#curled up under my weighted blanket. homesick

[neon-angels-system]

I'm having a Moment, huh?

[onlydreamofmysoul]

Hi so I saw that requests are still open but still feel free to delete this I was just thinking some hurt/comfort for finn or just straight(no pun intended) up angst because I can’t seem to find any since us in fics I read when Leo or Logan is sad finn is always comforting them? Idk if that made sense so

Hiya! The ratio of hurt/comfort for the cubs is definitely uneven! I hope this is a little bit like what you're looking for!

Characters by @lumosinlove

“Hey Finn,” Leo called from the kitchen as he rooted around in the kitchen drawers. “Have you seen my bookmark? You know the one with the little green tassel?” He fished through the junk drawer, a part of him wondering where the hell they had accumulated all this random stuff from. So far he had come across three golf tees (how did they get there? None of them had ever played golf), four broken pencils and at least six loose key rings, with no actual keys amongst a host of other things.

“I could’ve sworn I saw it here yesterday.” He mumbled as he closed the drawer. “Are you sure you haven’t seen it?”

When no response came, Leo frowned, walking down the corridor to their bedroom. “Finn? You there?” He popped his head round the door of their room, finding Finn staring at his phone, seemingly lost in a daze.

“Finn babe, you alright?”

Finn blinked, looking up, a weak smile on his lips. “Yeah, yeah all good.”

For all intents and purposes, Finn seemed alright. He looked fine, he sounded fine but… Leo could sense that all was not right in Whoville.

“Alright,” He said, toeing off his shoes and jumping onto the bed. “What’s up?”

Finn didn’t turn his head to look at him, instead straining his eyes to gaze down at Leo. “Nothing’s up my dude.”

“My dude,” Leo teased. “Wow, are we bros now? Cause like, that’s cool, but will we have to say ‘no homo’ whenever I suck your dick now or is there some other kind of system we have to work out mmh-”

Leo was cut off, laughing when Finn’s palm covered his mouth. Leo just licked Finn’s hand, the redhead releasing him in favour of wiping Leo's spit off his palm.

“I can’t believe you just did that.” Finn said, finally smiling for real, even as he shook his head in disbelief. “I think the last time someone did that to me, it was Alex and I was twelve.”

Leo just shrugged. “What can I say, I’m young at heart.”

Finn didn’t reply, and Leo waited a few beats to see if he would say anything. Sometimes Finn just needed a moment to gather his thoughts. This however, would turn out to not be one of those times, Finn appeared to be doing his best Kasey impression and staying silent.”

“So are you gonna tell me what’s up or do you wanna just chill quietly?”

Finn shrugged. “It’s dumb.”

Leo quirked an eyebrow. “Nah.”

Finn bit down a smile. “Nah? That’s all you’re gonna say? No convincing me that it’s definitely not dumb?”

Leo shrugged. “Hey, I don’t know what it is, for all I know, it could be dumb.” He bumped their shoulders together playfully before resting his head on Finn’s shoulder. “Doesn’t mean it can’t be important too though.”

Finn sighed, and Leo sensed that he maybe did want to talk about, but hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

“Alright, up you get,” He said, ushering Finn off the bed, “Under the covers, let’s go.”

Finn looked at Leo like he was crazy, even as he climbed under the sheets, the blanket of white creating their own tiny universe where nothing else mattered but them.

(Well, them and Logan but he wasn’t here right now).

“What is it exactly that we’re doing?” Finn asked sceptically, even though he seemed notably more relaxed.

“It’s safe under the covers.” Leo explained, tapping Finn’s shin before hooking their ankles together. “Duh.”

“My boyfriend, so good with words.” Finn drawled and Leo smirked. “Yup, that’s me.”

He let his face soften as he brushed a stray curl out of Finn’s eye. “So what’s the matter sweetheart?”

Finn pursed his lips. “It really is dumb, like, it’s not a big deal.”

Leo didn’t say anything, just blinked and let Finn continue at his own pace.

Finn shrugged, looking at his hands. “I miss home I guess. I fucking love my life here, so much, like you know I do, right?”

“I know,” Leo murmured.

“And I really really do. I just, I don’t know, I miss my mom’s singing even though she’s got a terrible voice and I miss my dad talking a little too loudly and I miss Alex giving me shit for leaving my socks in the living room.”

“It is annoying when you do that.” Leo agreed.

“It just feels a bit ridiculous to be sad because I’m a little homesick when I have the best life I ever could have imagined.”

Leo shook his head. “That’s not dumb.”

Finn smiled a little, finally meeting his eyes. “Oh yeah? You sure ‘bout that?”

A huff of a laugh burst from Leo’s lips, simultaneously rolling his eyes. “I miss home too sometimes. And Logan does too. I know a bunch of the other guys would agree.”

Finn pursed his lips. “Yeah? I dunno, I guess I was just worried you would think I didn’t like my life here.”

Leo deadpanned Finn right in the eye. “Finn sweetheart, you say the phrase ‘I love my life’ so often that we got it printed on a t-shirt for your birthday.”

Finn laughed, ducking his face into the curve of Leo’s neck. “I love that t-shirt.”

Leo smiled, pressing a kiss to Finn’s curls. “You know, we don’t have enough time off to go to New York, but we could definitely have your parents come stay with us for a few days if you wanted.”

Finn looked up at him, brown eyes wide and hopeful. “Yeah? You think Lo would be okay with that?”

Leo laughed, and kissed Finn soundly. “Finn babe, I think Lo loves them more than you do.”

“Who do I love more?” A voice called from the doorway and before either Leo or Finn could move, a heavy weight settled on top of them. “Wait, where’s the top?” They heard Logan mumble as he searched for the opening of the sheets before pulling them back and sinking into bed between them, the covers pulled back over their heads quickly.

“Salut,” Logan grinned, giving them both a quick kiss before nestling into Finn’s arms. “It’s warm in here, we should do this all the time.”

Finn and Leo shared an amused look over the top of his head.

“We were thinking of asking Finn’s parents to come stay for a few days.” Leo said and Logan nodded.

��Ouais, yes we should definitely do that. I need me some Mrs O’Hara time.”

Finn chuckled and Leo grinned, catching Finn’s hand and squeezing it gently.

“Cool, then that’s what we’ll do.”

(And they did).

[thebloker]

jonnit + 12!

12. Far From Home by Gus Leifeld

This one’s on my Jonnit playlist!! Anddd it’s sad

The night sky is painted in streaks of color, deep blues and purples with turquoise highlights. Profound darkness peaks through the thinner brushstrokes, the white pinpricks of stars only emphasizing how empty the rest of the sky is around them.

Jonnit is lying on his back in the broken waist of the figurehead. He’s made something of a nest here the past few days, wrapped in blankets in the shelter of the bow. His eyes are tilted towards the ether but somehow focused beyond it. He tightens his grip where he holds the blanket around his shoulders, and wishes more than anything that it was a hug.

He doesn’t really care who from; or maybe that’s a lie. His father’s hugs were an all-encompassing thing, a halo of warmth that swept him up and spun him around until he’s breathless with giggles. Zana’s hugs were always spiced with a smug chin on top of his head, sprinkled with laughter when he’d playfully push her off. Dref’s hugs were… well. Dref didn’t give hugs often, and that was never more obvious than when you were in the middle of one. Gable’s hugs are like hugging a furnace, cozy and warm initially but uncomfortably hot to stay in. Travis doesn’t do hugs. Anyways, none of those people are here now with him.

Jonnit grabs another blanket, a heavy wool that weighs him down into the carved wood of his chosen hiding spot.

Dref was always the first person he’d go to when he was feeling homesick, but that’s not an option anymore. Gable still feels unapproachable, closing themself off in their grief. Travis is acting like normal, which is almost worse.

The weight of the events of Burza Nyth, processing new grief in the company of immortals— it makes Jonnit feel unbearably lonely. It makes him miss Akaron, the warm fields of grain and distant but kind neighbors.

Did he make a mistake, leaving that behind? He knows he’s meant for greatness. He thought he had to leave home to make that happen. But ever since he left he’s been met with one life-threatening situation after another.

Jonnit closes his eyes to the sky with a shaky exhale. He listens to the thump of his heart, feels it resonate through his chest and echo in his ears. His throat tightens and he screws up his face as he tries to keep from crying. Jonnit stubbornly keeps his breathing even.

In his focus, his third eye opens. It reveals the older version of himself, the captain he knows he’ll be someday. Here and now, experiencing it himself, Jonnit can see the shroud of grief he wears around his shoulders. It falls down his back, hazy half-shaped shifting memories in heavy gray and black and blue.

The man he’ll be someday turns, his mantle drifting around him like it’s being tugged by a current. He crouches over Jonnit, puts a hand on his chest that carries no weight but warms him like faintly glowing coal. “I won’t say it gets easier,” his future phantom whispers, and the sound isn’t in Jonnit’s ears but in his head. “But it doesn’t end us either. This path is hard, but you aren’t wrong in choosing it.”

“Is it always lonely?” Jonnit whispers to the empty night, his words too quiet for anyone but him and the wind to hear.

His future smiles in sad sympathy. “Not always. Don’t let it be always.”

Jonnit opens his eyes to the empty figurehead, to the dark dancing colored sky. He pushes himself into a sitting position, and slowly climbs his way onto the main deck before heading to the medbay.

He lights a lantern to leave on Dref’s desk, a memory and a small comfort provided by the glow. He pulls a journal and some quills onto the too-tidy surface, so if he wakes up he can pretend Dref left the mess to attend to other duties. Jonnit slumps on one of the cots, turns his back to the lantern, and curls his knees to his chest before closing his eyes.

He half-wakes, briefly, to the warm-staccato of a rabbit’s heartbeat. Travis settles under Jonnit’s arm, against his chest, and it’s not a hug. But it’s something. Jonnit slowly strokes Travis’ soft fur until he falls into dreamless sleep once more.

[secondhand-trash]

Party Night Fever

commissioned by @lyndoll​

A/N: I haven’t written anything for Mirio in god knows how long so I was a bit anxious about how this would turn out ahaha thank you lyn for commissioning me!^^

Pairing: frat boy!Togata Mirio x reader

Description: You got more out of a party you dreaded than you thought you would.

Warning: drunk creep side character, first time!reader, oral (receiving), fingering, protected sex, vaginal penetration

Word count: 4209

-

Flashing lights beamed through the large house and the heavy base of the blazing speakers pounded on your eardrum. Hollers of people could be heard every once in a while and the lingering smell of smoke made you scrounge your face up into a scowl at the pungent smell.

You had come at the insisting of your friends that your college experience would not be complete without partying till daybreak in a frat house at least once. You tried to argue that there was something missing in that logic but lost your footing at their promise that if you went this time and didn’t like it, they would never bring it up again. 

You stuck to the side of your more outgoing friends with all your might at first but as the night progresses, you decided that finding a quiet corner to stay in was much nicer than trying to act like you were enjoying yourself when your friends greeted each person you had no idea how they knew with a squeal and lingering hug that eventually evolved into them sliding into the crowd of people that were dancing to whatever music it was playing far too loudly for your liking.

You took in a deep breath, trying to calm down the discomfort in your stomach. The red plastic cup was nearly cramped up within your tight grip, and you lifted it to your lips before pouring all of the remaining liquid down your throat. It was water, instead of vodka like most people would have expected when they saw clear liquid pooling at the bottom of a red cup, and you knew you probably wouldn’t blend it all that well when you saw the face the self-assigned bartender made when you timidly asked for water in the pantry.

It did not take an observant person to know that you were not having the time of your life as you tried your best to hide in the corner of the living room amidst the wild party that was going on.

You felt smaller and smaller as each minute passed, the anxiety of being the odd one out as people passed by you with a glance built up in your chest and suffocating you. You searched for your friends to see if they were anywhere near to no avail and as the music faded out, you quickly made a move to creep out of the house to get some much needed space.

You let out your first sigh of relief of the day when you exited to the lawn outside the large house. The music and lights were shut within, and you finally felt at peace with yourself even though you knew this was just a temporary escape. You could not just leave your friends there, you wouldn’t feel at ease not knowing if they made it back to their dorms safely by the end of the night either.

You shivered a little under the late night breeze, hugging yourself a little as you breathed in the chilly air.

You felt a whole other type of shivers running down your spine when you heard a sickeningly sweet voice, the kind that made your throat ache and your heart weighted down just from hearing it, rang from behind of you.

“What are you doing here all alone, baby girl?”

A pulsing shock sparked through your head down to your system. Your hands felt clammy as you froze there, not able to make the reaction that you had wished you could make.

“Come on? Why the silent treatment?"

An icky feeling rose in your stomach when a lanky arm swung itself over your shoulders. You tried to pull yourself away but it was to no avail. You shifted uncomfortably at how close the strange man was pressing up against you but he seemed to see it as simply you being shy. 

“We could go somewhere private if you don’t like crowds…” You could smell the alcohol lingering in his breath as he slurred, his body slumping against yours but his grip firm on your arm.

Your own limbs felt slack on your sides even though your mind was screaming for you to do something. Scream, push him away, just do something, anything. But your body was not yours as it fell under the panic of this random drunk getting near you and the connotation of what he wanted to do.

"Leave me alone,” your voice came out much weaker than you had hoped it would, and your protest did nothing to shove the creep away.

“Aww…” he only seemed to be entertained by your struggle, his eyes curling into two thin strands as he looked you up and down, “playing hard to get, huh…?”

Your eyes skittered around you as you held your hands in front of your body in defence, hoping and praying that someone would get out and see that you were trying your hardest to squirm away. Your eyes were seeing white as the man showed no intention of backing off, the weight at the back of your throat so heavy that it hurt.

“What do you think you are doing here?”

You sucked in a deep breath when the person suddenly let go of you, trying to steady your breaths that you had been holding in. You pressed your palm to your chest, feeling how rapid the beating underneath was.

Your saviour came in the form of a tall blonde with slicked back hair, his varsity jacket tied up around his waist and hanging low on his jeans. He eyed the man who had been bothering you just seconds earlier, his hands crossing in front of his chest as he glanced at your side.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Who let you in here?”

The drunk was physically intimidated by the much bigger man, letting out a forced chuckle as he took a step back. “Mirio-”

“You know the rules here,” Mirio said, his tone making it clear that he was nothing but serious, “we don’t let harassment slide.”

“Bro, it’s not that serious-”

“Leave,” the man’s exaggerated smile froze in place when Mirio gripped onto his arm, “now.”

He was let go with a shove at his shoulder, throwing down a few mumbled cusses before scurrying away with imbalanced steps. Mirio watched as the man left the lawn, making sure that he had left the venue before turning to your shaking form.

“Hey, hey,” his instinct was to hold onto your shaking hands but paused when he saw how scared you were, slowly retracting his hands when he realised that it was best for him to give you some space, “it’s ok now.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Sh…” he bent down, staring up into your eyes, “don’t apologise. You did nothing wrong.”

He gulped, thinking of what could he possibly say to calm you down.

“What should I call you?” he asked, trying to get the small talk going.

“(y/n) is fine,” you muttered, your voice getting just a little louder under his gentle gaze.

“(y/n),” your own name sounded reassuring coming out of his mouth and he looked down as if that was an important piece of information he needed to process through, “are you here with anyone? Do you want me to get them?”

“No,” you blurted out, “no, it’s alright. I just want to wait for them in somewhere quiet, if that’s alright…”

He stood back up, flashing you a soft smile and you couldn’t help but return the favour. “Of course, follow me.”

You felt your headache returning the moment he pushed the door to the large house open, the music pulsing just as loudly in your ears as before. You felt self-conscious as you walked back in, hoping that no one would notice the clear distress in your eyes or how you try to hold yourself together. Mirio walked in front of you, his arm holding out to make sure the crowd would not bump into you. His eyes glanced back to make sure you were not falling behind. No one seemed to notice you with Mirio’s frame shielding you behind him. 

“Careful,” he said as you reached the staircase that was much dimmer than where the party was going on. You quickly got up the steps, lowering your footsteps as you held tight onto the carved rail.

The corridor was long and narrow and he stopped at the very end of it. He flicked the lights open with a click before moving aside. “You can stay here as long as you want,” he said, gesturing to the room, “I’ll be outside the door if you need me.”

The door closed behind you with a click, and you slide down to the floor with a heavy sigh. You held your head in your heads, shutting your eyes as you tried to calm down the burning wires that made your head spin. You pressed your back against the wooden door, gulping down the bitterness pooling up inside your mouth as you took in your surroundings. 

It was what you would expect from a college frat boy. His bed was undone, the blanket half fell to the floor. There were movie posters stuck on the walls and jerseys hung up on the closet door. You smiled when you saw a yellow bear plushie on the wall shelf above the desk at the corner, the first genuine feeling of glee you experienced for the day.

“Winnie the pooh, huh?” you said, more to yourself than to him. Much to your surprise, a sheepish laugh passed through the door to your ears.

“I’ve had it since I was a kid and I just can’t leave it at home when I left for college,” he said, his voice muffled by the thick door, “I told people that my parents put it in my luggage when I wasn’t paying attention but that’s a lie, I take him here so I have something to hold onto when I feel homesick.”

“Aw,” you grinned at the image of this tall boy who could easily scare people away just by standing there holding onto his teddy bear. He was quite like one himself in a sense, with his bright eyes and warm smile.

“Don’t tell people about it though.”

You laughed, “Your secret is safe with me.”

The room fell into silence again, and you bite your lips as you pondered if you could trust your instincts. 

“Do you want to come in?” you stood up, your hand hovering above the doorknob.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything-”

“It’s alright,” he snapped back at the sound of the door opening, blue eyes widening just a little as he turned around to see you standing there with a smile, “I can trust someone who finds comfort in pooh bear.”

Mirio scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment, walking past you into his room mouthing a soft thank you. He went directly to pick up the blanket on the floor and pacing around checking if there was any mess he needed to clean up. “Sorry for the mess,” he said, pausing when he got to the corner of his room.

He turned around with the biggest smile on his face, hold a rectangular box in his hand. You gasped in disbelief when you saw what he was holding.

“I can understand bringing a plushie,” you said as you got closer to take a better look, “but what would have made you bring Disney DVDs with you?”

“Got a whole box of these at a garage sell for nearly no price at all,” he held his hand up to show you the titles he had in hand, “in my defence, it’s a much better investment than Disney+.”

You snorted, feeling a ping of nostalgia in your chest. “Do you have a player?”

He quirked his eyebrows up, “Are you saying you would be my disney binge partner?”

You chuckled, “Only if you let me pick what we watch first.”

He beamed and you sat down by the foot of his mattress. The mattress sunk down next to you as he sat down, his eyes glimmering like a child as the title card played. He maintained somewhat of a distance from you at first, but you found yourself gravitating towards him more and more as the movie played. How could you not when this tall boy of muscles and limbs hummed and swayed to every song? Eventually, your shoulders were rubbing against each other’s when the training montage played and your head was leaning onto his arm by middle of the movie. You pretended that you weren’t all too endeared when he held his breath in as Mulan was along with the antagonist, or that you were staring at his little smile instead of the tv screen when she made the big reveal that she was a woman like he hadn’t seen this movie an uncountable number of times before.

Should gut feelings be trusted? Because you almost felt safe when he casually draped his arms around you, pulling you close as the end credits rolled. You looked up at him, watching as he let out a satisfied sigh. His biceps flexed against your shoulder as he leaned back, making your face heat up a little.

“I can never get tired of Mulan,” he turned to look at you but paused when he realised how close you two had gotten. You were practically on his lap with your face nuzzled against his neck. He could feel you pressing against his side, the softness made his mind go to all the wrong directions. He gulped, staring into your eyes as he glanced down. Every hair at the back of your neck stood up as you felt the tension lingering in the air, both of you afraid of moving in fear of breaking whatever you had going on.

“Um,” his eyes shifted around, trying hard to look at anything but your lips that was right in front of him, “do you want to watch something else or…”

His face was dangerously closed to yours and you could feel the soft puffs of hot breath fanning against your face as he whispered. In a sudden surge of courage, you did the unthinkable and leaned up to close the gap between the two of you. You backed away immediately, leaving Mirio dumbfounded at the slightest of contact he felt on his lips. He dipped his head down, giving you a much firmer kiss on the lips as he held you close, his other hand resting on the side of your waist. 

You felt clumsy as you tasted the lingering scent of beer on his lips, your mind going hazy at the how soft he was with you. His hand trailed down from your waist to your thigh, pulling you so that you were straddling him for real. He let out a soft whimper at the feeling of your soft legs on his lap, his hand holding you by the small of your back as he never once stopped kissing you. 

