#i think they just gave me the wrong tracking number bc there's no way it Teleported across the country and got delivered in 1 day

[kithj]

i've been trying to order this book since like early february and two separate bookshops have cancelled the order on me now.... please.....

[strawhatsoraya]

Hi! you work is amazing, can i request a nsfw headcanon for Zoro, Law, Kid and Ace (i don't know what number of characters are your limit) being very sexual frustrated bc their partern doesn't want to have sex with them? They think there's something wrong with them as boyfriends but they're more calm after they overhears that S/O is just too nervous to do it due to how big are

Anon, I don't know how long it's been. I'm not gonna pretend to keep track of time anymore. I live in the Twilight Zone where everything is dated 2 weeks ago. I have taken your request and written the headcanons as little ficlets/drabbles. Thank you for the request!

If you were to tell the truth, you shouldn’t have drunk as much as you did.

If you were to tell the truth, you should be canoodling up to your boyfriend, thigh flushed against thigh, whispering lewd promises into his ear. 

Instead, you were too busy avoiding the subject. Shame and embarrassment pulses through your veins, the same way the alcohol you gulped down your throat did. You’re thankful for the flush it brings to your cheeks. At least you can blame it on something other than yourself. 

You felt his gaze on you all throughout dinner: hungry, starved, almost pleading.

There’s a dip at your stomach, one you can’t quite decipher–or you try not to. The truth was, your boyfriend was damn near irresistible. Wanting, or lack thereof, had never been the issue. The issue was that you–by all means–were a coward of a pirate. You never dreamed of the day you’d run away from a challenge but every time you came so close to giving in, to throwing caution to the wind, and everything be damned–if you split in half, then you’d split in half, and die in ecstasy–you always ended up running away. 

You consider jumping ship–exposing yourself to the elements, or letting yourself fall into the depths of the ocean. Anything was preferable than openly admitting to your boyfriend your cowardice over what he might consider a trivial matter. Close to intoxication and close to tears, you turn to your best friend for advice.

Portgas D. Ace

He never thought he’d be lucky enough to be loved the way you love him. He never thought, not even in his wildest dreams, that he’d be allowed to love someone like you. You were always so warm, so kind, so easy to be around. Your laugh was the spark to light the fire in his heart day after day. He wanted nothing more than to return the favor, even if he felt he could never give you as much as you gave him.

He was never good with words. They always tumbled out of his mouth, in the wrong direction; too scratchy, too many sharp edges. He thought he was better with his hands. He wanted to show you how much he cared about you, how much he appreciated you–and how much he wanted you. Your body was soft, and pliable under his hot hands. Your kisses scattered goosebumps across his body every time. It seemed like you wanted him too, every time he’d grind against you while making out, every time his hands would grope your ass. 

Yet you always stopped him before it got that far.

Ace slams his mug down on the table, beer sloshing over the mug’s lip and spilling over his hands. He bites down on his teeth, until his jaw hurts. 

“This is ridiculous!” he hisses, eyes slightly unfocused as he glares across the table at Marco.

Marco in his infinitesimal amount of patience, casually throws back the remainder of his drink, tanned throat exposed. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, licking a corner of his lips where a drop of beer had collected.

Ace glares at Marco’s neck, wishing he could wrap his fingers around it and strangle him.

“How exactly am I ridiculous? What are you trying to say? Can you speak plainly for once?” Ace barks his questions–a metaphorical barrage of fists he tries to aim at Marco’s impudent face.

“I would,” Marco starts holding out his mug for it to be refilled. “If you’d let me get a word in. This is part of your problem.” Marco pauses, and raises a brow. Ace lights the tip of one index finger and contemplates tracing that questioning eyebrow to burn the hair right off. “You’re probably coming on way too strong.”

Ace groans. “Shut the fuck up,” he whines, as he leans over, elbows on the table. His face is hiding behind his unusually warm hands when your voice floats over to him; a siren at sea swimming in circles around his head.

“Honestly!” your voice is thin–embarrassed, and when he peeks through his fingers to look for you–he sees you quickly run a hand through your hair; a tell tale sign of your discomfort. “That’s not the case at all.”

There’s giggling at the table as the nurses crowd around you. He sees the redhead lean over, a mischievous grin on her face. “Aren’t you at least a little curious? You have been fooling around for months. It’s about time.”

You groan as you finish your drink–it was bright blue from where he sees it swirling in your glass. “Yes, but–” You cut yourself off to sigh before proceeding: “The problem isn’t that I don’t want to. I do,” you finish, cheeks aflame. “The problem is that...” You abandon your glass on the table to gesture with your hands, fingers splayed, a big space between your palms. “The problem is he’s–” your eyes grow wide. “So big!”

He is used to the heat of his own body–a sense of being under the sun even on the cloudiest day–but it still fears searing when your words finally sink in. A hook pulls at the pit of his stomach, threatening to bring him down, ship and all. He stands up abruptly. A drink spills, and he vaguely hears Marco saying something about decorum but he flips him off as he walks away.

All he can hear, and all he can see is you at that table, cheeks bright and your mouth that was too busy smiling at others instead of kissing him. Ace interrupts your little group talk, and you stand up stammering an excuse.

“I need to borrow y/n,” he says to the crowd, a big smile on his freckled face. “I saw a seagull and I need her to go look at it.”

It was the stupidest thing you had ever heard, but you still nod enthusiastically and allow him to lead you away. You’re in his familiar room aboard the ship, when you prepare to launch your interrogation. You don’t have time. He crashes his mouth against yours before you can speak. His hands are fiery as they travel up your back, underneath your shirt. As you gasp, he slips his soft tongue into your mouth, brushes it against yours. Suddenly, you’re pressed against the wall. He nips at your jaw, hot and wet kisses trailing behind him as he moves towards your neck. As he sucks on your pulse, so hard you are sure he’ll leave a mark behind, his hips start pressing into yours. You feel him hard under his pants, his cock teasing you; reminding you of what you had been so scared to face head on.

You moan when his hands slide away from your back and towards your chest. He kneads your breasts gently. 

“If that’s what you’re so worried about,” he mumbles to the crook of your neck, pressing his hardened cock against your heated core. “You should have told me sooner.” He bites down on the soft flesh of your shoulder. You cry out, dig your nails into his back. He moans softly, hips never stopping. You feel yourself grow wetter every time he brushes against your sensitive nub just right. 

“I’ll get you fired up enough,” he mumbles against your neck, licks up the column of it with the flat of his tongue. You feel the trail of saliva hot, then cold as the air hits it. There are goosebumps running across your body. 

“You’re gonna be so wet,” he says almost in a whine against your ear. “Fitting me in won’t be a problem at all.”  His breath is hot as his lips brush the shell of your ear, and his fingers even hotter as he slips one hand between your legs. He presses up against your dripping slit, pushing your panties into you. “Get ready, babe. Here I come.”

Eustass Kid

Kid was aware of  his limitations. He was not gentle, or soft. He could not grasp tiny little pieces of metal between his index finger and his thumb. He also knew what he was good at. Your aversion to his tactics of seduction made him feel almost incompetent. Almost. Because he knew there was no way his skills had grown rusty, or tattered. He was damn good at it. He was sure, after all, because he could feel your slick coating his fingers when he’d rifle through your folds. You’d lay squirming, and panting underneath him, face flushed, neck and chest wearing matching splotches of pink and reds. 

The way you’d moan his name as you’d cum around his fingers, was enough for him to know you liked it. You’d cling to his broad back, fingernails scratching down lines on his skin. You wanted him. He knew that much. Then why did you keep running away? You had come so close to letting him go all the way. He had been there, angry red tip literally at your dripping entrance, before you balked and called the whole thing off.

Kid was many things, but he knew when ‘stop’ meant stop. 

It didn’t mean he was happy about it.

He couldn’t take it out on you, and someone had to pay–so he made the crew his targets. They were easy pickings, and it helped ease his mood slightly; very very slightly. His large feet clank down the corridor, Killer by his side mumbling softly about his attitude. Kid considers telling him to ease himself off the ship, or to suck his dick if he’s so inclined to be on it and all over his business when he hears your voice around the corner.

“No no,” your voice is insistent. He stops just around the corner, and peeks around even when he feels Killer’s hand on his shoulder. Kid shrugs him off. “I mean, he’s already so big, like generally speaking!” you enthuse in a loud whisper, which Eustass finds isn’t a whisper at all. “But when we kiss…” you trail off, and shift your weight on the spot. The sight of you, wiggling shyly, eyes downcast is enough to pull a crooked smile out of him. “And, well I’ve seen it and I don’t think it’ll fit. That’s all I’m saying.”

He tries not to laugh. He tries really hard, but the barking laughter comes out anyway. It echoes in the corridor as he stomps towards you. Your eyes grow wide, and before you can stammer a greeting, he is picking you up.

“Let’s go,” he says as he throws you over his shoulder. You squeak, face growing hotter. He raises a hand and brings it down on your ass, the sound of a resounding slap filling your ears. He walks awkwardly, his stiffened cock between his legs demanding attention. In his bedroom, he tosses you on the bed. Your hands go out as he climbs over you. You try to press them against his barrel chest. “I gotta tell you,” he mumbles against your cheek. His tongue is hot as he licks up your face. “I’m not a liar.”

You shiver underneath him, and rub your legs together. His voice is gravely, and it scratches over your skin. You feel your panties growing wet. 

“So I can’t say I’ll be gentle,” he speaks into your hair, fingers grasping the fabric of your shirt. He pulls, and buttons tear and scatter–flying across the room. You gasp as your skin is exposed to the cool air, and to Eustass’ heated gaze. He looks as if he has been starved for days, and he would want nothing more than to devour you whole, bones and all. When he drags his eyes away from your heaving chest, he meets your gaze and it takes your breath away. Kid licks his lips.  “Feel free to slap me or choke me if you need me to stop,” he drawls out of the corner of his crooked smile. “Although,” his smile grows slightly sinister, a smirk that makes your body grow cold and hot all at once. “I might be into that too.”

Trafalgar D. Law

He would sooner die than admit it. He would sooner bite his tongue, and choke on his blood than to admit the selfish side of him; how needy and desperate he can be for your touch, to feel satisfaction as he drowns inside you, buried to the hilt, just like he fantasizes about every night. Law would sooner die than to push you into doing something you're not comfortable with, and so he deals with his stiff little problem all on his own. For weeks, he furiously pumps his fist over his cock, neck strained, chest rising and falling as he tries to smother his own moans. No matter how vivid his imagination can be, no matter what scenario he can picture, it is never enough. His hand is too familiar; not soft enough, not warm enough, never wet enough no matter how many globs of spit he drops on the bulbous tip of his cock.

If he got into the habit of being honest with himself, Law would admit that honestly: he just wants to hear you fall apart as he pounds into you. He wants to see your tears cling to your curly lashes, and wants to see your bottom lip quiver as you struggle to take the full length of his cock.

He tries to reign in these thoughts as he swirls a gulp of whiskey around his mouth. He is embarrassingly at half mast under the table, Bepo chattering away at his elbow. His golden gaze takes in the shape of your shoulders from a distance. Penguin and Shachi are having a conversation about wanted posters, one they keep trying to enthusiastically drag him into. Law purposefully ignores them. Your face is enigmatic as you talk to Ikkaku and he strains his ears to hear you over his chatty crewmates.

“He’s scary,” you say, one palm slapping the table noisily. Your fingers are splayed, and your eyes wide. Law frowns at the sight and at your words. He doesn’t get to ponder over it further before the conversation starts  up again.

Ikkaku scoffs at you, and shakes her head as she pours rum into your shot glass. “I can sympathize,” she begins, although she wears a frown. “But then, why are you two dating again? I know the captain can be a little intimidating.”

You shake your head furiously, hair moving with your actions.

“That’s not what I meaaann,” you whine, cheeks flushed bright. Law scoffs. You were a terrible drinker. He did not understand why you insisted on the habit. “He’s not scary like that. His…” You stop and press your lips together, trying to think of how to phrase it better. You use your hand and point upwards, imitating a gesture Law uses a lot, but suddenly you point the finger down to the table. Ikkaku’s eyes slowly follow your actions. “Little Law is the scary one!”

You tell her, you’ve felt it before, as you sat on his lap, tongues brushing hotly against one another. You had felt it, hot and thick against your core, when his mouth was busy sucking on your nipples, making you so wet you’d grind desperately against him–anything for a form of release. 

Ikkaku shrugs and throws back a shot of rum. 

“Can’t relate!” she declares without an ounce of sympathy. Your mouth twists in a grimace, and you bang a fist on the table, ready to fight for your case when a hand grasps your wrist.

You look up and follow the arm to see the face of its owner. Law is frowning down at you, ears bright red. You swallow thickly. He leans down until his mouth hovers around your ear. 

“Come with me right now if you don’t want me to make your clothes disappear in front of everyone,” he mumbles. You gasp as he brushes his nose against the shell of your ear. His thumb brushes the soft inside of your wrist. “There are much scarier things about me than the size of my dick.” 

You feel his free arm wrap around your waist and he pulls you up from the chair into a standing position. You spin around in his arms, and gasp when he pulls you against him. His cock is stiff against your soft belly. One of his hands keeps you pressed tight against him, sitting on the dip of your back. His other hand still holds your wrist, tightly against his own chest. His face swoops towards yours, so close you can smell the whiskey off his breath. 

“Like my lack of patience. Please,” he enthuses in a slow hiss. His breath is warm against your mouth, as he brushes his lips against yours. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Roronoa Zoro

He has always been a man of discipline. He trains hard, and lives for battle. When he decided to become the strongest swordsman he gave himself up for a deadman and dead men don’t need or want.

At least, that’s what he tells himself at night, when you slip away from his body before he can smother the heat between you that consumes him by sliding inside your pussy.

Years by Luffy’s side had taught him patience and understanding. Still, he couldn’t understand you completely. He couldn’t understand why he could kiss you the way he kissed you–feverishly, as if he could taste you past your teeth and tongue. He couldn’t understand why he could touch you the way he did, how he’d slide his callused hands over your smooth skin, how you’d let him play with your nipples until you were whimpering under his touch, how you’d let him rub your clit until you were so wet he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you’d taste on his tongue. He especially couldn’t understand how happy you were to ride his thigh, to rub yourself on his muscle until you soaked right through his pants, or how sometimes that wasn’t enough for you and you’d straddle him, and rub against his hardened cock until you cried out his name. All of that but the moment he’d pump his cock, and lick his lips at the sight of your dripping pussy, you’d immediately press your hands against his lower belly to stop him.

You confuse him, and it infuriates him. He wants to understand you, and he wants to keep things simple. He wraps his lips around the mouth of the bottle of sake–a trusted, simple, and loyal friend. He takes a large swig, and then another as he sees Luffy, Chopper and Usopp doing some kind of cha cha line out of the corner of his eyes. Brook is singing a tune Zoro would rather not hear, and he leads the line enthusiastically laughing.

Franky and Robin sit together at the end of the table, their faces close together. Zoro blinks as he frowns, before drinking again. He sees Nami drag you towards Robin, and squeezes you in between her and Franky. Franky starts to protest but something you say makes him pause. Zoro feels his heart accelerate. He tries–concentrates–to shut out Luffy’s loud calls for more meat from Sanji, by leaning back on his chair. He closes his eyes, and crosses his arms over his chest.

He hears you pause, and it’s like he could feel your eyes on his skin–feel them rake over his arms and shoulders. You start to speak again, and suddenly, your little problem makes so much sense to him. You were scared of his size? Zoro tries not to smirk, and he stays still for so long he eventually does fall asleep. When he comes to, he catches you slipping away from dinner. 

Zoro follows you quietly. He moves silently in your shadow, his gaze on you ravenous and seeking. You look so good from behind, he feels himself grow hard, stiffening in his underwear. He loves watching your hips sway, your juicy ass that stretches the fabric of your skirt. You reach the library, still not sensing him behind you. As you reach towards a bookshelf, a finger tracing the spine of an encyclopedic tome, Zoro slides up behind you. You gasp, startled at the sudden unexpected heat, but his fingers slide over the sides of your thighs and you immediately recognize the calluses.

You hum, and lean into his touch, as a warmth spreads throughout your body. “Zoro,” you breathe out with a trembling voice. “What are you doing here?”

He draws circles over your skin as he moves his hands forward towards the inside of your thighs. His breath tickles the nape of your neck. “What do you think?” he asks you. He takes in the scent of your soap, and drops a kiss with parted lips on the side of your neck. “Hunting you down since you’re a scared little rabbit.”

His mouth is hot and light against your skin as he drops feathery kisses over your exposed shoulders. “If you were so scared, you should have told me,” he mumbles against your shoulder, as he presses another kiss on the soft flesh there. His hands move slowly, up and down your inner thighs. His thumbs brush against your skin, each time higher towards the center of you. “Never pegged you for a coward,” he whispers against your ear. You tremble under his touch, the tip of his thumb brushing ever so slightly against your panties. You gasp, and spread your legs wider before you can stop yourself. “See?” he adds with a chuckle, one hand resting on the inside of your thigh to keep you from moving. His free hand moves to your clothed pussy. He rubs against it gently with his fingers. “I can be gentle. But only one time.” He nips at the top of your ear. You cry out in surprise as he adds pressure to his touch, rubbing over your panties on top of your clit. “Only this time.” You moan under his touch, and arch your back. You rest your head on his chest, and he nips at your exposed neck. You hear him groan against your ear when he sucks on your earlobe. “If you keep being like this, I’m not going to be able to go easy on you,” he tells you as you moan again. He feels your slick coating your panties, and it stays on his fingertips as he traces the outline of your slit. He captures your bottom lip in an upside down kiss for a slow and noisy suck. When he releases it with a soft smack, he licks your lips. “And whose fault would that be?”

[peach-and-bugs]

I’m catching up on Yellowjackets because of you fics! And the adult timeline is kinda hilarious! As the season progresses I’m actually liking Misty more and more. After the whole plane transmitter thing I don’t think I’ll ever get why she would be anyone’s favorite character but she’s growing on me

Aw! I'm so glad my fics have gotten you to watch again! Season 2 definitely gave us an interesting adult timeline with a lot of great comedic moments and a lot of that was given to Misty, which as a huge lover of her from the start I was very happy about. But I wanna defend my girl here because you've given me the opportunity, lol (of course, you can think whatever you want you like, I'm not arguing or judging whatsoever, I just love Misty and like talking about her)

so, number 1 Misty Defender here to do some explaining, bc if actually been dying to talk about this.

Misty destroying the black box actually did nothing for the group's rescue. after doing a lot of digging and reading threads from people who work with plains and understand the science of black boxes (I'll tag them if I can track them down again) it's apparent that Misty's actions didn't hinder or help their chances of getting rescued, which is so interesting for her character!

the way a black box works (again, to my understanding after reading stuff from other people who know what they're talking about) is that its job is to collect data. It keeps track of cabin and general plane conditions over the course of the flight, as well as audio recordings so that when a crash is found, they have data to help understand what might have gone wrong. the only transmission that it has is specifically for water/ocean crashes, so it wouldn't activate in this situation. All of this info is from this post on the Yellowjackets Reddit

So Misty didn't actually hinder their rescue whatsoever, but she's been carrying the guilt of thinking she did for the past 25 years (and yes, Misty feels guilt. She just doesn't pay attention to it and suppresses it for herself.) And I think it'll be extremely interesting to see what the writers do, if anything, with the black box. because on one hand, it's entirely possible that the writers didn't look that deep into what a black box is, but on the other, it would be so interesting to see Misty learn that she hadn't done anything. That the 19 months they waited for rescue wasn't because of her like she'd been telling herself

Misty is just such a complex character that I will forever resonate with and adore, but she still makes me so sad. All of her actions are out of her own desperation for connection and relationship, and as someone who was also labeled as the class "weird girl" due to neurodivergence, I can't help the way I uphold her.

[dashielldeveron]

and i’ve gotta crow | takami keigo

hawks x pro-hero! reader. quirk unspecified.

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

No, you are not.

“We’re engaged to be married.”

No, you are not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would he take credit for your work again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere, you little shit—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah.

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

What an idiot.

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

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

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

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

Maybe if you ignore Hawks, he’ll leave.

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

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

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

You just stared at him.

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

Oh, my God.

Holy fucking shit.

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

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

Don’t fuck this up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know.

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

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

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

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

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

But so were you.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And gut says make Hawks eat shit.

“You think I’m cute?”

“I know you’re cute.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was I good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s okay. It’ll come back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll join you.”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“No explanation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to wring his neck.

