absolute favorite outfit that didn’t get worn often, but each time it was, you couldn’t get enough of it. “You look gorgeous,” Chris said, watching as you stand in front of the mirror.

You smile, moving to where he stood as his arms wrapped around your waist. “Thank you,” you whisper as you look down, you hands moving up his clothed chest. “This was a good choice, I like it.”

“Gotta keep up you somehow,” he joked. “Let’s go.” He held his hand out, allowing you to walk ahead of him. You checked your phone, noticing a text notification.

Scottie: If you’re not here in 3, I’m ordering without you❤️

You couldn’t help but laugh causing Chris to ask who text.

“My brother,” you told him, shaking your head. “He’s just an idiot.”

. . .

The drive to the restaurant was short, Chris ironically talking about something his sister said that was really funny. It made the excitement build even more, knowing how happy he would be once he saw everyone.

“Reservation for Evans,” he told the hostess once you were inside. She nodded, talking into her head piece before instructing you to follow her. Chris’s hand was on your back as the girl lead you to a private dining room.

“Surprise,” you whisper to him right before you get to the door. You heard Chris mutter a confused what as you quickly enter the private room, smiling to the Evans family before moving out of the way for Chris to enter.

“Surprise!” They all shout in unison, Chris jumping slightly before yelling back holy shit in excitement, immediately moving to hug his mom first. You smile, accepting hugs from everyone as well before finally getting seated. The waiter brought the menus out, now that everyone was finally present, and took drink orders. You sat back, watching as Chris and his dad spoke of some football stats they were obviously pumped for. The waiter came back shortly with trays full of drinks. You weren’t paying attention as he made his way to you, but you felt the cold liquid as it fell down your front. You saw the five or six empty cups on the floor after the waiter tripped over the rug. Chris immediately handed you his napkin, trying to help as best he could.

“I am so sorry!” The waitor exclaimed immediately, looking at you with concern. You were so shocked, you didn’t know what to say.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about,” you tell him, almost as if it were scripted. You felt as if you couldn’t look up from your top. “I’m gonna go to the restroom,” you announce standing from the chair.

“I’ll go with you,” his sister offered, beginning to stand as well.

“No,” you declined. “Don’t worry about. It’s fine, I’ll be right back.” You turn, asking where the restroom was before walking out the door, out of sight.

“There’s a sweater in the car,” Chris told them. “I’ll go get that for her.” He stood and walked out as well, moving as fast as he could without causing a scene to unknowing guests.

“I feel so bad for her,” Scott said, looking at his mother.

“I’m gonna go check on her, see if I can help,” Carly stood up. She maneuvered her way through the restaurant to the bathroom. She found you standing in front of the sink, using paper towels to get as much of the moister out of the fabric as possible. A single sniff grabbed her attention. “You okay?” She asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you answered, but you couldn’t help the subtle shake to your voice. “I’m fine.” The presence of another person strangely making the tears come faster.

“Why are you crying? It’s okay.”

“I just.. I really just need a second to myself,” you tell her honestly. “I don’t want to be rude, but-“

“No, I get it. I’ll go,” she reassured you. “But I just wanted to let you know Chris went to grab you something else to change into.”

She turned, leaving you behind the door but bumping into Chris soon after. “Hey, can you take this to y/n?” He asked, not wanting to barge into the ladies room.

“No,” she answered honestly. Chris was taken aback, never expecting to hear it. She looked back at the door before speaking again. “She’s crying. I don’t know if she’s embarrassed or what happened, but she said she wanted to be by herself. You should probably be the one.”

“She’s crying?” He repeated, as if he didn’t hear his sister correctly. She nodded her head. “Ok, give us a second.” Without waiting for a reply, Chris walked past her, moving to the bathroom door. He gently knocked before peaking his head in.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He asked as he entered, knowing the cheesy lines always make you laugh. Usually. You didn’t even look up. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, not even wanting to talk about it. Chris placed a hand on your waist, waiting for you to say anything. “I feel like I ruined it,” you admitted to him, your voice barely over a whisper.

“Baby,” he sighed, completely shocked by your answer. “You didn’t ruin anything. None of this was your fault, it was just an accident. You could never have predicted something like that.”

You sniffle, catching your breathe. “I just wanted you to have a fun night with them, and not worry about me getting in the way.”

“Y/n, you are the absolute best women in the world. Doing this was incredible in itself, but this is a family. Mistakes happen all the time, especially when we’re all together. It easily could’ve been me or Scott. Preferably Scott, actually, that would’ve been a great laugh.” You finally turn your head to look at him, silently agreeing with his subtle joke. “The night was not ruined. One day we’re all going to look back; we’ll remember the fond memories, we’ll laugh about that clumsy waiter, and then we’ll smile thinking of how you made this all possible. You made this night, baby. Not the other way around.”

He reached up, gently wiping a tear from your face. He pressed gentle kisses all over your face, making you scrunch your nose, before capturing your lips with his. “I love you,” you declare, finding your voice.

“And I love you,” he repeated, placing one last kiss before turning his attention to the sweater slung over his shoulder. “Here- I grabbed this. Can’t have you uncomfortable at your own dinner party.” You tossed your top to the side, letting Chris help slide the bigger one over your torso. The warmth so inviting after being in a wet one for so long. “We can head back whenever you’re ready.”

You sighed, almost not wanting to face your in-laws again after being so dramatic, but you knew you had to. Grabbing one last paper towel, you clean yourself up. No traces of smeared makeup left on your face. You threw it away, and immediately walked into Chris’s arms for a hug. “Thank you.”

He smiled, wrapping his arms around you, rubbing your back soothingly. “It’s what I’m here for.” You pulled away, turning to grab your shirt only for Chris to take it from you, silently offering to carry it. You got back to the table, noticing two small glasses filled with clear liquid in front of your seat.

“Shots on me,” Scott announced when he saw you. “Figured you could use some alcohol after that.”

You laughed, appreciating his humor in the moment. “You know me too well,” you reply as you sit down. Picking up the first glass, you all cheers before downing the liquor, one right after the other. You notice the same waiter walk back in, this time with food. He made sure to be extra careful of where he was stepping this time. He stopped to let you know that he would bring you any dessert you wanted, on the house, for his mistake. You thanked him and watched as he exited the room, his right side bumping into the doorframe slightly, making him stumble.

“What a klutz.”

. . .

we’re leaving that last comment up for debate on who said it.