He took the gentle tilt of your head as a sign that he was doing the right thing, his plush lips trailing down to your neck. Your heart stammered in your chest as he inched lowered, his thumb hooked under the collar of your shirt and leaving kitten licks on the exposed skin. He paused when his finger brushed past the hem of your shirt, looking up at you like he was waiting for permission. 

You gulped, feeling your stomach twisting into knots from your nerves to anticipation to arousal. You gave him a gentle push on the chest, pulling your shirt over your head as his burning stare grilled onto your skin. Your arms linger in front of your chest, feeling vulnerable now that you were half bare in front of someone as attractive as Mirio was. He sat up, giving you a soft peck before gently holding onto your hand. Goosebumps rose on your skin when he flipped you around so that you had your back on the mattress with him perching on top of you, his lips gracing past your exposed skin as he trailed down the valley of your breasts, pecking every inch of skin he could reach before stopping at your stomach which he nuzzled against.

“Mirio?” you squeaked.

“What is it, sunshine?” 

“I’ve never,” you gulped, feeling the weight in your chest settling in as you contemplated if you should let him know, “done anything like this. Well, not with another person…”

“Oh,” he looked down, his finger tapping a soothing rhythm against your thigh before looking back up, “but do you want to?”

You paused, your mouth feeling a bit dry as you darted your tongue out to wet your bottom lip, “Yes.”

He smiled, placing a soft kiss right above the button of your shorts, “Promise you’ll tell me if you want to stop?”

You chuckled, “Ok.”

His hands were gentle as he pushed down your shorts, guiding you to lift yourself off the mattress for utility. Your breath hitched when he parted your legs, feeling like you wanted to crawl away when he was staring right at your clothed pussy. His touch tickled your skin as he peppered feather light kisses on your inner thigh, his head kneading the doughy flesh encouragingly while inching closer and closer to where you wanted him the most. You let out a soft whine the pad of his finger brushed against the wet spot on your panties before hooking it under his knuckles and pealing it off. He licked his lips when he saw the clear essence that was starting to gather.

Shivers shot down your spine at the first experimental swipe of his tongue against your folds. The feeling was unlike anything you had felt when you were touching yourself, the thought of someone else taking control over your body had your eyes closing in anticipation. He drank in your reaction, getting a little bolder and bolder the more you seemed to enjoy it. His thumb pulled back the hood of your clit, the tip of his tongue tracing the sensitive bud before latching onto it in gentle sucks. Your skin was set ablaze by his miniatures, tickling your senses when he released it with a lewd pop before darting his tongue out to flick against your clit. You moaned under the sudden jolt of pleasure, and you could feel him grinning like he just hit jackpot. He repeated the action again and again, until he trailed his tongue down to part your soppy folds. 

Your mind melted at his kitten licks and your knees went weak when you felt the warm muscle slowly pushing into your cunt. Your hands fisted the sheets underneath you as he slowly pumped his tongue in and out of your tight walls, stretching you out as his thumb rubbed against your engorged clit. His tongue pushed past your insides, reaching as far as he could get before pulling back and repeat. You threw your head back at the new found pleasure, unable to focus on anything but the loud slurping that filled your ears. 

You slammed your head back when he pulled away, replacing it with his ring finger as his lips latched onto your clit again. You felt your muscles spasming as it accommodated the new object, more of your juices gushing out on top of the lubrication from him going down on your earlier making it less difficult for him to push in. He started slow, his eyes never once peeling away from you as he experimented with the pace to see what you like before slowly adding another one of his digits, pausing whenever he saw even a hint of discomfort in your eyes. Your toes curled and uncurled as he slowly scissored his fingers inside of you, prepping you so that you would be ready for what’s to come.

“Mirio,” you panted, “I want you…”

He groaned at your soft pleas, feeling his patience reaching his limits as the dullness in his pants got worse. His fingers were still inside of you as he leaned up and you could taste yourself on his lips. You whined at the emptiness when he pulled out, reaching to the side to fumble through his drawer before pulling out a silver packet. Your hands felt like they weren’t yours when he gently guided them to his belt buckle, your fingers all tangled together as you undid his belt. He pulled his shirt over his head, his toned stomach flexing as be breathed. 

You gulped when he pulled down his pants to free his half hard cock from its restraints. It wasn’t… exactly something you would describe as a work of art but you still felt the slightest bit intimidated by his size. He brought your hand up to his abdomen, giving you an encouraging nod as your hand wandered down. His length was hot when you wrapped your hand around its crown, and you could hear the pounding in your chest as it filled. 

“Just relax,” he whispered as he slowly laid you back down, ripping the aluminium before rolling the rubber onto his length, “I’ll take care of you.”

You held onto his shoulders as he rubbed his tip against your folds, gathering the wetness on his length. A pang of discomfort pulsed through your spine when he started to push in and you feel the stretch tearing into you from his thickness. You held him there when panic shot through his eyes and he was about to pull out, looking at him through glassy eyes as you slowly get used to the girth. His chest rose and fall steadily as he watched you with intent, letting out a relieved sigh when your arms relaxed around him. He took his time, pushing in little by little until he finally hilted inside of you, your lips parting with nothing but soft pants coming out as your walls stretched around him.

You let out a soft laugh, feeling the discomfort slowly going away as the knot at the pitch of your stomach filled in. “You can move, Mirio.”

A mewl was ripped from your throat as his tip dragged along your insides and he moaned at the feeling of you sucking him in. You were so warm and all wrapped up around him and he had to pull himself back from completely wrecking you with all the might he could muster.

“Fuck- baby you’re so tight,” he gritted, holding your leg so that you could wrap them loosely around his waist, “is this good? Tell me if it feels good?”

You could do nothing but nod from the overwhelming sensation of being filled up and his chuckles hit you in full force as each thrust brought his chest against yours. 

“That’s good, that’s-” he hissed when you clamped down on him, his pace slowly picking up as your body relaxed, “good…”

Each surge of his pelvis had his hips smacking against your thighs and the sound of skin slapping filled the room. You weakly threw your arms around his neck, pulling him close to latch your lips on him sloppily. You could barely keep your eyes open, moaning into his mouth as you felt the heat spreading all over your body. You saw white at the corner of your eys as the first wave of orgasmic bliss washed over you, his name rolling off your tongue like a mantra as you held onto him.

“You’re so pretty when you cum on my cock,” he whimpered, his eyes rolling back as your cunt fluttered around him.

He pushed your legs back and the new angle had tears forming in your eyes as he fucked you deep in your sensitive state. His hand dug into the side of your hips, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. 

He throbbed inside of you as he threw his head back, his lips trembling with his brows locked together as you felt the warmth of his release inside of you. He dredged his cock inside of you, weakly riding out his high before pulling out and collapsing next to you. His chest was still heaving when he turned to you, pulling you close to him as he let out a breathy chuckle.

“I’ll clean you up later…” he was panting through his words and you laid your head on his side with a small grin, “but right now let’s just- let’s just stay like this…”

His pants were all you could hear until he collected his breath. Your skin felt sticky but your head was too filled with endorphins for you to care about it at all.

“You know,” he said, his palm rubbing against your back, “we should really go out sometime. I know that we messed up the order of things already but-”

“I don’t know,” you mused, “watching disney movies on dvd together sounds like a valid first step to me.”

He laughed, and pulled you close to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“We still have a lot more to binge through so you better be ready.”

[gryffindors-weasley]

Paperbacks and Love Letters

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: On a gloomy day, you and Ron keep up your tradition at the bookstore in town.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: brief mentions of injury, fluff, kissing, a little bit of swearing

Square Filled: Bookstore AU

A/N: This is one of my fics on my bingo card for @band--psycho bingo writing challenge!!

The weather was chilly as you walked together, the layers of puffy gray clouds offering no warmth from the sun but you suppose that’s just how you like it on a day like this. Ron’s hand had enveloped yours, the warmth of his palm serving as just enough heat to keep you from shivering too much despite your jacket and sweater. The birds chirped regardless of the gloominess and the little town you lived on the very edge of had still been very much frequented, people filtering in and out of bakeries and cafes before morning turned to afternoon. It was a sweet little place, comfortable and just right for the two of you.

You took the leap and moved there just two years prior, in love with the normalcy and the peace it radiated. Of course, magic was confined to just your home considering it was not commonplace or even imagined to be real there, but you hadn’t minded it. Though you must admit, the adjustment was one not easily made, especially for Ron. On more than one occasion he found himself levitating sugar packets from a nearby table at the cafe when there weren’t any at yours, his eyes going wide and your laughter stifled upon realization. Or the time he’d fixed a broken street lamp with a murmur and a flick of his finger on your walk home one night, his cheeks burning red when it caught the attention of an elderly couple as he hid his amusement by kissing your temple, laughing into your hair.

Regardless of the mishaps and the feeling of homesickness in the beginning, it was absolutely perfect and more than you could ever ask for. With the moss and vines on the walls of old stone homes, and the wildflowers sprouting up from cracks in the sidewalk. Or the lanterns on buildings glowing warmly and the way no two houses will ever look like another. The rolling hills around you were far more beautiful than one could imagine, especially now as the fog from the inclement weather settles and blankets them. Everybody there had known each other and while the two of you had yet to get there, had yet to branch out from your own little world, everyone there had been kind and welcoming.

You found yourself stopping your stride in front of a familiar shop window, far too distracted by the scarf on display just on the other side of the glass. You were tugged only slightly when Ron hadn’t expected the sudden stop, your arm outstretched until he came back closer to your side. You looked in the little boutique curiously for a few moments, Ron standing patiently by your side as he looked at you. He knew you’d been eyeing that scarf, your eyes wandered to it each and every time you passed by that little place whether you were aware of it or not. He was going to get it for you one of these times, it made you far too happy not to.

“Sorry,” you laugh softly, cheeks tinging pink as you lean up to press a kiss on his cheek. His smile was instant as he squeezed your hand, your journey to the little bookstore just around the corner continuing.

He nearly tripped over his own two feet being so caught up in staring at you fondly, his cheek tingling from the kiss you’d pressed there seconds before.

“You think they’ll have anything new?” He asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a teasing smile as he squints against the breeze. “Considering we were just there last week.”

You tilt your head and bite the inside of your cheek to hide your smile in favor of trying to look annoyed at his statement. But, your efforts proved to futile the more you looked at him, your nose scrunching in a last ditch effort to be so displeased, one completely dissolved as he kissed your cheek and laughed softly against your skin.

“Yes, Ron, they always have something new,” you sigh, “besides, it’s tradition after all.”

It was true. Each and every time there was a gloomy day such as this, the bookstore in your little town was always paid a visit should your schedules allow. The two of you would pick out one book each for the other, and should there be two rainy days in a row, you would go for the sake of browsing with a mug of their hot chocolate.

The two of you had met in a bookstore actually— Flourish and Blotts to be exact. It was the summer before fourth year, Diagon Alley bustling with students both new and experienced. The imperfect and cozy shop was crowded with children and their parents, so much so you’d think there’d have been a book signing of some sort. You couldn’t hardly go five steps without knocking elbows with someone, and that someone was Ron.

He’d bumped into you, the books into your hand sent tumbling to the ground unceremoniously. All you’d seen was a mess of red hair at first as he dipped down to help retrieve both his books and yours, a flustered apology leaving his lips. Then he’d looked up at you through pale ginger lashes, eyes blue and apologetic and cheeks a shade to rival his hair. First he’d given you his own books on accident, realizing his mistake and handing you yours with a nervous laugh and yet another apology. At the time, all you could do was laugh and even more so now when you thought back to it.

He claimed he hadn’t even wanted to be there, that his mother always made him and his siblings go each and every year since he’d been eleven. But the two books he clutched in his hand, one on the history of magic and the other on the art of quidditch had told you that maybe he hadn’t been as displeased as he let on.

Your conversation wasn’t terribly long when a boisterous and matronly voice had called out to him from the first floor, deepening the shade in his cheeks. He found he hadn’t wanted to stop talking to you for whatever reason that may have been, he wasn’t quite sure at the time. What he was sure of was the way he’d tripped over his shoelace, sending one of his books to tumble over the railing and bonk his brother on the head, leaving him to bid you goodbye in a trail of flustered embarrassment.

Needless to say, that hadn’t been the last time you’d seen Ron Weasley, it was the start of something more meaningful than you could have imagined it to be.

You turned the corner to find the ever familiar shop nestled cozily between the bakery and the post office. The door wasn’t propped open as it normally would have been due to the expected rain, Ron having held it open for you instead. Immediately you’d been hit with the familiar smell of hot chocolate and the forever imprinted scent of old books, the pages of a few books propped open on display flittering and crinkling with the gust of the breeze that had blown in from outside. The crooked shelves had been packed with books both used and brand new, some having been so full that the very wood beneath them had been permanently bowed under the constant weight and wear and tear.

Stacks of books that hadn’t fit had sat on the floor, even more residing in cardboard boxes as labels of their genre are scribbled into torn pieces of paper, taped to their respective shelves.

“Looks the same to me,” Ron teased, if only to get under your skin just to see you smile.

You huff out a sigh and swat his arm, the smile he so longed to see making its reappearance as he laughed softly in the quiet space. Unbeknownst to you, there had already been a book he’d had his sights on the very last time you were there barely six days ago. There was no need for him to linger and search, he knew it to be his book of choice for you.

“It absolutely doesn’t and you know it,” You murmur quietly, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

He took a moment to look at you fondly; he always found himself doing that but he doesn’t quite know how anyone couldn’t. To him, that was simply impossible. “I’ll be right back, love, okay?”

You nod with a smile and it was then that you parted reluctantly, a sweet kiss pressed to your cheek once more and your fingertips brushing as your hands let go of the other. The familiar warmth in your palm was noticeably absent now as he disappeared down another aisle and under a door frame lined with books overhead, and your attention soon focused on the book you’d hoped was still there for him.

You wander down your treasured aisle of choice, the old wooden floorboards creaking under your foot falls as you navigate the shop. A smile graces your lips upon seeing the sign, tattered and torn, ‘History’ scrawled on it in blue ink. There was a shelf unseen by most, if not all the people who frequented this place. It was tucked behind a shelf of books on the art and history of literature, almost intentionally hidden. Unbeknownst to just anyone but the two of you, the owner of the shop herself had been just as magically gifted as you, so she’d saved all the books on real magic just for you both to revel in should you wish to.

Scooting the other books away, you’d spotted it in a heartbeat, plucking it from its shelf. ‘The Intricacies and Defense Against Dark Magic’ was printed across the cover in curled golden letters, and it was just the one you’d been looking for. Granted, it wasn’t necessarily a book one would read simply for leisure more so than to learn from it. But it was always of interest to Ron, history of magic as a whole for that matter. Defense Against the Dark Arts always held the leading title as his favorite course at Hogwarts.

He was quick to reappear the same way he’d left just minutes earlier, already knowing just what he’d wanted, his smile beaming when he found you as a paper bag with your book inside was clutched in his hand. It was only when you smiled at him that he was utterly spellbound, something so utterly enamoring that he’d tipped over the stack of extra books sitting on the floor. They toppled over and clattered in the otherwise quiet shop, his cheeks flushing a rosy pink as you fight your soft laughter.

“Bloody hell,” he murmurs as he drops to his knees and gathers them up quickly, stacking them almost the way they’d been before his clumsy lovestruck encounter. The sight alone reminded you of that very first day you met ten years before.

The amusement was clear on your face the moment he stood to his feet again, his hair falling over his eyes briefly before he swept it away again. He pursed his lips at your expression, his own grin breaking through just as quickly. You simply shook your head, leaning on your toes to greet him with a kiss.

“Hey,” he murmured against your lips with a laugh, noses bumping lightly.

“Hey,” you smile, “‘m almost done.”

He nods as your gaze averts back to the shelf, his hand slipping into yours. With his book tucked under your arm and out of his view, you continued to look at the selection curiously. You found books on healing potions and spells, and of course numerous books on herbology to pair with them. Healing always seemed to be your strong suit, Ron didn’t give you much choice with his quidditch matches—he’d always get bumps and bruises somehow no matter how smoothly they went.

There were books that focused more extensively on magical creatures and how to care for them, more than could ever possibly be covered at Hogwarts. A few other potions books sat stacked next to those, it’s letters glowing and swirling on the spines of each one. And the very last were divination books. That had always been amongst your favorites, though only if the questions were all in good fun. You were blissfully content to keep your future unknown both then and now, though when Luna nearly told you of Ron’s feelings that year he grew cherry red. You hadn’t known what was wrong with him at the time but you suppose it all made sense now.

With a quiet sigh you look to your right, spotting Ron trace the tip of his finger along the spines of the books in front of him curiously, plucking one out to look at it before putting it back. You smiled softly as you admired him for a moment before turning back to pull the cover over the shelf.

“You ready?” You ask, and he grins at you with a nod.

“‘M ready.”

With that, you pay at the counter after he’d promised not to look, making your leave to go back home.

—

The rain had come that evening as expected, having held out long enough for you to get home before it fell in a downpour. It was constant as it pelted against you little cottage, the wind whipping and the occasional flash of lightning illuminating briefly. It was the kind of weather you wouldn’t want to be caught in, but still proving to be cozy when you had the luxury of tucking yourself away and listening to it.

You’d since exchanged your books with one another just moments ago, your paper bag having yet to be opened as it sat there at the foot of the bed. Ron had been somewhere about the house, you weren’t quite sure where as you pulled a shirt of his over your head, slipping on the fuzziest socks you could find in your shared dresser drawer.

It was then that you finally grabbed the bag, the paper crinkling in your hands as you unfolded it and peered inside. Excitement bloomed within you at the sight of the cover, the book quickly in your hands as you tossed the bag to the side without care for where it’d landed in that moment. It was a paperback book, the very fantasy novel you’d been wanting for quite some time. It’s spine was worn and cracked and the cover creased with wear and tear, the pages yellowed with its age. Just inside, a name had been crossed out with a permanent marker; the name of the previous and perhaps only other owner you assumed. Used or not, it did not matter to you the condition, though the aging it wore was something you felt added to its very charm.

Your smile was endless at that point, the tattered book clutched in your hands as you admired it for a few fleeting moments. It was when you opened it, when you flipped through the pages that there was something more to it than just that. Your heart skipped a beat when a torn slip of paper fluttered out, floating to the bed. At first you’d thought it’d been something left behind within it, it’d been a used book after all so that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. But upon taking it in your hand and flipping it over you knew exactly what it was, how could you not?

The handwriting of the love of your life was one you could pick out amongst thousands with ease; it was a tad messy and curved, it was Ron’s.

On it, it read—

“Hey love. I’ve had this book on my mind for the last six days ever since I saw it, and I knew I had to get it. I know how much you’ve been wanting it. There was even a flower pressed between the pages, I’ve saved that one for you.

Anyways, I love you so much. Like, really, you’re the love of my life. I fall in love with you each time you smile at me. Even after all these years, you still have me dropping my books. Before I run out of room, just wanted to say that I love our tradition, and I love you.”

It felt as though your cheeks could start hurting from your constant smiling that day as you held the note fondly to your chest, heart beating wildly as if it’s the first time he’d ever told you of such things. Every time he said them felt like the first.

With your note and book grasped in your hand, you rush down the hall as his words replayed in your mind. You descended the stairs as fast as your fluffy socks would allow, hopping down the last wooden step in a matter of moments. Your smile beaming and bright as you spotted your lover in the chair at the very corner of the living room. His striped shirt was gone and his pajama pants on, his reading glasses sitting cutely on the bridge of his freckled nose. It took him all but a second or two to notice your presence and your smile, his own tugging at the corners of his mouth immediately to form an equally bright grin.

You held up the ripped piece of paper, your smile turning giddy as you thought to the words written so tenderly on it once more.

“When did you write this?” You ask, your smile more than apparent in your voice as you fight to stifle your giggle. He sits up a bit more now, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit higher at the sight of it.

“When did you write this?” He counters with a raised brow, holding up his own ripped piece torn from the same sheet of paper, sweet words of your own affections scribbled onto it. So that’s why there was a lone and torn page on the nightstand. It all clicked now. You bit your lip to keep from grinning like an absolute fool but your valiant attempts rapidly betrayed you as you knew they would.