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

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

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

Yet you shook your head.

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise?”

***

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

God. You’re going to throw up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t deal with anyone new right now.

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

Oh god oh fuck not now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Window,” you said.

“Window?”

“I’m assuming you’ve got one.”

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

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

“Better?”

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

“Need me to talk? You need to talk?”

“Not right now.”

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

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

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

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

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

The last ten months had proved that.

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

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

(Bird man big and safe.)

([No, fuck you, don’t think that.])

(BIRD MAN SAFE—)

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

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

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

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

Don’t think!

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

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

Oh, my fuck. Turn your brain off.

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

It’s what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s your finger?”

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

“No?”

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

“You’re popping it?”

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

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

“Can I film it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Describe them to me.”

“I can show you—”

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

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

“Oh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He waited for you.

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

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

“I’m missing something.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

Hawks’s mouth snapped shut.

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

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

So, this is it. The way out.

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

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

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

Where do you go from here?

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe you do, too.

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

[furiosophie]

For the fanfic end of the year asks: number 12 and 23?

12. favorite character to write about this year

prob surprising absolutely no one but it's this guy:

23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t

i think i actually got all of the ones i absolutely needed to write out of my system but i do have notes for a couple of dinluke's - one F1 AU, one AU that starts as the "i'm an ex-felon who can pretend to be your thanksgiving date" craigslist post and ends up in "aliens are real" territory, and one in-universe polit thriller set like three years after mando season 2 that's mostly about both din and luke slowly losing it bc they fucking hate politics lol

I'll leave snippets for each under the cut bc why not

F1 AU

“Luke wait–” Din says just when Luke finally finds the conviction to get his feet to move down his side of the hotel room hallway. His tone is soft, worried, just like it was at the track. Soft just like the hand he kept at Luke’s back all the way up the elevator. Something lurches in Luke's chest. He puts on his best reassuring smile – the one he gives Leia every time he declines her offer to talk to their in-house psychologist before a race – and turns back around.

“I got it from here, really–” and then his brain decides to shortcircuit because Din has the hand he’s not holding Grogu with stretched out towards him holding his hotel room key. Luke stares at it, not comprehending.

"My room key," Din says after a while, and oh, Luke could have sworn his voice sounded a lot more sure a second ago. And that it’s really not necessary to hold a piece of cheap plastic firmly enough to make it bend in the middle.

"Don't you need that?" Luke says but slowly takes the key anyways before it can snap in half. The plastic feels warm against his palm. Din pulls his hand away immediately to scratch the back of his neck instead.

"They gave me two,” he says. “But the kid doesn't really need one. You know. Where I go he goes."

"Ah, yes," Luke says as if he understands when he really doesn't.

"I just–" Din starts and Luke finds himself absolutely mesmerized by how all the confidence from the track seems to have completely left him.

"I know what it's like," Din finally says and seems to square up a little, looking up to meet Luke's eyes. "To not be okay, I mean. I know what that’s like. If you need anything or if you just don't want to be alone, we're right down the hall."

"Ah," Luke says again because he can't think of anything else to say and because there is this tuck right beneath his heart that makes him feel like he might be about to cry again. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Din says and seems to relax a little, that soft smile back on his lips. "I'll see you on the track. Goodnight!"

"Night," Luke echoes, helplessly, and watches them disappear down the hall.

thanksgiving alien AU

"You stole a baby?"

"I did not steal a baby," Din says and pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. The other is occupied holding a toddler. Boba snorts at the other end of the line.

"Oh excuse me," he says, voice mocking. "You rescued a baby you were previously contracted to steal."

Din opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. Boba is not wrong. "Look," he says, "Can I hide out with you or not?"

"I'm not exactly flying under the radar right now, what with that whole Hutt business and all. And you very much need to be flying under the radar. So no."

"What do you suggest then?"

"It's Thanksgiving, any ex-girlfriends you can reunite with for a turkey dinner alibi?"

Din sighs while the toddler in his arms squirms to get high enough so he can put the collar of Din's jacket into his mouth. "No."

"Anyone around you you can romance into taking you home with them?"

"No."

"Hold on--" There is a rustling on the other line, a hushed voice in the background, probably Fennec. "Actually, wait say that again--" more rustling, then, "Have you ever seen that one Craigslist Thanksgiving meme --"

polit arc

"Why didn't you use the Force?" Leia asks quietly, the noise of Chandrila's traffic nearly drowning out her words. Luke can feel her unease at the back of his neck, dense and sticky.

"They are already afraid of me," he says and shifts his weight, leaning further back against the balustrade, head tipped back and dangling over the edge. He closes his eyes, reaches out into the city, his mind brushing over the million specs of life. "Punching someone in the face is easier to contextualize than someone catapulted into a wall with barely a flick of my wrist."

"And you had to punch him with your non-dominant hand?" she asks and then, even though the question very much does not need clarification adds, "You are right-handed you know."

"Not for a while now," Luke grins easily, eyes still closed. The marble floor of the balcony is cold against his bare feet, a stark contrast to the warmth he can feel radiating off Leia, that fondness buried beneath her exasperation.

She is silent for a while. Luke knows what she'll ask next. He doesn't dread it. Not really. Maybe a little.

"When was the last time you talked to him?"

Maybe a lot.

"A rotation ago?"

"A full year?"

"More or less." More. He knows the exact number of days.

He opens his eyes, looks down at his left hand. His knuckles are still bloody but already scabbing over. They will be healed by tomorrow, he knows. The Force doesn't like to let him feel human for too long.

"Why did you stop talking?" Leia asks and there is something eerily gentle in her voice now. She can feel his emotions too. Luke forgets that sometimes. "You had the same goal, didn't you?"

"We differed in how we wanted to achieve it," Luke says. Not a lie. Not really. Leia titles her head at him. She has that look in her eyes, the same way she looked at him when she found him pulling their father's caved-in mask out of the ashes of his pyre.

"And yet you got your knuckles bloody today," she says and Luke doesn't know how to counter that.

[lovesanmotion]

Light - Jeong Yunho

summary: cool uncle by day but mafia boss at night, jeong yunho is ready for anything; except for falling in love.

tags: @couchpotatoaniki (yes i am tagging you bcs you blossomed this idea to me hihi)

A deep sigh left Yunho's lips, lighting up his cigarette and sticking it between his lips before releasing pearly white smoke. His once neat suit was now covered in sweat, dust and a trickle of blood from earlier events, singlehandedly killing a mafia group from the neighboring city. He lifted his wrist watch and checked the time - 10:01pm. Sandwiched between his middle and index finger, Yunho raises his cigearette stick onto his lips and puffed out a smoke.

His once cool composure broke when around the corner, the slim but curvy figure of his neighbor - y/n y/l/n came into view. She had her head hung low, shoulders drooping down and walking gloomily home. But Yunho stared at her. Around y/n, he felt like a high school boy who has a crush on her. He didn't also missed the fact that it was too late for y/n to go home. Work hours ends at 5-6pm, but 10? Yunho wondered if you took an overtime.

As y/n passed him by, he couldn't help but smile to himself. Feeling his face heating up. Getting up from the bench, he dropped his stick and stepped on it before following you home. With his hands tucked inside his pockets, Yunho wondered why you ever chose to live in a dangerous city like this. Was it because the rent's cheaper? Or to live close to your office?

He stopped his tracks and hid behind a pole, watching you get inside your home building safely. Watching you get home safely is what Yunho's been doing ever since you moved into the area and with a smile on his face, Yunho walks back home.

As the sun sets into the blue sky, Yunho packs up a lot of candies in his pocket before leaving his home and strolling to the neighborhood park. Clad in a bright red and white striped shirt and pants a bright smile on his face, Yunho would never be mistaken as someone who killed a group of guys last night. The cool breeze swept past him, causing his bangs to fly away.

As he found the children playing merrily and happily in the park, his heart swelled with an overwhelming feeling. How he wished these children would grow up into kind and humble adults. When the children saw him coming up to them, a chorus of "uncle Yunho!" greeted him, followed by all of them running up to him for a hug, some even hugging his legs.

Sitting down on the wooden bench, he gave each child a piece of candy and chocolate. Their little smiles upon tasting the fruity and sweet treats brought a smile on his lips too. However, Yunho mentally did a head count on the children.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. One was missing, and the one missing happened to be his favorite. He was about to open his mouth and ask them where y/s/n when a small but cheerful "uncle Yunho!" greeted him from behind. Turning around, his eye's widened.

His neighborhood crush, holding an ice cream cone with one hand and the other holding hands with his favorite child from the playground.

"Mommy this is uncle Yunho! He's the one who always watches us and gives us candy when we play here!" A deep shade of red plastered on Yunho's cheeks. Slowly he turned away and sunk a bit lower on his seat, feeling himself getting shy. But he was a little surprised to know that y/n has a son.

Yunho watched as y/s/n joined the other kids in the slide and on his left side became occupied by you.

"Doesn't it get a little sad when you watch them slowly grow up? One day they are only crying for attention and the next thing you know you walk with them to preschool." Y/N spoke, taking a lick on the vanilla cone.

"Do you have kids at home?" Yunho shook his head. But he would very much like to have one with y/n.

"I'm y/n by the way!" He looked at the hand extended out for him to shake before looking at your smile. Yunho's heart beated loudly inside his chest, not missing the sight of the ice cream on the corner of your lip. He slowly leaned in and raised his hand, wiping the cream away with his thumb.

"Nice to meet you, y/n. I'm Yunho." He smiled at you, seeing that pink tint across your cheeks. Yunho thanked the gods that this might be the chance for him to properly talk to y/n. He turned to his side and striked up a conversation with you, slightly getting distracted with the way how you lick your ice cream.

"Uh..hello? Earth to Yunho?" Yunho snapped out of his trance and shook his head, batting his eyelashes. Yunho stared at you. "What was that again?"

"I was asking you earlier if you wanted to have lunch with me and y/s/n. Think of it as a thank you for watching over my son." Turning his head, he saw the children leave one by one until it was your son left sitting in the swing.

"I-I would love to!" He blurted out, maybe a little too loud. Yunho suddenly backed away, suddenly feeling shy but he only found y/n chuckling at him.

"That was cute. Anyways, let's me show you where I live." As Y/N got up, so did he. He took the pleasure of carrying y/s/n in his arms as he followed you to your place, he had to pretend he didn't know where you lived. How was he going to explain that he has been following you for months already?

"Welcome to our place!" Spoke Y/N in a cheerful tone. The place didn't look half bad. As he sets y/s/n down and removes his shoes by the doorway, he took in the appearance of your place. It isn't big nor small, perfect for two people living, light wooden floors, cream colored walls, yellow and green cupboards and a mini bookshelf thats occupied by books about numbers, letters, alphabets and story books.

"This is a nice place you've got" Yunho says, sitting down on the couch only to be sunk lower as he didn't noticed how the couch was small.

"I guess I was lucky to find this one. More greenery in the province than just seeing buildings in the city." Y/N spoke, Yunho watched her enter the kitchen. He got up and excitedly followed her like a high school boy following his crush around school.

"What are you going to make there?" He asks as he stood behind Y/N making her jump a little. Yunho didn't realized how close he has gotten to her, but he felt like his heart would burst at how small she is close to him.

"Does pasta sound nice?" Y/N tilted her head to the side. If only his mornings were spent this close to y/n, Yunho would be in heaven already.

As Yunho was about to say something, in came little y/s/n holding his school bag.

"Mommy, can you help me with my homework?"

Two heads snapped to look at y/s/n who stood by the doorway of the kitchen.

"Your mom would love to!" Yunho smiled at y/s/n, held y/n by her shoulders and pushed her out of the kitchen despite her many protests against it. Yunho opened the fridge to check what ingredients were available, he grabbed whatever he needed and placed them on the counter and started cooking.

It was only like last night, he was using the very same knife to slice throats and now he's slicing meat with the same knife. But Yunho was only occupied by the merry thought of cooking for his crush.

After half an hour passed, Yunho beautifully plated three pasta bowls on the table. He gave himself a pat in the back for doing an excellent job and was about to call y/n and y/s/n to eat when he heard some talking.

"Mommy do you like uncle Yunho?" A small voice, y/s/n, as Yunho thought. His heart raced upon hearing this kind of conversation. There was a moment of silence, Yunho was fidgeting to know your answer.

"Mommy can uncle Yunho be my dad?" Yunho clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. But there it was again, that silence.

"Let's see, y/s/n. Want to see uncle Yunho if he's done?"

Yunho started to get up from his spot but hit his knee in the process, an inaudible sound came out of his mouth and suddenly the door swung open. Y/N and Y/S/N stared at him with a blank yet confused looks on their faces.

"Uh..lunch is ready!" Yunho smiled and instantly stood up from the ground. As he lead them to the kitchen, he was proud to see their expressions and sat down, paying attention to y/n's reaction before eating.

"So what do you do, Yunho?" Y/N asked while twirling pasta with her fork.

Yunho racked up his brain to think of what should he say. But he choked up in between.

"I'm unemployed at the moment" He says. There was no way he is ever going to tell that he kills people, raids warehouses and factories and regulates drug deals within in and out of the country. "What about you? What do you do for a living?" Yunho gulped the food down his throat before facing you.

"I, uh...I just work at, at a very boring corporate office. They don't pay much."

"Is that why you do overtime and get home late at night?"

"What?"

"What?"

Yunho stared at y/n wide eyed. That was wrong of him suddenly mentioning it to you. He shook his head and carried on the conversation by changing the topic.

For the whole afternoon, Yunho stayed with Y/N and Y/S/N, watching kids movies while having a snack. Y/S/N falling asleep in the middle of the movie. Yunho took the pleasure of letting y/s/n sleep on his chest, he could get used to being a househusband. With the sun setting, Yunho thought it was best for him to go home. But was stopped by y/n to join them for dinner. On the outside, Yunho thanked you. But on the inside, Yunho was giggling.

He cooked once more in the kitchen, clogging out y/n's protests. Dinner became a happy meal as all three of them became full. While y/n was cleaning up in the kitchen, Yunho asked permission if he could take y/s/n out for a walk, promising he'd be home by 8pm.

Yunho took y/s/n to the convenient store, handing him a whole bar of chocolate in his small hands. But the little boy stared at him.

"But mommy says I can't have too much sweets" the small boy pouted.

"But your mom isn't here right? This'll be our little secret. You and me." Yunho grinned at the small boy who flashed a toothy smile in front of him.

"Uncle Yunho do you like my mommy?"

"Very much." Yunho suddenly stopped as he looked back at the child with him, now grinning at him.

"Okay, that's another secret between us. Don't tell your mommy about that too okay?" The small boy nodded his head quickly, Yunho held his hand and walked back home with him. Unaware of two eyes following them as they head back.

(gif is not mine! credits to the rightful owner!)

[breakyeol]

Sweet, Sweet Relief

Pairing : chanyeol x reader

Summary: in which your gorgeous best friend knows just what to do to help you relax. 

Warnings: strong language, shy yeol towards the end, explicit sexual content; mild muscle kink?? i think??, dry humping for like two seconds, oral (f. receiving) aka pussy eating king back at it again, fingering, park chanyeol bc the man deserves a warning all his own 

Word Count: 3.3k

a/n; ah yes, best friends to lovers, my favorite cliche. i can’t stop writing for Chanyeol lately?? which really isn’t that out of the ordinary bc the man is literally my muse, but it seems a bit excessive at times yikes. but i also think it’s a good thing because i’m making some leeway with his prince au!!! yay!!! hopefully it won’t be too terribly long of a wait! until then, i hope these drabbles turned one shots will hold you over :) enjoy!

“You’re stressed out.”

It wasn’t a question.

You sighed, head shaking as you spared Chanyeol a glance from the corner of your eye.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not.” Was his abrupt response, concerned eyes dragging over the length of your tensed features, pausing on the visible lines above your brow and at the corners of your mouth.

He was right, of course. You weren’t alright. In all honesty, you hadn’t been alright for the past month. Your latest assignment was beating the absolute shit out of you, draining your mind and body of all its viable energy and leaving you an exhausted, stressed out disaster of a person.

Unfortunately, you knew that if you admitted it out loud to Chanyeol, he would not let you spend another second staring at your stupid computer screen. But you really had to get the project done by the end of the week or you were totally and royally screwed. And if he couldn’t make you feel better, Chanyeol would end up feeling like shit and that in turn would make you feel even more like shit than you already do and it would be an endless cycle of the two of you feeling like shit and does anybody really need that right now? You were already struggling enough without having an extra pouty, sulking best friend to tend to.

“Chanyeol—“ you began, running your palms over your face as you concocted a number of things to say to get him to stop worrying. But, he didn’t give you the chance.

“I can do it again.”

Your hands fell away from where they’d begun to press against your sore eyes, a look of confusion crossing your features.

“Huh?”

He swallowed, shifting where he sat beside you on the plush sofa. You followed his every movement through narrowed eyes, your confusion building as a shade of pink dusted over his cheeks.

“I–if you want me to... I can do it again.”

It took you a second. To put the pieces together. To remember. For the shock to settle over you. It took a second, but it was with a jolt that you realized what he was talking about. Warmth blossomed beneath your skin, but you forced your expression to fall into that of gentle chiding.

“Yeol. We agreed that it was a one time thing.”

The near rejection had him crumbling in on himself, the blush coating his cheeks intensifying tenfold as he fiddled with his fingers in his lap.

“I know but... I don’t mind. If it helps.” He suddenly straightened his back and you damn near jumped out of your skin as one of his hands fell across your thigh. He stared into your eyes, determination and sincerity burning in his own. “I want to help.”

“Yeah but you don’t have to help like th— ah!” You yelped in surprise as he suddenly pushed you and you fell backwards onto the couch with a soft ‘oof’. “What the h– ell…” your voice gave with an embarrassing crack as Chanyeol crawled on top of you, straddling your hips and caging your head between his arms. The sudden change of position caught you completely off guard, and you found yourself grappling hopelessly to try and get your mind back on track.

“Let me help you, y/n. You know I’m good at it.” His voice had dropped an octave, softening into a near whisper. Heat pooled in your cheek, and you blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Sure he was good —probably one of the best you’d ever had if you were being completely and totally honest—, but accidentally fucking your best friend while you are both wasted and horny beyond rationality is completely different than committing the act while sober and capable of discerning between right and wrong. And this— this had to be wrong.

Even if it felt so deliciously right.

Quickly ridding yourself of the thought, you pressed your palms against his chest with every intention to pushing him away, only to falter at the feeling of taut, bulging muscle beneath your fingertips that you were almost certain hadn’t been there the last time you’d laid your hands on him.

“Have you been working out?”

The question was so out of place in the situation that Chanyeol couldn’t rein in his laughter before it came bubbling from his chest in several loud, contagious eruptions.

“A little…” his lips curled into that familiar, boyish grin, “wanna see?”

Asking proved pointless as he sat up before you could conjure up an intelligible response and took hold of the bottom of his hoodie. In one soft motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside without a care. You couldn’t help but gawk like a fool at the sight you were left with.

“W–wow.” You coughed out, blinking rapidly as you absorbed the expanse of the tanned, toned body on top of you. ‘A little’ had been an understatement. The last time you saw him shirtless, you can’t quite seem to recall there being such a defined six pack… or such impressive biceps… fuck.

“Wanna feel?”

His large hand was already wrapped around your wrist before the question escaped his lips, though this time he actually waited for your verbal approval before proceeding. Was it really the best idea to be feeling up your shirtless best friend after he’d just propositioned you? Probably not. Were you going to do it anyway? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Allowing him to guide your palm to his impressive pectorals, you almost moaned at the feeling of the hard, warm skin beneath your greedy fingertips. “Not bad, huh?” He asked, smug smirk twirling at the corners of his lips.

“In a word.” You offered mildly, far too absorbed in tracing the defined ridges of his abs to come up with one of your usual smart ass responses. The faintest of gasps fluttered from his lips as you caressed over a particularly sensitive area, and you didn’t miss the goosebumps that rose across his sun kissed skin— nor the pressure of something hard suddenly nudging up against your hip.

Swallowing thickly, you tipped your head up, making the deadly mistake of meeting his eyes. They were dark, darker than you’d ever seen them, and hooded, pretty eyelashes fluttering across his flushed cheeks with every lazy blink. Something dangerous yet tempting swirled within them, and you found yourself too overwhelmed to hold his intense gaze for much longer, quickly diverting your attention elsewhere.