His smile widened as your laughter mingled in the space and you’re quick to cross the room and pad over to him, to dip down and kiss him as your hand settles gently on his cheek. It was fleeting and sweet and followed by another before you pulled away, his hand grabbing your own and pulling you to his lap. The squeal his sudden action elicited was just as quickly silenced with another kiss, the glasses he wore now falling lower.

“For being tradition, we’re quite unpredictable, aren’t we?” He murmurs, smiling against your lips. Your laughter is warm against his own, another kiss expected by that point.

“I guess not,” you laugh softly, pushing his glasses back up from the tip of his nose. Your giggles continued, however, leading him to the fair conclusion that something else had been on your mind.

“What is it?” He asks.

You grin up at him, brushing his hair from his eyes. “I find it funny how you’ve needed glasses to read since you were seventeen and it took until we’re twenty-four for you to tell me.”

He tips his head back at your words, letting it fall against the headrest of the recliner. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” you said, laughter in your tone as he looks at you once more. You adjust the frames with contentment, your thumb brushing over his cheek.

Things fall silent for a few moments, your once teasing grin turning to that of an adoring one as you twirl a chunk of his hair around your finger softly, the glow of the lamp making it seem near golden. His hand came up and enveloped overtop of yours, fingers intertwining.

“Thank you for my book,” you whisper, eyes crinkling from your excited smile at the mere thought of it. “I love it and I love you.”

His thumb brushes over your palm as his cheeks stain a soft pink, the grin playing on his lips the softest it could ever be. “Thank you for mine, darling. I love it and I love you.”

You lean up and kiss him once more, tender and loving as every ounce of love you held for one another is shared in that very moment. One more kiss before you tucked yourself against him, your tattered flannel blanket settled over the both of you as he snags the beloved book from your hand gingerly. With a kiss pressed to your forehead he opens to the first page, your fingers dancing across each and every freckle smattered on his chest as he read aloud. In that moment you knew this was your forever. As his arm looped around you and his cheek pressed to the top of your head, as the rain trickled down the windows and the way he stopped every now and then to see if you’d fallen asleep. It was your forever.

It was your tradition, paperbacks and love letters.

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @anchoeritic @ch0colatefr0gs @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @lupinsclassroom @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime

[iamanartichoke]

Congrats on the 1+k followers! I've only recently found you but I enjoy your opinions and the way you write <3

I was wondering if, for the prompt fic ideas, you would be interested in writing Sylvie and Loki exchanging magic lessons in an enchantment for enchantment kind of way.

I imagine them bickering each other with "Pff... That is too easy." and "Come on, that didn't take me so long to learn...", but they would also encourage with some "I know you can do it!". (oh god, now I picture them teaming in some prank against Thor... xD)

Thank you so much, @enabi-seira. Sorry this is a few days late, but it took me awhile to get going. Also my intention was to have something kinda cute and snarky but it ... didn't really end up that way, bc of who I am as a person. I hope you enjoy, regardless.

Summary: Sylvie gives Loki a lesson in enchantment Word Count: 2340 Author's notes: More or less inspired by the blanket scene, but with less awkward and more soul-bearing, bc well, why not.

*

It wasn’t until she let him into her mind that Loki saw himself in Sylvie.

At first, he thought it hadn’t worked, because all he felt was nothing. There was no sound, no air. But when he opened his eyes he found himself in what, at first glance, was Idunn’s orchard on Asgard. He stood at the center of the orchard, underneath the shade of one of the largest trees. In the distance, he could clearly see the golden spires of Valaskjalf and, looking up, Loki felt a twist of homesickness so strong it nearly knocked him off of his feet.

It took him a moment to get ahold of himself and, when he did and began to take a closer look, he realized that he wasn’t on Asgard at all. The orchard did not have enough trees and no golden apples swung from their branches. Valaskjalf’s spires did not glint in the sun; the gold was instead dull and flat. Everything, in fact, was much too dull and flat.

A chill broke out across Loki’s skin because while he was not on Asgard, he did know this place. He’d built it himself, had begun planting the trees and laying the foundations of deadened grass and dirt when he was still just a child. It was his in-between space, the pocket between dimensions into which he retreated when everything else was simply too much.

“How do you know this place?” he asked. His voice, rough with confusion, seemed far too loud with nothing to anchor it. “It’s mine.”

“It’s ours,” Sylvie corrected. Her voice came from somewhere to his left; Loki turned and saw her approaching, dressed not in the black and green attire he’d grown so familiar with but in a deep purple gown traditional of Asgardian formalwear. Her hair was longer, the top done up somewhat elaborately in several slim braids.

“I thought your enchantment would bring me to a memory,” he said.

“What makes you think this isn’t a memory?”

Loki opened his mouth and then closed it again, choosing instead to merely gesture at the void surrounding them. “Because this place isn’t real. I created it. As an -”

“An escape,” she finished for him. She’d been looking out over the orchard but now she turned her gaze on him, something sad and knowing behind her green eyes. She nodded. “So did I. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real. It’s as real as you and I are, and I remember it.”

Goosebumps tickled his arms and the back of his neck. Loki looked away, turning in a half circle as he took in the sight of what he used to simply call the gray place, a place he’d thought had been lost; he’d not thought of it in years, could no longer remember quite where it was. The grey place had all but collapsed into the recesses of his mind, along with countless other memories he’d collected and subsequently lost along the way.

Loki looked up at the tree that still shaded them from the sun, although the sun itself was not very bright, nor warm. Everything was so still. Absently, Loki reached out and swiped his fingers along one of the lower branches. “No apples,” he said.

“Nothing grows here.”

“The space grows,” he countered. He plucked a few leaves from the branch and curled his fingers around them. “Grew. Each time I came here, it seemed bigger. It stopped being Asgard and grew into somewhere else.”

“It didn’t really, though, did it,” she said. She walked around him, circling the tree trunk. “Get bigger. It was only that we got lonelier.”

Loki looked at her sharply, but found he couldn’t refute her words. “You were much lonelier than I,” he said instead.

She shot him one of her Sylvie looks, her expression both indignant at what she perceived as a slight, and annoyed at his being right. She disliked when he figured things out about her, but he’d seen that expression more and more as the days passed, which meant that he was getting closer to her core.

Either that, or he was just annoying her more frequently.

“What makes you think so?” she challenged.

He gestured vaguely at the space around them. “Yours is farther along than mine was.” Now that he was getting used to this - both being inside of her head, and grounded firmly in the gray place - he could see the differences. There were more pathways in the orchard, fuller tree branches. In the distance, past the palace, he could make out the beginnings of a rainbow bridge. All things Loki had thought of bringing to the gray place, but adolescence grew into adulthood and Loki created new hiding places, buried deeper in the spaces between worlds.

Sylvie’s gray place felt like a place that had been visited often. Perhaps she even still visited, escaping through dimensions as easily as she slipped through apocalypses.

Her features looked pinched as she dug her fingers into the trunk’s bark, pulling at a loose layer. “When did you build yours?” she asked, instead of answering directly. “Start building it, I mean.”

Loki shrugged, leaning against the trunk. “I don’t know. I was young.”

“Tell me,” she pressed.

He glanced over at her and, despite himself, smirked. “Are we exploring your mind, or mine?”

Sylvie arched an eyebrow and then her features relaxed. “Beats me,” she admitted. “Seems they’re one and the same, doesn’t it?”

Loki’s nod was slow, thoughtful. He looked up, toward the endless gray sky. “I remember having nightmares as a child,” he said, and wasn’t sure if he was answering her question, or simply speaking in order to fill the silence. Her presence seemed to have that effect on him, regardless of whether they were together in the world or together in her (their?) mind.

“It was always cold in those dreams,” he went on. “Bitter, the kind of cold that gets under your skin. It was cold and it was dark, and there were never any monsters or dragons or - not the kinds of things children tend to have nightmares about. For me, it was that there was nothing. Just myself, and the cold, and the dark, and this intimate knowing that no matter what I did or how loudly I screamed, no one would ever hear me.”

She’d circled around the trunk again as he spoke, and now she leaned against it next to him, sliding down until she was settled on the grass at the base. “I don’t think I had nightmares, not like yours,” she said, “but I always had the sense of being wrong, somehow. When my parents told me the truth about what I was, and where I’d come from, I thought it would make the wrongness stop.”

“But it didn’t,” Loki guessed as he sat down on the ground beside her.

She looked over at him, meeting his gaze directly before she shook her head. “It’s in me still. At least now I know why.”

Loki didn’t say anything. They were sitting close enough together that he’d only have to lean in a bit and their shoulders would be touching, but Loki let the observation go without acting on it. Instead, he pulled at a few blades of grass, gaze settling out toward the far end of the orchard which, were this the real Asgard, would have led directly into Frigga’s gardens.

Instead of lingering on that thought, Loki turned his attention to the enchantment itself. It was very strange, the method she’d learned. Their bodies - their real bodies - were out there in the physical world, holding hands to establish the physical connection they’d needed for the enchantment to work, but they were also in here, and he could feel the ground beneath him and the the tree bark digging into his spine and the solidity of the space she took up beside him. He would have assumed that sliding into someone else’s mind would feel like a dream or a vision - not quite real.

“That’s when I began creating this place,” he said, realizing that he’d started telling her about his nightmares for a reason. “To escape after the dreams.” He’d chosen the warmest, safest place he knew then, which was the orchard, and he’d begun creating his duplicate.

“I don’t even really know where it was,” he admitted, with a short laugh. “All I had to do was think of it and, suddenly, I’d be there.”

It had started with the nightmares, but somewhere along the way it had become much more than that. Loki could remember disappearing into the gray place after arguments, or when he was frustrated and felt lost, or even just when all of the things inside of him - the dark things he’d never been able to firmly identify - became far too much and he felt like he would explode from the sheer force of them pressing against his skin from the inside, seeking a way out.

In Sylvie’s mind, all of the details were exact and clear, just as he remembered and more. Loki felt something hollow and cold in his core as it sank in - really sank in - that he and Sylvie were variants of the same person. The same soul, with the same dark things inside. What’s me is you, and what’s you is me.

The full weight of the realization should not have made him feel so lonely, but it did. For the first time since he’d met her, looking at Sylvie felt like looking in the mirror, the way one did when he was examining himself from every angle, identifying and hating every flaw he discovered.

“I know that look,” she said, and Loki blinked. He’d been staring at her, he realized, and felt his cheeks warm. “It’s hitting you, isn’t it? How we’re the same.”

Loki nodded. “It’s this place. I was remembering why I made it, and what drove me to disappear here. It must have been the same for you.”

“Let’s see.” Sylvie drew her knees up a little, adjusting her skirts so that they wouldn’t drag against the grass. “The wrongness of existing. Falling short, no matter how hard I tried. Always found wanting, compared to my brother. And, yes, loneliness.”

“Thor,” Loki said. His voice sounded so flat, even to his own ears, that Sylvie shot him a strange glance. He tugged at a few more blades of grass, pressing his lips together. He’d never asked her about her Thor, because he didn’t want to talk about his - the one who had ceased to exist when the TVA first arrested Loki in the desert and erased his reality, along with everyone he’d ever known and loved. Versions of them existed, of course - the ones who walked the sacred timeline, exactly where they were supposed to be, but those versions belonged to another Loki - a far away Loki.

He had his reasons for not bringing up Thor, but he didn’t know why Sylvie, likewise, had kept her Thor to herself. “Tell me about him,” he heard himself say, dropping the blades of grass from his hand. “Your Thor.”

“I don’t remember much of him, either,” Sylvie admitted. “More blips, like my parents. He’s more of a feeling than anything else - a presence. He took care of me; he pushed me to be better. I could never measure up to him, but I remember he wasn’t the one who was comparing. He loved me.”

“Yes.” Loki was hardly aware of speaking until he heard his own voice. “Mine, too.”

They exchanged a long look, and then Sylvie cleared her throat and turned her attention to the grass. “Could do with a bit more green,” she remarked. “It’s awfully dull, isn’t it?”

“I could -”

But she was already pressing her fingers into the dirt and, as Loki watched, the blades began to darken and bloom as lush grass sprouted outward, rolling from the palm of Sylvie’s hand to stretch in every direction until all of the dead grass had been made new again. Only then did Sylvie pull her hand back.

“Not bad, right?”

“Not bad,” he agreed. “Still feels very plain, though. I’d have added a little shading, a little variety. Perhaps a few more shrubs or rose bushes.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

The corners of Loki’s mouth tilted upward. He extended a closed fist, focusing, and then spread open his hand to reveal a tangled ball of colorful magic, blues and greens and yellows and reds all flickering and shimmering. Wordlessly, Loki tossed the ball; it landed several feet away and dissolved into tiny, colorful flowers, which spread swiftly over the grass.

Loki glanced at Sylvie, quickly enough that he caught the awe on her features before she realized he was looking; immediately, boredom swept over her face. She lifted one shoulder, carelessly. “Where are the rose bushes?”

“You are impossible,” Loki informed her.

“So you keep telling me. Come on.” She pushed herself to her feet and extended a hand, which Loki took without pause. “Lesson’s over for today.”

A split-second later, the gray place was gone entirely; once again, there was air to breathe and tiny sounds in the distance. Loki’s head throbbed; he opened his eyes and let go of Sylvie’s hand in order to press his against his temples. “Ow.”

“Yeah, return trip’s a little rough until you get used to it.” Slyvie - once again looking like Sylvie, draped in green and black - leaned back, watching with some amusement while Loki squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed his temples, and tried not to throw up. “Maybe next time we’ll journey into your mind. Probably’ll pack less of a punch for you.”

“I can handle pain,” Loki countered, finally letting go of his head. “My mind is off-limits. We’ve been over this.”

“For now,” Sylvie agreed.

“For always.” Loki arched his eyebrow at her. “Now. What lesson shall we tackle next?”

[lihikainanea]

sis leiii, can i please have a piece where instead of bill flying back home to be with tiger, she's the one who's flying to see him because he's travelling to film a movie or do a photoshoot or something but he's feeling homesick and maybe having a fever and tiger flies immediately to whatever he is to take care of him, but she surprises him and he lets himself cry when he sees her there?

Oh my sweet, soft Bill. Tiger is, without a doubt, no stranger to rescuing her Big Dude.

And you know, maybe it’s a multitude of things. Maybe Bill really isn’t jiving with the producer or the studio or something, but he’s learning in his older age that sometimes you can’t just...flip your shit and walk away from projects. Maybe the project itself still really interests him, but the people carrying it through are being insufferable dicks. Bill has an extremely low tolerance for people who think they are above anyone else, and if the set he’s on is rampant with egos, he has a really hard time...but he also can’t necessarily walk away.

Maybe it’s not even that. Maybe it’s just a gruelling shoot, one where actors’ unions and the studio are constantly in a battle because the actors are somewhat being forced to go through with scenes or go through in conditions they have no business going through. On Bill’s second day on set, he spent 14 hours submerged in an indoor pool that was way below the temperature it should have been. His acting contract, his union, probably states that he can spend up to 3 hours maximum in the pool and then he needs a one hour break to dry off, have a warm drink, raise his body temperate back to normal and then he can continue.

But the producer was always almost just getting the right shot, and maybe just one more take, and okay that was great but let’s do another one just in case and suddenly, it’s 14 hours later and Bill is shivering, his body temperature is dropping dangerously low, and his lips are blue. The doctor on set finally puts an end to it.

The next day, a cough had set in deep in his chest. One of those coughs that started off small and then just couldn’t stop, one of those ones that ached in your lungs, a cough that had you gasping for air after you just couldn’t make it stop. His entire day was scrapped, every take he did cut short when his breath would catch and it would set off this hacking cough, one that rattled deep in his bones. He was exhausted. He was out of breath. The first week hadn’t even wrapped yet, and he was already wrecked.

Tiger heard it the moment she picked up the phone when he called her that evening--the middle of the night for her. She picked it up and mumbled a groggy hello before a deep, uncharacteristic wheeze had her eyes widening.

“Hi kid,” he rasped, “Sorry I’m calling so late.”

“...Bill?” She had to ask to be sure. His voice was so rough, so strained, and she winced as a terrible cough sounded down the line.

“Yeah,” he wheezed, “Sorry, give me a second.”

He sounded terrible. His voice sounded thick and rough, strained as if he was trying to control it--and his cough sounded even worse. Wet and rumbling, it seemed to go on forever before she heard a soft sip,  clearing of his throat.

“Sorry,” he croaked, “Having some issues.

“You sound terrible bud,” she said, “What’s going on?”

“Just caught a bit of a chill,” he mumbled.

A bit of a chill turned into pneumonia a few days later--and still, he worked. He would call her when he could, but tiger was getting increasingly more worried--she knew her Good Dude. And it seemed that every time she talked to him, he was coming off a day on set that was seeming more and more insane. A night shoot, where he had to run through freezing cold temperatures and snow in nothing but a bathrobe, barefoot--and he had to do it over and over and over again, because the director wasn’t happy with the shot.  More water scenes. More hours spent in subzero temperatures, in soaking wet clothes, already sick as a dog.

Tiger had a feeling that there was a reason why he was sticking to regular calls instead of video ones, and at one point she insisted on it--and it only confirmed her suspicions. He looked terrible--gaunt and pale, his big eyes sticking out of his head even more, his skin a sickly pallor, and he was at the point where he couldn’t even get two words out without either having to stop to catch his breath, or launching into a coughing fit. The wheeze in his chest was even more prominent, there was a permanent wince in his features from the pain, and his eyes had deep bags under them.

“Bill,” she said sternly, “Have you seen a doctor? Are you taking meds for this?”

“I’m on a round of antibiotics,” he brought a pill bottle into the frame and shook it to show her, “But it just needs to run its course.”

“My ass it does,” she snaps, “You look awful.”

“Careful,” he warned, but it lacked all of its usual malice when he launched into a coughing fit after.

As soon as tiger hung up the phone, she booked her ticket to his location. She wasn’t going to sit by and watch this happen. The kicker was when she was browsing her instagram and just happened to stumble across a story that one of Bill’s co-stars posted--a goofy photo of the dude in the make up chair--but there in the background, a little blurred but tiger could spot him anyway--was Bill, curled up in a lounge chair, an IV drip in his arm. Tiger screen capped the photo and sent it to Bill, with a very curt message.

Call me. Now.

Seconds later, the image disappeared from the costar’s stories and Bill’s name popped up on her screen.

“Don’t freak out,” he started, “It’s fine, kid.”

“An IV isn’t fine Bill,” she snapped, “What’s happening?”

“It’s just some nutrients and vitamins and a lot of hydration--” a pause for a gross-sounding coughing fit--”I’m having a hard time shaking this thing, so it’s just to give me a boost.”

“You can’t shake this thing because you’re exhausted and this gig is killing you--”

“I’ve gotta go tiger, they’re calling me back to scene,” he mumbled, “Please don’t worry about me. I’m okay, I promise.”

Tiger moved her flight up to the earliest one she could find.

And listen, when she got there? She gave his agent strict instructions not to tell him shit, but to help her find a way to get into his apartment.  She was exhausted from the flight and the time difference, but she was on a mission--she found a grocery store, was able to pick up a few staples. She stocked up on green tea, honey, managed to find some warm blankets, was able to somehow figure out how the sauna on the back deck worked. Tiger had a bad case of whooping cough as a kid, and she remembered that Granny used to spend hours in a steamed out bathroom holding her, trying to ease the pain and break the cough. Extreme heat was good to try and clear out the lungs, and if Bill didn’t have a fever, she planned on manhandling him into the sauna for a few hours tonight.

She got everything she could. Medicine. Lozenges. A thermometer. A hot water bottle. She spent the rest of the day cooking--big pots of soups and stews, hearty things with a lot of vegetables that would be easy for him to digest.

And listen, when Bill got home in the wee hours of the morning? Tiger was on the couch reading, and she stood when he entered the doorway. He hadn’t seen her yet and she watched as her Big Dude stepped in, closed the door behind him--and then slumped against it. His back leaning on it, his head fell forward and she heard him exhale a rough sigh--or at least part of one, before he started coughing again. Pushing himself off, he wearily raised his head and that’s when he saw her--and he froze.

“But you’re fine eh?” she said sarcastically. The house was mostly dark except for a few dim lights, but she saw his eyes widen and the shock register on his face.

“...Tiger?” he rasped after a long pause. He shook his head as if he might be imagining it, but tiger took a few steps forward.

“This ends now Bill,” she said lowly, “Do you hear me?”

She stopped in front of him, but he still hadn’t blinked yet. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Tiger...” he mumbled. Reaching a hand out, his fingers brushed her hip as if he was afraid she was just a mirage--but then a few fingers turned into a whole hand, then both hands.

“Tiger,” he croaked, and then he crumbled. Reaching for her, she pulled him in as his knees buckled under him. She caught his weight as best she could, and he buried his nose in her neck. His shoulders shook and he clung to her, and she could feel the rumble in his chest as he struggled for air.

“Okay easy big guy,” she said, “Just try and stay calm and breathe through it.”

The cough started off small as he tried to suppress it, but eventually his whole body shook as he wheezed and his knees gave out. He knelt down, trying to get air in as he heaved, and she soothingly rubbed his back.

“Enough,” she said softly as she patted his back, “I’m here bud, and I’m not leaving. Just try and calm down a bit so you can get your breath back.”

His hand still reached for her just to make sure she was real, and it took him a long time to be able to catch his breath. Tiger held him the whole time, right there on the floor, until he could at least get some air in again.

Once he was able to breathe again, I’ll bet she put her foot down. Told him that she was worried, and that she was there to take care of him--because he was sick. Really sick, and that if he didn’t take the time he needed to heal, that he would only get worse. He finally caved because it was her you know? And for as well as he takes care of her, he trusts her to do the same for him. Halfway through the call with his agent, tiger had to take the phone from him because he was struggling for air again and couldn’t get the words out. Tiger told her, in no uncertain terms, that Bill wouldn't be able to work for at least two weeks. 

And listen, for two weeks--Bill wasn’t allowed to move an inch unless tiger told him too. His fever was too high for the sauna that night, and even though he shivered most of the night, she made sure he was only draped with one blanket so he wouldn’t overheat. She filled him with fluids to try and help break the fever, and when it was a little better the next day, she started working on his lungs. She dragged him to the sauna and sat there with him to sweat it out. He was miserable--cranky and in pain, the dry air burned his already sensitive chest, but tiger just sat there and held him. She held him as his body wracked with heaves, she rubbed his back when a coughing fit took over and left him gasping, and she wouldn’t let him leave no matter how much he protested. Only after they had been in there for two hours did she pull him back upright, take him inside and get him to drink another ungodly amount of water, followed up by some of Granny’s tea. She gave him all the head scritchies until he was able to sleep at least a little, and even then he was only able to with his head propped up against her chest.

It was agonizing. It was the sickest she had ever seen him. And it was a long process--if she didn’t like the way he looked after two weeks, then she wasn’t going anywhere for at least another two. And neither was he.

[bnha-more-like-bnh-gay]

Todoroki needs love

Summary: Todoroki finding out that he likes cuddles and assembling his own makeshift family. Aka: I project my being touch startled onto Todoroki, with a side of found family! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 2,779

Side note: this is the first actual fanfic that I’m posting, so any thoughts and/or tips you have are always appreciated!!

Thank you, I hope you have a good day!

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Shouto had never really experienced positive touch. But that’s fine, that’s what he was used to: it’s what he expected. He didn’t associate physical contact with anything good. Even now, after his father’s “training sessions,” had ceased, Shouto didn’t understand the hype around hugs or physical contact of any kind. In fact, he made a point to avoid touching his peers outside of class.

He was fine with that. Then Izuku hugged him. It wasn’t long, and he was an awkward mess afterwards. Stuttering over an apology that didn’t need to be there, because, once again; he had shattered Shouto’s world. Why did this boy insist one breaking everything around him? His bones, Iida after Hosu, Stain’s hatred of all hero’s, their teachers sanity, Shouto’s resolve and ideals that he had known and held since early childhood.

So, instead of reacting, or saying, “it’s fine,” like a normal person would; Shouto stood there. Blanking out. Blue screening. Not computing. Shouto exe has stopped working.

Oh wait, Izuku was still talking.

“You’re fine.” Oh, he did it. Good for him. His mother would be proud.

He thinks.

“Ahh, are you sure?” Izuku had asked.

“… yes.” Midoriya had walked away after a while, leaving Shouto to stew in his inner turmoil… Again.

It was warm though. His heart felt,, odd. It hurt once he had pulled away. It felt empty, in a way that felt when his mother had been taken away from him. Which was silly. Midoriya pulling away from a hug shouldn’t feel like losing someone. It was a two-second-long hug. But losing it felt like being shoved in a bucket of ice water after his fathers training.

The second time it happened, it was Uraraka. Shouto had not been paying attention. He had been learning about memes, which he was now fluent in and enjoyed torturing his sperm donor with. It was ‘fire’ to watch his reaction (pun intended).

He had tripped over his own feet, which he thought was very fitting for a hero in training. But Uraraka had been there to help him. Also a concept that he was unuse to. People helping him. Without expecting a favor in return. Interesting. Either way, she had floated him.

“Sorry for using my quirk on you without your permission, but I think it’d be better than landing on your face!” She said, with a laugh, patting him on the back.

Not a hug, but yet another affectionate gesture.

“Todoroki? Are you okay?” She had asked, looking a bit confused he thought. Right, it was probably odd to stop dead after being shown affection. He should find a way to mask that.

“Fine.” He said. Then, “how are you?” She softened then. Yes, another point for Todoroki and the social interactions!

“I’m alright! Thank you for asking, Todoroki!” She smiled. “We should head to class, or Iida is going to be mad!” Yes, Iida was also learning social interaction. He thinks Midoriya is too. And Shinsou. At least he wasn’t alone in that. Maybe he should start a club. Maybe Mina, Kirishima, and Tsu could teach them about social interactions. They seemed fairly well adjusted.

“Todoroki? Are you coming?” Right.

“yes.”

The third time it had happened, Aoyama had gotten glitter all over him.

“Greeting, Monsieur!” He had said, throwing his arm around Todoroki’s shoulder.

Aoyama’s half hug was warm again. Not soft as Izuku’s hug, but not as casual as Uraraka’s pat on the back. He did it smoothly, and naturally. But it still felt so… New, to Shouto.

“Have you had one of Sato’s magnifique cupcakes?” He had asked, pulling away from Shouto and pulling him towards the dorm kitchen.

“No,” Shouto managed to choke out. Physical contact, it just… It stumped him. It was stifling in a way that he wouldn’t have expected. It was nothing like how his father would pat his back after he “succeeded,” after, he “finally realized his future,” or was did something “worthy of his masterpiece.” No, it was meant to be comforting. It wasn’t… Disadvantageous.

“Monsieur!” Aoyama gasped.

“Sorry?” Shouto guessed. Aoyama had laughed then.

“Non,” he said, shoving a cupcake into Shouto’s hand.

“Hey, Todoroki!” Sato said, waving at them. “I see Aoyama has roped you in to trying my cupcakes! I hope ya like ‘em!”

Shouto did indeed like them, and made sure to tell Sato as much.

As time went on, the physical affection continued. Shouto still flinched at it sometimes. And almost always bluescreened. But he had come to look forward to it. Izuku had hugged him a few more times. He had asked Shouto the next few times. Shouto had said yes, he hadn’t known what to expect, but he wasn’t used to saying ‘no.’ and he found that he looked forward to it. He didn’t like when the physical contact ended. So Izuku started to hold his hand. Almost constantly. Aoyama and Momo had also taken this up. Just small touches. Touches that made Shouto feel more grounded and in the moment.

The self-proclaimed, “Izucrew,” had formed towards the end of first year. Slowly adopting more people into it as time went on. First Tokoyami, Shinsou, Momo, Jirou, Mei, Monoma. Their first Christmas as a class, half the class had gotten Shouto piles of stuffed animals. Piles. Mina had insisted that they name them. Shouto had gone along with it readily. He now had a stuffed bear that he referred to as, “dad,” and several other plushies with various names.

He soon realized that the other members of the Izucrew had a lot of plushies as well.

It started one week when Tsu had been feeling homesick. Izuku had suggested gathering all their stuffed animals, and having a, “cuddle pile.” Which turned out to be less violent than Shouto had expected. They were not, in fact brawling, or wrestling, but literally just laying there with each other. It was soft. After a while, Uraraka had suggested that they build a blanket fort. He found out that no other members of the Izucrew, aside from Tsu, Uraraka, Monoma, and Aoyama had had sleepovers before. Izuku said that he had had one when he was three, but he didn’t remember much, so Shouto wasn’t sure if that counted or not.

They had made the blanket fort. Shouto thought it was… soft. And comforting. Like a weighted blanket. Not the stifling heaviness that he dreaded during school breaks. Warm in a way that Uraraka said was like cuddling up with hot chocolate during the winter. Or how Momo said drinking tea after waking up felt. Or how Kaminari said he felt while at the arcade with the self-proclaimed ‘kiricrew.’ Or how Sato said he felt whenever the class complimented his baking.

“Ooo, we should watch a movie!” Mei had exclaimed half way through the night. Iida was already dozing, but Tsu and most of the others had agreed.

“Horror or animated?” Shinsou had asked, from his position half under Monoma, with his head on Aoyama’s lap. Glitter making its way into his hair.

“We could to both!” Izuku suggested, his head resting on Shinsou’s chest, legs tangled with Mei and Shouto’s. “Horror first, then animated?” Momo nodded.

“That would be best! Just incase we get scared from the horror movie!” She said. Shouto agreed. He hadn’t seen many movies, but Kaminari had told him about one that sounded most unpleasant.

As it turned out, they had several horror movie connoisseurs in their group. Izuku, Shinsou, Monoma, Tsu, Jirou, Tokoyami, and Uraraka were the most emphatic about them, but no one seemed to dislike them.

And that’s how Shouto spent his night. Curled up amongst those he trusted. He trusted them. He let his guard down around them. He let them into his personal space. He had known them for hardly over a year. But he trusted them. More than he trusted most people. He would tell them about his past. He would share secrets with them, his aspirations, the real reason why he wanted to be a hero, all of the things he went through as a child. And they did the same with him.

Izuku shared that he got his quirk late, his past with Bakugou, how his father left him and his mother, how his mother never noticed when he came home bruised and burnt, smelling vaguely of caramel and smoke. Shinsou, Mei, and Monoma shared how they were bullied throughout middle school. Iida, Momo, Jirou, and Uraraka told them how much pressure they felt from their parents. Tokoyami and Aoyama admitted to their difficulties accepting their quirks. Tsu relinquished how fast she had to grow up and take care of her siblings. Shouto found that he related to a lot of their struggles.

“Todo and the rest of the Izucrew’ve been getting really close lately!” Mina had said, Watching Aoyama, Mei, and Jirou drag Todoroki and Monoma up to Momo’s room.

She had noticed how close their group seemed to get towards the end of first year. The whole class had gotten together a few times over the summer, and the group chat stayed active most days. She liked how close she was with the rest of her classmates. Apparently that happened after getting attacked by vllains multiple times, and going through severe trauma. She smiled, thinking how far they had all come.

At the beginning of first year, Todoroki hadn’t so much as said a word to any of them. Izuku couldn’t string a sentence together without stumbling over his own words and blushing like crazy. Monoma wouldn’t talk to them without making some sarcastic comment. Now, she had given Todoroki a number of hugs, some of which he had returned! Izuku started a couple conversations with her, and joined her dance club (she still joked with him about his blatant lie that he couldn’t dance. The fool). She had eaten lunch and had a conversation with Monoma, who’s sarcasm slights had turned into playful ribbings.

She was proud of her boys too of course: Ejirou and Sero had really gained some confidence in themselves and their quirks. Kami had gotten a lot more control over his quirk, working with their teachers, the support department, and Midori on ways to channel his quirk so that he didn’t short circuit. And she had also learned how to better use her acid. She, Izuku, Momo, Mei, and Shinsou had convinced Nezu to let them lead an anti-bullying and harassment seminar during the start of this year. So yeah, sufficed to say that she was proud of her class.

Sato had been happy to see how some of their more… troubled classmates had grown in the past few months. He had first noticed it when Aoyama practically shoved one of his cupcakes down Todoroki’s throat. The first time Sato had brought any of his baked goods to share with the class, Todoroki had refused to try any of them. Now, he not only taken one, but he had complimented Sato. He had even been convinced to bake with Sato! He was not good. But he tried, and that was good enough.

Ojirou hadn’t expected to end up being so close to his classmates. Sure, he had hoped to make friends, maybe even find a girlfriend. But he hadn’t thought that he would end up close to all of his peers, or to like all of his teachers. But there he was the week before school, excited to be back. He had never considered himself to be a teacher, or at least, never thougth that people would ask him to teach them anything. But a significant number of his classmates had asked him to work with them on hand-to-hand combat. He and Uraraka especially sparred quite often. Surprisingly enough, Shouto Todoroki had asked him to work on some close combat techniques.

Aizawa Shouta was not going soft. He wasn’t, okay?! He made a point not to get attached to his students, thank you very much. Turns out though, that it’s kind of hard to not get at least a little protective over them after going through so many villain attacks with children.

Something that Shouta still beat himself up over, was not noticing so many problems that his class so clearly faced. He had written off Midoriya and Bakugou’s relationship as a simple childhood rivalry.

After walking in on Midoriya having a panic attack, the boy had accidentally spilled the very important fact that he had only developed his quirk the day of the entrance exam, and that Bakugou had been his bully. He had thought that Kaminari simply, didn’t try very hard in school. After talking to Hisashi though, he had seen how smart Kaminari actually was. He had overlooked how predatory Mineta’s behavior had been. He had chopped up Todoroki’s behavior to simply being anti-social. After Midoriya and Hisashi had dropped a few hints that were about as subtle as a Mac Truck, he had paid closer attention, and oh kami if things didn’t make a lot more sense.

“Todoroki, stay after class.” He had stiffened up. Another mark for the worrisome column.

Midoriya had given him a calculating look. A look that he had only seen when Midoriya was assessing someones quirk. Well damn. He knew the kid was protective over his friends; but he was also incredibly respectful and borderline fearful of teachers (another thing he would need to look into). Shouta had stared back, and Mirodiya had given him a calculated nod. Kami, this kid was going to be another Nezu.

Todoroki had pulled his backpack onto his shoulders, giving Midoriya a short nod.

“We’ll be outside if you need.” Shouta had sighed. These freaking kids.

“Yes?” Todoroki had said tightly. Eyes darting to the exit.

“Todoroki, I’m going to be honest; your behavior is fairly worrisome, and I overlooked a lot of it.” Todoroki stiffened.

“How do you mean, sir?”

They had talked through next period. And most of the problem class was waiting outside the door when they had left. Shouto had sighed.

“I’m not writing all of you late slips.” He said.

“With all due respect, sir; we’re fine with that. We just wanted to be here in case Todoroki needed us.”

He wrote them all late slips.

He wasn’t going soft, dammit!

Shouto never expected to be close to anyone, certainly not during high school. His entire life had had tunnel vison: his hero career. That was all that mattered, all that had ever mattered, or would ever matter. But now, Shouto had a makeshift family. Dysfunctional and no matter how mismatched they all were, they were there for each other. They had each others back, they supported each other. They had game nights, movie nights, baking competitions (Sato judged), cookie decorating competitions, snowball fights, cuddle nights, group hugs, and more. And Shouto found that he enjoyed them. He didn’t at first.

He had been dragged to the first movie night by Momo.

“It’ll be good for you to socialize a little.” She said, after evicting him from the confines of his room.

He hadn’t said anything to that. But after, Kaminari had handed him a hot chocolate, with the explanation that they were going to watch a horror movie, followed of course, by cartoons.

“Can I leave now?” He had asked. Kaminari frowned. Oh no, he hadn’t meant for that to happen.

“Not a fan of horror movies eh? We can find something else to watch if ya want!” That was… Odd. They cared about his feelings?

“I don’t know.”

“What’d’ya mean?”

“I’ve never seen any horror movies.” Kaminari’s eyes widened in shock. Was that bad?

“Well now you have to stay!!!” He exclaimed. “TODO HASN’T SEEN ANY HORROR MOVIES!” Cries rippled through the gaggle of teens.

“Well let’s make this the best horror movie marathon for Todobro then!”

Kirishima was an interesting character, Shouto thought. He was fairly persistent in his stringent interest in what was, “manly.” Shouto wondered if most people had these fixations. Midoriya had analyzing quirks, Jirou had music, Koda had animals, Sato had baking, Ojirou had karate, Ashido had dance, and so on.

Shouto came to realize that he did indeed like horror movies. He also liked the pre-quirk televisions show, “Kim Possible.”

“Shouto, the crew are having another cuddle pile in Iida’s room. Let’s go, yeah?” Shinsou asked, as Todoroki left the locker rooms. Todoroki nodded.

“Yes, do we need to bring snacks?” He asked. Shinsou smirked.

“Hell yeah!”

Shouto liked his class. He liked being able to trust his friends. He liked having friends. And he really liked cuddle piles.

[expectingtofly]

SPN Stay At Home Challenge

Week 8: Hope

The angels have fallen, Heaven is broken, Castiel burns through a grace that isn't his own. Everything seems hopeless, but Dean is determined to help his homesick, heartbroken angel and give him a home on Earth.

Words: ~1.5k

also posted on ao3

Hope in the Form of One Small Bee

Dean is worried about Castiel. The angel has been holed up for days in the room he and Dean share in the bunker, hardly speaking, hardly moving. Dean knows a thing or two about hiding away in his room, but in those hopeless days he distracted himself with music, with drinking, with crap TV and horror flicks. Castiel lies on their bed in silence, curled up in one of Dean’s old T-shirts, and the sight makes Dean want to crumple.

Sam says, talk to him, but Dean isn’t good with words, he knows that. So he invites Castiel on a drive. He even offers to let Castiel get behind the wheel, but Castiel only shakes his head and sinks in on the passenger side. They drive with the windows down, fast, because Dean hopes Castiel might find some resemblance in it to flying. But Castiel’s shoulders stay slumped as he stares out the window, and when they return to the bunker he retreats to their room without a word.

Sam says, give him time, but Dean is worried, scared, and that makes every quiet day stretch on interminably. He finds himself spending hours in the library, staying behind when Sam goes on errands and cases because, if Castiel does leave their bedroom, Dean doesn’t want him coming out to an empty bunker. Seated in one of the library’s leather armchairs, Dean reads more than he has in years, pores over dusty, thick volumes on angels: their wings, their powers, their grace. None cover how to help a homesick angel.

Even though he knows angels don’t eat, he feels compelled to bring Castiel food, hopes a familiar meal might spark a happy memory. Castiel takes the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Dean offers him, but when Dean returns an hour later, there’s only one bite missing and Castiel says, thank you, but it doesn’t taste like anything.

Sam says, it can’t be easy, losing his home, his family. Using a grace that isn’t his own. Being an angel among humans. Every night, Dean sinks under the covers, wraps his arms around Castiel and holds him close. Sometimes Castiel nestles up against him and Dean believes his angel will become his old self again, and sometimes Castiel doesn't move, as if Dean isn’t there, and Dean feels hollow inside.

When he whispers, I love you, and presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead, Castiel whispers, very softly, I love you too, and Dean hopes it means he hasn’t failed this angel who he loves, but doesn’t know how to help. Castiel never cries. That’s an answer Dean can’t find in any of his books: Do angels cry?

It’s when Dean is on an errand, Sam convincing him to leave the bunker for the first time in days, that he realizes it. He stares at a stuffed crochet bee—yellow and black stripes, two antennas, small black eyes, white wings, thin line of a smile (one stitch out of place but it adds personality)—and realizes Castiel doesn’t have any belongings. Even his clothes, the suit and trench coat, are originally another’s.

This reminded me of you, he tells Castiel and feels silly holding out such a trivial thing, offering a stuffed animal to an Angel of the Lord. But Castiel takes the bee from him and gazes at it. This is for me? he asks, tracing the bee’s smile. It’s yours, Dean says.

Castiel looks up at him with a small smile of his own that creates a flutter of hope inside Dean. Thank you.

This, at least, is something Dean knows he can do—give Castiel things, material things he can hold in his hands, that will ground him to Earth. He buys Castiel a fluffy, blue blanket—its color the closest approximation to Castiel’s eyes he can find—cotton shirts with pockets and stripes, a yellow bath towel. He places books on the nightstands in their room: westerns with amber and rust covers, a children’s book about a boy and his dog which he thinks Castiel will appreciate because the dog is named Sam. A small plant sitting in a teal pot, its curling green leaves tinged yellow down the center. A mug which says, Morning, Handsome, and which he tries to hide from Sam when he makes tea for Castiel every morning and night (because even if Castiel can’t savor the taste, seeing him sit up to hold the mug and breathe in the steam, drink in the warm liquid, gives Dean a similar warmth inside).