But, just your luck, your eyes happened to land directly on the second most dangerous feature on his face— his lips. They were a dark, lovely shade of pink and deliciously swollen from the relentless assault of his teeth. The unexpected urge to tip you chin up and kiss him crashed over you with all the strength of a tsunami, heat flooding down between your thighs. Instinctively, you tried to close them, but the shape of his body prevented you from doing such. Unfortunately for your sanity, the pressure of your legs squeezing around his hips gave Chanyeol a different idea all together, a whole new way of absolutely wrecking you.

You almost— scratch that, you quite literally choked on air when he suddenly rolled his hips down, grinding against you. It was more experimental than anything else, testing the waters, seeing just how far you’d let him go. When you showed no signs of pushing him away and telling him to go fuck himself, he did it again, and this time, you really did moan out loud. Chanyeol shuddered at the sound, positively delighted that he’d been the one to pull such a delicate, sexy noise from you.

Encouraged and invigorated with newfound determination, he set a steady, confident rhythm with his hips, rolling them into yours in hard, deliberate, fluid motions.

“Let me make you feel good, y/n.”

A shiver wracked your body, and you found yourself utterly helpless against the deep rasping bass of (what you liked to identify as) his sex voice. It was at least an octave deeper than his regular voice, with a deliberate yet natural hoarseness that shot straight to your core. And no being on earth was immune to it, including you.

“Okay. Fuck, okay,” you caved, breathing heavy and uneven just from that juvenile dry humping alone, “but this is seriously the last time, Chanyeol. We can’t keep doing shit like t–this.”

A triumphant grin twisted onto his rose petal lips, “that’s alright. Just this once is all I need.”

Contrarily, you feared this little indiscretion would make you crave him all the more.

You sighed softly as his head fell into the juncture of your neck, painting hot, open mouthed kisses across the vulnerable skin. “No marks.” You huffed lightly when he resorted to sucking and nipping, and you could feel the pout that downturned the corners of his lips, but he made no objections nonetheless. A trembling breath flooded out of your chest as he descended your body, pushing up the loose fabric of your t-shirt to press searing kisses across your belly, all the way down to the elastic of your leggings. He glanced up at you, and somehow the angle made him look more attractive than he already was.

“Don’t be nervous.”

You shot him a lopsided grin, “who’s nervous?”

He didn’t look convinced, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the skin of your hips. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s completely alright, just tell me and I’ll—”

“Don’t stop.” Chanyeol’s eyes widened at the sudden interruption, staring up at you with all the excitement and hope of a puppy getting a treat dangled in front of his nose. Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you allowed your thighs to relax, falling open before him. “Please… don’t stop.”

He literally whined, though it quickly pitched into a rough, heavy groan somewhere deep in his chest. Long fingers slipped beneath the tight elastic of your leggings, making quick work of tugging them down the length of your legs. The air was cold against your bare skin, prickling goosebumps shooting up across your freshly shaved and lotion lathed legs (you silently thanked yourself for making yesterday one of your monthly self care days). The chill of the air was warded away by the warm press of his hands against the flesh of your thighs, grip tight enough to bruise.

“Fuck.” You hissed as he feathered his mouth over your clothed pussy, the heat of his breath rippling through your core in tiny shockwaves. Something dangerous glinted in his hooded eyes, and you let out a shaky moan when he flicked his tongue experimentally. The thin grey cotton darkened with a mixture of his saliva and your arousal, and he moaned quietly when your faint flavor hit his taste buds.

“Baby,” he purred softly, rolling his thumb over your clit and prodding the tip of his tongue where he estimated your entrance was. Your head tipped back against the cushion, mouth opening in a silent gasp. One of your hands reached down to weave through his thick black locks, while the other grabbed hold of the armrest behind your head. “Can I take them off?”

“Yes.” You breathed, removing your hand from his hair to brace it against the couch as you lifted your hips, allowing him to pull the black cotton down your legs. He tossed them aside haphazardly, a low groan rumbling in his throat at the sight of your bare core, wet and exposed in front of him. The first time you’d done this, it had been too dark and he’d been too drunk to really appreciate you. So, he’d take his time now. Really take his time.

“You’re so pretty.”

Warmth blossomed beneath your cheeks and you scoffed softly, trying your best to act like the compliment hadn’t made your heart flutter. He dragged his index slowly through your arousal, mouth falling open with a breath of amazement as he admired the glistening wetness that coated it. Chills rolled down your spine, an almost embarrassingly desperate whine resonating in your throat.

“Chan.” The urgency in your voice made him smile, and he looked up at you with eyes sparkling with mischief. You could only watch helplessly as he dragged his finger away from you, and slipped it between his lips, humming in delight.

Fuck. He was definitely trying to kill you.

Luckily for you, that one little taste proved to not be anywhere near enough for his insatiable appetite and, without warning, he pressed his face in close and began lapping eagerly at your pussy. Your mouth gaped, hips bucking up uncontrollably as his nose ground into your clit, his hot tongue licking hungrily at your entrance. Pleasure ignited in your veins like a wildfire, explosive and untamable and all consuming. It stretched through every part of your body, setting your skin ablaze in the wake of his touch.

“Oh my god, Chan—” he groaned against you in response, hooded eyes fluttering blissfully as he lost himself in the taste of your cunt. He was eating you out like his life depended on it, fierce and unrelenting, the sound of it wet and messy. You were moaning his name, thigh tightening spastically around his head, but his strong, calloused hands kept them apart, forcing them open so he could have his way. You almost lost it completely when he wrapped his lips around your clit and started sucking.

Strangely enough, you found that without the intoxication of alcohol in your system, everything he did had that much of a more intense effect on you. It was like every touch, every sensation was amplified by your mere sobriety; the heat of his mouth, the softness of his lips, the eagerness of his tongue, the pressure of his fingers. You felt all of it, every one of your senses going into overdrive.

And god it was so much. And yet, you still wanted more.

“Y– your fingers, Chan, your fingers, please—” you panted, brows knitting as you felt that familiar tightening in your gut. He quickly obeyed, sinking his long middle finger inside of you with such ease you almost felt embarrassed. But there was no room for such emotions when you were so enthralled in the hot rush of pleasure bursting like the most brilliant of firecrackers in your veins.

A second finger was swift to join the first, stretching you out so deliciously that your toes curled. With his free hand, he tugged at your knee, bringing it up to rest over his shoulder. The new angle forced your hips off of the plush cushion below, his skilled fingers burying themselves deeper, pillowy lips sucking harder. It was over the second his digits curled, stroking up against that perfect little spot that had white hot electricity crackling in your blood.

Your orgasm hit you hard and fast. It was hot and overwhelming, the persistent, eager pressure of his mouth and hands drawing it out as long as it could possibly go. He dragged it out until you were limp and trembling beneath him, moaning and whining out broken fragments of his name, too lost in the bliss inducing thralls of your high to feel even the slightest hint of shame.

His ministrations seemed to grow even fiercer through your orgasm, his ravenous moans increasing in volume right alongside yours. He only pulled away when he knew you wouldn’t be able to withstand anymore, resorting to pressing soothing kisses and murmuring breathless praises against the soft, trembling skin of your thighs.

“Fuck you, Chanyeol.” You laughed breathlessly, tossing an arm over your eyes.

“Fuck me? Fuck you, I almost busted in my pants when you came. That was so fucking hot.” He groaned, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as he crawled back on top of you, caging your head between his arms. You chuckled, warmth spreading through your cheeks. A sweet smile upturned the corners of his mouth. “Did it help?”

The question was less than a breath against your lips, so soft you had to strain your ears to hear it. You swallowed, gaze momentarily dropping to his mouth before returning to his eyes, only to find that they’d honed in on your lips.

“It helped. You helped.”

He inhaled shakily, tongue slipping out to trace the seam of his bottom lip. “Can I help a little more?” He asked, and you felt his bangs feather over your forehead as his head lowered. Hot breath rushed over your mouth. Instead of answering, you reached up and cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss. It was short, shy, sweet. Such a stark contrast to the fierce hunger he’d displayed going down on you not two minutes ago that you couldn’t help the giggles of amusement that came bubbling from your chest. He broke away from you with a bashful smile, gently resting his forehead against yours.

“You suck.” He mumbled, pouting childishly.

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one that’s done any sucking.” You teased.

“Who am I to argue with the facts?” He sighed dramatically, feigning defeat.

You laughed loudly, an obnoxious cackle that had to be one of the most unattractive sounds you’d ever made, but it was abruptly cut off when he reattached his mouth to yours. You hummed contently, carding your fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck. The taste of you lingered on his tongue, and he painted the inside of your mouth with it. Warmth spread through your chest, your heart picking up speed as you melted into his kiss, melted into the warmth that the presence of his body provided you with.

“I lied.”

Your eyes blinked open, surprised by the sudden admission. “Huh?”

The look on his face stirred to life a strange, but vaguely familiar emotion in the depth of your chest. A crimson blush darkened his cheeks and his gaze shied away from yours. For a moment, you were reminded of the little, goofy looking boy that shyly handed you a heart shaped box of caramel chocolates on Valentine’s Day all the way back when you were thirteen. He had the same big sweet eyes, the same crimson cheeks, the same large pink tipped ears.

“I said that just this once is enough...” he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing as he nibbled nervously on the corner of his lip, “but it isn’t. It isn’t enough.”

“What do you mean?”

He cupped the side of your face, thumb tracing the line of your lip. “I want you. I- I want to be more to you— to be more to you than just a friend.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, offering him a sly smirk. “Are you… confessing to me, Park Chanyeol?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

He smiled down at you bashfully. “If you say yes.”

“Hmm…” you squinted your eyes and pursed your lips as if you needed to think it over. But you had a feeling that a moment like this was long past due, so you resisted the urge to draw it out and torture him, opting to give him a more straight forward answer to put his racing heart at ease. “Yes.”

“Thank god.” He groaned happily, smooshing your face between his massive palms and tugging you into a deep, but playful kiss that made your skin tingle. You giggled noisily against his lips, draping your arms over his neck to keep him close. “Does this mean I get to eat you out like that whenever I want?”

“Oh, without a doubt,” you snickered as he pumped his fist, hissing out an eager ‘yes’. You grabbed his chin between your thumb and forefinger, drawing his attention back to you. “And next time...” you tipped your head up to nip at the sensitive lobe of his ear, letting a downright wicked grin curl across your lips, “I’ll gladly return to favor.”

[bakugohoex]

reader confronting katsuki about his anger issues and how he bullies deku too much and they scream "don't u wanna be a hero?!" or smth like that and it strikes a nerve but also makes him Sad bc he wanna be a hero don't call him a villain :((

“you’ll never be a fucking hero if you keep acting like a dick to midoriya”

pairing: katsuki bakugo x female reader

cw: language, bit of angst bit of fluff

word count: 1400+

a/n: hey guys, hope you enjoy this little headcanon thingy i dont know what it’s called lmao

summary:  in which after seeing bakugo continue his bullying with midoriya, you take it upon yourself to stick up for the boy and bakugo get’s a lot more than he expected, finally realising that his act cannot go on for any longer

↞ back to my hero academia masterlist

Another day, another Bakugo shouting at Midoriya.

You could see in Midoriya’s eyes how much he looked up to the boy, you may have only known the two for a couple months now but seeing Bakugo scream at the boy again.

It was too much, the anger in explosions, the way Midoriya tried to hold him back.

He was extra pissed today and was taking it out on the green haired boy.

Being close friends with the boy, the shouting of Bakugo had made your instincts act out.

You left your own partner, Kirishima, and marched past everybody. They could all see your own anger; you were going to protect the boy and they were not going to stand in your way.

You grabbed Bakugo’s collar and this boy was in shock, nobody had ever done something like this.

His actions stopped as you dragged him out kicking and shouting for you to let go of him.

“Y/n, what the fuck? Don’t fucking ever do that shit again?” He scowled outside of the training rooms.

You tapped your foot lightly, but you were pissed, fucking annoyed even. He looked angry at you but kept it under wraps. If someone was to analysis Bakugo they would realise how he had a soft spot for you after both of you fought against each other at the spots festival. Hell he even remembered your name and quirk, he may have been nicer to you but his anger that he had suppressed for you needed to be let out somehow.

“Bakugo, you’re going to listen to me, oh so help me God, I will make you look like an idiot inside.” He took a sharp breathe only nodding at how easily you had shut down his frustrations.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at? Leave Midoriya the fuck alone, you don’t need to be so fucking rude to the boy. You might think it makes you look all powerful but all I see is a bully.” You took your own deep breath, “you’ll never be a fucking hero if you keep acting like a dick to Midoriya.”

He stood taking it all, all the anger you felt from how he acted towards the boy, he took it all in. The last thing he had ever wanted was to hear the words you had said and worst of all, it was you who had said it. The girl who had nearly beat him, the girl who had always been so kind and nice to those around her. The girl he had almost become infatuated with, you were the one shouting at him, telling him he was the one in the wrong.

“Get a fucking grip, Bakugo.” With the final words you left him speechless outside, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. But anger filled him, the sound of his explosions arose from behind you, but you didn’t turn around shaking your head to let him have his tantrum.

You had spent time with him, even studied with him. He never acted the way he acted to Midoriya to you, he always seemed nice and a lot calmer. But watching how hurt Midoriya looked, it hurt you to see your friend upset.

“You don’t get to fucking say shit Y/n.” You stopped in your steps, you were half way inside before his words caught up to you. He was shouting at you, his eyes filled with sadness, you were close enough to see it. But the rest of the class who were watching the scene could only see anger.

“Bakugo…”

“No, Y/n, you can’t say that shit and leave like that.” His voice seemed weaker and his arms may have been out towards you. But no yellow explosions were coming out from it, he just had anger within him. He hated you protecting the young Midoriya, but he knew that you shouldn’t care as much, that you had never stopped him before. So why now?

You didn’t meet his gaze, instead looking to the side, “fucking look at me.” Your eyes flickered to his own and he was about to speak when a much angrier Aizawa stomped towards you. He looked pissed at the two of you not training.

“You two stop talking now.”

“Yes sir.” You both spoke in unison, before you left to go back to Kirishima.

The words had repeated through Bakugo’s head since the encounter outside, he respected you for saying what you said. To stand up to him, but he could see how it had ruined your friendship.

Whenever you’d be in the elevator going up to your rooms, you’d stay on your phone, refusing to talk to him, or if you both were waiting for Aizawa to come in. You’d leave your seat behind him and go talk to Midoriya or Todoroki, he hated it so much.

This is how he ended up doing something entirely rash and a lot more unexpected. It was the end of the day and you were about to leave to go back to the dorms. A hand had grabbed your wrist however, “Y/n.”

Bakugo’s voice was hesitant, but you turned to meet his gaze. He let go of you, scratching the back of his head before speaking again, “I want to prove to you that I am he…hero material, so just umm wait here.”

You were hesitant at first, but you stayed outside, you noticed him walk towards Midoriya who at the sight of seeing Bakugo looked timider than ever. Bakugo gestured you to come over, which you did waiting to see what he’d say to the young boy, “I…I’m sorry.”

Midoriya looked more confused than ever, “are you ill Kacchan?” Midoriya began to try to inspect Bakugo’s face.

“Let go me stupid nerd.” He got out of Midoriya’s way and looked at you.

“An apology won’t just fix a relationship Bakugo.” You had not been impressed with what you had seen, and you wanted to hear more.

“Okay, okay.” Bakugo looked back at Midoriya, “we’ve never been friends and I know we never will.”

You stared blankly at what he had said, that was not a good start, “but I shouldn’t have put all my anger on you, to be honest, all the niceness I give to y/n, I have left over anger that needed to go somewhere. It shouldn’t have been to you, I’m not trying to be nice to you, I’m still 100% better than you and your little nerdy friends but I won’t put the excess anger I have onto you.”

“Okay.” Midoriya had grown over the months, he didn’t need Bakugo’s approval for anything, he had grown to have other friends. Move past the boy from his childhood and you were glad about that.

Bakugo came to meet your gaze again, “yeah, yeah we’re fine now.” He grinned at you walking with you back to the dorms. “So what’s this about being nice to just me.”

“Shut up shitty woman.” He growled as you laughed.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be nice to me.” You pouted to the boy.

“Y/n.” He stopped you in your tracks, even with the acceptance he had gotten back from you, he was still upset about what you had said. “About me not being her…”

You interrupted him, touching his cheek. “It was rash, and I shouldn’t have said it.” You smiled up to the boy, your thumb caressing his face, “you’ll be an amazing pro hero one day and you’ll protect us all.”

“Even you.”

You laughed at his statement, “only if I’m in trouble, but I doubt I will be.” Just as you had let go of his face, he grabbed your arm bringing you closer.

Your faces only a mere inch apart from one another, he had bent down to reach your face. And he was happy, content even, he hated having you ignore him. Having you shut him down every time he tried to talk to you, but you had given him another chance and he was taking it.

His lips finally reached yours and you gave a low whisper, “do it future number one hero.” The command was all he needed to encase his lips against your own. The softness between one another and warmth that the boy brought was filled in the lustful kiss, his tongue guiding your own and the heavy breathes you both took after. It had been careless but soft and he had even more of a reason to become the number one pro hero and that was you.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and i’ll add you xx

@samusimp @alainarose13 @crispychannie @underratedmage @jennammaee @cathy8taffy @sugacious @moonlightaangel @kat-sukis-hoe @effmigentlywithachainsaw @swankiifiied @maat-the-prescriptive @missmultifangirl @tvwhoresblog @kuroos-world @chrrylevi @ukaisgratefulwhore @answer-the-sirens @animexholic

[marvelous-imagines]

Still loving you

Johnny Lawrence x reader

Request: Awesome! If I may submit 2, 1) where reader likes Johnny, and Johnny is going back and forth with Daniel bc of Allie, and reader breaks it off with Johnny and angst then they get back together. (it's hardly anything like the request and I just realized that and I'm so sorry)

Warnings: mild language. Angst. Fluff at the end!

@jojosgirlkat1dluvr

You Was Seated at a booth with your boyfriend Johnny and his friends at a dinner, listening to them joke around and and just talk about how their karate training went today. You was seated beside Johnny who had a arm wrapped around you, his red cobra Kai jacket on you as you leaned into his side.

"God the waitress is hot, I'm gonna ask her for her number next time she comes around" Bobby, one of Johnny's friends said, causing the rest of the gang to laugh at him.

"she's twice you're age idiot, she's not going to" johnny laughed out, eating a French fry off your plate which makes you swat his hand away playfully.

"oh yeah? 20 bucks says I can?" the boy bets, making you shake your head at him.

"you're honestly betting on it?" you lift a brow at him, shaking your head. Tommy throws 20 dollars on the table causing the rest to do the same.

"if she gives you her number you're not only winning this money, but my respect Bobby" Dutch tells him. You roll your eyes at the boys and finish up your food. After a few minutes the waitress came back to hand you your bill, which Johnny payed for, and you nearly choked on air when Bobby give the older woman a smirk while leaning back in his seat.

"hey babe, I was wondering if maybe I could get you're number?" he said confidently, looking the woman up and down. She scoffs and shows him a ring on her finger.

"I'm married asshole, the only thing you're grabbing is a ride out of here" she growls while stomping away. Everyone at the table burst out laughing, including yourself. Bobby flips you all off and stands up. Causing everyone to follow him out the door.

"you really know how to speak to the ladies Bobby" Tommy laughed, slapping him on the back as you all walked outside into the night air. Johnny still having a arm slung around you pulls you closer. But you can feel him tense up, looking up at him your about to question him what's wrong, but then you see his eyes focused on the new kid larusso and Johnny's ex girlfriend ali.

You couldn't help but feel a bit jealous, you knew he still felt a little something for the girl. He always gave her lingering glances, his eyes lighting up with anger when the larusso boy hangs around her.

It made you feel a little pinge of hurt whenever you would catch him staring at them, especially since you and him has been dating for nearly a week or two now, you feel so in love with the boy, he was so sweet towards you, funny and loving person. And he was so handsome, any woman would kill just to be in your position, having Johnny Lawrence have his arm around them. But you didn't feel as lucky when he looked at ali...

"look at that loser, who the hell does he think he is strutting around here?" johnny seethes while looking at the two, watching how Daniel put his arm around ali. But poor Daniel stops in his tracks like a deer caught in headlights when he sees Johnny and his gang.

"oh no...." Daniel muttered, "maybe we should go..." he looks to ali. But Johnny, pulling his arm away from you stops him from moving by pushing his shoulder, causing Daniel to stumble back some.

"where do you think you're loser?" johnny asks with a smirk, the anger in his blue eye's caused you to give Johnny a confused yet angered look.