They’re yours, Dean says, repeats. All yours. He hopes it is enough.

Castiel takes every item in his hands when Dean returns from long shopping trips, turns them over and studies them. In the days that follow, Dean finds him bent over his books, turning the pages slowly, sees him returning from a shower wrapped in his yellow towel. In the morning, Dean wakes as Castiel rises to water his plant and trace its leaves with his finger. The stuffed bee takes up permanent residence on their bed and Dean pretends to grumble—You’ve left me for him. Castiel hugs his bee defensively and Dean can’t help but smile.

Castiel wears his new shirts—they are very soft—and sits on the floor in the laundry room, reading, waiting for his clothes to emerge clean and warm. Sometimes, Dean catches Castiel watching through the dryer’s glass door as his stuffed bee tumbles inside in a rough imitation of a bumblebee’s corkscrew flight. Castiel’s quiet listlessness, the droop of his shoulders as he pulls his bee out and holds it against his chest, fills Dean with an anxious doubt. How can warm cotton and yarn ever replace the light and warmth of Heaven that Castiel sunned under for millennia?

His name is Buzziel, Castiel says one night as Dean pushes the bee aside to take the angel in his arms. Dean hugs both Castiel and this strangely named bee. Buzziel? he asks, stressing the -iel. Is he an angel bee?

Castiel nods and Dean watches him run his finger along Buzziel’s wings. And Dean realizes that no matter what he buys Castiel, an angel will always miss Heaven.  

I’m sorry, Cas. Castiel doesn’t speak and Dean learns angels do cry.

Sam shows Castiel a video of Marie Kondo and the earth-bound angel spends hours folding his new clothes into neat bundles and organizing them in his new dresser. He frowns down at his plant, at its wilting leaves turning brown at the edges. If I had my grace I could heal you. Dean introduces Castiel to nature documentaries and they watch for hours and hours. Most shows are slow and plodding, but Dean finds comfort in the weight of Castiel leaning against him, the way Castiel holds Buzziel on his lap, his rapt focus.

They watch a documentary on beekeeping and Dean points to a bee seated on a purple flower. There’s Buzziel. Castiel smiles so he starts naming every bee on the screen, Samiel, Bobbiel, Jodiel, hoping to keep Castiel’s smile on his face for a little longer. He feels the hollow space in his chest filling with something like hope, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge for fear it will disappear and leave him emptier than ever before.

When he wakes one morning, it seems his fears are realized because the space next to him is empty, save for Buzziel staring at him with his crooked smile.

He and Sam search the bunker and just when he grabs the keys for Baby to search outside, the bunker door creaks open and Castiel walks down the stairs. There’s dirt on his bare feet and he’s holding his plant. She needed sunshine.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief, pulls Castiel close, hears the crinkle of leaves. I thought you left. He holds Castiel at arm’s length to look in his eyes. I know this isn’t Heaven. But I’ll buy you anything you want. Anything to make this feel like home.

Castiel stares back at him, his eyes serious, his hands around his potted plant. Heaven isn’t my home anymore. My home is here with you, he looks over Dean’s shoulder at Sam, and you.

And Buzziel, Dean says. Castiel smiles. And Buzziel. A relief Dean hadn’t dared hope for fills the bleakness inside him and he pulls Castiel close, feels the warmth of the sun on Castiel’s clothes, his bare arms and dark hair, a reassurance that Castiel will be alright.

Thanks to @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21 for creating this challenge, and I just have to give credit to this week 3 fic by @wingtrap for sparking the idea for this fic :)

Tagging: @spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my spn fics :)

[sunlightdances]

One Good Reason: (3/5) - Dean x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Chapter Warnings: No major warnings, a shorter chapter this time as Dean and the Reader get used to living together. Also - something strange is happening at the bunker, and it’s not just Dean and the Reader pretending they’re not attracted to each other. Series Summary: Dean never brings women back to the bunker. It figures the one time he breaks his own rule, the state issues a lockdown. Navigating the next month is an exercise in trust, patience, and falling in love. Author’s Note: I don’t own Dean or Supernatural, but the plot and writing is mine, so please don’t repost it without my permission. Also: my new page divider is by the amazing @writeyourmindaway​!

Series Masterlist / Complete Masterlist

2.5 weeks later

You hiss as you get out of bed, the cool floor underneath you a shock first thing in the morning. You rifle through your suitcase, grabbing a hoodie and pulling it on, as well as a thick pair of socks. Yawning, you open your door and head down the hallway to the kitchen.

“Morning,” you say quietly to Dean, who’s already dressed at the table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. You narrow your eyes at him. Who looks that good first thing in the morning? His shirtsleeves are rolled up on his forearms, the veins there distracting you.

“Hi,” he says back, meeting your eyes briefly. It’s always like this - the two of you a little shy during the first conversation of the day. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, sighing, “I kept hearing noises. Were you and Sam up late?”

Dean looks up curiously. “I mean, we were up later than you.” He frowns, “Didn’t mean to keep you up.”

You start to get stuff together for your coffee, and scowl when you realize the almond milk you like is empty. And back in the fridge.

“It’s fine,” you tell him absently. You roll your eyes to yourself as you grab the now empty milk carton out of the fridge and set it on the counter with the rest of the empties waiting to be recycled - two empty boxes of cereal, and half a dozen beer bottles.

“Is it too much to ask for someone to not put an empty carton of milk in the fridge?”

Dean glances up from his laptop. He and Sam have been working on something for a few days, but he hasn’t mentioned details, and you haven’t asked.

“Don’t look at me,” he replies, “You and Sam are the only ones who drink that crap.” He makes a face at the carton of almond milk.

You sigh, and add the carton to the pile. “We have to go to the store again.”

“See, you say we, but you mean me.”

You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “But Dean. Think about how much you want to drive your car. Might as well run an errand, right?”

You can tell he’s trying not to smile. “You’re trouble.”

You hum, trying to figure out what else you’re going to have for breakfast now that milk is out of the question.

“Lactose intolerant?” He asks, going back to typing.

“Oh, not sure, actually. Just like the taste better.”

He hums. You stare at him for a bit, trying to figure him out. Dean is so mysterious, but still makes himself open, makes you feel comfortable and safe. It’s such a strange feeling. Still, you will not let his or his brother’s good looks make you forget why you’re a little irritated this morning.

Living with men is…. Hard. They’re constantly leaving messes everywhere (even though Dean has tendencies to clean everything when he’s bored) and the volume at which they play video games together…. Astronomical.

Your point is proven a few hours later when you’re on a call with your work team and even though you’re muted so they can’t hear Sam or Dean, you can’t hear a thing being said to you. “Can you guys excuse me just one minute?” You ask apologetically, and then take your headset off, storming down the hall.

You burst through the door and they barely even glance at you. Fuming, you walk right in front of the TV and stand there, arms crossed as they sputter.

“Hey! You make a better door than you do a window, you know.” Dean says, leaning to see around you.

“You are children.” You huff, blowing the hair that has escaped your ponytail out of your face. “I am on a work call. It’s important, and I can’t hear anything.”

Sam looks a little sheepish. “We thought with the door closed--”

“We can’t be that loud.” Dean interrupts.

You look at him like he’s grown another head. “All I’m asking is for a half hour of quiet. That’s it. I’m begging you.” You say, trying to turn on the charm. “Dean?”

He grumbles under his breath, but you can see the fight leaving him. “A half hour?”

“Maybe less,” you reason with him.

“Fine.”

You manage to finish your work call without any other disruptions, but by the time you’re finished, Sam and Dean are watching the news and you’re slipping into a worse and worse mood.

You’re more homesick than you’ve ever been. The weight of all of it is too much, and you excuse yourself from the room before you can burst into tears.

You hate this - you hate the whole state of the world and you hate that it’s forced you into the most awkward situation of your life, all because you couldn’t resist a pretty pair of eyes and a sense of humor.

You find your way to your room and curl in a ball on your bed, the unfamiliar texture of the blanket under you making your heart clench.

You start a YouTube video on your laptop, some mindless cooking videos that play on a loop until you manage to fall into a restless sleep.

.

.

.

Dean approaches your door hesitantly. He has no idea what he should do - if he should leave you alone, or try to apologize. Though if he’s honest, he’s not even sure what he should apologize for.

He’s just got a general guilty feeling coursing through his body. It’s his fault you’re stuck here, after all.

He notices the door isn’t shut all the way, so he pushes it open gently. The room is dark except from the light coming from your computer, and you’re curled in a ball on top of the covers.

Dean finds that he can’t stop staring at you, and wills himself to stop standing there like a creep. He pulls a throw blanket off the end of the bed and covers you with it, reaching over to push your laptop closed.

His mind has been flashing back to that first night with you, trying to understand what made you so different. He’s liked having you around, even if he won’t admit it to anyone who asks. He still feels that connection he felt the first night, but he has no idea what you’re thinking, and he doesn't want to push or pressure you, especially when you can’t leave even if you wanted to.

Leaving the room, he finds Sam and Cas in the kitchen. Cas has an armful of groceries.

“You better wipe those down,” Dean says, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“I can’t get sick, Dean.” He says it like he’s talking to a child.

“And what are you going to tell her when she wakes up?” He asks, gesturing towards the hall where you’re sleeping. “We don’t have any backup plan if things get weird.”

As if on cue, the lights above them flicker. Just once, but enough that the three of them freeze, eyes suddenly sharp.

“You’re kidding me.” Sam says.

A flutter of wings, and Cas is gone.

“What the fuck?” Dean asks, and Sam shrugs.

“Went to check it out? He’ll be back.”

“He can’t keep flying off. He’s going to slip up one of these days and appear in front of her and she’s going to pass out.”

Sam snickers. “You’re awfully protective.”

Dean ignores him, but he can’t deny it either. He feels it in his gut, to make sure you don’t find out the truth about him and Sam, and to make sure you feel comfortable while you’re here. Maybe it’s his innate need to take care of people, but the small voice in the back of his mind that he rarely listens to tells him it’s something else.

The lights flicker again, and Dean moves to the doorway, sighing. “We better figure this out, and soon.”

“You think it’s possible she brought something here with her?”

Dean stops, because he never even considered it. He just figured it was his own bad luck that while he’s trying to conceal who he really is from a girl he maybe sort of likes, a ghost would start haunting the bunker. Maybe it was Charlie here to finally give him the ass kicking he deserves for getting a girl like you stuck in this mess.

“I have no idea.”

Suddenly there are footsteps, and Dean shushes Sam before he can reply. You come into view a minute later, rubbing your fingers through your hair, and Dean finds he wants to do it for you. He shakes it off.

“Problems with the electrical in this place?” You ask.

Sam makes a choked noise that has you looking at him in alarm. “Uh-- yeah.” He recovers, “It’s an old place. You know.”

“Uh huh.” You look back at Dean for confirmation, and he shrugs.

“Slept okay?” He asks, changing the subject completely before he can put his foot in his mouth.

You nod. “Needed a nap.”

Dean looks a little closer and thinks he can see dried tear tracks on your cheeks. It has him reacting automatically, taking a step closer, but he sees you shrink back and he stops immediately, snapping back into awareness of what he’s doing.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you mumble, and then you’re gone, leaving Dean staring at his shoes, clenching his jaw and trying to figure out how you’re all get through a month more of this.

Cas appears back in the kitchen, and Dean glares.

“You have to stop doing that.”

“I think there’s a spirit in the bunker.” Cas says, ignoring Dean’s warning.

Sam groans, head tipping backwards. “Great. Good. Couldn’t be better timing.”

Dean puts his hands on his hips, sighing. “Look, tonight we’ll hunt it. Just-- we’ll wait until she’s asleep and hope it heads to the opposite end of the bunker.” He turns to Cas, “And you. Walk. You have to walk.”

Cas rolls his eyes, and Dean truly wonders if he’s going to make it through quarantine without killing his best friend or his brother, and if he can keep them all and you from being murdered by a vengeful spirit.

[bubbashawn]

Fine Line || part i

author: here we go, lovies!! Want to give a quick shoutout to my babe @wholesomemendes because Kaleigh has been so supportive and I love her. Also quick thanks to @sauveteen and @shawnjpeg for writing you flower, you feast (I tagged it) because it made me want to do this and @watchmegetobsessed because she reinstated my need to write this story when I read back to you (i tagged it). I hope you fall in love with Maia like I did and enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it!!

synopsis: she walks the fine line between friends and lovers. he walks the fine line between love and heartbreak. they walk the fine line where everything is blurred.

warnings: 4.2k of oblivious “best friends” obsessing over each other. It’s a little angsty but more fluffy than anything.

Jet-lagged Shawn is simultaneously Maia’s favorite and least favorite version of Shawn. Or maybe her favorite was her drunk Best Friend after her seventeenth birthday when he became affectionate and clingy crying out her name. But the jet-lagged version was definitely up there.

He looked soft, in grey sweatpants and his ‘Youth’ sweatshirt. With hooded eyes, rosy cheeks, and chapped lips, emulating a sigh from the back of his throat. Exhaustion hid messily behind his smiling features. It was clear to her though. Maia could recall this look, and his crushing weight on top of her, since high school before he was selling out stadiums.

She enjoyed this sleepy side because she knew what followed his sweet demeanor. His forehead would crease, his hands would tug at his perfect curls, his voice would drop to a grumble while his muscles flexed. It was the worst.

Maia has seen a lot of jet-lagged Shawn throughout the years. Whether he was in a different country while on tour or flying to Los Angeles from Toronto too much, she’d confidently say she knew her best friend in this state quite well.

The Oceania leg of his headlining world tour was complete. Shawn had rushed from Auckland, New Zealand all the way to his condo, and happily found her curled around the softest blanket he owned, sunk into his white couch.

The second he heard ‘New Girl’ reruns coming from his tv through the door, his heart was light. Finding Maia exactly where he hoped she’d be, just bringing up his heart rate further. And he took a minute just drinking her in. It didn’t matter that her hair was messy with knots littered about, that her, his, sweater was wrinkled, and she softly snored. It didn’t matter that those noises began overpowering the dialogue of the show she’d seen too many times to count.

What mattered to Shawn was seeing his Maia for the first time in months. She didn’t live here, though he had asked her to move in with him on multiple occasions, she had always refused because her life was in Montreal, five hours and eleven minutes away from him. A few hours doesn’t seem terrible, because frankly, it wasn’t, but Shawn missed seeing her the moment he got home. Back when she lived in Toronto, a mere four-minute drive from the famous boy, Maia ended up spending more time frolicking through his halls than her own.

Things did change, though. No matter how hard Shawn denied it. Because she got her dream job, and she moved away. Away from him.

Yet, here she was. His Maia, five hours away from her congested apartment, instead found sleeping soundly in his. Shawn couldn’t be happier seeing her there. He toed the heel of his Chelsea boots off his feet and shuffled over, praying his socks would mute the sounds of movement. Crouched by Maia’s face, hand coming up to cup her cheek, he was undeniably adoring her. He stared from this closer angle before pressing the calloused pad of his thumb across her cheekbone and peacefully roused her from her dreams.

“Papillon?”

She had called him that jokingly in school after a French class they had together. Leaning against her locker as students bustled and shoved their way down the small halls of Pine Ridge Secondary School. One extra aggressive classmate pushed so hard against Shawn’s bag he ended up pressed into Maia.

“You’re so fragile, Papillon.”

“Papillon? What ev-”

“It’s French for butterfly.”

“Really? And why am I a butterfly again?”

She had responded with some stupid excuse about him being delicate and a clutz before shoving him off her chest.

The nickname stuck. It didn’t matter that Shawn’s limbs had filled out or that he could lift her off the ground with ease. He was always Maia’s Papillon.

Her eyes were shut tight, her brows furrowed, and she mewled his name in question over and over.

“Maia,” he smiled when your shifting eased as his voice echoed along the walls, “Flower, I’m right here. Open your eyes, M.”

“Papillon?”

He watched as her eyes opened and nodded, his smile only growing when her arms wrapped around his neck.

Maia had driven, on Ontario-401 East, with every intention of surprising Shawn. She had thought about going all out, but after considering how jetlagged he’d be, Maia simply bought some popcorn preparations and flipped his television on.

“When did you get in?”

“About an hour ago. We took the long route home, Jake said something about a wreck on Gardiner Expressway.”

She nodded, too overwhelmed by her happiness to speak more. Maia’s hands found the small of his back, under the navy fabric of his sweatshirt, and pulled his body over her figure. Shawn’s arms quickly adjusted to brace his weight on his forearms on either side of her pouting face.

“What?” He flicked the hairs framing her face out of her eyes, “don’t give me that look!”

Her hands pressed down harder on his back, trying to effectively press his body down to hers.

“Stop! Your hands are so fucking cold. Jesus Christ, woman.”

Maia’s hands slipped out from under his clothes, holding his shoulders. Pulling down harshly, still wanting his weight on her.

“Honey,” Shawn’s hands slid along her jaw, “hey, I really don’t want to crush you.”

“Just c’ mere.”

“Flower, I love you, but I’ll crush you.”

He wasn’t lying; his 6’2” frame would smother Maia’s shorter figure, by seven inches. She had always been dainty, her hands barely reaching his second knuckles when they compared their hands.

“I know,” she smiled sheepishly, “you’re just far away.”

Shawn agreed, even though their legs were intertwined, her chest was pressed to his, and he felt her familiar heartbeat. He smiled softly when Maia continued pouting until he quickly shifted to flip their position. His body, now resting against the cushions, cradled her as she laid on top of him.

“I’m right here,” his hands made grabby motions at her hips.

She was quick to oblige, her head tucking into the crook of his body. Her lips grazed the crease in his shoulder, her hair brushed along the underside of his jaw. This was her favorite Shawn, the one who seemed happy to just exist with her.

“Bub.”

“Mmm?” He hummed against her skin, Maia felt the goosebumps crawling up her spine from the vibration.

"I have popcorn and hot chocolate makings on your counter.”

He hummed again, softer this time. Shawn knew they'd move from this position before too long because she wasn’t really his to hold, not like this, at least. No matter how many times he called her his Maia. She’d never be his, not really.

“Let me hold you a little longer,” he relished in the feeling of her lips pressed sweetly to his neck, “okay? M, just a little longer.”

“You good?”

His hands squeezed the curve of her side, before letting her pull away just barely. His perfect Maia coming into view.

“More than good,” he smiled as she brushed her finger down the bridge of his nose, “perfect, really.”

Her smile grew, her gaze remained locked on his. Maia leaned down, kissing the scar on his cheek, remembering that day happily. His heart almost hurt from beating so hard, and Shawn had to hold back a whimper when her eyelashes fluttered. She was so perfect, staring down at him. The moment broke off much too fast for either of them as she rose to her feet, hand outstretched for his.

“I love you, Papillon.”

“I love you too,” Shawn’s eyes locked on their intertwined hands, “God, I really fucking missed you.”

She just laughed and pulled him towards the kitchen. Both with gushing smiles and red cheeks, looking like a teenager with a stupid crush.

Maia wasn’t lying when she told Shawn she’d gone shopping for popcorn, but she wasn’t being completely truthful either. She had stocked up all his cabinets with food of all kinds, including a takeout box holding his favorite french toast from Regine Cafe, a local favorite down the block from her Montreal apartment. She had bought the makings of chocolate chip muffins, and he saw what looked like all the parts of a traditional English roast dinner. Shawn’s favorite meal his mom, Karen, makes when she comes by.

“You’re too good to me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re too good to me, we even out,” she chuckled, stepping up behind him, “I know you get homesick, and I just saved your mum the drive down. She always made you food before you get home, and I was already here. It made sense, Shawn.”

He hadn’t even been processing Maia’s voice behind him, all too focused on her small arms looping around his waist, her chin resting between his shoulder blades.

“Either way, thank you.”

“You’d do the same.”

“True,” she could practically hear his eye roll, “but, just let me say thank you.”

“Okay.”

The two just remained in the corner of the kitchen, enjoying the sweet, homey silence of Shawn’s condo. They worked happily making hot chocolate because it was past midnight, neither of them needing caffeine, and Maia had never liked the bitterness of coffee. Before long, they both had steaming mugs being stirred with silver spoons.

“Put your drink down.”

“Why?”

“Just,” he smiled at her confused look, “trust me, okay? Drink down, Flower, please.”