"don't be mean to the poor kid Johnny, let's just go" you said trying to get him to leave the boy alone. But he doesn't listen, Johnny's friends watching this go down with snickers and chuckles like it was funny. But for you, it was far from it.

"look man, I don't want any trouble I'm just trying to grab something to eat with my -

"you think I'm gonna let you get away with what you done larusso?" johnny questions while pushing Daniel back again.

"johnny stop being such a jerk and just let us be" ali spoke while standing behind Daniel.

"yeah Johnny let's just go please?" you say but Johnny only scoffs at you.

"and let this loser -

"johnny please?" you whisper, placing a hand on his shoulder trying to get him to calm down. But he doesn't even pay attention to you.

"I don't wanna fight man, but I will if you don't back off" Daniel says in defense, causing Johnny to laugh at him mockingly. You feeling anger bubbling up inside you at how childish your boyfriend was acting.

"did you hear that boys? Larusso thinks he can beat us!" johnny snickers, but Daniel shakes his head.

"just let us go prick"

"who you calling prick loser!" johnny grabs Daniels jacket and ali grabs Daniel while you push Johnny back, his glare falling on you.

"leave him alone Johnny! God you're acting like such a child! Picking on someone so - so innocent!" you say, face flushed with anger. Johnny rolls his eyes and looks away from you.

"so what? You're taking his side now?" he asks, venom dripping from his voice. You scoff, watching how he glares at the ground, jaw tense and fist clenched. "is he taking you to? Stealing you away from me like he did ali?" he questioned with the same harsh tone.

You feel a wave of shock and disappointment wash over you. "why would you even think that? For one thing he never stole ali Johnny, she broke up with you! And another I'd -

"then what the hell do you call that!" he points at ali and Johnny, ali holding Daniel back as he glared at your boyfriend. You feel a wave of fresh anger and glare at Johnny.

"of you can't stop being such a asshole then I'm leaving you Johnny! So you can choose right now, either leave them alone or I'm leaving" you state, crossing your arms. You expected Johnny to calm down, to wrap his arms around you as his tough guy facade washes away for a split second to keep you with him. But you was wrong, instead he let's out a un-amused chuckle.

"go then! See if I care! All you do is nag me over stupid shit like this!" he motioned toward the fight, his once blue loving eyes cold and heartless. You feel hot tears filling your eyes as your bottom lip trembles. You only stare at him hoping he would realize what he said and take it back. But he doesn't, he only gives you a glare.

"okay then, I guess that's that..." you muttered, tears falling from your eye's as you push past him and leave him standing there with his friends, Daniel and Ali.

You walked home that night, heart broken into a million peices. You had thought Johnny was different, that he was the sweet heart of a man whenever you both started dating, the sweet things he would say to you, the way he couldn't stand not holding your hand every second. You thought his soft kisses and exclaims of love for you was genuine, that he actually loved holding you close to him, loved you...

But now you know that was all a lie, the Johnny you thought you knew was just a dream you couldn't even have... Once you was home you laid in bed and cried, the pain of knowing that Johnny didn't love you hurt, the feelings you felt for him apparently unrequited.

The next morning at school was unbearable, seeing him laugh and joke around with his friends as if nothing ever happened, as if he didn't end things with you. But the next few other days was worse, so bad you skipped a day of school, that day being today. You was laid in bed just reading a magazine when your phone rings, ignoring it you continued reading the dumb magazine in hopes of taking your mind of things, but the phones insistent ringing forced you to throw the magazine down and reach over your bed to grab the ringing phone off your bed side table.

"hello?" you grumbled into the phone, but you feel your heart drop, the dark cloud of sadness you've pushed away for the day came right back.

"hey y/n, I know you really don't -

You hung up on Johnny, tears swimming in your eye's. His voice sounded glum, cracking slightly as if he was on the verge of tears. But you knew he wasn't, at least that's what you thought. Because over these past week he seemed happy without you.

Just as you was about to pick the magazine back up the phone rings again, this time you wipe your eyes harshly and pick the phone up.

"look Johnny I -

"it's Bobby, and before you hang up I wanted to let you know that Johnny has been a absolute mess without you... He hasn't been showing up to training at the dojo lately, he's skipping school and he won't even barely talk to us..." he explained, and even though you wanted to forgive Johnny, you knew that it should be in person.

"if he really wants to fix things tell him to meet me at the dinner..." you muttered while playing with the phones curly cord.

"what time?" Bobby sounded relieved and happy. You let a small smile grace your face.

"tomorrow evening at 3pm" you said, hearing Bobby bid you goodnight before hanging up.

You sigh and laid down on your bed, wondering if forgiving would be the right decision. Or if not forgiving him was the wrong....

The diner was full, friends laughing at one another, family having a great time. And then there was you, waiting at a booth by the window alone. It was nearing 3pm, but Johnny was nowhere to be seen. You sigh and can't help but feel slightly disappointed by his absence, you thought he'd actually missed you, regretted his decision that unfortunate night outside this diner.

Looking down at your watch you see Johnny was already two minutes late, sighing your ready to stand up, deciding Johnny needed some time to gather his thoughts...

But you sat back down when you spot Johnny walk through the doors, blond hair a mess atop his head, black cloth that's usually tied around his head gone. He wore a faded old t-shirt and jeans, his blue eye's holding a glum glow about them as he looks up and spots you, quick to stride over and slip into the empty booth with you. You give him a emotionless expression as he opted for gazing out the window.

"penny for you're thoughts?" you asked harsher then meant to. But Johnny looks at you, big blue eye's holding nothing but regrets.

"I - I'm sorry for what happened that night... I was wrong for saying what I did... For pushing you away -

"being a big jerk?" you added to the list. He nods and looks back out the window with a deep sigh.

"I miss you y/n... Please just - forgive me" he whispers, voice holding a genuine hurt tone to it. You sigh looking over Johnny's face, taking in how miserable his eyes are, showing the misery he truly was in over this past week. Reaching over the table and grabbing ahold of his hand you give him a gentle squeeze, causing him to look up with a hopeful glint.

"as much as I hate how you was doing Daniel that night... I suppose I forgive you" you muttered, his face lighting up as he tries to say something but you cut him off "if we start dating again I expect you to leave Daniel and Ali alone Johnny" you explain, giving him a pleading look, begging for him to at least listen to you, promise you.

"okay, done. But if he starts it I'm not letting the little prick walk all over me y/n" he tells you with a serious look. Which causes you to roll your eyes.

"only if he starts it and throws the first punch" you confirmed with a small little smile. Johnny squeezes your hand that he held in yours atop the table as he gives you a little smile of his own.

"and one last thing to discuss..." you trail off, looking away from his concerned and confused eyes.

"what is it?" he swallowed thickly, worried by the look in your eye, how you looked afraid, hurt and skeptical.

"stop making me feel like I'm only just you're friend... I see how you look at ali, the only reason you hate Daniel so bad is because he - what you claim, stole her away from you..." you struggle to look at him, knowing your insecurities was starting to boil over the top. "I know she's prettier and -

"y/n you're the most beautiful woman I've ever lied eyes on, if you even for a moment think I'd ever leave you for ali your wrong. I love you, more than anything and nothings gonna change that" he interrupted your train on insecure thoughts. You feel your heart skip a beat and melting at his words, the way he gazed at you with love and truth, a genuine smile on his face as he let his eyes roam every detail and feature about you.

"johnny - I love you too..." you stuttered as you felt a wave of emotions hit you. Causing tears of happiness to form in your eye's. Johnny let's a little smile tug at his lips as he leaned closer, halfway across the table to cup your cheek.

"I know ya do babe, and like I said before, I love you more" he gives you a quick peck on the lips before bringing your hand up to his lips placing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. Heart fluttering at his sweet little kisses.

That day in the diner you and Johnny sit and talked for hours, his eyes on you never leaving once. He regretted the night he had hurt you and pushed you away, but he knew that if he kept his promises to you that nothing could ever keep you both apart.

A/n: here it is! I hope it isn't as bad as I believe it to be lol, it was rushed. I've been incredibly busy with work and have hardly any time to myself lately!, but here's this and then I'll work on the other one!

[voiceless-terror]

would you consider writing me some precanon jongeorgie angst. bc i imagine they probably bonded over their interest in the supernatural but never. you know. actually talked about their personal experiences/trauma. just give me a little of both of them handling that trauma very badly while never admitting their closest brush with the supernatural. or something. idk.

Hello anon! I haven’t written Jon/Georgie yet, but this prompt was too good to pass up. Hope you like!

Being with Georgie was easy. It shouldn’t have been, not for him.

But it was.

She carried herself with the utmost surety: of her opinions, of her feelings, of her place in the world. It wasn’t arrogance, more like confidence and something else Jon couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was a blankness in her eyes sometimes. Not an absence of feeling but an absence of...understanding, maybe. Of empathy. Georgie saw the world in black and white; she knew exactly what was right and what was wrong. She was blunt. She bulldozed over others in conversations, pointed out flaws that polite society knew to overlook and not name. Jon admired it, as much as it made him cringe.

But it was complemented by her fierce capacity for loving, her clever, teasing words, the way her fingers ran through his hair when he was stressed. That black and white view could quiet his mind like no other- ‘yes, Jon’, ‘no, Jon.’  She listened to his incessant rambling, nodding in the right places and adding her own commentary. She filled out the crosswords in the morning, her brow furrowed in concentration, colorful nails tapping at the table. She never wanted help, stubborn to a fault. Her dark skin ethereal in the morning light, the way her voice was low and croaky before her coffee. The ease with which she said ‘I love you.’ 

He remembered the day she first approached him, all ripped-tights and smudged, smoky eyeshadow. Just leaned against the wall on that chilly fall night and snatched the cigarette right from his hand, an eyebrow flicked upward as she took a drag. He couldn’t get a word out, just silently took her phone when she offered it and typed in a number with shaking hands. A year later and she was still that same girl, though he’d seen her stash of manga and her weird cat memorabilia. She was whole, real. It was comfortable.

“I’m not really sure if I should go.” They’re curled up on the couch, Jon leaning into the warm bulk of her. “All of the others are going, though.”

“It’s not like you’re close, right?” Jon’s petting the Admiral, the new addition to the household fitting in seamlessly. “I’m sure she won’t take it as an insult. You can always say you’re busy. Who was it, again? Her father?”

“Yeah.” Georgie’s shifting against him, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. It’s odd- she’s not usually so awkward about these things. If there’s something she doesn’t want to talk about, she shuts it down right away. This seems...different. “And no, not close. But everyone else is going- they want to show their support, I guess. It would be awkward if I didn’t.”

Perhaps Georgie didn’t like funerals. You’re not supposed to, of course. Maybe it was a phobia, a perfectly valid one. Plenty of people don’t like to see the reminder of death laid out before them. Jon’s been to a few in his lifetime- for his Gran’s friend, for a distant cousin.

For his parents.

He doesn’t remember his father’s, he might not have even gone. He was only two at the time. He distantly remembers his mother’s; it wasn’t well attended, he sat in the front row with his Gran. He doesn’t even remember crying, if he even realized the thing in the box was his mother, dead and gone.

Needless to say, he understands Georgie’s sentiments. “You don’t have to go, not if...not if you don’t like it. Plenty of people are uncomfortable with death-” This was the wrong thing to say, for Georgie tensed instantly, leaning away from him.

“That’s not it at all,” she says, snatching her legs out from where Jon’s leaning comfortable against them. “It’s- it’s the performance of it all. All those people standing around a body, sniffling and moaning-”

Jon tried for levity, bristling at her tone. “People grieve, they need closure-”

Georgie snorted, this time shoving him away on the couch, the Admiral jumping from Jon’s lap at the movement. Her words became impassioned, as if Jon needed to know, needed to understand. “Cremate them, then! Say a few words, scatter the ashes, whatever. But having the body on display like that?” She gets up, starts to pace. Jon’s never seen her like this. “Paint the corpse, dress it up, pretend it’s a person still but it’s not, and everyone’s just standing there around it, praying over it and watching it like it’s not just rotting meat you put lipstick on-”

“Georgie!”

“I can’t stand it.” She stops in front of him, chest heaving and eyes aflame. “What’s so monumental about it? We live, we die- and her father was old, it was bound to happen sometime. No need to make such a to-do. It’s- it’s just disgusting, is what it is.” She didn’t continue, and an awkward silence permeated the room. 

Georgie got worked up about things on occasion. But the wild look in her eye, the total sense of incomprehension was...disconcerting. He agreed with her on certain points, of course, but the vehemence behind them- something wasn’t right. But it didn’t feel right to pry, either, and Georgie surely wouldn’t appreciate it.

“You could just say you’re busy, you don’t have to go,” he tries tentatively. She seems to deflate where she stands, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. So he stands up, taking her hand in his. She lets him, but doesn’t meet his eyes. “But if you do, I can come with you. If you’d like.”

They stand in the very back row of the church after awkwardly greeting her grieving coworker. Georgie’s nails dig painfully into his arm, but he says nothing. They leave after ten minutes and stop at an Indian buffet on the way home. He silently watches her dig into a curry, his own untouched.

___________

When she first met Jon, she thought he was utterly out of her league.

It was her first semester back at school, she was an absolute fucking mess- drinking at all hours, barely present in her classes. She was out at the bar with a few new friends, most of whom she’d already forgotten the names of, and saw him standing there under a single flickering lamp, a cigarette dangling from long, slender fingers, raven hair back in a messy bun. Not many people could pull that off but he looked almost effortlessly cool (a thing she’d later find laughable for ever thinking) in his dingy leather jacket, his eyes far away and shadowed. She wondered what made him lose sleep. He had an odd, crooked little smile on his face and she was filled with liquid courage. The look he gave her when she took that cigarette out of his hand made her knees weak, and he took the proffered phone like he was only a little impressed. She sent a text to his phone and left, so embarrassed she went straight home.

He never did text her. To be fair, she never expected him to.

But she found him not two days later, hunched over a table in the campus library. She did a double take- surely this couldn’t be him, her impossibly handsome, silent figure who she surely dreamed up. But there was no mistaking that hair, those eyes. He was smaller, somehow diminished in his baggy jumper and wire-rimmed glasses, tapping a pencil against his textbook in irritation. Before she knew it she found herself picking up her phone, sending a text to the number with no name. And sure enough, his phone buzzed.

They went out on their first date a day later.

Jon was a ball of nerves, awkward and not at all like the man she thought she met that night. Somehow, the real Jon was better. She liked the way he blushed and stammered, the way a touch of her hand left him flustered and unable to speak. The way he could talk for hours about nothing at all, making even the most dull of subjects seem interesting with that voice of his- a voice surely meant for radio or T.V., something Jon himself endlessly scoffed at whenever she brought it up. They would sit in front of the telly for hours, marathoning ridiculous ghost hunting shows and pointing out the obvious fakes. Jon had a weakness for ghost stories, just like she did. “Most of them are absolute drivel, of course,” he said.

Most of them. 

They found comfort in each other, their small island of two, had no need for other company. Georgie had never been able to relate to someone so well, not since Alex, and Jon was never fond of crowds. Three months in he tried to break up with her, saying he could never give her what ‘she needed’ but she stopped that in its tracks- Georgie would be the one who decided what she did and didn’t need, thank you very much. She liked the way he leaned into her on movie nights, like her touch was the only thing that mattered. The sincerity in his eyes whenever he complimented her in that earnest, awkward way of his. He challenged her when he thought she was wrong, sometimes their fights lasted days. But they always came back to one another, each knowing they had no one else who understood them. Was it healthy? Georgie couldn’t answer that, she didn’t know herself. Jon probably didn’t either. But she loved him, in her way. 

That night they have a few glasses of wine, and Jon’s regaling her with some ridiculous story from his youth- apparently he was somewhat of a delinquent, wandering about at all hours. She laughs in delight, imagining a small, serious Jon climbing fences and evading the law. But suddenly Jon stops, his eyes going wide and his face growing ashen as he stares unblinking at the table.

It’s a spider- a tiny thing, really. Georgie’s been seeing a lot of them lately, and she really should be better about dusting the place. But Jon- Jon looks absolutely terrified, like the thing’s bound to leap out and kill him. She opens her mouth to tease, an instinctive reaction, but is instead startled by the loud smack of a hand against the table. Jon had smashed it certainly, but he lifts his hand and stares at it in wide-eyed horror, as if whatever he sees is nine times worse than the original thing.

“Jon-”

The chair hits the ground as he stumbles to her bathroom with heavy, labored breathing. She gets up slowly, approaching as quietly as possible to find him hyperventilating against the sink, the faucet on full blast as he washes his hand- scratches it, really. He’s mumbling frantically under his breath.

“...so many legs, get off, get off-”

She makes her presence known as not to startle him, approaching from the side and gently wrapping a hand around his arm once she sees him drawing blood. He starts anyway, his movements jerky and frenzied as he rips his arm away like her touch burns.

“It’s just a spider Jon,” she says softly, lifting her hands to show she means no harm. “It’s okay, you got it, it’s dead now-”

“But what if it isn’t!” He spits, slamming his hands on the marble rim of the sink and leaving bloody prints in his wake. He’s breathing so fast she thinks he might pass out. “What if it isn’t?”

She has no answer to that.

It takes about two hours, a hot shower and a stiff drink for him to calm down. They lay on the couch, watching something stupid, mind-numbing. She runs her fingers through his hair. He always liked that. She doesn’t say a word, he’s exhausted, and she knows from experience that pushing him will just lead to another fit like before. The next day, he brings her Hungarian by way of apology. They eat in a more comfortable silence, Jon gradually warming up as the evening goes on. Still, she doesn’t ask.

She spends the weekend cleaning her flat, standing on a chair and vacuuming at the cobwebs.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440474

[zevlors-tail]

Rooftops

Pairing: ProHero!Deku x Reader

Description: Sometimes being a Hero isn’t just fighting villains and rescuing people from burning buildings; sometimes it’s battling demons and rescuing people from themselves instead.

Warnings: Suicidal reader, thoughts of suicide, attempted suicide? (reader doesn’t succeed), trauma bonding, mentions of bullying, little bit of touch starvation? Talks of therapy, decision to try therapy.

A/N: I guess you could say I needed to vent some heavy things. PLEASE do not read this if you are triggered by anything mentioned above. Also, I HC that Midoriya never would have gone through with it, but he might have at one point been in the reader’s position, and I wish they would expand on how what Katsuki said and did to him in middle school affected his life more. I will never be satisfied until we get a proper apology from Bakugou and the two of them sort out their feelings about it, bc you KNOW that had to create some trauma. So I guess this might be sort of a fix-it fic? Also, I’m sorry for the ending, it might be cringe, idk. I can’t help but add fluff to everything I write, apparently. I love Best Boi, what can I say?

You breathed in the cool night air as you leaned against the railing, fingers trembling slightly against the rusty metal. Everything seemed so surreal; the noisy traffic below, the people bustling down streets and alleyways, the dimmed apartment lights from the building across... What did any of it matter? In the grand scheme of things, you were just a small spec of the universe observing all these phenomenons, a waste of space taking up time that could belong to something or someone more useful than your sorry excuse of an existence. That’s what you thought, at least.

You leaned a little farther over and rested your chest against the bars of steel. Would anyone miss you if you were to just...disappear? If you dropped everything and left right now, would anyone care? Would anyone cry for your absence? These were questions you had asked yourself over and over again, and each time you had managed to convince yourself that maybe, just maybe, the answer was yes, someone would care. But each time the questions rolled around in your head, it got harder to convince yourself of that. You found doubts in every corner of your mind, in every crack and crevice of your brain that they could slink into. Quiet at first, but now as loud as a siren, they overwhelmed you and made you believe you were worthless. They beat you down, exhausted you, claimed your once happy spirit and soiled it with numbness and apathy. Those doubts were the reason you wholeheartedly believed that you no longer mattered to anyone.

They were also the reason you were twenty stories up in the air on the roof of your apartment building.

Steeling your nerves and taking a deep breath, you let everything sink in. This was what you were waiting for all these years. All of your life had lead up to this single moment; all of your past mistakes, all of your life decisions, all of the lost friends, your job, your family and their snide remarks, your short comings...and all the rest. It didn’t matter. Every time you blinked, every sneeze, every laugh, whether genuine or fake, didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, including you.

Nothing matters, and no one cares.