The moment the ceramic touched the marble countertop, his hands found the small of her waist just above her hips. He lifted Maia into the air, chuckling, as she squealed in shock. The hair of her arms stood up, her warm skin made contact with the cold counter she was now sitting on. She nearly gasped when Shawn’s hands found home under her shirt where the fabric met her cotton shorts, kneading the skin gently.

“You’re crazy,” her head fell to his shoulder.

“Yeah, for you. Only for you, M.”

Her heart dropped, freezing up her whole body, but Shawn’s hands continued to massage the tight muscle.

“Jesus, woman, why are you so tense? It’s just me.”

“Would you stop saying ‘woman’?”

“You are one, aren’t you?”

He was being cheeky, Maia’s body remained stiff in his hold.

“Relax,” his lips kissed her forehead, hoping she’d melt into his touch again, he repeated his mumble, “it’s just me.”

Shawn continued to move his hands, reassuring her of his words, until she slumped against him like putty in his hands. She turned her head, letting her lips brush the soft skin above his collarbone. Maia’s eyes fluttered closed, enjoying their closeness, knowing she couldn’t have it for much longer.

“Honey,” she hummed against his skin, sending vibrations down his spine, “what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve just been clingy.”

Maia’s eyes snapped open the second he finished his remark, quickly, adjusting her legs, forcing Shawn to move out from between her thighs. She offered him a half-ass, awkward smile before hopping off the counter.

“Whoa, wha-what?” He followed her figure with his eyes, not moving, still in shock from her sudden distance, “what just happened?”

“Nothing, um, I’m heading to bed, it’s late.”

“Flower…”

“See you in the morning?”

“What about,” his eyes searched for an excuse for her to stay, “what about your hot chocolate?”

“You can have it or just dump it in the sink.”

Shawn nodded his head, a frown on that perfect face of his as he watched Maia leave the kitchen, wandering down the hall.

He just stood there, processing the demeanor change, it was completely drastic to your soft persona he adored so much. His hands found his curls tugging on them harshly like she had predicted he would at some point, just not for the same reason. Shawn hated it when she blocked herself off from him, especially when he caused it.

Maia was never one to let her emotions out, she liked to keep them bottled so no one would worry until Shawn would mumble one word and she’d be falling apart in his arms.

His hands absentmindedly found the two lukewarm mugs dumping them into his sink and placing them on the metal drainer, reminding himself to deal with it in the morning. The quiet the two of them shared, now seemed bitter practically nipping at his mind until he walked down his hallway. He found himself staring at his bedroom door.

He let the light from the hall sneak in when he entered the room, not wanting to disturb your quiet and unmoving body with the overhead fixtures. His hands found the neckline of his soft sweatshirt, pulling it from his body. The once comforting warmth was now claustrophobic against his flustered skin. Shawn wanted her cold fingertips to run along the valleys in his back, to lure him to sleep. He lightly padded his way to the bed, feeling around the duvet for the curve of Maia’s figure only to come up empty. The mattress was cold, her perfume only lingering from that morning when she crawled out. Shawn could feel his stomach drop, knowing she was upset enough to not curl into his king-sized bed for comfort.

He flopped back, not bothering to pull any blanket over him, his arm folded behind his head as he considered his choices. Knowing Maia wouldn’t fall asleep laying across the hall from him, Shawn climbed out after only minutes of staring longingly from the ceiling to the crack between his door and the frame.

He stood silently in the hall, peeking into the guest room, sure enough seeing her resting form in a lump under the wool blanket stolen from his bed. His legs had a mind of their own walking towards you until he was kneeling at the foot of the mattress. He felt the fabric sink under the new weight, and Maia’s red eyes were connected with his all too welcoming honey ones. He could barely see her face, but the city lights reflected off her cheeks, tear tracks hitting him in the gut all over again. Shawn walked around the bed until he was kneeling by her face, just like she’d seen him earlier that night.

“Shawn, what ar-” her voice was cracked, and she had sniffled when taking a breath.

“Baby,” he was basically whimpering, reaching to cup her damp cheeks, “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything, okay? M, I shouldn’t hav-”

“Shaw-”

“No, I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk to me. I swear, I just wanted to be helpful. And you’re absolutely not clingy, I love it when you let me in, and you are so close to me. Flower, I’m so sorry, so, so sorry.”

Shawn was crying, when Maia’s hands gripped his. Pulling him into her embrace, this time, however, he let his weight crush her dainty figure.

Shawn buried his head deep in her dark hair, his lips moving next to her ear mumbling.

“Sorry, Baby,” he repeated, again and again, mixed with sweet nothings.

“Papillon, hey,” she pulled his head back, so their temples pressed together, his nose against her cheekbone, “hey, I overreacted, please calm down. It kills me to see you like this, Bub.”

He pulled back further to hold her gaze, both their teary eyes making them let out soft chuckles of relief. Shawn rolled them over, letting his Maia bury herself in his chest, breathing in his expensive cologne.

“I love you,” He littered kisses on her eyelids, before letting Maia curl up in her spot in his neck.

“Mmm,” she hummed, the goosebumps down Shawn’s spine were back, “I love you too, Papillon, so much.”

He smiled as her breathing evened out, her grip loosening but still holding his bare chest against her now sleeping body. Shawn let his hand travel across the expanse of her spine under his sweater, adorning her figure. Maia leaned into his touch, her mind not letting her overthink in its restful sleep. It was like all her inhibitions were gone when his calloused thumb stroked the curve between her shoulder blades, enjoying the softness of her tanned skin. This was Shawn’s favorite Maia. His Maia. It was rare, but when he could just hold her silently, it always sent a serene wave over his mind just being with the girl he adored, holding her.

Shawn didn’t mind that he didn’t sleep before the sun peeked through his windows, the rays sending a glow over the skin he could see from the gap between her shorts and the rolled-up knit fabric of his sweater. He didn’t mind staring at her with a soft smile because he couldn’t sleep. His jetlagged head was eight hours ahead of hers. He definitely wouldn’t mind curling up with her later when he did, finally, tire out sometime in the afternoon.

“Shawn?”

His gaze moved from where his hand grazed her skin to her now open eyes, hours after sunrise. Shawn took in the depth and warmth of her brown irises. He smiled when her cheeks crinkled as she giggled at his sheepish expression, after being caught watching her sleep.

“How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” he was lying, Maia could tell when he gazed back down at his hands, not daring to make eye contact, “how did you sleep?”

“Good. What time is it in New Zealand?”

“Like twelve or one I think, why?”

“You haven’t slept?”

“Honey, it’s fine. I’ll go to sleep early tonight, eh?”

She nodded yawning and enjoyed her view of her best friend's home. Maia’s hands found the edge of the covers, pushing them off of her, Shawn's hand slipping out from under her clothes when she adjusted. He quickly grabbed her waist, pulling her back into bed, flush against his chest when she tried to climb out.

“Where do you think you’re going, Flower?”

“Mmm, up.”

He held her tight when she went to stand again, laughing when she huffed, realizing she’d be unable to overpower his strength.

“Shawn, our day is already shortened because you’ll be collapsing in exhaustion by like two.”

“I’ll stay up for you.”

“Yeah,” she frowned from on top of him, his hands holding her down on his stomach, “you and I both know that’s not what I want, Papillon. It’s not healthy.”

“Stop your worrying, woman.”

“Stop calling me ‘woman’”

She groaned, still sitting on him, her legs on either side of his waist. His hands squeezed her legs, showing no signs of letting go at any point. Maia realized a morning cuddled into Shawn wouldn’t hurt, even if both their sleep schedules changed in the result, so she let her chest slump onto his and just enjoyed the feeling of his touch everywhere.

“Shawn?”

“Mmm?”

“How long are you home for?”

He sighed and his movements stopped for a moment before she looked up at him. Shawn smiled down at the girl in his arms before continuing to rub her back and kissed her forehead softly.

“My first show is the twenty-ninth,” he tried to ignore the pull on his heart when Maia frowned, “so, I’ll leave in a couple weeks for rehearsal and publicity.”

She nodded, wanting to say something along the line of ‘I wish you could stay’ or ‘I wish I could go with you’ but, wishes were all they’d be. So, Maia held her tongue not wanting to give Shawn any ideas or hopes that she’ll skip the rest of her school semester. She would skip the rest of the semester, she’d probably skip the rest of the year because no one, in her mindset, could say no to him.

“How long can you stay?”

“Um,” she glanced up at him, trying to see past the little stubble on his chin, resting on his chest to see his eyes, “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

His eyes looked down to hers in shock, the idea of her staying in Toronto with him for two weeks almost too overwhelming.

“Really?”

“I mean, yeah. I’m taking a couple classes online right now, so I’m in no rush.”

“In that case,” he tickled at her side, getting a sweet laugh in reward, “you’re stuck with me, forever.”

“Forever?”

“Baby, now that I have you, I’m not letting you leave this bed, much less my city. Or Drake’s city, whatever”

Maia giggled and settled back in his arms, smiling at the idea of being his forever, just the two of them holed up in his bed, his apartment, and this perfect little world for both of them. Her heart fell a bit, knowing he’d share that world with a different girl, eventually, that Maia wouldn’t always get the benefits of Shawn’s love once a girlfriend enters the picture. Once he finds the love of his life.

She couldn’t bear the idea, much less a reality like that. She pulled away, just slightly.

tbreak. She’d excuse her love towards the boy on multiple occasions by choosing to believe she just missed him like any best friend should. And maybe a bit more.

Shawn could read Maia like an open book, his concerned eyes watching her, searching for answers in her silence. He watched the shift in her eyes from its warm, chocolate color to a dark, sad muddied color.

“Hey, Honey,” he was still watching her reactions, “we’re taking advantage of this time, yeah? And then it’s only a month apart, and then we’ll be back in Pickering for Christmas. My parents would love to have you again, and then I can stay in Montreal with you for a while. You’re stuck with me, M. You should know that by now.”

She smiled, but that sweet light he loved hadn’t shown up again, so Shawn pulled her down onto his chest, hoping Maia would curl into him again. She’d be happy again, and that’s all he cared about.

“I love you, Flower.”

“I love you, too,” she rested her chin on his chest, the little hairs tickling her skin, to stare at him, “I’m just homesick, I think.”

“Want to go back to Pickering for a couple days, then? I was actually thinking that’d be a good trip. I’d love to see my parents and Aaliyah again.”

“No,” he looked confused with furrowed eyebrows, “I mean, yes, but I’m not homesick for Pickering. I think I’m just missing you more than usual.”

Shawn felt like jumping around and squeezing Maia, so she’d squeal in shock, but he settled for kissing the crown of her head and holding her hip that much tighter.

“I’m right here.”

She hummed, her lips pressed into his chest, feeling the thump of his heart. He was so close, acting like Maia’s favorite Shawn. Just holding her.

“Is that why you were upset? Last night?”

Maia nodded, deciding that was close enough to the feeling of her heartbreak. She’d excuse her love for the boy on multiple occasions by choosing to believe she just missed him, as any best friend should. And maybe a bit more.

“M,” Shawn waited for her eyes to lock on his, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Papillon.”

And for once he actually believed she could be his Maia. Not his best friend. Not the girl he loved since he was seventeen when he admitted his feelings, drunk. Not the Maia he adored from a distance. His Maia.

“C’mon, up we go,” she’s pulling at his hands, “it’s Sunday, so we can head to the farmer’s market. I’ll make that raspberry jam you like to put on the bagels I brought from Montreal. It’s time to explore, eh?”

Shawn’s perfect morning is ruined just like that. It’s a wave that hits him, pulling him underwater the rips too strong. He knew she wasn’t his — his Maia. He sat up letting the covers fall from his stunning physique that Maia tried to not ogle at before turning and sashaying her way into his kitchen.

This was their reality. Walking around the market, pinkies brushing each other, her eyes searching his profile covered by those stupid Tom Ford sunglasses. They couldn’t hold hands and they definitely couldn’t kiss. They just stood side by side, longing for something they feared they’d never get. Reality sucked.

flsm taglist: @oyesmendes @someinsanefangirl

permanent taglist: @wholesomemendes @fallinallincurls @ashwarren32 @mendesficsxbombay @haute-shawn @turtoix @prncsnee @http-isabela

[imsvg]

firsts

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Pairing: MomoJirou (Momo Yaoyorozu/Kyouka Jirou) Words: 2182 Summary: In which Kyouka and Momo share a late-night conversation, leading to something much...greater. Fantasy AU Links: FF is here! AO3 is here!

even though she might never read this bc she doesn't know i write fanfic, s/o to my beautiful gf who helped me through my first year of college and the countless late-night talks we had that inspired me to write this.

"Do you miss home?"

The question is unexpected. Kyouka turns and sees Momo cuddled in her fur blanket, wrapping it around her as tightly as she can to protect herself from the bitter bite of the winter wind. Her nose is red from the cold, its color slowly spreading to her cheeks. As she exhales, her breath materializes momentarily, before it disappears as quickly as it appeared. Her eyes, those warm, brown eyes, shimmer in the silver moonlight, like pools of honey, as she stares straight up into the night sky, fixated.

Kyouka averts her gaze and stares down at the oversized cloak she wrapped around her body. She buries her chin and mouth in its thick fur, curling herself into a smaller ball, bringing her knees closer up to her chest.

"Yeah," she finally says, "I do."

"…How often?"

Kyouka takes time to think. It's strange how her feelings suddenly dissipate once someone asks about them. "I—mm—it's hard to say, really. Sometimes I miss home a lot, other times I don't—up to the point where I don't even think about it."

She hears a soft hum. Kyouka turns her head again, and finds Momo in that exact position. "Do you miss home?" she asks.

Momo moves. She does what Kyouka did, tucking her chin and mouth in her blanket, bringing her knees up against her chest. The bard can hear the faint clink, clink of the knight's armor.

"I do," Momo begins, "but I find it kind of…stupid."

Kyouka raises an eyebrow in slight surprise and interest. "Why do you think that?"

The bard watches as Momo's eyes become unreadable—Kyouka catches hints of somberness and cynicism, but nothing…concrete.

"Because, you know, I don't come from a far place." She laughs. It sounds…degrading, and it sends shivers down Kyouka's spine. "I only live in the neighboring district. I don't come from across the continent like you, or Izuku. Even Iida and Shouto live farther away compared to me, and they only live in the next towns over. I think, if we were to be honest, I don't think I really have a right to be homesick."

The bard is at a loss for words. She sits there, letting the information simmer inside, digesting it slowly. It feels like forever until she finally says, "I…I don't think it's really about who deserves to feel that way or not. I mean, if someone died one way, and someone else died another, in the end, both of them died. Things like this is—mm—is something I think can't be measured by who does and doesn't deserve something. Y-you know?" She turns her head and sees Momo staring at her blanket. The knight seems far away and distant, clearly lost in thought.

Kyouka's body begins to heat up from anxiety. "U-uh, I don't think what I said made sense but—"

"It did." Momo raises her head and gives Kyouka a soft, warm smile. Tension leaves the bard's body, melting away like ice. "It did, don't worry."

"…Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"What do you miss about home?"

"What do I miss…?" Momo repeats the question, but in a way that sounds pensive rather than asking for clarification. A moment passes and she breaks out into laughter. It sounds so rich, so full of life, so unlike her previous one. This one sounds more like Momo, Kyouka thinks to herself.

"My definition of home isn't…orthodox, I guess you can say. I don't think about the place I live in now. I think about the place I used to live in."

"Did you move estates?"

"No, I didn't. I've been living in the same house ever since I was born. But it was different back then. Mother was alive, Father was always there and smiling. The staff laughed with joy whenever they served us. The hearth was always alive as the sun set, keeping the cold at bay. I would sit in between Mother and Father, sharing in their warmth as we watched the flames dance in front of us. They wouldn't wear their armor. They looked like…regular people. They weren't renowned heroes of Yuuei's army, nor were they folk heroes. No titles, no family name to uphold—we were just…people. Like the ones who walk in the market every day."

The nostalgic smile on Momo's face melts away. Something heavy settles in the air, and Kyouka suddenly feels colder.

"It's not the same as it used to be," Momo says softly, "but I wish it was."

Silence settles between them.

It's suffocating. The bard's throat feels like it tied itself into a knot. She struggles to find air and words, no thought coming to mind. Slowly, she turns away, feeling as if she had asked a question she shouldn't have.

"Sorry," is all she says.

Kyouka hears a sigh. "It's fine," Momo says, "it's not your fault."

"Still, I probably shouldn't have asked in the first place."

A weight rests on Kyouka's shoulder. Strands of wild, black hair tickle the side of her cheek. Something rich and vibrant, like perfume, hits Kyouka's sense of smell, filling up her lungs and chest with something…warm, sweet, like caramelized sugar.

"I think talking about it made me feel a little bit better about it," Momo says, her voice carrying soft vibrations that run down Kyouka's arm.

Subconscious tension leaves the bard's body. She relaxes, and gingerly, places her face on top of Momo's head. They stay like that, wrapped up in their blankets and cloaks, sharing what little warmth they can with one another. They stare at the sky together, in silence, watching the stars wink at them from their place in the heavens. Kyouka recalls the vague shapes she memorized diligently when she was a child, sitting underneath the night sky with her parents as her mother sang songs of myths and legends and her father plucked his lute.

"—ka? —ouka? Kyouka?"

"H-huh? Wh-wha?" She blinks, and notices Momo lifted her head to stare at her quizzically.

"Are you okay?" the knight asks.

"Y-yeah. I was just…lost in my thoughts, sorry."

Momo nods understandingly, the look of concern melting off of her face. "I'm guessing you didn't hear what I said, then," she says with a playful smile.

Kyouka feels her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "N-no. S-sorry."

"It's fine, don't worry." Momo readjusts herself and places her head back on Kyouka's shoulder. "I asked what you missed about home."

"The food," she says without hesitation. "I mean, I know that the food here is, comparatively, way better, but the food from back home has something else that…this place doesn't have for me, yet. And—and I think it's the fact it's missing warmth. N-not like literal warmth; you know, more like the emotional kind. And I think it's because of this lack of warmth that I miss my parents' stories."

"Their…stories? Like, the stories they told during their travels?"

"Yeah. They'd recite epics and poems and songs and myths and legends from memory when I was a kid. They would sing and dance, and I would learn their craft. And while I learned how to play lute, they would recount tales of when they sailed across the sea and traveled throughout the continent in troupes and adventuring groups, performing in streets and pubs. It was all so normal and so mundane compared to the other stories they would tell me, but I always thought their stories were the most fantastical of all."

Momo laughs again, this one soft and delicate like an aria. "They sound like amazing people," she says quietly.

Kyouka feels her face flush. It's not in the usual, embarrassed way, however; this is something full of pride, full of honor. For the first time ever since she came to Yuuei, Kyouka finds herself taking pride in her roots. For once, there is no shame about her lack of training, money, nor luxury. For once, she doesn't feel the need to hide herself, her stories, and her talent.

For once, she actually feels proud to be who she is.

"Yeah," she says with a small smile, "they are."

The weight on Kyouka's shoulder is lifted, and the bard turns to see the knight staring at her. Kyouka takes in the way the moon shines down on Momo, silver moonlight gleaming off of her plate armor, causing those brilliant brown eyes to shimmer like gems. The knight's wild black hair sways in the soft wind, individual strands dancing as she continues to stare at the bard, and Kyouka swears she's looking at a goddess, like the ones her parents would sing of. There's something about Momo that makes her seem…ethereal, other-wordly, as if she was plucked from the heavens and planted gently on this mortal realm.

Kyouka's lungs ache because she forgets how to breathe. She releases the breath she's been holding for so long, exhaling softly, but it hitches in her throat when she feels something cold kissing her warm cheek. She reaches up and grabs onto Momo's hand, wrapping her fingers around the cold knight's.

"And you," Momo begins quietly, "you're just as amazing."

"No," Kyouka says with a breathless laugh, "you are."

Momo returns the same laugh, and it's only then does Kyouka realize how close they are to one another. She can feel the knight's warmth, her scent, her forehead pressing against hers…with every passing moment, they get closer and closer, their noses brushing against one another, lips sharing the same breath—

Kyouka feels her heart beating in her skull, her chest. It's erratic, pumping blood and adrenaline throughout her body, warming her face and ears, coloring her cheeks, pushing her closer and closer and closer and closer—

Their lips touch, and suddenly Kyouka doesn't know how to function. She feels entranced, as if she's under a spell, as if she lost control of everything. Her heart beats faster than ever, rattling inside of her ribcage, its beat reverberating throughout her body. Her lungs forget how to breathe again, but she doesn't care, not when she's kissing—oh gods, she's kissing Momo, she's actually kissing Momo, and her lips are chapped, but so, so soft, and they're moving against hers, and Momo moves her hand to pull her just a little bit closer, and—

They break away. Kyouka sucks in a breath through her nose, the cold air doing nothing to cool her down. Her heart is rampaging in her chest, and she swears she might pass out at any moment, because by the gods she just kissed Momo—

"Are you okay?" Momo asks, her warm breath buffeting Kyouka's lips as she pulls back her hand.