And with that final thought, you hoisted yourself up and over the railing, limbs heavy with a dull numbness as you planted your feet loosely on the other side. For a second you balanced yourself, arms outstretched behind you to grip on to the bars for one last fleeting sense of security. Just one more step. But even as you moved forward, you found that your hands seemed to tighten their grip on the steel, and suddenly you felt physical panic despite your mind telling you that this was what you really wanted. It seemed your body was defying your mind.

“I don’t think you want to do that.”

Startled, you stumbled back and tightened your hold on the rails until your knuckles turned white. Were you imagining things, or did you just hear a voice? And if so, who was it and what were they doing all the way up here? Whatever their business was though, it surely had nothing to do with you, right? So why were they meddling in your affairs when you just wanted to be left alone? The thought of it was just a little too much, and you found yourself snapping at whoever was behind you.

“Uh, yeah, I think I do.” It came out more spiteful than you meant it to sound. But then, that was just how you were these days...bitter and cold. All the more reason to end everything.

“Please, just come back over here to the other side of the railing. We can talk if you want, or I can just sit with you, or we can listen to music together if that would help?” The stranger’s voice was gentle and pleading, as if he was afraid to break you if he spoke too loud. 

“Just leave me alone! Why do you care anyway?” You stole a glance behind you to get a good look at the person trying to talk you down. The first thing you noticed was the green hair, and then the pair of concerned emerald eyes reflecting back at you. Under those were a set of freckles, giving him an overall boyish look, and finally- his costume. You recognized Japan’s Number One Hero, Deku.

“Because I don’t want to see you get hurt...or worse.” His tone was solemn. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just leave you alone up here. Clearly you had one purpose for coming up here, and I’m not going to let you go through with it.”

For a moment, you felt your heart soar at the possibility that someone cared after all. But just as hope was about to take root and bloom within your chest, it seemed that your mind had other ideas to cut the poor blossom out. As fast as the feeling settled, it was gone, and you reminded yourself that this was his job; he was required to help anyone who he thought might be in trouble. It wasn’t like he really wanted to be up here talking to you.

“What the hell do you know about why I’m up here? And anyways...it’s your job to save people. You don’t have to pretend to care about me. It doesn’t matter if you’re the number one hero or not, you’re still going to forget about me some day or another. A week from now you won’t even think twice about me. I’m forgettable. I don’t matter...not really. So please just leave me be. You’re bothering me.” No matter how hard you tried to keep the anger in your voice, you couldn’t help how it faded with each passing second. It was tiring to keep feeling everything and nothing all at once. You wanted it all to just stop.

There was long moment of silence that passed between the two of you, which you took as a sign that you had been right about everything you had just said. Your anxieties and nerves were starting to get to you by then; you were about to really go through with it and had inched forward slightly when he decided to speak again. 

“Once, someone told me to take a swan dive off the roof of my old school.” Your breath hitched as you stopped in your tracks. “I know what it’s like not to be wanted or needed by everyone around you. To feel like a failure, like there’s no hope left... Like you’re not worth saving. But even if you really think and believe all those things you said about yourself, just know that I care. And it’s not because it’s my job to, or because I’m a Pro Hero, or because I just happened to be in the area and saw you up here after my shift ended. It’s because at one point in my life, I could relate to where you are now.”

You were left without words for once as you stood there, wind whipping through your hair and eyes focused on nothing in particular. After the initial shock wore off, you finally turned around to face him. You searched his eyes for any trace of deception, anything to prove that maybe he was lying or just trying to get to you, but all you could find was sincere honesty. And Deku, upon seeing you turn around from the edge of the building, seemed to tense for a second before continuing.

“I climbed up to the top of the school roof that day and when I got up there, I just...stared down. All I could think about at the time was making the pain and the numbness go away. But then I thought of my mom’s face when she would hear the news...and I thought of how I would only be a statistic after that- a number, you know, like the ones I recorded every day in my notebook. But I didn’t want that. I had a name that I loved, a mother waiting for me at home, and a dream I was still holding on to. I realized what I really wanted was to prove everyone wrong, to still become the hero I wanted to be as a little boy. And even more than that, I just wanted the pain to stop. I think that’s what people truly want- just to feel better.” He gave you a small smile and offered a hand to you after that, and you swore his eyes were glistening a little if you looked close enough. “I would care if you were gone. I would think about it every day. I don’t even know your name, but your face is already engraved in my mind. I would have made the biggest mistake of my life had I ended things that day; look at where I am now! If I let someone else take away all their future opportunities and potential life experiences knowing that I could have stopped them, knowing that I didn’t offer them the support I desperately wanted when I was going through it, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“...you mean that?” You couldn’t help the tremble in your voice.

“Every word. Please, just come back over to this side and talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. I promise I’ll do my best to help however I can.”

Something pulled at your heartstrings as you listened to him. He had put into words everything you had been feeling these past few months, everything you wanted to express but just couldn’t. Tentatively, you reached out a hand to meet his, and he wasted no time as he wrapped his other arm around your waist and hoisted you back over the railing towards safety and into his arms.

“Oh thank god,” he breathed out. His arm was still wound tight around your waist as he pulled you flush to him and walked you backwards. When the two of you reached the wall of the entryway to the rooftop, he stopped and slid down to the floor with you, a heavy sigh of relief escaping his lips. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.” You blinked back tears as you leaned into Deku’s tight hug, your arms coming up to wrap around him as well. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so loving and caring with you or the last time you had been hugged like this. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m here.”

That was all it took for the dam inside of you to burst.

Hot tears finally spilled over and soaked Deku’s costume as all the emotions you had been suppressing came back full force. You hid your face in his shirt to try and stifle your cries as much as you could, but it was no use. There was no hiding the turmoil in your soul; all you could do was endure the sadness and frustration while he held you and comforted you. Slowly the reality of the situation started to sink in, and the realization that you almost took your own life hit you full force.

“I...I almost-!” You didn’t have the strength to finish your sentence as you sobbed harder and shook in the hero’s arms. He eventually shifted the two of you around to a more comfortable position and rubbed circles on your shoulder soothingly while you cried, a look of understanding and empathy in his eyes.

“But you didn’t. And you know what that tells me? That despite all those lies you’re telling yourself, there’s still a part of you left that wants to live. There’s still a part of you, no matter how small, that’s holding on to hope that things will get better. Find that feeling deep down inside you, grasp it, and never let go of it. You deserve to exist here. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to wake up each day and live and enjoy life. And I know you probably don’t feel that way right now, but believe me when I say that it’s the truth.” A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you took a moment to contemplate his words.

“You said we could talk if I wanted to...” you sniffled.

“Sure, we can talk. It doesn’t even have to be about anything in particular. Whatever you want to talk about, I’ll listen.”

So you told him everything. You poured your heart out to someone who was no more than a stranger to you, even if you recognized his face because it was plastered on every poster and broadcasted on every T.V. Even if you knew who Deku was, the person behind the mask was someone else entirely, and it brought a sense of comfort to you to know that a real person was listening to your troubles and caring about them. For once, someone was taking the time to make you a priority, and that was not something you were used to.

“I’m sorry, you’re probably tired of listening to me by now. I can’t believe I dumped all of that on y-” you tried to apologize, but he shook his head and cut you off before you could finish.

“Don’t be. I offered, didn’t I? I genuinely want to hear about what’s troubling you. Everyone deserves to be listened to, especially when they’re hurting. You’re important, and what you have to say is also important. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

You blinked up at him with wide eyes. How was he so good at this? A thought crossed your mind then, and you wondered for a brief moment if...had anyone ever listened to him? He had taken the time to calm you down and make you feel important by listening wholeheartedly to everything you had to say. The least you could do was return the favor, right?

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a really good listener?” you asked, a small but sincere smile on your face.

“Yes, actually. Plenty of times, but I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing it. It just means I’m succeeding at making others feel important, which is what I aim to do, so thank you for that.” He stared up at the night sky, his eyes reflecting the sparkling stars above. They were...so full of life. You found that fact inspiring.

There was a small pause before you asked him another question, hesitance evident in your voice. “Have you...told anyone? About what you said to me earlier, I mean.” It came out more awkward than you intended it to, and he seemed confused about what you were trying to ask.

“About what I said to you earlier?”

“Y-You know, the...rooftop...” you trailed off, not wanting to pry if he didn’t want to talk about it after all. “I’m so sorry, I just assumed since you mentioned it earlier that maybe you wanted to talk about it or something- Ah, I’m making things worse, I’m really sorry!” You ran your hands through your hair, anxiety getting the better of you and making your heart race. Deku shifted slightly beside you but kept his arm around your shoulders, a look of understanding coming over him.

“Oh, that?” He gave a small airy laugh. “While I appreciate the concern, I have a really great therapist. It’s kind of a requirement for Pros; we deal with a lot on the job.”

“...oh.” Oh. Oh. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but certainly not...that. “Again, I’m sorry if I pried,” you apologized one last time. At the sound of your third ‘I’m sorry’, Deku looked over at you thoughtfully.

“You know, I used to apologize a lot too. Actually, my therapist was the one who got me to kick the bad habit. Speaking of which...” He reached into one of the red pouches on his costume belt and produced a single card between his index and middle finger, the lamination of it emitting a dim glare as he held it out to you. “I think you could really benefit from therapy. I’m not saying that to be rude or anything-!” His face flushed as he tried to explain himself; he didn’t want you to feel like he was dismissing you or that he wasn’t concerned with your issues. “I swear! I just...really think you could use another person in your corner right now. They’re super nice, I promise! I’ll even help you set up an appointment if you want.”

You shrunk a little at the idea of seeing a therapist, but took the card anyway. The writing on the little piece of plastic stared back at you menacingly, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your gut.

Dr. T/N T/L/N Deku Agency Specialist in Psychology Phone: 800-888-8880 Email (Mon-Fri): T/nT/l/n@deku.agencies.com Office Hours: Mon-Sat, 9am-5pm

As if he could read your turbulent mind, Deku pulled you closer and rested his head against yours. “I know talking to someone else about your problems seems scary at first, but it really helps. If you keep everything bottled up, then those feelings and problems don’t have anywhere to go, and they’ll eat you up on the inside. Therapy gives you a safe way of letting those feelings out and sorting through problems in healthy ways. Of course it’s ultimately your choice, and everybody’s experience differs...but it did help me.”

You considered everything he said, including his offer to help schedule an appointment. If nothing else, you could really use another friend... You pocketed the card and decided to worry about it later; exhaustion was starting to settle in by now, and the air only seemed to get colder by the minute. It had to be past midnight by now.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done. It means a lot to me, truly. I’ll...think about the therapist.” 

“I’m glad to hear that. But in the mean time, can I see your phone?” The question caught you off guard and forced you back to the reality of where you were, and what you’d planned to do earlier.

“Uh, well...” you started, “I left it in my apartment. I didn’t think I’d need it up here since... Anyway, I don’t have it on me.” You stared off to the side, not wanting to talk about the subject any longer.

“Do you live around here?”

“Yeah, actually, I live in this apartment building.”

“Oh! Then, I’ll walk with you back to your apartment, since it’s getting kind of cold now. But first...” He whipped out his own phone, opening the contacts app and clicking on the ‘Create New Contact’ option. “What’s your phone number?”

“My phone number?” You stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, so I can text you and call you. I’d like to be friends, if that’s okay?” He gave you a shy smile with a faint blush, and it was hard not to burst into tears again.

A friend. You had made a new friend. One that cared about you, that wanted to make sure you were okay, that would put in time and effort to talk to you and see you. You could hardly believe it.

“Really?”

“Of course! Sooo, can I have it, then? Oh, and I guess I’ll need your name at some point too, huh?” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

“It’s Y/N,” you stated happily.

You immediately gave your number to him, and then the two of you stood to go back inside. He helped you up and held the door open for you, and from there you took the stairs back to your apartment. You made small talk on the way back, and things finally started to feel normal to you for once. But as soon as you turned down the hall that led to your apartment door, you started to feel it; that familiar sinking feeling was creeping in, apathy and the sense of nothingness overwhelming you again. The night was finally coming to an end. You would go back to your apartment, and things would go back to normal, and Deku would probably forget that you even existed. He said he would text, but would he really? He was so busy with hero work, and you half expected things to go back to the way they would be. What if nothing changed? What if you went back to feeling numb? What if everything that happened tonight didn’t really matter? What would you do?

“Whoah, Y/N, slow down. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Huh? Shit! Had you said all that out loud?

You panicked as you stared at your door. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“Hey, look at me.” He cupped your face between his hands, tilting your head up to meet his concerned gaze. “Everything will be okay. But these kinds of problems don’t just disappear over night, they need time, and sometimes some outside help from others. I promise to keep in touch with you. I want to make sure you’re okay, and I’d like to get to know you better too. Maybe I can introduce you to my friends? They’re really great people, and they would make you feel right at home. But for now, let’s just focus on one thing, okay? Let’s get you settled back into your apartment for the night.” He ruffled the top of your head softly, and while others might have taken the gesture as offensive or belittling, you were just glad to have felt his warm touch.

“Okay,” you agreed quietly, and you twisted the handle to the door, which you remembered you had left unlocked.

The small apartment greeted you with familiar darkness, that is, until Deku flipped your light switch and the few lamps you had lit up the living room. He let himself in and shut the door behind the two of you, earning a surprised look from you and giving you an apologetic look of his own. “I don’t mean to intrude...I just...” He looked like he was choking over his own words. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to let you be alone right now...but if you want me to leave, then-”

“I don’t want to be alone either,” you were quick to cut him off. You had wanted to invite him to stay, but you also didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. However, it seemed like he beat you to the punch. “I don’t mind you staying. Besides, it’s late, and you look tired. The couch pulls out into a bed; let me get you some extra blankets.” 

You tried your best to be hospitable, even with him insisting that you didn’t need to and that he could just crash in the comfy clothes he wore under his costume. You didn’t have any extra clothes for him, but at least you could give him a pillow and a blanket. As you went to fetch those, you also grabbed your phone from your desk and dropped it next to him on the makeshift bed. He took the liberty of entering his phone number and his real name into your contacts before passing it back.

“No way, you like All Might too?” he asked as you handed him the themed blanket. “This is the same exact blanket I have at home!” A wide grin came over him as he cuddled into it.

His enthusiasm made you laugh a little as you tossed him the pillow. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You started to walk away to your bedroom, and as you were about to turn the lights out, he stopped you.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Did you need something?”

He peeked his head over the edge of the couch. “I just realized I never gave you my name. You can call me Izuku, if you want. Since, we’re friends now, and all.”

“Izuku,” you echoed, “I’m really glad I met you.” And you meant it.

“Yeah, me too.” A moment of silence. “That I met you, I mean! I’m glad I met you too!”

You smiled and turned the lights out. “I’m gonna head to bed.” You hesitated a bit to ask him the question burning at the back of your mind, but your anxiety forced you to ask anyway, the fear of not knowing eating at you. “Will you still be here tomorrow morning?”

He answered you right away and gave you a reassuring look. “I’m off work tomorrow, and I don’t have any plans, so I won’t be going anywhere unless you want me to.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Izuku.” 

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding for so long, and with that, you made your way to your bedroom and changed into your favorite pajamas. The card that Izuku had given you earlier dropped to the floor while you were changing, and you picked it up carefully before reading it over again. Maybe...it was worth a shot. You had a lot you were dealing with, and the idea that you could talk to someone about it without being judged or made fun of almost sounded too good to be true. Sure, you had Izuku now, but you knew realistically he wasn’t going to be around all the time. You were tired of feeling like you were always alone, tired of feeling everything and nothing all at once, tired in general. It was all so exhausting. And he had said the therapist was nice...

You crawled into bed with your phone and pulled the covers over yourself. The home screen lit up the room as you opened your contacts and scrolled, looking for one name in particular. You tapped on his name and the familiar conversation screen appeared, the little vertical line blinking at you repeatedly as you worked up the courage to type out your message. Finally, your fingers flew across the keys, and you hit send before you could think twice about it.

Y/N: I think I want to schedule an appointment with the therapist. Can you help? 1:34am

It didn’t take long for you to get a response.

Izuku: Of course. I can contact them tomorrow, if you’d like? 1:34am

Y/N: I’d like that a lot. Thank you, Izuku. 1:35am

Izuku: Are you alright? If you need anything, come get me. I won’t mind. 1:35am

Y/N: I really appreciate that. I’m doing a little better. I’ll let you know if I need something. 1:35am

Izuku: Promise? 1:35am

Y/N: I promise. 1:36am

[maastrash]

Fighting Fire with Froyo

oh my goodness hello friends plz dont roast my title bc @verryberriess already has LOL it is ✨quirky✨ anyways the first fic back is always rough to write and i got tired of editing so without further ado ... 

Nesta pried the uniform hat off her head and wiped the dripping sweat from her brow. By the cauldron, it was burning up today. It amazed her that the frozen yogurt wasn’t melting right out of the machines. That probably wasn’t even possible, but the heat was making her delirious. Of course on the hottest day of the year something was wrong with the AC. She added calling the maintenance guy to her 5-page long mental list of things to do after her shift today. 

She truly did not have the time to be working on the service line today. The Archeron sister froyo shop had opened almost a year ago and already she was talking to people about expanding it to become a chain. That’s what she should be working on instead.

Nesta supposed she should be happy their little shop was so popular. The sisters had been so nervous when they were finally able to launch their yogurt shop after years of planning. It was a dream come true. 

They named it Archeron Delights and it became one of the most popular dessert places in Velaris. Elain was the mastermind behind the frozen yogurt recipes. People came from all over the country to try their unique flavor combinations. Feyre was in charge of all the interior designing. She remodeled the entire space and made it look modern with colorful signs and trendy photo taking spots - a necessity for kids obsessed with instagram worthy pictures. Nesta was the official manager which meant she dealt with finances, hiring the team, making schedules, and other administrative duties. 

To be honest, Nesta never really worked at the counter, but Morrigan their newest hire, and Feyre’s best friend was sick with the flu. Definitely not a good idea to put her near customers. To make matters worse, the shop had been extremely busy today so she didn’t have time to take any breaks. Unlike her sisters, Nesta was already not the cheeriest service worker. It’s why she worked in the back in her quiet, private office. 

At least she could distract herself by filling out their monthly budget summary while waiting. However, her calculations were soon interrupted by the cheerful bell dinging, meaning the shop door was being opened. Damn another customer. 

Nesta began quickly finishing up the section she was on, “Hi I’ll be with you in one -”

“You need to get out of here,” the customer interrupted. 

Nesta’s smile dropped so fast. Who did this man think he was?

“No, you need to get out,” she snapped back without looking up from her papers. If he was gonna speak to her like that she was gonna take her sweet time. 

“Excuse me I -”

This time Nesta interrupted. “This is my shop and I say you need to leave.”

“Ma’am if you would let me explain -”

“Stop calling me ma'am, you have no right -” This time it was Nesta who trailed off.

She finally looked up to see a man equipped fully in firefighter gear staring right at her. Shit. She just yelled at a fireman. To make matters worse he was handsome. Extremely handsome. 

“There’s a small fire in another location 2 units from yours. We’re containing it, but you still need to evacuate,” the man explained.  

Nesta was still gaping. It seemed she was unable to form words. How was this man so attractive? He was wearing full protective fire gear and wasn’t even breaking a sweat and here she was, literally dripping. 

To be quite honest she couldn’t tell if she was sweating because of the heat or the fireman’s burning gaze. 

“Ma’am can you hear me? Ma’am? Oh for goodness sake.”

Before Nesta knew it she was being lifted off her feet. Literally. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she exclaimed in surprise. 

“Ah so you can still talk.” 

“Put me down you oaf.”

“Oaf?” he raised a brow, “That’s a real nice way to thank the person saving your ass.”

“I’m serious,” she said crossing her arms angrily. 

“Let’s get to safety first.”

Nesta gave the man a withering glare, but he continued to carry her bridal style to a tent where it seemed other shop owners were gathering. 

“Oh my goodness Nesta are you hurt?” Aelin asked as they approached.

Aelin owned a dress boutique in the same plaza and they often grabbed lunch together. She was Nesta’s best friend. 

“No I am being harassed,” she deadpanned. 

“She means saved,” the firefighter corrected as he finally set her down. 

“Woah he’s hot,” Aelin whispered in her ear. 

“Shut up or I’m telling Rowan.”

“Just an observation” Aelin laughed. 

The man gave them a polite smile before heading back towards the rest of the firemen. 

Nesta stopped him before he got too far. “I want to talk to your boss,” she said sternly. 

“You mean the captain?” he asked. 

“Yes.” Obviously. 

“Why do you need the captain ma'am?”

“Stop with the ma’am, I’m serious.”

“Ok fine. What’s your name?” 

Nesta stayed silent. 

“Ok then, sweetheart. Why do you need the captain?”

Nesta growled at his stupidity. “I am not your sweetheart and I am reporting you for inappropriate behavior.”

Something like amusement crossed his face, but it quickly vanished, “I see. I’ll be right back then.”

For someone about to lose his job he did not seem the least bit frightened. 

***

It was only a few minutes before the man returned. He was still wearing his fire pants or whatever they were called, but the protective jacket was gone. Now he wore a tight shirt that read Velaris Fire Dept. It framed his muscles a little too perfectly for her taste. How was this man real?

“The captain is busy at the moment but I will take your complaint and hand it to him myself,” he said, pulling out a pen and paper.

“How do I know you’re not going to rip it up as soon as I leave?”

“You can watch me hand it to him once we have this mess sorted out,” he assured her. 

“Fine.”

“First I will need your name.”

“Nesta Archeron” she grit out.

“Nesta. I like how that sounds.”

She rolled her eyes. This man was absolutely insufferable. 

“Ok, now your phone number.”

“Why do you need my phone number?” 

“So the captain can contact you about this issue, of course.”

She grabbed the paper from his massive hands and scribbled her number down quickly.

“Ok and what are you complaining about?” he asked, clearly amused.

She rolled her eyes, “You already know what I’m complaining about.”

“Well, I need to write it down word for word,” he said, laughing softly.  

His laughter was the last straw. “You know what this is ridiculous I’m going to find the captain myself,” she said, stomping off. 

“That’s gonna be hard to do sweetheart,” he called after her. 

“Oh yea, why?” she yelled back over her shoulder.

“Because I am the captain.”

That stopped Nesta dead in her tracks. She turned slowly to see the big oaf smiling. 

“Cassian Nazari, Captain of Station 17,” he said, extending his hand.

“Are you playing a game or something?” she scowled, slapping his hand away.  

“No,” he chuckled softly, “Just doing my job.” 

“By pretending to not be the captain and stealing my information?”

He smiled again and half of her wanted to slap him, but the other half was tempted to kiss him. What was wrong with her?

“I take complaints seriously. So seriously, that I would like to hear all about your complaint over dinner.”

“This is not funny,” she said crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Don’t tell me you’re not interested. You took one look at me and were absolutely speechless. I literally had to carry you out before you burned to death.”

“The fire was contained, evacuating was a formality you brute.” 

“If you say so,” he said sarcasm lacing every word. “I’ll pick you up from your shop at 6.”

Nesta’s jaw dropped, the audacity of this man was astounding. She paused before answering, debating her options. She figured she could either continue pretending to hate him or just give in. Gods above, was she actually considering this?

“Say yes you idiot” Aelin whispered.

Nesta flinched in surprise. Where the hell did she even come from? 

“Are you kidding I’m not going anywhere in this.” Nesta argued, gesturing to her work apron and leggings. 

“I think it looks great,” Cassian said with a wink. 

“Me too,” Aelin added.

Nesta gave Aelin a deadly look before saying, “Let’s meet at the Sidra at 7. That way I have time to change.”

Cassian only looked surprised at her suggestion for a second before agreeing, “Ok, I’ll see you there.” 

He waved before heading back to the rest of his crew and Nesta against her better judgement waved back. 

“Nesta Archeron, are you smiling?” Aelin teased as soon as Cassian was out of ear shot.

“Shut up. I am absolutely not,” she said, quickly bringing her face back to neutral. 

And then it hit her...

She was going to dinner with Cassian - a fire captain she just met. What the hell was she thinking? 

tags! @illyriangarbage // @court-of-fuck-me-daddy // @girlnovels // @julesherondalex // @ifangirlninja // @dreamerforever-5 // @queen-of-wings-and-fire // @rhysanoodle // @jemma-nessian-and-elriel // @books-and-words-addict  // @nightinshadow // @wolffrising // @the-regal-warrior // @dreamingofalba // @abillionlittlepieces // @alitzeldiaz // @kylizzles // @queenmaas // @illyrian-bookworm // @aspillofstars // @b00kworm // @tswaney17 // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn // // @perseusannabeth // @acourtofmarauders // @sweetlyvillainous // @awesomelena555 // @notyournymphetish // @ladywitchling // @aesthetics-11 // @sjmships // @iammissstark // @illyrianwitchling13 // @moondancer-204 // @sjm-things // @foolsinlovex // @sayosdreams // @welcometothespeaknowworldtour  // @stardelia // @julemmaes // @thewayshedreamed // @texas-shaped-waffle-maker // @keshavomit // @superspiritfestival // @wannawriteyouabook // @verryberriess // @courtofjurdan // @bookstantrash // @sannelovesreading // @ahappyhistorianreader // @cass-nes // @my-fan-side // @junsuichow // @sleeping-and-books // @yumna402 // @lordof-bloodshed // @emcarstairs578 // @gisellefigue08 // @maybekindasortaace // @starborn-faerie-queen // @empire-of-wildfire // @loveofbooksandwine // @sanakapoor // @silentquartz // @a-omgnaomithings-love // @aimee1602 // @jlinez // @creamcheesechicken // @steamedlattes // @sahsahprova // @elriel4life // @ireallyshouldsleeprnrn // @rowaelinismyotp // @thegoddessofyou​

[aalissy]

Stay

Andddd this is the end!! This is the last chapter for Adrienette April <3. I certainly hope you guys enjoyed reading it bc I had a great time writing it. It DOES contain Gang of Secrets spoilers so don’t read this if you haven’t seen that episode :). Lemme know what you think of this chapter or what you thought of the whole month tho hahah <3. I’ll see you all in my Marichat May drabbles :) 

AO3

Marinette sniffled, gazing down at her bedroom floor that she had collapsed on. Everything had just been so much lately. Being both Ladybug and the guardian was almost impossible. Her phone buzzed incessantly on her desk but she ignored it, drowning in both stress and guilt. The kwamis snuggled around her, whispering reassurances in her ears but she huddled in on herself, laying down on the cold tiles. She didn’t even hear the knock on her trapdoor, only snapping back into awareness when the kwamis jolted away from her, phasing back into where she hid the Miracle Box.

Quickly, Marinette sat back up when the hatch opened, trying to scrub any remaining tear tracks from her eyes. She heard a voice call out her name hesitantly before she saw Adrien’s head pop up, “Marinette?”

She grimaced, swiping the heel of her hand against her smeared mascara. What was he even doing here? Adrien rarely stopped by the bakery, let alone her bedroom. Reaching for her phone, she winced at the number of text messages that greeted her.

“Oh my god, Marinette...” Adrien gasped before collapsing next to her. “Are you alright?! What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” She swallowed the harsh lump in her throat to give him a weak smile. “What are you doing here?”

He frowned at her, looking over her concernedly. “Alya asked me to come check on you. She said you weren’t answering your phone and I was the closest one to the bakery.”

“Of course she did,” she murmured, glancing down at her phone with a small smile. She could always count on her best friend to find a way to bring her back. She had done an even better job after Marinette told her she was Ladybug. She then gave herself a mental reminder to call Alya back as soon as she was able to.

She blinked up with some shock and slight panic as Adrien stood up. His frown had deepened further and he opened his mouth to say something when she quickly reached out. Marinette clutched his wrist rather desperately, nibbling on her lower lip. Slowly, she moved her hand down to hold his tightly, murmuring, “Stay, please. Don’t go.”

Adrien lowered himself back down to crouch beside her, squeezing her hand in his. “I wasn’t going to, Marinette. I promise.”

She gave him a watery smile, sniffling quietly. She scooted closer to him, whispering a quiet, “Thank you.”

Instead of responding, Adrien simply opened his arms to her and she immediately dove into his embrace. Marinette clenched her eyes shut tight, savoring the warmth and safety she felt as he held her to him. She nuzzled her head closer to him, letting out a quiet, happy sigh. Slowly, the pain and guilt from before ebbed away and she could finally relax.

She stayed like that for a few more minutes, content to stay exactly where she was for the rest of her life. Adrien gave some of the best hugs ever. Second only to Chat Noir. Slowly, Marinette pulled back, blinking away any last remaining tears. She gave him another wobbly smile before she worried at her lower lip. “I’m sorry about that. I had a long day today and I didn’t mean to drag you into it.”

Adrien’s look softened as he shook his head. “You never have to apologize, Marinette. I’m just glad you’re okay. Can you tell me what happened? I’d love to try and fix it for you if I can!”

His face was so eager to help and to please that she realized exactly why she fell in love with him once again. He was amazing. Marinette’s smile froze, however, when she realized that there wasn’t anything she could tell him. All of her problems were due to being both Ladybug and the guardian. She couldn’t risk her secret identity again. Especially not when she already knew the repercussions of Adrien knowing. Shuddering at the thought of Chat Blanc, she slowly shook her head. “I-I can’t tell you, Adrien. I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” He frowned at her in confusion as his head tilted adorably. “Why not?”

Marinette sighed quietly, tapping her two index fingers together as her gaze darted around. She couldn’t exactly explain that she had a secret identity that she had to protect. It was too risky with just Alya knowing. Nor could she tell him that she was Ladybug and the recent akuma attacks had left her without any free time to work on schoolwork or spend time with her friends.

She ran a hand through her hair as she blew out a harsh breath. Deciding to skirt around the problem, she murmured, “I’ve just been really stressed lately, Adrien. I haven’t had much free time to finish my homework or even go to the movies with any of my friends.”

Adrien nodded understandingly, “I get it, Marinette. Having a full schedule can be impossible. I’m sorry that you have to go through that.”

A look of realization and admiration lit across her face. Of course he gets it. Maybe not to the extent of having a double life to hide from everyone... but Adrien has certainly had to deal with a full plate before. Marinette gave him another shaky smile before throwing herself into his arms. This was exactly what she needed. Someone who understands and knows what she’s dealing with.

Quietly, she murmured, “Thank you, Adrien. You have no idea how much that means to me. S-so, how do you do it? How do you handle dealing with almost no free time?”

One of his hands came up to rub her back gently. Marinette’s eyes shut tight as her smile grew wider. If she hadn’t already been in love with him, she would have definitely fallen right there and then. How could one boy be so perfect for her and yet be so out of her league? It just wasn’t fair.

Adrien’s breath brushed against her ear as she shivered lightly. Softly, he whispered to her, “I focus on the things that are most important to me. I suffer through my responsibilities for a chance to finally be able to hang out with my friends and do the things that make me the happiest. You need to really relax and let loose in the free time you do have. And I also keep in mind that I have people who love and care about me and will always be there no matter what. Just like you, Marinette. Don’t forget that.”

Her lower lip wobbled as she tried to suppress the tears that were threatening to spill from the corners of her shut eyes. He always knew just what to say. She gave Adrien one last, tight squeeze before pulling back, looking at him rather adoringly. Swiping any stray tears away, she gave him a bright smile. “I won’t. I promise.”

She stood up slowly before leaning down to offer him a hand up. Her heart fluttered as he gave her a crooked grin back. She really had to give Alya that call thanking her because this was the best thing she could have done. Nibbling on her lower lip, Marinette said, “Thank you for staying, Adrien. You really turned a bad day into a perfect one.”

He gave her a soft look, patting her on the shoulder. “Of course, Marinette. I’m always here, whenever you need me. I’ll always just be a phone call away.”

Biting harshly on her lower lip, she ached to tell him her actual secret. How could this boy have ever told someone about her secret identity? He was just so sweet. Eventually, Marinette simply breathed in deeply, deciding that she’d tell him as soon as Hawkmoth was defeated. Peering up at him from beneath her lashes, she murmured, “I’ll be sure to remember that. I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time, though.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed at that. “You don’t need to apologize for that, Marinette. I like spending time with you. Especially if I can help you feel better.”

She glanced down, her cheeks dusted a light pink. “D-do you have time to play a game of Ultimate Mecha Strike III, or do you need to go?”

“I think I have time for one game. As long as you’re prepared to lose. I’ve been practicing.” He gave her a smug smirk.

Marinette’s eyes narrowed playfully as she said, “You’re on!”

With that, they both slid into the desk chairs and booted up the game. Her fingers slid across the controls with practiced ease as she and Adrien fought. Once she had a comfortable lead, her eyes slid over to him. One thing was for absolute certainty after today. She would never truly be over Adrien Agreste. A part of her would always love him. As she defeated him and he screamed for a rematch, Marinette slowly relaxed. He was right. It was time for her to learn to calm down and enjoy her free time before the next mission. Giving him a smug smirk, she set them up for the rematch, certain that she’d beat him once again.

[iamanartichoke]

I started typing this in the tags of this post, and it got too long, and then I was going to just reblog the post with this as an addition but that got too long too, and I've been meaning to make a post addressing free will vs. predestination since the premiere anyway, so - here we go. Spoilers, obviously.

Cut for length and spoilers. Please blacklist #loki tv series spoilers, #loki series spoilers, and #loki spoilers.

This is kinda rough and I'm not sure it actually makes any sense but I'm posting it anyway.

I realize that the post is a joke, obviously (and it is hilarious) but I started thinking about the implications and couldn't stop because it's honestly a goldmine of existential reflection and an inevitable crisis or three.

Let's look at a scenario.

Say you're late to work for reasons totally beyond your control: your neighbor stopped you to ask a question on your way out the door; you swung through the drive-thru for a quick coffee but the person in front of you is ordering a full continental breakfast ffs (this happened to me this morning); there was an explosion and then the Winter Soldier randomly dropped from the sky and landed on the hood of your car. Whatever. Shit happens.

So you're late, but on this particular day, your lateness somehow has consequences that lead to and create a nexus event and the next thing you know, you're being arrested, tried, convicted of time crimes and ultimately (a version of you is) erased from existence.

And this is if it's not even your fault you're late.

Now say that you're late and it is your fault. You took a new route on a whim and drove a little more slowly because you passed a particularly pretty meadow; you hit the brakes at a yellow light instead of speeding through bc you wanted the quick chance to check your email; you sat in your car for a few extra minutes in the parking lot, because maybe your job sucks and you really needed those extra minutes today to psyche yourself up into getting out of the car and going inside and clocking in.

These little choices are you exercising your free will. Because to me, free will is all or nothing - it doesn't just apply to the big decisions.

On the other hand, predestination means that regardless of the choices you make or if it's a big decision or not, everything you do is ultimately going to lead you to a set point or position or place (your destiny).

And I can kind of look at it like a GPS - that is, there are a number of "insignificant" choices you could make and they will still lead you to where you're predestined to go. Like how a GPS will reconfigure your route if you miss your exit on the highway. It doesn't matter if you took Route A or Route B, you're still going to end up at your destination.

But say sometimes the route does matter. Say that there are certain scenarios in which there's only one road (for example, 14 million losses vs 1 win) and you can only get on it by following a specific series of events and what determines the ultimate outcome is whether or not you're late to work that day.

If you decide to wait those extra five minutes in the parking lot, that means that you weren't in your cubicle at 9:03 when Stanley from Accounting wandered by with his giant stack of papers, and when Mary Sue said hello to him, he got distracted and tried to wave and ended up dropping those papers. Had you been at your cubicle, you'd have swooped down to help him but since you weren't there, Stanley is crouched on the floor alone and doesn't notice Joe coming at him with a paper trolley so when he stands up, he and Joe collide and Stanley loses his balance and goes face-first toward the trolley and breaks his nose when he hits the metal handle on his way down.

Now Stanley has to go to the hospital to get his nose set because you wanted to sit in your car and spend five extra minutes hating your life that morning.

If the sacred timeline says that Stanley is supposed to be in that ER at that specific time on that specific day, and no other set of circumstances would get him there, because this will ultimately take Stanley down the road to whatever greater journey he's supposed to go on, then it has to happen. But say you exercise your free will and decide not to wait those five minutes, because the free will applies to every choice you make, even the tiny, insignificant ones. You chose to put on your big person pants and took a deep breath and just head inside - and because you chose to do that and because you were at your cubicle to help Stanley with his papers, Stanley never ends up in the ER and the timeline that's supposed to happen is suddenly at risk and the TVA has to get involved (I assume).

So having free will introduces way, way too many variables into a fixed timeline to ever keep track, because you're taking these tiny, seemingly insignificant choices that people are making every minute of every day, and you're multiplying them by trillions of sentient beings in the universe, and you're saying the fate of the timeline and reality itself depends on all of these beings either always making the choice they're supposed to make or constantly sending the TVA out whenever they don't.

It's fair to conclude, then, that both free will and a fixed, single timeline can't exist at the same time. Either you adhere to the fixed timeline and everyone does exactly what they're supposed to do every second of every minute of existence, or you have free will and autonomy over all of your decisions, no matter how big or small, and those decisions can result in a number of outcomes, ultimately leading you to one of several possible destinations.

Case in point: Tony didn't have to snap his fingers in Endgame. He chose to. Had he not, Thanos would have won. It doesn't matter if there was one way to victory or 14 million ways to failure; the timeline could ultimately only go one of two ways and the choice Tony willingly made determined that Thanos lost. It wasn't predetermined because if Tony had not chosen to snap his fingers, the timeline would have gone the other way.

My personal belief - and this isn't necessarily for the MCU, but in general - is that we do possess free will and the future is ever shifting and changing because nothing is written in stone. It holds up against most, if not all, of the world's belief systems. For example, if you believe that people have guardian angels, the rule is generally that your guardian angels can help you but you have to ask them; they can't decide to intervene without your permission because to do so would infringe upon your free will.

Similarly, you can go on etsy and pay $5 for a funsies psychic reading or pay a lot more money for an in-depth, specific tarot reading and both will tell you that the outcomes may change depending on the paths you take, and that their ultimate advice is for you to keep your focus on your goals and your own self so that you can be subconsciously manifesting the best possible future for yourself. (Not that I know this from experience. It was one time. It was a few times. My point stands, and also stop judging me.)

To get back to the MCU, though - if you determine that both a single, fixed timeline and free will can't simultaneously exist, and your ultimate purpose is upholding said timeline and not letting anyone fuck it up, lest it break off into lots of different branches, then it poses a pretty serious moral and/or ethical question of - who decides what choices we make and what paths we're destined for? The time lizards? Who gave them that authority? Did anyone, or did they just manifest themselves into existence one day, create the universe, and then decide all of the rules (and, if so, where does that leave the norns and the gods and other super powerful beings who are generally thought to be in charge of things)?

If free will doesn't exist and everyone is acting based on what has been predetermined for them by some higher being (or, in this case, time lizards), it takes away our autonomy, and if everything we do and every single tiny step we take is decided for us, what makes us any different than cogs in a machine just following orders? What separates us from robots?

Speaking of robots, it's interesting to me that the TVA's screening process (if you can call it that) has a failsafe against robots specifically. Any robot that might come through is destroyed immediately and in this case, “not a robot” is defined, more or less, as a sentient being that possesses a soul. What does the TVA have against robots if their ultimate goal is ensuring that the robotic machinations of the time lizards are consistently carried out to protect the sacred timeline?

A soul makes you human; the energy of the soul is what you, at the core, are. It can be assumed that having a soul also means that you have some sort of moral and ethical code by which you live your life but, if you don't also have free will, then what is the point of possessing a soul and a moral and ethical code?

Loki is a villain and he's told by Mobius, the TVA, Odin, and pretty much everyone who ever meets him that the only thing he's good for - the only reason he exists - is to cause pain and suffering and death. This has been predetermined for him; this is not his fault and he did not choose it. And every single choice he makes has either already been destined as the choice he was supposed to make, or will be pruned so it won't grow into the wrong timeline. Ultimately Loki can change neither his final destination, nor the purpose and meaning of his existence.

Which leads me to the theory that the several Loki variants that the TVA keeps coming across are the result of Loki consistently resisting against his predetermined path; he's trying to find the timeline where he is able to latch onto and keep his own free will in defiance of the timekeepers but, so far, he hasn't been successful. This could segue into why the current Variant is now going scorched earth and just obliterating the main timeline completely - because if there is no sacred timeline, there's nothing dictating who or what Loki can be, and free will is regained. If there's a multiverse that branches and branches beyond anyone's control, then there must be a branch in there, somewhere, where Loki can exist on his own terms and decide how his own story goes.

This also might be a theory for why Loki is already setting his sights on taking over the TVA (assuming that's not just something he told the variant for reasons). But my original point in delving into all this is to ask: if Loki is predestined to always be a villain whose story plays out exactly the same way because that's what's supposed to happen, then how can anyone ever hold his misdeeds against him? He's literally just existing as the timekeepers decided he would exist and everyone is blaming him for it.