The bard blinks, remembering where she is, before saying, "Y-yeah. I just—wow." She pulls back a little more and runs a hand through her hair, laughing breathlessly. "Wow."

"Is…that a bad 'wow?'"

"N-no! I'm just—wow—I'm just—that's…I've never done something like that before. I'm just kind of—blown away, is all. I-in a good way, of course." Kyouka clears her throat, embarrassed at her blunders. "A-are you okay?"

Momo smiles, and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "More than okay. If I'm being honest I've, mm"—she turns away, her cheeks turning as red as Ejirou's hair—"been wanting to do that for a while."

Kyouka feels her face heating up. "Y-you have?"

"I—I know it's strange I just—couldn't help feeling that way. You just…make me feel safe. I don't know how else to describe it. There's just something about you—I don't know if it's your songs or your voice or just your mere presence—but I just feel so…so safe every time I'm with you. Like nothing could go wrong. Like…like you're home." The knight looks up, almost sheepishly, and quietly asks, "Does that make sense?"

A crooked smile tugs on Kyouka's lips. "It does. Because I feel the same way whenever I'm with you, too."

"Do you?" Momo's eyes widen with surprise.

"I do," is all the bard says before she twines their fingers together.

"…So what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do we do now? Are we…you know…."

The suggestion makes the tips of Kyouka's ears burn. "H-honestly, I don't know. But what I do know," she continues, squeezing Momo's hand in hers, "is that I want to stay by your side. And I don't want to lose you."

The knight smiles, then nods. "I want that, too."

Nothing else is said between them after. They continue sitting there, just as they had been throughout the night, but Kyouka notices differences. They're closer together, their hands are locked together, and there is something burning in Kyouka's chest, like an ember, sitting underneath her heart.

The bard doesn't know what love feels like. But as she sits next to the knight, holding her close, Kyouka wonders if this is the beginning of something similar.

The thought makes her smile.

it's been a hot second since i last wrote anything, so i'm really sorry if i'm rusty. i guess you can say that this is a continuation of the first MomoJirou fic I wrote a while back, but I wrote them kind of independently from one another. I remember mentioning a whole fantasy AU I was writing for BNHA, and while my motivation for that has kind of wavered, im on summer break from college now. so maybe i'll be able to put smth up for that? im just not sure what course i want to take for that story. it sux.

but anyways, i hope you enjoyed this oneshot. if you want more of these two in this particular universe, please let me know! i'd love to flesh out the whole fantasy au with just these two to give me some sort of foundation for the bigger project.

thank you for reading! i love you!

[iamwhelmed]

Homesick: Chapter 1

I wasn’t originally gonna post this here, but eh. I post everything else here, may as well post this too This one is only going to be 3 chapters, nothing that demand my attention the way WOHT does. This is a writing exercise pretty much, just a fun one!

Summary: Raven finds herself carrying Beast Boy's child and struggles with the fear of losing him and the impending responsibility of being a mother; Starfire finds Robin in a precarious position with another woman. The two leave the tower to live on their own for awhile, just to figure things out. Beast Boy and Robin may be losing their minds, and Cyborg tries to keep everyone together.

Read on AO3

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The nausea was twisting on her, like a fist in her stomach that rumbled and hissed and seethed every time she moved- not that she was doing a whole lot of that from her seat on the bathroom floor. She wasn't sure if this bout of nausea was the sheer force of terror washing over her spine in a shroud of blinding panic, or if it was a symptom…

She was, after all, pregnant. The stick in her hand, pink and cheery with a positive sign despite her ever-frantic mind stirring, said as such. She couldn't find it in her to muster up a glare at the + and the way it mocked her, not when her body was trembling and it was taking every ounce of control she had to not bust open every light fixture in the entire tower. Cyborg would flip majorly, lose his circuits, and attention was the last thing she wanted to call to herself right now.

She dropped the stick limply into the can beside the toilet, raising one hand to rub soothing circles into her temple as the other braced her body against the cold rims of the porcelain throne, keeping her steady in case her body began heaving uncontrollably.

She'd known, if she was honest; she'd known the first morning several weeks ago when she'd shot up out of her warm bed after a late night of reading to go upchuck. She'd kept herself calm, mediated on it, went down a list of reasons why she wouldn't-- couldn't-- be with child.

Or maybe it was just denial.

She groaned, lips curling into a grimace as she dragged her nails across the toilet's edge. How far along was she? She wasn't sure. Somebody else may have been able to pinpoint the exact… intimate moment… that placed a budding life inside of her. She, unfortunately, could not. Beast Boy, for all his bark over the ladies, turned out to actually have some bite to back it up.

A lot of bite, actually, and he bit often. Which was why she was here now, clutching onto what little was left of the herbal tea she'd tried to calm herself to sleep with earlier that morning. It was still hardly 5 am, early enough the sun was still hours away from making its grand entrance, which meant she had hours to figure out what exactly she was going to do before Robin inevitably woke up and demanded to know why exactly she looked distinctly paler than usual.

"Think, Raven, think!" Talking to herself helped calm her nerves, if only by a fraction, but her stomach churned with every syllable in protest. All right, facts:

1. She was pregnant, pregnant with Beast Boy's child; specifics were important, she could hear Robin's encouraging voice reminding her.

2. Beast Boy, the guy who still tried to convince others to call him "Beast Man", the guy who still regularly pulled pranks on his fellow titans, the guy who was still full of hope and enthusiasm and youthful passion… he was not ready to be a father.

3. Quite frankly, she wasn't sure she was ready to be a mother.

She took three deep breaths, trying to settle the urge to throw up the rest of her herbal tea, and perhaps preemptively empty her stomach of anything else she may decide to stuff it with the rest of the day.

4. There was no hiding this from the rest of the titans, especially not Robin and Beast Boy. Robin was the protegee of one of the most legendary detectives to walk the earth, and a leader who was defined by his dedication to his team and his friends-- his family. And Beast Boy?

Oh, Beast Boy knew her too well. He knew every nook and cranny of her soul, but perhaps more importantly, he knew her body. The first few times they'd… spent the night together… he'd spent hours afterward watching her sleep, taking in her shape, her tone, her skin, all of which would be affected by the impending life burrowed deep inside of her. She'd loved his attentiveness, loved waking up in the morning to his body woven protectively around hers like a second blanket. He'd always been gentle with her, understanding, and she'd acted in kind as they got to know each other on a more physical level, show each other just how much they loved having that special permission to touch each other, press kisses in places nobody else could, see and touch places nobody else could.

She could hide it for a month, maybe, but the moment she started showing, he'd know something was off, and that was if his impeccable sense of smell didn't give her away beforehand. Raven cursed, wondering what he would say, or maybe how wide and petrified his eyes would get before he inevitably either freaked out, or swallowed his fears and did "the right thing", only for the pressure to be too much for him to bare.

But what other choice did she have? She couldn't very well hole herself up in her room and wait for their child to come tumbling out of her in the middle of her bedroom floor, not that she would get as far as three weeks before Starfire and Cyborg and Beast Boy set up alternating camps outside her bedroom, waiting for a chance to talk to her because something was clearly very wrong.

No, she had to hide somewhere else, just until she figured all of this out. She'd leave a note, let her friends know she was fine, that she would eventually come home to them. But her home was starting to feel like a nightmare she'd accidentally conjured for herself. She didn't have to hide the entire pregnancy, right? No, she would go away for a little while and return with a clearer mind. That way, she could face her team. Face Beast Boy…

Her legs trembled under her full weight as she stood up. With a hiss, she braced herself against the bathroom counter. "Azarath… Metrion… Zin-"

There was a knock at the door, light, but present. Her body seized up, and behind her she could hear what distinctly sounded like the shower curtain ripping from the wall, edges squeaking against the tile of the shower walls as it clamored loudly to the floor, making her wince every bit of the way. Great job not drawing attention to yourself, Raven. She swallowed, hard. "Y-Yes?" She hated the way her throat choked her words into weak stuttering.

"Friend Raven," Starfire, then. Great. Then again, not the worst possible person, she mused. "I heard the throwing up, and I wanted to be sure that you were-"

"I'm okay, Starfire." She took small puffs of air through her nose, keeping her body and her voice even. "Probably just ate something a little past the expiration date is all…"

"But you are unwell, yes?"

Extremely. "I'll be fine, Starfire--" Her stomach lurched, and before she could curse the inopportune moment, she was heaving into the toilet again. The last of her herbal tea lurched from her mouth like a stream into the toilet's still warm embrace, and yet the little infant yet to grow so much as eyes was forcing her to further expunge her stomach. Bile mixed with water filled the toilet soon after, left her throat burning as she wiped haphazardly at her mouth with the back of her wrist. Not even a month old and her little one had a knack for inconveniencing her at the worst moments. She glared sardonically down at her stomach, still flat for the time being, and soothed very little by the hand that'd taken to rubbing circles into it.

The bathroom door opened, though she definitely remembered locking it. She turned her head to the side, just a fraction, just enough to see Starfire literally doing the most silent job she'd ever done of literally tearing a door off its hinges. The metal creased under the force of her hands, but she very delicately pulled the door to the side and off the wall, slowly so as to not make a ruckus. She placed it on the wall beside the door's threshold.

Her stomach lurched again, and she hurriedly burrowed her head into the toilet in preparation for the toxic sensation of heaving whatever else she had left to vomit. Come on, give me a break! If this was in any way an indication of what this little one's sleeping habits would be like, she was going to need help. A lot of it. She grinded her teeth as another wave of nausea hit her, and she heaved over the toilet, feeling her chest strain with every feeble attempt she made at throwing up. Warm fingers rested at her back, rubbing up and down in slow, settling paces. Her stomach immediately seemed to relax, the queasiness that'd enveloped her since four this morning melting away. She stayed hunched over the toilet, though, just in case. Starfire never ceased in her ministrations, pausing only to move a lock of hair out of her face, which she was only realizing now was paved with a thick coat of sweat. She'd seen the box on the counter, she was sure of it. There was no use hiding.

"Raven…"

"He can't know, Star."

"I do not understand. You wish to hide such a joyous occasion from Friend Beast Boy?"

"It won't be so joyous in nine months when he's got no clue how to be a father."

"I do believe Beast Boy has been good with children in the past?"

Raven pulled away from the toilet, and Starfire was on her in a second, gentle hands helping her to rest against the bathroom counter. She gave Starfire the best smile she could muster in her state, not much considering forcing a smile was difficult even when her insides weren't struggling to accommodate a second body. Starfire smile back though, getting the message regardless. There was no need to thank her, she was merely doing what a friend ought to do. "No, Star, he's good at entertaining kids. Raising them is…" Different. A responsibility-- not just to their child, but to her.

Maybe that was the issue.

Starfire frowned, then moved away from the toilet to sit next to her on the tile floor, up against the counter. She pressed her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, as though she was the one with a small bump to hide. "What are you going to do?"

Raven sighed, closing her eyes, hoping that the quiet she found now would give her room to think, maybe come up with a different solution, but nothing came. "I have to leave, Star."

"But--!"

"Not forever, and not for long." She glanced to her side to see the look of panic on Starfire's face fade to apprehension. "Just long enough to think. Decide what I'm doing to do."

Starfire's fingers twisted around each other, the way they did when she was stumbling over her thoughts. Raven could feel the trepidation coming off her in waves. She raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to tell her exactly what was on her mind. The tense line that had been on Starfire's face dissolved to a frown as she glanced from the floor to Raven's face. "And what if… you do not decide to come back?"

Part of her heart, squeezed and dry from all the worrying she'd done earlier, thawed at the love she felt in Starfire, like the very edges of a warm fire on a cold winter night. Of course Starfire was going to fear her departure, caring was what Starfire did best. "Starfire, I will come back. I have to eventually, even if that means I have to be away for a few years-"

"Years! But will Friend Beast Boy not be upset to miss such a period of time in his child's life?"

Raven's heart clenched again. "I.. I don't know. It's certainly not in my plan to be away that long, but if I give him a few more years to--" To what? Mature? Did she really want that? True, he was obnoxious, and sometimes he could be disgusting (Stankball, check and point), but his boyishness kept him warm, kept him bright and welcoming and, Azar help her, charming. Her worst fear was that he would lose that charm, lose his smile. She loved him, loved him more than her powers let her indulge in sometimes. To ask that he change because of a child he didn't even know about…

No, she didn't want him to change. That wasn't the issue.

"Raven?"

"I-I can't." She hated the way her voice broke. "I can't ask him to take on this responsibility, Star. As it is sometimes I think I'm too much. A child would just mean…" Death for the relationship. Turmoil for her.

There was a warm hand on her shoulder, and it squeezed gently, affirmingly. "I think it would be best if you spoke to Robin first. He is our leader for a reason, yes?"

Raven closed her eyes again, smiled to herself. Of course, Robin would be able to handle this, help her think things through. He was a rock in that way, understood her in a way nobody else could (aside from him but she couldn't talk to him about this, not yet). He would be there for her, just as Starfire was here for her now. Why had she been so scared of him knowing before? She smiled at Starfire, and it was weak, she was weak, but it was enough. She nodded.

The walk to Robin's room was slow, tedious, but Starfire's presence alone seemed to quell the urge her stomach had to make a mess of her intestines. She placed one pale, trembling hand where the baby sat-- would sit-- and took a deep breath. Starfire placed her fist on his door and knocked a few times, gently. The hour was still early, a quarter to six, and the sun was still not due to rise for another hour at least. Robin wouldn't be up for some time usually, but this was important. "Robin, I am sorry to disturb your sleep, but Friend Raven and I need to speak to you. It is of utmost importance!" There was no response, not even a shift in sound on the other side of the door. Raven glanced to Starfire, who was walking a thin line between frowning and pouting.

"Starfire, it can wait for another hour." She turned around to leave, but Starfire gripped the length of her hood and yanked her right back, causing Raven to sharply take in the air she'd been denied in that one moment.

"No it cannot." She typed in a number on the keypad to Robin's room, face set in a thin line of determination. Raven found herself squirming, ready to hightail it back to her room. The sliding door to Robin's room opened, and Starfire seemed to freeze. There was a sudden change in the atmosphere, and Raven could feel it the way one could smell a fruit turning. The air became thick with emotion, emotion Raven rarely felt in the tower, and only felt it in strangling strength once. When she did feel it on the regular, it was in such a small dose that it was as easy to look over as it was to roll her eyes, spawned usually from a round between Beast Boy and Cyborg where one swore up and down the other cheated. But this? This clouded her mind, took her heart and clawed at the already-worn muscle. Starfire stood stock-still at the door, eyes wide with an emotion Raven took a moment to recognize.

Betrayal.

She said nothing, just approached Star's side and glanced into the room.

Robin laid asleep, peaceful, one of the rare moments he ever let himself rest, become unaware and at ease for a moment's time. But Raven could sense, amid the terror that was slowly easing into Starfire, the new level of relief that seemed to consume Robin as he slept. She had a feeling it had something to do with the woman fast asleep beside him, wrapped around him in a tangle of blankets and-- surprisingly drapeless-- limbs. Both were dressed, of course, Robin never took off his mask and his uniform rarely came off, but the woman was in a state of considerably less dress, clad only in what appeared to be a thin pair of underwear and what must have been one of Robin's old training shirts. Both were fast asleep, dead to the world aside from each other, moving only to get closer together at the gust of wind his open door allowed.

Raven would have been in a state of shock herself, had she not been so emotionally drained from the last two hours. She turned to look at Starfire, who had begun quivering, the wheels of her mind processing the site before her with such a painful progression that Raven could see her heart breaking with every second that passed. Quickly, she grabbed Starfire and pulled her out of the doorway, leaving the door to Robin's room, and Robin's questionable state, to close. "Starfire…"

"No. He would never…"

Raven sighed, knowing very well what Starfire was feeling, and she didn't even need to use the powers granted to an empath. It was obvious what had transpired, if not because of the lack of pants on the woman in his arms, but because of the peace she'd picked up on, peace that, in her experience, only transpired after somebody got their rocks off. Starfire was a trusting soul, but with this came a naivety that rarely reared its ugly head. She would process the truth in time, given some space, and that is why she was talking before she even knew what she was about to say. "You know, I could probably use some company while I'm away."

Starfire turned her startled eyes, full of tears and disbelief, on her. Raven sighed and massaged her stomach with her hand again, feeling her stomach churn under the new emotional weight that'd suddenly commanded the halls. "I'm not sure if it's the baby or my powers, but I think dealing with this alone has made things a million times worse. I'm leaving, Star." But I want you to come with me. It wasn't a lie; the aching dullness of her stomach seemed to fade once she had a confidant. And the stress of dealing with pregnancy alone had subsided once Starfire's warm hand had shifted up and down her back, like a veil lifted from her head. Company was exactly what she needed. Starfire blinked a few times, owlishly staring off into space, tears that had welled cascading in trails down her cheeks to her chin. It took her a few moments, but she nodded. Raven sighed and turned away, high-tailing it in the direction of her room. "Go pack. We only have an hour before Prince Charming wakes up."

[soggy-pumpkin]

Days like this

Here is a angsty Keith fic because I ain’t feeling the best so i thought I would project it on my boi Keith instead. 1,378 words

This work is also on my AO3 account as well Hollow_Void

Keith hated days like this. When the act of doing mundane activities rivals climbing a mountain. When every second that passes can be felt and counted with such ease. Where he can watch the clock count away the hours and his thoughts filling the space between each tick of the hands.

He hated that every job and activity that needed to be done created a weight that rendered him useless. Making sure that things like going to the toilet or eating became a chore, leaving him with the idea to just skip out of it completely.

Don’t get him wrong, he has tried so hard to get out of bed. But the duvets seem to get heavier and his muscles fill with lead. His pillow whispers to him, telling him that if he closes his eyes, his strength will come back. The cloud will disappear and he will be able to stand up and leave his mind. He listens to it. Every time. But each time his limbs and the duvets get heavier. His mind gets foggier and the space between the seconds get bigger.

On days like this, he wished he had his dad back. The dad that would know something was wrong and hold him while he cried. The dad that would see his child was in pain and use his magic dad powers to get rid of the bad thoughts. On days like this, Keith would pay anything to see his dad look at him with the fatherly protectiveness that he use to. He would pay anything to be held in his dad’s arms and have the fog batted away. To have the seconds become less apparent and the duvets to become feather light.

But that won't happen. Because he is gone. He isn’t coming back. He can’t, not after visiting the big man in the sky. Not after the fire ran rampant through their home and tore them apart. The fire that grew and grew until it was able to take his dad away from him. What can he say? His father was a fireman and he was drawn to the lure of the flames. But, those flames took him away when he least expected it. So he can’t come back.

On days like this, Keith wishes to reach out to his team. But they have their own problems to fight. Pidge’s family is in danger and they are trying their best to bring them back together. To reunite a family torn apart by war. Shiro has been a victim of war and health. While his body was trying to kill him, he was dragged into a war which introduced an army of people out for his blood. Hunk had anxiety, and he tries so hard to be brave.

If he can fight his fears, why can’t you not be a worthless piece of hybrid trash and get out of bed?

Allura and Coran lost their entire race for god sake! And you are being beaten by a blanket. You are being beaten by the sound of seconds passing and your voices shouting.

You can’t even find the strength to cry.

To shout or whisper for help.

You can’t find the strength to move your jaw to chew food to eat.

Instead, you lay in bed with your headphones on hoping somehow that the rhythm of the beat with settle in your heart. Will make it beat and feel something other than the overbearing weight of the world.

You don’t deserve the world to hold on your shoulders.

He could talk to Lance. But the Cuban boy has demons of his own. He has insecurities and homesickness. He has a reason for feeling down. He wants to see his family again.

In a way, that's what Keith wants too. But he can’t. So does it count as homesickness? If the home you want doesn’t exist any more?

Keith remembers what his councillor at the Garrison said to him. That sometimes telling someone who is struggling that you are struggling too makes them feel less alone. That letting them help you will let them give advice they wish to hear, that it will let them feel useful and therefore make you feel better.