And this leads me to ask, as well, if one's soul is generally good, and one possesses more good traits than bad, what is the logic in making them exist only for pain and destruction? If it's for a greater good, then it stands to reason Loki is not the only one predestined for misery, and what greater good could come from all that suffering?

Conclusion: the existence of the TVA as an organization means that there is one fixed, sacred timeline but the existence of said timeline is immoral and unethical because it means no one actually has any free will at all in the MCU. The very notion of heroes and villains is pointless because it has nothing to do with your own qualities or morality, it's literally the luck of the draw. In order to have free will, the sacred timeline has to be destroyed, and so my prediction is that the Big Bad of the Loki series is not the TVA and not the time keepers but the actual timeline itself, and the entire fate of the MCU rests on whether or not Loki can ultimately succeed.

Also, don't be late for work.

[joontier]

mile high memoirs | oneshot

synopsis: you and the two other rappers of the global sensation BTS make a collaboration of sorts 

pairings: namgi (namjoon and yoongi) x reader

rating: R (18+)

genre: fluff, humor, smut | au: idol! au; established relationship! au

warnings: pwp basically hnngnhng; and yes sex on a private jet bc why tf not ; cunnilingus, oral sex (m and f receiving), cum swallowing, dom! Yoongi undertones, threesome, double penetration, anal sex, multiple orgasms; i have nothing else to say at this point except im dragging yall with me to thirst hours

word count: 5.9k

g/n: NAMGI NATION RISE!!!!!! anywho, this is a lovely gift for @mintseesaw​ for being an awesomesauce person in general and yes, we’re thirsting for the same men bUT SHE WONT SHARE HNGNNNG SO I’VE WRITTEN THIS INSTEAD (in the hopes that this might satiate my obviously unquenchable thirst for the hyung line!?/1!?!?) ALSO THIS IS HEAVILY UNEDITED KJFSKDJFSDJF please let me know what you think! x

between the lenses navi. |  navi. | m.list

“_________! Please look this way!”

“How do you feel about New Day becoming the number one streamed song in more than forty countries after being released just last week?”

“Is it true that you’re in a relationship with BTS’ Suga? Or RM? Or are the three of you engaged in a polyamorous relationship?”

The last one catches you off guard and you look away from the cameras to hide the amusement on your face. The last thing you need is people speculating about your personal life once they see your reaction to their questions, so you continue on your way to immigration, face down and expressionless.

If you were being completely honest, there was always a crowd that came with you when you had schedules overseas, fans and paparazzi huddled together as they took pictures of you. But today was different, especially considering the fact that you were also at Gimpo, and not Incheon.

With Gimpo, a significantly less busier airport than Incheon, you had only anticipated a smaller crowd but you seemed to have forgotten that you were scheduled to fly with two of the rappers of BTS to Amsterdam today to film the music video for your collaboration, “New Day”.

Upon your arrival, a throng of security guards placed themselves as barricades to bar the large group of people from crowding the hallways. Your team successfully weaves your way through the massive crowd and arrives safely by the immigration.

You soon see your boyfriend lounging by the private boarding area, and Yoongi immediately stands to greet you. You place a quick peck on his lips when you meet. Namjoon stands to greet you as well and you turn to the younger man to give him a huge hug. “It’s been a while since I saw you Joonie!” The tall rapper gets shy at your nickname, dimples peeking as he looks down.

“It must have been wild out there,” Yoongi says, giving you a once over as he checks if you got hurt or injured on the way to the boarding area. You coo at your boyfriend, face crumpling at his concern even after years of being in a relationship. Nuzzling your head onto the crook of his neck, you inhale the wonderful scent of the perfume you’d gave him when you came back from your US tour.

“Yeah it was! Honestly whenever I leave Korea, the amount of people who’d send me off isn’t even half of the crowd out there – and that’s already in Incheon! Not Gimpo! I always seem to forget that you guys are worldwide superstars!” Yoongi just laughs at your observation, shaking his head at you as he offers his iced Americano. 

Unbeknownst to those outside your private lives, you had initially met Yoongi pre-debut. You used to attend the same school back in Daegu and fun fact: you were the same ex-girlfriend he’d composed a letter for during high school and sent the same to a radio station to have it aired.

You had both met at a tender age, and admittedly, there were a few petty reasons for your break-up, but one of them was because you both wanted to pursue a career in music, and with the kpop industry not exactly big on the idols dating, you had decided to remain friends, for the time being.

It was Yoongi who contacted you first when you debuted in late 2012, and as you caught on with your lives, sharing similar stories during your trainee days, he’d also asked you to anticipate their debut in a few months’ time as well.

True to his word, their group debuted the following year in June, and you had sent congratulatory flowers to BigHit, praising them for their powerful stages and a very promising career. You and Yoongi had kept in touch ever since. Nothing wrong about rekindling an old flame, right?

Funny enough, dating under the radar seemed to have fallen naturally for the two of you as you both prefer staying indoors and improvising dates rather than having to go out and risk getting caught by the media. Besides, it would have been easier just in case things got a little bit heated. Which happened most of the time. In your defense though, being able to meet at least once a week was already a blessing – so occurrences like that were bound to happen…

One day while you were trying to work out this melody for a song you composed, Yoongi sat next to you and pulled you on his lap as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Why don’t I help you with that love?” He lets you rest your back on his chest as his fingers fluidly move against the piano keys. Genuinely satisfied with what he played for you, you placed a kiss on his cheek as a token of your gratitude. “Thanks, Suga PDnim.”

“Speaking of that… do you want to have a collab – you and me?” You look at him, expectantly, mouth slightly open at surprise of his proposal. Truthfully, you had thought about that even before you actually got back in to a relationship, but you could never really bring the subject up because he always seemed so busy and you didn’t want to burden him any further by asking for extra work.

And that’s what you told him, but your boyfriend only laughed at you, intertwining his hands with yours on the piano. “Baby, I would’ve dropped all the other collaborations if you had just said the word.”

You were beyond elated, and honored, and when Namjoon came in to check on Yoongi, the latter asked if he had any opinion on a collaboration between Yoongi and you. Your boyfriend even convinced the younger rapper to get involved in the track. With the blessing of Bang PDnim, you’re finally here, scheduled to travel overseas to film the music video for the track the three of you had worked on which went global in mere hours, thanks to the very talented men you got the chance to work with.

You take out your camera from your bag to film a little, just in case you’ll get to release a ‘behind-the-scenes’ vlog for your collaboration. You make an attempt to film Yoongi who’s half-awake but all to no avail. Namjoon gladly offers some screen time for your video. The younger rapper laughs shyly when you squeal in excitement asking him for a few words about your collaboration. Namjoon does so like a professional: telling the camera where you’re headed off to today, thanking the fans for their never-ending support, and wishing them to anticipate the upcoming music video. 

It doesn’t take long before someone tells the lot that your plane is ready to board, so you wake a dazed Yoongi and bid goodbye to the rest of the staff who were taking a separate flight to your destination. 

Ever the hardworking idol, Yoongi decides to make some revisions on a song he’s working on while you take this time to finally finish a book Namjoon himself recommended a while back. You don’t notice the hours that have passed by when you check the window, and it’s already pitch-black outside, save the occasional gray because of the clouds.

Unbuckling your seatbelt, you head over to the lavatory to relieve your bladder. On your way back to your seat, you glance Namjoon’s way and see the flesh-colored screen your eyes getting glued to the screen watching two men pound a girl into the mattress. You get drawn back to reality because of some minor turbulence and you quickly avert your eyes from the screen.

“Babe, Joonie’s watching porn,” you whisper as you get to your seat, snuggling into your warm blanket. “And who told my girlfriend it was right to snoop into other people’s preferential pastimes?”  

You roll your eyes at him, “It’s not like I purposely watched what was on his screen! Just in case you needed the facts, he was seated with his back facing me, so it’s just natural that I’d get a glimpse of whatever ‘preferential pastime’ it is that you he was doing on his phone! It’s not my fault he didn’t dim the brightness if he truly wanted to watch it privately- “

“You didn’t need to go off, babe,” Yoongi laughs, placing a kiss on your head. “Should we head to bed now? I wanna sleep…and cuddle. Sleep, really, but since you’re here, I guess we could cuddle.”

“You make it sound like it’s a chore!”

Yoongi gives your indignance no attention, just tugging you up from your seat towards the bedroom. “Joon, we’re going to go to sleep now. You should go do the same soon.”

Namjoon’s lips part to reply, but Yoongi beats him to it. “And don’t even think about attempting to sleep in that seat. There are two beds back there for a reason. _______ and I will just share one. Feel free to take the other.” A small smile graces the younger man’s face in gratitude, nodding his head as he wishes you both a good night’s sleep.

Of course, life is bittersweet – so even with an insanely comfy bed and your boyfriend beside you to snuggle freely – a good night’s sleep is the last thing you get. Restlessly turning to lie on your back for what seems to be the hundredth time tonight, you heave a sigh as you stare at the jet’s ceiling. Must’ve been the iced Americano you shared with Yoongi before you boarded. Damn him and his triple-shot Americano.

Namjoon enters the room and notices your state of restlessness. “Can’t sleep?”

“Sort of.”

“There’s warm milk by the galley if you want some.”

“I’m too lazy to get up…”

Namjoon chortles, finding it’s moments like these that remind him of your likeness to Yoongi. “I can get you some if you want?” Namjoon offers, already turning to leave the room but you grab his arm, stopping him from doing so.

“No, please! You really don’t need to. I know I’ll be able to sleep in a few more minutes….”

“The average person falls asleep in twenty, and you and Yoongi hyung came here about an hour ago,” Namjoon points out. Giving him a blank stare, you reply, “Why don’t you head to bed and rest? We’ve still got a long day tomorrow.”

“Okay. Good night, noona.”

“Night Joonie.”

You have proven all of Google’s methods of falling asleep faster to be false. Warm milk, the 4-7-8 breathing method, relaxing music, even counting sheep in vain. You’d even tried working on your vlog to Amsterdam (that you probably aren’t even going to release), giving up when you couldn’t make out Yoongi’s slurred speech when you tried to interview him while he was napping (you don’t know why you even bothered at this point, but you probably thought it was funny earlier this afternoon).

Nada. Nothing was working, not when you’ve still got three shots of espresso coursing through your veins.

There was only one way left and you had a feeling that this was going to definitely knock you out. You need to get exhausted, and the only idea left is sitting cross-legged at the back of your head, blowing a huge bubble with her gum as she files her nails. She looks at you with taunting eyes. You glance over to Namjoon’s bed, analyzing his features to see if he had gone to sleep already or not. A light snore that escapes his lips assures you so.

Letting out another exhale, you turn to face Yoongi on your left, studying his features. Your boyfriend wakes when your lips graze his cheek as you place a light kiss on his milky skin. One eye pries open to peer at you. “Babe, what are you doing?” His groggy voice shouldn’t have appealed to you as strongly as it did now, but your desperation to get some sleep had seemed to travel south.

“Just kissing my beautiful boyfriend,” you shrug innocently, fighting the teasing lilt in your voice when you see the corner of his lips rise at your sudden compliment. “You don’t fool me, Miss _____, Billboard’s Top Female Solo Artist of the Year, MAMA’s Best Rap Performance, Golden Disc Awards’ Best…”

“Okay, okay, you got me.” You giggle as Yoongi pulls you closer to meet your lips in a chaste kiss. “What’s wrong princess?” You state the obvious, pointing to your eyes which now probably had bags under them. “Can’t sleep,” you pout, slipping your hand underneath his shirt to give him a back rub as you snuggle to his chest.

“And what do you suppose we are to do about it?” Yoongi asks, chest rumbling as he speaks. You take your bottom lip between your teeth as you look up at him expectantly, giving him a knowing look.

Yoongi looks at you incredulously, the lack of rest still visible in his features. You instantly look away, guilt spreading across your chest. You internally scold yourself as you had to wake up your boyfriend for selfish reasons. Your boyfriend senses your sudden hesitance and places a finger under your chin, ordering you to look at him. “Hey, hey, look at me darling. Right here, right now? I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t have the energy to-“

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll do all the work.”

“And Namjoon, who’s just a mere meter away?” His pitch lowers, voice now barely above a whisper. You nod shyly and Yoongi’s eyes darken at your unspoken offer.

“You’re a naughty little slut, aren’t you?” Yoongi hisses, placing his hands on your waist and lifting you easily to have your sit on his thighs, just below his crotch. “Wanting to fuck on a plane, while another member is sleeping right beside us?”

Placing your hands on Yoongi’s chest for support, you move your hips forward, grinding your crotch against your boyfriend’s. Yoongi pulls you forward by your arms, just enough that your face is merely centimeters away from him. Wasting no time, he presses his lips against yours, darting his tongue out to deepen the kiss. He expresses his desire to help you with your dilemma by thrusting upwards gently to join your gyrating hips.

You peek sideways to check on Namjoon and breathe a sigh of relief when he finally turns to the other side, back facing the both of you. 

You hastily discard your top and your bra in desperation, hands roaming all over your torso and eventually letting them end at your chest, fondling with your breasts and tweaking your nipples between your fingers. Not satisfied with your own ministrations, you guide Yoongi’s hands to your breasts, letting him squeeze them as he pleases beneath his open palms.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” Yoongi murmurs, bending his knees to push himself upwards to make himself more comfortable. Yoongi quickly attaches his moist lips to one of your breasts, sucking at the supple flesh. You grind heavier against him in response and Yoongi takes this as an opportunity to fist a handful of your hair and tug sharply, baring your neck to him. 

You barely manage to hold in your whimpers when he sucks on a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, definitely leaving a purplish mark there that you’ll eventually have to cover up with foundation. Nothing you’ve never done before. “Remember that short dress you wore on stage last week with that dangerous cleavage?” You nod shakily, remembering the way Yoongi tried hard to not stare at you too long as one of his fansites might catch onto something. 

“Guess what baby? It’s payback time.” 

“For what?” You flutter your eyes innocently at him and you suddenly feel the temperature rise a few degrees with Yoongi’s intense stare. 

“You knew exactly what you were doing that night, naughty little tease.” Okay, maybe you did, and maybe you bit your lip in front of the camera at the exact moment you knew he was looking. Needless to say, he avoided your eyes for the rest of the evening during that particular awards show. 

He thrusts up harshly, his clothed hard-on grinding deliciously against your likewise covered cunt. “Mhmm, Yoongs… I- I wanna…” You don’t find the need to say anything else, just one look at the bulge inside his sweatpants was enough for him to understand.

“Yes please.” Yoongi sighs in contentment, raising his hips to help you remove his clothes. You include his boxers as you take his sweatpants off, cock slapping against his stomach as it springs free from the confines of his underwear.

Giggling excitedly, you hide beneath the covers, fitting yourself snugly between Yoongi’s legs. You take your time as you stare at his dick, long and girthy and curved just the right amount – always a tight fit inside your walls. You couldn’t wait for later when he’ll let you impale yourself on his cock as you ride him – the vivid picture makes you even wetter.

Building up his anticipation, you start placing kisses from his happy trail down to his groin, kneading his balls gently while you’re at it. Finding it difficult to communicate his feelings is one trait of Yoongi that definitely has its pros and cons. For one, people actually think Yoongi doesn’t care for others but it’s actually the complete opposite, but along with this, he gives the most genuine reactions, one which you are thankful for, especially during times like these.

Yoongi’s pretty responsive, and vocal at times when he’s really in the mood, and when you tentatively flick your tongue against his frenulum, the instantaneous quiver of Yoongi’s body has you reveling, giving yourself an imaginary pat on the back.

Momentarily leaving his red, angry shaft, you gently take his balls in your mouth, sucking on it, and gently massaging it with your tongue. “Quit the teasing, _______.” Being the good, obedient girl that you are, you comply immediately, paying attention to his dick this time.

You see his abdominals contract when you finally take him in your mouth, veiny hands grabbing at your temple to fist a handful of your hair. Inch by inch, you let his cock sink into your mouth, swallowing when he reaches the back of your throat. Yoongi hisses at the sensation, cursing to a throw pillow he’d taken from the seats.

Not wanting to agonize him any longer, you get to a pleasurable pace, bobbing your head up and down his length. Yoongi’s chest starts heaving and his grip on your hair tightens – the tell-tale signs of his impending orgasm. “Shit, baby…” Your boyfriend warns you that he’s about to cum, and you pull back a little, just to feel him release ropes of his cum inside your mouth.

Yoongi beckons you closer, weakly pulling at your arms to have you lie on his chest. He’s still panting when you get closer, “You, darling, are perfection personified.”

Slapping his chest lightly in jest, you reply, “You’re only saying that because I just gave you the best blowjob of your life.” Yoongi pulls his head back, facial features exaggeratedly contorted to fake being offended. “Okay first of all, you always do. And second, do you want me to get sappy and make a list what makes you the perfect woman ever?” He asks, letting two of his fingers dance on the bare skin of your belly, eventually leading southwards, “Or…I could just show you how much you mean to me by doing something else? Something you and I will both enjoy, hmm?”

Expressing your approval with a hum, Yoongi wastes no time, meeting your lips in a feverish kiss. Gasping at the sensation of his wet lips trailing all the way from your cheek, down to your jaw then your collarbones and onto the valley of your breasts, you squirm impatiently underneath your boyfriend.

“Patience, darling,” Yoongi chuckles, sending you a flirty wink as he gets down on you, teasingly pulling at the waistband of your shorts before removing them. His gaze darkens when he notices your underwear choice – a lacy red thong just for him. You’ve meant to have him remove it from you once you reach the hotel in Amsterdam, but doing it in a jet seems just as hot.

When he gets the thong off of you, he quickly pockets it inside his discarded sweatpants by the end of the bed. Getting back to his task at hand, you’re unable to control the gasp that escapes your lips when Yoongi brazenly flattens his tongue on your bare core.

Keeping your folds open with two fingers, he curls his tongue around your clit, thighs subconsciously squeezing his head in between because of the stimulation. With one hand, he keeps your legs spread open for him. Alternating between your clit and your entrance, Yoongi makes sure not a single region of your core is left out.

Wanting to put your limits to the test, your boyfriend tentatively slides a finger against your folds, the coldness of your couple ring on his digit making you quiver to the bone. He slowly slides a finger in, prepping your hole for what’s to come. You plead for one more, fully aware that your greedy little pussy isn’t contented with one. Yoongi complies with your request at once, pumping his digits inside of you and occasionally curling them inside. That familiar coil inside you tightens with every second, and with one particular curl of his digit and his mouth on your clit, you reach your high.

Your body trembles with the intensity of your orgasm, and Yoongi won’t stop just yet, still licking long stripes on your cunt. Your boyfriend stops abruptly and rises, resting all his weight on his arms as he crawls forward and lowers himself to whisper something in your ear. “He’s awake. You want me to do something about it?” 

Legs closing subconsciously while in thought, Yoongi gives you a few choices to ponder on. “We could pretend he’s not awake and get done with this, or…” Yoongi looks at you, carefully studying your facial reaction, “we could have another collaboration of some sort…” 

“It’s really up to you baby, I’m honestly okay with both.” 

You raise your eyebrows at his statement, never really taking Yoongi as the type to explore your deepest sexual fantasies. But then again, Yoongi has always been one to support you in everything, even with your kinks. Maybe the idea didn't surprise you as much as it should have considering the level of trust that came with living with someone for almost ten years already. 

Yoongi gently falls to your side for a moment as he lets you decide. “You know, Namjoon used to have a crush on you,” your boyfriend informs, twirling a loose strand of your hair around his finger. Now that was a surprise. “He did?” 

“Mhmm. At one point, he even had you as his phone wallpaper when you released your second single.” 

“Oh really?” 

“Yeah, I really don’t mind if you wanted to indulge him, you know, as an early birthday present? We actually had this kind of conversation a few years back and honestly, we’re both willing to try a threesome… what better way to do it with a person you trust right?” 

The bluntness of his words catches you off guard - several trains of thoughts scattered throughout your brain. Namjoon had a crush on you? Birthday present? Threesome? How did you even get in this situation in the first place? Yoongi shifts a little as you continue contemplating, then you take notice of Yoongi’s bare lower half, cock still stiff and upright. Shit! 

“You’re still hard,” you comment lamely, staring at his dick. “I know, and I’d greatly appreciate it if you tell me your decision quickly…” 

You look at him again, checking if there is the slightest hint of uncertainty in his eyes. When you see none, you ask him again, “You’re really sure you’re okay with that?” 