But what if it doesn’t? What if it makes them feel worse?

He feels the team communicator go off again and checks it. The group chat they made goes off with jokes and storied. Everyone seems perfect. He wants to reply, truly want to be able to type out a message or crack a joke. But it’s too much. If someone asks what he is doing or how he is doing, he might break. He can’t break.

Not yet.

There is still space in his bottle of feelings. It’s not ready to burst yet. If he breaks it now, the next break will come quicker and the next quicker than that. If he waits for it to be full then he can get it over with in one go.

For now, that bottle is only half full. But the mixture is dense. Picking up the bottle is already almost as heavy as past full bottles. One wrong move and he will loose grip on it. It will break and so will his mind.

“Keith?”

There’s a knock at the door and a familiar voice makes it’s way through the metal and into his room. He wants to say go away. He wants to plead Lance not to leave. But he can’t make the words. He can’t speak. He can’t move and he doesn’t know if he wants Lance to leave.

Luckily, Lance makes the decision for him and enters the dark room. The lights are off, the only flicker of light is the blinker on the communicator device telling him there is a new message.

Lance makes his way over to the bed where Keith lays curled up under the slab of blanket. He sits near to Keith’s pillow is and lifts it so that Keith is laying his head on his thigh. He runs his hands through inky locks and looks down to the broken paladin.

“I know you can’t talk. I know it must feel like running a marathon to get out of bed, but you need to look after yourself. You need to go to the toilet and eat and wash and laugh okay? I know it is going to be difficult but you need to know that I am here, and if you will let me, I will stay right beside you.”

Silent tears fell from Keith’s eyes. It was too much, his bottled pain was breaking too quick. He wasn’t ready to let it yet. He was scared to feel.

He was terrified of feeling anything, because he will get hurt.

“I don’t want to force you Keith but you have to get up. I’m here but you need to get up.”

Lance stood up again and held out his hand towards Keith. Staring at it, Keith began to debate what to do. If he took Lance’s hand, the bottle will break and he might not be able to let go. But if he left it and let the bottle fill, The next break may lead to Keith never coming back. Physically and mentally.

Helping others makes others feel better.

He wants to see Lance happy.

If it seems difficult to do for yourself, try doing it for someone else. Not all the time, but when it matters. And Lance matters.

Using all the strength he could muster, he broke through the concrete in his bones and lifted his sickly pale hand out to Lance. In return, he got a reassuring squeeze and a pull towards normality.

Perhaps he could do this. Let the fog dissipate enough for that smile. For those blue eyes and that caring, loving heart.

Just one more push. Let the ticking of the clock disappear. Tell the pillow that now is the time. Reward the small chores. However small, it matters.

You matter.

And with that, he was standing at the side of the bed with his hand in Lance’s.

Don’t get him wrong. He isn’t fixed. These days will come back. But for now, he has motivation to get through today.

[kamino-ink]

Hireath | Han Jisung

✧  hireath - a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return

✧ Genre: Fantasy!au, fluff, hella angst proceed with tissues

✧ Summary: you and jisung have always been side by side, training dutifully to become knights as to protect your kingdom of mirstone. when the plan to overthrow ylanta’s king and queen involves your skills as knights, you are both put to the test in every way imaginable.

✧ Word Count: 2.2k

✧ Other installments in the series: woojin, chan, hyunjin, changbin, jeongin, minho, felix, seungmin

                                         ✧

han jisung is, simply put, your other half in every way imaginable

it was as if the gods had planned for the two of you to become as inseparable as you are to this day, as you were born at the exact same time on the exact same day - and your houses were right next to each other

not to mention your parents were childhood friends as well

the pair of you grew up side by side, playing in puddles of icky mud and climbing to the very top of the trees in the forest behind your houses, much to your families’ displeasure

due to the high status of both of your families, many expected you to follow in your father’s footsteps and become a renowned aristocrat with jisung one day rising to become an artist known for his pieces around the world

but you and jisung had very, very different plans, since the very beginning

this diverging plan emerged on a stormy afternoon, the two of you had been chasing each other throughout the streets of the bustling city when a sudden ‘boom!’ erupted, nearly sending you both flying into a brick wall

but someone had caught your smaller bodies with quick, cat-like reflexes

that someone was one of the knights in your home kingdom

his armor was stained a stunning blue and white mix of colors, the distinct emblem of the royal family carved into the steel plating

the knight glanced over your shaking bodies once, twice, and then once more before he concluded no external damage had come to either of you

before jisung could open his mouth to ask the knight any questions sure to be running through his active brain, the lanky man had already started to take off towards the town square where the boom had come from, blending in with the plethora of other knights ready to defend their people from harm

that was the day both of you mutually decided that, one day, you both would become the strongest, most dedicated knights in the entire kingdom

the two of you stuck by each other’s sides all the time, even now you stood straight next to one another, clad in the blue and white armor you had come to admire for many years now

while you both were still quite young, no one could doubt how strong you both were and how much you excelled as a duo on the battlefield

while both of you were incredibly strong, jisung was the one who had mastered strategy-making and long-ranged weapons; meanwhile you had mastered the art of guerilla warfare, which was obvious by how muscular your body had become over the years

while jisung was essentially the louder, more rambunctious of the two of you, he had more brains and you held more brawns, even if you were the one who had to convince the boy to not try and slip jelly cubes into one of the general’s drinks while she wasn’t looking

you balanced each other out, it was as simple as that

“I know that you two are confident in your abilities to carry out this mission, but I beg of you - please be careful, if not for me, for the princess.” seungmin, one of the general’s sons pleaded to you and jisung, his usually stoic expression fading into one of worry at the carefree smiles planted onto your lips

“aww, is little seungmin worried about his best friends in the whole wide world?” jisung cooed teasingly to the younger boy while you ruffled his hair, causing the boy to let out a whine of annoyance and affection

“don’t sweat it, the two of us can do this no problem. its just a stealth mission through the mountains across the border, right? we got this.” you try to reassure your close friend, offering him a wide smile to try and lift his spirits

thing is, you were just as worried, if not more, about this particular mission

you and jisung had never tracked across miles of mountains before, and especially not into enemy territory that was growing more and more weary of invasion with each passing day

while the court wizard of ylanta, minho, was doing his best to deter the royal family from suspecting any sort of plan against them, there were still rumors

and rumors were enough for any sort of leader to be on guard more than usual

even though you damn well knew that the two boys you called your best friends, along with the princess now stranded in ylanta for her wedding, could sense your growing weariness, you refused to verbalize your concerns

“i’m sure our darling princess will be happy to see you two again since she’s stuck up there,” seungmin tried to lighten the mood, smiling at the thought of their friend group being able to reunite, “just make sure to stay low, stay hidden - tho-”

“those bastards won’t hesitate to shoot us down, we know, genius.” the blonde beside you finished the statement, patting seungmin’s shoulder reassuringly as he met your worried gaze

“we’ll be fine, don’t worry so much.”

that same night you and jisung had set out on your long journey through mirstone , taking a pair of horses for a majority of the way before you hit the mountain range that was between mirstone and ylanta’s borders

but by the time you reached the bottom of the rocky slopes, you had to bid farewell to your horses, knowing the poor creatures wouldn’t be able to stand the chilly temperatures and dangerous slopes ahead

so you and jisung shrugged on the bags onto your backs, letting out pitiful grunts at the sheer weight of the leather material now weighing your bodies down a bit more than either of you expected

the first stop didn’t turn out to be so bad; you had made a good track so far, walking at least five miles through the spiky range of tall mountains; a feat only you two could accomplish alone

if another squadron had been sent to make the journey along with you both, there was no way you would’ve made it so far, and so quietly

see, only three of the fifteen miles of mountains stretched into mirstone - the rest went on through a subsection of ylanta

so it would be no surprise if you were met with enemy solders at one point or another, hence why sending only two of the best knights was surely the best decision the strategists could’ve made at the time

“you want some of my beef stick?” jisung asked you, watching carefully as you sadly rubbed your belly; you could only bring a certain amount of rations, and for the most part it included little to no real meat, in fear that a wild bear would smell the meal and try to take it from you two

still you snuck in two beef sticks to keep you energized on the first day, as it was the longest part of the journey. you had eaten yours already during the horseback ride, but jisung had proved as smart as ever, choosing to instead eat his beef stick before bed so that he would feel more energized in the morning

“no way, you need to eat all of it - I already ate mine.” you pushed away his kind offering, blushing a crimson red when your stomach decides to let out an ungodly sound akin to a lion’s growl

jisung rolled his eyes and leaned in closer to you, stuffing part of the ration into your mouth before you could protest

“chew, y/n.” he insisted, smirking cockily when you huff and take a bite of his ration, pulling away and continuing to chew on the tough beef with puffed cheeks. “atta girl, that’s my cute little chipmunk~” he cooed teasingly, pursing his lips and pinching your cheeks

you can’t help but feel your cheeks (which were still being pinched) heat up at his gentle yet still teasing touch, the pads of his fingertips warm against your chilly skin

once he pulls away you end up chewing on the beef stick until you finish, then continue to sit close to each other in favor of not freezing to death on your first night in the mountains

jisung digs into his pack for a moment and then pulls out a pair of furry blankets, throwing one over both of your legs and the other over your shoulders before he shimmied underneath them right beside you

“do you remember the time I got stuck in a tree during training?” you ask him suddenly, feeling his lips twitch into a knowing smirk against the side of your head

“I do. you tried to impress one of the visitors from that little town - arbington, I think?” he ponders aloud, but continues after your hum of approval. “yeah, he owns a menagerie or whatever and you thought he was sooo cute~”

“shut up jisung… he was cute.”

“not as cute as me though, duh.”

“obviously.”

“but I was the only one able to come up and bring you down; you refused to accept help from anyone but your best friend.” he giggles

you laugh and roll your eyes, snuggling up closer to him for warmth

and then you both fall asleep, curled up into each other with your legs tangled together under the warmth of the blanket

the next two days were relatively the same; you would walk through the mountains for a few miles, sneak past outposts with ylantian guards, and camp out next to one another

“hey y/n,” jisung speaks after some time of comfortable silence, walking ahead of you by a few inches, but nothing too far, “after this mission - after we win the war...” he trails off, dipping his head down in thought, a strand of his blonde hair swaying in front of his eyes

you tilt your head thoughtfully, mimicking his actions. “what’s wrong, ji?”

he takes a deep, shaky breath, suddenly stopping in his tracks to turn on his heels, now completely facing you

“ji-?”

“y/n, come live with me. somewhere, anywhere - seungmin already agreed to have a talk with the princess once this is all said and done,” he blurts out, his voice wavering, “I - I don’t want to keep doing shit like this, where I could possibly see you die in front of me. I couldn't - I could never live with myself if that happened, chipmunk.” he pleads with you, his gaze flickering all over your stunned expression as he waits for you to speak

“jisung - I... of course i’ll come live with you. I would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked me to.” you giggle at his expression which now clearly reflects yours merely moments ago

“wait, are you serious?” he breathes out, his lips parting to say more

then an arrow flies through the air, whizzing past your face and piercing the boy in his shoulder

you immediately place your body in front of his as fast as you possibly can, whisking out a pair of war axes from the hoops of your belt. meanwhile the injured boy hisses in pain, but doesn’t pull the arrow out, as he knows too well that you both could potentially be in for a long fight without medical attention - he didn’t want to risk bleeding too much from the wound in his shoulder

then, from the outskirts of the mountains, just out of view, a horde of ylantian solders start to creep from the shadowy crevices, decorated with heavy armor and giant battle axes as well as crossbows

suddenly a flurry of arrows fly at you both, some of them puncturing your lower legs, thighs, and arms

these soldiers weren’t shooting to kill; yet

“the king and queen send their regards - oh, and...” one of the soliders tep forward from his rocky perch, carelessly swinging a silver sword around as he smirked at your bleeding bodies, “before you both die, I figure you might want to know that we have your princess in captivity. she’ll be executed tomorrow at sunrise. terribly sorry.”

you feel your heart drop in your chest, and by the strangled grunt from jisung’s throat, you can tell he is as horrified as you are

“now, let’s see how much the two best knights of mirstone can take before they topple over.”

as the horde of shouting soldiers start to make their way towards you both, clearly already celebrating their victory, you find your hand searching for jisung’s; nearly crying out in relief when it intertwines with yours

“I - I love you squirrel.” you whimper softly, squeezing his hand as another arrow whizzes into your chest

“I love you too, chipmunk.” jisung whispers just loud enough for you to hear, a single tear rolling down his cheek at the endless sight of experienced enemies still hurtling your direction

there was no way to win this fight, and both of you knew that

but you both knew that at least you would die together, fighting until the very end for your country

for your kingdom, mirstone

for your friends, seungmin and the princess

for each other, for jisung, for y/n

and so, still holding hands, you both stood back to back, raising your weapons to your enemies

                                         ✧

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ i beg you, don't be disappointed with the man i've become.

date: december 5, 2017 (d-7 to album release)

location: knight’s dorm

word count: 1,705

summary: honestly idek. ash hates himself. he’s doing great emotionally. 

notes: depression tw. mentions of alcohol abuse. mentions of weight loss and vaguely(?) suicidal thoughts tw. i lost the original version of this para back in october so i finally rewrote it and gave it a makeover to be relevant now.

“I wish my family and friends, they stay healthy I wish that love was a currency and the whole world was wealthy I found myself late night wishing on a star Everyday I wish I'd never broken a heart.”

when his manager said ash’s new schedule would be a lot busier than it had originally been, he hadn’t been kidding. for the past month and a half, it’s been the same. ash spends all day in the studio recording either for his album, or a portal single, or one of knight’s albums, and then he has concept meetings for music videos and photo shoots and stages, and they’re all pointless because they rarely consider his input anyway. there are days ash leaves with a success to his record for expressing his own vision, but they’re rare and he wonders how he can feel so stifled when the music on the album itself is so intrinsically his work, from his lyrics to his music to his voice.

today is a good day, at least. recording for his album is long done and the meetings are only about promotion concepts now. nothing today directly contradicts his own vision, so he celebrates the small victory in his mind as he leaves the bc building.

as decent as his day has been, when he gets back to the knight dorm for the day, he wants to be alone, so when his phone starts to vibrate on his bedside table, he plans to ignore it. when he looks down and sees a face time request from ‘mom’, though, he has no choice but to pick it up. there hasn’t been a time since he debuted that he got to talk to his parents enough and it’s been even worse lately with his busy schedule.

“mom?” 

his mother’s face appears on the screen and she looks just like she always does, somehow both put-together like the magazine editor she is and as relaxed as the free spirit he knows her to be. “ashton! i’m glad i caught you. you’re not busy now, are you?”

“no, mom,” ash answers, angling the camera to show her where he is before bringing it back to his face. “i’m just at the dorm. i’m not doing anything.” he’s unable to keep himself from smiling at seeing his mom’s face and hearing her voice. he sees her disappear off-screen for a few seconds before his dad joins her in the frame.

“son!” his dad bellows with a wide grin, before it falters with what ash reads as concern."you look like you’ve lost weight. you’re losing those signature kwon cheeks that made your mother fall for me.” ash sees his mom roll her eyes and the homesickness hits him all at once. “your mom and i have been watching your award shows performances and you’re getting really thin. they better not be starving you over there.”

“all i do is eat, dad. you know me.”

“are you sure? you’re starting to look as thin as you did last year, kid. you lost a lot of weight back then.”

the mention of the previous year makes ash shift on his bed. as open as his relationship with his parents is, he’s never found it in him to tell them more than the basics of what had happened last year. they didn’t even know he’d been put on antidepressants and gone through endless sessions with his therapist. they didn’t know he’d lost all of his passion and desire to exist like air knocked out of his lungs after a blow to the stomach. he knows it’s not a big deal and it’s not really a secret and they’d be supportive and want him to be healthy, but he doesn’t want to worry them. they’re too far away to do anything and it’s not their problem.

his mom seems to notice his sudden discomfort and traces the path of the conversation away from his dad’s train of thought.

“do you think you’ll be able to come home for your birthday and christmas this year?” she asks.

“mom... i...” he doesn’t know why he’s hesitating. she has to know the answer. he knows her, which means he knows she only asked out of the tiny shred of hope that it would be different this year. “my album’s coming out and i’ll be promoting over christmas.” his voice takes on a melancholy tone. “i really wish i could, but you know i don’t get a say in it.” he has no control over the circumstances, but guilt begins to bubble in his chest anyway.

“we’ll send your gift in the mail, then,” his mom says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ash knows his parents miss seeing him. likewise, he misses them more than he could ever convey to them. he misses home. no matter how long he lives in seoul or how many friends he makes there, it will never be his home.

“so, ash..,” his dad speaks up with a more awkward tone after a few seconds of silence in which the guilt only continues to eat away at ash. “you know we don’t usually read all the rumors about you, but we saw they’ve been popping up again an awful lot.” it’s a topic ash has dreaded having to discuss with his parents. “you’re doing okay, right, ash? you’re so young, kid, and we know you have a different kind of pressure on your shoulders than most kids your age do, but we don’t want you to let all of that get to you,” his dad says and ash barely holds back a bitter laugh. can they really not tell that it got to him a long, long time ago? “we know who you are, son, and it’s not any of the hate you get. you have a lot of love to give and you’ve always had a kind heart. we’ve never questioned that.” the words should reassure ash, but there’s something about them that makes him feel like there’s a but coming.

and it does come.

“but you’re not... drinking too much, are you?” of course they’ve seen the video from back in tokyo. if they keep tabs on him, they were bound to. he just hopes they haven’t read the comments. ash deserves all of the harsh words he gets, but they don’t deserve to have to read them. they don’t deserve to realize that despite all of their best efforts, their son has turned out to be someone so unlikable and flawed beyond repair.

“i’m an adult. i can drink,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster. there’s nothing wrong with him having a drink, but that doesn’t keep him from feeling guilty every time he resorts to getting so drunk that he can finally feel something close to numbness. it isn’t fair for him to be numb when so many others have suffered because of him. the poison eating away at his soul is his punishment and yet he’s so weak, he tries evade it. the guilt he’d felt earlier from not being able to visit home for the holidays has spread to his whole body now.

he can’t look into the screen of his phone anymore and a silence hangs in the air of his room. in the quiet, the urge to drown himself in the calming sea of liquor creeps up on him again and, god, does he hate himself for it. he wonders if instead of his punishment being his own pain, it’s his inability to disappear into thin air. the only way he could possibly hope to atone for his mistakes is to let everyone live their lives free of him before he can do something else to hurt them.

his parents deserve to have a good person for a son, but he doesn’t know how to apologize for the fault of his existence.

instead, he clears his throat and blinks back tears threatening to wet his face. “um, hey, guys.” his voice nearly cracks, just like he can feel his composure doing. “i know i said i wasn’t busy, but i forgot to do something important before i came home. i actually have to go, sorry. it’s a..,” he wavers, “a work thing.”

ash can see the disappointment in his parents’ faces and although he knows it isn’t directed at him, he thinks it should be.

“okay, well, i love you, ashton,” his mom says first. her sadness at their short conversation weighs heavy on his heart.

his dad adds, “yeah, we love you. stay healthy, okay, son?”

ash nods wordlessly, fighting back the urge to tell them he doesn’t deserve their love. he knows they’d argue to the contrary because they’re good and loving people. much more so than he’s ever deserved. “i love you guys. talk to you soon.” his response is quiet and he gives them a forced smile before ending the call and tossing his phone to the foot of his bed.

the tears come as soon as there’s no one to see them, but ash fights hopelessly to hold them back. they feel like stinging acid running down his cheeks. they’re tears he shouldn’t be shedding. what has he done to earn the right to be sad? so many have it worse than him, yet he has the audacity to cry. tears have always come too easily to him because of his selfish need to release his own pain.

he rubs the soft fabric of his sweater over the damp skin under his eyes as he reaches over to turn off the lamp on his bedside table. he feels the darkness blanket the room and then slowly creep into his heart as he rests the side of his head against his pillow and curls up into himself. a puddle of dampness from his tears forms on the pillowcase, but he doesn’t notice. he tries to fight back all of his thoughts, to let his mind go blank of any intrusion without the aid of liquor. it’s not as easy, but nothing ever is for him lately.

he doesn’t remember falling asleep, but eventually he gives in to the thoughts prodding at his mind and, exhausted by his own crying, drifts off into a dreamless sleep with only the hope that it will all be better when he wakes up. that he will be better when he wakes up.