“Of course, as long as you’re comfortable with the idea. Honestly, I’m willing to have it any way because we still have a very pressing problem,” Yoongi points to his crotch, “and honestly, I think Namjoon is too. There’s nothing more that can turn a man on other than a woman’s moans,” he shrugs. 

You want to laugh at Yoongi being totally nonchalant about this whole situation, but if you’d listen to your gut feeling, you’re sensing it’s Yoongi’s outstanding self-control that has him so calm and collected about this proposal. 

Once you tell your boyfriend of your approval, he calls Namjoon at once. When the younger man won’t budge, you look at Yoongi who just shakes his head at you with a playful smirk on his face. He points at you then back to Namjoon, gesturing you to do the talking. 

You gulp before saying a short plea to the heavens above. Surely, they’re bound to hear you better since you’re already in the sky right? “Joonie, darling, it’s okay to look. We don’t mind.” You cringe at the tone of your voice, surprised at how convincing you sounded while you were having an inner turmoil. 

When you see Namjoon’s head raise a little, you subconsciously bite your lip in anticipation. Wanting nothing more than to see what he has to say about this. Yoongi probably senses his hesitation so he starts to speak, “It’s okay, she’s covered with a blanket.”

“But you’re not!” Yoongi juts his head forward, a grim look on his face. “As if you haven’t seen me naked before!” 

“That’s different! T-This is a completely different situation.” 

“Listen to me you kinky ass motherfucker, I just know you’re hard. I am too, and you know damn well it’s painful and uncomfortable. So, unless you want me to fuck her while you’re watching or pretending to be asleep, I suggest you take your clothes off and come here.” 

“Are you both sure you’re okay with this?” 

“Didn’t you just hear our conversation a while ago? I mean your bed is just a meter away.” 

“I know, I heard,” Namjoon says, hands already at the hem of his hoodie, then instantaneously looks at the older one dead in the eye, “But, hyung, did you really have to call me out like that?! The whole crush thing and the wallpaper - jeez!” 

Namjoon takes his phone out of his hoodie first, placing it by the window, then removing the rest of the clothes he has on quickly under your heated gaze.

“Try having a conversation while you’re hard,” Yoongi mutters, rolling his eyes. Yoongi scoots closer to you when Namjoon moves forward, standing with only his boxers left on. Your mouth waters at the outline of his straining bulge while Yoongi clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Why don't you show your Joonie what that mouth can do?” 

The tall man makes a sound between a cough and a groan, and you lie on your stomach, crawling a little bit closer to come face to face with Namjoon’s crotch. You just know he’s longer than Yoongi judging from what you’re seeing, but Yoongi’s definitely girthier and fuck - the thought alone is enough for you to come undone, completely untouched. 

Namjoon shivers lightly when you trace a finger along the length of his boner, placing a light kiss atop his cloth boxers. Impatiently, you hook a finger on the waistband of his Versace boxers. Holy fuck - you send another prayer to their hard stans, wishing them an equally intense life inside the bedroom.

His cock springs free, and you scoot closer, wanting to have a better look at his pretty dick. You get into action quickly, hand wrapping around the base of his cock. You place a kiss on the leaking head, before licking a wet stripe along the length of his shaft. 

You get more confident when Namjoon inhales sharply at the simple action. A few more licks and you decide to finally take him in his mouth, gradually moving lower until you have at least a third of him in your mouth. Namjoon sighs, fingers carding through your hair as you pull your mouth off him with a pop. Once more, you sink down, shallow and easy as you tease the younger man. 

The grip on your hair eventually tightens, goading you on and encouraging you to go deeper. Namjoon becomes more vocal when you pick up the pace, and when you go down all the way to the hilt, you pause for a moment, then swallow. “Holy fuck!” Namjoon cries out, head lolling backwards in pleasure. “God, I wish I had a girlfriend too.” Yoongi chuckles from behind you and you almost forgot he was there too with Namjoon’s pretty length keeping you preoccupied. 

Yoongi praises you and calls you a good girl. Beaming at your boyfriend, he tells you to continue giving Namjoon the blow of his life. Under Yoongi’s compliments, you work harder, ignoring the slight burn in your jaw. Namjoon starts bucking his hips, desperately chasing his high in your mouth. As you feel that coil slowly forming in the pit of your stomach, you gather some of the blankets between your thighs, bunching them up against your cunt so you have something to shamelessly grind your folds with. 

Namjoon’s breathing gets strained, and you feel a tap on your leg, causing you to momentarily stop with Namjoon. Yoongi says nothing as he tells you to flip over. Settling your weight on your elbows, you watch Yoongi hand Namjoon a silver packet. “You really think you won’t get caught wetting the sheets babe? You’re not the only who gets to have fun here.” 

He peppers a few kisses on your things before placing a hand between, spreading your legs open. “What are you waiting for, princess? Wanna leave Namjoon hanging just like that?” Unsure of what he has in mind, Namjoon helps you guide his shaft back to your mouth. As Namjoon returns to a rhythmic pace inside your mouth, you feel Yoongi settling himself between your legs. Good lord, was this really about to happen? 

Your back arches when Yoongi starts with light vertical licks from the bottom to top. You feel his hand trail upwards, gently caressing your breasts. You’re mewling by the time Namjoon increases his pace, and Yoongi starts and toying with your clit mercilessly. 

The feeling gets too much when Yoongi sucks on your nether bud, then proceeds to tease your rim a little, using your essence to slowly ease a ringed finger inside your hole. Namjoon hisses with your every moan, the vibrations coming from your throat an added blessing to having fucked your mouth. 

From your view, you see Namjoon’s balls tighten and seconds later thick ropes of cum slide down your throat and you swallow before pulling back and licking your lips. Not wanting to be left out of the fun, Yoongi, once more, asserts his dominance, ordering you to get on your knees. 

You feel your heart hammering against your ribcage in exhilaration, secretly hoping that this will finally be the day your deepest fantasies will come to life. Yoongi scoots over a little to lie horizontally on the bed. He calls you over, index finger curved like a hook to beckon you to ride him.  

You move over to him in shaky legs, hooking a leg over his body to straddle his hips. “No, no, not facing me…” Yoongi waves his hand as he helps you up. “Facing him,” your boyfriend points to Namjoon whose mouth falls open in shock. Yoongi rips a packet open and rolls a condom onto his shaft.

“Hyung…” This was plain torture.

“I thought this was supposed to be an early birthday present for me?” Namjoon mumbles, scratching his neck with the small silver packaging between his fingers. “I know. But great things never came easy right?” Namjoon visibly deflates at the older rapper’s words. He had a point yes, but some points weren’t supposed to be applicable to all fields of life…

Not wanting to prolong your waiting any longer, you lower yourself onto Yoongi’s cock, inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside your warm, velvety walls. Your head falls back at the feeling of his cock inside you. Every time feels like the first.

Once you feel you’ve adjusted enough to Yoongi, you stabilize yourself on Yoongi’s thighs, sliding up until it’s only his head left inside before sliding back down. Your thighs get tired after a while, and Yoongi helps you by gripping your hips and thrusting upwards. As you move up and down and grind back and forth in circles, Yoongi calls Namjoon over just before you reach another climax.

“It’s about time you join the fun here, no? Joonie?” Yoongi playfully mocks the taller man, using your nickname for Namjoon to rile him up even further. You whine when Yoongi pulls out for a moment, closing your eyes as he places a quick kiss on your shoulder 

You hear the ripping of a packaging and as you open your eyes, you see Namjoon near you until his thighs are hitting the edge of the bed. You let out a wanton moan when you feel Yoongi prodding his cock against your other hole, shallowly dipping the head in then pulling out. He repeats the action until he deems you’re ready, the slowly lowers you down onto his length.

“Namjoon…” Yoongi says breathily, having difficulty with his self-control with your rim having a vice-like grip on his cock. The other man in front of you doesn’t need to be told twice, slapping his dick against your folds. The action sends lewd sounds resonating throughout the small room, which only sends a jolt of pleasure down your spine.

Namjoon rests one of his knees on the bed, lowering himself onto your cunt. “Noona, you’re so wet. Fuck… I could just…” Namjoon finally pushes himself inside, “easily slide right in…” he lets out a deep exhale once he’s balls deep inside you.

You’re not doing any better than any of the men, thinking you could just orgasm from the fullness alone. And much to your surprise, you do. And both men keep their hands on you as you tremble like a falling leaf in autumn. “Holy shit!” Namjoon explains, staring at you with his mouth open. Once you stop quivering, they both ask you if you were still okay, and you take a breather before answering them, “I’m good. Just… nothing great ever came easy, right?”

You can practically feel Yoongi smiling from behind you. “That’s my girl.”

“Can I?” Namjoon asks, looking down to where your bodies are connected. You nod once, and Namjoon and your boyfriend start thrusting into you alternately. It doesn’t take long before you reach your climax again, with a ton of help from Namjoon who toys with your clit while snapping his hips into you.

They reach their orgasms not long afterwards. You let them ride out their highs until their cocks gradually turn softer inside you. Feeling spent and immensely satiated, you fall over to Yoongi’s side, falling asleep in mere seconds.

The two rappers collapse onto the bed, but sit abruptly sit upright when they hear a very familiar voice coming from Namjoon’s phone. “Fucking hell! That was the hottest shit ever!” Hoseok exclaims from the screen.

“You called him?!” Yoongi asks, hitting Namjoon’s forearm. “No! I- I must’ve contacted him while I put my phone there…crap.” Namjoon looked completely bewildered.

“Hyung, can I come to Amsterdam too? Please?!”

© hhyungz 2020

[lirbrarycrows]

Various Fake Dating HCs

Various situations that require fake dating from there’s a creep, to a school play,  and how it becomes real 

AN/Yall know the drill. Caffeine, sugar, no sleep, binge writing session with no edits. That said if anyone catches a mistake please let me know Todoroki’s got a little away from me (def. was not 2 pages worth of google docs nope not me wrong writer) Enjoy!

Characters: Deku, Bakugou, Kaminari, Shinsou, Todoroki 

Word Count: 2520

Requests Open

Warnings: Mentions harassment

Deku 

Mineta wasn’t the only creep on campus and you were Class 1-E’s lucky lady as he called you thinking he was God’s gift to women

After 2 weeks of annoying you everyday after class was enough 

You’d complained to Deku and Uraka about it before so he was well aware of the jerk

When he approached you at lunch you couldn’t take it anymore

The moment he left you’d plopped your forehead onto Deku’s shoulder and asked Deku to help you out offering to buy him lunch for the week in return

He wasn’t sure how he could - he knew he couldn’t intimidate the guy like Kirishima or Bakugou so he wasn’t sure what you wanted

When you explained he’d gone pink but agreed

Since then he’d held your hand, helped you study, and called you honey and sweets when the creep was in earshot 

It took the jerk a while to realize you weren’t interested for some reason when he did though Deku kept up all the sweet gestures 

You told him a week after the last encounter with the creep that he could stop 

He’d just murmured (thinking you couldn’t here) “I don’t want to” 

You’d given him a kiss on the check and realizing you’d heard he’d launched into one of his patented spiels saying of course if you weren’t interested, and he still was focused on becoming the number 1 hero, and and and 

You’d wait for him to finish and look up at from the floor before giving him a smile and asking where he wanted to go on your first official date

Bakugou

It was his idea believe it or not. You both were good friends and after his internship he had several dedicates “fans” They’d gone so far as to track him down and asked him out incessantly 

The first time he’d scoffed and told them to get loss with his usual tact, that is to say none

After that when they’d followed him everyday from the gates of UA he’d blown up at them, literally 

Most of them were properly scared off by this or at least more reserved 1 girl just couldn’t take a hint

You and Bakugou had been sent to get snacks for movie night later and SHE was as always waiting on Bakugou

He’d groaned seeing her and whispered in you ear to play along 

Snaked his arms dangerously low around your waist, pulled you close

He purposefully didn’t look at her pretending he hadn’t already seen her

When you were out of the gates he spun you around and trapped you against the wall leaning in to whisper to you thanking you for playing along he asked if he could kiss you

You grabbed his face and pulled it towards your own

When you broke apart he smirked then pretended to take notice of the girl telling her off for spying on him and his girlfriend

You walked up behind him as he yelled at the girl and glared daggers at her 

She wasn’t happy about it but between both your threats she finally backed off (though she would occasionally pop up at public UA events) 

You were always with the Bakusquad so it was an easy matter to plant a kiss on his check and motion you were watching her in case she felt like trying anything

Neither of you were ready for or wanted a real relationship so that was as far as it went in high school but you keep in contact and who knows what the future holds

It did become a running joke how you two were such a lovey dovey couple in between the cursing each other out and harder than necessary slugs to the shoulder

Kaminari

You two flirted like there was no tomorrow 

Eventually everyone assumed you were dating bc who else flirts with every breath

One night you were running late and Kirishima had asked Denki “Where’s your girlfriend” 

It took him a second bc as much as you both flirted it was never serious

You’d popped in not a minute later and Kaminari had thrown his arm around you dramatically declaring “MY BEAUTIFUL GIRLFRIEND IS HERE” for everyone to here 

You looked at him quizzically and snorted

He managed to pull you away from the group and convince you it'd be a great joke to see how long you could convince the gang you were dating and how much drama you could create in your fake “relationship” 

You were plotting soap opera level storylines by the end of the night

After a week of scheming and late night writing session you started your personal drama with a dramatic monologue to the girls before class on how Kaminari had forgotten your so important 1 week-aversy 

-They’d consoled you and told you guys care about stuff but if you did you should talk to Kaminari

By lunch everyone had heard and Bakugou had a betting pool on how long the happy couple would last - Kaminari tried to join but was banned

Week 3 had the suspected cheating scandal - that had earned you a lecture from Kirishima on how it wasn’t manly to cheat and you assuring him nothing had actually happened 

By week 5 the two of you had a regular date scheming night 

During week 6 when Kirishima was “buzzed” after overusing his quirk he confessed to loving your (nonexistent) identical twin who conveniently went to another school and you had never spoken of bc she had stolen you last boyfriend

Towards the end of the term during date night Denki dropped to one knee proposing a proposal story line you’d burst out laughing when he grabbed a slap bracelet (He’d gotten from goodness knows where) and slapped it onto your wrist

At least take me on a real date first you’d joked - then frozen hoping he hadn’t heard 

He had. He took the slap bracelet off, still on one knee and said (Y/N) will you take this slap bracelet and go out with me for realizes I mean 

You’d ceremoniously take the slap bracelet and try to carefully put it on your wrist, treasuring it - slap bracelets can’t be gently moved though so it snapped up immediately as you said “I do” 

Shinsou

It wasn’t planned by either of you

You didn’t even know people though you were dating until a picture of the two of you showed up in the schools gossip column and someone pointed it out to you at lunch 

Shinsou just nodded his head and sighed saying “that makes sense” 

You had no idea what he was going on about - you found out that people had been kinder to him this morning some. Guys approached him about his “game” and some girl had talked to him saying if he was with you he couldn’t be as scary as he seemed 

You to were close and you knew how much it hurt him that people were scared of him bc of his quirk 

You were sitting so you leaned over and gave him a side hug promising him it would be okay

That hug went down the grapevine and “confirmed” your relationship 

By the time someone directly asked you about Shinsou the two of you had talked and agreed to let slide neither of you liked anyone and it was helping Shinsou so where was the harm 

You didn’t go out of your way to appear as a couple but you were friendly and people were prone to misinterpretation 

Shinsou certainly wasn’t a social butterfly but he certainly wasn’t seen as scary and his friend group grew

2 months into your “relationship” Shinsou had a girl confess to him she liked him 

He was taken aback she hadn’t talked to him the entirety of last term and suddenly she liked him

She had been scared of him unlike you. Unlike you, something clicked for Shinsou and the rest of the week he found himself comparing other girls to you and realized he may truly be in love with you 

By the time he came round to that realization you had made your own. Maybe people had thought you two were a couple bc you hung out with him more, hugged him more, smiled at him more, and liked him more and differently than your other friends. You  maybe even loved him 

At lunch he was the one who reached out and touched you, lightly settling his hand on yours and asking if you wanted to be more than a rumor 

Todoroki

Can we say emotional trauma 

In literature class there’d been a project to perform a Kyogen as a part of their classic lit unit - you’d loved it even if you’d been graded more on the accompanying essay of the evolution of language and classism than the performance part 

When you saw there was a school play you hasn’t hesitated to audition bc the kyogen performance had been so fun

You hadn’t gotten the lead role you wanted but you were more than fine playing a the female lead’s best friend who got swept off her feet by the quiet tortured poet

As soon as you saw who you’d been cast as you immediately checked who your love interest was. It was none other than Shoto Todoroki

You were really nervous the first rehearsal that focused on your sections

You knew Todoroki only by reputation, as a aloof and focused student 

You had no clue what he was doing in the play so you asked. He didn’t tell you the first day instead just did a read through 

The entire time the drama teacher kept saying “More Emotion” and “You’re in love so SMILE” you were pretty sure it was directed at Todoroki who was barely beyond monotone

The director requested Todoroki stay after rehearsal for extra practice. As his scene partner you stayed too

During on of these he explained during the kyogen project he’d felt different in his everyday life when he was pretending to be happy or angry compared to when he tried to show no emotion 

The director had called that moment a breakthrough. You smiled at him and asked whatever made him think that showing no emotion was in any way a good idea. He didn’t answer you 

You made it your mission from then on to get him to show emotion. Of course that was the director’s job on stage. You made it your mission everyday though. 

You would have friends pass him notes for you in between classes, eat lunch with him, and had a bad joke of the day hoping to catch him roll his eyes rather than just stare ahead eating robotically 

Eventually he started to show cracks in the armour, he would smile when you made funny faces backstage, or say he was upset which wasn’t much but baby steps

There were days he reverted to mono-emotionalism (that emotion being bored) on those days you eventually decided your best course was just to annoy him to death or even better till he said he was annoyed this came in the form of you lightly hitting you arm on his head, singing the 100 digits of pi song on loop, or running and jumping at him (he would always catch you knowing his choices were that or be bowled over) 

Those days became fewer and further between as you got closer to the play. There was one particular bad day though. You’d been trying all day to get a reaction, good or bad, out of him with nothing working. 

He was sitting on the floor during practice. You dropped beside him and leaned back till your head was in his lap and started asking “What’s up with you?”

You didn’t finish your question bc he shoved you out of his lap and stormed off 

Your scenes that day weren’t great to say the least 

By the end of practice you were just drained, you really were trying to help, and instead you’d hurt him and that hurt as much as him pushing you away and saying he didn’t need you 

The next day you had Deku hand him a note saying you were sorry 

You didn’t try to reach out to him the rest of the day, sat with your own friends at lunch, and didn’t bother him between scenes during practice

It was a week before you two spoke and that was only on the blocking of the last scene the leads ran to each other as you two cheered and hugged 

Tech week was hell week for 2 reasons 1. The general tiredness and overwhelmingness that always come with tech and 2 you were practically glued to Todoroki’s hip the entire play for 3 run throughs a day and you still weren’t really speaking 

Opening night you saw Todoroki pacing half an hour before curtain call. You were headed back to the dressing room to help some of the other girls with their makeup but he looked stressed. 

You waved not wanting to startle him. He looked up from his pacing feet and just stared at you 

“I’m not here to annoy you. You just look stressed and I wanted to say it’ll be fine and um break a leg. Anyway I’ll leave you to your pacing.” You said before starting to leave

He doesn’t move to stop you from leaving but he stares you down and starts talking, spewing all the feelings that have been building up (that he doesn’t understand) He’s nervous around you. Why is he nervous around you? He’s mad at himself for making you sad that day. You didn’t talk to him. He didn’t know what to do so he let you not talk to him. His miserable and he misses you he thinks. He tried talking to Deku but Deku just told him that he needed to talk to you about these feelings so he didn’t say anything more to Deku. He has all these feeling and doesn’t know why? 

You walk towards him and ask if it’s okay to hug him

He gives the smallest nod

You wrap him in the tightest hug you possibly can and lean your head into his chest. He eventually rests his head on top of yours and awkwardly wraps his hands around your back

When you pull away he looks at you for a moment before telling you your makeup looks nice 

You have to run to help the girls with their makeup you remember but make him promise to talk after the show 

You two talk and by the final curtain call your on stage hug has somehow become a chaste peck on the cheek. 

He pays for your post set strike theater crew Denny’s meal with Endeavour's stolen credit card and asks if it counts as a date if there are 20 other people with you